#and everyone ignore the wrong chapter number on the banner when i first posted. that didn't happen you're crazy.

[adelaidedrubman]

John and Jestiny put on a show for Skylar and Sherri. read here on ao3. 

notes: just in time for labor day, the sound of the summer is back! it’s hook, line, and sinker chapter 3 babey.  wordcount: 7.3k warnings: per usual, unhealthy relationships out the wazoo. stalking and harassment of past romantic partners (dealt with in a lighthearted manner but called for what it is in text), physical violence and semi graphic threats between present love interests (pre-relationship, but ft. john trying to pretend he’s not turned on about it), general deceit and manipulation, albeit mostly unsuccessful. humane animal death (it’s a fishing fic), weird sexual tension over fish gutting, littering, catchall johnjess warning. catchall my minimal proofreading warning.

“You got the plan down, right?” Jestiny hissed at the man fumbling uselessly with the task of baiting his hook, leaning into the motion of casting her line to inconspicuously shove in front of him and hopefully block the embarrassing display from Sherri and Skylar’s view. “Don’t need me to fuckin’ rehearse it with you again?”

By the time they’d parked the skiff just under the bridge connecting the road nearest Can of Worms Fishing Store with the island directly across from it where her ex-girlfriends were presently fishing, Jessie was beginning to think this entire thing had been a massive, undeniable mistake. 

“Yes,” John replied in a whistle through his own gritted teeth style into a grin, harmonized with a twang of his fishing line snapping. “You shouted it in my ear approximately ten times on the drive over.” 

He shuffled to her side, batting his eyelashes at her as he cocked his rod clasping hand back. “Dear,” he tacked on, with all the uncanny artificially synthesized saccharinity of a splenda packet. 

“Not your line,” she smiled in reply, letting go of the crank of the reel just long enough to reach over and bop the tip of his nose. There was no way she was going to let him actually cast in front of Skylar and Sherri. 

A well timed tug on her rod confirmed that luckily she wouldn’t have to — she was able to effectively knock his right arm down as she staggered back to oppose the force pulling against the line. 

She briefly darted her eyes to John to ensure was looking back with appropriately visible impressed enthusiasm — and not set to reach for his own rod — before settling her gaze on Skylar and Sherri as she wrangled her catch.  

The irritation at their stubborn refusal to look back was mildly assuaged by the sight of big, beautiful golden trout dangling at the end of her line as she yanked it from the water. 

“Oh, Jessie dear!” 

She resisted shooting another glare at the exclamation — Sherri and Skylar would know damn well she wouldn’t like being called that. 

This was definitely a mistake. 

“That might be the most impressive catch yet!” At least he was back on script now. “Please, let me have the honor of doing the work of gutting it for you.” 

“John,” she chimed bright with gratitude, dropping the fish into his outstretched arms. “That’s such a considerate thing to do for someone!” 

She gave a pointed look to Skylar and Sherri. 

“Anything for you, my dear.” 

She tried not to let tension settle too deeply into her jaw as she forced a grin. “I’ll cast your line for you while you do!” 

She made the barest of eye contact with her rod as she threw it out, the vast power of her stare settled on the tattooed hand bringing a knife down to pierce through the fish’s brain with expert precision. 

It was a genuine marvel to her how he managed to handle the task with such a natural grace that he seemed a completely different man from the one she’d watched flounder with the simple task of baiting a hook. 

If the fingers sliding down the clean, straight, perfectly placed incision along the fish’s underside weren’t branded with the same distinctive black ink, she would have thought they belonged to someone else entirely. 

She could almost imagine that he was someone different — someone she respected, even — as she watched his hand disappear into the cavern of the fish’s belly. 

The way he found the red knot rooting its spinal cord without delay, squeezing it tightly between his fingers. The way the delicate placement of his grip retained every bit of its exacting care even as his forearm flexed with powerful force to yank the long tether of nerves from the body. The way he remained completely unphased by blood dripping down to splatter atop those stupid, hideously expensive looking loafers. The way his arm flourished with a smooth, dramatic flair he threw the plucked out rope of organs into the water. 

“You’re good at that,” she murmured aloud before she even processed her mouth was moving. “I love watching you work,” she added with a deflecting chuckle and wink, forcing herself back into character. “Babe.” 

He blinked twice, a hint of genuine surprise seeming to spark through his eyes as he looked up to flash her a satisfied grin. 

“You might want to watch your line instead,” he replied with a nod towards her hands. “It looks like you have a bite.” 

Jestiny turned forward to see her pole bent to the point of being practically folded in half. 

“Fuck!” she screamed as she buckled her knees and yanked her arms back to oppose the fish. 

Jesus, this was embarrassing — how the hell had she missed the fish tugging? Had his shitty angling skills somehow infected her? She’d never had a fuck up like that when she was fishing with Sherri and Skylar. 

And now, thanks to him, she was making a fool out of herself right in front of them. 

Fuck. 

So embarrassing. 

Her cheeks flushed hot with fresh shame, only swelling as she successfully yanked up a massive largemouth bass. 

Fuck. She’d almost let a good one get away. 

This wasn’t like her. 

This was his fault, somehow. 

She should have never agreed to his stupid plan. 

This was a mistake. 

“What a catch!” the mistake in question cried with equal parts drama and vagueness, clearly lacking the know-how to comment on the specifics of the fish beyond the acknowledgement that it was one. “Would you like me to gut that one, too?” 

“She can wait,” Jessie replied, holding the fish up proudly. “Gonna wanna get a picture with her fully intact first. Sure beats that ten pound rainbow trout you caught earlier.” 

Listen to her. Even giving false credit for one of her catches. How far had she fallen? 

“Just pop open the cooler for me, then grab me some more bait.” 

She glanced forward again — Skylar and Sherri were looking now, at least, and she would tell herself they only started once the fish was pulled from the water. 

“Of course,” he offered pleasantly, to his credit tipping the cooler up so that the fish crowding it would be visible to her ex-girlfriends across the water. He was better at empty theater than he was at fishing. “All yours.” 

She swore she saw Sherri roll her eyes before turning to whisper something to Skylar. 

Those bitches. How dare they whisper secrets about her. 

Whatever. Moving on.

She swiped the cup bearing a proud ‘Drubman Marina’ logo perhaps a bit too hard from the cupholder, making a show of looking inside it. 

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, this time in feigned surprise. “Looks like we fished through all our bait!” 

“Fish biting a little too well, today.” 

“For some of us,” she replied, looking directly at Skylar and Sherri and the arrow-straight, undisturbed poles of their fishing rods. “But speakin’ of, I do believe that’s the proprietor of Cans of Worms Fishing Store over there with a full cup of bait. Let’s drive this baby over there to give their small business a little economic stimulus, at least.” 

“Jessie, do not fucking come over —” 

Jestiny cut off Skylar’s shouting with a rev of the motor rumbling to life, idling there as John pulled up the anchor. 

She could not so effectively drown out him whispering directly into her ear. “I didn’t say you could drive the boat,” he hissed. “The agreement was you would pretend to drive as we pulled up.” 

“I know,” she rasped back with a smile she didn’t have to fake. “I was pretending when I agreed to that. I deceived you. I’m good at that. You need work,” she said with a raise of her eyebrows. “You’re overselling. Make it subtle, don’t ham it up so much.” 

“Acting note taken,” he replied, scooching into the seat next to her. “Now give me the —”

She jerked the wheel and slammed her foot on the accelerator — giving it enough gas in the single pump that they were able to coast the distance to Skylar and Sherri’s place on the bank, the bow landing gently in the mud. 

“Expert docking, dear,” he commented syrupy sweet as he hurried to swipe the key from the ignition, slipping it onto his wrist. 

Possessive, paranoid, materialistic, overdramatic diva. 

Guess that explained the key she’d noticed hanging over his heart — must be to an even nearer and dearer expensive toy. 

God, she couldn’t wait to fake end their fake relationship. 

The sentiment only grew stronger as she watched him carefully tiptoe through the mud with sudden apparent concern over dirtying his already bloodied shoes. 

“Ms. Woodhouse,” John held out a hand towards the brunette that was met with nothing but a scowl in return. 

He made an apologetic ‘ah’ noise and wiped the hand on his shirt, but Jessie knew it was not the fish guts Sherri was repulsed by. 

“My apologies.” He bowed. “I haven’t yet had the privilege of patronizing your little store.” Jessie smiled. Patronizing was right. And Sherri deserved it. She had to admit she could revel in his condescension, when it wasn’t directed at her. “It’s so difficult when I have my own boat ramp right in the backyard to remember to get out there and support the small business owners in the community.” 

“Support?” Skylar cut in, scowling even harder than Sherri did. “When have you ever supported any business around here? You call trying to shut everyone down and take their property from ’em support?” 

Huh. That’s weird  — Skylar seemed to have history with this guy. And it was bad enough he was a lawyer at all, did she fuck up and start pretending to date a fucking foreclosure attorney or something? 

John waved the accusation off. “Please, I hate discussing business matters during my recreation time.” He reached into his back pocket to take out his wallet, pulling another hundred dollar bill from it. “I would love to support Can of Worms now.” 

He turned to Sherri, gauchely waving the bill in front of her. “I’m afraid my lovely date and I have fished through all of our bait. But it seems you have plenty left. He nodded towards the unopened can at Sherri’s feet. “I’d like to purchase it.” 

Sherri met him with a dead-eyed stare. “Store’s closed.” 

John turned, looking across the water at the Can of Worms storefront. “Your hours say open until 9.” 

“Well, I’m not on the clock.” 

“Oh, don’t be unreasonable. I’m paying well above market rate for something I could just waste time going over and buying from you, for much cheaper, in the store.” 

“No, you couldn’t,” Skylar said. “Store’s closed.” 

He pointed behind him. “I see it open.” 

“Store’s always closed to you.”

Jestiny gave up on pretending not to notice the conversation, setting aside her beer to slam her hands down on the side of the boat. “Well, fuckin’ sell it to me, then!” 

“God, Jessie,” Sherri groaned, leaning down to hold her head in her hands. “Can’t you just fucking leave us alone? Following us, harassing us while we’re trying to fish? We broke up with you. We don’t want you around.” 

“Shit’s sad,” Skylar agreed. “Just stop. Don’t make us get a fuckin’ restraining order or something.” 

Jestiny kicked the side of the boat, hard. “They’re called Orders of Protection, in fucking Montana!” 

“You learn that from your slimebag lawyer boyfriend?” Skylar asked. Jessie frowned. That was hitting below the belt, she thought. “And did he learn it from law school, or ’cause half the fucking County wants to take one out on his creepy ass?”

Sherri brought a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh at Skylar’s joke. “They really are perfect for each other, huh?” she giggled against Skylar’s shoulder, setting her chin atop it and looking up at her adoringly. 

Jessie felt flames crawl up in her belly. Of all the infuriating insults. 

“Yeah, we fucking are! I finally have someone who can keep up with me behind the rod and on an intellectual fuckin’ level!” she forced herself to flash an adoring smile of her own at the man she shouted over. “And he’s got an actual sense of humor! Just look at his outfit!” 

John turned to shoot Jessie a glare. 

“Yeah,” Skylar laughed, turning to nudge the flyaway hairs clinging to Sherri’s dewy brown skin away with her nose so that she could finally whisper her teasing directly into the brunette’s ear. “Looks like you and I were the only ones that didn’t think to come dressed for the circus.” 

“I fucking heard that!” she leaned over the side of the boat to screech, crumpling the styrofoam of the bait cup in her fist and attempting to fling the trash across the distance to Skylar and Sherri — the bits floating down to scatter impotently along the surface of the water instead. 

“Jesus, Jessie, a fish is gonna fucking choke on that,” Skylar cried, pushing herself up from her lounge chair. 

“And maybe I can’t stop you from driving a boat on public waters, but you can’t litter on my damn property,” Sherri agreed, reaching behind her to pull a net from the pouch on the back of her own chair and toss to Skylar. “That shit drifts to shore.”

Jessie crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, rolling eyes dismissively to duck Skylar and Sherri’s judgmental glares with an earnest wave of shame — she didn’t mean to endanger any poor fish, obviously, she was just angry — instead finding John’s gaze, oddly comforted by the quiet, embarrassed fury she saw simmering back at her, as if the bright blue glitter of his eyes was a temperate pool to reflect her own angry humiliation, unfiltered and undiluted in their vibrant heat. 

Then something in his stare sharpened, an almost imperceptible narrowing of the pinpoints of his pupils into focus, gaining all the ice-cold clarity of a glacial pond as he darted his eyes back to where Skylar reached forward to dip the hoop of her net into the water to scoop up the ripped up bits of styrofoam. 

“Hi,” John hummed pleasantly as he stepped up to Skylar, placing a hand atop the handle of her net. “John Seed. Do you remember me?” 

“The fuck you —” 

He slid his hand down the pole of the net, pulling it closer until his fist was circled just beneath the base of its mesh. “I tried to buy bait from you a few moments ago. You refused to sell to me.” 

“...Yeah?”

“Big mistake,” he barked with a tug of the net to cause Skylar to stumble slightly, barely catching herself to remain upright. “Big. Huge!” He forced a manic laugh, snatching the net from her hands. “Because perhaps had I been occupied with my own fishing, I wouldn’t have time now to ask if you have a proper permit to fish with a net.” 

Sherri stood, moving to stand between John and Skylar, defensively. 

“I do my business selling fishing licenses, dumbass,” Sherri grumbled, pulling two crumpled pieces of paper from her back pocket to flash. “You really think I’d come out here without one?”

“Ah.” John clicked his tongue against his teeth twice, wagging his finger and tapping it against the paper Sherri held out. “But I’d like to see your netting license,” he said in sing-song. “A Class A resident fishing license only allows fishing with a hook and line. Netting requires its own permit.” 

Sherri and Skylar exchanged confused looks. 

“Ha!” Jestiny let out a single, choppy laugh as she hopped over the side of the boat, splashing mud as she landed. “It does.”

It did, when it came to hoop nets. But of course even if he knew the law he wouldn’t know the difference between —

He waved a hand in front of his face, then rested it atop his chest. “Oh, I’m only joking, of course,” he said with a smile, bowing his head. “Montana Code Title 87, Chapter 6, Part 5 Fishing Offenses includes an exception in paragraph (1)(a)(iv) for landing nets.”

Jestiny felt a giddy heat blossom along her cheeks — that was unexpected. He knew the difference between a hoop net and a landing net. He’d actually studied up. 

He cocked an eyebrow, smile widening. “For after the fish has been hooked as specified in subsection (1)(a).”  He nodded down towards their rods. “And your hooks appear to be bare.” 

Skylar placed a hand atop her hip. “We weren’t even fishing with that net,” she said matter-of-factly. “We were just cleaning up the trash your girlfriend threw in the water.”

“That’s not what I saw,” Jessie chirped, throwing her arm around John’s waist and pulling him to her. “And I think the word of two officers of the court is gonna outweigh what y’all say.” Jessie leaned forward, snarling. “I think it certainly gives me probable fucking cause to seize all this shit as fuckin’ evidence of a crime, including the fucking bait,” she snapped. “I think it could mean both y’all forfeiting your fucking fishing licenses as penalty, if this shit gets charged.”

“And I have a feeling it would be,” John purred, turning to the side to beam at Jessie with a thoroughly convincing mimicry of proud adoration as he raked his fingers through her hair. His smile sharpened into a smirk as he turned back to their fellow fishers, hand still stroking up and down the side of Jessie’s neck. “I’m on quite good terms with the County Attorney.” Former prosecutor? Jessie worried in the back of her mind, not letting it distract her from their victory. “I think she’ll be quite concerned with such a flagrant fishing violation committed by a prominent player in the local fishing scene.”

“Good fucking God, Jessie,” Sherri huffed, swiping the can of worms from off the ground and shoving it in Jessie’s hands. “Here. Take the damn bait, since it means that fucking much to you. You win. We’re leaving.”

“Hell yeah you are!” Jessie cheered triumphantly at the pair throwing their tackle boxes into their truck bed. “Don’t let the trout bite you on the way out!” she called after them with a hand cupped at the side of her mouth. “Not that it’s been something you’ve had to worry about so far!” 

John threw his head back to laugh on cue at the jab, and Jessie had to admit as truck doors slammed to drown it out that he had something of a theatrical acumen. 

She turned to the side and clasped his face between her hands tightly as she grinned up at him in spite of herself. 

“That was amazing!” she said in a hushed roar. “I mean, I gotta fuckin’ hand it to ya, that was great, you —” 

She bit her lip as she watched him stand taller, a preening lift of his jaw as he basked in the praise. And for some reason she couldn’t summon the appropriate irritation at the vanity.

But as the engine of Skylar’s truck rumbled to life behind her, she nonetheless used the interruption to avoid inflating his ego further whilst keeping up the ruse by pulling him down to press her lips against his and kiss the smug smile away. 

He’s good, she thought as he melted against her obligingly with a swift but tender unwinding that felt shockingly natural, draping an arm over her shoulder to reach a hand around to thread in her short crop of hair as he kissed her back. 

His other hand rested gently atop one of hers still cupping his cheek, stroking along the leathery ridges of her knuckles as he dropped his jaw to deepen the kiss. 

It was so odd, the feeling of kissing him when they were playing at gentleness — the slow drag of the slick underside of his lip shifting up to expose the slight hairline cracks of chapping along its wetted surface, the surprising softness to the tickle of the whiskers of his beard that made her realize how meticulously oiled and groomed it must be, the careful way he mirrored her incremental movements as she finally parted, soft, panting breaths tingling against her skin as he dipped his head to stay leaned into her while allowing her the separation. 

“You, uh —” She drew in a sharp breath as she dragged her fingers through his beard, bringing their tips to rest just above his chin. “You knew the difference between a hoop net and a landing net.” 

He laughed, warm puffs of breath falling against kiss chafed skin. “It’s defined in the Fish and Wildlife Commission Regulations,” he said, his whisper further softened by the airiness of the deflection. “Keeping up with them actually comes quite in handy, in my line of work.” 

Jessie sighed pleasantly, then stiffened just as quickly. 

His line of work? 

She’d already been concerned about him being a bootlicking landlord lackey or overeducated cop of some kind, could the situation be even worse? 

Could he be — 

She gulped, dropping her arms and taking a full step away from him this time. 

Could he be some kind of in-house counsel for one of the commercial fisheries around here? One of the goddamn slimy corporate lobbyists for those corrupt, greedy bastards? 

No, she shook the thought from her mind — she couldn’t entertain such horrible possibilities, and the sudden blare of Skylar laying on the horn as she coasted by would have drowned them out anyways. 

“Jessie,” Skylar poked her head out from the driver’s side window to call out. “Can we have a quick, civil word with you?” she asked, punctuated with a pointed look towards John. “Alone?” 

All her catastrophizing about her pretend boyfriend’s professional life vanished with the giddy soar of accomplishment — this was it. Clearly Skylar and Sherri had talked about it, and after her impressive showing here today they had accepted what a horrible mistake it had been to ever break up with her in the first place, and were about to beg her to come back. 

“Sure.” She drew out the syllable with a nasally whistle, eyebrows raising with expectant understanding. “‘Quick and civil’ is my middle name.” 

Jestiny smacked the man beside her on the rear end to dismiss him, shaping her wince at the harsh impact of his uncushioned tailbone against her palm into a playful wink. “Give us a few minutes for girl talk, would’ya?” 

He pushed out his bottom lip, giving her a flutter of his eyelashes as he turned to head back towards his boat. “Don’t keep me waiting.” 

She wouldn’t — assuming the women were contrite enough, she was sure it would be five minutes flat before she was waving goodbye to him from the back of their truck bed as they all drove away together. 

Since he did know how to gut and clean them, she thought she’d let him keep the fish she caught as compensation for his efforts. 

“So, what’s on your mind?” she asked once John was sufficiently out of earshot, folding her arms along the window frame and resting her chin atop them to poke her head into the truck. “Need fishing tips?” 

“Look, Jessie, I…” Skylar gave her a pained look, drawing in a deep breath. “We talked about it, and… We really don’t want this to be any harder than it has to be, okay?” 

Jessie pursed her lips together, crinkling her nose and tensing her cheeks with a pressure she knew would cause dimples to sink endearingly into their rounds. She tried to not to savor the pained expression on Skylar’s face too much, but it was difficult not to indulge in the satisfaction from their begging with tail between their legs for her to take them back. 

Sherri nodded in agreement, leaning forward in the passenger’s seat to peer through the window. “We want to work this out.” 

Jestiny cocked her head further to the side, cheek resting against her arm. “I’m listening.” 

Perhaps she wouldn’t really make them beg, but at least a tearful apology was in order. 

“So, even though it’s right by my store, we’re willing to make a deal on this fishing spot.” 

Jestiny blinked up at them. 

“You can have it Saturday evenings through noon Sunday, and we agree to not come around,” Sherri explained. “Then we’ll take Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and you get Tuesday and Thursday.” 

“W-What?”

“It’s more than fair, I think,” Skylar tacked on, giving her a stern look. “Most of all, we don’t want it to be a big fight, anymore.”

“We want to handle everything peacefully,” Sherri said, expression pleading. “And we’re glad you found a new fishing partner, even if it is, well…” She shook her head, flashing a forced smile. “We’re just happy to see you moving on.”

Jessie clicked her teeth together, neck stiffening as she raised her head. 

This made no fucking sense. 

“Yeah, I mean…” Skylar shrugged, eyes darting over Jestiny’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, y’all do seem really good together. Right for each other. Better than we ever were for you.” 

No fucking sense. 

Jessie slapped a hand against the side of the truck, pushing herself off its frame. “Are you fucking kidding me!?” 

“Seriously, Jessie?” Skylar deadpanned in reply. “It’s a really fair deal. We’re being nice, after —”

“Nice!” she croaked in mocking tone at piercing volume, throwing a too stiffly splayed hand up to swing through the air in the arc of a goodbye wave before clenching it back into a fist at her side as she stormed away from the truck. “Real fucking nice!”

The tension locked into her shoulders as she stomped through the mud, pinching tight enough it wrapped around to squeeze the cavern of her chest, push stinging bile up to catch and smolder in her throat in a heavy lump. 

“How was girl talk, my —”

The arm that tried to reach comfortingly towards her was quickly pushed away — fingers curling the soft leather cord of his key chain as she yanked it from his wrist. 

The polite clearing of his throat rumbled in synch with the motor roaring to life as she jabbed the key into the ignition and cranked it to the right. 

“My dear, how was —”

“We’re leaving!” she shouted over the harsh rattle of gas pumping through the motor to spin its blades, shoving the gear shift into reverse as she slammed her foot on the accelerator. 

“H-Hang on, let’s —” 

“We’re leaving now!” 

She jerked the wheel sharply to the left once she’d put space between the bow and the riverbank, leaving John flailing over the side to hurry to hoist the anchor. 

“Very well,” he ground out, loud enough to pierce over the racket. “But I’m driving the —”

She shoved the gearshift forward and stomped down on the gas again, sending them lurching forward with a bounce of the bow towards the sky. 

She barely even noticed the sudden, heavy pressure of something falling in her lap, the man at her side losing his balance and stumbling to land with chest atop her thighs. 

She rolled eyes that had begun to water from the wind cutting against them as the boat zipped along. 

“Those assholes,” she cursed, tightening the grip of her fingers around the wheel until they grew numb. “How dare they. How —” 

How dare they do what, exactly? her brain struggled to piece together as wind whistled in her ears harsher as the boat quickly gained speed, gliding over waves growing steeper from the force of her wake. “How dare they think they can just buy me off like that! Do they think — think this is just about a fishing spot?”

“Well,” John spat, heel of his hand smashing against her thigh as he tried to push himself up in the brief of lull of the boat’s course evening out as Jestiny weaved them between jutting mudbanks to an open stretch of water, slamming the gas down harder upon clearing them. “Isn’t it?!”

“Oh, fuck you, too!” she shouted down at him, jabbing her elbow at his collarbone to shove him away, off her lap and onto the floor. “This is about the fucking principle of the matter,” she hissed, wagging a finger at him on beat with the forceful up and down bobs of the boat along choppier waters. 

“This is about fuckin’ fairness, and justice, and getting what’s owed to me for the months I put up with their shit!” She briefly glanced up as she continued talking, distant greenish brown blurs of oncoming land fading from her line of sight as quickly as it popped up over the horizon, another jerk of the steering wheel bringing her to a wide expanse of clear, glittering lake. 

Good, she needed to do nothing but sail fast and directionless enough to outrun her thoughts for a while. 

“After all that they’re treating this like a fucking scheduling issue, when they should be —”

Should be what? She choked on a particularly strong gust of wind, stinging her chapped and sunbaked cheeks as it whipped against her face, a matching burn rising in her throat. Apologizing? Begging? Taking it all back?

She gritted her teeth tightly to steel against the wind as she continued. “They have the fuckin’ gall to act like they’re the ones being nice about this, when they can’t even —” She clenched and ground her jaw. “It’s a public shore! Sherri doesn’t own it, just because her store is nearby and it’s fucking convenient for them! They never even had a right to —” 

“You need to slow down!”

She pushed away the arm reaching for the steering wheel. “I’m fucking talkin’ at a perfectly fuckin’ measured and goddamn coherent pace! If you can’t keep up, that’s —”

“The boat!” he screamed, fingers clawing and pulling at her arm without managing to get it to budge. “You need to slow down the —”

Sudden warmth slung itself along the tops of her thighs — a glistening mix of blood and saliva spurting from his mouth as his jaw crashed against the glossy wood of the dash. 

And the air filling her lungs to feed the complaining shout building in her chest was knocked from her just as quickly by the heavy impact of his torso crashing against her as he was flung back — landing in her lap for the briefest heartbeat before they were both sent flying over the captain’s seat and tumbling along the length of the boat as its bow tipped upward and the smooth coast of water along its hull was replaced by a harsh, violent scraping. 

The pressure of his body weight only intensified, now fully pressed against her to pin her down back flat against the backrest of the row of seats at the stern — which now ran almost parallel to the ground from the angle the boat had landed. 

She grunted, trying to wriggle out from under his weight at least enough to free her arms and push him off entirely — the effort proving unsuccessful, his body staying pressed flush against her even as the vast expanse of tangerine marbled sky stretching out above her became blocked by his head, lifted so the scowl twisting onto his face could show. 

She shoved the heel of her hand against his chest, gripping his shirt and pulling when he failed to budge. “Get the fuck off me!”

The angry curl of his upper lip deepened, head jutting forward until their noses were pressed together. A droplet of blood fell from his mouth to land with sudden heat on her chin. “You crashed my boat.”

“No shit!” she spat back, butting her forehead against his. “You shouldn’t have been fucking distracting me!”

His brow twitched, his body tensing further. “You crashed. My. Boat!”

“And did you get some kinda fuckin’ head injury during it or something?!” she barked. “The boat crashed —”

“You crashed —”

“— you have sufficiently fuckin’ established that.” She shoved her hand harder against his collarbone, digging her nails into the mass of his shoulder. “So how about instead of sitting around goin’ off like a broken record you get the fuck off me and help me shove this thing back into the water? I’ll even give you the honor of driving the piece of junk back to the marina, since you have such a minnow up your ass about me doing it.”

“Oh, and wouldn’t I love to,” he hissed out through tightly gritted teeth, lips twisting into a smile leagues removed in its exaggerated pleasantry from the bitterness of his tone and the rage in his eyes. 

His smile dropped — a swift movement of his arm breaking her grip on him as he pulled it towards his chest, then shot the hand forward to bury in short strands of copper and grab a fistful. His palm settled cradling the side of her skull as he jerked her head towards him by the grip on her hair, then slammed it back down against the seat cushion at an angle that caused her neck to twist so her head was turned towards the side and at the edge of the backrest as she landed, forcing her to look over the back side of the boat to the motor. 

“Had you not certainly managed to damage it beyond the point of being able to cross a puddle!” 

She paused only briefly to take in through narrowed eyelids the sight of mangled propeller he’d directed her gaze towards, a sleek black and silver blossom of twisted and dented metal, one of its petals bent so far back by the force it looked plucked clean from the stem. The second outboard was absent from the boat entirely, just barely peeking up past the waterline at the base of the short cliffs they’d landed atop. 

She flicked her glare towards the hand buried in her hair, then back up to his face so she could savor the wince of pain in his eyes as her boot made contact with the side of his stomach to kick him off.

She scrambled to her knees to grab him by the shoulders and slam his back against the ledge of the stern, climbing atop his chest and pushing him back further until his head hung off the side, neck nestled between the shiny metal blades of the propeller. 

She replicated the force he’d exerted against her, pulling gel-stiffened locks from their place plastered against his skull to shove his head back and sideways until the edge of the twisted propeller blade dug into the delicate skin of his neck. “I bet it still runs good enough I could start up the engine and lob your head clean off your fucking body right now!” 

She watched pink crawl up the stretched column of his neck and settle deep into his cheeks, blood rushing to his head from the angle. She felt his chest tense beneath her as his hands reached out to grip her hips, heard the rustling of his adjusting his legs behind her — certain he was readying himself to push her off and retaliate. 

She elbowed away the arm reaching towards her hip before he had the chance, settling for the sufficiency of her threat and hopping up before he could strike. 

She jumped down from the boat to stand atop the rocks and survey the landscape, scanning along the rocky coastline, the peaks of mountains and the sharp points of pine trees standing in backdrop past the vast expanse of sunset sparkling water. Her eyes traced the outline of the suspension bridge running roughly parallel to the shore, which Skylar and Sherri would likely be zipping across on their drive from Can of Worms back to Skylar’s trailer up in the mountains right about now. It was too vast and treacherous a distance of lake to attempt to swim across, especially in the creeping darkness, and the only other land in reach were the smaller, even less likely to be inhabited islands. 

“We landed at that big ass fucking island that blocks off the lake from the West,” she announced, dragging a knuckle along her chin as she thought, smearing away the droplet of blood she’d forgotten had settled there. “About three-quarters north ways into it, I’d say.” 

She spared a glance to the man still in the upturned boat behind her, fidgeting and pulling down at the hem of his now thoroughly dirtied shirt as he rose to stand. 

She sighed, briefly reaching into her pocket to check with a sense of predetermined defeat the display screen of her cellphone, confirming a thick circle around a diagonal line greeted her positioned at the service strength icon. 

“We can keep hiking north, along the coastline,” she said resolutely. “We’ll hit the main road eventually, and we can hitchhike along it. Worst case scenario if no one picks us up, there’s a little general store on the other side of the water. If we get started now, we might make it before they close up shop.” 

“Hitchhiking?” he repeated, weighed heavy with incredulity. “No, absolutely not. This isn’t exactly the place for —” 

“Jesus,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Look, I know you just lost one of your favorite toys, but we don’t have time for you to be a spoiled fuckin’ brat about how we’re getting out of here, too. It ain’t exactly my favorite pastime neither, but those of us born with mouths empty of silver fucking spoons know that sometimes you gotta do things that are —” 

“If you could stop talking down to me long enough to listen, perhaps you’d understand that I’m not protesting because I think it’s beneath me. I’m… familiar with this island, actually.” 

Jestiny rolled her eyes. Was there a thing on earth he wouldn’t find a way to brag about? 

“And I can tell you, there isn’t going to be enough traffic along the road for hitchhiking to be a reliable bet.” 

“Great!” she barked, pushing past him to reach for her now well dented tackle box. “All the more reason to haul ass towards Old Sun Outfitters before closing time.” 

“They’re closed already,” he deadpanned in reply. “Permanently. The owner and his family of si —” John cleared his throat, with a quick, hard blink, as if needing to abruptly shift his train of thought. “They shut down. I doubt there’s even a working payphone around there, anymore.” 

Jessie paused to study his expression, to scrutinize the strange, sudden dodginess behind the unnaturally soft smile and relaxed eyes. 

He was clearly hiding something. Had Old Sun really shut down? She’d only stopped by there a couple of times to pick up bait, and she couldn’t say she went recently enough to know, or often enough to keep track of their business. 

And how would he know, anyways? Was he — 

Her breath hitched, that same chilling, nauseating prospect bubbling back to the surface. 

Was he a foreclosure attorney? 

“But if we keep going west and cross the main road, there’s actually a —” he paused, the fluid wave of his hand continuing on beat as he stared on silent and searching for words. “...residential area, on the other side of the island. Closer than the rundown general store, and actually occupied. I know a place there we can shelter for the night. And some of my associates will be stopping by anyways tomorrow morning, and can drive us back to the Marina first thing.” 

Knowing the zoning for a place he didn’t live? Having associates in the area? 

Jessie gulped. This did not bode well. 

“No fucking way am I gonna go wandering into the woods at sundown with a fucking creep like you. And I’m sure as hell not joining you for a fucking sleepover.” 

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, throwing arms up into the air. “I could just as easily drown you under the cover of darkness during the little moonlit stroll along the coast you’ve proposed, were homicide my goal.” 

“Yeah?” she goaded with a raise of her brows. “And I could avoid the fuckin’ risk altogether by bashing your head open against these rocks, and selling whatever good samaritan I finally flag down a sob story about how my poor boyfriend just died in a boating accident.”  

“Oh, and how delicious and satisfying it would be to spend my final breaths watching you stumble helplessly lost through the woods, not finding another soul, until you finally collapsed from exhaustion and joined me in death.” 

“I would fuckin’ carve out your eyes and throw them in the lake first, so that the only thing you’d ever see of me again is my fishing hook when I came back here to catch whatever trout had the bad luck of eating you.” 

“Would you?” he gasped, with an unbothered, wild smile and a hand drawn to his chest. He pushed out his bottom lip so that his smile fell, clicking his tongue against his teeth and pinching his brow with feigned pity as he patted his pocket and added in taunting sing-song, “Because I still have your fishing knife.” 

She felt her jaw tense and her eyes bulge angrily, waving her arm as she stomped away to preserve whatever image she could of being unbothered by the revelation. 

“Keep it!” she shouted as she turned on her heels, beginning to stomp her way north in as steady of a march as she could keep atop the uneven rock. “I’ll walk my way back to the mainland alone, and you can fuck off into the woods!” 

“Oh, don’t be foolish!” John called after her. “It’s better that we stick together, you can at least be reasonable enough to see that.” 

“Sure fuckin’ can’t!” she shouted over her shoulder. “I’m following the road, whether you’re with me or not!” 

He huffed, impatient and petulant, stomping forward a few paces without properly committing to following after. “Would you just listen? You’re not going to find anyone to help, it’s —” 

Still, it was enough to let her know it was a bluff, and he’d be following along whatever path she chose. “At least I’ll be alone!” 

“Which is dangerous!” he bellowed after. “Jessie, will you please just follow me into the occupied part of the island? For fuck’s sake, do you even have bear spray?”

“Nope,” she chirped pleasantly, pausing a beat at the word ‘please.’ “I’ll take my chances!” 

“For the love of —” She picked her pace back up. “Wait!” His footsteps thudded more quickly behind her, and the arm swinging back with her upbeat gait was caught at the wrist by his hand. He let out a long, exasperated sigh. 

“There’s a very secluded little stream on this island, out by the abandoned mill,” he explained with a renewed slow, measured calmness. “Not many people know about it, and hardly anyone is ever there. But I have it on good authority it’s an excellent place to catch rainbow trout.” He released his grip on her wrist, as if testing her willingness to stay in place without the force. “I could show you where it is — and see to it the few other people who know about it make themselves scarce from here on, if you’ll follow me to make camp for the night.” 

Jestiny clenched her jaw tightly enough she thought her teeth might crack as she paused there, considering. 

She knew bait when she saw it. 

He was a devious, manipulative, conniving bastard trying to lure her in with cheap tricks she was too smart to fall for. 

Biting now would be yet another huge mistake, and she was above that.  

She drew in a deep breath. 

“Lead the way.” 

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - Fireworks into the Heart

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (烟花入心) which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Features S2 Gavin. References are made to S2 Ch 16

[ Chapter One ]

“Wang Xiao Cui, you’ve been employed by the STF’s Logistics Department. Report to the cafeteria at 8am tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

I’ve been hired to work in the STF cafeteria. 

As a nutritionist with over thirty years of experience, joining the STF isn’t a problem for me.

My old companion isn’t able to understand why I’m not using my years of retirement to enjoy life. Without giving him a response, I simply smoothen the small creases on my STF uniform carefully.

As an ordinary person, the STF always had a mysterious and prestigious impression in my eyes. Agents who are able to work here are all heroes with indomitable spirits.

Being able to take care of their meals and enable them to get more nutrition every day to strengthen their bodies and better protect Loveland City gives me a sense of honour in protecting this city too.

Based on my experience, taking care of a group of young people is a piece of cake. However, I didn’t expect to make the mistake of underestimating this place.

-

Standing in front of the cafeteria’s bleak signboard at 7.30am, I witness several agents carrying Tianjin-style deep-friend dough sticks through the doors. Someone even carries several bags of fried beef buns. While walking, he speaks in a loud voice:

"I braved the risk of running laps to bring you guys fried buns again!”

“During training later, no one’s allowed to snatch that new gun from me.”

The other agents let out a “tsk”, taking the fried buns and chilli paste from him before dividing them amongst themselves.

Fresh out of the oven, hot steam rises from the buns in the cafeteria, and nobody bats an eye. The master who steamed the buns has already grown accustomed to this. They stand in groups of twos and threes, engaging in idle chatter.

Why doesn’t anyone in the STF like eating food from the cafeteria?

Unable to figure out an answer after much thought, I happen to spot a handsome lad dressed in a white uniform. His steps are steady, and he brings along a breeze when he walks. I immediately call out to him.

“Hey! Young lad, wait.”

The handsome lad stops in his footsteps, giving me a sweeping glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No no, I'm the new nutritionist in the cafeteria. I just wanted to ask you something. Why don’t the STF agents love to eat cafeteria food? From what I can see, the Nourishing Meal has meat and vegetables, and it’s pretty rich in nutrition.”

The handsome lad is silent for a moment before responding to my question.

“The healthy meals place too much focus on health, and they don’t taste any better than the small stalls outside.”

“Captain Gavin, the materials from yesterday’s case have been tidied up.”

“Mm, I’ll have a look at them.”

The handsome lad who was addressed as “Captain Gavin” sees that I have no further questions. Giving me a nod, he takes large strides towards the office.

With a frown, I take a bite out of a celery meat bun. Aside from the taste being slightly bland, I don’t find anything wrong with it. Furthermore, adding too much salt would reduce its nutritional value, so it’s a given that less salt would be added to it.

However, since this point was brought up, it means there’s room for improvement.

In order to prepare food that better suits the palate of STF, I spend a whole week lying low and observing the favourite eateries that the STF agents enjoy eating most, and try out all of their famous dishes.

Based on their palate, I meticulously prepare a modified version of trial dishes.

On the first day of introducing the trial dishes, I brim with enthusiasm while bringing out a “New Dishes to Try” signboard, thinking that this would raise the reputation of the STF’s cafeteria. However, even after half a day, the only things that enter are mosquitoes which I swat to death.

There’s a cold breeze at the entrance. I look at the clock hanging on the wall of the cafeteria - lunchtime is almost over.

Deciding not to wait any longer, I head outside, planning to grab a few people in to try the dishes.

The moment I step outside, my eyes brighten when I see that lad from before.

His footsteps are hurried, and he has a packet of instant noodles in his hand. He probably has to deal with some urgent matters, which is why he has to make do with that for lunch.

How is that good? An STF agent eating instant noodles? Where would I, a nutritionist, hide my pride? I hurriedly stop him.

“Young lad, there are new dishes in the cafeteria. Since you’re about to eat, why don’t you try the cafeteria? It’d be a quick meal.”

He pauses in his footsteps for a slight moment, his refusal ready. However, when he sees the menu behind me, he suddenly blinks, then looks up to give me a nod.

“I’ll have to trouble you then.”

With this, he walks into the cafeteria. I look at the menu. There’s only a simple line written on it - “Today’s Special: Chicken with Chilli”.

Does he like eating chicken with chilli?

[Note] To be precise, this dish is called 辣子鸡 (là zǐ jī). It’s a a stir-fried dish consisting of marinated then deep-fried pieces of chicken, dried Sichuan chilli peppers, spicy bean paste, Sichuan peppers, garlic, and ginger.

[ Chapter Two ]

The young man eats quickly and seriously. Ignoring the fact that that he’s eating at an unhealthy pace, I feel very relieved. When he walks over to return the tray, I ask him a question.

“You’re done, young lad? How’s the taste? Do you think there’s anything to improve on?”

The young man sets the tray down. After a moment of serious contemplation, he give his response.

“The taste isn’t bad. If you’re asking for suggestions, since it’s chicken with chilli, you could add a little more chilli.”

I record his suggestions in my notebook earnestly. At the same time, I’m secretly amazed at how members of the STF are truly talented individuals. I created this chicken with chilli dish based on the spice levels in Sichuan cuisine, but he still didn’t find it spicy enough.

Look like there’s much room for improvement in future dishes.

-

The next day, I continue with my plan to introduce trial dishes. However, most of the STF agents are already used to eating out. The ones who try the dishes are few and far between. Just as lunchtime is about to end, a familiar figure once again appears at the door of the cafeteria.

He’s the young man who ate the chicken with chilli yesterday.

He walks straight in, taking a tray and getting food. Although he doesn’t say anything, I feel very moved, and wonder if this kid dropped by specially to support the canteen’s business.

I inform him that red braised pork is being served today, accompanied with bitter gourd and scrambled eggs. He seems a little hesitant when he sees the bitter gourd. But in the end, he doesn’t say anything, finding a place to sit down and eat.

-

Over the next two weeks, it seems that as long as he isn’t out on missions or doing anything else, that young man would come to the cafeteria.

It appears that he’s a Captain or something. With his impetus, more and more people gradually eat in the cafeteria, and I have a better understanding of his reticent young man.

His name is Gavin, and he’s the Captain of the Special Ops Team. I heard that the Special Ops team is the hardest squad to get into within the STF. They are one of the very best in terms of resolved cases. Everyone in the team are the cream of the crop, much less the Captain.

I heard about how this Captain usually rushes to the most forefront when faced with any danger, which is why he receives much adoration from the team. Of course, the number of injuries and stack of silk banners in the storeroom are proportional to each other.

On the days when he isn’t around, there’s a high chance that he’s out on a mission, or having his injuries treated in the infirmary.

-

“Aunt Wang, give me the same chicken with chilli as Captain Gavin!”

A red-haired agent’s voice pulls me back to reality. He carries a tray, pointing at the chicken with chilli from across the glass. I give him a huge scoop of it. He carries the tray and sits at a row of tables close to the window. There are quite a number of people donning the same uniform, and Gavin is one of them.

“Captain Gavin, why have you fled from our braised beef noodles alliance? You’ve also stopped eating cup noodles with us when we work overtime.”

“Mm, this is something you’re unaware of. Our Captain Gavin has someone who cares for him.”

"Last time, that Miss Producer was filming something and gave us handmade biscuits. You were on leave so you didn’t know about this. Captain Gavin’s biscuits were several times more exquisite than ours. They were even heart-shaped.”

The agents wink at each other and chatter on incessantly. Gavin, the main topic of the conversation, continues eating calmly. When he finally feels slightly annoyed by the clamour, he puts down his chopsticks, glancing at the red-haired agent.

“Tang Chao, it seems that your stamina is getting better with your daily laps.”

“You’ll be my partner for the next mission.”

The red-haired agent immediately pulls a long face.

“Captain Gavin, it's not that I don’t want to be your partner. But based on my fighting skills, I’ll only be a burden to you.”

“I’ll continue shining as a support personnel, and be an emotionless lie detector for the Special Ops Team!”

Gavin ignores the red-haired officer whose name is Tang Chao. But when he lowers his head to drink the soup, I can see his slightly arched brows.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve always been seeing his composed and chilly side, and even thought that was his personality. It turns that he’s still a young man. It’s just that he hides that unrestrained aura that young people have, and doesn’t display it easily.

Perhaps that’s the fetter of being a Captain.

Looking at these young people, I suddenly feel as though I’ve found the reason why my trial dishes have not been successful.

It’s probably because I’ve never tried to truly understand this group of young people.

[ Chapter Three ]

I’m no longer stubborn when it comes to the dishes. Instead, I pay more attention to observing the dietary habits of this group of young people. Gradually, many more pages on the notebook which I use to record modified recipes are written on.

Everything goes smoothly. However, I notice that Gavin hasn’t visited the cafeteria for meals in a long while.

When the red-haired officer comes to collect his food, I scoop pork ribs and winter melon soup for him, and find myself asking him a question.

“Why hasn’t your Captain been coming down to eat in the cafeteria these days?”

He scratches his head, his tone less carefree as before.

“Captain Gavin’s injuries from this mission were a little more serious, so he’s still getting treated in the hospital.”

Before coming to the STF, the word “injuries” was associated with a sliced finger from cutting vegetables, or being scratched while playing with a cat. But after coming to the STF, I realised that there are many other ways people can get hurt.

The STF has doctors who understand Evolvers most in the whole of Loveland City. Logically speaking, even if it’s a fracture or external bleeding, patients can typically be discharged in a week.

That young man called Gavin hasn’t appeared in such a long time. Is he severely injured?

Even though we haven’t exchanged many words, I can’t help but worry about that young man.

He’s still so young. If anything were to happen to him, how worried would his family members be?

Perhaps due to the fact that he was the first agent willing to try food from the cafeteria, I find myself being more concerned about him, and wanting to know more about him. However, STF agents are disciplined and strict. When they’re eating in the cafeteria, they rarely mention Gavin. When he’s occasionally brought up, they say things that I’m unable to understand.

“She went to the hospital again today.”

“That’s fine. Her presence at the hospital is much more useful than a few of us going. At least Captain Gavin would smile a little when he sees her. When we’re there, we’re like stalks of grain, and can do nothing but watch helplessly.”

“The next time the ‘Snake’ bites, we can’t let Captain Gavin hold the fort again.”

In the fog of their conversation, I’m unable to understand anything. I’m getting old, and my ears aren’t as useful. I shake my head, turning around and heading back into the kitchen.

-

Just when I think Gavin’s injuries have rendered him unable to return to the team, he appears.

While I’m writing the lunch menu on the whiteboard, I spot Gavin and his squad mates walking in together. He has become much thinner, and looks very pale. Even so, his entire frame remains as solemn as always, a sense of sharpness emanating from him.

When I hand him braised beef noodles, he gives me a nod.

“Thanks.”

He picks up the chopsticks and eats the noodles. When he sees the slices of beef in the bowl, he’s slightly stunned. However, he returns to normal in an instant, continuing to eat as usual.

When they’re halfway through eating, the communication device at Gavin’s waist suddenly beeps. He presses the communication device, his expression changing when he hears the message.

“The ‘Snake’ has left the hole. Take action.”

With his command, everyone abandon their meal and hurriedly leave the cafeteria.

When Gavin passes by me, I can see traces of blood on the side of his sleeve.

It appears that he’s leaving for a mission before his wounds have completely healed.

The cafeteria lapses into silence. I tidy the table, looking at the beef noodles which only had a few bites taken out of it, and let out a heavy sigh.

I know how difficult it is to join the STF. People who join the STF are so incredible. But I still wish to know what kind of reasons would make such a young person charge forward and risk his life to the point where he can’t even have a proper meal.

[ Chapter Four ]

It’s very late at night, but the STF remains brightly lit.

Similar to the busy agents, I haven’t left either.

After this period of research and testing dishes, I discovered that the people here aren’t picky. They simply lack the time to sit down and eat slowly.

With this in mind, I restart the dish modifications.

The television in the cafeteria is currently showing the Loveland News. The host is reporting on something about “Evol Assassination Incidents”, and is criticising how the STF hasn’t been doing anything about them.

“Things here are turning upside down from how busy they are, and the infirmary is filled with people. And you claim that they aren’t doing anything? Reporters are so irresponsible these days.”

I shake my head, switching the television off. After calling a few colleagues over, we carry supper to the infirmary.

Due to the incident the news was reporting about, the STF has been in a mess recently. I heard that there aren’t enough beds in the infirmary for use.

My heart aches from how these kids are getting criticised even after getting injured. I’ve prepared sweet soup suitable for evening consumption, bringing them to the infirmary while they get treated.

While passing by the Captain’s office, I notice that the door isn’t closed, and I see someone standing inside.

It’s Gavin.

His side is facing the door, his hair is messy, and he’s leaning against the wall. One of his legs is lifted up, and he’s currently pursing his lips as he removes his combat gloves.

He appears to have lacked sleep for several days, and quiet fatigue emanates from his entire frame.

However, he doesn’t seem to have shown this side of him to anyone outside, demanding himself to only leave this version of himself to an empty office in the depths of night.

I knock on the door. The moment he hears this, he quickly straightens up, his sharp gaze sweeping over. When he sees that it’s me, his amber eyes are stunned, and he nods.

“Please come in.”

Walking in, I place a bowl of snow fungus soup on his table.

“Everyone has been working hard in the bureau lately. We decided to make some sweet soup for all of you to relieve the fatigue. Drink this soup while it’s hot. There’s Chinese wolf berry and longan in it, so it’s pretty nourishing.”

Gavin nods. Stray hairs stick messily against the sides of his eyes and brows. I’m guessing that since he’s a kid who usually puts up a strong front, he probably doesn’t like others seeing his sorry state. I hurriedly wave my hands to signal that I’m leaving.

Before I walk out of the door, Gavin suddenly asks me a question.

“Aunt Wang, is your cafeteria recipe modification going smoothly?”

I can hardly believe that he actually remembered such a trivial matter.

Just how many things does he concern himself with?

“Very smoothly. I’ve been looking into a new fast-food style beef noodles, and plan to introduce it to the bureau.”

“Fast-food beef noodles?”

“Mm. There used to be very few people in the cafeteria because I only paid attention to maintaining the nutritional value of dishes. But if people don’t even have the time to eat, how can I talk about nutrition?”

“Right now, I’m looking into preparing beef noodles that are both nutritious and can be eaten really quickly. Such noodles are more diverse in flavour, and the nutritional value is easy to maintain.”

After saying all of this, I follow up with a question.

“But I'm still considering whether to use bean sprouts or eggs as a substitute. Which do you prefer?”

Perhaps few people have asked him something as trivial as his dietary preferences. He gives this very serious thought before providing a careful answer.

“I’d prefer eggs.”

I nod, then find myself giving him my sincere and earnest wishes.

“No matter how busy work is, you need to have proper meals. Even though rice and vegetables seem simple, they are part of life.”

“Whenever you head forward so urgently, have you ever thought of whether you might be forcing yourself too much?”

When Gavin hears this, he’s taken back. I don’t continue. With a sigh, I turn around and leave.

[ Chapter Five ]

The new fast-food beef noodles introduced in the canteen received a huge welcome amongst the agents. It became the favourite supper of agents who worked overtime on cases. Given the positive responses, I also released different flavoured fast-food products. 

With this signature dish, the STF canteen finally became lively every day.

But the strange things is, I didn’t see Gavin for a very long time. I heard that he... temporarily relieved himself of his duties.

I have no idea what happened, but I trust that he had his reasons, and I silently hope that the kid can be safe.

Afterwards, a strange fog enveloped Loveland City. I was protected by STF agents, and later heard that Gavin was the one who retrieved the fog.

-

I’m just about to prepare dinner in the cafeteria when I hear the news that Gavin’s in the hospital. News related to the STF’s retrieval of the fog is being broadcasted, and Gavin’s powerful and resounding voice can be heard.

“This round of the Hunter Game is over.”

I lift my head to see that familiar figure on the television, determined and composed.

“Thank you all for protecting the dignity of this city.”

When he had meals in the cafeteria before, I often wondered how this taciturn young man could persevere on his own, shouldering high pressure that ordinary people find difficult, and also protect tens of thousands of ordinary people.

Right now, I understand.

It’s because he has a heart of justice that’s gentler and more unwavering than anyone else - 

And this heart has guided him onto a path destined to be rugged, where he will pursue justice with no second thoughts.

But I’m still a little puzzled. Doesn’t he find it lonely when walking down this path?

With the assistance of the red-haired agent, I carry chicken wonton soup to Gavin’s hospital ward.

The door is closed, and I can hear an indistinct voice of a girl drifting from the inside.

From across the glass, I see a girl sitting at the bedside, a pink bento box on the table.

The girl is resting a hand against her cheek while supervising Gavin as he eats the bento. Meanwhile, the young man sitting on the bed is eating it one mouthful at a time, earnestly and tenderly.

For some reason, I find myself grinning.

On this path filled with ups and downs, someone is willing to accompany him, wait for him, sit down together with him, and have a serious, proper meal with him.

I leave the hospital with the thermos box.

Being here for so many days, I’ve grown used to this place, grown used to the whistle at 6.30am in the morning, grown used to the agents finishing their meals within ten minutes and rushing off, and grown used to the lights in STF illuminating my path like starlight when I’m heading home at night.

My old companion often asks why an oldie like me continues going to the STF. 

It’s because I can see a broader world here. I can see souls with determined spirits. I’ve never felt more alive and fulfilled in my entire lifetime.

This is the meaning that STF gives me.

I hope that the young man called Gavin, as well as the countless young people who are like Gavin, will always lead a fulfilling life.

...and that they may always be safe.

May he, along with the girl he watches silently, return to life through every meal while embracing justice.

💙 More S2 content: here

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[queenmorgawse]

transmigration for dummies

mdzs scum villain au, chapter two. read chapter one on tumblr. fic on ao3. as always, credits for the og idea to @lee-luca.

Here’s a life lesson from yours truly : if you don’t give yourself time to think about it, you won’t worry about it.

Getting into Gusu Lan’s white robes is so much of a hassle that, as he struggles with the unholy number of layers and conventions, Jingyi has no time at all to mull over the OOC function or how to get rid of it as soon as possible. To think he used to complain when his mother wanted him to wear a dress shirt and a tie to family events — if she could see him now, she’d probably tear a muscle laughing.

Fortunately, Sizhui seems to take it all into stride. Or, more accurately, he thinks Jingyi’s still too out of it to properly function, and therefore sees nothing wrong with having to walk him through the process of putting his own clothes on step by step like he’s a toddler learning about shoelaces for the first time. He imagines the original would feel humiliated, but Jingyi himself is all too glad for a plausible excuse to ask for help to care. The System grants him this one favor, and stays mercifully silent as Sizhui secures his hair into a high ponytail and shows him the proper way to tie his forehead ribbon (I really can’t do it for you, he says, and Jingyi understands. There’s no helping the virginity ribbon.)

Speaking of hair, he’s got to figure out what to do with his. He hasn’t had a chance to look into a mirror yet, but he knows that this body’s hair reaches his waist. From the looks of it, it’s lustrous and well-cared for, but it’s still a huge change from Jingyi’s style, trimmed whenever it threatened to grow past a finger’s length. His head feels heavy.

Right as Sizhui pats a speck of dust off his shoulder and declares him ready to go, the chime of a bell echoes through the Cloud Recesses, which Jingyi guesses means breakfast is served. Oh, well. His hairstyle’s a problem for tomorrow-Jingyi.

Their dorm’s disciples make their way to the common hall in orderly fashion. In Jingyi’s opinion, they look like a row of ducklings toddling after Sizhui, to whom the younger boys cling to like he’s their father, mother and brother all wrapped into the same person. Truly worthy of being the protagonists’ son! Perhaps in someone else, he’d dislike the model student, can-do-no-wrong attitude. In Lan Sizhui, though, it’s endearing — admirable, even.

They reach the dining hall before Jingyi can elaborate on that train of thought. On the doorstep, he has to take a moment. The donghua’s version was gorgeous, but even it pales before the real thing. The hall is all dark wood, draped in blue and white and delicate silver, the cloud patterns of Gusu Lan running across the banners. There’s something engraved on top of the doors, which Jingyi assumes is the sect’s motto, Be righteous.

One of his fellow disciples squints at him and he realizes, belatedly, that the original has probably seen this place a million times before and wouldn’t bat an eye at the scenery, no matter how enchanting. He immediately puts on the most dazed look he can manage, letting his eyes go blank, until the other boy turns away with a shrug.

Damn right, I’m a weirdo! Leave me alone!

The most anyone here seems to open their mouths for is to exchange quiet greetings, and Jingyi’s not quite comfortable enough with his surroundings to attempt it. What if he accidentally offends someone important? That’ll be the end of him for sure. Instead, he busies himself with trying to identify characters among the gathered disciples.

As it turns out, the task isn’t much of a challenge at all. The main branch of the Lan clan sits at the same table, though it does not particularly stand out among the others save for the cloud-patterned banners hanging directly above it. The guy in the middle must be Lan Xichen, Jingyi guesses, if only because of the respect others address him with, obvious even though he can’t hear their voices from where he stands.

From what he can tell, the unsmiling man sitting to Lan Xichen’s right is Lan Wangji, the main love interest. The intuition is further confirmed when Sizhui excuses himself from their group and flits to his side. Father and son barely exchange a few words, their dark heads bent together, but Jingyi could swear he sees Lan Wangji’s eyes soften a little.

He really does look sad. It’s not like Jingyi didn’t know, having read an entire novel about it, but seeing it for himself still makes his heart tighten in his chest a little. Worry not, Hanguang-Jun! he wants to say. Your future husband is coming back real soon! But of course, the System would probably nuke him instantly if he tried to, so Lan Wangji will have to be miserable for a little while longer.

“Come sit with me,” Sizhui’s voice says, and for the second time in less than two hours, Jingyi snaps himself back into reality to come face to face with the other junior’s kindly face.

It’s pretty wild how much effort Sizhui puts into being nice to him. Is it because he was there when Lan Jingyi was hurt? Does he feel responsible for him now? It’s not like the original was exceptionally pleasant to be around. He really does have to do something about it ⎯ or at least, he’ll take care of it when the System’s no longer on his ass about remaining in-character.

When Sizhui doesn’t seem to come to his senses and retract the offer, he hesitantly settles into the seat on the other’s left. Hopefully, everyone will just chalk up the delay in each of his movements to typical post-traumatic event confusion. What even happened on that night-hunt?

The silence that reigns in the dining hall is eerie, only disturbed by the clink of chopsticks against ceramic bowls and the occasional whispered thanks when a dish is passed down the table. It reminds Jingyi of an exam session, which does nothing to help his nerves.

He’s in the middle of his second bowl when the alert chimes in his head.【OOC behavior detected : -10 points. Current balance : 90 points. 】

What the hell? I didn’t do anything!

【The original Lan Jingyi never manages to stay silent during meals, effectively breaking Gusu Lan Sect’s two hundred and fifty-third rule. Points were deducted accordingly. 】

Was this even mentioned? Now you’re just pulling canon out of your ass! When the System doesn’t answer, Jingyi adds, plus, he’s sick, he doesn’t feel up to talking. It’s weird to refer to someone who’s technically himself in third person, but he can’t help it. He and the other guy probably wouldn’t be friends if they met, nevermind body roommates!

【... 】For the first time since Jingyi arrived, the System sounds somewhat irritated.【Objection considered : +5 points. Current balance : 95 points.】

A wide smile worms his way onto his face. So he can negotiate, huh? Jingyi’s always been pretty good at debate ⎯ he verbally wiped the floor with Huan Hua High’s team last competition, okay? He can definitely duke it out with an omniscient AI!

...Put like that, it sounds a little more daunting than before. But if he doesn’t want to end up booted off into a potentially dead body, he doesn’t exactly have a choice either.

Out of sheer spite, Jingyi finishes the third and last bowl of his breakfast in stubborn silence.

-

He shouldn’t have underestimated the soporific effect of a never-ending lecture. God, and he thought two-hour classes were bad. It's been three, and his soul feels like it's going to throw itself out of the reincarnation cycle.

Jingyi steals a mournful glance towards the window. The sun is shining outside, dammit! This is no time to keep children indoors! Yet Lan Qiren drones on, pacing back and forth in front of them and reading from one of too many foot-long scrolls, seemingly oblivious to his students’ boredom.

Why does he even have to be here? He was born a Lan, he’s supposed to know these things already! Jingyi conveniently ignores the fair point his brain raises (how the original must have known, but Jingyi himself could only recite a handful if he tried) in favor of complaining that, if pointless, is at least relaxing.

One of the Jiang guest disciples is dozing, head strategically propped up and brush in hand to give the illusion of attention. Lan Qiren hasn’t noticed yet. God, I wish that were me.

As if to offer convenient narrative contrast, Lan Sizhui and perhaps a couple others are making a valiant effort to stay focused on Jingyi’s other side, dutifully taking notes. Even Sizhui’s eyes have started to glaze over, though, and when their gazes meet (the umpteenth time Jingyi lets his sweep over the room in an attempt to spot something of interest before he bores himself to death), the other boy actually slumps a little before sitting up ramrod-straight again, just in time to look pristine when Lan Qiren’s eyes sweep over him.

It’s kind of reassuring, to see that even the Lan clan’s resident golden boy is a little imperfect.

Just as Jingyi glances down at the dregs of his notes, wondering if it’s worth it to pick them up again, chaos erupts on his right. Random-Jiang-Extra’s steadfast elbow pose has finally failed him, sending him crashing onto the table. Ink spills everywhere, drenching his notes, the lapels of his robes and even the hem of his neighbours’. Jingyi saves his in extremis by scrambling back, almost knocking over his own desk in the process.

The guest disciple blinks, like he doesn’t realize yet the magnitude of Lan Qiren’s wrath about to descend upon him. There’s a rather large smudge of ink on his chin. From a distance, it could pass for Lan Qiren’s goatee.

Jingyi snorts before he can think that decision through.

Beginner’s mistake. Lan Qiren turns towards him, eyes narrowing, and his laughter dies in his throat. “Do not laugh at others’ plight,” their teacher fumes. “Three thousand and fourth rule, Lan Jingyi! I postponed the punishments for your previous offenses on the grounds that you needed time to recover, but since you’re obviously well enough to embarrass our sect again, you won’t need that delay after all!”

I don’t even know what the other guy did! Jingyi almost protests, but since that objection just sounds like it’ll get him hit with another rule about not telling lies or whatnot, he keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he bows his head and says, “Sorry, Teacher. I’ll try my best not to do it again.” Screw his pride! Anything to escape copying rules! Especially not while doing handstands!

Not to the original’s credit, Lan Qiren looks, for a moment, genuinely surprised. Not for the first time, Jingyi feels a small stab of resentment towards Lan Jingyi. He’s been trying not to, given that he has no idea what happened to the guy’s soul and he may be in a worse situation than Jingyi is right now, but why couldn’t he have been a good, well-behaved student like Lan Sizhui?

...In retrospect, maybe it’s just as good that he wasn’t. Jingyi would have gotten way too many points deducted just because he couldn’t sit still in class.

【OOC behavior detected : -10 points. Current balance : 85 points. 】

Ouch. Must be for the apology. Well, if it saves him from the dreaded handstand copying, he can make up for the loss later.

Against all odds, it works. Lan Qiren rubs the bridge of his nose, stifling what Jingyi is fairly sure is meant to be a long-suffering sigh. “One copy of our sect rules, to be done in the Library Pavilion. Lan Sizhui will supervise you...after his guqin lesson, is that right?”

“Yes, Teacher.” If Sizhui’s annoyed to have to take time out of an assumedly free evening to watch him butcher calligraphy, he doesn’t show it. From the look in his eyes, though, it may not be the first time.

Jingyi tunes out of Lan Qiren’s next tirade, directed at the hapless Jiang boy, who’s still staring at his ruined notes as his martial brothers make sympathetic noises. Can’t say this day started out all that well, but it’s not that bad for a beginning. It definitely could have been worse.

Then Lan Sizhui gives him a tiny smile that carves a dimple into his right cheek, and maybe today really is going to be a pretty good day after all.

strolls in with starbucks almost a month later,,, hello, i haven’t abandoned this fic, mini exam period just punched me harder than expected. i hope this chapter wasn’t boring - i’m trying to set things up before the actual mdzs plot kicks in, but we’re in for some zhuiyi fluffTM. also, i made a twitter! feel free to follow me over there for random au ideas (but mostly crying). still taking questions + prompts, both here and there. and finally, would you guys read a more serious / plotty / angsty fic with ljy x jl as the main ship (though romance would probably take a backseat to the plot)? i wrote a small premise over here, but i crave feedback and validation.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 13: Baited Traps and Telling Dreams

  Chapters: 13/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Nothing, I Think Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not yet) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Clint Barton Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending, Writer Wants to Make a Mythical Detective Loki Ragnarok Joke but Never Finished the Book, Look Dude the Avengers Don’t Like You, Deal With It, Loki Makes a Hasty Declaration Summary: Loki begins his investigation, Reader deals with being injured.

“Hear me, loyal followers!” Loki addresses the gathered encampment. ”You who persevere through cold nights, you who make your devotion known with your presence! I have need of your assistance in an important matter!”

Perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick, but it had netted him the attention of every human in the camp; even the little worm he had berated before.

“Just this morning, outside the city, an attempt was made on the life of my…”He hesitated for just a moment. “My Seidkona. Perhaps some you remember her? She came out among you a month ago. This craven assailant then stole a horse, and rode back this way. He used this blade.”

Loki produced the offending weapon and held it out for inspection.

“I will not require you to throw the coward at my feet this instant; I would not expect any of you to put yourselves in that kind of danger. However, if any of you have information, I expect it to be delivered to any of the gate guards very soon. Until then, go about your business, with my blessing.”

A few of them winced at that last part, which filled him with a dark satisfaction. So there were intelligent individuals out here after all, those who might understand that the blessing of the God of Mischief may have many edges.

Let them band together or tear each other apart now; it didn’t matter. As long as he got what he was after, who cared how these mortals produced it?

He left them to their tents and fires, marching back through the city, glaring at practically everyone who approached him.

That was one possibility set in motion. Hopefully the strength of their faith would allow the campers to turn on one of their own, if one of them was really the culprit. He would see that a handsome reward would go to any of them that provided information. The camp humans hadn’t been shown any special regard so far, but keeping them firmly on the side of the gods might be more advantageous than he had previously thought. They had to know every human in the area, because they were every human in the area.

Loki made straight for the large library, where, on his orders, most of the remaining Asgardian historians were gathered. Here, he presented the blade once more, bidding them to search any sources they might have, to discover if the weapon had any known history. If it had come from within Asgard, they had the best chance of finding out.

That was the second possibility. If any of his Asgardian enemies were behind this, he would not show them mercy either. You were human, but you were under Crown protection. An attack on you was treason, and no matter how above the law some families thought they might be, he was all too willing to remind them of how wrong they were.

Now for the most annoying part. Passing the guards and entering the sparse, shrine-like computer room, he switched the machine on and entered his own password. He brought up a video call, and waited.

Tony Starks’ smug, stupid face popped up on the screen.

“Hey Thor, you need a genius today or wh-“ He noticed who he was talking to. “Oh, fuck off!”

He stormed away from the camera, quickly replaced by Pepper.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Potts.” Loki said evenly. “Good to see a professional.”

“Kiss my titanium ass!” Tony shouted from offscreen.

“Er, what can I do for you?” She asked, eyes flicking to the side as Tony began going into a full rant. “I’m sorry, it looks like I need to transfer you. One moment.”

“No, we don’t apologize to him! We do not-“

The screen blacked out for a moment, coming back online in an entirely different part of the tower.

“Hello? Who is…hm.” A familiar face and voice went from curious, to cold in no time flat. Loki smiled, but not in a friendly manner.

“Hello, Clint.” He said in a low, gentle voice. “How are you doing today?”

“I was better twenty seconds ago. What do you want?”

“I would not assume you are ignorant of what is happening in my area of the world. Why would I call?”

“Either something is rotten in the state of Asgard, or something concerns the woman you stole. So which is it? Straight talk; I don’t have the time or patience for your knotted speech, so just get to the heart of it.”

Insufferable. Why couldn’t Banner have been there? He could at least talk to Bruce. This was going to be like flinging words at a wall.

Loki explained what had happened, playing up your vulnerability, and the injustice and cowardice of your attacker. Clint had a soft heart underneath all his skill; he would want to help you, even though he had never met you.

“What I want to know is if she had any enemies among her peers that would have the means to get here. Or alternately, if you know of anyone who would make an attempt on her for being close to my brother and I.”

“Oh yeah, that’s not a huge number of possible suspects or anything. Let me just get right on that, it’s not like I have anything else to do for the rest of my life.”

“I didn’t say it had to be you specifically, but if you are volunteering…”

“I’ll see what can be done. No guarantees.”  Hawkeye then abruptly ended the call.

Loki sighed at the blank screen. The only consolation was that eventually, this entire generation of humanity would die, and he might be able to make a fresh start.

Now to wait.

No, now to check on you.

                                                                                  *****

 Loki led you gently by the hand through the most lavish building you had ever seen. There were entire gilded rooms, glowing, warm; tapestries as long as the halls, gloriously detailed in the history of Asgard. Every floor a mosaic, every pillar carved with the delicacy of lace. Foreign music floated on the air.

You felt as if you were floating as well, wrapped in loose clothing, light on your feet. Loki wouldn’t let you make any sudden moves, bidding you to just walk slowly and take in everything around you.

You were vaguely aware of a stiff feeling in your back, of your surroundings being smaller than they appeared. Loki’s scent was all around you, comforting. Here, you had no fears. In this beautiful palace, he ruled, and you were safe. No sickness, no dead fields, no evil; just tender hand-holding, and justified pride in thousands of years of Asgardian artistry.

Your clothing tangled around your legs, but you didn’t fall. A sheet? You were wearing a sheet? And bandages? You could feel them around your torso, not too tight, but enough to be noticeable.

The music changed, fading into a low hum. You had heard this before, in the medical wing. Bjarkehild had described a machine that showed everything that might be wrong with a patient. She’d called it a ’Soul Forge’, explained that what they had now was a very stripped down version of it. Like the Bifrost, it was one of the things they were slowly rebuilding, always improving upon.

Were they near the medical area of the palace? What wonders might be there? You asked if you could go see it, and Loki simply smiled and nodded.

The place he led you to was just as lovely as the rest of the palace; clean and sterile, but not lifeless, decorated in soft, calming colors. You’d spent a lot of time in doctor’s offices and hospitals over the past year, but none of them had seemed so comforting.

Loki scooped you up and placed you on one of the beds. It was so soft and warm. The sheet spread out around you. He tucked it up around your shoulders, sat down next to you, and took your hand again, under the sheet.

If only you could stay like this. Safe and unafraid. Warm. Happy.  You knew it couldn’t last; you lived a life of impermanence. Once you opened your eyes, this would all be gone.

You opened your eyes to find yourself only partially correct. You were in a bed, and you were in the medical area. You were in a sheet, and wrapped in bandages. Loki was there, and he was holding your hand under the sheet.

But there was no ancient palace, no beautiful art or architecture. And unlike what you now realized was a dream, you were still filled with fear and apprehension.  You drew your hand away.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Loki said, standing to hover over you, worry in his tight expression. “How do you feel?”

“Not sure yet.” You said, groggy. “What happened to me?”

“We were attacked. Some craven bastard threw a knife at you.”

“Oh. I thought it felt like getting punched by a fist made of wasps.” You said. You didn’t mention that a sneaky knife attack sounded like the kind of thing Loki would do. Perhaps it was only ‘craven’ when someone else was doing it.

“Did you hit the horse?”

Loki sighed and sat back down. “No. You actually guaranteed that wouldn’t happen. Not that I would have struck the animal anyway; my aim is always precise.”

“I messed up your throw. Sorry.”

“Oh, a bit more than that, I’m pleased to say. You performed your first feat of independent magic. Teleportation. You brought my blade right back to me. It was very tidy, but you’ve had an excellent teacher, so I expect no less.”

So smug. You would have found it endearing, if you weren’t so caught up in yourself.

“It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought.” You said. “Don’t get me wrong, it hurts a lot, but I thought it would be more debilitating.”

“The knife did not penetrate far. Luckily, our assailant was clumsy with his throw, and left you with no more than a nasty cut. The only reason you are here right now is because dealing with a sudden injury and with sudden magic fatigue at the same time overwhelmed you. But you will be fine now. Look, I have grapes.”

He handed you a little bowl full of the green and purple fruits, which you dug into ravenously.

“I can teleport?”

“You can teleport objects, at least. Small ones. But perhaps bigger, with time. Perhaps even something as big as yourself, someday.”

“So…kinda like a little, walking Bifrost?” You wondered. Loki went silent, mouth opened, mouth closed, absorbing the idea.

“That is actually a very interesting thought. What a clever little thing you are! Look at how your value grows. A movable Bifrost would be precious indeed.”

His expression darkened.

“All the more reason to find this enemy and neutralize them. I’ve got several investigations ongoing, but for now…” He placed his hand on top of the sheet, trying to find yours underneath. You moved your hand away.

“I know I have been busy, and you’ve been cooped up like a doll in a closet. But while this threat is still looming, I intend to keep you close by. You may have to sit through some terribly boring official meetings, but at least you will not be alone. It’s either that or being locked into your room, I’m afraid.”

“Is that allowed? I’m not a dignitary or anything. Isn’t some of that stuff secret?”

Loki regarded you with some amusement. “Tell me, what is it you think royalty actually does?”

“I dunno.” You grumbled. “Top secret government stuff.”

“Ha! You think we have garden parties and eat treats all day, don’t you?”

You thought about Hamlet. Lear. Othello. All the blood, the distrust, the betrayal.

“Not exactly. I guess I just don’t know.”

“Prepare to learn. And if you get bored, you can just bring a book.”

You groaned.

                                                                                  *****

Loki had been right: some of these meetings were super boring. You couldn’t understand most of what was being said; only when Thor or Loki were using their ‘allspeak’ magic. Even then, you only got their parts of the conversation.

Loki had dressed you up like you were something special, but it hardly seemed to matter. The people meeting with the brothers either ignored you completely, or seemed annoyed that you were there at all, no matter how you looked. Maybe he’d just done it for his own pleasure. He had referred to you as a doll, after all.

One fellow in particular seemed very displeased to see you there, and had a lengthy-and if Loki’s expression was any indication-impertinent argument about your presence. Loki had used Allspeak the entire time. Either he wanted you to know how disgusted this man was by you, or he wanted you to know he was defending you.

“It is final, Alarr.” He said firmly. “It is not your concern.”

The man, Alarr, bristled and huffed, speaking back with obvious disrespect.

“Actually, you do.” Thor said. “He is my brother, my advisor, my second-in-command. He is your prince, and it is important that everyone remembers that, especially people with your influence. It is of utmost importance that we remain united as we rebuild. There are too many people who would see us divided.”

Alarr gesticulated broadly. You thought you heard the name Odin somewhere in the tirade.

“This is all true. However, these times are different from our golden age, and calls for a different kind of leadership. Even our father grew weary of conquering and made sincere attempts at peace. So too, will we. But it must start with tolerance for the presence of the people who were here before us. There will not be another Nornheim.”

Alar stroked his braided, blonde beard. He was clearly still displeased, but seemed to acquiesce, though he shot suspicious glances at you for the rest of the meeting. He seemed to be demanding that the camp be removed, viewing them as a safety hazard, a possible harbor for enemies.

To your relief, both king and prince believed that to be unreasonable and unnecessary. Not to mention unsustainable.

“How many Einherjar do you propose we remove from their posts and their training, to fruitlessly patrol the fens in search of itinerant humans?” Loki asked. “And by what rights do we remove citizens of this country from land that is still theirs? What measures do you suggest we take to repel them? Do we become violent toward the very people who have harbored us?”

The argument went back and forth, but Loki’s defense of the camp stuck with you. He didn’t even like the people out there. He too, had said that he considered them potentially dangerous. You didn’t see what he got out of defending them. It couldn’t be because of you, and you doubted it was simply because it was the right thing to do.

“He is literally always so unpleasant, all the time, every day.” Loki said, after Alarr had left.

“He’s of the old guard.” Thor said with a shrug. “He will get used to the new ways. There isn’t really any other choice.”

“He’s going to be trouble.” Loki warned. “He does not see me as a legitimate authority, and he barely tolerates you as one.”

“And what do you suggest then? We can’t imprison him for ‘general unpleasantness’. For one thing; we don’t have a prison.”

“What, you guys don’t have spies? Can’t you just watch over him?” You interjected.  They both turned to look at you, their movements almost comically mirrored.

“Eh, never mind.” It wasn’t really your place to speak here. Who knew, maybe all their spies had been killed in the destruction of Asgard, or were trapped offworld, with no Bifrost to bring them back.

“It’s nothing you need worry yourself about.” Loki said. “You needn’t worry about anything.”

Or do anything, if the entire boring day was any indication. At least Loki and Thor got to talk to people, even get into interesting debates. You got to sit still and say nothing. You couldn’t even get really comfortable, the slash across your back twanging every time you put any kind of pressure on it.

He was probably just trying to reassure you of your safety, but the boredom was almost torture. You could have stayed locked in your room and been safe enough. At least then, you could have had a nap. But Loki insisted on keeping you within arms’ reach. The attack must have really spooked him.

You probably should have felt more conflicted about it than you did. Someone had tried to kill you! Or, at least, someone had tried to hurt one of the two of you. Loki could not be ruled out as the intended target of that knife either.

Oh, he had been so ticked off, demanding to know if you had seen the danger coming, if you had tried to protect him with your body. You had told him how stupid that was; he was thousand times tougher than you, he could take a knife without needing your help. That seemed to mollify him, but now you wondered if you should have lied and gotten yourself locked up.

Again, at least you could have taken a nap.

Loki left his chair to crouch before you.

“Are you hungry? Do you hurt?” His hand stroked down your back, causing you to wince away. “Oh, you do hurt. Do we have anything that can alleviate pain?”

“We need to stock up on some human medications for you.” Thor said. There was a sort of sparkle in his good eye as he watched his brother. “They’re completely ineffective to us, I’m afraid.”

“Er, speaking of that, I’m definitely going to need some, uh, feminine hygiene products.” You hadn’t wanted to talk about this, but there wasn’t any getting around it. “I’ve got the insert, but it takes a little while to dry everything up.”

Both brothers stared at you, baffled.

“I know what all of those words mean individually…”Loki began.

You sighed. “I think I need to talk to Bjarkehild.”

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

Avengers: Storm

Summary: The avengers have just defeated Ultron, a much needed victory for the weary team, but another storm is coming their way. A new member joins the team and has some very unexpected effects on everyone, especially the Captain himself, Steve Rogers.     Secrets are revealed, scars revisited, and new wounds formed as they battle one of their toughest and most personal battles yet. All they can do is hope this wont be their breaking point...

characters: Steve Rogers/Captain America, Tony Stark/Iron Man, Widow, Hawkeye, Banner, Thor, All the Avengers, and a few original characters

Rating: Mature (just in case, still havent fully decided yet)

Note: So yay, im finally posting this after i said i would do thisa week ago... opps! And this is my first Avengers fic so be nice :)      But before you read, just a little tidbit about my writting. I love to add in new characters and it usually involves some sort of romance of some kind, so if you dont like OC’s then this might not be the fic for you, and thats ok! I also love making everything into series which this will probably end up being, so be prepared for that. But for those of you who do read it i hope you enjoy it!! And be sure to let me know what you think! ok, here it goes...

Chapter 1:

Stark Tower

     “Stark!” a familiar voice carried across the loud dance floor to the ears of the billionaire walking casually towards the bar. “You’ll throw a party for anything won’t you.”

    Tony reached the bar with one last step, a powerful hand landing on his shoulder giving him the extra push to make it there without falling.

    “Well, Captain, I hardly think defeating Ultron is any reason not to party,” he began, raising his hand to get the bar tenders attention, “we have saved the world twice, once from an alien invasion lead by Thor’s overly jealous not God adoptive brother, and once from a robot invasion initiated, not intentionally, by yours truly. A few drinks and a dance or two,” he said as he raised a glass to his friend, “is well deserved.”

    The two of them downed both of their drinks in one go, Tony ordering another round.

    “Stark, Cap, good to see you again.”

    “Doctor Banner,” Steve reached forward shaking Bruce's hand.

    Tony turned handing yet another drink to Steve then looking to Bruce, “Ah, another arrival. A drink Doctor Banner? Come on, on the house.”

    Hesitantly he declined, “No thanks. I’d better not, you know…just in case.”

    Tony pointed his drink at Bruce with wide eyes. “Fun, Banner, you’re allowed to have some.”

    “Best to be on the safe side I think.”

    “Well as much as I admire your extremely boring sense of responsibility and lack of adventure,” Tony said as he took three more drinks from the bar, “I'm going to party like the eccentric genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist I am.”

    With that stark left the two men at the bar and wiggled his way through the bouncing dance floor.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Five hours later the party was just as thriving as it was when it first started. The group of Avengers had assembled in a quieter corner of the room, Tony with one girl on each arm, both of them hanging off of every word.

    Between the laughs and slurred sentences shared amongst the Avengers, Jarvis's faint cries could be heard, “Sir, Sir!”

    Tony stopped laughing. “Yes Jarvis, what is it?”

    “Sir, there is a lady caller at the front desk for you. She stresses it is very important.”

    “Was she invited to the party, Jarvis?” Tony continued to flirt with the two blondes beside him on the couch.

    “No Sir,” Jarvis continued sounding strained, “you must see to her, Sir, she asked specifically for you.”

    “She's probably some corporate solicitor trying to get a meeting,” he sighed and with a wave of his hand continued, “just…tell her I'm in a meeting or…just make something up Jarvis, isn’t that what I invented you for.”

    Sounding quite annoyed now Jarvis persisted, “No, Sir, you invented me as an aid to yourself and your work, not a butler nor a liar. Now, Sir, I wish you to see to this young lady immediately. If it helps any she has a two toned hair colour, almost a silver blonde on top with a dark grey on the bottom, pale skin, no older then 28 I would guess. She says it’s an emergency, sir.”

    “Silver and grey hair?” with that Tony ran with a speed a man as drunk as him should not have been able to reach and within minutes was in the nearest elevator heading to the lobby, quickly followed by the rest of the Avengers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    “Please! You don’t understand I must see Mr. Stark right away!”

    The secretary behind the desk looked more then angry as she scowled at the girl over the rim of her glasses, “Miss, I have told you, Mr. Stark is a very busy man and has no time for children to come barging into his office demanding to speak with him. If you don’t leave now I will be forced to contact the proper authorities.”

    “Busy,” the young girl laughed, “he’s probably having a party right now isn’t he?”

    The secretary didn’t say anything confirming her theory.

    “Well you tell him party’s over!” the girl said with shaking hands as she whispered desperately, “I need to see him, I need his help.”

      With an exaggerated sigh the secretary gave her a stern look, “Miss, either make an appointment,” she lifted the phone, “or I'm calling the police.”

    The young girl didn’t know what to do as she ran shaking hands through her long hair.

    “You give me no choice,” the secretary said to her.

    With no one else to go to and no other options what was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t get arrested.

    “Leeanna?!”

    Both the young girl and the secretary’s heads turned in the direction of the voice.

    “Uncle Tony!” the young blonde ran past the secretary’s desk and into the waiting arms of Tony Stark.

    “Uncle?” all the Avengers questioned in unison.

    Ignoring them all he focused on soothing the panicked girl in his arms as he ran gentle hands through her hair, “Calm down, stop shaking, you’re with me now.”

    With a concentrated breath she pulled back from his chest looking up to him. “I'm sorry, Uncle Tony, I had no where else to go. Then your secretary wouldn’t let me in, I was seconds away from getting arrested, I have no one else to turn to.”

    Tears welled in her eyes as her hands began to shake again. Pulling her in, Tony looked to his staff and ordered, “Any time this girl comes looking for me she gets a free pass. I don’t care if I am in the most important meeting of my life, I don’t care if I'm saving the queen of England, this girl comes first! Are we clear?!”

    His staff remained silent, heads down, he muttered a quick “good” before turning to his friends behind him and saying, “Out. Get everyone out of my tower, now.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    With the guests now gone and the party with them, Tony sat the young girl down before placing himself across from her. Taking both her hands in his, looking to her down cast eyes, he said softly, “Now, tell me what happened?”

    The girl gave no answer.

    “Did your parents send you here again?”

    Looking to him she answered, “No. I came on my own this time.”

    “Do your parents even know you’re here?!” With a shake of her head Tony let go a knowing sigh, “Jarvis, please call Leeanna's parents and let them know she's safe with me and will probably be staying here for a while. Their number is in my data base under Richard and Marina Burke.”

    “Right away, Sir.”

    “Leeanna,” he caught her smoky grey eyes in his, one last attempt at the truth, “what did you do?”

    Without looking away she pulled her hands from his, reaching into a pocket on the side of her pants. She brought a closed fist to his hands, placing a cold solid object in his palm, and gently closing his fingers over it before bringing her hands back to rest in her lap. Hesitantly, Tony opened his closed hand revealing a single piece of white stone, rough on some edges smooth on others.

    With a raised brow he asked, “Leeanna, what is this?”

    “It might be a piece of the White House that I may or may not have accidentally shattered the side of while visiting Washington with my family.” She said all in one breath, squeezing her eyes tight as she finished.

    Tony stood and walked to the back of his chair, clutching the stone in his right hand against his forehead, his other hand resting on his hip. “Oh, Lee…” was all he could manage.

    “I'm sorry!” her voice cracked as the tears returned, “This is why I never go outside, all it takes is for one thing to go wrong and something like this happens! But my parents insisted on taking me with them. I begged them to send me to you but they wouldn’t listen. Now every cop, agent, and news reporter in the country is hunting down the maniac that blew up the White House!”

    “Hold on,” Clint came closer, a confused look on his face, “you blew up the White House? How do you blow up the White House? There are secret service agents scattered every two feet, trained assassins can’t get in.”

    She looked to her uncle in pure desperation, searching for some kind of understanding. “Uncle Tony, I'm so sorry. I really didn’t mean it, you know I can’t control it!”

    Tony turned to her, looking to her balled fists in her lap. In one leap he was on his knees in front of her, holding both her wrists in his hands. “Leeanna! Leeanna, stop shaking!”

    “Stark…” Steve slowly stepped closer to the two, Tony completely ignoring him.

    “Lee,” he said begging her to look at him, “Lee, look at me, stop…shaking.”

    She met his eyes once more before choking out in defeat, “I can’t.”

    Tony let her hands go, standing to say to everyone, “Get back! Now!”

    Before anyone could register what was happening they were hit by a powerful wind. It escaped from the young blonde in the center of the room and shot in all directions with a force so strong the room was destroyed in mere seconds. The wind twirled around her, cocooning her inside its wall of protection, shattering glass, tables, chairs, anything it could. The Avengers were thrown across the room, holding on to what they could to keep themselves grounded. Opening her eyes and seeing just what she had done only made the wind worse, stronger as she further lost control. Tony tried desperately to get to her, to shout to her, trying to calm the girl but nothing worked as the wind raged on around her.

    She sat with her face buried in her shaking hands, curled in on herself, trying with all of her strength to take hold of the situation but she could feel her emotions gripping her tighter and tighter not letting go.

    Her eyes shot open as warm hands gripped her wrists, pulling them away from her face. “Stop! I’ll only hurt you!” The panic worsened the wind even more as she tried to pull away from Steve.

    He held her arms, keeping himself calm. “Hey, it’s ok. Just take a deep breath, close your eyes, and concentrate on my voice.”

    With no other choice she did as he said, taking a deep breath and releasing it as she closed her eyes.

    “Now relax, don’t think of anything else, void all thoughts.” Steve's smooth voice echoed in her head and she could feel him taking hold, finally subduing the storm inside. She could feel as her hands slowly stopped shaking, as he gently placed them back in her lap.

    Placing one hand on either side of her face he whispered, “You can open your eyes now.”

    She peeked her eyes open, afraid to see the damage she had done, but her eyes remained fixed on one thing. “I…I didn’t hurt you.” She whispered.

    Steve continued to kneel in front of her, allowing her attention to dwell on him and away from the destruction she had just caused. Cautiously she reached both hands forward, brushing her finger tips up his arms, over his shoulders, across every crevice of his face.

    “How did I not hurt you?” she whispered.

    “I don’t know,” he whispered back, eyes fixed on her, “maybe my strength helped, the fact that I am a super soldier.”

    A crash from behind brought the two of them out of their daze. Tony emerged from a pile of broken chairs and tables, half suited up, shaking splinters from every nook.

    “I hate to ruin this, oh so tender moment,” the sarcasm dripping from him, “but…my house is ruined and you broke the Avengers. Congratulations.”

    Finally looking around her she began to panic again. She had destroyed everything. There was not one item that remained untouched. The Avengers were scattered around the room, most with some form of broken bone, bleeding from various places, moaning as they thanked God it was over.

    A hand came up to land on her cheek, “Hey, Leeanna, just relax.” Steve could feel her hands beginning to shake again under his but his touch instantly calmed her, her hand coming up to hold his as she let out a shaky breath as she tried to understand what had just happened. She did not know this man, she knew he was the famous Cap but that was it. so after only minutes of knowing him, how could he have such a strong hold on her already.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright, thats chapter 1, I hope you all liked it ^^

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - Glacier Navigation

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Rumours & Secrets, 冰川行舟, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

This R&S features S2 Shaw

In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s first S2 R&S!

[ Chapter One ]

On this rare break, a phone call from Shaw brings me to the entrance of Loveland University.

At the school gate, a huge “Welcome New Students" banner waves in the wind. The osmanthus petals at my feet exude the unique scent of late summer and early autumn.

I follow Shaw through the bustling crowd and towards the graduate student registration point.

MC: The registration office... this should be it.

Shaw: Are you sure it's here? Just look at these registering students - how do they look like graduate students?

MC: You’re clearly the one who doesn’t look like a graduate student, okay?

Shaw glances at the long line outside the door of the office. Clicking his tongue, he eventually stands at the back properly.

Not having to wait for long, the both of us reach the head of the line.

MC: You don't need me to accompany you for the registration, do you?

Shaw: What are you thinking? Are you treating me like a kid?

MC: Then why did you drag me along to school...

Shaw: I just took you out for a breather after seeing you squatting at home for a few weeks.

He waves his hand at me in self-assurance, turning his head and entering the office.

I lean against the wall, waiting for him. As soon as I take out my phone, the tall figure walks out of the office fiercely.

MC: ...how did you settle it so quickly?

Shaw doesn’t respond. He suddenly leans forward, his eyes almost within reach. His half-squinting eyes contain slight irritation.

MC: W-what do you want... Ah! Don't touch my hair!

I raise my hand to protect my hair, but my cheek ends up getting pinched twice by two of his fingers.

Shaw: This is your punishment for leading me to the wrong place.

MC: No way, we really went to the wrong place?

Shaw: This is the registration point for the Chinese Department. The Archaeology Department is in Zhi Hua Building.

MC: Zhi Hua Building... I remember now. I think we passed by it earlier.

Shaw: Really?

Knowing that I was in the wrong, I quickly lift both my hands up as a guarantee.

MC: Really, I definitely won’t be wrong this time!

Shaw: Fine, I’ll reluctantly believe you this time. The last time.

-

[ Chapter Two ]

Since heading to the wrong place led to quite a delay, the door to the registration office of the Department of Archaeology is completely empty.

Shaw knocks on the office door. Inside, there’s only one middle-aged teacher who is currently reading the newspaper.

Teacher: A freshman? Come, fill in this form. Did you bring a copy of your ID card? If you didn’t bring it, give me the original. I'll make a copy for you.

Shaw: I brought it.

Teacher: What about the one-inch photo?

Shaw: Here.

Teacher: Oh, the boy's ID photo is so handsome! Sit for a while, I have to make a record.

Shaw: Mm, thanks for the hard work, teacher.

The teacher sits in front of the computer leisurely, then casts a curious glance at the door.

Teacher: Is that young lady outside your girlfriend?

Shaw: No.

Shaw pauses, then adds on.

Shaw: Just a friend.

Teacher: Oh... I understand~

The middle-aged man reveals a meaningful smile, and can’t help but gesture at the young man in front of him

Teacher: Young people have to be braver. How can a boy be so shy!

Shaw suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, squeezing out words one by one from between his teeth.

Shaw: Teacher, are you done with the registration?

[Note] There are different ways of saying “you” in Chinese, depending on formality! When being polite and respectful, especially to an elder, 您 (“nin”) is used. When talking to friends or someone younger, 你 (“ni”) is used. SHAW USES 您 HERE BECAUSE HE IS A POLITE BOY

Teacher: Yes yes, sign here. There’s one more thing I have to tell you. Because you filled in your identity as an Evolver on the form, I’ll have to trouble you to submit a copy of the Evol inspection report.

Shaw: The notice didn’t mention that I had to bring it.

Teacher: It’s a new requirement. It conveniences the school in terms of management, so I hope you can understand. Last semester, an Evolver lost control of his ability and almost lifted the entire classroom. The STF were called down for a day, and it was very troublesome. 

When he hears the term “STF”, Shaw’s expression stirs slightly. Then, he clicks his tongue impatiently.

Shaw: So troublesome...

Teacher: What did you say?

Shaw: Nothing. Can I hand it in another day?

Teacher: It's fine, just come back within five working days. Here, your notice.

Shaw: Thanks.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

Schoolmate A: Schoolmate, want to check out our e-sports club? We organise competitions every month, and you can receive exquisite merchandise!

Schoolmate B: Schoolmate, come take a look at our basketball club! Handsome guys and beautiful girls gather and keep fit...

Today happens to be the club recruitment day. When Shaw and I pass by the public square, students constantly stop us, asking if we wish to join their clubs.

I look at Shaw curiously, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in any clubs. He walks quickly, not even giving them a glance.

When we’re about to leave the public square, we are once again stopped by a student.

Schoolmate C: Schoolmates, I can tell at a glance that you’re both from the Arts Department, right? Tsk tsk, your outfits have such an artistic quality. I’m from the rock club of our school. Even though the club was only established this year, I believe we have great potential! Usually, the club will organise activities introducing various instruments and music appreciation for hobbyists. Our club president even formed a band himself! They’re performing over there. Do you two want to have a listen?

I initially thought that Shaw would once again ignore him and leave. Unexpectedly, he suddenly stops in his footsteps, then arches his eyebrows with interest.

Shaw: Oh? You guys have a band?

Schoolmate C: Of course! We don't do covers. They’re all original songs!

Shaw: Let’s have a listen then.

MC: Do you actually want to join this rock club?

Shaw: We’ll talk after listening.

After saying this, he walks towards the area surrounded by a cluster of people.

The venue is simple, but there’s a sizeable number of audience members. The band members in the middle are wagging their heads while performing a song.

The vocals are discordant, and the sound quality is inferior. I’m unable to hear the lyrics clearly, but the melody is really catchy.

MC: I didn't expect them to look like an actual band... Shaw?

Shaw: ...tch.

Shaw grabs my arm, leaving the scene without saying a word.

MC: What’s wrong?

Shaw: Hearing plagiarised songs dirties my ears.

MC: That song from before was plagiarised?!

Shaw: They copied an unpopular old song from the 80s. No wonder these people didn’t realise it. You should also improve your musical literacy so you wouldn’t be confused by copied songs.

MC: So what you mean is... I should listen to your band’s songs more?

Shaw: Of course.

I burst out laughing, and Shaw raises his eyebrows in dissatisfaction.

Shaw: What are you laughing at?

MC: No, no, I just think that you’ve always been very serious about your band...

Shaw: You seem pretty concerned about my band?

MC: Mm. I know that you really like this band.

Shaw glances at me, as though verifying the sincerity of my words.

Then, he turns his gaze away, and sunlight touches the corners of his sharp and slightly raised mouth.

Shaw: Even if it’s just for fun, I’ll do even better than everyone else.

He says these words matter-of-factly, as though so long as he’s willing, every difficulty can be stamped out by him.

Shaw takes a final look back at the noisy public square. Retrieving a pair of earphones from his pocket, he hands it to me.

Shaw: Wear it properly. I’ll let you listen to truly good music.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Shaw: Let’s go. Also, we’ll stop by the supermarket along the way. I’m buying some daily necessities.

MC: I really couldn’t tell that you’d be willing to stay in a dormitory.

Shaw: Who said so? I don’t plan to stay in a dormitory.

MC: Huh?

Shaw: I never stay with outsiders. 

Shaw: Anyway, there’s a small room in Live House, and I plan to live there. Rehearsals will be convenient too.

MC: Oh... but your place is really too empty. Aside from a bed, it doesn't look liveable.

Shaw: Hm? How’d you know that my place is empty?

MC: I...

I bite my tongue, hurriedly tossing out a reason to muddle through it.

MC: I don’t even have to think about it to know. Judging by your personality, your house definitely has nothing but bare walls.

Probably because of my self-assured tone, Shaw retracts his scrutinising gaze, pursing his lips. 

Shaw: That’s not how you use “nothing but bare walls”. Did you even pay attention in school... Let’s go.”

[Note] The reason why Shaw says this is because what MC used was 家徒四壁 (“jia tou si bi”), which is an idiom literally translating to “nothing but bare walls”. However, this idiom is supposed to describe someone who is very poor!

Shaw has always been very proactive. When he finishes speaking, he quickly takes me to the nearest supermarket from school.

After a short while, the shopping cart is stuffed to the brim.

Shaw: ...wait. I asked you to get a washbowl for me. Why’d you get me three? Do you need to use three washbasins to wash your face every day?

MC: These three washbasins have their respective uses! This one is for washing your face, this one is for washing your body, this one...”

Shaw: Washes what?

MC: Fruits!

Shaw: So troublesome. I might as well buy fruits that I can eat directly without washing.

MC: This is a refined life, okay? If you think it’s too much, then I'll reduce... Hey, what did you put into the cart?

Shaw: Daily necessities.

Lowering my head to take a look, I see three boxes of animal-shaped clothes hangers. The chubby little animals have their cheeks puffed out, lying in the washbowls I’m buying.

MC: Wow, so cute! You’re quite good at picking things too! ...but why are you buying three boxes?

Shaw: I learnt from you. One box for clipping towels, one box for clipping clothes, and one box...

MC: Huh?

Shaw doesn’t finish the second half of the sentence, and I subconsciously look up at him, meeting his sly eyes.

Shaw: Since you came out to run errands today, I’ll give it to you.

-

Shaw leans against the door of Live House, quietly watching the taxi drown in the neon glow. Suddenly, the phone in his pocket vibrates slightly.

An unknown number appears on the screen. Shaw frowns, then lifts his hand to tap the answer button.

?: I heard you reported to school today?

Shaw: Looks like you guys are really free. You even have to bother about my enrolment in school?

?: How is it? Is everything going smoothly?

Shaw: It’s fine. Some situations cropped up, but I’m still in a pretty good mood. Also, you guys have to help me with something. The school wants me to submit an Evol inspection report. Forge one for me.

?: No problem. You can collect it from the usual place. Is there anything unusual about Nox from BS recently?

Hearing this alias, Shaw subconsciously glances into the distance. However, all that is visible is the gorgeous night of the city.

Shaw: She's been very busy recently, and seems to keep working overtime. That's it.

?: You know that’s not what we’re asking about.

Shaw: ...what’s the rush? I haven't finished investigating what you guys want to know.

?: Let me remind you not to mix in unnecessary emotions. Don't forget your mission either.

Shaw: I know. I'm hanging up.

The streetlights lining the long street light up in succession, dyeing Shaw’s hair in a warm colour.

He looks at the phone for a long time, and an untamed smile surfaces on the corners of his lips.

Shaw: I have the final say on how to deal with her.

He takes the long skateboard he had set by the side, lifts his ankle slightly, and skates into the night without hesitation.

More from S2: here