#and I feel compelled to put on my old person hat for a second here

[angels-heap]

Happy back to school/college season! Friendly PSA that y'all really should not be posting your class schedules on tumblr and discord where any random person can see them!!!

[dearophelia]

all days i am mad about cancer, today is a day that i am Mad about cancer

i used to be a person. now i’m just a medical chart.

i have been sick for two and a half years. i have been in active treatment for two and a half years.

i’ve not had eyebrows for at least a year. my hair fell out six months ago for the third fucking time and hasn’t grown back. this is the second spring i will have to endure without eyelashes. every time i see someone’s eyelashes i miss mine.

i miss being pretty. i am a bald eyebrow-less potato who looks sick.

i’m not even able to put makeup on because of energy levels and my right hand still being at only 75% mobility after brain surgery over a year ago

i’ve been told my new chemo can cause peeling on my palms and the soles of my feet. i’ve been told to avoid lotions with scents. i’ve been using unscented lotion for a year because the last chemo gave me really dry skin. i just want to smell nice. for me. and not smell like Unscented.

survival was a compelling motivator in the beginning but now that i’m two and a half years in and will likely never be out of active treatment i’m just like “what’s the point here?” to give me more time to feel like a log? to wake up another day and barely be able to make it through work? to keep me alive long enough to maybe move the needle on some survival stats just to say we did it? let’s be real here, what are we doing?

food has a 50/50 shot of tasting weird.

i have no hair (literally. no hair. anywhere on my body). i’m tired of always wanting to put a hat on when i leave the house, because my appearance is a privacy issue: i don’t want to advertise to my neighbors, the mailman, the 15 year-old kid who loads the groceries in my car that i Am Sick.

showers take all my energy and some days i’m not able to do much more than stand there under running hot water. when i shower at all. which is infrequent, because my former “you need a shower” indicator was my hair getting overly oily, and adhd means i kind of need those indicators or else i won’t do the thing that takes all my energy.

writing is a joke, let’s be honest. game prep even more.

i’m stuck in a depression cycle, and being aware of that doesn’t make it easier to break

my anxiety is through the roof about literally everything. i have to take an ativan to even go get my mail, let alone take out the trash

and i’m tired! tired of it! tired of my entire life being taken up by this disease! it’s not fair!

[tansypoisoning]

Tansy’s Spooky Challenge

Because the World is terrifying :D

To celebrate this milestone (1k followers :O) I’m starting a challenge which hopefully will give back to this community in terms of exposure of less known authors (or just authors that aren’t known by my followers) and in creating more stories. I’m so thankful for all the attention I’ve been given, and I hope to give you guys my attention as well.

I love writing challenges because they give authors motivation to write (sometimes even things out of their comfort zone), because they’re a great way for writer’s to promote themselves, and because it’s a great way for the person hosting it to find more stories and authors they could end up being big fans of :D I especially encourage people with less followers, or whose works I haven’t read to participate.

The main objective of this challenge is to write something that has an element of horror in it. It can range from a situation that seemed scary but is okay, to something that is a little eerie, to pure unadulterated terror. As for rules:

You DON’T have to be following me to participate.

You have to enter with a reader insert/OC fic. There doesn’t have to be any smut or shipping, and if there is, the relationship DOESN’T HAVE to be about dark!character or dark!reader.

I’ll read works for any fandom, but the ones I’m most familiar with are Marvel, Overwatch, Snowpiercer, Knives Out, Naruto, Avatar:The Legend of Aang

You can submit drabbles, one-shots, or an entry of a serialized story.

A single prompt CAN be used by more than a single person.

The fanfics can be of any length, but if they’re on the longer side, please try putting a ‘Read More’ in there somewhere to avoid making things difficult for people reading on phones.

Things that are not allowed in terms of content: underage sex, bestiality, graphic child abuse (allusions are ok) I don’t think anyone would submit an entry that I would have reservations reblogging, but if in doubt you can ask me for help. Give warnings for any sensitive topic you bring up.

Tag your fic with “TansySpookyChallenge2020”

Send me an ask or dm telling me you posted it, preferably a dm. Asks can get eaten by the inbox, and tagging doesn’t always work.

Deadline is November 24th. You can DM for extensions

PROMPTS BELOW

Choose one item from each list and work them into a story. I allow and encourage trying to game the system with multiple interpretations of a term, less literal readings, or wordplay.

List 1

Happiness

Jealousy

Nostalgia

Desperation

Fury

Triumph

Sadness

Acceptance

Fervor

Disgust

Awe

Confusion

Hope

Craving

Foreboding

Denial

Loss

Ennui

Adoration

Sympathy

Pain

Betrayal

Commiseration

Anxiety

Rancor

Determination

List 2

Sink or swim

Chokecherry

Crossroads

“Let me see what you have.” “A knife!”

French vanilla

Something forgotten long ago

The shore

The eye of the storm

Bathtub

Corn hell

Down by the river

Baby’s breath

A little fire

An old saloon

Unearthed bones

On the move

Before dawn

Dead men walking

By candlelight

Frankenstein

Prima Donna

A hill about a mile outta town

First dance

Ritual

Underground

A small request

These text prompts can be used however you want: whether you want to have them in your story in their entirety, use bits, write something around them, something inspired by them, or just something you think has a similar feel. Just let me know which you picked.

There is a Corvette parked in front of the building, just by the front door. You approach the vehicle as if compelled by an invisible force and look in through the closed window. There’s none inside, but you see, in the driver's seat, illuminated by the neon lights of the bar, a white cowboy hat with a golden band. This isn’t the first time you see this hat.

The hole is no more than eight feet long and three feet wide. You peer in deeper, but you can’t see the bottom. There’s a soft but grating sound coming from somewhere within, like sharp nails raking against a metal plate. You can’t see the bottom, but you think you can see movement inside.

You abandon the warmth of the laundromat for the biting cold of the outside world. To your right, the road extends for miles and miles into the night, as it does to your left. There’s no place for you to go, but you can’t go back inside.

The light of the neon sign proudly displaying “Rising Sun Motel” shines through your door. You had closed and locked it before taking your shower – you know you had, because you do it in every room you rent. You take a cursory glance of your surroundings. Nothing is out of place or missing. Must be a faulty lock. The night is windy and could have pushed the cheap door open. You go to lock it again, and when you turn around you see that the closet door is slightly ajar.

The land is flat as far as the eye can see and identical houses with identically manicured lawns sprout from it as far as the eye can see. You run up and then down the street (or is it down and then up?) but you can’t seem to find anything else. The people look so friendly when they smile and wave as they pass you by, but you don’t ask them for directions. You look at your phone. You have signal, but all you can get your internet to show you are advertising for washing machines and sites with recipes for awful things preserved in aspic. The date and hour on your home screen keep changing. You’re positive you’ve been in this place for hours, but the sun won’t set.

“B-but… I don’t understand...” “We have checked the security footage three times and found nothing. There are also no signs of forced entries. No fingerprints.” “-My phone! I took pictures, I know I took-!” “We found nothing on your phone, in the SD card, or in the Cloud. There’s nothing.” “That’s impossible!” “We searched as much as we could. I’m sorry, but… are you sure-” “I know what I saw! I know it! Look again!” You aren’t imagining things. It couldn't have been your mind. It couldn't, it couldn’t, it couldn't

What kind of convenience store has taxidermy heads for decoration? You ask yourself as you roam the aisles of the near empty shop. You peek from behind a row of shelves to one side and spot the clerk. He’s old and severe looking, and although his pupils are pointed in your direction, you get the distinct feeling he’s looking right through you. You move your head to the other side of the shelves and spot another one of those fucking deer heads. This one’s large, wet eyes are turned to a fixture in the ceiling, but you would swear it’s watching you.

Rain pelts you as you stand at the dock, waiting. You hope your boat will arrive soon. You look over your shoulder into the mist and see nothing that should give you pause, but your leg still won’t stop shaking. You touch your arm by reflex and wince when you brush your cut. You think your makeshift tourniquet is working, but it looks fragile, like it could get dismantled at any second. In this weather, you’re sure is just a matter of time. You look over your shoulder again. Still nothing, but you fear it won’t last. You hope your boat will arrive soon.

The living room is dark, but you don’t turn on the lights. You are still too close. You move to the kitchen, and there you feel safe enough to reach for the switch. The illuminated room, much larger than it needed to be, is a ghastly land of contrasts. The many counters and their many marble tops are covered in trash. The tile floors, formerly clean enough to eat out of, are now muddied, not a single spot spared. The eyes of the two stoves are covered by pans and pots boiling foul mixtures. Through the window you can see the sprawling lawn and walls of hedges. They will hide you, but for how long? There is something waiting for you in the hallway, something terrible. You have to address it before sunrise, but for now you’ll wait here. The kitchen isn’t half as bad as the rest of the house.

‘The Bystander Effect’ is the term used to describe the phenomenon in which people don’t intervene in emergency situations when in a group, and, the larger the group, the less likely they are to intervene. You know this to be true, even without doing any research, as you hobble your way through the maze of alleyways. Your cries for help had gone unanswered, bouncing off the concrete walls into a multitude of uncaring ears. It’s just how it is in the big city – every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost. So much for safety in numbers. The truth is, in this city, surrounded by all these people, you’re more alone than you’d ever been.

You take the first step with care, mindful of all the ice. The second is a little clumsier. On the third you almost slip. You skip the fourth and fall on the fifth, rolling down the stairs and landing face first in the snow. You scramble to get back to your feet and run to your car. You have to get home. You lock yourself in and don’t bother with the safety belt. You shove the key in the ignition and turn and turn but nothing happens. Did you leave it in the cold too long, or- There’s no time to think about it. You step out of the car and start running, into the freezing night. You have to get home, you have to get home now.

Cleanup time is always a hassle. You wish you didn’t have to do it, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave the mess all to your partner. You two near the open trunk of the car and load the heavy cargo into it. Your companion seems the most affected by the weight, and you offer an apologetic smile. Fair is fair though; it was your turn to carry the feet end.

Skinny dipping had seemed like a good idea when your friend suggested it earlier, under the sweltering sun. Now, standing in front of the pool in your bathing suit, all by your lonesome, you start to regret having agreed to her scheme. Wasn’t she supposed to have arrived forty minutes ago? She said she’d bring people too, because skinny dipping alone isn’t fun. Well, now you are all alone in the cold, and you suspect that is even less fun. Just as you make up your mind to leave, you see a car through the chain link fence. It pulls up just before the gate and the engine turns off. That must be them.

[maybeimamuppet]

the game is afoot

WHATS POPPING MY LITTLE MUPPETS WERE BACK YEEHA

ok serious time. there's been a murder! if you'd like to solve it you can, you'll have all the clues you need (and a few you don't!) let me know if you got it right in the replies!! if you don't want to solve along, just read like normal and enjoy a cute little victorian gay fit with a dash of murder.

also, I DID NOT COME UP WITH THIS CASE AND I OWN NO PART OF IT. I'm a whole idiot and not clever enough to come up with a sherlock level case on my own. so, people who made sherlock holmes: crimes and punishments, please do not sue me. i am a broke college dropout with no money. also, if you know the case, please don't spoil it for anyone else!

tw for murder and associated things (blood, mild gore, etc), internalized period typical homophobia, and drug mentions. if i missed any, please let me know!

otherwise, welcome back!!

---------

“Hullo!” Cady chirps as she enters the door to 221B Baker Street, not noticing the state her dear companion is in on the sofa. She looks up after hanging her coat on the rack to find her pale and perspiring, and hears a weak groan. “Good heavens, Janis!” Cady drops her things and runs over to her partner’s side. “Whatever happened to you?”

“I feel… deathly,” Janis groans.

“And you look it,” Cady tuts, checking her dilated pupils and feeling her temperature. “Don’t tell me you’ve returned to your old habits.” Janis allows Cady to check her pulse. It’s weak, far slower than it should be. “Your pulse is weak and dropping, we-we need to get you to the hospital straight away. You are dying.”

“The antidote,” Janis moans, pointing weakly to the table nearby. “Give it to me.”

“Antidote?” Cady asks. “You mean that you have been poisoned?! Don’t tell me you did this to yourself. Here, drink it all.”

“I was compelled to.” Janis takes the small bottle and downs the whole thing in one go. Just then, Mrs. Norbury comes into the room to announce the arrival of Inspector Hubbard.

“Oh, Ms. Sarkisian is unable to see anyone at the moment, she is unwell,” Cady says apologetically.

Janis suddenly pops upright behind her, seeming in perfect health. “Ah, Inspector. What is it this time?”

“A case for you, Ms. Sarkisian,” Damian says. “We’ve brought in two young bankers from the city. Sons of lords, members of the chamber, et cetera. They were found stranded in a rowing boat drifting down the Thames.”

“A romantic escapade gone awry,” Janis says boredly, turning around to examine her nails.

“What? Well-it’s true they were both in the buff, but…” Damian stutters. Janis simply raises an eyebrow at him and gestures between the both of them. He chuckles and nods. “I have another that might be more to your liking. Sir Rodney Bentcliffe has been murdered at the Roman Baths. And there’s no sign of a weapon.”

Janis turns to him again, eyes wide with delight. “I shall meet you there shortly. Are you coming, Heron?”

“I feel I must,” Cady tuts. “But I’ll have you know I’m against you going out, as your doctor and your friend.”

Janis boldly cups her face and kisses her forehead, making Cady blush. “I am fine, Cady. Now come on, grab your hat!”

—————

Cady looks around in apparent awe at the room they find themselves in. Janis does have to admit it is beautifully extravagant, decorated with large marble statues and a rather tasteful fountain in the center. “My, how beautiful!”

“With a dreadful murder,” Inspector Hubbard pipes up, casually approaching them. “The body is still in the steam room. We haven’t touched a thing, per your usual instructions.”

“Excellent,” Janis says. There’s a gleam in her eye as she continues, “Then let us begin. Were you able to identify the men who were with him?”

“Ah, yes! Sir Gregory Pitkin, the manager of the baths; Garrow, a lad from the city council; and Blinkhorn, an archaeologist,” Damian informs her. “I am of the opinion that it’s Garrow. He doesn’t seem right in the head.”

“We shall see,” Janis hums. “You found no murder weapon?”

“No, that’s why you were sent for. The victim and all three witnesses were locked in at the time of the murder, and remained so until we arrived. We had to pick the lock to enter!”

“Was anyone else here?”

“Yes, a Mr. Phillips, at the desk there. He called the police, and will be able to give you more details.”

“My thanks, Mr. Hubbard,” Janis says jokingly. Damian tips his hat in response.

“Anytime.”

Janis makes her way over to the desk then, and Cady follows once she realizes her companion is no longer by her side.

“Good day to you, my name is Janis Sarkisian and this is my friend and colleague Doctor Heron. Would you be so kind as to answer our questions?” Janis says with what Cady knows to be faux-politeness. At least people seem to buy it.

“Ah, certainly ma’am,” the man says, a hint of anxiety in his tone. Cady watches in slight awe as Janis’ eyes track up and down the man before them and she seems to learn several key details about him in just a few seconds. It never gets old, watching her friend at work.

“Please tell us the chain of events from the start of your day,” Janis asks to start with once her observation is complete. “Anything you remember. The slightest detail may be of utmost importance.”

“Very well, miss. I came in this morning at six-thirty to prepare the baths,” Phillips says. “I did my usual tasks, preparing towels and cleaning. The brazier was still burning.”

“Pardon? There was a fire burning all night?” Cady asks in slight worry.

“Yes, Sir Gregory ordered me to light the brazier yesterday,” Phillips explains. “It takes some time until the room is fully heated.”

“Ah,” Cady says with a nod, gesturing for him to continue.

“The gentlemen had a meeting at nine o’ clock this morning. I wanted it to be perfect,” Phillips says. “They had been in the steam room for… twenty minutes, when I suddenly heard shouting. I ran to the door, but it was locked. I couldn’t open it. So I ran to the street to call for the police. One constable came, then others, and they picked the lock. Then the Inspector came and informed us nothing should be touched.”

“And did you receive any other visitors this morning?” Janis asks, bouncing once on the balls of her feet as she scans the room.

“Nobody, until these men arrived. Sir Gregory was the first,” the man says. “Then while we were discussing work details, Sir Rodney and Mr. Blinkhorn arrived together. Mr. Garrow followed.”

“And then?”

“I waited until they had all entered the steam room, then I returned to the hall. The changing room door was open, so I should hear if they needed anything.”

“You would have heard if someone had entered or left the steam room?” Janis asks.

“Certainly, ma’am. The doors make a lot of noise,” Phillips says. One of the witnesses must be the murderer, then.

“Thank you, my good man,” Janis says, leading Cady off toward the steam room.

The changing room precedes it, a large rectangular room with marble benches and shelves to hold personal items. Three sets of neatly folded clothing sit on the benches. Janis scans them quickly and apparently doesn’t notice anything of interest, apart from the fact that one set seems rather more expensive than the others.

What does catch her eye is a bottle of champagne, unopened and in a bucket of ice to keep chilled. Clearly intended to be enjoyed after the session in the baths.

They enter the actual sauna room then. A constable guards the only door, and three men stand clad only in white towels at the other end near the brazier. Janis looks delighted as she heads to inspect the body first. Cady follows quickly.

“Good lord,” Cady breathes. “How dreadful.”

Sir Rodney lies sprawled against the marble bench, arms spread as he sits in a remarkably large pool of his own blood. Cady quickly learns the source, his left eye. Thin but bright red blood tracks down his face and to the floor around him.

“Yes, a death with a particularly… Roman flair,” Janis hums interestedly.

“Like the one you almost had an hour ago?”

“Come now, let us forget about that,” Janis says.

Cady watches as her companion crouches down to examine everything she can.

“The wound should not have bled so profusely,” Janis hums to herself, dashing around on her knees so as not to leave footprints and taint the scene. Cady observes as she inspects his nails and takes an earth sample from beneath them, and looks at the ring marks on his finger.

“Death would’ve been an hour ago at most,” Cady says when she’s allowed to inspect the corpse herself, judging by the temperature of the extremities and degree of rigor mortis. “And would’ve been instantaneous. A vile act of savagery.”

“Delightful,” Janis says, sounding genuinely excited. “Wait, don’t move!”

Cady freezes as Janis calls to her loudly, and watches as she bends to remove a small gold key from the pool of blood next to the corpse. Cady stands from the body once it’s been retrieved and turns to her colleague.

“We don’t have many leads here,” Cady says.

“What concerns me is that we have yet to find the murder weapon,” Janis murmurs, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “For now, we shan’t worry. Constable!”

“Yes, Ms. Sarkisian?” The constable guarding the door asks.

“Please have the body removed without disturbing anything else in the room,” Janis asks politely. A few more constables enter and gently remove the body, leaving only the pool of blood behind as evidence of a crime. Janis takes a small sample to be studied for more clues, then stands to begin assessing the rest of the room.

“Sarkisian,” Cady murmurs quietly, pointing to the man standing closest to the brazier. There’s a large, bloody handprint on his towel. He clearly discovered the body, but did he put it there?

“Hm,” Janis hums disinterestedly, turning a switch on the wall. Steam suddenly floods the room, making it difficult to see more than a foot or so away. Janis quickly flips it back off and waits for the steam to clear. “Interesting.”

She heads to the brazier then, assessing the embers as close as she can. A pair of spectacles rests on the edge, one lens cracked from the heat. Cady can tell from the thick glass that they are for myopia, otherwise known as the wearer being nearsighted.

Janis attempts to get closer, but the heat is too much. Some melted metal rests in the center. “Heron, please remind me to find a tool to remove this metal so that I may study it.”

“Yes, Sarkisian,” Cady says quietly, marking it down in her notebook. She wishes she could do as Janis does and store all the important information in her mind. But her notebook has come in handy more than once.

Cady dashes after Janis as she exits the steam room and is quickly approached by Inspector Hubbard, who asks if she has any objections to having the suspects taken to Scotland Yard. Janis says she has none, and the Inspector moves to he steam room to gather the men.

Janis heads to speak to Mr. Phillips once more to inquire about the key she found. “Mr. Phillips, how many people have keys to the steam room?”

“We have just the one, for now,” the man replies, standing from his desk to speak with them once again. “Sir Gregory gave it to me.”

“So, you opened the steam room this morning,” Janis says rather abruptly. “What happened afterwards?”

“I put the key in my desk, but when they called it had disappeared,” Phillips says, looking to his feet. “I-I don’t know where it is.”

“Did you leave at any point, or receive any visitors?” Janis continues.

“No, miss, I did not,” Phillips says. Even Cady can tell he’s lying.

Janis points to a bit of paper sticking out of his pocket. Cady notices it to be a sent telegram upon looking closer. “You are not telling the truth. You did leave your work this morning. You went to the post office to dispatch a telegram at around seven-thirty.”

“But-how could you-“ Phillips stutters. Janis smirks slightly.

“The telegram was for someone in Manchester.”

“But it’s imposs-“ Phillips stumbles again. Janis just raises an eyebrow, and he crumbles. “I shall tell you everything. My sister wrote to me yesterday, and she needed a reply. Our mother is unwell. I left the baths at around seven-twenty to tell her to pawn my old school uniform to pay for the medication. I was away for twenty minutes, and I closed the baths on my way out.”

“Did you check to see if the key was still in your desk when you returned?” Janis asks.

“N-no, ma’am,” the man stutters. “Please, don’t tell anyone about this. Sir Gregory would sack me. I need this job.”

“I see,” Janis says, slightly coldly. “Do you happen to know who left the bottle of champagne on ice in the changing room?”

“Champagne? No,” Phillips responds, seeming to come back to himself slightly. “Do you think that it’s important?”

“We shall see,” Janis hums. “Good day to you.”

Janis then heads to a door opposite the entrance to the steam room, marked ‘frigidarium’. The cold room. Just inside the door to the right is a shoddy door, with a plaque labeled ‘Sir Rodney Bentcliffe’ just outside.

“This must be his workshop,” Janis hums, pushing the door open and stepping inside. It seems rather hastily put together, temporary tables set up to hold small archaeological finds, and shelves with larger items line the far wall.

“Sarkisian, I would like to examine the blood again, if I may,” Cady asks. Janis waves her off as she takes a pair of tongs from a table and leafs through a few documents on the desk.

Janis examines a large, curved metal plate, with a carving of a bridge etched into it. A short document rests on top explaining that it is believed to be part of a larger, unknown structure. Janis leaves it for now and heads further down the corridor to the frigidarium. She’s halted in her tracks by a thunderous rumbling. She blinks and is suddenly on her behind, a large wall of rocks and debris blocking her path down. She shakes herself off and coughs a bit.

“Janis! Are you alright?!” Cady yells, barreling down towards her. She skids to a halt when she sees Janis perfectly fine, if a little dusty, sitting before her. “Oh, thank heavens!”

Janis begrudgingly allows Cady to assess her for injuries, and her eyes fly open when Cady suddenly rests a gentle hand on her cheek and locks their lips together. This is new.

Unfortunately it doesn’t last, as Cady seems to realize what she’s done and pulls back with a gasp, scrambling away and pressing her back against the far wall. “I-I-I-“

“It’s quite alright,” Janis says soothingly. She gently pulls herself back to her feet and takes a small step forward, but Cady shakes her head frantically and stops her in her tracks. “Heron, really. It’s absolutely fine.”

“I-I’ll see you back at Baker Street,” Cady says hastily. Before Janis can say anything she’s running back down the corridor and outside, coattails trailing behind her.

“What happened with her?” Damian asks. Janis just shakes her head and dusts off her coat. “Are you alright?”

“Bit dusty,” Janis tuts. “Is there another way ‘round this?”

“Not that we’ve found,” Inspector Hubbard says. “If it becomes necessary we can remove the debris for you. I’m off to the Yard, would you care to accompany me?”

“Not just yet, I’ll likely be there tomorrow afternoon,” Janis replies, following him to the exit.

“Very well. Good day to you, Sarkisian.”

“Same to you, my good man,” Janis chuckles. She grabs the metal from the brazier in the steam room with the tongs and follows him out the doors once it’s cool enough to handle.

-

Janis hops out of the cab when it arrives at Baker Street, quickly paying and pacing off to the flat. Her hand is on the doorknob before she freezes and turns around to cross the street.

“Wiggins,” she calls when she notices it’s him. A watch for her secret police division is always there, but Wiggins is her personal favorite.

“‘Ello Ms. Sarkisian,” Wiggins calls back, resting down a toy cart he seems to be repairing. “What can I do for ya?”

“There’ll be two guineas in it for you if someone can track down Heron,” Janis says. “Don’t let her see you, just make sure she’s alright and let me know where she is.”

“Easy! I won’t let you down, miss,” Wiggins says, saluting before dashing off down the road. Janis grins affectionately and heads back upstairs.

——

Janis is too busy worrying for her companion to get any real work done, so she decides to reorganize her mind palace for a while. Cady’s wing could use some decorating.

After a few hours, a great cacophony of noise suddenly echoes downstairs, followed by the calls of Mrs. Norbury. Whoever it is wipes their shoes on the mat briefly before heading upstairs. She can tell by the polite gesture and the energetic step that Wiggins has made a return.

“We found Doctor Heron, miss!” He calls.

“Excellent. How was she?” Janis asks, sitting up before heading over to him.

“She didn’t seem very well, to be truthful, Ms. Sarkisian,” Wiggins says. “She’s in the park. But she ain’t going anywhere, just pacing about and cryin’.”

“Hmm,” Janis hums sadly. “Not much I can do about that, then. Here’s your payment.”

Wiggins skillfully catches the coins she tosses his way. “At your service, miss.”

Janis is deep in thought once more by the time he leaves.

————-

Cady enters the flat several hours later, finding Janis in her usual pose. Flat on her back on the sofa, hands pressed together in the praying position just underneath her nose. Unusually, she pops an eye open and sits upright when she hears Cady enter.

“Hello,” Janis says quietly. Cady can tell she sees right through her put-together facade. Of course. When doesn’t she? “Are you well?”

“Fine,” Cady whispers in agreement. She sheepishly makes her way over and hands Janis a pile of papers. “Here.”

Janis flicks through them. “Our rent agreement?” Cady nods. “Whatever for?”

“So I can move out,” Cady murmurs. “You won’t have to see me again, I’ll-I’ll handle it all.”

Janis snaps her head up to look at her, tossing the papers aside. “Why do you wish to leave?”

“You know what I am, Janis. You know how-how I feel about you,” Cady whimpers. “It’s unnatural. Why would you want to associate with me now?”

Janis gently approaches her dear friend. “You are missing a key element of the narrative, my dear Heron.”

Cady looks both baffled and terrified as Janis gradually gets closer. “And-and what would that be?”

“How I feel for you,” Janis purrs gently, wrapping an arm around Cady’s waist and resting her forehead against the redhead’s. “I admit I’ve grown rather fond of you over the years of our companionship.”

“You have?”

Janis chuckles quietly. “I have indeed. I’ve always thought matters of the heart trivial, a weakness. Waste of valuable brain power. But you’ve managed to work your way in regardless. And I find myself not wishing to attempt to remove you.”

“Oh,” Cady hums, flushing a spectacular shade of pink. “How-how long?”

“I couldn’t say exactly,” Janis says quietly, staring into the brilliant blue of Cady’s eyes. “But a very long time. How long for you?”

Cady grins up at her slightly. “Since the day we met.”

“Really?” Janis laughs. “After all that. I’m surprised.”

——

“Kenya or Tanzania?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you from Kenya or Tanzania?” Janis repeats.

“I-Kenya,” Cady stutters. “How did you-“

Janis rolls her eyes haughtily, seemingly having been through similar conversations before. “Your skin bears a lingering tan that implies you grew up near the equator. Your accent is African, and you have a large scar along your collarbone that could only have been created by a creature with large claws, most likely a lion or a tiger. Tigers live mainly around India, not Africa, so it was most probably a lion. The largest lion populations in Africa near the equator are in Kenya and Tanzania.”

“Incredible,” Cady breathes. Janis chuckles under her breath and raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do they normally say?” Cady asks curiously.

“Piss off,” Janis laughs.

—-

“You’ve been invaluable to me,” Janis murmurs. “I daren’t imagine life without you.”

“I love you,” Cady whispers back.

“And I love you,” Janis says. “May I-“

“Kiss me,” Cady demands. Janis happily obliges, resting a gently callused hand on her jaw and brushing their lips together. Cady gives a quietly delighted sigh and threads her arms around Janis’ neck, tilting her head for a better angle. Janis marvels in how soft her lips are. Maybe Cady will let her experiment on them.

Cady gasps quietly as Janis sucks her bottom lip between her own and gives a gentle nibble, allowing Janis to deepen their kiss and brush their tongues together. The soft groan Cady allows to escape nearly makes Janis’ knees buckle.

They both look a bit dizzy and disheveled when they have to break apart for breath. Cady gives the widest smile Janis has ever seen, and squeals in surprise when Janis scoops her up in retaliation. She has remarkable upper body strength for her build.

“You have no idea how precious you are to me,” Janis whispers, carrying her over and resting her down on her experiment table so their eye levels are just about even. Cady tries desperately not to think about the jar of-are those eyeballs?!- that Janis brushes away to make room for her. “My conductor of light.”

“Your what?” Cady asks lovingly, stroking a hand through Janis’ hair and gently scratching at the base of her scalp.

“‘It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but that you are a conductor of light,’” Janis recites. “I read that somewhere. Some people without possessing a spectacular amount of genius have a remarkable ability to stimulate it.”

“Cheers,” Cady grumbles.

“Not in a bad way, my darling,” Janis amends. “You give me a… lens, so to speak. To shine my light through, give it a purpose. Conduct it. A light on its own has no point. The sun would be near useless without the atmosphere.”

“Oh.” Cady says. “I suppose that does make me sound useful.”

“You’re more than useful, dearest. You’re invaluable. Irreplaceable.”

“Yours,” Cady concludes for her. “Forever.”

“Does it bother you that the world can never know of us?” Janis asks quietly, nuzzling her nose against Cady’s.

“My world already does,” Cady hums, holding Janis’ face between her hands gently and staring meaningfully into her warm brown eyes. “Nothing matters to me but you.”

“I should hope your patients matter to you,” Janis teases. “Else we may get some strongly worded letters arriving soon.”

“You know what I mean,” Cady says, rolling her eyes. “Would you stay with me tonight?”

“Always,” Janis purrs, lifting her off the table and carrying her to a bedroom. She can’t help but notice that they seem to fit together perfectly when she tips Cady down into the bed and is immediately grabbed and held close. Like a puzzle.

—-

Janis yawns and stretches when she wakes the next morning, rather shocked to find that she apparently slept for at least a few hours. She can’t remember the last time she actually drifted off so easily.

She’s sprawled on her back, with Cady pressed against her side and her face tucked into Janis’ neck. Cady snuffles discontentedly when Janis gently kisses her forehead and removes herself, tucking her in a little tighter with the warm wool blankets.

-

Cady comes padding out of the room a full half-hour after Janis finishes her small breakfast, still in her nightgown. Janis grins slightly when she sees that she’s decided to add Janis’ robe and slippers to her little morning ensemble.

“Good morning,” Janis hums when Cady presses herself to her back as Janis looks out the window over Baker Street. “You look cozy.”

Cady just gives a quiet hum, not up to speaking quite so soon after waking up. Janis turns around to hold her, and Cady sighs contently as she’s held against her love. Janis rests her chin on top of Cady’s still unbrushed hair and closes her eyes.

“Did last night truly happen?” Cady whispers, muffled by Janis’ warm skin.

“I believe so,” Janis whispers back.

“Prove to me I didn’t dream it,” Cady begs quietly. “Please.”

“Shh,” Janis calms before cupping her face and kissing her sweetly. She feels Cady’s relieved sigh puff gently against her cheek. “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning, my love,” Cady beams back.

“Mrs. Norbury made your breakfast,” Janis murmurs after a long moment. “Should still be warm.”

“Have you eaten?” Cady asks knowingly, pulling back to look into Janis’ eyes.

“Yes,” Janis chuckles. “Not enough for your tastes, I know, but I have eaten.”

“Good,” Cady chirps. “I’ll get some calories in you yet. Where are you off to today?”

“Nowhere for the morning, I have some experiments to conduct here,” Janis replies.

“Anything I can assist with?” Cady asks politely.

“It’s nothing particularly interesting, just a few analyses on some evidence,” Janis replies. “I’ll be off to interrogate the suspects this afternoon, however, you can accompany me then if you wish to.”

Cady nods, allowing Janis to start her work. She begins with the sample of earth taken from beneath one of Sir Rodney’s fingernails. She finds it to contain pyrite, selenite, and white clay particles. Based on the composition, Janis deduces it is white clay, which is found only around the city of St. Albans.

Now to the blood sample. Under the microscope, Janis is able to observe that it’s still very liquid, and has not coagulated well. She drops a few drops of hydrogen peroxide onto the sample, which allows her to see that the blood has been heavily diluted with water.

All that’s left is the metal she discovered in the brazier. Janis believes it to be silver. A simple test is all that’s needed. Cady naively provides her with a silver penny. Janis drops a small amount of acid onto both the coin and the metal sample, and observes the same reaction on both. The result is the same red stain. The metal is, indeed, silver.

—————

Janis heads to the evidence room immediately upon arriving at Scotland Yard. Four evidence drawers await her on the table. Three suspects, one victim.

She begins with the victim’s belongings. Janis finds and sneakily pockets a hand drawn map, and closely observes an ancient coin, and a gold ring etched with an Egyptian symbol, which has been repaired by an amateur with silver. All that’s left is a small notebook.

“Heron, my dear, please fetch me a pencil and prevent anyone from entering the room,” Janis says, upon observing the last pages to have been torn out.

“Er… okay,” Cady says, handing over her own pencil and turning to guard the door. Janis sneakily removes Cady’s handkerchief from her pocket as well.

Just as Janis has finished carefully rubbing the pencil over the pages and smudging them with the handkerchief, a constable enters past Cady to inform them that the autopsy has been completed.

“Ms. Sarkisian, the body has been- but, tampering with the evidence!” He says in shock.

“‘Today, I almost found it. This date will go down in history,’” Janis reads from the book. “Sir Rodney was on the brink of an incredible discovery. Simple tricks, nothing terrific. I could only save the final words, however. The rest is lost.”

“Perhaps the autopsy can give us more information,” Cady says, skimming through the coroner’s report.

“I am not sure that I can allow you to inspect the body now,” the constable says anxiously.

“And I am sure that you must,” Janis hums disinterestedly, moving to the next drawer of effects. Cady waves him along and joins her partner at the table. The next drawer is Percival Blinkhorn’s, and contains nothing but a pencil and a letter from Sir Pitkin urging him to hurry his archaeological work. Rather threatening.

Garrow’s belongings are next, and contain only the bloody towel from the steam room and a small bottle of herbs. “Do you know what this is, my darling?”

“It looks to be St. John’s wort flower,” Cady says, flushing slightly at the pet name. “We use it commonly as a treatment for melancholia, but an incorrect dosage could cause a rash, or even hallucinations if especially poorly used.”

“Hm,” Janis hums, pocketing the phial as well. The last drawer is Sir Gregory Pitkin’s, and is apparently of the least importance to her. An embroidered handkerchief, a very expensive fountain pen with solid gold trim, and a business card.

Cady follows Janis down to the morgue then, to inspect the body in more detail. Janis carefully peels back the sheet to the dead man’s waist, and looks to Cady for details.

“Er…” Cady stutters, flipping quickly to the correct page. “Ah. No issues with the heart or lungs except traces of fungus, most likely contracted during his work in Egyptian tombs. No stomach or liver disease, if we are to accept that he was sixty three years of age and an occasional drinker.”

Janis carefully flips the body over, and observes bruising in lines around his shoulders and waist, caused by a rope. “He was descending.”

“Where?”

“That remains to be seen,” Janis says, turning him back over and observing his face.

“A strange wound, resulting in instantaneous death,” Cady explains. “Inflicted by a curved knife.”

“Curved,” Janis murmurs under her breath. “Well, my dear, I think we’ve seen all we can, do you wish to interrogate the suspects with me?”

Cady carefully washes her hands in the sink next to Janis. “Are they particularly dangerous, would you say?”

“I would think not,” Janis replies. “But then again, one can never know.”

“I suppose,” Cady says nervously, following her back up the stairs. “But be careful.”

“I always am,” Janis replies, taking her hand to help her back into the corridor. The constable unlocks the metal door for them and escorts the first suspect to the interrogation room. Janis heads over to the small wooden table in the middle and sits across from Sir Gregory Pitkin. Cady leans against the cold stone wall and attempts to look tough.

“Good day to you, Sir Gregory, I am Janis Sarkisian. I am aiding the police with the investigation of the murder that took place yesterday morning. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?”

Even Cady can tell that Sir Gregory is on edge, looking at them with a haughty air of disdain. He slams a hand on the table and demands, “Tell me, Ms. Sarkisian, will I have to stay here much longer?”

Janis decidedly ignores him and rests her hands on the table. “You are the manager of the baths, yes?”

“Yes. I wanted to restore the ruins. My goal is to open the baths to the public,” Pitkin says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back casually in the rickety wooden chair. “Living archaeology can be very profitable. Although now, I am not so sure.”

“I see,” Janis hums interestedly. “And when did you wish to begin your restoration?”

“When the archaeological researches are over, I am free to begin, it is the usual process,” Pitkin says loudly and haughtily, looking at Janis like she’s the scum of the earth. Janis simply raises an eyebrow before continuing.

“And what was the state of your relationship with Sir Rodney?”

“I’ll say we were not particularly close. He had an unpleasant temperament. Suspicious, authoritarian, unkind.” Pitkin spits. Cady thinks it sounds rather more like he’s describing himself.

“Was he obstructive in any way?” Janis asks. Pitkin seems to deflate slightly.

“Not in the slightest,” he admits. “Everything he did led us to greater success.”

Janis tuts slightly to herself before moving the discussion along. “Had Sir Rodney shown any odd behavior recently?”

“Now, see, I’m not a particularly suspicious sort,” Pitkin says. “But I think that he had professional interests elsewhere that he did not wish for us to know.”

“Why should you think that? Where?” Janis asks interestedly. Maybe they’re finally getting somewhere.

“I have no idea,” Pitkin replies with a shrug. Janis huffs slightly. “It’s not my business, after all.”

“How was work at the baths progressing before the arrival of Sir Rodney?” Janis asks, closing another lead in her mind.

“Rather slowly, I would say,” Pitkin replies airily. Janis pulls out a copy of the letter she had found with Blinkhorn’s personal effects.

“Then would you explain this letter? You expressed a desire to call off the work being done,” Janis says coyly.

“It’s all that damned Blinkhorn,” Pitkin spits. “Digging away merrily with little care and finding nothing of any value.”

“But Sir Rodney’s arrival changed your mind?”

“His work was extremely promising, and good for publicity,” the man explains. “So yes, I changed my mind.”

“Hm,” Janis hums kindly. “Would you please explain to me the events of yesterday morning?”

“It was a test, that morning, and a success,” Pitkin replies. “The steam was working well. But then, of course, that terrible murder.”

“And what did you witness?”

“The steam was too thick to see anything,” Pitkin says. “Ask that Garrow, he found the body first.”

“Ah, Garrow. Are you aware that Mr. Garrow is under a form of medication?” Janis asks.

“No,” Pitkin replies. “But I never liked that parasite.”

“Do you believe him to be capable of murder?”

“He did have blood on him,” Pitkin says. “Does that make him a murderer?”

“I shall ask the questions here. Do you know where the silver in the steam room brazier came from?” Janis huffs.

“Silver? No,” the man says with a hint of confusion.

“Did you bring champagne to the baths with you?”

“Absolutely not. Sir Rodney did, I think,” Pitkin replies.

“That’s all I have for you for now, good day to you,” Janis says politely, asking the constable to exchange him for the next suspect.

“Well, he was a pompous arse,” Cady huffs from her spot. Janis laughs and stands from her chair to stretch her legs.

“Agreed,” Janis chuckles. “I cannot say I haven’t been worse, but he is definitely one of the more… unique specimens I’ve interrogated. What are you thinking?”

“I think it’s either him or Garrow,” Cady replies. “Pitkin seems to me to be hiding something, and if the medication is anything to go by Garrow is clearly under some sort of duress.”

“Hm,” Janis hums. “Time will tell.”

The next man is brought in then. Janis waits for him to be seated and cuffed to the table, and apparently decides to remain standing for this one. Cady returns to her position and watches Janis assess the new suspect. His eyes are clear and focused, attentive. And Cady can tell from his clothes that he is most definitely not a man of wealth.

Janis gives her usual introductions, and learns that this man is Percival Blinkhorn.

“What is your occupation, Mr. Blinkhorn?” Janis asks almost kindly, as if they’re acquaintances simply getting to know one another.

“I am an archaeologist, I specialize in the Roman period,” Blinkhorn responds eagerly. His voice is clear, and remarkably soothing.

“Hmm,” Janis hums, sounding interested. “Can you tell me more about the baths?”

“Well, we were hoping to retrieve a great many interesting artifacts from the site, and to list any items of value before their eventual restoration and exhibition.”

“And has it proven successful?” Janis asks.

“It has, thanks to Sir Rodney,” Blinkhorn says. Cady detects a hint of melancholy in his tone.

“And what was your relationship like with him?” Janis asks.

“I couldn’t say that he was a kind man,” Blinkhorn replies. “But he was a talented archaeologist. I felt a great admiration for him.”

“Was this your first collaboration with him?”

“No, I had met Sir Rodney in Egypt, briefly,” the man says. “I shared my researches with him. Surprisingly, they convinced him to come here. He arrived only a couple of months ago.”

“Surprisingly?” Janis asks, leaning casually against the table.

“Well, Sir Rodney is-was, oh god- a cold man, and very secretive,” Blinkhorn says, looking at his lap. “But I learned a great deal from him in a short time. I cannot believe that he is dead…”

“Could you tell me what you saw yesterday?”

“We all entered the steam room and went to sit down,” the man replies. “The steam was particularly dense, and I couldn’t see anything much further after that. I just heard Garrow shouting. We all ran for the door and bumped into one another. I was very alarmed by this point.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, the door was stuck, and with all the steam it was quite frightening. I was barely able to see my own feet,” Blinkhorn says anxiously. “Garrow was covered in blood.”

“Do you believe that he killed Sir Rodney?” Janis asks. She does have to admit that much evidence seems to point his way.

“Oh, no,” Blinkhorn says quickly. “Garrow could not harm a fly.”

“Hm,” Janis replies. That certainly throws a small wrench in things. “Can you recall any recent behavior from Sir Rodney that would now strike you as strange?”

“Well, we had a small argument yesterday,” Blinkhorn admits.

“Is that all?” Janis asks, leaning closer to his face. It’s almost intimidating to Cady. And she’s not even nearby.

“No,” Blinkhorn says sheepishly. “Sir Rodney informed me that he was to attend the London Archaeological Congress with me. Then he rather aggressively advised me of the opposite.”

Janis nods slightly. “And how well were your researches progressing before the arrival of Sir Rodney?”

“Quite well, I would say,” Blinkhorn replies.

“Really?” Janis asks, raising an eyebrow as she catches the man in a lie. “This letter reveals that Sir Gregory was prepared to put a stop to your work at the baths.”

“Er… yes,” Blinkhorn stumbles, realizing Janis has him. “But since the arrival of Sir Rodney he had calmed down, allowed us to work. I’m not sure what they agreed on.”

“Hmm,” Janis replies casually, sitting on the corner of the table. “And what will happen now that he is dead?”

“Oh… I haven’t thought about that,” Blinkhorn replies quietly. He suddenly perks up a bit and continues, “But if it is needed I will fight to defend Sir Rodney’s expectations.”

“How admirable,” Janis replies boredly. “We discovered some melted silver in the brazier, can you explain its presence?”

“No, silver, you say?” Blinkhorn says curiously. “No, I don’t know how it got there.”

Janis nods, appearing to file the information away. She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out Sir Rodney’s ring. “Do you recognize this?”

“Why, certainly. It is the famous Assouan ring,” Blinkhorn says, seeming a bit more chipper. “Sir Rodney brought it back from his last campaign in Egypt.”

“He kept it for himself?” Janis asks. From what she’s heard so far, Sir Rodney does seem the type.

“Sir Rodney has-had- his own… particular ideals of archaeology,” Blinkhorn explains.

“Mm,” Janis hums. She folds her hands behind herself and walks to the other side of the table. “What can you tell me about Garrow?”

“He always looks so sad,” Blinkhorn says. “And… he has been acting strangely, lately. He complains of visions and voices. I will keep an eye on him, I am worried.”

“Hm. And did you place the bottle of champagne in the changing room?”

“No, I did not.”

“I thank you, my good man,” Janis says, rubbing her temples as Blinkhorn is exchanged for Garrow, the final suspect. It’s quickly obvious to both Janis and Cady that Garrow is not well.

He takes his seat in the rickety wooden chair and folds his hands beneath the table, wringing his fingers. His eyes dart around the room nervously and he’s rocking himself back and forth slightly. He doesn’t seem to notice Janis speaking as she introduces herself and asks him to answer their questions.

“Ah, uh… um-“ he stutters when he finally looks up. His eyes are sunken slightly, and he’s covered in sweat. “Good day. I-I am Tristram Garrow.”

Janis nods almost comfortingly. “And what is your occupation, Mr. Garrow?”

“I-I-I am a councilor at the district chamber,” Garrow replies, still rocking slightly.

“Then what were you doing at the baths?”

“Well… I-I follow the researches,” Garrow says. “I’m… interested in-in archaeology.”

“You ‘follow’ them?” Janis asks.

“Yes. So many things happened, and-and we need to know,” Garrow replies. “Or-or perhaps it’s better hidden.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing, I-I meant nothing by that, I apologize.”

Janis hums under her breath before continuing the interrogation. “What was your experience working with Sir Rodney?”

“Oh, it was like-like working with a genius,” Garrow replies. “He was… a hard man, but then, this is a hard world. Always people who want to steal from you. And-and he trusted me… but-oh-“

“Are you feeling quite well?” Janis asks in concern as the man before her suddenly beings rocking much more violently and his volume escalates.

“I’m sorry-his eye,” Garrow says frantically. “I remember-“

“Do you need anything?” Janis asks, already preparing to reach for the phial of his medication in her pocket. She wants to get as much out of him as she can before giving it to him, but she will if it becomes necessary.

“I-I feel bad, I can hear-“ Garrow says, looking around him to either side, appearing to see something that Cady and Janis can’t. “No-no. Nothing, I feel better now. My apologies.”

Janis gives him another moment to gather himself before she continues. “Please tell me what you can recall seeing yesterday.”

“The-the room was so hot, I had to remove my glasses,” the man begins much more quietly. So the myopic spectacles are his. “I was not feeling very well in there.”

“And you found the body?”

“I saw the-the knife, you know,” Garrow says, growing frantic again. “Flying through the air! And the blood, I tried to-to-to escape, I don’t-don’t remember-“

“You saw the knife? Are you able to describe it?”

“It was as if-if in a nightmare,” Garrow shudders, hunching in on himself. “E-everything happened so fast. It-it was shining like-like gold.”

“Gold? Hm,” Janis says under her breath before she moves on. “Had you noticed any strange behavior from Sir Rodney, as of recent?”

Garrow seems to think for a moment before he gives a weak nod. “He-he had been rather secretive these past few days.”

“Can you provide me any examples?”

“Last Thursday,” Garrow says. “I saw him leave. It-it was very late when he re-returned. He showed me some-some wet coins, Roman coins, and… he started to laugh.”

Janis pulls the coin she found out of her pocket. “Something like this?”

“Oh, yes,” the man nods. “This is the coin he showed to me. It-it is from the third century!”

“It must be very rare.”

“N-no, I don’t know.”

Janis pockets the coin again before pulling out Sir Rodney’s ring. Before she can even fully remove it, Garrow recoils and starts rocking heavily again.

“His ring! It should be destroyed!”

“Why do you say that?” Janis asks calmly, removing it from sight in an attempt to alleviate some distress.

“It-it is a cursed ring,” Garrow says. “And it is after me now! I know it! I shouldn’t have worked on it, it is too late now!”

Janis won’t be able to get any more information from him in this state, and offers Garrow his phial of medication. He visibly relaxes upon the sight of it and reaches for it hesitantly. Janis nods.

“Thank you,” Garrow says as he removes the cork. “This will help me to calm down.”

“Do be careful with the dosage,” Janis says meaningfully. Garrow nods, but Janis leans against the table almost threateningly. “I mean it. Now, do you know anything about the bottle of champagne on ice in the changing room?”

“What? No.” Garrow says confusedly once he’s taken his medicine and had a moment to gather himself once again. Janis nods and clicks her tongue against her teeth slightly.

“What about the silver in the brazier, did you put it there?”

“It didn’t help, the power is too strong,” Garrow replies, seeming to grow anxious again. Janis apparently decides to end with that, and has Garrow escorted back into the cell.

“That last one didn’t seem very well, Janis,” Cady says anxiously. “He seems very disturbed.”

“That, or he is a good actor,” Janis nods, flagging down a cab to take them home.

————-

“Janis?” Cady asks from the sofa that evening. Janis turns from where she’s stoking the fire in the hearth.

“Yes?”

“Why… why did you choose to be with me?” Cady asks quietly. Janis knew she still had something on her mind. “Do I not make things more difficult?”

“Come here,” Janis coaxes, reaching out for her. Cady wraps her arms around Janis’ waist and rests her head on her shoulder. Janis holds her as well, and gently sways them around. “You know me well enough by now to know when I am lying, so I won’t say things won’t be more difficult for us.

“But you must know that you make things much better, my darling. I’m loathe to admit it, but there have been cases I would have been unable to solve without your aid. And you gave me a reason to stop my old habits, who knows where I would be if I had continued? You make me… human. Your love is my most useful detective tool.”

“Oh.” Cady says gently. “You make me better too.”

“I’m not sure I can believe that,” Janis chuckles quietly, but Cady shakes her head.

“You have. I was so uptight when I moved here, you help me slow down, ironically. You help me see things from a new perspective. Stop and appreciate the little details in things I would never have even seen otherwise. And you know how dark my world was when we first met. The things I had been through. But you brightened things up for me. Gave me a reason to stay.”

“I’m glad, then,” Janis murmurs, kissing Cady’s forehead. “Did you know I was never looking for a roommate?”

“You weren’t?” Cady asks, pulling back slightly.

“No,” Janis laughs. “I had told Aaron I found a flat in London, and he asked how I was planning on making rent. I guess he didn’t believe I could, and took it upon himself to find me a flatmate to help. He had tried a few times prior, but I refused every one until he brought you to me. I just got lucky that you could tolerate my presence as well.”

“I do more than tolerate you, my love,” Cady murmurs. “I always have. But I’m glad you took a liking to me, I would never have even gone with him if I knew you never wanted me here.”

“I did, after we first spoke. I knew you had something special to you,” Janis hums. Cady beams and cuddles back into her, following along with Janis’ slow waltz around the living room. After a second, she pipes up again.

“Jay?”

“Hmm?”

“What cases were they? That I helped you solve?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Janis teases. Cady whines in defeat. “Maybe we’ll read through some of your old case write ups and see if you can work out which ones they were.”

“Okay,” Cady whines. Janis kisses her gently to make her smile. Cady grins weakly and kisses her back.

“One moment, my dear,” Janis says, appearing to remember something. Cady pouts again but watches as Janis removes something from her coat pocket and heads to the map of London next to the door. “You’re good at mind game things, come help with this.”

Cady tilts her head in confusion, but comes up behind her. Janis is holding up the map they found among Sir Rodney’s belongings and trying to piece out where it is. “May I?”

Janis nods, so Cady gently plucks it from her fingertips and removes the framed map from the wall to carry both over to the desk. She flicks the small lamp on, which makes the paper easier to see through. She finds the matching section down near the bottom right corner.

“There.”

“Ah,” Janis says eagerly. “You up for a trip?”

“Always,” Cady says with a smile, craning her head back to look at her. Janis kisses her before running off to her room.

“Then pack a bag!”

————-

The next afternoon finds them on the site of an archaeological dig.

“Are you sure this is the right place, madams?” Their cab driver asks in concern. Janis turns around to see where they are, then to Cady, before she gives a nod.

“Certainly seems promising. I’d ask you to wait here, you’ll be paid for your time,” Janis replies as she holds out a hand to help Cady down.

“It’s rather eerie here,” Cady says, refusing to let go of Janis’ hand as they approach the gate. She shudders when a slight breeze blows through.

“We shouldn’t be terribly long,” Janis comforts. “And by the looks of things nobody is here, we’ve done far more dangerous and unsettling things.”

“Yes, that gives me so much more confidence,” Cady grumbles. “Look.”

Janis does, looking to the sign Cady is pointing to. It lists the name of the site, but has been painted over to say it’s been abandoned until further notice.

“Why would Sir Rodney come here, if it’s been abandoned?”

“Let’s find out,” Janis replies boldly, opening the gate and leading Cady in. They head to a cabin near the entrance first.

“They left the door open?” Cady asks in concern.

“They either were in great haste or rather careless,” Janis tuts, heading inside. There’s a desk directly across from the door covered in various artifacts. Janis takes a thick document from it, and skims through pages detailing the cult of Mithras. A map is tacked to the wall just above her. “We seem to be in the heart of an old Roman city, my dear.”

“I don’t particularly care for it,” Cady mumbles, arms crossed over her chest. “Why was it abandoned?”

“I’m not sure,” Janis replies. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t wish to, my darling. I can finish up here and meet you later.”

“No,” Cady insists. “It’s not safe here, I’m not leaving you here alone. I just wish you’d hurry.”

“I will, dearest,” Janis replies, kissing Cady’s forehead. Cady nods and enters the room further, turning to a desk just inside the door.

“What are these little cubes?”

“I have no idea,” Janis replies. “Nobody here to miss them, they could be useful.”

Cady manages to stuff all of them into her various pockets and under her skirts to take home. Janis chuckles affectionately. She takes a few more documents explaining more about Mithras, and a special curved, golden knife used in bull sacrifices.

“I think that’s everything of interest here,” Janis says, dashing back out the door and over to a series of very rickety walkways leading to various other areas of the site. She heads straight first, down a winding sort of path to a large fresco.

“Sarkisian, please be careful,” Cady calls anxiously from above. “We have no way of knowing when someone was last here, these paths could collapse at any moment.”

“I’m fine, darling,” Janis calls back from below. She points to the fresco she’s standing on. “It’s the cyclops. And Vulcan, at a forge.”

“Interesting,” Cady says, sounding as if she couldn’t care less. “Now come back.”

Janis does, heading up a slightly crumbled marble staircase back to Cady’s level. Cady walks around on solid ground to meet her and they both head over to some rigs. Janis grabs some rope resting on a crate.

“What is that for?”

“Not a clue. You never know,” Janis replies with a shrug. “Help me with this, there’s something down here.”

Cady helps tug on a rope pulley, bringing up a toolbox from the bottom of one of the rigs. Janis takes and pockets a sort of trowel, but leaves the rest of the archaeological instruments where they are.

Cady looks very relieved as Janis heads over to what remains of a building, instead of darting around some very deep holes. At least the ground is solid over here, and things are less likely to collapse on their heads.

Janis bends over a crate resting on the floor and pulls out a few construction hooks. Cady grows even more concerned than she was earlier when she pockets them as well.

“Who are these meant to be, Janis?” She asks of some nearby statues. She knows she’ll never be able to stop her partner being reckless. Janis follows her out of the building and over to them.

“That’s Neptune, god of the sea,” Janis says, pointing to the one on the far left. “And that’s Minerva.”

“And the middle two?”

“I’d guess Venus and… someone,” Janis replies. “I’ve not read up on Roman mythology in quite a while.”

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Cady teases, turning back around. “The great Janis Sarkisian doesn’t know something.”

“There’s a great many things I don’t know,” Janis replies casually, examining a statue of a bull they can now see. “For example, what happened to this leg?”

“Weather, I would guess, surely?” Cady replies, heading to her side. The hind left leg of the bull is disconnected from the hip.

“Most probably, yes,” Janis agrees. “Well done, love. This way.”

“Oh, not more of these dreadful walkways,” Cady pleads as Janis steps onto yet another rickety path. She follows Janis down this one, for… safety.

“A site like this would have had a hundred people working, and they all crossed these with no issue,” Janis comforts yet again. “I have good reflexes and I know how to fall, darling. I’m fine.”

Cady nods shakily as they reach the bottom and look around. Janis dashes over to an area she observes to have been covered with mud. Intentionally, and recently. She pulls out the trowel she ‘borrowed’ earlier and scrapes it away in chunks, revealing another fresco.

“The frigidarium,” Janis pants, pointing to the label. “At the baths. Someone covered this up intentionally.”

“Why?”

“You ask a great many questions I cannot answer, my dear Heron,” Janis says. “I’ll have to investigate there. Come along back up, I want to check this other shed.”

“What is this railway for?” Cady asks once they’ve followed the wood walkways back to the surface.

“Removing excess rubble,” Janis replies, carefully crossing over to the area of the shed. Yet again, the door has been left open. She heads to some shelves directly across from the door, and finds a drafted letter to Sir Gregory Pitkin’s boss, complaining of his behavior. “Seems Sir Rodney had a remarkable amount of control over his archaeological sites.”

“So Sir Gregory has motive,” Cady says.

“He does indeed,” Janis hums concernedly. “Ooh, a crossbow.”

“No,” Cady says immediately. It’s been disassembled, thankfully for her. “You’re bad enough with a simple pistol.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Janis scoffs. “I’m an excellent shot.”

“Need I remind you how many pigs’ carcasses we had to harpoon before you got it correct?” Cady says.

“And need I remind you that I only missed four out of ten vases? Blindfolded?” Janis retaliates.

“I’m still finding bits of china in my bedsheets,” Cady grumbles. “You had to do that in our flat? You nearly shot me.”

“Nonsense, I was aiming for the vases,” Janis tuts. “Anyway, one last thing.”

“Thank heavens,” Cady huffs, following Janis to a small platform over the river. A bulletin board of sorts sits to the left, and Janis heads to observe it. Another map of the site and a schematic of a gastraphetes are tacked up.

“They used the crossbow and gastraphetes for sieges,” Janis explains.

“How lovely,” Cady says. “Have you finished?”

“Yes, my dear, we’re done,” Janis says, taking her hand to lead her off site and back to the cab.

————-

Cady refuses to let Janis go that night. Janis allows her to cling to her and cuddle close as they lie beside one another in bed.

“What are you thinking about?” Janis murmurs gently, stroking the backs of her fingers over Cady’s cheeks.

“Nothing important,” Cady whispers back, pressing her face into Janis’ neck.

“Everything about you is important to me,” Janis insists quietly, twisting a few of Cady’s long curls around her fingers. “You’ve been acting strangely lately, I just want to make sure you’re alright, my darling.”

Cady nods against her with a quiet sigh. “I am. I’m more than alright. I just… ever since we’ve been courting, I’m… realizing just how dangerous this all is. I’ve nearly lost you twice in this case alone, and we’re still nowhere near solving it. Everything we do is so risky.

“And as much as I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you, you getting injured, or worse… I feel that asking you to stop would be somehow worse. Everything we do is so ingrained into who you are. If I made you retire you’d resent me forever as we lived out our boring, miserable lives. I’m simply trying to appreciate what the risk brings with it. But I’m not quite sure how yet.”

Janis blinks a few times as Cady finishes speaking, trying to process everything she’s just said. After a few moments, she takes a breath to speak. “It is a rather delicate balance. And I do have to admit the danger of it all gives me a rush like no other; the thrill of the chase is a key part of my desire. But, I’ve stepped back slightly. The cases I’m willing to take now are significantly less extreme than the ones I used to go for.

“Because I have… a purpose, now. In you. I have more than a companion. I have someone I provide for, someone I care for, and care about greatly. I have… I have a future in you, that I don’t have in my work. I have something to strive for. I have a life with you, and that’s something I value above anything. I don’t want you worrying for my safety like this, I hate seeing you so anxious. I have you to return to at the end of each day, I take great care to make sure I do. It may not seem it, but I take much time to work out any potential consequences of risks and ways I could be injured.”

“I believe you,” Cady nods. “I’m just… I don’t know. I know we’ve known one another for so many years, but I somehow feel that I’ve only just gotten you. I have what I dreamed of for so long. I’m afraid to lose it.”

“You won’t,” Janis promises. “Not for a long time. I’ll always come back to you.”

“I love you,” Cady replies, cuddling back into her spot.

“I love you too, my darling.”

Cady is silent for a long time, just breathing in her love and enjoying the moment. But she pipes up again when Janis shifts slightly and wraps an arm around her waist. “You said you want a future with me. Do you mean that you’ll retire?”

“Eventually, yes,” Janis agrees. “I’d be willing to say I’ll have to at some point. My body will eventually begin to deteriorate, along with my mind. Or maybe one day I’ll decide the lifestyle isn’t for me anymore. But I’ve been blessed with a rare opportunity for a life of excitement that I have no desire to leave any time soon.”

“I can’t imagine you retired, you’ll still be running me ragged in our old age,” Cady chuckles. “What do you think we’ll do?”

“I’ve always liked Sussex,” Janis murmurs. “The countryside. And… erm…”

“What? You’re all pink,” Cady teases, kissing Janis’ warm cheek. “Come on, you can tell me.”

“I quite like bees,” Janis says quietly, flushing a spectacular shade of scarlet. “I’d like to keep a few hives. Make honey.”

“You like bees?” Cady asks, rolling Janis onto her back and hovering over her. Janis nods with a slight pout that Cady leans down to kiss away. “Why are you so embarrassed? I think it’s sweet. I would never have expected you to enjoy something like that.”

“That’s why,” Janis replies quietly. “Everyone thinks I’m just… interested in death and the macabre. Something as cute as bees doesn’t fit my reputation.”

“I don’t want your reputation,” Cady says. “I want to know you. Who you really are. Tell me about your bees, my love.”

“Er… okay,” Janis says. Cady presses back against her as Janis starts rattling off facts she knows about her favorite species. They both drift off tangled in each other, dreaming about some lovely beehives in the countryside.

————-

Janis and Cady return to the Roman baths the next morning. Mr. Phillips greets them as they enter, and eagerly informs Janis that the rubble has been cleared from the corridor to the frigidarium, as Janis had requested. Cady seems particularly displeased that Janis wants to enter the room that very nearly collapsed on her, but she just remembers what Janis told her yesterday and tries to calm herself.

Cady follows Janis down the hall and into a rather large bathing room. It’s overgrown and dilapidated, but still very beautiful. A series of pillars outline the large bath, and Janis approaches the one closest to them when she notices a symbol etched into the base. She traces her fingers around it and pushes, revealing it to be a sort of mechanism.

“Heron, could you mark this symbol down?” She asks, upon seeing there to be a sort of key-shaped symbol drawn that was previously hidden by the button mechanism. Cady carefully copies it down in her notebook and follows as Janis moves to the other pillars.

Nearly every statue turns out to have one of the mechanisms, but only three have symbols hidden inside. Cady watches as Janis seems to align the symbols in her mind and suddenly dashes over to a bust tucked against a wall. Janis rotates it, causing a great rumbling to echo through the room as a door opens.

“Incredible,” Cady breathes. Janis grins at her slightly and takes her hand, leading her towards the door. The door leads to a small room, with an open trapdoor. “Not more of this.”

Janis takes hold of the rope hanging into the door and climbs down. Cady follows anxiously, nearly falling until Janis grabs her around the waist and helps her down.

“What is this place?”

“I am still unsure,” Janis hums, looking around at where they’ve found themselves. “But everything points to it being the last place visited by Sir Rodney. I have reason to believe we’re approaching the end of this case, my dear Heron.”

“Thank heavens for that,” Cady grumbles. She points to the corner nearest the door, where several items lay apparently forgotten. “What could those be for?”

Janis heads over to investigate, taking and lighting the lantern to use. “A broken glass negative, and… an ice maker.”

“Why would Sir Rodney have brought such a device here?”

“With any luck we shall know soon, my darling. Only one way forward,” Janis replies.

“Or we could go back,” Cady mumbles unhappily, following her companion. “Whole place apt to crumble any minute, and all. Oh, of course not.”

“Look at this,” Janis says, pointing to one of the frescos on the wall. She’s either not heard Cady or chosen to ignore her complaints. Most probably the latter. “Mithras again.”

“It is beautiful,” Cady agrees. It’s clearly ancient and faded, but she can still see the fine details. Janis has already moved on to the next fresco. “A ladder?”

“Or a hierarchy,” Janis nods. Cady carefully writes down all of the symbols in the order they go in, just in case. “Right, this way.”

“Oh god,” Cady shudders when they enter the next room. It appears to be a catacombs of sorts. The walls are lined with mummies, and several large pillars outline the center passage through it. To Cady’s horror, large sections of each pillar are constructed from human bones and skulls.

“Heron, come look at this,” Janis calls, crouched against one of the far walls to look at something. Cady heads over and finds her to be examining yet another skeleton. “See his shoe. I’d date it to be medieval at best. This man was a tomb raider.”

“But look at his eye,” Cady says with a slight shudder. “His orbit is broken. This man met a rather similar fate to Sir Rodney. How dreadful.”

“‘By the eye he was punished for he saw what he was not worthy’,” Janis recites, recalling a transcript she’d read earlier. “Hm. Well, that’s enough of that.”

Cady gratefully leaves the corpse and follows Janis as she heads to examine the large pillars. They have small gaps in them, which contain brushwood. Janis lights the three she can, which causes shadows in certain shapes to be cast on the floor. But one of the pillars has collapsed.

“There should be a plate here,” Janis says. “Someone has removed… oh! Heron, wait here!”

“Wait, I don’t-“ Cady stutters, but Janis thrusts the lantern at her and runs off. Cady crosses her arms and tries not to think about where she is. It’s not as if she’s not well acquainted with death and corpses, but she still doesn’t care to keep their company.

Luckily for her, Janis is back within five minutes. There was a deafening metallic clang and then a small series of thuds, but Janis seems fine. She re-enters the catacombs carrying the metal plate she found in Sir Rodney’s office.

“Are you alright?” Cady asks as Janis dusts herself off slightly. “I heard noises.”

“Fell off the rope this time, I’m fine,” Janis replies quietly. So Janis had fallen through the trapdoor. Of course. “Over here, my love.”

Cady follows with the lantern as Janis heads back to the collapsed pillar. Janis holds up the plate to the same height as the others and closes her eyes. After a few seconds she opens them again, and heads to the shadows on the floor.

“A trident, a bull, and a bridge. Leads to Mithras,” Janis says, pointing to each. Cady can’t see the bridge, since that’s the one missing, but she trusts her partner.

“The dig site,” Cady realizes. “The statue of Neptune, and then the bull. The bridge must be missing.”

Janis looks at her with wide eyes, cupping her face gently and smashing their lips together. Cady gasps quietly before responding in kind.

“You have much more use than I think anyone gives you credit for,” Janis murmurs. “Another case I may never have solved without you.”

Cady smiles at her and kisses her again. “Can we please leave this place now?”

Janis chuckles and nods. “Yes, come along, my dear.”

“Thank goodness.”

————-

“Darling?” Janis calls from her analysis table the next afternoon. Cady pops her head out from her bedroom.

“Yes, Honeybee?”

“Honeybee?” Janis squeaks, flushing bright red. Cady chuckles and heads over to her.

“You said you like bees, I thought it was sweet,” she murmurs, kissing just beneath Janis’ ear. “Do you not like it?”

“No!” Janis says immediately. “No, I-I like it. Just… maybe not while I’m working.”

“Understood. What do you need, my love?” Cady laughs gently.

“I’d like to work out the purpose of these cubes,” Janis says, showing off the twelve cubes they had found the last time they were at the archaeological dig. “I thought it would be rather like a jigsaw puzzle, we could work on it together.”

“It does look that way,” Cady hums, nodding and picking up a few. “Come along.”

Janis grabs the rest and follows, sitting with Cady in front of the fireplace. Cady starts sorting them into groups based on where the notches are to make it easier for them. Janis knows she could have solved it on her own, probably in much less time, but this gives her an excuse to do something almost peaceful with her partner.

So, they sit and puzzle, chatting about things Janis used to find dull. With Cady even the most aimless of conversation is suddenly exciting and new. She hopes it stays this way. About half an hour later, the object is complete.

“It’s a mould,” Janis says. “Huh.”

“What does it make?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Janis says, delicately moving it back to her analysis table. Cady watches as she makes a quick dry plaster solution and pours it into the mould. A few moments later, when it’s solidified, Janis cracks the cubes apart to reveal…

“This is very similar to the knife that killed Sir Rodney,” Cady says in concern, as Janis holds out a small knife with a curved blade.

“You should not jump to any hasty conclusions, my darling,” Janis chides gently. “I’ll need to run some more tests. You up for another puzzle?”

“Always,” Cady grins, flipping the knife around a few times before resting it on the table. Janis lays out the pieces of the broken glass negative they had found while exploring beneath the frigidarium. This goes a bit quicker, since they can see where the pieces should fit together more easily.

“Could you process this with your old equipment?”

Cady nods, and carefully transfers everything to a tray to keep it together properly. She’s able to transfer it to photo paper, and gives the product to Janis to develop. Janis carefully prepares the proper chemicals and swipes them over the photograph. Cady comes to peek at what has been revealed.

“This is Sir Rodney, and another archaeologist,” Janis says. “Eating ice-cream in front of the Pyramids of Giza, in Egypt.”

“‘Ice-cream in the desert, we are indebted to the Romans who developed the technique’,” Cady reads from a note in the corner. “So salt and ice can be used to create ice-cream. That’s quite remarkable!”

“Indeed,” Janis murmurs in concern. “Thank you for your assistance, my dear.”

“Of course! Do you have anything else you need me for at the moment?” Cady chirps. Janis looks at the photograph once again.

“Actually… yes,” she hums. “Could you go purchase some ice?”

“Ice?”

“And salt?”

“Er… okay,” Cady replies. It’s far from the strangest thing Janis has asked her to acquire. Maybe Janis wants to make ice cream too. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Thank you darling,” Janis replies, kissing Cady goodbye as she tugs on her coat and heads out the door.

In the meantime, Janis runs a different experiment. She cleans out the pot she used to make her plaster solution carefully, and prepares her gas burner. She melts the lump of silver they had found in the brazier in the sauna, and pours it into the mould. It’s a near perfect fit. Janis pulls out the silver knife and stares at it, flipping it around in her hands. One possible explanation solved.

—-

Cady comes crashing through the door roughly an hour later, brandishing a small sack of salt and a brick of ice. She drops both at her feet carefully and is panting slightly as she unbuttons her coat once more. “Ice is… heavier… than I remember.”

“Are you alright?” Janis chuckles, kissing her in greeting and picking up her materials. Cady nods and follows her back over to her work table.

“What are you planning with it?”

“Ice knife.”

“What?”

“I’m going to make an ice knife,” Janis replies. She places the brick of ice in a wooden bucket and grabs her chisel, and pours the salt into another smaller container. The mould is placed into the middle of the ice cream machine they had found in the catacombs, and filled with water. Janis uses her chisel to produce some ice chips and surrounds the mould. “Could you pour a bit of the salt in?”

Cady carefully covers the ice chips with the salt, and they repeat the process until the temperature is low and steady enough to have frozen the water solid. Janis carefully pulls the mould out and splits it open once more to reveal the weapon.

“Either way, it was rather ingenious to create a weapon that could dissolve at the scene of the crime,” Cady says, picking up the silver knife.

“Yes, quite,” Janis hums. “All that’s left is to find Mithras.”

“Must we?” Cady whines.

“Regretfully, yes,” Janis chuckles. “Remember what we spoke of, dearest. We’ve been through many a case together and come out the other side. Now we shall do so hand in hand.”

Cady grins weakly at that and cuddles into her shoulder. They don’t have to investigate until tomorrow. She’s going to take all the time to cuddle her partner she can get.

————-

Janis heads back to Scotland Yard the next morning, wanting to gather as much information about Mithras as she can from the suspects before she attempts to go searching herself. Blinkhorn goes first.

“Hello again. What are you able to tell me about Mithras?” Janis begins, standing across the table from him. Blinkhorn lights up.

“Oh, so much,” he says eagerly. “It was the focus of our work. Why do you ask?”

“Were you searching for the Golden Knife?”

“Ah, I see you are an amateur,” Blinkhorn chuckles. Janis furrows her brow but lets him talk. “Yes, the Golden Knife was our… Holy Grail, so to speak. It is said that it bears the only explanation of the ritual of the Cult of Mithras.”

“I believe I read something about immortality?” Janis questions. Blinkhorn nods.

“A simple myth. It is said that the knife would provide immortality, to only the worthy one. And yet it is cursed, and it would kill you if you were not initiated.”

“And did you expect to find the Knife at the baths?”

“Well… Sir Rodney believed it might be. Did you see the knife representations around? They are extraordinary,” Blinkhorn sighs. “Oh, it’s a tragedy that he has passed away. And taken all his secrets with him. As soon as I am released I shall continue my researches. In his memory.”

“How kind,” Janis says dryly. “Thank you for your time.”

Blinkhorn is then exchanged for Pitkin, who grumbles the whole way across the hallway to the interrogation room, and looks as if he’s ready to spit on Janis when she sits across from him once more. “I understand that the paintings at the baths are focused on Mithras?”

“Yes. They are what make the place so remarkable,” Pitkin replies angrily.

“Are they why Sir Rodney came here?”

“He believed an important ritual item, the Golden Knife, was hidden somewhere around thr area of the baths,” Pitkin says. “I admit it would be wonderful, if it were true.”

“You are not concerned by the… reputation, of this artifact?” Janis asks, leaning back in her chair as if they’re simply having a casual conversation. Pitkin chuckles sardonically.

“What, you mean the curse? Before someone is dead, it is a blessing. After they die, it becomes a curse. Ha.”

Cady raises her eyebrows at Janis as Pitkin is exchanged for Garrow. He still doesn’t seem particularly well. But Cady supposes that spending several days in a cell would have significant effects on just about anyone.

Janis sits across from him and watches as he begins rocking slightly, the way he did the first time. “Could you tell me about the Cult of Mithras?”

Garrow snaps his head up to look at her, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “No! There is nothing to say! We are not the worthy ones.”

“But Sir Rodney believed that he was?” Janis asks, leaning forwards slightly.

“He was-was wrong! I have visions,” Garrow cries. “The Golden Knife, the-the mummy! Oh, it is all my fault!”

“Calm yourself, Mr. Garrow,” Janis insists. Garrow takes his phial of medication from his pocket and swallows a portion just before he is escorted back to the cell.

Now to find Mithras themselves.

————

Cady pouts slightly as they pull up to the archaeological dig once more, but she smiles as Janis carefully takes her hand to help her out of the cab.

“Would you be so kind as to hold these, my dear?” Janis asks, picking up the ropes and hooks she had left near the gate on their last visit. Cady holds out her arms, and Janis rests them in her hold. “Thank you. This way, we shan’t be terribly long.”

“We had better not,” Cady grumbles, following Janis to the far cabin near the river. Janis rubs her hands together excitedly when she gets to use the crossbow. It has been deconstructed, but Janis pieces everything together expertly in less than five minutes.

Janis carefully ties the ropes to the hooks, and loads the first into the gastraphetes. From the platform over the water, she takes aim at a pillar about fifty feet away.

“Stand back, my love,” Janis orders. “I am not well practiced in this exercise. Yet.”

Cady stands off to the side anxiously, watching as Janis holds her breath and fires. She misses the first time, but makes contact with the leftmost ring on her second shot. She ties the other end of the rope to the platform and reloads.

Once all three of the rings have been hooked and the ropes tied, Janis carefully tests the strength of them and beckons Cady back over.

“Would you care to go first?”

“No,” Cady says anxiously. “But I will. Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Not at all. Ready?” Janis asks, taking her hand and helping her onto their makeshift bridge. “Hold right to the sides and don’t look down. I’ll be right behind you.”

Cady listens, gripping the rope so tightly her knuckles turn white. She carefully inches her way across the rapid river below, until she reaches the far side. Janis follows, and accepts Cady’s hand to be pulled onto the platform. They head into the door that had been previously hidden to them, and down yet another trapdoor.

“Are we in the hidden temple?” Cady asks.

“I am not sure. We should be careful,” Janis replies, pulling out and lighting her lantern once again. She holds it in her left hand and Cady’s hand with her right, and they set off.

A staircase takes them down still further, until they enter an almost circular room, with several ways out. A symbol marks the floor and above each door. They look strangely familiar.

“Did you bring your notebook, my darling?”

“Always,” Cady replies, pulling it from her pocket. Janis takes it and flips through pages of various things until she finds the drawing Cady made of the hierarchy fresco beneath the frigidarium. The symbol of the door they just came through is one listed on the bottom level. Time to work their way up.

“Stay close to me, we should tread carefully,” Janis says. Cady nods anxiously and squeezes her hand. Janis looks back up from the book and picks a corridor, hoping desperately that her theory is correct and she doesn’t get them horrifically lost.

They head through a few tunnels, getting about a third of the way up the ladder in the drawing. One of the rooms they enter has every path blocked by a gate. A pillar sits in the middle of the room, with three columns and several stones on it.

“What do we do?”

“What we always do. Solve another puzzle,” Janis replies, carefully picking up a stone. When she rests it on a column, it sinks in slightly. Cady helps choose which stones should go where, until all three are at the same level. When they get it correct, the gates lift with a thunderous rumbling. “Back to it.”

Janis continues following the drawing, leading them through the doors with the proper symbols. Just at the end, they reach a long staircase up.

“Where are we?” Cady asks, looking around. A series of metal gates surround them, along with several small waterfalls. Directly across from them is a statue.

“The temple of Mithras,” Janis murmurs, approaching it.

“The golden knife,” Cady breathes, pointing to his hand. “But how to get it?”

“We shall find a way,” Janis answers, bending down to inspect a broken lamp. “This is not old, the oil is still fresh.”

“Perhaps Sir Rodney left it?” Cady inquires.

“No, I do not think so,” Janis says, standing once more. “He passed no further than the catacombs under the frigidarium.”

“So that means…”

“The murderer left this lamp,” Janis confirms. She heads back to the center of the room and looks around, spying a few levers on the wall inside one of the gates. “Wait here, my love, I believe this to be a two-person job.”

Cady listens, and waits for Janis to call instructions to her. Janis twists the lever in front of her, which locks her in but opens a way for Cady to go.

“What opened?” Janis calls.

“A gate, here,” Cady calls back. “Shall I go through?”

“Please,” Janis says. Cady goes through. “Have you any levers?”

“Yes, there’s one here,” Cady replies.

“Turn that,” Janis says. Cady does, holding it until she hears Janis say to let go. They continue this, calling instructions to one another and testing levers, until a way opens for Janis to escape, and Cady has a lever to open the gate in front of the statue of Mithras.

Janis approaches and carefully takes it, before she heads back to her series of levers and gates to free her partner. There’s a staircase out to the surface that has been blocked by yet another gate. They coach each other through until it’s opened, and escape into the daylight hand in hand, as Janis promised.

—-

Janis goes into her mind palace once they’re back in a cab. Cady has learned over the many years of their relationship that speaking to her in this state is effectively useless. Janis is connecting many dots in her mind, and so focused that she’s shut away all external stimulation.

Cady watches as Janis’ eyes move under her eyelids, her brain firing off rapid signals as she pieces together clues and information to conclude the case. Just as they pull back onto Baker Street, her eyes snap open and she gives a coy grin.

“Have you got it?” Cady asks, despite already knowing the answer.

“Have I indeed,” Janis replies, taking her hand and running back up to their flat.

————-

Janis carefully rests the Golden Knife on the wooden table.

Blinkhorn looks up at her in shock, gently taking it between his fingers to examine. “Is this… the Golden Knife? How did you find it?”

“I am also rather fond of digging, Mr. Blinkhorn,” Janis replies casually. “One never knows what one might find. On occasion, exceptional rarities such as this. The thrill of the chase, one’s enhanced reputation. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Are-are you suggesting that-“

“I am not suggesting anything, Mr. Blinkhorn. I know,” Janis replies. “You found the knife. You are an intelligent man. The ‘ghost’ knife shall remain one of the most ingenious creations I have seen in my career, I do assure you.”

“Wait, are you accusing me of the murder?” Blinkhorn says in alarm. “No! I-I deny it!”

“There is no use in denying it, Mr. Blinkhorn. I know the truth,” Janis says calmly. “You had no choice. Because it is you who discovered the Golden Knife, and therefore you who must be the murderer. Sir Rodney was prepared to take all the credit for the remarkable discovery, when in fact it was your work.

“He would have destroyed you, to ensure the truth was never revealed. But I uphold the truth. And I shall tell it.”

“What-what do you mean? That you will spare me?”

“What I mean is that everyone deserves a second chance,” Janis says. “Someone very important to me taught me that. I shall be following your career with utmost interest. Farewell.”

“Fare-farewell, Ms. Sarkisian,” Blinkhorn stutters.

————-

“Sarkisian, I am afraid I don’t understand how you’ve come to this conclusion,” Inspector Hubbard says, sitting across from her in the living room while Cady tends to the fire. She also turns around to look at her partner, curious to see how she solved the case.

“Shall I begin with the method?” Janis asks, clearly relishing in the opportunity to brag. Some things never change. Both of her companions nod, so she begins. “I had only to observe the pool of blood around the body. You surely must have noticed it to be significantly thinner than typical, and that it had not coagulated properly. A simple analysis revealed it to be heavily diluted with water. The steam in the room at the time would not have been sufficient enough to cause dilution of that degree.

“I admit, I didn’t know what the cause would be, until we discovered the ice cream maker in the catacombs. The killer produced an ice knife there, and stored it in the bucket of champagne until it was the proper time. Once they were in the steam room, he killed Sir Rodney, and the heat caused it to melt rapidly.”

“Incredible,” Damian says. “I would’ve thought it to be the silver you found.”

“I had only to speak to Mr. Garrow to dismiss that conclusion. He is a superstitious fellow, and he put the silver in the brazier for spiritual protection,” Janis explains.

“And how did you deduce it to be Blinkhorn? That’s the bit I’m missing.” Cady asks. Damian looks back and forth between his companions, noticing the way they’re looking at one another. He smiles slightly. They deserve happiness together.

“Because he is, given a significant amount of critical thought, the only suspect that would have made sense. Garrow was not of sound mind, he was too weak to have carried out such an elaborate and well planned crime. Pitkin, on the other hand, would not have served to gain anything from Sir Rodney’s death. He had no way of knowing whether the murder would have damaged the baths’ reputation, and he was not working closely with Sir Rodney to begin with. He had slight motive, but compared to Blinkhorn’s it’s vastly insignificant.

“Blinkhorn had made one of the most astounding archaeological discoveries of our era, and Sir Rodney was prepared to trample him to take the credit for it. So, he had no choice but to get rid of Sir Rodney to defend his own career. He chose a rather appropriate fate for him, I must say.”

“Well, I thank you for bringing this case to a close, and for revealing to us Sir Rodney’s true nature. We shall be keeping a close eye on Blinkhorn regardless, but he has been released,” Damian says, standing to leave. Janis follows him to see him out. “And on a personal note, my congratulations. It’s about time. I wish you all the happiness.”

“Maybe you’ll make a fine detective yet,” Janis chuckles. “My thanks, Damian. Farewell.”

Damian tips his hat and takes his leave. Janis returns to Cady and pulls her into an embrace.

“Another one for your stories,” she murmurs, looking into Cady’s blue eyes. “And one with several fond memories for me.”

“Most definitely,” Cady says, threading her arms around Janis’ neck and pressing up to kiss her. “I regret I can’t share more details of the events of this one. But I shall get to work on it immediately.”

“Maybe not immediately,” Janis coaxes. “I, for one, am quite tired.”

“Maybe not immediately,” Cady agrees with a chuckle. “Come to bed, Honeybee.”

“Always, my love.���

Until our next adventure.

----------

hope you enjoyed the adventures of... sherlockisian?? and watsheron??

anyway, back to modern day, I'm finishing up a few things for this blog (giving it a fresh coat of paint so to speak) and then ill have some exciting things coming up!! for me anyway, i hope y'all are into it too. just keep an eye out for things coming over the next few days!!

as always, thank you so much for reading, and ill see you all next week!!

lots of love,

ezzy

[blue-eyed-korra]

Is Dylan really Kieran? A Theory Dissection:

So I’ve taken the time to process everything that’s happened in the amazing season finale of Purple Hyacinth because I didn’t want to rush into posting about it and I really wanted to let my thoughts about it simmer for a bit. I also decided to reread the entire season over the course of a couple days to get the best idea of how it worked as a whole. Once again if you haven’t read this yet please do yourself a favour and check it out it’s really phenomenal.

I’ll probably make a few posts about PH over the next couple weeks as we wait for season 2. However I won’t post an analysis of the finale mainly because Lanxyuu already did an amazing job of that already. Check it out if you’ve got the time, it’s 10000 words of pure analytical gold. Writing about any of that would be redundant. That being said the first thing I’m gonna talk about is the whole ‘Is Kieran actually Dylan’ theory that’s the new hot thing in the fandom, mainly because I’ve received a lot of requests to discuss it and also because I feel like I can add my own points to the debate.

So let’s just get it out of the way: do I think Kieran is Dylan? As of right now the answer is no. I just don’t think we have enough evidence to prove it, and what’s there is more circumstantial. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy theorizing about it. I’ve found that discussing and sharing theories and ideas is one of my favourite ways to interact with a fandom. So I’m gonna put all of the evidence that I’ve observed in the entire first season both in favour of and against this theory and show why I think we can’t say that Kieran is Dylan. I’m not telling you to not believe it. Believe what you want! Like I said it’s fun to do this. I’ve just been specifically asked my opinion and I want to be able to justify it through what I’ve seen in the comic itself. 

For more of my posts about Purple Hyacinth check out my ‘ph posts’ tag!

So with all of that out of the way, let’s get started!

Evidence in favour of Kieran being Dylan:

One of the things I think most of us can agree on is that Dylan probably isn’t really dead. In general if I’m not shown a body, I don’t believe they’re dead. I’ve seen far too many movies and TV shows and have read far too many novels to be fooled by that. As of right now, in my head, Dylan is alive, or at least wasn’t killed in the bombing. So obviously if he isn’t dead then that frees him up to show up in the plot at some point or maybe he was there all along...?

This kind of ties into my next point: what happened to him then? His hat was found at the scene, so he must have lost it at some point before the explosion. This is all speculative, but he could have been snatched up by Tim and the driver in Lauren’s parents car. We heard Tim mention that children were in the car so it’s somewhat plausible that Dylan could have been kidnapped. Maybe he saw something suspicious and snooped around a bit which lead to him being snatched up or something. From there he’s tortured and broken and made into an assassin for the PS. Only he isn’t broken. He steels his resolve and does as he’s told because he’s now set on biding his time and getting revenge on those who robbed him of his life and humanity. It makes for a pretty compelling character arc.

The tragedy of his character arc could also be supplemented by the fact that when he was young, he wanted to be a doctor and save lives, but they made him into an assassin who takes lives. Brutally. Violently. Painfully. All of this would emphasize why he views himself as such a monster. The person he is now goes against everything the person he once was values. It’s this dichotomy that reinforces his ‘monster’ persona and allows him to justify this view of himself.

Another point is that this could explain why Kieran hesitated when he could have killed Lauren way back in episode 3. Of course he would hesitate to kill someone who was his close friend. Most of his murders were of people he either didn’t know or didn’t know very well. If he’d had a close friendship with her in childhood, it would obviously make him stop for a moment when he realizes who she is, just like he does in that episode. We even see Lauren say that if she knew why he hesitated then ‘everything would be different’. Obviously if she found out that he was her-long-lost-thought-to-be-dead friend, the person who symbolized her guilt for not stopping the bombing, the plot would be waaaaaay different. Just like the line about being the most blind of all in the prologue, the implications of this line are going to play a major role in the story, and this theory could explain that.

Then there’s those god damned purple hyacinths. Obviously Dylan’s knowledge of these flowers, both in their cultivation and meaning, are things that Kieran must know too. We pretty much know that they’re his signature for both their royal symbolism and their use in mourning, and that Kieran must have a stash of them growing somewhere. There’s also the fact that Lauren, who we know is very intelligent and well educated even at 12, doesn’t know the meaning of purple hyacinths other than their use as a symbol by the royal family. This tells me that their symbolism outshines their meaning in the traditional sense within the pop culture. Honestly, I didn’t even know the meanings of most flowers except for roses until I started reading this Webtoon. I’m not saying that people don’t know the meaning at all, I’m just saying it may not be common knowledge.

The final point I wanna talk about in favour of this theory is their appearances, since that will bleed nicely into the points against it for obvious reasons. So many people, myself included, have noticed that if you switch Dylan’s hair and eye colouring for Kieran’s, he’d basically look like little Kieran, and yes, I see it too. You could say that he could be dying his hair, it’s not crazy to believe hair dye exists in this world. How else does Belladonna have pink hair if they didn’t have access to dye? Unless it’s just stains from the blood of her victims… Actually that could be a theory lol but that’s not the point. Point is Kieran could theoretically have his hair dyed black, but it’s a bit of a stretch, as I explain in...

Evidence against Kieran being Dylan:

While he maaaaay be able to change his hair colour from light blond to black, there’s no way for him to change his eye colour from grey to blue. If rectangular glasses don’t even exist in this world yet (thank you Soph for this justification for why you gave him Harry Potter glasses), there’s no way that they’d have access to contact lenses yet. The other argument is that his eye colour changed with age but that feels a bit too... convenient for my taste. Odds are our boy Kieran is sporting the look he was born with.  Additionally, with everything going on in his life and his priorities, when would he have the time to constntly maintain this look, and why would he feel the need to disguise himself in the first place? He already operates in the shadows of the night and none of the authorities, other than Lauren, were able to get close enough to describe his appearance. There would simply be no need for all of that extra disguising.

Speaking of his appearance, we’ve seen one of his victims recognize him before he murders them. He says something interesting: ‘You were that boy’. Now this whole thing is one of my favourite mysteries of the series, so you best believe I am jumping on this shit the second we get more info about it. But for now, I want to use it to show that this aristocrat, who were loyal to the crown and presumably hadn’t seen him in years, took one look at Kieran’s face and immediately recognized him from when he was a child. If this man knew he had these same features as a boy, then it’s safe to assume that he’s always looked like this. This also links him to the aristocracy, since there’s no reason why this man of high status in opposition the PS would know anything about him unless he knew him before he entered the PS. Dylan, on the other hand, was the son of a gardener. He was friends with Lauren sure, but he clearly was of a lower station in society than someone like Lauren or the other aristocratic families. It’s doubtful that he’d leave such an impression on this high society man.

On top of all of that, if he were really Dylan and this man really did see through his change in appearance, why wouldn’t Lauren see through it too? She was one of his best friends and thinks about him constantly. If this man was able to recognize him in a single moment but she still doesn’t recognize him after months, then odds are he just isn’t Dylan.

There’s also the fact that Kieran doesn’t lie when he tells Lauren his name. It’s the same name that people like Belladonna know him by and it’s the name he uses when he becomes the archivist in Lauren’s precinct. Like he said before: there’s no need for him to hide his identity. He’s protected by his reputation and the PS itself. I can see an argument where he could have ‘renounced’ his old name because the person he once was is dead and only the monster remains, which is again a cool theory , or you could say it’s to keep people from knowing that he’s actually alive. But there would be no real need for him to change his name. He could have two names just like the hyacinths have two meanings. I will say that this theory about ‘Kieran White’ not being his true name could also work in favour for him not being Dylan too as, if he was an aristocrat, the PS could have changed his name to hide him from his family as well, but that’s neither here nor there, just something to consider. For now we know that he really is Kieran White and there’s no evidence to disprove that (yet).

Finally, many of the points listed in favour of the theory; the motive, the character arc, the knowledge of flowers, it’s all circumstantial. For all we know, Kieran could be Dylan Rosenthal, or he could be some boy connected to the aristocracy or even the royal family. He could be Dylan Rosenthal, or he could be his own character with his own arc yet to be fully revealed who’s connected to Lauren somehow. The meaning of purple hyacinths could come from Dylan’s prior knowledge, or they could common knowledge and Kieran just bought ‘Gardening for Dummies’ or some shit to make sure he didn’t kill them. Any number of different things could really be at play that we simply don’t know yet. But we do know that a man recognized him at a glance while Lauren, Dylan’s best friend, didn’t recognize him whatsoever. We do know that there’s no proof that hair and especially eye colour can be changed in this world. We do know that we still have quite a ways to go in this story and that the answers aren’t what we expect.

Eph and Soph have done an amazing job of revealing the story to us in disjointed pieces so that when we finally get that one piece that fits, may of them fall into place too. How many of us realized it was her parents’ car in the picture before it was revealed in episode 49? Or thought that Harvey was a spy all along? I don’t think we know nearly enough about him to prove he’s Dylan, but what we do have at this moment is enough to disprove it. What we have now is primarily speculation versus hard physical evidence. We need to accept that we don’t have all the pieces to the puzzle yet and that we’ll only receive new ones little by little.

So, until we learn more about Kieran’s past or until we see ‘changing-eye-colour’ join ‘lie-detecting’ as a new supernatural ability, I’m afraid that I can’t fully get behind this theory. Again, this doesn’t mean I’m telling you not to believe it. Thinking about all the implications of Kieran being Dylan is a lot of fun, just like thinking about Kieran’s backstory and motives is fun. And I could be wrong about all of this, who knows? Writing this just got me really excited to see where his arc will lead us and even more excited for season 2!

Thanks again to everyone who wanted me to discuss this! I had a lot of fun writing it and would love to hear feedback from you guys about any thing you may want to contribute that I may not have mentioned. This post was born of a sleepless night into morning and a need to get all my thoughts out of my brain so it could finally turn off and let me sleep. I already have an idea about what I’m gonna write next so stay tuned and thanks again for all the support!!

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 263: [Immigrant Song Intensifies]

Previously on BnHA: Ujiko sicced five Noumus on Miruko. Rephrase that: Ujiko sicced only five Noumus on Miruko. In hindsight this was obviously a mistake. Miruko proceeded to laugh and jump around kicking all of them and literally ripping the head off of the strongest one’s neck with nothing but her thighs. It was legendary and awe-inspiring and also she lost an arm but WHO EVEN CARES, I’m still pledging my allegiance to her. Miruko once beat the sun in a staring contest. Miruko’s calendar goes straight from March 31st to April 2nd, because nobody fucking fools Miruko. Anyway so also the heroes are finally attacking the League of Pliff’s HQ and Skeptic is running around all “AHHHH” so I guess we’ll see how that goes now.

Today on BnHA: Things finally get started over in Gunga, although for the time being most of the kids from 1-A and 1-B are still sitting around in the woods all pent-up and anxious and restlessly shipping KamiJirou. Meanwhile on the front lines, three-and-a-half-year-old Kaminari Denki is all “SOB I WANT TO BE BACK WITH MY FRIENDS WHERE IT’S SAFE”, to which Midnight, who I would just like to remind you is (1) an adult, (2) a teacher, and (3) a person responsible for this literal child’s safety in any number of other capacities, responds with “SORRY KIDDO WE NEED YOUR QUIRK.” I have yet to see any compelling evidence that they really do need it, but putting that dubious matter aside, Kaminari does kick some ass once he gets over his anxieties. Meanwhile Cementoss tears a building in half, Tokoyami reflects on how he was exposed to Kaminari’s good and pure moral character during their many soulful jam sessions, Hawks is about to kill Twice, and – wait, what.

a few stray thoughts since this chapter is taking forever to come out today. one, the good guys need to take out Twice and Toga as soon as they find them, because they’re currently the deadliest combination in the League. Twice for obvious reasons, and Toga because I’m pretty sure she got some of Aizawa’s blood that one time back during the Basement arc, and that fact coupled with the fact that she can now use the quirk of whoever she transforms into spells big trouble for the good guys since she can basically just cancel out whoever’s quirk she wants. plus she’s probably also immune to Midnight’s quirk. all in all bad news

two, it is interesting that Hagakure is the only 1-A kid we haven’t seen yet! probably just me overreacting, but still interesting!

(ETA: we do see her standing next to Mina in this chapter, so so much for that. you get out of it this time Tooru!)

and three, I’m not clear on whether or not Skeptic has actually figured out that Hawks betrayed them, or if he just suspects it, or if he thinks that Hawks leaked something accidentally and doesn’t realize that this entire time the dude was 100% playing them. I’m sure we’ll find out shortly. but regardless of how this plays out, I’m already dreading Twice’s reaction to all this :/ my sweet innocent baby. HE THOUGHT YOU WERE HIS FRIEND HAWKS. HE TRUSTED YOU. fff I really hope Twice’s inherently good and trusting nature isn’t a casualty of all this. then again I still think Twice himself is very unlikely to survive this. so basically I’m just bracing myself for pain sob

(ETA: oh this is bad.)

(ETA 2: by the way just to clarify, the above paragraphs were all written on Friday, and the rest of this recap+all ETAs were written the next day when I finally got to read the chapter! this is not important in any way whatsoever but now you know and that’s half the battle!)

“it’s time” holy shit finally lol. you all have been camped out over here for weeks now. not that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy each and every second of Miruko’s one-woman murder show, but it is nice to finally check in with you guys over here so we can get to work at last and I can get a better feel for who’s about to die. cuz someone here is dying guys

the chapter is called “I wanna be with the others!!” so. this is gonna be a Kaminari chapter isn’t it. I wonder what fresh new traitorous hijinks he’ll be getting up to this week. that detestable scoundrel

Mineta is being all weasel-y and reluctant, and honestly, I’m a bit annoyed. and for once it’s not directed at him! it’s like... how do I explain it. okay, so like, the manga is showing him being all cowardly and clearly not at all happy about being out here, and the fact that it’s Mineta doing it only adds to the general flavor of this being the wrong attitude to have and just a really shameful way of acting in general, because it’s Mineta and we all know Mineta is vile and so clearly he’s in the wrong here! the only thing is though, I actually don’t blame him even if he’s being a little shit about it, because the kids absolutely should not be here in the first place. are they strong? fuck yes. are they gonna end up being the ones to turn the tide once everything inevitably goes to shit, and thus the others are really goddamn lucky that they’re here? probably. does that make it right to conscript kids and send them out here to a soon-to-be war zone which the adults have very little control over meaning that some of these children will almost certainly be injured and traumatized and possibly even killed? nope! not right at all! no amount of “plus ultra” can justify this, folks. and “we get that it’s wrong but that’s just the fucked up times we live in” doesn’t actually justify it either, even if the HPSC seems to think so

but having said all that, there’s clearly nothing to be done about it at this point, and I’m about to enjoy this chapter of the kids presumably kicking ass even after all that whining, so I’ll just carefully climb down from my soapbox now. but I’m still keeping it handy just in case!

who the fuck is this Thundercats guy who looks like he was part of an old timey street gang in 1920s Chicago

lol can he hear the villain hotel being ripped in half over there in the distance

and speaking of hearing, Jirou is popping her earbuds into the ground to do some reconnaissance of her own I guess!

the heroes?? she better not mean the villains. oh lord I still don’t have the faintest idea how they’re planning on actually containing them all. well, brace yourselves everyone. here comes the shitshow

now Gangs of New York is making the most unnecessary speech in the history of this manga

were any of them actually going to be careless?? I’m pretty sure they understand the gravity of the situation my dude. and if they didn’t, I’d say that’s honestly on you guys and not on them because, again, they’re kids. and if you didn’t want a bunch of teenagers goofing off during your incredibly dangerous and vitally important do-or-die hero mission, then maybe you shouldn’t have brought a bunch of teenagers to your incredibly dangerous and vitally important do-or-die hero mission

“listen makeste are you just going to sit around all day bitching about my cardinal sin of daring to involve your precious little darlings in the actual plot,” the imaginary Horikoshi that sits around trying to keep these recaps from veering off track interjects. and okay fine

sob it feels wrong to see MomoJirou there without their Kaminari

(ETA: and there is Hagakure on the left, FYI. at least I think that’s her?)

their baby boy is all out there alone in the woods. is that why you were really listening, Jirou? you can tell me, I promise not to make a big deal about it

MOMO ARE YOU COMFORTING JIROU WHILE SHE OPENLY WORRIES ABOUT “TOKOYAMI”

I lied, I might make a big thing about it. what a beautiful March day for some OT3

MY INFANT SON!!

HE’S ONLY TWO YEARS OLD!! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!? MIDNIGHT YOU BETTER KEEP HIM SAFE!! at least until he makes it back safely into the hands of his friends, the League of Villains

meanwhile here’s a fun tip, this manga gets 100x funnier if you scroll back up to that panel of Jirou being all serious and saying “they’re on the move” now that we know that this outburst is almost certainly what she was listening to lmao. “oh, Kaminari is crying, that must mean they’re getting started”

and here they go!!

who is that in the witch hat?? COULD THIS BE THE LEGENDARY MAJESTIC, AT LONG LAST? this person looks like they cobbled together their entire hero costume from Sero’s bedroom. just ransacked it and draped all of his tapestries and throw pillows every which way over some Adidas pants. goddammit who is this person, I need to know everything about them right now

DAMMIT MIDNIGHT

HE’S NOT OLD ENOUGH TO MAKE THOSE KIND OF DECISIONS GODDAMMIT. HE IS YOUNG AND PLIABLE!! WHAT DID YOU DO, OFFER HIM CANDY. DID YOU PROMISE YOU WOULD TAKE HIM TO CHUCK E. CHEESE AFTER IF HE WAS GOOD

SON OF A BITCH ARE YOU GUILTING HIM

I DON’T LIKE THIS, MIDNIGHT. I MEAN, YOU ALREADY KNOW, IT’S NOT LIKE I’VE MADE A BIG SECRET OF IT OR ANYTHING. GUH

and he’s shouting back “no I don’t think you adults are pathetic at all!” while still looking terrified! goddammit how do I cast protection on a fictional character in a manga. I don’t play D&D, but D&D players can do that, right? how do I create a shield around my party. Kaminari you stay put while I try and figure this all out

lmaoooooo Tokoyami’s words of encouragement

A MAGNIFICENT FELLOW. you guys I’m gonna be honest, lately I’ve been enjoying these fan scanlations even more than the official ones at times. obviously Viz’s are fine and good, but sometimes it’s almost like they localize everything a little too much, you know? most people don’t go around calling other people magnificent fellows, but would Tokoyami? yes. yes he would. I believe this in every fiber of my heart

LMAO KAMINARI

“KAMINARI, I REALIZED WHEN WE WERE PLAYING GUITAR TOGETHER... WAY TO WHITE-KNUCKLE THOSE SICK FRETS, HALEN.” thank you so much for that Tokoyami but we are kind of in the middle of something so I’m not sure if right now is really the time to start asking my boy here for his autograph. after, maybe

now Cementoss is literally screaming “ATTACK!” and throwing subtlety to the winds

and now we’re back to this!

and it looks like this is most likely Cementoss using his quirk to tear the building in half! so that’s one mystery from last week solved! holy shit you guys I just realized we’re actually going to see Cementoss in action. so long as the environment is right, dude is a literal earthbender. we may be in for a rare treat

Skeptic is shouting at his minions to alert the Council. it’s okay, Cementoss already alerted them for you I’m pretty sure

so he’s sending Violet and Black to the front entrance, and Cleveland and Carmine to the Assembly Hall (where the Council is). these, if you recall, are the names of the various Vanguard squads, though I don’t recall who is actually on which squad and I really don’t want to go back and look it up... but fine!

okay, Twice is on the Black squad and Dabi and Otter Pop are on Violet. so they’re being dispatched to the front, while Toga, Compress, Spinner, and Skeptic himself (how convenient for you Skeptic) are heading to the Assembly Hall. isn’t that nice that Dabi is heading out to the front, where my son Kaminari “Clapton” Denki is. hahaha. fuck

Lefty Hair is now making a sudden appearance and giving Skeptic some threatening “you majorly fucked up and the only reason I’m letting it slide for now is because we’ve got bigger things to worry about” vibes, which I like. also he has a cigarette. it’s been a while since I’ve seen a manga character actually smoke a cigarette. I guess only villains are allowed to smoke them now

YOU GUYS LOOK HOW FUCKING RAW CEMENTOSS LOOKS HERE HOLY SHIT

HOW MANY PEOPLE IS CEMENTOSS GOING TO KILL TODAY. place your bets. and is cement stronger than fire. please don’t die Cementoss

YOU GUYS HE FUCKING SLAMMED THE FUCKING BUILDING OPEN LIKE ARAGORN OPENING THOSE FUCKING DOUBLE DOORS IN THE TWO TOWERS. I KNOW YOU CAN’T ACTUALLY SLAM A DOOR OPEN BUT ARE WE GOING TO SIT HERE AND ARGUE SEMANTICS ALL DAY OR ARE WE GOING TO KEEP READING??

ARE WE EVEN ALLOWED TO HAVE THIS MUCH BADASSERY IN A CHAPTER THAT DOESN’T HAVE MIRUKO IN IT. LOOKS LIKE SOMEBODY FORGOT TO INFORM THE BADASSERY GUILD THAT THEIR UNION MEMBERS ARE WORKING OVERTIME. I DON’T KNOW WHERE I’M GOING WITH THIS METAPHOR I GOT TOO EXCITED

by the way I like how a key part of their “let’s contain all the villains” plan was to open up their secret HQ and spill them all out like a bunch of ants. everyone knows this is the best way to keep people contained. instead of stationing people outside of every exit, let’s just make the entire building into one giant exit and MELEE AWAY ALL YOUR PROBLEMS

who died and made Lefty the smartest guy in the room

if only they had all listened to you, Mister Smart Guy. you’re so smart. why didn’t they put you in charge. probably just because they were jealous

booooo it looks like Black and Violet are attacking but Twice and Dabi are nowhere to be found! because they’re part of the Council?? boooo

Best Sweaterist can do anything a sweater can do. it’s not a very good power. everyone was all “you look like the number 3 hero you must be really strong” and so she got promoted waaaaay above her skill level and it’s too late for her to do anything about it now so good luck Best Sweaterist

finally some people from the League!

but where is Hawks? AND WHY IS DABI HEADING THE OPPOSITE WAY AS EVERYONE ELSE HOLY SHIT

LOL HAWKS YOU BEST MAKE YOURSELF SCARCE MY DUDE. OH FUCK

(ETA: Dabi is either going to arrive just in time to save Twice, or just in time to witness Hawks murdering him, and I’m not sure which would be worse.)

OH MY GOD EDGESHOT GOT A LINE

I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT TO HEAR THIS WITH MY OWN TWO EARS IN THE ANIME. IT’S GONNA BE SO GREAT AH MAN. but real talk, Miruko should be above him in the power rankings. I’m sorry I don’t make the rules. but unless you kill three Noumus within the next few pages here I’d say it’s pretty clear cut

OH NO MY SIX-YEAR-OLD SON, MY POOR BABY, HE LOOKS SO FRIGHTENED NOW. LIKE GENUINELY AFRAID-FOR-HIS-LIFE FRIGHTENED AND NOT JUST COMICALLY FRIGHTENED OH MY GOD I CAN’T

Kaminari you sweet little lamb, it’s going to be okay. you just take a deep breath and zap some of these PLF fuckers and then you can go run and hide and you’ll be playing tacky arcade games and eating hit-or-miss-quality pizza before you know it

Kami is actually in a lot of danger here what with how helpless he gets after he uses too much of his quirk though. (unless of course you subscribe to the theory that he doesn’t actually go dumb at all and that’s when he’s secretly transmitting his traitor messages to the zetans.) whose fucking idea was it to put him on the front lines, honestly. he’s only four!!

fuck me, Midnight sees him panicking and she’s being all soothing and encouraging while also being ridiculously sexy as usual. dammit Midnight

hey Kaminari if you want to think about Momo and Jirou I’m not going to complain, I just want you to know that. you can even make it all platonic by just saying “my friends.” either way is fine and I will respect your smokescreen

ahh he’s turning around and the camera is zooming back to the woods where the rest of 1-A are!

the title of this chapter is becoming surprisingly meaningful!! well played!

WOW

I don’t even know what to say?! I basically just slapped both of my cheeks and said “AWWW” out loud?! would you fucking look at these two bisexual icons living it up in this the year of our lord 2020. what a blessing

oh hey this guy decided it was time for him to talk again

okay Kami I give you permission to go pikachu on his ass. go ahead and show us why the heroes went ahead and violated ILO conventions in order to bring you here

don’t tell me this guy is also an electric type. lol who could have guessed that, there were absolutely no clues at all in his hairstyle or anywhere else. I would definitely have noticed something like that because I definitely pay attention to these things lol

(ETA: and presumably the heroes knew the identities of the Vanguard squadron leaders thanks to Hawks, and knew they had to have some sort of plan in place for this guy’s quirk, hence them being all “hey Kaminari let’s talk.”)

anyway

OH SHIT YOU GUYS KAMINARI IS ABOUT TO BE A BADASS!?

MOTHERFUCKER WAS THAT A SHOUNEN WOOSH???! whaaaaaat oh shit everybody brace yourselves

and now a Tokoyami flashback to the two of them jamming like little hero Hendrixes

because he prioritized the health of his fingers beneath his desire to learn the guitar to help his friends perform, you realized he was truly a magnificent fellow. aw shit it’s all coming together

yep

look how evil that smile in the last panel is. clearly the traitor. probably this other electric man is his dad

USING AN ELECTRIC ATTACK AGAINST ANOTHER ELECTRIC TYPE CLEARLY WON’T WORK AND THUS THIS IS ONLY A FAKE ATTACK DESIGNED IN ORDER TO MAINTAIN HIS COVER!

LOOK HOW EVIL HE IS

HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN A FIVE-YEAR-OLD HAVING THIS KIND OF RAW FIREPOWER UNLESS HE’S SECRETLY EVIL!??!

OH MY GOD I LITERALLY SAID “OH MY GOD” VERY LOUDLY IN REAL LIFE AND NOW I’M HOPING MY NEIGHBORS DIDN’T HEAR HOW LOUDLY AND EMBARASSINGLY I SAID “OH MY GOD”

FUUUUCK

just. it’s like this weird and crazy feeling that’s a combination of adrenaline and chills-rushing-up-your-spine. that’s the sensation of clicking to a page and suddenly seeing the thing we fucking knew was going to happen, but just because we knew doesn’t mean we actually wanted it to happen, shit

holy shit. does Jin have to die in order for the heroes to succeed? probably. do I want it to actually happen? NO. am I suddenly reevaluating every single thing I thought I knew about Hawks and mentally updating Jeanist’s presumed mortality status in my head?? yes. are Hawks’s eyes here going to give me nightmares for the entire coming week? also yes. am I really unsettled wondering if those eyes were the last thing Jeanist ever saw? listen why do you keep asking me all of these intrusive and deeply upsetting questions like I’m some kind of magic 8 ball?? am I going to be on the edge of my fucking seat now waiting for next week? fuck

[yurimother]

LGBTQ Manga Series Review - Kiss and White Lily for My Dearest Girl

The tenth and final volume of Kiss and White Lily for My Dearest Girl is finally out in English, and honestly, I expected this moment to feel more climatic. This long-running series debuted in 2013 and quickly became one of the most consistently popular Yuri works in the current era. However, perhaps because of its relative longevity, it always felt like the background; The consistently safe and trope-filled home I could return to after exploring new and exciting Yuri works. There is often something comforting about home, and many of the cute kisses and relationships featured are joyful and entertaining.

Kiss and White Lily for My Dearest Girl is a Yuri manga series by Canno. It follows numerous couples at Seiran Academy, a fictional middle and high school with a sister university. The common themes and tropes of the Yuri genre riddle the work. Some are seen in individual couple’s stories, while others, such as the all-girls school, style of uniforms, and repeated girl meets girl then love narrative. While these tropes are by no means a negative, being a fan of this genre would be impossible if they were, they are such old hat for Yurijin that they become dull, and Kiss and White Lily does little to forward or subvert them. In this way, the series feels like a showcase of the genre, a series I can thrust at people and say, “you want to learn about Yuri? Then read this” (an honor I usually reserve for Whispered Words). In short, the series is enjoyable but tiring and predictable.

Before I get into the spoiler-filled breakdown of each couple, there are a few overarching elements to note. It is achingly sweet, not in a heartwarming way, but an “I just a bit down on cake and have a cavity” way. Nothing in the first few volumes has any real consequence or impact; it is just cute and stupid. Now I like cute and stupid, but it has to be fun and enjoyable to read, and at first, this is not. Many characters lack chemistry, and often, the drama is caused by their own nonsensical choices rather than from the complications that come with relationships or friendships. If I do not like these characters together, I do not want to see them hugging and kissing and being cute.

You may have noticed that I spoke of how I enjoyed the series but then went on a rant about how weak the plot is. Fortunately, as the series goes on, the writing improves drastically. Characters who are in or are moving towards relationships, mostly, have compatible traits, and with stakes grounded in some form of reality. The What’s Behind the Story!? Sections, single pages devoted to the perspectives of random other characters and couples, are another welcome addition. Here, the lack of consequence or chemistry works, as each is given only a few moments to give a one-liner or snapshot of service. 

The artwork in Kiss and White Lily suffers from a similar problem as the plot. It is too adorable for the sake of being adorable. Kurosawa reacts with a huge smile and sudden anthropomorphic ears far too often in the early volumes. There are other inconsistencies also, mainly in tone. For example, in the first volume, there is a moment where one character is being introspective and dramatic, when suddenly, in a moment of metaphoric imagery, another is holding a gun to her head. This scene is awkward and unnecessary. No other moment uses such visual tricks to illustrate emotional conflict, and it is completely removed from the rest of the work. Finally, the artwork is cluttered. Almost every panel has so much crammed into it feels overwhelming.

However, just as the problems with art and story are similar, so are the solutions, time. As Canno continues, the art drastically improves. It takes on a more consistent tone, relies less on visual tricks, and quickly becomes one of the series’ highlights. Seeing the characters be gentle and affectionate will put a smile on all but the most begrudged reader’s face, especially with the more likable characters. Canno also makes frequent use of beautiful double-page spreads, many of which I have bookmarked so I can refer to them when I need a smile.

Now that I have gotten those points out of the way, I can get down into the meat of Kiss and White Lily for My Dearest Girl, the couples. There is an explosive plethora of pairings in this series, and I love it. Each feels unique, has a compelling story (mostly), and a satisfying conclusion. Every reader will easily find their favorites or see their own life reflected in one of these cute couples.

Ayaka Shiramine and Yurine Kurosawa are the principal couple of Kiss and White Lily, and their courtship spans all ten volumes. Unfortunately, they start out as one of the weaker couples in the story. Shiramine is the model student, working hard, helping out at the school, and getting high grades. However, she is consistently ranked second in all tests (teacher’s side note here, publicly posting student’s grades has been shown in research to be horrible for student achievement by multiple studies) behind Kurosawa. However, unlike Shiramine, Kurosawa does not try at all; she usually sleeps through class and does not participate in school activities, and succeeds only by her “genius.” Kurosawa’s effortless achievements anger Shiramine, and she confronts her about it. However, Kurosawa is pleased by the notion of Shiramine beating her and begins to aggressively pursue a relationship (the aggressive gay woman is the worst trope. Consent and enthusiasm are a central part of romance).

In what seems to be a running theme for this series, Shiramine and Kurosawa’s relationships improve as the books go on. First, Shiramine becomes less of a stereotypical tsundere character, as her motivation for being the best is revealed, a cold and frankly awful mother who scoffs at her daughter’s achievements. Likewise, Kurosawa, who starts incredibly inconsistent, moving from peppy to cruel to bored within the span of a few pages, settles down into a more calm character, with her enthusiastic love for Shiramine intact.

The beginning of their romance was weak, mainly due to their personalities and lack of chemistry, but the end conclusion was incredibly satisfying. Kurosawa realizes that she came to love Shiramine because she thought the perfect student could beat her and make her a normal girl, not a genius. However, in the end, she realizes that it was not their grades, but the ways Shiramine drew her out of her shell and THE FRIENDS SHE MADE ALONG THE WAY that made her a better person. Shiramine changes too, becoming more courageous and finally standing up to her horrid mother, thus breaking the spell the woman had over her and freeing Shiramine of her burdens.

In the final volume, Shiramine realizes that she likes being with Kurosawa and that their rivalry was her favorite part of the school. These feelings are all admitted in a fantastic speech she gives to the incoming students. I was smiling throughout the whole second half of Volume 10 as their relationships reached its inevitable conclusion, and for that, I offer praise.

Mizuki Senoo is the star of the track team where Moe Nikaidou, her longtime friend, is the manager. These two are one of my favorite couples, but they also have the most problems of any. Both girls are entirely captivated by and devoted to each other, so much so that they become codependent. However, the way they address this codependency is horrible. Moe suddenly stops talking to Mizuki, which severely distresses the athlete and leads to poorly written angst. There is no logic, only nonsense choices made for the sake of plot. Of course, they resolve the issue, everything is happy and pleasant, and they decide to be together forever. And then (and this is my favorite part) they graduate and go to university and live together! This action is perhaps the one time that Kiss and White Lily manages to forgo the conventions of the genre and begins to approach queer representation. Mizuki and Moa are no longer bound by the walls of the high school, the confines of Catholic school style uniforms, the tropes of Yuri, but they are free adults who love each other and are together. It is a perfect ending, which does not excuse the atrocious middle. 

Volume 2 introduces to Chiharu Kusakabe and her roommates Maya Hoshino and Ai Uehara. These three are close and live together perfectly. However, as Maya is older than Ai and Chiharu, she will be graduating soon and leaving them behind. Chiharu struggles with her conflicted feelings for her senpai, with whom she has fallen in love. On the one hand, Chiharu wants Maya to be happy and go to a good university; on the other, she selfishly wants her to stay close. Chiharu begins to close herself off, but then she meets the stubborn (idiot) Izumi Akizuki.

The two girls start a sort of reluctant friendship, where Chiharu waits outside the school each morning to chastise Izumi for riding her bike, which is against school rules. However, Izumi does not stop riding her bike, and Chiharu never reports her. They grow closer, and Izumi helps Chiharu reconcile her relationship with Maya. Eventually, they start dating. It is all cute and wholesome. As these two get together early in the series, the reader has lots of time to enjoy them being together as they appear frequently. The conflicts in their relationships are grounded in reality, and working through them together has a clear positive effect on the character. The only complaint I have is that after they start dating, they mostly keep it a secret for no reason.

Towako Mita and Yukina Ooshiro are one of the worst couples in the manga. They are the only members of the gardening club, although they eventually recruit Kurosawa. As the club is so small, it is always on the edge of dismantlement, as the student council wants to move resources elsewhere. While Ooshiro works to save it, Towako is actively working behind her back to end the club. Her reasoning, she does not want things to change. That’s it, full stop, it is complete nonsense. Of course, they make up and decide to be together with an equally illogical apology. If characters are going to hurt others and then be forgiven there must be effort, reason, and care put into them, traits all lacking in this story. It is all awful.

The fourth volume is a mix: containing some of the series best moments and its worst, by which I mean, most boring. Moe and Mizuki’s romance reaches the spectacular crescendo previously referenced. But, half the volume is spent depicting Kaoru Machida, Kohagi Inoue, and Momiji Shikama. The relationship between these three is focused more on friendship than sexual or romantic desire (cough cough S). Actually, I do not mind this at all, but they. Are. So. Boring. I honestly forgot they existed in the first draft of this review and had to reread Volume 4 to remind myself of them. The fact that I am writing about this process instead of the actual characters says a lot about their lack of appeal.

Sawa Itoh and Itsuki Nishikawa are equally forgettable. They are easily the most mundane romantic couple in the series. The two knew each other long ago, but Sawa forgot about their friendship, much to Itsuki’s disappointment. However, they bond again as high school students and vow to make up for the lost time. Their story ends with Itsuki confessing her feelings for Sawa. Sawa returns those feelings in kind FIVE VOLUMES LATER. That is far too long to wait for a dull ending. NEXT!

Ryou Hiramu, Nina Yuunagi, and Amane Asakura make up Kiss and White Lily’s only three-person relationships and is one of the best. Polyamory is not everyone’s cup of tea. Still, in the context of fiction, their relationship works well and develops excitingly, complete with a healthy dose of melodrama. Hiramu begins to grow close to Asakura, much to the anger of Asakura’s roommate Yuunagi. Yuunagi wants Asakura all to herself, a point made abundantly clear to Hiramu. However, things get more complicated when Hiramu realizes that Yuunagi is an online friend of hers.

Yuunagi feels incredibly lonely, and her only real friend is Asakura. But, when Hiramu shows her kindness, Yuunagi begins to fall for Hiramu. Yuunagi feels incredible guilt over this, swearing that she should only need Amane and not wanting to compete for Hiramu’s affection. Their tale ends when a distraught Yuunagi runs away before being confronted by Hiramu and Asakura. There, in a tearful confession, she released her jealousy, her guilt, and her confusion. Despite being overblown, it is one of the most relatable and truthful emotional moments in the manga. The solution, Yuunagi does not have to choose; she can have more loves. It is a mature answer that, while not ideal for most, makes sense here and is healthy for all the characters.

The next volume focuses on Haine Aoi and her close in age aunt Aika Yukimura (who is more like her sister). Before anyone breaks out the pitchforks or plants this volume next to Citrus on their bookshelf, the relationship is not sexual. This intention is explicitly shown in a scene where Aika contemplates kissing her sleeping niece (creepy) but decides against it, saying, “I don’t actually want to kiss her.” This moment deliberately and awkwardly setting the parameters of their relationships as not sexual. However, there are clear romantic implications. As the two struggle with the idea of drifting apart as most “sisters” do, they decide that this will not happen to them, and they will only grow stronger together. Ultimately, they declared themselves to be soulmates, albeit platonic ones.

This relationship is the most divisive of the series. There will be some, such as myself, who can acknowledge the apparent class s ties and the familial relationship yet can still enjoy the wholesome and grounded story. However, many others will understandably have difficulty overlooking these aspects of the narrative. I invite readers to give this volume a look and decide for themselves. Even if it turns out that Haine and Aika’s storyline is not for you, Shiramine and Kurosawa are at their best here and will save the volume for you. However, whether or not you like this couple, can we all agree that the decision to feature a major story act about a piano player (Haine) and NOT include a piano duet is INSANE!! Canno is not at all coy with Yuri tropes in this series, and this exclusion will not stand!

Nagisa Tatsumi and Hikari Torayama are rivals, opponents in the student council president election, and secretly roommates. The two live together by necessity, with their adorable kitten. Neither one can stand the other. However, when given the opportunity to separate, they decide they would prefer to continue living together. There is not much here. Even though one is labeled as “nice” and the other “mean,” Nagisa and Hikari have the same personality. The other “tsundere” type character in Kiss and White Lily, Shiramine, works because she is given time to grow and develop as a complicated character and because she is paired with someone different than here. Unfortunately, aside from some cute trope-filled moments like an accidental kiss, these two are insignificant. But. perhaps I am too hard on them, as I am conditioned to expect Yuri featuring characters named Nagisa and Hikari to be far more dramatic, grandiose, and interesting

Asuka Sakurada and Mikaze Hagimoto are the final couple introduced, as the next and final volume is only concerned with wrapping up previously established relationships. A shame, as they are the single most problematic and dysfunctional couple presented. Sakurada and Hagimoto are both cosplayers, which is how they meet, and the younger Hagimoto quickly asks Sakurada out. Sakurada is awful. She is cruel, detached, and rude to almost everyone. After an injury forced her to repeat her final year at Seiran Academy, causing her to be somewhat jaded, to say the least. What little the reader sees of their romance, which last all of a dozen pages, is appalling. Sakurada is mean and unaffectionate, and Hagimoto attempts to force her into activities she does not want to do. They break up quickly, and the rest of the volume plays out like a tragic love story, as Hagimoto pines for her senpai, and Sakurada says dramatic lines about how she “can never go back.” Of course, by the end, they have made up and are together again.

Not only are we giving this vile relationship, but excellent moments of emotional distress are wasted on them. For example, Hagimoto delivers a tearful and moving speech on a train platform. There is also a rare moment of clarity from Hagimoto, where she realizes that she did nothing to make the relationship work, followed by an admittance from Hagimoto that she just wanted to be more like Sakurada. Now, characters realizing their mistakes and faults to move forward and become better, as individuals and a couple is incredible; however, there needs to be a solid foundation. The unfortunate truth is that such tragic and dramatic relationships take time and investment. The reader needs to want to see these characters get better and make up, something notably lacking here. This awful partnership tarnishes the beautiful scenes present.

Fortunately, Volume 9 is not a total loss, far from it. Shiramine and Kurosawa complete their personal arcs described previously in this review, thus clearing the way for Volume 10 to finally have them get together, perform a quick survey of the other characters, and tie up any dangling story threads in a bow covered with cute kisses and gentle service.

Kiss and White Lily for My Dearest Girl is an incredibly mixed bag of a series. It gives a wide variety of couples and tropes for the reader to enjoy, but many of the relationships suffer significantly from weak characters or uninteresting storylines. Its mediocre start does not help the series. Early outings are noticeably lacking in all categories from plot to artwork, which provides a difficult barrier for entry. However, there is a lot to love here. It is a spectacular showcase of Yuri and an absolute classic of the genre’s current era. Kiss and White Lily is THE YURI MANGA, a title that bears both the great and terrible of the genre.

This series concluding publication feels appropriate for the genre’s centennial. The tropes it features, which have paraded the genre for the past hundred years, will not go away. But, the conclusion of Kiss and White Lily feels, at least for the moment, like their last hurrah before stepping back to let a new century’s worth of newer and queerer works make their mark in the genre.

Ratings: Story – 6 Characters – 4 Art – 7 LGBTQ – 8 Sexual Content – 2 Final – 5

Kiss and White Lily for My Dearest Girl, Vol. 10 review copy provided by Yen Press ( @yenpress​ )

You can get the series digitally and in print today: Kiss and White Lily for My Dearest Girl, Vol. 10 - https://amzn.to/34k8sAj

[bramblepeltao3]

IDK where else to put this indulgent nonsense so, as one does, I’m putting it on my Tumblr.

Hey do you like my fic where I have an OC who is a gremlin girl and do you also like the Prince!Prompto AU trope and do you want to read a few loose little narrative bits about those two things coming together? 

No?

Here it is anyway!

The clock in Prompto’s room sounded out to anyone who listened that the time was now eleven in the morning. Since it was a Thursday, this meant the start to the worst hour of his week, every week, for his whole life. 

Every Thursday at eleven in the morning, Dr. Besithia would come by for his weekly check up. The Prince would spend the time trying not to show too much emotion as the doctor used a variety of needles to inject and extract numerous fluids, all while chastising him for being a waste of his and everyone else’s time.

It didn’t matter how strictly Prompto followed the doctor’s orders, or how much control Prompto had over following them in the first place. He never got any better, and he was always made well aware that it was his own fault. The prince of Niflheim was a sickly recluse, so sheltered from the public that many would even doubt his existence. And at fifteen years old, he was lonely and listless and so very tired of living like this. 

The door to his bedroom began to open, and Prompto mentally steeled himself for another hour of angry commands, needles, and insults. 

“Dr. Besithia to see you, your highness.” The attendant said with a bow. Prompto nodded in return, sitting upright on the edge of his well cushioned bed. The least little rebellion he could maintain was forcing that unpleasant old man to come to him.

But the person who stepped through, all dressed in well ironed white, was not Dr. Besithia. Not at all. This doctor was a woman, and much younger. She bowed slightly upon crossing the threshold before making her way over to him. Prompto, in spite of himself, felt compelled to stand and greet her like the well mannered young man he was supposed to be.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, highness.” She said with a small smile. She looked sad, but gentle, and seemed to be staring at something right behind his own eyes. 

“I...I was expecting, I apologize…” Prompto was used to being ogled and visually picked apart by people. Something about her green eyes felt softer. Less invasive and judgemental. Perhaps it was all wishful thinking but her gaze seemed almost kind.

“You were expecting Dr. Besithia?” She asked.

Prompto nodded.

“You’re looking at her.” She smirked. “Doctor Delphia Besithia. Verstael is my father. I understand he was completing your weekly heath assessments, but business for his Imperial Majesty has become...pressing.” The doctor crossed the room over to the little seating area where the work was usually conducted. A clear table, two chairs, plenty of places to hook up Verstael’s array of electrical instruments. “Luckily I’m now officially a licensed medical professional myself, so I’ll be taking over for him.” 

Prompto almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So...Dr. Bes-...Verstael won’t be…?”

“You know, why don’t we call my father Dr. Besithia, and you can refer to me as Dr. Delphia. Does that work, your highness?” She asked, setting the large case she was carrying on the table and opening it.

“Yes. I mean, I think that would work fine. Doctor.” Prompto joined her at the table, removing his coat to reveal his bare arms and taking a seat on his usual side of the table.

“So I went over your medical record on the way over, it seems like my old man kept to the same routine every week for a long time. Not all that surprising, except he usually at least tries to change things up whenever he doesn’t get results…”

Prompto cringed. “Yeah, it’s my fault. I just wasn’t trying hard enough.” He sighed, casting his eyes to the floor. He could feel her gaze staring into him once again.

“Your fault?” She asked. “Did my father tell you that?”

He felt himself beginning to sweat. Soon she’d understand just how awful of a patient he really was, and all the gentle niceness would end. She’d grow to hate and resent him just like Dr. Besithia did, he was sure.

“Dude. That’s bullshit.”

Prompto snapped his face up to hers, the bluntness of her assertion shocking him. The doctor had such a look of concern on her face.

“He was your doctor. Treating you was his job. If you weren’t getting better, that’s his fault. Not yours.”

Prompto blinked in confusion. 

“If it makes you feel any better, and I doubt it does,” she started retrieving the same instruments he was always used to, “he’s like that with everyone. Everything is always someone else’s fault. No way his genius could be to blame!”

By her tone, Prompto inferred she’d suffered at his words just as much.

“So, let’s start with the easy part. How are you feeling today, your highness?” She asked, taking the other seat and smiling at him.

“How...um, well I’m…” Prompto was not prepared for this question. Easy part, indeed. “Tired, I guess. Like usual. I get dizzy if I stand too long.” And now his heart was pounding in fear. Did he answer wrong? Was that something he could do?

She was typing on a tablet resting in her lap. “Hmm, how about sleep? Do you think you get enough?”

Dr. Besithia never gave Prompto so much time to talk like this. It felt...strange. “I sleep a lot.”

“Do you feel well rested after? Or still tired?” She asked, still typing.

“Oh, uh...I guess I haven’t really thought of that? I’m sorry...guess still tired.”

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize for anything, highness. Okay, if it’s alright with you I’d like to start taking your vitals now.”

...did she just ask him permission? She did. And she was waiting for his answer. 

He nodded. And the next thing to strike him was just how gentle she actually was. She never grabbed, but waited for him to offer his arm or hand as needed. She didn’t yell or snipe or speak critically of him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about this. It was oddly terrifying, somehow.

“Alright, your blood pressure is a little low, so we can start with that. There’s a few simple things we can change to try and get it stabilized. Hopefully that will help with the dizziness too!” 

Prompto sat in stunned silence as she prescribed such basic things like drinking more water and adding salt to his meals. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It felt...too easy. After years of living like this, there was no way it could actually be so simple.

“Unfortunately I am going to need to get some blood for lab work, if that’s ok, highness.”

He felt like he might cry. She actually listened to him, and asked him to talk to her. If she really was replacing Besithia going forward, maybe things would actually get better. Maybe... He hoped she never got sick of him, and he’d do everything he could to prevent that.

“You can call me Prompto, um, Doctor. Please.”

She looked at him strangely, like he’d just told her there was a behemoth on her shoulder. But then she smiled again. “Why don’t you call me Del then, Prompto? Has anyone ever told you you have great veins? This is going to be so fast.” And surprisingly, it was. The whole ordeal was over so quickly he couldn’t believe she’d actually done it.

“Alright, unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss, I think that ends our appointment today.” She began packing everything back up. “And if anything comes up at all, I’m only one floor away!”

“Wait, really?” Dr. Besithia always made a point of reminding him he had to travel a long way for these appointments.

“Yeah, I’m here at the palace full time. Another perk of the job. If you need anything at all, just ask your attendant. I’m here for you Prompto, any time.”

It took everything in him to maintain some amount of regal composure and not start crying. Somehow, for the first time, he had hope. And if nothing else, there was someone here who might actually listen to him.

---

Delphia bowed to the prince before turning and walking to the elevator. She held herself together perfectly until the elevator doors closed behind her and she was granted ten seconds of complete isolation. An hour’s worth of suppressed, extreme emotion bubbled out all at once in a large gasp for air. Her chest felt tight and her eyes burned with the threat of tears.

You have to do this. You have to do this. You have to be here for him, because no one else will.

Delphia composed herself just as the doors opened again. It was another two minutes before she made it to her office which she thankfully had to herself. She opened the door and flipped on the light.

And really, she should have expected that she wouldn’t actually get to be alone just yet.

“Doctor Besithia, how is our young charge on this day?” Chancellor Izunia, hat in hand, bowed to her.

“Terrible, but you already knew that didn’t you Ardyn?” She didn’t have time for his fanciful speech patterns and flowery prose right now. She had samples to run.

“Looking a bit red eyed yourself, Delphia. Hard first day on the job?” He tailed her to the workstation, watching carefully as she washed and gloved her hands.

“Why do you always ask questions you already know the answer to?” She asked, getting the little centrifuge ready to go.

“The same could be asked of yourself, Doctor.”

She sighed. “My father’s been purposefully keeping him ill. Or at least below a functional baseline.”

“You’re certain?” Ardyn asked like a child giddy about knowing the punchline to an old joke.

“Verstael did the same tests, same treatments, same everything over and over again despite no improvement. There’s only one reason you don’t change up the treatment plan.”

“Because it is working as intended.” Ardyn smiled in that wicked way that made her feel like a small rabbit being eyed by a wolf.

But this rabbit had an understanding with the wolf. 

“Exactly. But here’s what I find really interesting.” She looked up from the samples currently shaking at a dizzying rate in the machine. “Whatever was going on, you wanted it to end.”

“Oh do walk me through your process of deduction, Delphia. Your brain is always so intriguing to pick.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cut the shit. You knew I’d see these numbers and figure out what was happening immediately.” She pointed at him accusingly. “When the Emperor gave Father his orders, you made damn sure I was the one who took his place.”

“Who better to take over the father’s work, than the daughter?”

“My graduating class had 44 other young doctors who would have been eager and willing to take up his job and do it unquestioningly. Exactly at his direction, no critical thought or deviation. And you insisted on the one singular doctor who, you knew for a fact, wouldn’t. And that, Ardyn, is the most suspicious thing of all.”

“You do wound me, young one. But all the same please go on, I am on the edge of my seat.”

She considered not continuing, just to piss him off. But she couldn’t resist any opportunity to show off. It was a problem. So on she went. 

“Verstael takes pride in his projects, particularly the ones he...made from scratch.” She felt sick, thinking of the thousands of lives just like Prompto. His life was anything but easy, but it was worlds above that of his many, many brothers. “If he was interfering with the prince’s health on purpose, it must be because someone above him told him to. And there’s only one person who could tell him to do anything.”

Ardyn smiled, somehow even wider.

 She began the process of sterilizing her instruments, taking her time with each.

“The Emperor wants the Prince to waste away in poor health, hidden from the public and with zero sense of self worth to boot. Which is curious, since the Emperor was the one who commissioned a prince in the first place! Which leads me to believe Iedolas wanted this from the start. So. Why create an heir and then sabotage him?”

“Perhaps because the heir is meant only to act as a symbol.”

“Mmmhmm.” Del had considered as much. Hearing it from the chancellor cemented it. “A means of reminding the people the monarchy is here to stay. But Project Deathless is right around the corner, or so Father claims. And if it comes to fruition, then Iedolas is the monarchy. Forever.”

“Who needs an heir when you never plan to retire?”

“Who needs an heir beloved by the people, capable of leading and inspiring a coupe before you have a chance to gain immortality?”

“In the meantime, the chain of succession is decided by blood.”

“And the snakes in the cabinet can’t finagle their way into increasing power, at least not as easily.”

“Delphia I do love our conversations, not many can keep up quite like you.”

“Like father, like daughter.” She sighed. “So where do you come in, Ardyn? What do you get out of Prompto getting better?”

“Is it not enough to see a poor child suffering, and wishing to see him well again?”

“No, it’s not.” She replied, despite the unsaid implication hanging above them. Once, she was that suffering little child. And he healed her bruises and did what was needed to get her out of that hell hole. But that was a long time ago. And they were both very different now.

Ardyn hummed in response. “I would like to hear the good doctor’s hypothesis before the big reveal.”

She sighed. This man was so exhausting. But he was the only person worth talking to, somehow. “I think it's suspicious because you have no interest in the throne. Well, not this one at least.”

“And…” He smirked, telling her she was on the right track.

“And what a coincidence that our little prince is the same age as Lucis’ little prince.”

“What a coincidence indeed!”

The centrifuge stopped, the samples were ready for testing.

“I think you have a use for him in your little tirade against the Astrals and your brother’s descendants.” She snarled.

“And what use would that be?”

“I don’t know.” Delphia leaned over the workstation, looking Ardyn in the eyes. “But whatever it is you’ve got planned, if it ends with Prompto hurt or dead, I’m putting a stop to it. Now.”

Ardyn clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Now now, Delphia, you wound me.” He clutched his hand over his chest in mock insult. “Such accusations. I know you too well, little finch. The guilt you feel, unable to end your little brothers’ suffering. It tears at your weak, mortal heart. I have brought you to one who may live, and perhaps even prosper, with your guiding hand and sharp mind. I have no intentions of causing the boy further harm.”

Del didn’t believe that for a moment. Not because he was a liar, though he was certainly lying. She knew what lurked through the chancellor’s veins. What was eating him from the inside out, slowly, with every breath he took. It was getting worse, warping him. He was not the same man who befriended her fifteen years ago. Though bits of that man were still in there. And she knew if she just continued to play along, did what she could to keep those bits floating around alive, she’d get that friend back.

She just needed some more time.

---

“Commodore! Fucking finally. I have a request.” Delphia shouted across the courtyard, having finally found the woman after an hour of chasing down lead after lead.

“Interesting way of approaching someone. Mind an introduction first?”

Delphia tempered her knee jerk instinct to say something rude. “My name is Doctor Besithia, I assume you’re familiar with my father?”

“You mean the quack keeping the prince weak and at his mercy?”

Oh, she liked this woman. “Yep. Well, used to. I’m the prince’s personal physician now.”

“You planning on keeping up daddy’s work, Doc?” The Commodore crossed over to her, looking down with suspicion.

“Not quite. I’ve been going over his notes and I think there might be some...room for improvement. But I might need your assistance.”

Aranea shrugged her shoulders. “I’m a bodyguard, not a nurse. When the prince can leave his bedroom then I’ll have a job to do. Until then-”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking for your help, Commodore.” Delphia smiled. “The prince needs to leave his bedroom.”

“Uh huh. But can he?”

“Yes.” Delphia smirked up at the taller woman. “We’ve been working on it for three weeks, but he’s more than ready now. Of course, he’s not supposed to go anywhere without his retainers. Specifically the one that knows how to hit things with a stick.”

Aranea crossed her arms and frowned. “You’re telling me, after less than a month, Prince Shortcake is already improving?”

And this is where Delphia wanted the conversation to be. She needed to know who could be trusted, and who was in on the whole charade. Where did the true loyalties of the prince’s shield lie?

“Yeah. And if he’s going to keep getting better, he needs fresh air and sunlight. Vitamin D doesn’t make itself, you know. So, you ready to get to work, Commodore?”

Aranea studied Del’s face, obviously searching for answers to the same questions.

“Alright, Doc. Show me a miracle, and we’ll have ourselves a casual little stroll.”

Fantastic.

---

“Fifteen minutes.” Del reassured the two of them. “That’s all you need. Fifteen minutes in direct sunlight with bare arms, that’s more than enough time to get your daily dose of Vitamin D.”

Prompto felt like his heart could beat right out of his chest. It’d been so long since he’d left the palace walls. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. The doctor was on his left, keeping a close eye on him. Most likely observing his physical state while he walked around. 

On his right was Aranea, keeping an eye on everyone else in the courtyard. He hadn’t seen her in so long, he almost ran over to hug her before remembering his manners. She’d been like a sister to him when he was younger. But the weariness of the past seven years took just as much of a toll on her as it had on him.

Behind them, a guard was pushing a wheelchair. It was Del’s idea and insistence. “Just in case.” She said gently. “And there’s no shame in needing to use it.”

He might need it sooner than later, as everything around him was becoming overwhelming. The smell of fresh growing flowers, the sun on his face warming his skin, the light chatter of palace staff meandering around, their shoes clicking on the stone below.

It was making him dizzy.

“Yep, alright dude, easy now.” Del took his hand and helped guide him to the waiting wheelchair. “Take a few breaths, let me know what you need.”

Aranea did not look happy. “Is he alright?”

“I’m fine.” Prompto yelped, sitting up straighter. “I’m fine I’m just, it’s...a lot.”

“I bet.” Aranea smirked down at him.

“Are you okay to stay outside a little longer?” Del asked, voice filled with concern. 

All of this positive attention was going to make him just about pass out. 

“Yes. I’d like to, at least.”

Del smiled and put a hand on his forehead, wiping the hair from his eyes. “Alright, we’ll keep on. Just give me a heads up when you need to go back inside.”

He nodded. Prompto let the guard push him forward, watching little birds flicker through the sky and listening to his doctor and his shield have a not so private conversation between them.

“Well, credit where it’s due, Doc. Guess the Hippocratic oath still means something.”

“So then, about my proposal…”

“Count me in. Shortcake’s long overdue for some combat training.”

“Gradual, structured, short session combat training.”

“Yeah, I got it the first time.”

“With a lot of padded mats and-”

“Doc, you worry about his bone marrow count or whatever it is you do. Let me do my job.”

If he wasn’t already light headed, that would’ve sent him right over. He’d dreamed about getting to swing a sword around or hold a shield just like one of his father’s soldiers. In fact when he was still little and full of energy, he and Aranea would pretend spar with sticks or paper tubes for hours on end.

He’d all but abandoned being able to do that ever again. And now.

Del stopped and turned to look at him, smiling, her green eyes radiating warmth. “How you doing, Prompto?”

Aranea turned, crossing her arms, awaiting his response. And for the first time in forever she wasn’t looking down at him with pity. He hadn’t seen her look so content since they were kids.

Prompto nodded, smiling even wider. “I’m great.”

---

Cor was in complete disbelief. Not for the reason everyone else in the situation room was, oh no. While everyone else was staring mouth agape at the first recorded proof the prince of Niflheim actually existed, he was focused on the young woman walking next to him. The image wasn’t the closest, or clearest, but there was no mistaking.

That was Del Besithia, the six year old shit head daughter of Verstael, who treated an Imperial military research facility like her personal gymnasium. The little girl who called Cor a ‘dumbass’ in many colorful different ways. The kid who was so lonely and so deluded that she truly believed an army of clone babies were her brothers.

He’d tried so hard to get her to trust him, to get one of those babies to him so they could figure out what exactly was going on. In the end, she bailed on him, and Cor went home empty handed save a few photos of babies sleeping suspended in large cylinders.

From the looks of things, one baby did manage to get out though.

Incredible, really. Seeing the two of them standing next to each other, it was so obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. It was so obvious to Cor; the prince was one of those clones. And his ‘sister’ was his personal physician.

She looked happy. And sure, one still photograph couldn’t fill in a 14 year gap. But she was smiling, and with one of them, and she was walking freely outside. She’d told Cor with zero hesitation she knew she was going to die in that facility.

The look on her face when she made that statement had haunted him since. Maybe this one could replace it. She was fine. She was alive and okay.

There wasn't anything else he could’ve done for that kid.

“To be fair, hardly anyone ever saw Iedolas before he took the throne. And by that point he was already greying.”

“And we have no leads on who the mother could be. The lack of resemblance means nothing; the boy wears the Imperial regalia. That’s all the confirmation required.”

“Yes, but what if-?”

“That’s their prince.” Cor finally spoke up, hoping to end the back and forth guessing games. “Looks to be Noctis’ age as well. Prompto Aldercapt. Keep our eyes on him, I want to know his political and moral leanings before he has a chance to use them.”

The meeting adjourned, and his agents filed out. Cor had more business to get to. Training Gladio, overseeing the new recruits orientation, a briefing on the status of the wall, another briefing on the growing demon population…

He took another look at that photograph. Looking at Del smiling down at the prince, both of them looking happy and peaceful. There was something...pulling at him. Like a fist gripping his heart and trying to rip it from his chest. Something felt very wrong, a lingering threat aimed directly at them. Cor couldn’t tell why, but he knew they were in danger, and in spite of his loyalties he felt like he needed to protect those two. 

It was a strange impulse, maybe even something of an instinct. He couldn’t place its origin but he had a feeling a cigarette and some sleep would help dispel it.

Or...

---

“So...guns, huh?” Del frowned, watching as the prince shot off another round down the firing range.

“Your prescription of sunshine and lollipops-”

“I didn’t prescribe lollipops-”

“-can only do so much. He’s lacking the coordination for hand to hand combat, and swords wear out his stamina too quickly. A gun is lighter, easier to handle, and keeps him out of reach of more conventional weapons.” Aranea looked very pleased with herself.

“Well...at least he’s wearing ear protection.” He was also standing with a more determined posture than when they’d first met. And his skin was starting to show a little color, freckles not unlike her own dotting his cheeks and shoulders. 

“Emperor dropped in yesterday.” Aranea sighed.

Del felt her stomach drop. If the hypothesis she’d shared with Ardyn was anywhere close to correct, this was bad.

“Prince Shortcake shrank in his shadow, like the past few months never even happened.” The shield began chewing on her thumb, furrowing her brow. “Iedolas just grunted, looking as pissy as ever, and walked away. Poor kid. He’s still got a long way to go on that confidence.”

“You’d think the guy would be even a little bit happy his son was getting better.” Del shrugged her shoulders, hoping the anxiety wasn’t evident in her voice.

Aranea narrowed her eyes, studying Del for a moment. “You know, I really don’t get who you think you’re fooling.” She said before turning back around, walking to the prince to continue coaching his form.

Del blinked. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

---

“Like, seriously, what the fuck was that supposed to mean?” She asked, several hours later, pacing in her office while flipping through her notes.

“The mind of the Commodore is a mysterious one.” Ardyn had once again invited himself in, leaning back in her chair, boots resting on her desk. “But little finch, you have not been the most subtle in your intentions. There are whispers, you know…”

“Intentions?” She snapped. “Oh how terrible, I want the prince to not wither away and die in his bedroom at the age of sixteen. What fucking whispers, Ardyn?”

“The daughter of Verstael schemes to make the prince completely reliant upon her, such that when he overthrows his father and takes the throne he will do so at her own whims.”

Del pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache rising up. “I’m getting real fucking sick of politics. It’s like no one can do a single nice thing without having some wicked ulterior motive! It’s bullshit.”

“You have seemingly worked miracles, Delphia, in the eyes of the court.” Ardyn flicked at the brim of his hat to get a better view of her. “That is always suspicious.”

“Miracles. Intentions. All I did was treat my patient. I’m...I just want my brother to be healthy! Any sister would want that, much less one with a medical license. Is that so fucking terrible?!” Del was going to snap. Nothing about anything was ever easy in this godsforsaken hellscape of a country.

Ardyn lifted his eyebrows, eyes flickering to the door, before lifting a finger to his lips.

Del got the message. Someone was listening. And they heard...that. Slowly, quietly, she started to step towards the door. She gestured at Ardyn, asking him to talk so it wasn’t obvious they knew.

“Your heart is pure as always, little finch. But when one is steeped in their own darkness for so long, well…”

Del wrenched the door open and shot her head out, seeing no one but hearing fast paced foot steps.

“Darkness tends to be all one can see.”

She took off, down the long hallway, turning the corner. Nothing, not even a sound of a door. Whoever just heard her stupid ramblings, they got away. 

“I did warn you to be careful.” Ardyn said from behind her shoulder.

“Yeah.” Del swallowed hard, catching her breath. “You did.”

---

[crystaljins]

Take a chance. | 02

Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 7.3K

Synopsis:   You should have known the second your business partner asked you to plan his best friend’s wedding as a favour that it was going to be nothing but trouble. Especially when it turns out he’s in love with said best friend. And dying of a deadly disease because of it.

Hanahaki!au

Notes: The first three parts of this fic went through at least three different drafts. I changed the approach and character features so many times that this story isn’t even recognisable from the initial draft. But, once I added ma boi Kim Seokjin, this story finally hit a place that I felt I could happily write. 

Warnings: Angst. Graphic depictions of vomiting. Mentions of illness and death.

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

“Thank you for meeting with me today.” The man says as he slides into his seat. He’s wearing dark sunglasses that obscure most of his face and a black bucket hat is pulled low over his brows. Perhaps he is trying to be inconspicuous, but the large trench coat and obvious attempt to conceal his identity just make him seem more suspicious. Not only that, the price tags hanging off his outfit clearly show that he’d only just bought them.

“What are you doing, Jin? Why’d you call me out here?” Seri hisses. She pauses to smile warmly at the waiter who hands her an ice latte topped with perhaps more whipped cream than is strictly necessary before turning back to her obnoxious co-worker. “Why are you dressed… like that?”

“So that I don’t attract attention to myself. Obviously.” Jin scolds. He leans forward to sniff suspiciously at his milkshake before reaching into a pocket in his trench coat and pulling out a large swirly straw. It’s infuriatingly childish. He glances side to side before placing it in his glass and taking a long sip.

“I’m going home.” Seri snaps, making to get up, but an arm shoots out and holds her in place.

“I’m sorry! I’ll be serious.” He promises, even as he takes another sip from the milkshake through the ridiculous straw. He does remove his sunglasses, though. “This is a matter that concerns not just you and me, but Jungkook and our… beloved… boss.” He begins to tear up at the final person on the list, and dabs awkwardly at the corner of his eyes. “We have to help her.”

“Help her what?” Seri questions, attention grabbed. Where her boss is involved, she is all ears. After all, you had given her a job when she’d been unemployed and desperate. And she’s determined to pay that back by being the best employee she could possibly be.

“Help her with her illness.” He confesses gravely. Seri’s eyes go wide as her mind scans through the long list of illnesses her beloved boss could possibly be suffering from. “She’s suffering from Hanahaki.”

The deathly silence that follows is testament to how much both workers care for their boss. The colour drains from Seri’s face while Jin looks down and another tear trails down his face.

“How… how can you be sure?” Seri breathes. Jin shakes his head gravely.

“Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when I lost that bet and had to take garbage out for a week?” Jin asks. Seri nods contemplatively as she remembers the event in question.

“You bet you could down 2 L of milk in one go but ended up spraying it out your nose all over Jungkook’s desk.” She recalls. He nods gravely.

“Well, I kind of tripped when I was getting close to the garbage and the whole garbage bag split open.” He explains. He pauses mid-explanation to take another unnecessarily long sip of his milkshake, one that has Seri twitching in dread and anticipation as she waits for him to finish his story. “And there were these red rose petals everywhere.”

Seri nods, but then frowns.

“But what does that have to do with (Y/N)? We sometimes get petals in or bouquets as samples for future decorations and two weeks ago she was doing that red themed wedding.” Seri points out. Jin nods solemnly.

“Well that’s why I didn’t think anything of it at the time. It wasn’t until yesterday, when (Y/N) brought up Hanahaki and was super shifty and blatantly lying about why it was on her mind that I got suspicious.” Jin admits. “So that night I went home and rang her brother, because he’s actually a doctor who specialises in treating Hanahaki. Just to ask some questions, but he was surprised and thought that maybe someone from our office was suffering from it, because (Y/N) had rung him too,asking about it right before me.”

“That is very suspicious.” Seri admits, and the evidence is starting to stack up. But there’s one vital piece of information she needs to believe Jin. “But who is she in love with, that doesn’t love her back? And how can we help her?”

Jin smiles widely and leans back in his chair.

“I was hoping you’d ask me that, dear, sweet, naïve Seri.” He tells her warmly, and all traces of his earlier tears have vanished from his face. “It’s none other than our resident space cadet, Jeon Jungkook.” He announces with all the dramatic flair of an actor presenting Best Picture at the Oscars. Seri grimaces.

“Jungkook?” She questions incredulously. Up until that point, Jin’s theory had sounded plausible but now it just sounds ridiculous. “You think she’s in love with Jungkook? The same guy I caught trying to sneak in a new printer without her noticing last week because he spilt banana milk on the old one?”

Jin nods, as if it is the most logical and reasonable conclusion to draw in the world.

“Well, not to be presumptuous, but yes. Can you think of anyone else? Also, haven’t you always been suspicious of the fact that they literally built a business from the ground up together and yet there’s nothing there?” Jin points out. Seri seems surprised.

“Why would starting a business together mean there has to be something romantic between them?” She responds. Jin looks mildly astonished before understanding sets in his expression.

“Ah, I forgot you’ve only been here a couple of months. Yes, Jungkook and (Y/N) started this business together. It was probably like… five years ago? They’d been running for about two years when that video of that wedding she organised went viral and then they hired me to handle the extra clientele that came in, so that sounds about right.” Jin says, launching into an explanation. “But their whole story is fresh out of a romcom- (Y/N) met him after her fiancée dumped her for dropping out of some sort of prestigious uni degree or something at some bar and he had some sad backstory as well that I can’t remember and encouraged her to follow her dreams. And then he ran into her again and helped her get her first client and then after two years of struggling to make ends meet that video went viral and here we are today, successful and happy. How can there be nothing after all of that?” He explains. Seri wrinkles her nose- despite her short amount of time working at this firm, she knows enough of the story to know Jin is butchering the story a lot.

What had actually happened, was that you taken a year off law school when your mother’s health had started to decline. Your brother had been forced to financially support the two of you by working ludicrous hours while you cared for her physical needs. Your fiancée, unable to cope with the emotional strain such an event had put on the relationship, coupled with the lack of time that came with caring for a sick relative, had left you. In the end, you had wound up working at a bar and unable to bring yourself to go back to law school after your mother passed away. The very same bar that Jungkook happened to frequent. After confiding in the sad, unemployed drunk boy you thought wasn’t listening over a period of time about your heartbreak and your desire to go into wedding planning instead of law school, it turned out he had been listening. Not only that, but he had a proposal for you- he, a business major, and you, a wedding planner, could start a business together. That way you wouldn’t have to go back to law school, and he would no longer be unemployed and nearly homeless. At least, that’s what she’d been able to glean from snippets of conversation she’s had with the both of you over the past couple of months.

Still, even though his story is still warped the original point still stands: Jungkook is clearly someone who matters to you, a lot. Yes, it was the video that went viral that made your business successful but you wouldn’t have even started this business without Jungkook. Jin makes a compelling argument- the coincidental timing of your chosen conversation topic the day before, and Jin happening to find the rose petals… it is all very shifty. Even Seri has to admit that.

But Jin isn’t done, and his next piece of evidence is perhaps the nail in the coffin.

“And she asked me this morning to start preparing a job ad for a new assistant. She said Jeon Jungkook is officially taking leave as of today- that’s why he didn’t show up and why we were flat out all day.” Jin points out urgently. “And I left my wallet in my car this morning and just so happened to be ducking down to get it, when I saw Jungkook’s car pulling out of the building. Which means he came in to work today! And when I watched the CCTV footage to check-“

“Woah, woah, woah, Jin!” Seri cuts him off in protest. “We aren’t criminal detectives! You can’t just watch CCTV footage of your boss because you want to-“

“That’s not important. What’s important is they had some sort of fight this morning and clearly, it’s because (Y/N) is in love with Jungkook, is dying of Hanahaki and we need to make Jungkook fall for her or we could lose our jobs. And the nicest boss anyone has ever had.” He exclaims, almost out of breath from his rant. Seri blinks. She wants to disagree. She really does. She wants to write Jin off as crazy and perhaps report him to you.

But… what if he’s right? What if you’re dying because your airheaded assistant doesn’t reciprocate your feelings? If he’s right, then they have to help you! She bites her lip contemplatively.

“Why can’t she just get treatment? We could sit her down and encourage her to see a doctor- isn’t her brother a leading specialist in the disease?” Seri points out. Jin shoots her a look like she’s just made the stupidest suggestion in the world.

“Don’t you know what treatment involves? It makes you forget the person who gave you Hanahaki forever. If she forgot Jungkook how can they run this business together?” He cries out. Seri is pretty sure she read something somewhere, back when she was researching the disease for herself that said that the ‘forget your love’ aspect of Hanahaki is just an urbanised myth and only the most severe cases of Hanahaki that have gone untreated for years require such dramatic action, and even those have been able to be successfully treated with just therapy in certain patients, but Jin sounds so convinced and sure of his words that it makes her doubt herself.

“What... what would you have us do?” She asks, rather than contradict what he just said. She cringes as she says the words because she knows she may regret this strongly depending on what Jin asks.

He merely grins.

“I’m glad you asked, dear Seri, because I already have a mastermind plan in place…”

++

“Yes, I understand that you want all black for your decorations,” You say, desperately clinging on to your patience. “But black roses aren’t really a thing. If you just agreed to the black baccara roses-“

“They’re still red.” Your client on the other end of the phone sniffs. “I want black.”

“Then having them painted is your best option.” You retort. “I told you I’d do my best to give you the wedding of your dreams but I’m not a miracle worker- you can’t grow black roses!”

“Please? It’s really important to us.” He begs. You dig your fingers into the bridge of your nose and sigh.

“I’ll see if I can speak to some plant breeders and see if we can get something closer to black.” You say with a sigh. “That’s the best I can do.”

You don’t hear whatever he says because you are distracted by the presence of Jungkook leaning awkwardly against the door to your apartment. When he spots you, his whole face lights up and he straightens. You wince as he waves enthusiastically. He’s not in his usual crumpled suit- instead he’s wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of trackpants and he hasn’t even attempted to tame his wild mop of hair. Oddly, he looks amazing in the casual, comfortable look he’s going for.

“You’re here!” He greets. You watch him cautiously like he is a furious bull that may charge at any moment.

“It’s my apartment. Where else would I go?” You point out. “Shouldn’t you be at home resting?”

He nods sheepishly.

“Well… I did take the day off.” He admits. “But I thought you might have had a long day without me, what with no one to replace the vital work that I do, so I brought some supplies.”

You stiffen. You have had a long day, and that is to be expected when you force your business partner to take an unplanned leave.  To be honest, you aren’t even sure what half of Jungkook’s duties are. You’ve just always done your thing, talking to clients, make plans, connecting with people, and then at the end you’d have money in your bank account. Jungkook has always handled your marketing and connecting clients and managing appointments while keeping the office running smoothly. Without him, you’d had to answer phones, contact the accountant and fill out complex paperwork between and in the middle of appointments with. Seokjin and Seri had done their best to share the load but even they’d felt the strain by the end of the day.

“I’m not changing my mind, if that’s why you’re here.” You sniff, stepping passed him to unlock the door. He presses in close and follows you into your apartment even though he is not welcome. He looks around curiously as soon as he steps passed the threshold of your home.

“This is a really lovely place.” He compliments sincerely- it should be surprising that this is the first time he’s ever step foot in your apartment considering the fact that you’ve been running a business with him for five years now. Even Seri, who has only been working with you for a couple of months, has visited your home before. But before this whole wedding debacle, Jungkook had always refused. He sidles past you and sets a plastic bag up on the countertop in your kitchen. He glances back at you before rummaging inside. “I realised I have no idea what you like to eat, so I read that interview you did with that bridal magazine a few months ago.” He says, and then he pulls out a block of chocolate, some grapes and a bottle of wine. You squint suspiciously at them.

“Jungkook…” You say slowly, about to ask him to leave your home and take the food with them. Yes, they were all guilty pleasures of yours, but you weren’t about to give him false hope that you would rescind your decision. “I’m not going to plan the wedding.” Is what you say instead.

He ignores you, turning to a cupboard and pulling out two wine glasses. He sets them on the counter and immediately begins pouring out the wine. Then he leans against the countertop beside you and sighs heavily, as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

“Why?” He finally asks. He takes a long sip of his own glass, sliding yours toward you. Hesitantly, you accept and settle into a stool next to the counter. “It’s not going to stop the wedding. It’s not going to cure me. And I’ll still be involved in the wedding whether you plan it or not. What do you think you’re achieving by refusing?”

You stare down at the ruby liquid in the glass- your distorted reflection glares back. He’s right. You’re not achieving anything. You’re just sticking your head in the sand and pretending Jungkook’s situation isn’t happening until it magically fixes itself. But that’s all you really can do, right? You can’t force him to get treatment and you can’t make his best friend love him back. These are all doubts that plague you, but if you are anything, it is stubborn. Your blood runs hot with anger at the way he’s trying to pressure you into something you’ve already decided not to do.

“Why are you so desperate for me to plan this wedding anyway?” You question, hopping off the stool and edging closer until he is pressed against the kitchen counter. At this proximity you can count each of his individual lashes and feel the way his breath has become shallower and hesitant. It’s out of anger that you press closer. You’re trying to intimidate him into backing off and leaving you to deal with the consequences of your decision in peace. His eyes flash at the challenge though.

“Why are you so determined to refuse?” He retorts. “Up until the engagement party, you were all for planning this wedding! What, suddenly things get a teensy bit more complicated and you’re out?”

“Finding out my business partner is dying from a curable illness is not a “teensy bit more complicated”, Jungkook!” You cry, the volume of your voice escalating. Any louder and your neighbours will probably call the cops on you. “Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“I am taking this seriously!” Jungkook shouts. It’s the first time in all the years that you’ve known him that you’ve ever seen him lose his temper. His whole face goes bright red and the tendons in his neck strain with the force of his shout. “That’s all I’ve been doing! Every, single, damn day, all I can think about is how hard this is! You think I want to be sick? You think I want to be here, begging my boss to plan the wedding for the girl that I love? Why do you have to fight me at every single step- why can’t you just do me this one favour? All I’m asking you to do is to plan a wedding for a friend and turn a blind eye when you see I’m having a hard time- is that so hard to do?”

“Yes.” You breathe, and your eyes have watered and filled with tears at his words. “I don’t want to have to watch your heart break.” You finally admit. Because that’s the real reason. You can’t stop the fast approaching train-wreck that Jungkook has managed to lock himself into. But you sure as hell don’t have to watch it happen. “I don’t want to watch you slowly die.”

Your admission is met with silence and when you shoot a glance at Jungkook, he’s staring at you like you’ve grown a third eye. Abruptly he breaks eye contact and his shoulders hunch.

“Let me come back to work.” He says in a small voice. “I know you think you’re helping me, but you’re just leaving me at home alone with nothing to dwell on but the fact that I’m ill and…” His voice cracks. “That she…” He whirls around so that he’s no longer facing you and is unable to finish his sentence. He changes the subject. “Wow, I didn’t know my boss was so heartless,” He tries to joke, his tone falsely light, but his voice is still slightly shaky. “5 years together and you give me the axe just because I’m a little sick.” He shakes his head and makes a “tsk” sound. “Success has really changed you, (Y/N).”

You recognise now, that his attempt to joke around is his way of hiding, so you aren’t offended. Instead, getting slowly to your feet, you pack everything into the bag he brought with him and walk around the kitchen counter so that you’re facing him. He winces and looks towards the ceiling, perhaps to conceal the way his eyes are wet with tears and red-rimmed. Gently, you take his hand and place the handles of the plastic bag in it, wrapping his fingers around them.

“Jungkook.” You say softly. “I’m not doing this because I thought this would easy or because I don’t like you or because I think your job is replaceable or because I’m trying to punish you. I’m not doing it to make your life difficult. You’re sick, Jungkook, and sick people need rest.”

He stares at you with bewildered, pleading eyes. It is an exact repeat of earlier that morning when you had told him to take time off.

“There are other wedding planners.” You tell him gently. “She’ll live even if I don’t plan it for her.”

He stares down at the bag in his hand.

“But what if I… if she really wants you to do it?” He asks, even as he lets you guide him gently out the door. You don’t notice his slip.

“Well sometimes we don’t always get what we want Jungkook. But as your boss it’s my job to make sure you get what you need. And what you need is some time off.” You say. He seems to register he’s fighting a losing battle as the door swings shut- his hand flies out before you can fully close it.

“What would it take?” He pleads. “Hypothetically. If you could have anything in the world, what would it take for you to do this?”

You grimace.

“For you not to be sick.”

++

For all your bravado over forcing Jungkook to take leave, it really does make your life infinitely harder. Jungkook is a scatter-brain prone to double booking appointments and breaking expensive electronics, but his job really is irreplaceable- he hasn’t just been an assistant, or receptionist. His job was never as simple as answering phones and calling in the technician when he broke the printer yet again. He also managed the entire business side of things- from organising how much clients would pay for your services, to drafting contracts with them, to the entire marketing side of things, it had always been him to deal with that sort of thing. And it had been stupid and arrogant of you to think you could handle your regular duties on top of his. In your head, you had planned to look for a temporary replacement to work for maybe a year while Jungkook sorted himself out, but you barely have time for your own job, let alone searching for a replacement and training them up on top of managing Jungkook’s duties in the mean time. You’ve really screwed yourself over with such a hasty decision.

Your employees are quick to vocally and aggressively remind you of what a mistake it is to have put Jungkook on leave.

“My keyboard still doesn’t work.” Jin sniffs at you in the kitchenette, repeatedly dunking a bag of chamomile tea aggressively into a mug of boiling water. “I thought you said you were looking into fixing that! I can’t type anything and I’ve had two brides organising a wedding and a mother organising a first birthday party call me in tears because I didn’t answer their emails.”

“Well, you didn’t have to spill orange juice on it now, did you?” You almost snarl- you find your temper becoming shorter and shorter the more stressed and tired you are. It’s getting to the point that you’re hardly getting any sleep at night because you’re essentially doing two full time jobs at once. Jin’s eyebrows fly up, seeming to sense that you’re on the verge of snapping at him, and holds two hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m sorry- It was an accident. But it’s really very urgent.” He tells you, and he sounds apologetic enough that you take a deep breath to release the tension built up in your shoulders and neck.

“I know. I’m sorry for getting short with you- I am trying to sort it out. I just have a lot on my plate at the moment.” You admit, and you feel on the verge of tears. Jin’s expression softens at your wobbly tone and he comes to stand next to you, resting against the kitchenette counter.

“Maybe we should give Jungkook a call.” He suggests gently. You tense, about to scold him for such a suggestion, but he holds up a firm hand. “I don’t know what happened or why you put him on leave, but you’re really struggling. If he does need the leave, then at least keep him around until you find a proper replacement- doing two jobs at once like this isn’t sustainable.” He points out. You wince because if it weren’t for your own stubbornness, you probably would have done as much. But you can’t- your pride won’t let you. You’ve decided that Jungkook needs leave and so he’s getting leave. Even if it kills you in the process.

Jin isn’t the only one- later in the week Seri knocks on your door. She strides in without waiting for an answer and leans in close so the two clients across from you don’t hear what she says.

“I just got a call from the bank- apparently there was an issue with billing that florist we contracted. I took down their number for you to ring them when you’re done with your client.” She informs you, flicking a gaze at the two clients before you.

Her interruption, though bearing bad news, is welcome- she’s interrupted two clients on the verge of screeching at you in rage. There was a mix-up with the venue bookings that you forgot to sort out between the flurry of phone calls you’ve been heckled with all day and they are not pleased. You’re barely holding back frustrated tears while Seri watches on, uncertain how to handle the situation. You take a deep breath, summoning all the professionalism you can access and smile at her.

“I will have that sorted after I deal with these two clie-“ You begin, but they cut you off.

“Don’t bother!” The one on the right, a woman in her late thirties’, snarls. She’s clinging to her fiancé’s arm like a hole might open up beneath her and demons appear to drag her to the depths of hell if she lets go. “We came here because we’ve heard so many good things about your service, but clearly it was all just good marketing- we won’t be coming back.”

She gets abruptly to her feet and storms off, dragging her balding fiancé with her. You take a shaky breath and squeeze your eyes shut, willing the tears not to come.

“Perhaps… I should call Jungkook? He’s really good with this kind of thing.” Seri suggests, and it’s so not the suggestion you need right now.

“Don’t.” You say. “My afternoon appointment just cancelled as you just saw- I’m free to speak with the bank right now.”

Your week carries on like that. You’re at your wits end by the time Friday comes around. You’ve promised yourself that you won’t do anything related to work for the entire afternoon. You’re going to ignore all the deadlines. Your business won’t crumble just because you took a Friday afternoon off, after all. At least that’s what you tell yourself as you take on your final task of the day- carrying a heavy box of fragile but expensive glasses that a client ordered in for clients to drink out of during their reception. You stagger as evenly as you can into the elevator and that’s when it happens- your heel snaps. It’s not a particularly high heel- just high enough that your ankle twists beneath you as it gives. You cry out, bracing yourself to crash to the floor and for the delicate goods you are carrying to shatter.

Only, it never comes. As you crumple to the ground, the weight of the box abruptly vanishes from your arms. Instead it is just you that hits the floor of the elevator with a pained grunt. Confused, you look up to find someone has grabbed the box from your arms before it could hit the floor with you and shatter all the contents inside.

“Are you ok?” Jungkook cries, gently setting down the box and crouching down before you. You’re so shocked that you are speechless. His large glasses are slightly lopsided on his face and he’s wearing a t shirt with a pair of ripped jeans. He’s not wearing the business attire that is required of all your employees- instead he’s dressed casually, like he didn’t plan on coming into the office today.

“W-what are you doing here?” You finally find your voice as he helps you to your feet. You wince as you attempt to press your weight into the foot with the broken heel and crumple back down- no doubt you sprained it on your way down. Jungkook’s eyes are wide with concern.

“Jin called me in for something urgent-“ He explains but he’s too distracted by your injury to provide the full story. “Did you hurt yourself?” He questions. You glance down at your leg- you move your ankle and wince when you find it too painful to rotate.

“Probably just a sprain.” You explain and he nods.

“I’ll help you, then,” He says quickly. “There’s a first aid kit in my office- or there was, if you haven’t cleaned it out yet.”

“Thank you.” You say quietly. “I haven’t touched your things. But you really shouldn’t be here-“

Your words are interrupted by the sudden flashing of the light in the elevator and a screeching noise.

The elevator is stuck.

++

“That’s your mastermind plan to help (Y/N)? Trapping them in an elevator together?” Seri sniffs, as she realises what Jin has done, watching Jungkook and her boss through the small security camera. They remain crouched down, close to the ground and she can’t see their expressions. “What if they get hurt?”

“Clearly you’ve never watched any kind of romcom ever, Seri.” Jin tuts. “This is a basic strategy- and this is just us getting started! Phase one! We just need to force them into the same space and hopefully the confined space will lead to them opening up! Besides, don’t act so surprised- there’s much more work we have to do than this before Jungkook-”

“Why did you agree to this?” She interrupts, directing her question to the elevator technician who has unscrewed the control panel and is fidgeting with the wires. He pauses, resting a hand on his chin as he contemplates the answer.

“For love.” He answers fondly. “But also, Seokjin here paid me $50 if I made sure they were trapped in an elevator together for the next twenty minutes.”

Seri whirls on Jin, the expression on her face utterly despairing.

“What… what else do you have planned?” She asks incredulously, pale and concerned for the wellbeing of not only her boss, but Jungkook as well. Jin considers her question for a moment, before shrugging.

“It’s a surprise.” He answers with a grin.

++

“How’s your ankle?” Jungkook asks awkwardly. For the past five minutes after ringing for help with the emergency button and being assured that the elevator technician was already working on it, the two of you had been sitting in a deathly silence. With Jungkook’s help, you had manoeuvred so that you now lean against the wall of the elevator, your sprained ankle stretched out in front of you. Your broken, useless heels are discarded in the corner. Your eyes are shut so that you don’t have to acknowledge his presence and can feign sleeping.

“The same as it was 5 minutes ago.” You answer, without opening your eyes. “Swollen. Painful. Will probably be better in a few days.”

You hear a tapping sound and know that Jungkook is probably bouncing his knee up and down. He has a lot of restless energy and a lot of pens have been dismantled at his desk from his fidgeting and a lot of office chairs have met their end because he’s constantly rocking back and forth. It’s a good indicator for when he’s about to strike up conversation- the noise stops, and he inhales like he’s formulating a question.

“How’s the office been?” He asks. “Without me? Is everyone coping alright?”

Not really. But you’re not about to tell him that.

“They’re fine. The others are urging me to find a replacement and I’m sure we’ll find one soon.” You say. Your sentences are clipped, and your tone isn’t unfriendly, but it isn’t exactly warm either. You’re trying to discourage conversation because if Jungkook inquires more into how your week played out, you may burst into tears. The last thing you want is for him to know what a hard time you are having without him.

He starts to whistle tunelessly, and the sound is annoying, but you don’t want to talk to him. At least he’s stopped asking you questions.

For about thirty seconds.

“What was in the box?” He asks. You open one eye to peer at him. He’s sitting cross-legged in front of you with his back slouched. He picks absently at his worn shoelaces on his crappy, frayed sneakers.

“Glasses. For a wedding I’m planning.” You say. He perks up at the mention of your business.

“Is this the couple who met at the Venetian Glass Blowing Factory?” He asks cheerfully. “I thought you didn’t have time to plan their wedding. How did you squeeze them in?”

You tense- you rang them up and offered your services since a lot of clients have cancelled on you this week following your subpar performance.

“I’ve had a few slots in my schedule clear up.” You admit through gritted teeth. Jungkook looks confused but then his eyes go round when he realises what you mean.

“Oh… that bad, huh?” He asks. He winces. “Not that I’m implying you’re bad! I just didn’t think people would cancel so quickly when-”

“When what, Jungkook?” You snap, patience lost. “When I’m essentially working two jobs? When I’ve been yelled at 32 times this week? When I’ve been getting approximately 4 hours sleep every night trying to organise all these events in between doing your job?”

“Well I didn’t ask to be on leave!” He retorts defensively. His eyebrows furrow together and his lips purse in a slight pout. “You’re the one who insisted I was unfit to work.”

“I know.” You snarl, and to your mortification, frustrated tears fill your eyes and blur your view of him. “I know I made you take leave! I know that everyone wants you back and this office is going insane without you!”

Jungkook’s jaw drops at your outburst but doesn’t interrupt as you continue your rant.

“I know your job is important and that it was going to be hard without you, but I was doing it for you! I wasn’t trying to fire you or spite you or punish you for being sick! I was only trying to help.” You’re full on sobbing now, but you’re so exhausted and emotional and the repressed emotions you’ve been pushing back for the past week are all bursting forth. “Is that so bad? Is it so terrible that I just wanted to look after my business partner? Why am I getting punished for doing the right thing?” You’re in full hysterics as Jungkook starts to panic, realising that he has no idea how to comfort you or calm you down.

“D-don’t cry!” He protests but it’s too late- it’s like a dam has been broken. All the stress, all the misery, all the overtime work has combined, and you feel like there’s an angry tornado of lava where your heart should be. “I know you were trying to help, and I’m really grateful for that- please don’t cry!”

He edges closer to you and doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he settles for resting them awkwardly on your shoulders. You stare up at him with teary eyes. You’re not a pretty crier by any definition- your eyes have gone puffy and your nose is running and were it any other situation he would have laughed at you. But he has at least enough sensitivity to know laughing at you now would be kicking you when you’re down. Instead he offers you an awkward smile, one that is little more than his cheeks raising and him baring his teeth in an almost-snarl.

You’re so confused at his peculiar expression that you actually stop sobbing. You squint at him for a moment, before a tear-y laugh breaks through your lips.

“What are you doing?” You ask, taking the lapse in your hysterics as an opportunity to wipe away the tears running down your cheeks. His expression softens.

“I’m smiling at you.” He explains. You snort incredulously.

“You look like you’re in pain.” You say. He chuckles awkwardly.

“Hey! I’m trying to make you feel better!” He protests jokingly, relieved that you’re at least no longer crying. You frown.

“By showing me what face you make when you’re constipated?” You suggest and he actually laughs.

“I mean, since that’s what stopped you crying, I’ll take it.” He volunteers. He takes his hands off your shoulders and slumps next to you, being mindful of your injured leg. “Hey.”

You turn to look at him.

“Hi.” You answer. His expression is warm and gentle as he volunteers his next words.

“I never thanked you.” He admits. “For caring so much. Enough to keep it a secret.” He confesses. “And for putting me on leave. I know… I know you were trying to help, and it feels good to know that you’ve got my back like that. So, thank you. So much.”

At his words, an odd, warm sensation blooms in your chest. This whole week all you’ve felt is stressed and guilty, questioning your decision and worrying about Jungkook’s health. But Jungkook’s gratitude is liberating- you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. He turns so that he’s staring straight into your eyes.

“And I know that you were only trying to help, and I’m really thankful for that but…” He trails away awkwardly and glances downwards. “But it wasn’t your call to make.” He admits. “I know you mean well, but it’s my decision on whether to get treatment, or whether to keep working, or whether or not to be involved with this wedding. You shouldn’t have taken that choice from me.”  

The truth of his words hits you like a bag of bricks and leaves you momentarily speechless. Because he has a point- even acting with his best interests in mind, he’s your co-worker. Not your friend or your family or your lover. He’s your equal business partner, capable of making adult decisions for himself. And by forcing him to go on leave, you took that choice away from him.

“As for the wedding… I won’t force you to do it or keep pestering you about it. I should have stopped when you first said no and respected that. That was wrong of me.” He says. “To be honest, I kept visiting you because I thought I could convince you. I didn’t even care how you were doing or whether you were coping- I just made all these excuses to see you so that I could convince you. And I realise now that’s a really awful way to be. You’re not just my boss or a machine that churns out people’s dream weddings. You’re a person who cares a lot about everyone she meets and I’m sorry for not recognising that.” He tells you. His cheeks are tinted slightly pink at his heartfelt confession, and your own cheeks burn too for some reason.

“The truth is… the truth is that Minah doesn’t want you to plan her wedding this much. Yeah, she liked that video of that wedding you did, but if I’d told her you said no, she would have just found someone else. It was me that was being insistent because I wanted someone on my side. You saw how I almost exposed myself at her engagement party… I felt like bringing another wedding planner into the mix is just one more person I have to hide from.” He slumps against the elevator wall and you take notice of the dark circles under his eyes, of his pale skin and his gaunt face… He’s lost even more weight since you made him take leave- earlier he was skinny but still looked healthy. Now he looks ashy and uncomfortable. At this rate he will wither away into nothing but skin and bones. Your heart aches for him again. “But when you found me… when you helped me and you didn’t tell anyone… I felt like I wasn’t alone for the first time in nearly a year. For the first time since Minah started dating Taehyung, probably. And I liked that feeling- I liked the idea of someone like you having my back. Someone who was strong and so determined that she literally built a business from the ground up, and you always call me your partner but really it was all you. And this whole thing with Minah has been so… hard. I thought… ‘maybe I could do it if she had my back.’” He squeezes his eyes shut and you notice the way a tear trickles down his cheek. His glasses nearly hide it but you’re watching him so carefully that you pick up on it.

“I’ll do it.” You don’t even realise you’ve said the words until he’s staring at you with wide, shocked eyes.

“What?” He asks. “Say that again?”

You blink, startled by your own compliance, but then you steel your gaze and make your decision.

“My brother’s a doctor who specialises in Hanahaki.” You say. “He said that if the doctors have already recommended hypnotherapy then conservative treatment probably can’t do much but it may slow the progression.” You explain. Jungkook is still staring at your with confused, round eyes. “If you promise to meet with him at least once a week for some conservative treatment and then you book in for proper treatment once the wedding is over… I’ll do it. I’ll plan her wedding.”

Jungkook’s whole face lights up and he grabs one of your hands, clasping it between your hands. His hands dwarf your own and you feel like he may break your bones with how tightly he is holding you.

“Really? You’d do that?” He asks, and the breathless excitement and relief in his voice almost makes it worth the stress that will no doubt come with agreeing.

“For you.” You clarify. “And only if you get treatment. If Namjoon tells me you’ve missed even one session, then I’m cancelling on her.” You warn. You look away awkwardly. “And I guess… if it means that much to you… you can come back to work. But you have to promise me that if you’re not feeling well you let me know, ok?”

“Deal!” Jungkook cries joyously, throwing his arms around you neck and pulling you in for a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you so much (Y/N)!  This really means so much to me. Thank you.”

And it is in that moment, with Jungkook squeezing you tightly to him like you’ll get up and sprint away if he lets go, that the elevator door starts up again like it was just waiting for the two of you to come to an agreement.

And if it’s suspicious that Jin and Seri are both anxiously waiting by the elevator doors on the fifth floor when they eventually slide open and release you, then neither you nor Jungkook notice it.

You’re both too distracted by the work you have ahead of you.

[antiquechampagne]

Absolute Zero - Chapter 1

As Angela walked up to the metal door, its presence punctuated by a garish glowing neon arrow, her heart felt like it would blow out of her chest. Goodneighbor. She clutched her thick three ring binder before her, hoping it would give her the strength she needed. Angela hadn’t traveled here alone from Amherst, but she entered the town on her own.

The door was heavy. Angela struggled with it until a ghoul carrying a tommy gun and wearing a threadbare suit topped with a rust colored fedora helped her open it the rest of the way.

“Welcome to Goodneighbor.” He sounded tired.

Before he could walk away, she quickly thanked him. “Could you also tell me where I could find… the Mayor?”

“If ya wanna talk t’ the boss,” he pointed a scarred finger across the courtyard. “Check out the Old State House.”

She thanked him again, but he had already turned away. Taking a few steps closer, she took in the tall brick building. It was stately, definitely pre-war built, but well taken care of given it’s age. It reminded Angela of some of the ruins she played in as a child, looking for long forgotten books or scraps of pre-war gadgets. Glancing around the square, she saw a friendly ghoul manning a general store. She was more surprised to see an assaultron behind the counter of the other shop, one full of dangerous looking arms. It was early evening, but not many other people were on the street.

Standing in front of the State House, Angela took a moment to straighten her bangs, combing her fingers through her chin length blond hair. She wiped some hot sweat from her forehead. Her nerves were shot, but she had to go through with it. It was the only way.

Once inside she was directed to the second floor. She wasn’t sure what to expect. All Angela knew about the mayor of Goodneighbor was that he was a ghoul with a taste for chems. She wasn’t expecting a man clad in a long red coat playing chess with a rather serious looking woman.

“Looks like we have a new guest, Fahr! And this little lady has balls!” He picked a hat off the table as he rose and plunked it squarely over his deeply ridged scalp.

She found herself staring at the hole that had once been a nose as she spoke. “I…I didn’t mean to intrude, Mr. Mayor…” Angela had never been this close to a ghoul before, much less talked to one for so long. Sure, there had been a few ghoul traders around, but she was never directly involved in any commerce activity.

The Mayor drew closer to her, a cocky smirk on his face. “Oh, now don’t be shy, sister! We’re all friends here, right?” He motioned to a pair of sofas in the middle of the large room. Angela had always been on the shorter side, but the Mayor’s bombastic personality made him seem even taller than his average stature. Sitting down across from him did little to lessen it. Angela felt like she was shrinking under his gaze.

“Now, what can this old ghoul do for you today.”

Angela thought he sounded almost predatory. The glowering giant woman with a mohawk standing behind the couch wasn’t helping. She closed her eyes and pictured her family in her head. Releasing her breath, she began.

“Mr. Mayor… my name is Angela. I came east looking for someone who might be in need of my particular set of skills and I heard Goodneighbor would be a perfect fit.”

He cocked a smooth hairless eyebrow. “Oh, really? And what would those skills be?” the Mayor purred, leaned forward on his knees.

Angela opened her binder, leafing through the notebooks, papers and pamphlets stored within. “I am a trained scientist, specializing in pharmacological chemistry. I can synthesize chems of all sorts, medicinal, recreational, even chemical warfare. I’ve spent the past 10 years collecting every formula and recipe I could get my hands on.” The ghoul was leaning farther over, trying to glimpse at the treats she teased in her pages. This was going well. “Get me in a lab with the ingredients I need, and I’ll make you whatever you want.”

The Mayor leaned back in his seat again and glanced up at Fahr, another smile teasing the edges of his deformed lips. “That is quite the compelling sales pitch you have there, especially with the issues we’ve been having lately... but how do I know you can actually deliver? Not many actual scientists around these days… unless you’ve defected from the Institute.”

Angela had no idea what this ‘Institute’ was, but from the way he spoke, it wasn’t a popular around these parts. “I grew up in the ruins of an old university out in the Amherst wasteland. My mom was the town doctor, but I was more interested in books than bodies.”

The ghoul rubbed his chin, seemingly unimpressed.

“Put me to the test, then.” If what she had heard was true, this gamble was worth the risk. “Pick out anything, give me the means to make it, and see what you think.”

“You’re kidding, right?” The woman piped up. “You come in here, and then demand caps from us… just to waste on some flaky science experiment? Throw this pipsqueak out on her ass, boss. We’ve got better things to do.”

“I barely got here with the shirt on my back! Cut me some slack!”

“Now hold on a second,” The Mayor raised his hand. “I think we can work something out.” He spread his hand over Angela’s binder, turning it towards him as he spoke. “I’ll pick a treat from the cookie jar, here… and if Squeaky here can deliver we can have some more negotiations. If not, then I get to keep the recipe.” He stared at her, freezing her to the spot. “Deal?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Deal.”

Opening the binder to what appeared to be a random page, the Mayor read the title.

“Rocket? Never heard of it. Sounds fun!”

Twenty minutes later the pair led her to the dingy basement of the local hotel, a small crate clutched in her hand, the cola bottle clinking together between the box of Abraxo soap and Jet canisters.

“Hey, Fred,” called Mayor Hancock. “Mrs. Angela here is going to use your bench for a little while.”

A drowsy face popped out from a side room. “Yeah, well… you might want to check upstairs with that. Marowski might not like that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have a little chat with him right now.” He turned to Angela. “In the meantime, why don’t you get set up.”

The lab was set up in the middle of the large basement. She wished she had more light but began to unload and organize on the counter when Fred appeared next to her. She tried to ignore him.

“Sooo… whatcha cookin’?” His wide watery eyes tracing over the bottles and boxes. He reached out but Angela quickly slapped his hand away from the Nuka-Cola. “Jeeze, sorry man. You don’t have to be like that. I’m just curious.”

Angela placed her binder on the bench top, her hand firmly holding the cover down. She didn’t want anything of hers wandering away while she wasn’t looking.

“Oooh, what’s that?” Fred asked, peering around her with a little hungry smile.

“Mine.” She glared at him. She was already on edge with the pressure of synthesizing chems in an unfamiliar lab, but now she had to be on her guard against possible sabotage. Great.

Just then, Hancock and Fahrenheit came down the stairs. “Okay, a few caps and that’s all squared away. You have an hour. Show us what ya got.”

“Hey, wait a minute there!” Fred stood up tall, puffing out his chest. “Are you guys looking to replace good ol’ Fred?” He shoulders hunched a little. “Say it ain’t so, Mayor?!”

The Mayor threw an arm around the greying chem dealer’s shoulder. “Nah, man. That’s not it at all. You know, with those raiders pouring out from Nuka-World it’s been hard getting a steady supply. Think of her as a possible assistant. This,” he spread his other hand out wide. “is her interview.”

Fred considered the news.

“Besides,” the ghoul continued. “You’ll get to try her goodies out… and it looks like she’s got a couple of aces up her sleeve.” He let Fred go and started towards the stairs.

“Oh, and Fred?” he looked back. “Leave her alone… she’s got work to do.”

Author’s Notes: I have decided to not put chapter titles with this fic and see how I feel about it.

[welllpthisishappening]

singersdd

replied to your video

“washingtonburakovsky: i love how tylers shamelessly watching the caps...”

It's Killian and Peggy while she's home with a cold & happy at the moment.

Listen, I am only human. Albeit a human who really is very concerned about how much hummus I’m going to consume while social-distancing. But the point remains. And when I see solid ideas, I feel compelled to write about them. We’re going to go the teething route, though. So, sorry other anon, that Blue Line masterlist has another thing on it now. Here’s like 1.5 K of total fluff. 

-----

They had tried everything. 

Anything. All of it. And then some. 

They were bordering on desperate now, a growing frustration over the last few days that had not happened when Matt was this age. Nothing helped. 

Peggy twisted and turned and tossed and whined, which didn’t follow the alliterative rule that Killian had apparently come up wth, but he was more than willing to blame that on his absolute and complete exhaustion. 

Sleeping, it seemed, was a luxury neither he nor Emma could afford anymore. 

Not when they were so busy reading lists and searching for some kind of an answer, typing word combinations that Killian wasn’t even aware existed in the English language until some time in the realm of four that morning. That was after the pacing. But before the bobbing — moving through a variety of rooms in their apartment because some website on the third page of the Google results promised it would work. 

It didn’t. 

He hadn’t expected it to. 

Nothing good ever came from the third page of Google. 

“Ah, no, no, nah—c’mon,” Killian mumbled, reaching out a hand that he didn’t think should feel quite that heavy in an attempt to tug Peggy’s fingers away from her mouth. 

Every inch of him ached, and that might have also been a byproduct of the only-recent end to the season, an admittedly not great end either, a second-round loss that would probably grate on his nerves even more than Peggy’s tooth-related screeching, but none of those words were particularly positive to begin with. 

So. 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever had so many opinions on words. 

Matt was going to stay with the Vankalds for the rest of the weekend. 

“We’re not doing that,” Killian continued. Peggy made a noise. Not words. Figured. She was a baby. “I know it hurts, but you can’t start sticking your fingers in your mouth. Did the medicine wear off?”

Still no response. 

It really had not been this bad for Matt. 

That seemed unfair. 

For all parties involved. 

“Alright, we’ll get the ring thing and that’ll probably help and you won’t mention how that rhymed, right?”

That got him a gurgle and a wobbling lower lip. 

Killian’s head dropped — whether from exhaustion or the overwhelming obstacle of a teething six-month-old, he wasn’t entirely sure. “We’ve just got to make sure the ring thing isn’t frozen, ok, Pegs? And then you can have that and maybe some more medicine. Where do you think Mom put the medicine box?” Killian swayed on the spot, trying to look in the kitchen without walking, rocking his head to a rhythm that didn’t exist when the TV was playing a game in the background. 

The Capitals and Penguins. 

In the Eastern Conference Finals. 

So, maybe Killian was just a masochist. 

It was the first time he’d watched a game since his ended. 

Peggy squirmed again, tears welling in the corner of her eyes while her unoccupied fingers curled forward to reach for something. There wasn’t a shirt there anymore — a product of lunch and mashed bananas were disgusting anyway, and Emma had postseason stuff to do at the Garden. 

Killian needed to pick his shirt off their bedroom floor at some point. 

“I know, I know, I know,” he chanted, leaning back like meeting his daughter’s gaze would help the situation. It did not. Version, four-hundred and sixty-two. 

He was admittedly less worried about numbers than words. 

The tears spilled over, and he honestly wasn’t sure where all the moisture on her face was coming from — her eyes or her mouth or a mixture of both and someone on the myriad of websites he and Emma had spent all night clicking on should have made it more obvious that parenting was like this. 

Difficult. Exhausting. 

Possibly impossible. 

Killian huffed, teeth digging into his lower lip. He kept moving, ignoring the state of his calves and the force Peggy got into her kicks when she flailed her legs into his ribs. 

“Ok, ok, ok,” he said. Apparently he could only repeat things in triplicate now. That was at least on brand for hockey and—

Killian let out another breath, ruffling the ends of Peggy’s barely-there hair. “Alright, we’re going to try something new.”

The medicine was on top of the refrigerator, which wasn’t the first place Killian thought to look, but it hadn't been at the bottom of his metaphorical list and he was going to take his victories where he could get them. 

Plus, the ring-thing, plastic monstrosity, whatever, was not frozen. 

“Only one more away from a parenting hat trick, huh?” he muttered, mostly into the top of Peggy’s head. She’d stopped crying eventually, more than a few hiccups and noises that ebbed as soon as Killian started drawing circles on her back. 

“That was actually really funny,” Killian added. “You’ll appreciate that eventually, I know it.” He dropped back into the corner of the couch, careful not to jostle the kid in his arms and it wasn’t the most comfortable he’d ever been, but it was certainly a step in the right direction. 

Where stepping wasn’t involved at all. 

More like, staring. Directly at the hockey game in front of them. 

Killian was fairly certain Peggy’s eyes didn’t actually widen, but he was willing to blame the exhaustion again and they definitely should have thought of this before. He’d admittedly been avoiding most things hockey-related though, and that was also a little childish. 

They only had room for so many children in that apartment. 

He let Peggy turn, her back to his chest and tiny legs stretched out in front of her. Her head rested just under his collarbone, those same few tufts of hair tickling his skin. 

Killian smiled. 

Even if it was the Capitals and the Penguins. 

And, so it went — for the next two periods, part medicine, part ring-thing, part analyzing the game, a running stream of commentary from Killian and baby-type sounds from Peggy and neither one of them tried to sleep, which might not have been the best decision, but he did get her to giggle several times and he assumed that was a wash. 

Maybe some kind of zamboni joke. Fresh start or clear ice or something. 

“See, that right winger on the Pens can’t get the puck in the zone,” Killian mumbled, almost halfway through the third period, and he’d stretched out at some point. 

His feet hung over the side of the couch, toes threatening to rest on the arm of the closest chair, with one arm twisted behind his head. He still hadn’t put his shirt back on, Peggy resting on his chest on hands and knees, making it only too easy to press absent-minded kisses to her chin and her cheek and the bridge of her nose when she started to babble again. 

“I know,” Killian nodded. “I don’t think he’s good either. You’re a genius, you know that?”

More babbling. A few da’s sprinkled in for good measure. 

Killian’s heart felt like it was going to burst. 

It was a much better feeling than that lingering ache in his calves. 

Someone on the TV smacked the puck into the boards, earning another noise from Peggy and a grin from Killian and he was almost genuinely disappointed that they missed the final few minutes of the game. 

Exhaustion appeared to be the winner anyway. 

His eyelids fluttered when he heard the lock in the door, soft footsteps and the telltale sounds of shoes kicked off, and Peggy didn’t move when Emma did. 

She scrunched her nose as soon as she stopped in front of the couch. 

“I probably should feel bad waking you up, huh?” she asked softly, a quick hiss when one her knees cracked. She’d crouched down. 

Killian clicked his tongue. “I’m sure it’s painfully adorable.” “Something like that, for sure. What worked?” “Who won the game?”

“Oh my God, did hockey do this?” “You could probably argue that hockey did all of this,” Killian said, doing his best not to laugh for fear of shifting Peggy too much. Emma rolled her eyes. “Go on, admit you’re into that.” “I’m delirious from sleep deprivation.” “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this before. Sounds of the rink as a lullaby.” “God,” Emma groaned, but it didn’t sound particularly frustrated. “If I go sleep in bed like a normal person, you going to be annoyed?” “Not at all.” “Do you also want to go sleep in bed?”

Emma lifted her eyebrows when she pressed her lips together and Killian got the very real impression she already knew the answer. “Nah,” he whispered. “I’m good here.” She nodded once, a kiss to the side of his mouth and the top of Peggy’s head and Killian fell asleep to the sounds of post-game press conferences and in-studio analysis. 

[priorireverte]

Congratulations Marcia!

Your application for Cho Chang has been accepted, with the discussed changes about her working with the Returned. I can’t wait to see how Cho handles both those unstable revived and her own lasting trauma from the war.

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: Marcia, she/her

TIMEZONE: GMT+7

ACTIVITY LEVEL: My activity level is pretty fluctuative depending on how college is doing but since college is all online right now, I have lots of time to roleplay.

ANYTHING ELSE: Triggers: sexual assault. I’ve actually roleplayed Cho a few times so I’m quite familiar with her character!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Cho Chang

BIRTHDATE: 15 November 1979

DEATHDATE: -

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Female, she/her, as far as Cho is concerned, she’s straight but she definitely has biromantic tendencies. She has been dating boys and men exclusively but has definitely had crushes on girls and women. She just never acts on them due to her own confusion regarding her sexuality.

BLOOD STATUS: Halfblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

OCCUPATION: Currently unemployed. Previously before the Battle of Hogwarts, Cho was admitted to St. Mungo’s Healing program as their newest Healer-in-training. She worked overtime shifts after the war ended and found that she needed time away from her profession. She needed to re-evaluate her life goals, ambitions, and the things she really wanted to do. So she resigned and was planning on joining a non-profit group whose mission is to help Wizarding communities around the world rebuild when she heard of the Returned. She felt compelled to stay in England in light of recent news.

FACECLAIM: Jessica Henwick. 

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

POSTBELLUM:

Cho felt the war before it even happened, knew it was coming while everyone else closed their eyes to it. Its effects have not left her since the moment Harry brought back Cedric’s cold dead body. She mourned and mourned and fell into grief. Grief left unresolved and added to as the war swept through her and the people around her. As she watched the people closest to her lose and die. She tried to move on from the war. She attended the memorials and the wakes and then went home telling herself that she was okay. But found herself opening another bottle of alcohol instead. The first few months were the hardest. She cried a lot and could not even take time off from her work because St. Mungo’s was running at full capacity and she was not the only one hurting. So she bottled her unresolved grief up. The only solace during this period was the presence of her mother, a Muggle woman who could never fully comprehend the ugliness of a Wizarding war as she is so removed from it after her divorce from Cho’s father. Cho was urged to go to therapy, Muggle therapy. It worked, sort of. Even though she had to alter details of her story, of what actually happened, she found solace in confiding in someone, in taking medications. She’s getting better. She keeps a journal now where she writes her dreams and nightmares and all the good things that have happened to her thus far. Recently, she added three words to the journal, under the “Good Things” section: “Survived the war.” For now, surviving is enough.

When she first heard of the Returned, hope bloomed in her chest as she thought of the families and friends that could be reunited. This is a happy event, right? It’s practically a reunion! And she did feel happy. Joyful at such a turn of events. At the fact that death can no longer keep people apart. That the war, in the end, did not take so much from her. But then she heard of Cedric’s arrival, of the possibility of him being back in her life, this first love of hers. The boy she mourned and cried over, and she felt like keeling over. It isn’t that she does not want him to live again. It’s that how is she going to navigate life with him again in it? Is she going to pretend to never know him so that she can continue on peacefully? Or should she seek him out? See where things could actually lead now that he’s alive again? Everything is complicated and she does not know how to feel. Long long ago she lost him and grew up too quickly. But now he’s here again and has not aged a day and she’s a woman he could no longer recognize.

PERSONALITY:

 Cho Chang has an innate curiosity within her, this want to know more, to stretch magic thin and find out what it actually is capable of. A scholar approach to things. She wants to combine and mix and concoct and see what comes out of it. A natural researcher, a born academic. When people see her, they see someone who is kind and good. Someone who volunteers to finish group projects when no one else wants to. A doormat. A bit of a well-meaning pushover. Someone that can easily be taken advantage of. But in actuality, she uses her kindness as a weapon, as her bargaining point. She extends and withdraws it in accordance  to the attitude and respect people give her. Her friends say she has Slytherin tendencies and they are right. Even the Sorting Hat thought Slytherin would be good for her. Se cares too much about what people think. There’s a need within her to fulfil expectations and to present herself only in the loveliest of ways. She puts a mirage on herself. She’s not as open as she looks. She tells you one thing but holds back five others. But she’s a loyal friend who will push you to be better. She’s a good listener and adviser. She’ll never say “I told you so” and she never holds a grudge. She hands out second chances and gives people the benefit of the doubt.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

Cho’s mother’s family is rich and posh. They’re old money and they have lived within the same neighbourhood in London for generations. Cho’s mother graduated from a respectable Muggle university with an art historian degree. She works as an art curator for a museum. Her father’s family back in Taiwan in contrast is very middle class. Her father moved to England for a better life, to be able to send money back home to pay for his sick father’s mounting hospital bills. He found employment in the Ministry for Magic and climbed his way up. He’s now a diplomat.

Cho’s parents divorced when she was five. She spent five days a week in her mother’s house, a Muggle townhouse bought by her grandparents, during her childhood. The other two days she spent at her father’s flat. Since her parents divorced when she was young, she does not have any resentment towards them for separating. After all, the two are fine as co-parents. What she finds burdensome about their divorce however is the clear divide between her magical and Muggle extended families and how she has to juggle the two. How she is forever stuck in the middle of Muggle and magical, rich and not rich, privileged and unprivileged.

But her parents are great overall. Her mother has a revolving door of boyfriends and her father has his work as a diplomat to drown himself in. Cho is naturally closer to her maternal grandparents than her paternal ones who live in Taipei and she only sees once a year at most. She’s an only child so she receives a lot of attention.

HISTORY: 

Cho Chang’s formative years were pretty normal. She was born inside a Muggle hospital at the insistence of her grandparents and then brought home to the family’s townhouse in Kensington. She was one of those kids whose parents pampered them. They could not give her one big happy family so they made up for it by making sure that she was never without anything she wanted. She had toys and a dollhouse and a chinchilla. She had two bedrooms in two different houses, each one decorated with her favourite hue of blue. There was never any restrictions on what she could and could not do. She played with her cousins and the neighbourhood kids. She went to a Muggle elementary school when she was old enough. Learnt how to read and write, found herself entranced by language and literature, struggled at maths but excelled at science. And then she said goodbye to her Muggle friends and told me she was going to a boarding school when her Hogwarts letter arrived.

Her Hogwarts years were good too. The hat placed her in Ravenclaw and she enjoyed her time there. An uneasiness built up inside her however as everyone looked at her and called her pretty. They fawned over and she did not know whether they saw true beauty or someone exotic and different enough from them to gawk over. When she was the only girl admitted to the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, she accepted it but found it odd that no other girl was good enough for the team. Nevertheless, she carried on. Charms and Potions were her strongest subjects. When it came to Transfiguration, she was so so. She focused on herself and did well and had fun with her friends. They’d hang out in groups and go to Hogsmeade together. There’s a spot on the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall meant just for her and her group of friends.

One day, Marietta Edgecombe pointed out that Cedric Diggory was staring at her. The rest was history. There were dates and a whirlwind romance. There was happiness. And then, everything was snuffed out. She played the part of the grieving girlfriend, emotional and weepy, and irritated her friends with her cries. Everything fell apart. Her grades dropped. Several professors kind enough to close their eyes on her academic incompetency gave her leniency. Professor Flitwick cautioned her about her grades and her career choices. She went to the library and had another cry and picked Healer. She dated Harry Potter and then Michael Corner. It was all a blur, just another Hogwarts boy to laugh about in the future. When graduation came she was so happy. She enrolled in the Healing program, became a Healer, and helped as much as she could with the war efforts. She went to Hogwarts for the Battle.

OOC EXPLORATION:

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? I’m looking forward to the idea of Cho having to reverse all her grieving and mourning if that makes sense? Like Cho having to reconstruct her life again, to make sense of her trauma and hurt all over again. I also would love to see what a Cho-Cedric friendship or aftermath would look like after the war.

ANYTHING ELSE? Enjoy this playlist for Cho I made! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6FaZMH55GqPSogRg07ju5H?si=4rM8UPiDTgyBbNisAS1vNw

[omgsomeonesomewhereonearth]

I know I can’t stand you, but please stay anyway? (pt 4)

Pt1|Last Chapter| Ao3

Warnings: Family Christmas, Arguing (really more like bickering, though), Profanity, a lot of original characters

Pairings: Moceit

Patton hates lying. Patton never tells lies. Patton has told a massive lie. Ethan can’t stand Patton. He has no reason to ever help him. Except, of course, the most obvious one. A fake relationship, a family Christmas, and other shenanigans ensue

“Patton! Welcome home sweetheart, it’s so good to see you!”

“Mum!”

The door opened to reveal a smiling individual in a Christmas sweater who Ethan could only assume was Pauline Hart.

Almost instantly, Patton’s slightly tense expression from earlier disappeared as he embraced his mother, and the two gushed briefly about how happy they were to see each other, how handsome Patton had gotten, how wonderful the lights looked, how fun the week would be, and the possibility of snow later in the week. Neither of them stopped to take a breath or stopped smiling at any point in the exchange. Definitely Patton’s mother.

Patton finally drew away, smiling guiltily at Ethan as if he’d forgotten his presence.

“Uh, Mum? This is…um, this is him. My, um, I mean, this is Ethan.”

Mrs Hart beamed, looking at him as if she didn’t even notice how out of place Ethan’s long, messy hair and dark clothing looked in her incredibly immaculate hallway. Ethan almost felt bad that his entire acquaintance with this woman was about to be based on a lie. Did the entire family possess some kind of weird super power that compelled people around them to be nice?

Well, one could still argue that the goodness of helping and possibly wooing Patton outweighed the badness of lying to a woman he barely knew, so Ethan didn’t feel too guilty for putting on a polite smile and extending his hand.

“It’s an absolute pleasure to finally meet you, ma’am,”

She completely disregarded his hand, instead pulling him into a warm hug.

“Oh, it’s so wonderful to meet you too, sweetie! And please, there are no formalities in this household, okay? When you’re here, you can call me Pauline, or if you’re comfortable with it, you can call me ‘mum’, most of Patton’s little friends do, but either away, I don’t want to hear any of this ‘ma’am’ nonsense, alright?”

Ethan couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Patton to see him struggling not to inform Pauline that they weren’t ‘actually’ friends.

“Come on in loves, you must be exhausted, how was your journey?” She ushered them into a cozy living room, already decorated for Christmas, with what Ethan personally considered an inordinate amount of tinsel on literally every surface. He did appreciate the Santa hats taped over family pictures though.

Patton looked equal parts impressed and mildly annoyed as Pauline pressed tea into both of their hands and Ethan sat slightly too close to him as he complimented Pauline on her impeccable taste in quirky throw pillows.

(His personal favourite was one with scrabble pieces spelling out ‘puns not dead’. He was starting to see where Patton’s entire personality originated from.)

“Oh, Ethan you’re far too sweet. Patton, why on earth would you wait so long to invite him home?”

“Mum…” Patton muttered, turning slightly red.

“What? It’s a perfectly reasonable question, honey. Ethan, don’t you think it’s more than reasonable for a mother to wonder what kind of man her son has been seeing for more than three years?”

“Mum!”

“I’m just asking a question! Especially when your young man is this lovely Patton, I’m almost astounded at your lack of manners here, mister.”

Ethan decided to rescue him.

“Actually Pauline, I’m afraid that in this instance you have me to blame. Patton has been pushing for this meeting for years. I actually kept putting it off, because the prospect of disappointing two people so important to Patton was too daunting to face. I’m so sorry for any concern I may have caused you.”

Ethan gagged internally. He sounded like Roman trying to get his way. It was effective in this instance however, with Pauline giving him a touched look and waving away his apology.

“Well it’s very sweet of you to worry, but I assure you, you have absolutely nothing to worry about here. As long as you’re making Patton happy, I’ve got absolutely no problems with you.”

Ethan ignored Patton’s pointed look. That kind of thing was very easy to say, but he knew better than to take it at face value. Pauline certainly seemed like a nice woman, but so did most sweet old white ladies when one had only spoken to them for fifteen minutes.

“Well, now that you are here, why don’t you tell me more about yourself, Ethan? I feel like I barely know you at all! Every time I tried asking this one more about you, he’d start making excuses and try to get off the phone- I was starting to think you might not be real!”

Patton flushed beet red, opening his mouth as if to protest, before shutting it again in favour of burying his face in a pillow that claimed “Stay Pawsitive” (Complete with an illustration of a corgi).

He grew increasingly squirmier as Ethan made polite conversation with Pauline, about his plans for his future, surprised to find that he was actually enjoying himself somewhat. Clearly, he had a knack for impressing mothers. If things with Patton didn’t work out, he could start a very lucrative career as a fake boyfriend-for-hire.

“Mum, when does Vivian get home?” Patton cut in, apparently tired of having Ethan monopolizing his mother’s attention. “She said she’ll be arriving today.”

“She is, sweetheart, your dad’s just gone to pick her and Andre up. You know, the airport’s so far away, and they have a toddler to keep track of, so I insisted he go and give them a hand.” She turned her attention back to Ethan almost immediately. “But, Patton, you never told me you were dating a lawyer in the making!”

Patton rolled his eyes as discreetly as he could whilst Ethan preened under the attention. Was it petty of him to enjoy this so much despite how much it was clearly irritating Patton? Probably, but he was having far too much fun to stop now.

“Mum, I think Ethan is tired!” He cut in for the second time, now looking over at Ethan. “He was just saying, how he always gets worn out by travelling, weren’t you? Can I show him up to my room, and then you and I can catch up while he gets some rest?”

“That’s really not necessary-“ Ethan protested. He didn’t want to go upstairs when he’d just begun enjoying himself! When was the last time someone gushed over him like this?

“He’s just being shy mum, E’s always so worried about coming across as rude, but he hardly ever gets as much sleep as he should, and it’s really, really important to me that he use this vacation finally rest.”

Almost instantaneously, Pauline’s polite but happy demeanour gave way to a grim look filled with pure, terrifying, motherly concern. Ethan got the feeling that if he didn’t get himself upstairs immediately, he would be forcibly tucked in with a bedtime story.

“Well, Ethan, that just won’t do!”

“Really, ma’am, I-“

“Now, I know you young people are very ambitious these days, thinkin’ you can just stay up all night studying and then go to class the next day-“

“It’s not quite like that-“ It was, in fact, almost exactly like that, but she didn’t need to know that.

“But there is nothing more important than your own health! I’m sure you’re a very smart boy, but I don’t want to hear of you overworking yourself like that, okay?”

“… yes, ma’am.”

Pauline peered at him over her glasses, somehow managing to look far more intimidating than her son ever had, despite the fact that she was probably smaller than even Patton.

“And what have I told you about calling me ma’am?”

“Yes…Pauline?”

“Better. Now, I’ve set up Patton’s room for the two of you, it’s the first door on the left upstairs. I’d like you to go upstairs and rest yourself, please. As I said before, there are no formalities in this household, and I won’t hear of you depriving yourself of much needed rest for the sake of impressing me, okay?”

“…okay.” His voice came out far meeker than he was expecting.

Patton grinned at him far too sweetly. “Do you want me to show you the way?”

Fortunately, the sudden reminder that he was far sneakier than his cat pyjamas suggested only served to make Ethan more attracted to him.

He grinned at Patton, matching the other’s saccharine sweetness perfectly. “Very kind of you to offer, darling, but I think I’ll be okay.”

—

Not that he’d ever previously put any thought into the matter, but Patton’s childhood bedroom was exactly what he’d expected it would be. It had clearly been kept lovingly exactly the same as it must have been when Patton left for uni – from the collection of worn soft toys in the corner, to the collage of notes, postcards, and photos of a young Patton with an assortment of smiling friends. He recognized and took a quick picture of a baby-faced Logan in a too large tie to send to Virgil later.

“You know, you could probably give Ro a run for his money.” He whirled around to see Patton standing in the doorway, a wry smile on his face. “You’re surprisingly good at acting.”

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs bonding, or whatever?”

Patton pouted, making his way over to his bed. “Mum said it would be rude of me to leave you alone like this and sent me up. I expect we’ll be pushed together like this quite a lot over the week.”

Ethan gasped, bringing his hand up to his chest in mock horror. “You mean to tell me your parents expect us, a supposed couple of more than three years, to enjoy spending time together? Tell me it isn’t so!” He sat next to Patton. “You poor thing, stuck with your worst enemy all week long. Next thing you know, they’ll expect you to actually sit through a conversation with me present without getting huffy.”

Patton blushed, frowning down at his lap. “I don’t consider you my worst enemy.” He mumbled.

“Oh? Then you have someone you hate more than me?”

“I don’t hate you, Ethan!” Patton burst out, before immediately being silenced by Ethan’s hand over his mouth. “Mmph, what are you-“

“Oh, I’m sorry, have you forgotten that your mother is in the house? Or is your intention to make her think that we’re on the verge of breaking up?”

Patton looked slightly sheepish as Ethan removed his hand, continuing at a quieter volume. “I don’t hate you, I just,” he trailed off with a sigh “I do wish you were nicer sometimes.”

Ethan hummed, leaning closer to Patton and running his hand up his freckled arm. Patton frowned at the contact, but he didn’t move away. “Right, because you always react so well to my attempts at being nice to you.” He murmured the words softly in Patton’s ear, hoping his quiet voice would prompt Patton to look him in the eye.

It didn’t. He could see that Patton was biting the inside of his cheeks, an action Ethan had come to associate with his nervousness.

“I can never tell when you’re actually being nice.” Patton finally spoke, fiddling with his shirt. “You’re always making fun of me, specifically of me; you don’t mess with the others nearly as much, anyone would think you hated me.”

“As if I could hate you,” Ethan scoffed, ignoring Patton’s disbelieving look, “You’re always so nice, and kind.”

For fucks sake, he knew he was telling the truth and he barely believed himself. Why could he never just be straightforward when it came to this guy?

“See, this is what I mean! This is what I mean, you can’t even say something nice about me without sounding like you’re making fun!”

Ethan opened his mouth to protest but Patton was already shaking his head, clearly unwilling to continue this line of conversation.

“You know what, never mind. I mean, it hardly matters. Either way, I’m thankful that you’re helping me out. I’m sure we can act normal around each other for the next week, right? And then we’ll only ever have to see each other when all our friends are around!”

He offered him another obviously, horribly, fake grin, and Ethan’s gut twisted.

Yes, obviously, that’s what I want, I’ve agreed to come out with you to the middle of fucking nowhere and interact with your entire family, because I saw you distraught and couldn’t handle it until you were happy again, because I want to stop interacting with you.

Predictably, he didn’t say any of this. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at Patton, drawing away slightly. “Right, because we’ve been so good at acting normal so far, I can’t imagine that’ll present any issues at all.”

Patton frowned at him, “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing; I’m certainly not referring to the fact that you consistently jump ten feet in the air every time I touch you or move near you, in fact, I’m sure most normal couple dynamics also include one person consistently regarding the other as if they’re afraid of them.”

Patton blushed furiously, hissing at him, “I am not afraid of you- no, don’t look at me like that, I’m not! You just, you just startle me sometimes, that’s all! You can’t just randomly start acting all…funny, without any kind of warning!”

“So, you’re telling me that if I just asked you for a kiss right now, you’d have no problem with complying?”

Well, that definitely wasn’t pushing his luck at all.

“Actually, yeah, I think that’d be nice. You know, I’d just like some warning if you’re going to, um.” Patton drew off as he saw Ethan raise his eyebrows.

“So, if I asked you for a kiss right now…” he repeated, a smile tugging at his lips. It wasn’t like he expected Patton to say yes, more likely he’d just roll his eyes and glare cutely at him all over again, and frankly, that was fine by him.

“Okay.”

Wait, what?

Patton looked slightly nervous, but he said, “I mean, we probably will have to, um, at some point, and I’d rather the first time at least be without an audience so we don’t get to nervous, I guess, so yeah, if you want to-“

Oh. Well, he was certainly prepared for this. It definitely wasn’t like he’d ever imagined kissing Patton before. In fact, this was exactly how he’d always wanted it to go. It wasn’t like imagining it was any different to it actually happening. Oh, god, his heart definitely wasn’t beating any faster at all.

“Um, E? You okay? Were you being serious about, uh, or-“

Patton was offering him an out. He could just say he’d been joking; he wouldn’t have to-

He kissed Patton.

For someone who’d blushed and stuttered every time he tried to talk about it, Patton was kissing him back with surprising conviction, gripping the front of his shirt as he chased his lips. Fuck, now Ethan really hoped he was able to make some sort of sincere move by the end of the week, because he really didn’t want to have to move on from this.

Patton’s smiled at him shyly as they separated. “Alright?”

Ethan couldn’t resist.

“Oh, more than alright, Patton. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I might even say you’ve done this before”

This time, his teasing had exactly the intended effect.

Patton’s smile disappeared. “I’ve kissed people before, you jerk,” he muttered, before tugging him back in so he could bite at his lower lip.

Ethan was only too happy to return the favour.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!”

The two men jerked apart, turning towards the door.

“Vivian?”

Taglist:

@lunatatic

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM manga chapter 119 Review: A Conspiracy?

Buckle up, this review gets long.  I was away on family business for a few days so I missed this one’s drop.  It’s meant though that I’ve had longer to ponder my thoughts. 

Core take away for me is that like Hellfire Flame and Gale Wind trying to recruit Sonic set us up to better understand the Ninja arc when it showed up in the webcomic, this ‘glimpse behind the scenes’ at the conspiracies brewing sight unseen is foundation for what will burst into the open later, apparently from nowhere. 

Anyway, onto the review.  Much more under the cut.  First though, One-Shotter is still alive!  Looks like his mechanised parts are much more extensive than initially appeared. 

I tell you, it doesn’t pay to be a cyborg hero in OPM. It’s just inviting gratuitous cruelty into your life.

Soon Gets Sooner

This chapter, I honestly expected Drive Knight to just leave with Nyan and stay the international Cyborg of Mystery he'd been to date.  But he stuck around to talk to Sekingar and what we got was a glimpse indeed to the mystery plot that has been brewing from the very start.

We find out just why Drive Knight has a 100% win record: he never, ever fights unless he has carefully studied and formulated an excellent battle plan. Even if it means sacrificing his fellow heroes like pawns.  

And then things get weird. After offering data on the strong monsters in the MA, Drive Knight changes the subject to asking Sekingar about the state of the Hero Association, being very interested in just which capable heroes were left available to respond and whether or not Blast was likely to attend if the Hero Association were attacked.  And then Drive Knight went into full tin-foil hat conspiracy mode, painting the loss of the Metal Knight as a deliberate action by Dr Bofoi to gift the Monster Association with the way to take out the Hero Association.

When Sekingar spoke of not expecting the support heroes to carry out their mission without injury, I’m sure he couldn’t have imagined ending up a casualty.  When he tries to call the Hero Association to check, none other than G5 shows up to shoot his hand off.  As G5 approaches, Drive Knight makes no move to either attack G5, claiming lack of power, nor to protect Sekingar.  Even in extremis though,  Sekingar is still thinking about the support team, the hostage, and what action he could yet take.  Truly, a hero is being forged before our eyes.  He just has to survive the experience.

‘Why not me?’ That’s the central question heroes ask themselves.

Fee, Fi, Do, Fum, Cinderella's At The Ball

We'd seen Garou, who I'd dubbed Sleeping Beauty awaken from his unconsciousness. With a roar, he pummelled PPP into the ground.

Cyborg Cinderella, whom we'd left vacuuming and washing dishes while the others went ahead, may be attending the ball late, but his entrance was no less spectacular. With timing worthy of Saitama himself, just in time, one mighty kick all but split G5 in half, arriving so fast the robot barely had time to register his presence.  It's interesting what summoned him; Saitama's punch may have gotten his attention, but it was G5's energy signature that really got him on scene.

Insane kicks, flips -- and upgrades

Kuseno magic extends to clothes: the last time he used Jet Drive Arrow, he ended up naked. Now Genos isn't just very fashionably dressed, but his raiments are fire-resistant and wonderfully form-hugging.  Until the clock strikes twelve (or ten in his case), he is here to cut some terrifying shapes.

And now all the pieces are in play.

The chapter ends suddenly and ominously.  On one side, we have Genos asking, looking about as cunning as a newborn lamb, what’s going on: 

On the other, if it’s possible for an expressionless face to look unamused, then the very cunning Drive Knight looks most unamused:

Meta: “The enemy of my enemy is my enemy's enemy. No more. No less.”  

 -- from the webcomic ‘Schlock Mercenary’ (more here)

I’d wondered why ONE had split Genos off from the rest, in difference to the was he’d gone together with the rest in the webcomic.  It was definite that ONE intended to test Genos in a situation where he had no support, bu the potential for him to discover something new and relevant to his quest is the last thing I expected. 

A peek behind the scenes indeed!  Where from and why Genos came to fetch up at Saitama’s door in chapter 7, telling a tale of evil cyborgs and total extermination, we know not.  It’s seemed increasingly far-fetched as nearly nothing happened with that storyline and the monsters we meet have nothing to do with the sort of intelligences behind any such cyborg.  It’s led to some, too many, fans claiming that in that absence the ‘mad’ cyborg must be Genos himself  -- in a twist of logic too stupid for real life  [Then again, the typical SF story seems to be written by an individual who never met an actual human being...].  I don’t know about the veracity of 90% of what Drive Knight said, but there is a conspiracy indeed. 

So, now we get to understand a bit more about Drive Knight. It’s something I’ve long wondered about:

The thing about Drive Knight is that he hasn't told us who he is yet. At present, he's a blank slate for whom many alignments are possible without betraying who he is. He could be entirely a hero, just acting in ways that are more independent than most would appreciate. He could be a member of The Organization, acting as a mole in the Hero Association. He could be an entirely amoral person, aligning himself to one group or another as suits his goals and all would be consistent with what we don't know about him. Once he declares who he is, we'll be down to many fewer possibilities.  -- myself, Reddit post   

“Everything that can be used must be used.”  With that, Drive Knight has finally told us who he is.   He is highly calculating and will use anything he can to achieve his ends.  At the expense of anyone and anything. 

What to make of all of this? One thing we can be certain of. Drive Knight really hates Bofoi, considers him a threat and reads the worst possible motives into his actions. He wastes no time in trying to sew suspicion about Bofoi whenever possible.   Why?  We don’t know. 

At its most benign, Drive Knight may be like Zombieman and the House of Evolution, seeing evil in Metal Knight and a grand conspiracy where none actually exists.   A less benign possibility is that Drive Knight may be projecting his ambitions onto Metal Knight and describing what he fears Metal Knight has in possession in order to thwart them (whoever ‘them’ is). 

Since we as readers have a quasi-omniscient view of the story, we know that quite a lot of what Drive Knight said about Metal Knight is factually wrong.  We know that he is wrong bout the circumstances under which Bofoi lost the Metal Knight.  We know that he is wrong about its fate.  We know most of all that he is absolutely wrong about Bofoi wanting the capable heroes scattered or defeated.  Dr. Bofoi has been furious with the Hero Association executives for risking the lives of any heroes raiding the Monster Association precisely because he feared what might happen if the ranks of the heroes were thinned. 

Interesting that G5 is definitely its own entity!  Once I realised that the tactical transformations formed around Drive Knight, I’d started to entertain the possibility that the two of them were the same.  That said...

I could well understand Drive Knight having done his own work to understand the nature of the strong monsters actually in the Monster Association base.  However, there is one piece of information G5 has that it could not have reasonably obtained without Drive Knight sharing it. 

When they ran off a second time, they ran off separately.   More pertinently, there’s no reason for G5 to show Sekingar this information: it puts psychological pressure on him, but if G5 just wants to kill him, there’s no point to it.  Instead, Drive Knight drawing attention to the support team and G5 drawing attention to the hostage act as a double-team interrogation to see if Sekingar has some way yet of reaching Blast in time of most extreme need. 

We’ve also learned that Blast is all but retired. It falls into line with what we've gleaned from the webcomic and suggests that he's quite old.

He's just a poor boy from a poor family: spare him his life!  (and limbs)

Dr Kuseno's occasionally prodding Genos to not forget his primary task of finding the 'mad' cyborg, as well as his warning not to fight it alone both make great sense.   In OPM, you get good at what you actually  practice.  Fighting monsters as a hero has been very useful for Genos developing raw fighting prowess. It has done nothing to prepare him to face the cruel, conniving, and creative people that the not-quite-mad cyborg and those behind him are.  Watching Genos ask straightforwardly what the situation and contrasting it to Drive Knight's complicated narrative was to realise how painfully naive Genos is. 

It's all very well to counsel non-engagement, but you deal with the monster before you: situations aren't neat and don't wait until you feel prepared. I'd hoped for another conversation between Genos and Drive Knight but this looks far more dangerous.  I've no doubt that Genos won't die, but his participation in this battle could be VERY short.

So many ways this story could wend.  A few that come to mind:

The most tragic:Drive Knight convinces Genos of his predicament, perhaps offering data on the cadres as a sweetener and Genos escorts him and the fallen heroes out of the war zone.  As soon as Drive Knight is sure Genos is safely underground, he'll kill Sekingar... and probably the support heroes into the bargain. If he burns them, the only fire-wielder known is Genos.  If he's really clever, catching up with Waganma and Food Battler, dragging them back and burning them too creates a compelling narrative of Genos (already suspected of colluding with the monsters) waylaying the support heroes as they tried to retreat and killing them all.  Drive Knight can show up at the Hero Association and continue his activities. No witnesses, a convenient scapegoat, and near total freedom to carry on his agenda.

Mortal combat. No matter what changes to the webcomic ONE has planned, Genos isn't about to get killed, so Drive Knight is either going to have to run for it or else get killed. Knowing who Drive Knight is, there is no possibility that he would defeat Genos and leave the latter alive -- even if he were that careless, Genos announcing that any enemy that gives him trouble will find that he comes back very quickly and very much stronger would put paid to that. (yes, he’s so naive!)    Either way, Drive Knight won't be working as a hero any longer.   For Genos, victory is likely to be expensive -- he runs the risk of sustaining critical damage, which will force him to retreat, or of wasting precious, precious energy that he could really use later.   Very interesting repercussions will definitely follow.

Hit him in the heroism. Drive Knight could use the heroes and Sekingar as hostages and get Genos to allow him to leave unmolested. He won't be coming back to the HA but it looks like he knows all he needs to. Genos won't like it, but as a person who has long established his willingness to take incredible punishment to protect others from harm, he won't have any other course of action.  I suspect that this is the most likely outcome.

Whatever actually happens! Only ONE (and Murata) know.  I know I need the next instalment!

Bonus question. Where is the cat?  Drive Knight dropped it when G5 showed up and it hasn't been in evidence since.

[frangipanidownunder]

Status Quo: fic

This responds to a mix of prompts - from the anon who sent me a trope mash up: accidentally married/mistaken for a couple and for the @xfficchallenges prompt 4: married sex in the unremarkable house. Not too NSFW (sorry!). 

It’s set between The Truth and IWTB. It’s long, so there’s a cut. 

The house is set back from the road, greying snow piled up at the wide gates. Skinner warned them it was a doer-upper, but it was the best he could do on short notice. The car scrunches over the frozen driveway and the house appears; tired roof, sagging verandah and peeling paint on the weatherboards, but there’s something appealing in the way it fills the space, the way the land falls away either side. It’s homely. Mulder glances at her and lets out a low breath of relief.

           “It’s not so bad,” he says. “There’s even hope for a vegetable patch, Scully.” He points to a shed, door hanging off the hinge, revealing a collection of gardening tools.

           “You don’t have a green thumb, Mulder,” she says, opening the door and looking around.

           He lifts his hands into the air and waves them around. “Maybe the country air here will help.”

           For the first time in a long, hard while, she sees a little bit of the old Mulder peeking through. This man, resurrected once, hasn’t yet been able to come back from the trauma of a death sentence, a jail break, years on the run and the loss of their son.

Skinner had promised them immunity but there were conditions. When she thinks of those years on the run, nights in grimy motel rooms, back-to-back on lumpy beds, days without hearing him speak, his silent midnight tears, any conditions seem preferable.

“If you marry, you cannot be compelled to give evidence against him, Scully.” Skinner spoke in curt sentences. As if saying the words quicker would make them more palatable. But she could hardly swallow, hardly breathe.

Skinner unlocked his fingers, walked closer, softened his taut frame. “It doesn’t have to be real,” he said, slower. “Unless you want it to be?”

She shook her head instantly. Nothing about their lives had been real in any way the rest of the world might understand that word.

           “This is a good outcome, Dana. Mulder can still remain off the radar. The FBI is not interested in a lot of the stuff you two investigated any more. But you have to keep him reigned in. Those articles…”

She nodded, but how could she reign him in? The internet was the loosest tether for Mulder. He sounded almost sane compared to some of the theorists out there.

Skinner smirked. He understood. “At least you can get out there, work, if that’s what you want,” he said.

William was out there, living. But they were cooped up inside unfamiliar walls, barely surviving. It couldn’t go on. This state of sameness they were enduring. Something had to change. She told Skinner, “yes”. Guilt jostled next to hope in the pit of her stomach.

 Skinner had organised everything. Venue, bloodwork, license. All they had to do was turn up, sign the paperwork and leave. He performed the ceremony himself, a self-appointed marriage commissioner, listening as they recited vows, slotted rings on each other’s fingers and Mulder brushed her cheek with his dry lips. He’d brushed his hair, worn a button-down shirt, held her hand, gripped it really.

           “You look beautiful, Scully,” he said as they walked back to the car. Married.

           She looked down at her jeans and scuffed boots. Laughing seemed wrong; crying seemed wrong. What do you do when you’ve just been fake married to save your partner from a lifetime of nothingness?

Finding his fingers, she brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you, Mulder.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said and opened the door for her. “You could have left me, got a job, lived something approaching a normal life.”

Inside the house it smells of mildew and stale coffee. She spends her time cleaning out dusty corners, scraping away at the years of neglect. She hangs new drapes, sands back the woodwork, repaints doors and walls and finds treasures in the local second-hand store.

           “You have a particular style,” Mulder says, splitting a seed between his teeth. She’d barely seen him for days, as he buried himself in his study, ‘researching’ as he did when he was going through a particularly rough patch.

           “I was going for minimal elegance but I think it’s more shabby-chic. But needs must,” she says, before she can stop herself.

There’s a quirk on his lips and he puts his coffee on the kitchen bench, pulls her in for an unexpected hug. His sweater is rough against her cheek but she doesn’t care, enjoying the moment of closeness.

“This house is growing on me,” he murmurs. “Kind of like you did.”

She pats him on the ass and he chuckles into her hair. “You found me annoying.”

“But your impudence at putting me straight got to me in the end,” he says. “We made a good team, Scully.”

“So, how did we get here, Mulder?”

“Because we made a good team.”

They stay pressed close together for a long time. Her lips press into the wool of his top and she says, “I’ve got an interview next week.”

There’s a moment of stillness, where he doesn’t breathe. The pulse of his heartbeat drums in her ear. “You’ll knock it out the park, Scully.”

           She opens a good red, bakes a lasagne and sits at the table, nails following the lines of the distressed wood top.

           “They’ll ask me about my marital status. It’s a Catholic hospital.”

           “What are you going to tell them?”

           “I’m not sure. I can’t tell them the truth, can I?”

           He shrugs. “We’ve got the license to prove we’re married.”

           “But we’re not, though. Not really. I can’t lie…”

           “Then you’d be the only person ever interviewed who didn’t lie, Scully.”

           She twists the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, watches the liquid smear the inside of the bowl. “Do I ask Skinner to be my referee?”

           Mulder grins at the idea, then reaches out for her hand. It still amazes her that she has such a visceral reaction to his touch. “How would you rather have done it, if you could have chosen?”

           “A wedding?” She tries not to sound too surprised. But then again, Mulder has spent decades pulling cloths from tables and rabbits from hats. “I wouldn’t.” She says it cautiously, not because she doesn’t want to upset him, but because she’s only just realised it herself. “I wouldn’t choose to get married.” His shoulders slump and she squeezes his hand. “We’re not the marrying kind, Mulder.”

           “You’ve made a pretty grand assumption for a woman of science, Scully. There are two of us in this equation.”

           “So you want the whole white wedding shebang, a couple of groomsmen and a three-tier cake? Really?”

           There’s a hint of wistfulness in his eyes but he chuckles. “Round or square, Scully? Fruit or sponge? How would we ever decide? And no, to answer your slightly flippant question, I wouldn’t want the whole shebang, but I do want to make a commitment to you; that’s what a marriage is all about, after all. A public commitment of love.”

            “You pulled me out of a watery pod in Antarctica. I think that’s a fairly bold statement.”

           “And this is how the fairy tale continues.” There’s a moment of contemplation for them both at the way life has fallen open and closed around them. She begins to clear the table. “Do you want me to take the job, Mulder? If it’s offered to me?”

           He stands behind her, arms looping around her waist, stubble tickling the side of her neck. He feels so good. “I want you to make the right decision for you.” He nuzzles deeper, sending sparks up and down her spine. “Things can’t stay the same forever. I want you to be happy.”

 Happy is a foreign concept. Happy is what other people do. Happy is a white wedding with a cake iced with roses and flower girls pulling up their petticoats. Happy is safety, security. Happy is family.

           The way he lays her on the bed is so tender. She might not break easily but maybe that’s because she’s spent so long with him. His gentleness with her gives her strength. She believes she provides him with strength too. Each one, on their own, might be fragile, vulnerable, but together they reinforce the other’s spirit.

His kisses are warm on her skin and she imagines cherry-red spots blooming on her chest, arms, stomach. He has always been an attentive lover, careful to make sure she is safe, comfortable, aroused, satisfied. His body is angles and lines but in these moments he’s all rounded edges and smoothness. It’s a physical joining and a spiritual union, even after all these years. Pieces of paper cannot weight this thing they share any more heavily. It’s deeper than oceans. If she spends too long thinking about the impossibility of the scale of their love, she weeps. And she’s about done with crying. They have a house, however, unremarkable. She has the potential of a job, a new career. Mulder is as safe as he can be, in a world that he still views with the paranoia of a tortured man. Their life is, perhaps, on a straight path for the time being.

           “I love you, Scully,” he breathes and she digs her knees into the mattress, lets her head sink back and bathes in the serene beauty of her orgasm.

 The hospital staff is supportive, friendly even. She is welcomed into their nest. It’s an odd feeling to be useful to more than one person again. Mulder spends the first week greeting her at the door with a pair of slippers and an old pipe he claims he found in the cellar. He rubs her feet, listens to her stories about the young patients, cooks meals.

           One day, when she returns, another car is parked outside the house. It’s spring and Mulder has planted tulips and daffodils for colour. They line the top of the driveway in uniform beds he’s dug. The car blocks out the sunny yellows and she frowns at it as she walks by. Perhaps she should be fearful, not annoyed.

           Inside, Walter Skinner fills a seat of the couch. She sets her bag on the table and greets him cautiously.

           “Dana.” He stands and extends his hand. She’s forgotten how big he is.

           “Is everything okay?” Her voice is strained and he hurries to calm her.

           “Yes, yes.” He says and smiles at Mulder, who clearly has a head-start on the situation. The double positive equals a negative, that much is clear. “Sit,” Skinner says, waving her into the vacated place. The seat is crumpled, not quite recovered from his weight. Its warmth folds around her and adds to the nausea rising.

Mulder sinks next to her, knee touching hers, bottom lip tucked behind his teeth. “It’s going to be okay, Scully.”

Not ‘it’s okay’ or ‘it’s fine’ but ‘it’s going to be…’ like there’s a road ahead of them to traverse. “What is it? Is it William?”

There’s an image of their son that sits in a safe place in her memory banks. He’s nestled in a soft yellow blanket, face peeking out. His lips curl into a Mulderesque grin and he chuckles. She can hear that little laugh, she can see the crinkle in his button nose, she can smell the milky-warm babyness of his snug body. She dips into the picture when she needs comfort, but now, she’s on the brink of panic, edging forward on the seat until Mulder pins her with his hand.

“William is fine,” Mulder says. And while he can’t possibly know that, his softening expression douses the fire in the pit of her belly. “It’s…there’s been a mistake…”

Skinner clears his throat. “It seems that I was officially recognised as a marriage commissioner, meaning that…”

“We are actually married,” Mulder finishes for him.

She looks at these two men, one former armed services personnel and FBI director, one a trained psychologist and experienced law enforcement officer, as they sit silently in the living room of the house Skinner chose, playing with the cuffs of their shirts and unable to offer a single word of explanation or comfort. When did she lose control of her life? Even during the toughest challenges over the past ten or so years, she had choices, she could make decisions. She leaves them to wallow in their guilt and goes outside.

 The evening is warm and with the windows open the light nets flutter outside on the breeze, like a bride’s veil. She can hear the faint drone of Skinner’s car turning onto the main road. Going home, leaving the same way he arrived, nothing different about him, but the very act of his having been here, at their unremarkable house, has rocked her foundations. Nothing has changed except everything.

           A mosquito whines around her shoulders and she swats it, leaving a thin line of blood on her skin. It itches instantly. Had she been doing something else she probably wouldn’t have noticed it. It’s funny how the mind works. The cognitive bias, frequency illusion, Baader-Meinhof, whatever, you see patterns where there are none. How even slight disruptions to your routine can cause exponential shifts in our comfort levels. How knowing that you are actually married to the man you love can make you feel disjointed from your life because you didn’t make a conscious choice.

           The screen door creaks open and slams shut. Mulder is bearing gifts. A cheese platter and a bottle of Zinfandel. She offered to share this very pleasure with him years before, in a motel room in Florida. She’d survived cancer then. She knew he loved her, had for a while. She had finally reconciled her own feelings for him and felt bold back then, reinvigorated in many ways. But he politely declined and she sat on her own for a while, stung by the rejection, but secretly pleased that the status quo would remain. Unbalancing a steady vessel may have led to unwarranted drama.

           “Do you want a divorce, Scully? You can have the house. I’ll keep the tomato plants.” He’s only half-joking.

           “Lucky we don’t have a…” she cuts herself off. She was going to say dog, but thoughts of their son invade her mind and she swallows the wine to drown the images.

           He slides closer to her. The porch swing was his idea, aimed at balmy evenings spent together. But not as husband as wife. Just as lovers, soulmates, whatever descriptor they chose. Chose. His fingers arch over her thigh and he looks out at the horizon too. Out there, wherever William is. There’s a sense of comfort in the silence. She remembered her parents sitting outside, not speaking, and as a young girl thought it odd that two people who were supposed to love each other could be so silent. She determined, in her youthful wisdom, she would always have something to say to her husband.

           Then she grew up.

           “We can work this out.” His voice is gentle, warm, hopeful.

           The brie is soft and nutty and she savours the salty taste as she thinks about how to undo this.

           “It was a genuine mistake,” he says. “Skinner is mortified. I’ve never seen him so flustered.” Mulder chuffs, turns to her. “Of all the strange things we reported to him, this is the one that caught him completely off-guard.”

           She lets the small giggle free as the wine warms her throat. “People have been assuming we’re married for years. Remember that case in Texas with the weather man?”

           “And the flying death cow? Pretty hard to forget.”

           She sees him then, lipsticked and ruffled as the blonde woman attacked him with her misplaced feelings. She wonders if those two are still married, living a happy, silent life on their back deck.

           “Bill would be pleased,” she says, locking her fingers into his.

           “Oh yes,” Mulder replies, chest wobbling with a chuckle. “Dearest brother-in-law Bill Junior. And your mother will be disappointed she didn’t get to wear a hat and a buttonhole carnation.”

           “Perhaps we should throw a party.”

           He nods. “With a string quartet and Pimms on the lawn.”

           They look at the stubby grass and both burst into laughter. “Maybe that would be a mistake,” she concedes.

           He lifts their joint hands and kisses each of her knuckles. “And the marriage? Is it really that much of a mistake? Does it need to be rectified?”

           “It wasn’t a conscious decision, Mulder. I feel like it’s something that happened to us, rather than something we chose.”

           “I get it, Scully,” he whispers. “But I do want you to understand that I love you, I love you as my partner, my friend, my lover, my wife. Whatever label you want to put on it. I simply love you. And that will never change. That’s the status quo.”

           The sun seeps away and the wine reddens her cheeks. The mosquito bite calms and the night music of cicadas and distant traffic rises. Mulder holds her hand as they swing. Back and forth. Past and future. Then back to the middle. The present. The status quo.

[xoruffitup]

Adam in Burn This (6/12)

I saw Burn This again on June 12th and HOO BOY, for this show I’ve got nothing but flail! I think I’ve already worked through most of my critical analyst urges already, so this is gonna be just pure, chaotic Adam fangirling. :’)

The man was robbed of his Tony. Pale is this character who I would absolutely hate on the page or in abstract. But then Adam, the utter jerk, barges and flails his way on stage and makes Pale so human and compelling and just absolutely riveting to watch that hating him becomes physically impossible. I mentioned before how the play functions to make the audience Anna’s proxy (down towards the end of the second section here), and never has that been truer than last night. I literally was Anna, okay. I was repelled and intimidated and scandalized by Pale’s uncontrollable, massive presence; his encroaching, searing physicality; his unpretentious, guileless anger and passions and frenetic creative energy.

One second, you’re watching this massive brickhouse tumble into crying, sniffling pieces so vulnerable and wrecked it could tear your heart out. The next he’s cracking a joke, flirting, cussing, and every single swing is so bracingly authentic that you’re literally pulled to the edge of your seat, unsure if in attraction or revulsion. Either way, you’re along for the wild ride with him every step of the way, feeling the same conflicted and unwilling compulsion towards him Anna is. Pale doesn’t just unwittingly seduce Anna; Adam absorbs every single audience member’s attention like a black hole and before you know it the audience is caring for him even before they have any hope of deciding whether they even like him. (Evidenced by the collective gasp of fear that rises from the audience when Pale, drunk, climbs outside onto a fire escape.) To call him magnetic, electric, a revelation to watch – They’re all woefully inadequate descriptions. He’s a literal inferno, blazing even when he’s silent.

So even though I have yet to reach a personal resolution on whether I accept Pale from an ethical perspective, I am nevertheless complete trash for him because Adam really leaves me no choice in the matter. Damn him. <3

Last night I sat in the upper balcony for the first time, but my friend brought binoculars we passed back and forth (lol, yes really) and I actually saw so many new, detailed nuances to Adam’s acting. I’ll go through the moments that really stood out – though it’s honestly hard to pick because he really is that Extra during the entire damn play.

Act 1

When he puts his leg up on the couch to show Anna how “fucked up” his pants are, then kind of realizes he’s standing there with his leg all weird up on the couch, asking her to look at his pants… Then just smoothly lifts his leg over the table before he lowers it, then makes the coyest face ever at her while he does this slow, deliberate twirl with the most shit-eating look on his face. The audience dies, then he cracks “I coulda been the dancer,” and the audience falls apart again.

The way you can feel his momentum and buzzing energy begin to darken, right before he breaks down completely. When he stops pacing around for the first time and his voice changes, going soft as the guilt and sorrow creeps up on him in the form of physical pain he feels driving straight through his heart. And it’s alarming, when he goes still for the first time.

I swear I’ve never seen him cry so much as last night. Once he broke down, the sniffling was constant, with these utterly, completely broken sounds mixed in whenever he tried to talk.

“Nah, this ain’t me…” “I’m trying to picture him here.”

And he keeps aggressively pushing his hair back while he’s crying, as if he can force the tears away with brute force.

OKAY so watching their first kissing scene through a pair of binoculars was like being personally undressed and ravished, holy god. A bomb could have gone off in the theater and he wouldn’t have looked away from her, he had such consuming focus. When he slides close to her, the first thing he does is slowly lift a hand to touch her hair, his eyes darting between where his fingers brush the strands and her face, gauging her reaction. And then when he leans in so slowly for the kiss, watching her first before his attention shifts to her mouth, and the kiss is slow and deep and….

Yeah I felt things.

From up in the balcony.

Adam’s kissing sex appeal is literally so flaming strong, I felt that heat from the damn balcony. I dare you to show me another man with such raw, intense sex appeal. Go on, I’ll wait. He asks her, “You okay?” when he pulls back, and she says in a sort of daze, “I’m fine.”

….Girl, I feel it too.

AHEM ANYWAY MOVING ON.

And then in the next scene, as if totally oblivious that he’s a literal tornado of sex, he just sweeps out the door with an over-the-shoulder “Alright I’m outta here” and it’s so blasé and masterfully hilarious.

Act 2 When he’s laying on the couch alone, half-asleep, and starts vaguely waving his arm in an attempt to remove invisible blankets. Then, without a single word, he reduces the entire audience to hysterics when he spends a solid two minutes pulling at the collar of his coat in a completely futile effort to take it off. That’s the level acting we’re dealing with here. He’s one-hand fighting his own coat and trying so damn hard and it’s the most entertaining thing of your entire year like WHAT EVEN.

God alsdfjsdlakjf okay when he comes out in the kimono robe and it’s open at first, for like 30 blissful seconds that massive, toned chest is out there to see above those tight black briefs and it is SO MUCH I blacked out and couldn’t even process the sight the first time I saw the play. …. Then he closes the robe, carefully ties it, fights with the sleeves because they clearly aren’t built for massive fuckin arms like his, and in an instant he’s the softest being I’ve ever seen and I’m confused as hell as to how I’m aroused and ‘omg bb’ adoring at the same time??? I think I need therapy? Or Adam needs to stop being massive and sexy but also awkward and soft at the same time, for the sake of my sanity?

I fail to imagine an image that will make my life more than giant Adam in this tiny bright purple silk kimono that barely reaches his thighs, bare foot, tying a dish towel around a pot of tea he just made like a tea cozy, then oh so carefully carrying the tea pot over to the table with his one arm still out of the sleeve and this look of intense focus on his face. I was overwhelmed and could not even begin to name the feels.

Let’s make it even WORSE shall we? When he hands Anna a cup of tea, kisses her forehead twice, says “That tea’s no good for a bad stomach. You want some milk?” then strokes her hair back, then asks “You want some eggs?”

GOD PALE GET OUT WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT

(^ We are all Anna)

The part where he sneakily picks up the phone to eavesdrop on Anna and Burton’s phone conversation, and stays completely silent for a long minute before hilariously bursting out, “YA GOT SOMETHIN’ TO SAY, BRUCE?!” And then AND THEN Anna angrily storms out of the bedroom and the bastard hides his face behind the empty robe sleeve and bats his eyelashes at her and bends at the knees in this cutesy little sorority girl squat and IM….?! “Real cute,” Anna says, trying real hard to be unimpressed, while the audience is in an uproar and everyone’s desperately trying to process all these newfound perplexing Adam Driver feels (WELCOME TO HELL, BITCHES. IT DOESN’T GET BETTER)

Okay okay there are SO many juicy bits during the exchange when Anna’s explaining she wants things to end between them. I was watching through the binoculars and when Anna says, “We’re apples and oranges.” He immediately gets this hella adorable smirk when he goes, “Oh yeah? Who’s the apple and who’s the orange?” Then the smirk grows when he’s all “Ever had an apple tart glazed with marmalade?” And then he’s just grinning because he’s so damn proud of how clever he is and he’s still in the FUCKIN purple kimono and he is ridiculous, I’d hate it if he didn’t own me body and soul.

Then it gets BETTER when he says, “You told me you ain’t been with no one else since you was with me a month ago. Me either. I figure one more time and we’ll have ourselves a hat trick.” And oh my GOD the shit eating grin! He looks at Larry, just grinning like a 5 year old and Larry gives him this hysterical disapproving, unamused shake of his head, but Pale just looks back at Anna full-on sunshine smiling and I’m like WHY ARE U MY PERSONAL BABY

(PS: JJ – That is what we need to see on Ben Solo’s face in TROS. You better deliver!)

He says some of my favorite dialogue here – The bit about “people walking down the street don’t mean a thing they’re doing.” He grows somber here, and this is a portion of the play’s call to its characters to strive for both emotional and artistic authenticity no matter what the price.

And then the scene gets heavy…. He stands up, disappears to get partially dressed, comes out, they start arguing, he’s still determined to make her see what’s clearly between them… And then she drops the definitive bomb over everything: “I don’t like you and I’m frightened of you.”

I watched his face through the binoculars while she delivered the blows, and it was literally like seeing a candle snuffed out. His expression melted like ice – Resolute and hard and determined one moment, and the next moment her words rush over and visibly crush him as the certainty melts from his face and leaves him empty and shell-shocked. Three seconds of silence when nothing moves but the set of his mouth and the light and strength in his face, but you’ve seen a grown man utterly crushed.

Ah, the last scene. In the first performance it was devastatingly, beautifully heartbreaking. In later performances it was humorous even while tragically inevitable. Either way, it’s brilliantly written and exquisitely acted. (Though as I’ve expressed before, I do prefer the more serious, helplessly sad versions.) I’ve never seen the two of them clutch each other as desperately and heart-rendering tenderly as they did in this performance. She fell into him on the couch, and he cradled her entire body to himself – Reaching a hand down to her thigh to pull her across his lap so his arms could engulf her entirely. They rocked together, and she clutched his arms still tighter to herself, and he kissed all over her hair while they made sounds near tears. And then Pale does break open a bit with something approaching a sob, before he curses and objects “I’m gonna cry all over your hair.”

But he only holds her tighter, as if they’ve both lost all conscious control over their bodies at this point, in the face of the all-powerful compulsion drawing them into each other’s orbits. The ending of this performance was absolutely stunning, leaving you with a myriad of unraveled emotions that are at once painfully incomplete and ill-defined, and yet just as bitingly complex and untamable as the most compelling moments of reality.

Over all, it’s nothing short of incredible to see how Adam continuously succeeds in upping his game throughout the course of the play’s run. He already brought the house down at the very first preview, and yet he manages to find new twists and interpretations to embody each and every time. What struck me this time is how boldly natural he’s become in the role – The way he leans into the accent like he’s really spent his entire damn life using the hard edges of the pronunciation like verbal brass knuckles. Adam has gotten to the point where just a single emphasized vowel sound brings the audience to hysterics:

“I heard that mollaaases you were pourin’ over maaam. Needed a shot o’ insulin.”

“Good niiiight, sleep tiiiiight.”

“Drinkin’ and thinkin’, man. Worse than drinkin’ and drivin’.”

“Fuckin’ hate Christmas. Look out… ribbons.”

“Get outta here; You’re useless!”

“Lemon will kill yaaa!”

“That was me and youuu up there.”

He has mastered how to pitch his voice for perfect, killer comedic effect. What’s more is how effortless he makes it seem; How utterly guileless. How he can swing from ugly crying to casual insensitive quip in the span of a minute, and make it just seem like the routine (if highly irregular) over-active synapses of a guy on coke. Even just his body language, the way he paces around the apartment in Act 1, completely out of sorts and out of his depth, like he’s never seen a coat rack or a stove before; A physical embodiment of his discomfiture with the emotions that don’t feel like they belong within him. His presence is imposing and even threatening, and yet his body language is alert and defensive, sometimes even self-flagellate. He embodies so many idiosyncrasies and tensions, it’s easy to see why his emotions burst from him in such tidal, chaotic floods.

I’m so thankful to have tickets to the final performance next month! I shudder to think of the feels I will drown in over how absolutely legend-level powerful Adam’s performance will be at that point. What a talent. What a man. 

I’d be overjoyed to receive any and all questions/thoughts about the play! :) Thanks for reading!