#just finished the second half of chapter 9 in his route

[waywardxrhea]

Chapter 9 - Panic Room

What happens when you lie to the Devil? How long can one woman keep a lifetime of secrets from the Devil of Hell's Kitchen? The answer may surprise you...

installment list

pairing: Matt Murdock x enhanced!fem!OC

series content: coffee shop AU, fluff, humor, friends to lovers, pining, language, canon typical violence, angst, drinking, implied smut, medical emergencies, mental health disorders (PTSD, panic disorder).

"welcome to the panic room where all your darkest fears are gonna come for you" - panic room, au/ra

word count: 2.3k

Crystal's hand is forced when she uses her powers very publicly for the first time since coming to New York.

On a clear summer evening Crystal was out patrolling her usual route making sure no one was assaulted by petty criminals when she heard a quiet whistle from above her. She quickly looked up to see Matt clad in his black suit jumping down from a fire escape to meet her on the ground. “Hey you,” she said, relaxing her alert muscles in his presence for a moment. “How’s your patrol going?”

“Good, I’ve taken three to the 15th so far, what about you?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“You know this isn’t a competition right?” Crystal asked, shaking her head as a quiet laugh left her lips. 

“Oh no, it definitely is. Remember a few weeks ago when you said that you stop more guys than I do on any given night?” he asked. His hands landed on his hips as he finished, “Since then it’s definitely been a competition.”

“That isn’t how I intended it! I just meant that since the big crime rings aren’t out of control anymore, petty crime has risen and therefore I have been stopping more people.”

“Whatever you gotta say to help you sleep at night,” he told her, a full smile finally gracing the lower half of his face at the banter. 

Suddenly though, both of their heads snapped in the same direction as they heard gunshots ringing in the still night air. “I make two gunmen and two people in the building,” Matt said as Crystal crouched to the ground and laid her hand on it.

“It’s on 51st and 9th, bodega robbery?” Crystal asked as she began turning to leave the alleyway.

“Beat you there,” Matt told her playfully as he skillfully began scaling the building while Crystal took to the sidewalks. 

By the time Crystal ran the few blocks required to get there, Matt was already on the scene grappling with one of the gunmen while the store owner and patron stood frozen behind the counter. What she didn’t see was the second gunman Matt had mentioned before they both made their way over. Surely he wasn’t wrong about that part, but where was he? Pushing that thought aside and wanting to get the innocents out, Crystal quickly navigated through the small store’s isles so she wouldn’t be seen by the man Matt was fighting intensely. 

While the two men were distracted with each other and the mess that was being made of the bodega courtesy of the fighting, Crystal managed to approach the two innocent bystanders behind the counter. “We’re here to help, come with me,” she told them quietly in her American accent as she motioned for them to crouch down and follow her. 

“There’s an exit out back by the office, we can go that way,” the owner whispered as he pointed to the exit sign on the wall in the corner. 

Crystal nodded before asking, “Was there a second gunman here?”

“Yeah, he took off though when Daredevil showed up,” he replied as the three of them began slowly making their way to the exit. As they did, Crystal noticed that Matt had moved the fight toward the front door and away from the three of them and smiled to herself at the gesture. 

When they neared the exit though, from the small hallway nearby which held the office, a second man emerged carrying a rifle. “They’re trying to escape!” the squirrelly man shouted to his partner as he aimed the gun at the three of them. 

“Well shoot them, damnit!” the man managed to grunt out from his fight with Matt. 

Following orders quickly, the man pulled the trigger, but before the spray of bullets could hit the three of them, Crystal made a motion with her arms that caused the concrete floor to form a thick wall that absorbed the blow of the projectiles. “What the-?” the owner said in shock, his eyes wide at the feat. 

Crystal looked up in the round mirror near the ceiling and saw the man making his way around to the next aisle with his gun up, so she took down the wall and shouted at the owner, “Just go!”

While the owner and patron scurried out of the back exit, Crystal focused back on the scene where Matt was still fighting the first man, but what made her blood run cold was seeing the second aiming his gun right at Matt’s back. “No!” Crystal shouted as she focused on the stone material within the metal of the barrel of the gun, willing it to bend to her will as she ran toward the man at the same time, ready to go hand-to-hand if she needed to. That choice didn’t have to be made though as the barrel of the rifle bent up and backfired as the man pulled the trigger. 

As the man went down due to his injuries, Matt finally managed to incapacitate the man he was fighting, his chest heaving with exertion from the battle. “Thanks for the save,” Matt told her with a nod as he wiped the blood dripping from his bottom lip. His head turned a bit and he informed her, “Cops are nearly here. Get out of here, I’ll deal with this.”

“But…but they saw… There are cameras here, I…” Crystal mumbled as the realization of what she did so openly dawned on her. Her knees gave out from under her as numbness filled her body and panic filled her mind.

When Matt ran over and caught her, he ran his hand comfortingly over her back as he whispered, “Hey, hey, just listen to my voice. Breathe. Nice and easy. I’ve got you.” The tenor of his voice soothed Crystal the slightest bit, but before she could stop it her body dove into complete panic mode and she felt like she was shutting down. 

Before the cops arrived, Matt gently picked Crystal up and swiftly got her up to a nearby building’s rooftop. He leaned against one of the walls of an AC unit and held Crystal close to his chest as he rubbed her back to calm her down. 

When her heart rate began to slow the slightest bit and her breathing was less shallow, she finally was able to process her surroundings. Taking a deep breath and trying to slow her racing thoughts, Crystal managed to get out, “The cops. Owner’s statement… They can’t find out!”

“Crystal, sweetheart, who can’t find out what?” Matt asked softly.

“My powers! No one’s supposed to know! They’ll come for me!” she cried, clinging to Matt impossibly closer as tears fell from her eyes. 

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, you know that,” Matt told her. “If anyone comes after you because of your powers they’ll have to go through me first, got it? No one’s laying a hand on you while I’m here.” Crystal nodded, not able to fully process the words, but felt comfort in Matt’s arms as he continued to whisper reassurances in her ear. Once she was calmed down enough to stand semi-steadily, Matt got her up and off of the roof, taking her to his place to continue to cool off while he went back to the bodega to talk with the police about what happened. 

When he returned, from her spot on the leather couch curled up in a soft blanket, Crystal watched as Matt took off his face covering and ran a hand through his mussed hair, letting out a sigh. “Everything okay?” she asked, worry flooding her mind at his grim expression. 

“For the most part,” he told her, his hands going to rest on his hips as his head fell back over his shoulders, stress evident in his body language. 

“But…?” Crystal prompted.

He was silent as he navigated his way to the couch to sit beside Crystal. She turned toward him and he grabbed her hand as he told her, “When I got back, a reporter from The Bulletin was already there interviewing the owner and patron about what happened…”

“Oh my God…” Crystal whispered, her free hand going to cover her mouth as more tears sprang to her eyes. “Is there any way to stop them from publishing?”

Matt shook his head solemnly as he squeezed her hand in an attempt to comfort her. His head turned to the left for a moment and he closed his eyes, shaking his head again. This action prompted Crystal to ask, “What did you hear just now, Matt?”

“Crystal…”

“Matthew, please, just tell me,” she pleaded.

He sighed before quietly telling her, “The news is already reporting it as an ongoing story. They don’t have any details, I’m sure they’re waiting on the footage, but…”

“Oh my God…” Crystal said, her hand escaping from Matt’s as she ran her hands through her hair, getting up to pace the sitting area. “I have to get out of here, I can’t be here anymore, I-”

“Crystal, what?” Matt asked, getting up and making his way over to intercept her from the pacing. “What do you mean you have to get out of here? What aren’t you telling me?”

“I-” Crystal started, wanting to just lie completely about everything to save face. But she stopped herself in the middle of the sentence, not wanting to test the boundaries of how much she could bluff to the human lie detector standing right in front of her. She also didn’t want the lies to completely ruin this unexpected union with Matt…

Deciding on a vague form of the truth and praying that her riled up heart would cover up the lie by omission, she told him, “When you have powers like I do, there’s always going to be people coming after you. You’re going to make enemies wherever you go, and before I left London I made some pretty big ones. I work as discreetly as possible and cover my face, not because I don’t want the people I help to know who I am, but because I’m afraid of what may happen to me if those people I made enemies out of find me… And now that it’s out there…”

“You’re scared of them coming after you and those you care about…” Matt supplied quietly. 

“Exactly…” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she walked over to the window to look out at what she could see of the city from there. “I know you can handle yourself, but…what about Raeyes? Karen? Foggy and Marci? If they get their hands on any one of you, that’s on me and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself!”

“Crystal, sweetheart, listen to me,” Matt said softly as he joined her at the window, taking her hands in his once again. “You can’t give into the fear, that’s how people like this win.”

“But-” she tried, but was cut off when Matt softly hushed her once more. 

“Crystal please, just hear me out,” he said, guiding her back to the couch. As they sat down together, Matt told her, “Maybe the best way to get out in front of this is to be more open with your powers. You’ve saved countless people since you moved here, so if you step into the spotlight then maybe whoever it is you’re afraid of won’t come after you. It’s what Foggy did when Fisk was after my loved ones. He ran for DA’s office because as a public figure there was less of a chance of Fisk getting him. And it worked.”

“I dunno, Matt… These people, they’re…ruthless…aggressive… I’m afraid they won’t stop until I’m out of commission…for good,” Crystal said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“And I won’t let that happen,” Matt said firmly. “We survived Fisk, I know we can get you through whoever may come for you. If they even come. If we get you out in the spotlight they might not even try.”

“If I agree to do that, I still don’t have to show my face, do I?” Crystal asked hesitantly. 

“No, absolutely not. The public still doesn’t know who I am, but Daredevil is a household name around here,” he told her, a quiet laugh at the end of his statement. “How about we make Rockie one too?”

The last statement shocked Crystal for a moment before she started laughing, saying, “Oh come on, don’t you dare side with Raeyes about that nickname!”

“It’s not just Raeyes, that’s what the bodega owner called you too,” Matt said with a chuckle. 

Crystal groaned as she leaned back onto the couch, shaking her head as she said, “Of all the low effort nicknames…”

“We don’t get a choice in what the public calls us, I didn’t,” Matt tells her, “Mahoney actually got the name Daredevil to stick.”

“Well maybe he can come up with a better one for me too,” Crystal said. 

“So you’ll do it? Become more of a public figure? Work with me openly at night?”

Crystal was quiet for a few moments as she thought it through, weighing the pros and cons of the situation in her mind. Finally, she sighed and asked, “I guess I don’t really have a choice do I? I just have to pray that this crazy plan of yours works…”

“It will, I promise,” Matt told her, kissing her before bringing her in for a hug. 

After the kiss, with her voice muffled in Matt’s shoulder, Crystal asked, “Strawberry mentos?”

Matt nodded, replying, “Yeah, the bodega owner told me to grab whatever I wanted as a ‘thank you,’ so I grabbed a pack and ate a couple on the way here in hopes you’d catch on… Hoped it would cheer you up.”

“Well I’m definitely on my way there,” she told him, a small smile making its way onto her lips at the sweet gesture. 

next chapter

[themoomoorn]

Scarlet Blaze Salt Mine Highlights Because I Feel Like It(tm)

There's going to be so much petty salt that you'll probably need to get your blood pressure checked. Enjoy!

EDIT: Finished Scarlet Blaze, so I added more images. Part 2 is here.

The Sun Should Have Never Set on Our Empire(tm)

Somehow they made Faye but even worse. And unlike Faye, Monica is a garbage unit. Seems hard to pull off in a Musou game, but her spell list is a mess, as are her stats, and her personal skill is even worse.

They tried to erase her wanting to kill Rhea, but then she still says she wants to kill Rhea anyway. But devs said she's happier and nicer guyz.

Lorenz has siblings now I guess. Note that in his Lysithea Support, Hubert also mentions having a brother and a sister. but he's still the eldest. So why was he stuck to Child No. 9 again???

Labrunda was found in the Stockpile of Convenient Sacred Weapons That Exist Now(tm).

Not only does she still belittle the guy and think him unworthy of her time like in Houses, but come Chapter 14 (providing you kill Byleth's disaster dad), she apparently genuinely was upset that he betrays her. But then again, he happily licks her feet on Golden Piss, so meh.

...am I supposed to feel something right now

I'm beginning to suspect that the Koei devs were pissed that Byleth the Local Churchgoer was more popular than Edelgard.

Aegir has claim to a stretch of sea that doubles up as their trade route to Morfis. This specific trading relationship is also mentioned in one of the books that shares details about the Empire's territories.

Claude: "BUT FODLAN HATES FOREIGNERS AND THE MEANIE CHURCH SCREAMED AT THEM TO NEVER INTERACT WITH OUTSIDERS Now shut up Dimitri and let me raid your treasure vault you're only being ignorant of my customs."

Only Edelgard's feelings are allowed to be hurt, remember?

Also, whomever calls Byleth a block of wood again should probably take a look at Shez on SB, because calling SB!Shez a block of wood would be an insult to wood.

There's so much disturbing dehumanization of the Nabatean characters (and Byleth by extension), but sure, Arval's soooo sympathetic because he cares about his War Boys, I guess. Oh, and he denounced Thales! What a good lad! /s

Duma take the wheel

Cry about it

Look, I know a macaron is technically a type of cookie, but can't you just call it a goddamn macaron!? Bear in mind that this is the same game that conflates coffee with teff, and the localization actually made a good change by just calling the stupid drink coffee.

I murderkilled Byleth's disaster dad for this go-around and Byleth tips off Claude about...something. Of what, I don't know, but it makes Claude opt for an ill-fated betrayal. He lays it on thick with Byleth, and while Edelgard may get an extra chapter and a marginally better outcome by letting Walmart Greil live, the "what-if...ing..." if you will, is played up the hardest with Claude, which is really saying something considering the original game. And honestly, the what-if-ing does make a level of sense with Claude...but then, you have aspects of him that have nothing to do with Byleth at all perverted by the narrative, as detailed in this post.

Like seriously, even with something like having to murder a half-sibling who repeatedly says to your face that you're a mongrel who deserves to d*e looming over you, like...instead of making something potentially interesting, they derailed him so badly. Honestly, I feel for his Japanese VA struggling to get a good read on the character.

Anyway, end rant.

Even Byleth thinks he's laying it on thick.

I feel like this alleged duress of signing a pact with the Empire would've landed better if it actually was done in the span of days or even weeks, but GW and SB both state it took about four months, which would've been well after any dust settling from Shahid's second raid of the Locket.

Claude, the country you rule has like...almost zero culture.

Sigh.

No shit.

Fuck off, Claude.

Pictured: A "commoner's revolution designed to overthrow an opresuve sistum"

...seriously, why does this dude hate the Nabateans as virulently as she does? It's actually pretty ironic - folks will haw about Dedue or Catherine having no minds of their own, but it's Hubert who's really the most mindless one of all. He mostly lacks the rich inner lives and backstories the other two have.

Sylvain, 90% of the time, is C-Tier. 10% of the time, like right now though? SSS-Tier. Absolutely brutal. Wish we had even more of him.

YA THINK!?!?!?

Because I couldn't be bothered (and because the only Deer with exclusive Eagle Supports/incentives are Lysithea and Lorenz), I only got Shez whining about Claude betraying Egg. Most of the other Deer have unique dialogue doing the same. It's kind of sad how little most of them think of Claude, but then again, he can be a massive dick.

TBC Since I hit the image limit!

[corpiote]

anyways I like shingen now

[sadachmesarthim]

towers for your honeycomb chapter 3: no i do not condone underage drinking i just think it's a good plot devic-

content: the boys have One Beer Each™, peter both sets and completely ignores his own boundaries, author remembers the communion chapter from "how to read literature like a professor" and bastardizes it, both of them have anxiety but neither say anything about it, smoking

words: 2k     song: outskirts of paradise - bad suns     

Looking Tony in the eye was like staring at the sun. Peter could barely hold his gaze, always finding an excuse to turn away.

He was sat in front of the other man a few weeks later, sharing drinks and pizza at a new brewery down the road. It’d cost him his liquor license, and potentially a clean record, if anyone found out, but Richie (their most beloved regular) offered to let the pair try the latest house brew if they ever swung through.

Peter wasn’t one for beer, but he’d accepted Tony’s invite anyway.

He wasn’t entirely sure why. Since their fight, they’d worked all of maybe three hours together. No other shifts, they avoided each other at meetings, and neither were particularly willing to reach out off the clock and apologize.

It was like the world was screaming at them to stay away from each other.

Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to listen.

After his shift that morning, Peter found Tony outside, leaning up against the hood of his car & working through his second cigarette. He drummed on the side of his thigh, keeping his empty hand busy as he waited for Peter to come out. Tony jumped at the sight of him, tossing the half finished cig down a storm drain.

“You know those lead straight to the ocean, right?” There was more amusement than anger behind his words. Peter wasn’t entirely sure what Tony was up to, but he was too tired to start shit. He crossed to the passenger side of his car, tossing his belongings to the floor.

“Even if it didn’t go through the city’s filtration system – fuck the fish.” Peter rolled his eyes. Funny as he was, Tony always had to be contradictory.

“Don’t you have, like, a school of them on your shoulder?” Tony’s normally visible salmon tattoos were safely tucked away behind a denim jacket Peter’d never seen before.

“Irrelevant.” Peter rounded the hood and turned, facing the other man. “Did you need something or were you just here to argue about my town’s plumbing system?” He huffed the words out, arms crossing in front of his chest expectantly.

“I, uh…” He suddenly went silent. The ground crunched under Tony’s feet, gravel scraping asphalt under his shoes. They were a rattier pair he owned – more tape than sole, oil staining the canvas.

“I wanted to know if you’d come to lunch with me. Today. Like, right now?” He hesitated at the last few words, like he wasn’t sure he could say them out loud. “I, uh. I’m pretty sure I have some things to say to you, and Richie’s got some good stuff waiting for us at the Pub House…”

Peter was astounded. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Tony?” My Tony? What? “I- why should I trust you? I’m sure as hell not getting in a car with you.”

Tony’s face fell. A bit of- what, disappointment? flew across his face. Peter would’ve missed it had he not been staring, impatient for his answer. Tony, floundering at the rejection, couldn’t give him one.

“Okay, maybe- how about this. I’ll think about it. Give me five minutes to go wash up and I’ll be back.” He turned & headed inside, not waiting for a response.

The cool water felt good against his burning, salt-stained cheeks. Peter hadn’t realized just how tired he was – opens had always taken it out of him, and the early spring temperatures didn’t always prevent the stand from turning into a heater during rush hour.

The soap in the stand was always too fragrant for his taste, but it did the job – it felt good to wash away the day’s work and come back looking like a new man. He smoothed his eyebrows down and dried himself off, wetting his hair a bit as he finished.

He wound up with grind in it again, brushing it out with a comb he found in the first aid kit. One of these days he was going to have to start wearing hats to work. Shampooing his hair every single day was taking its toll on his curls, and he wasn’t a fan of burnt coffee smell.

Stepping back, he squinted into the warped mirror in front of him. Much better.

Back outside, Tony’d lit up his third cigarette of the day. The shakes’d largely abandoned him, allowing his anxiety to drift inward. The sticks only did so much – he missed the higher, stronger hit of his Suorin, but he was trying to quit (ironically enough).

He was actually able to finish this one by the time Peter made his way back outside, looking significantly better without $5 worth of product on his face.

“Okay, some rules.” He came up, stopping just short of Tony. “You’re paying for both of us. We leave whenever I want, without complaint. We go straight there and come straight back - it’s eight blocks, I don’t want any bullshit scenic routes.” His tone was firm – something Tony’d never encountered with him before. 

“Yes. Yes, anything. Okay.” 

Tony’s car was a lot nicer than Peter anticipated. He’d recently sold his truck, swapping it for a silver Mini Cooper instead. It was a pretty little thing, just up his alley.

It was also fucking obnoxious. He’d bought it with a modified exhaust and had plans to make it even louder. You could almost always hear him coming, little pop pop pops audible for quite a ways. 

It was… less clean than Peter expected. Tony was always so well put together, so well-maintained - seeing stray gum wrappers and drink cups littered around the interior was almost jarring. He didn’t realize he was staring until Tony spoke up. 

“She’s nice, isn’t she?” Peter nodded. He silently took in his new surroundings, nerves on fire. He’d never done well around strangers, in new places. His mind’d always screamed at him, danger unsafe bad run, overriding his sensibilities.

“Hey, are you good? I can take you back if you need.” They’d barely left the Outback parking lot. 

“No- no, I think I’ll be okay. Just… not where I thought I’d end up when I woke up today, y’know?” Peter tried to laugh it off, but he’d always been pretty transparent. 

Tony turned a corner, cutting back into the lot they just came from and turning the car off. “Seriously, Peter. If you don’t want to come to lunch with me just say so. I’ll take you back to your car and we can pretend it never happened.” Okay, seriously, who the fuck is this guy and what did he do with Tony?

“No, I- I think I’m okay. Seriously. Let’s just go and get it over with - I kinda want to hear you grovel anyway.” He settled further into his seat, failing to shake away the agitation. 

The flatbread was actually really good. It was more of a hipster take on pizza - white sauce and pearl onions definitely making it stand out - but it wasn’t a bad lunch by any means. 

The beer definitely wasn’t Peter’s favorite. He was barely sipping by, trying hard to keep a straight face as he swallowed. Damn Richie anyway. 

It’d started off awkward enough - discussing where to sit, small talk about their week, the weather. It felt more like a bad first date than an apology, but- 

“I really am sorry. For what happened in the fridge.” 

Oh. 

“Okay. Why?” Peter tightened the hand around his glass, bracing for Tony’s next words. 

“I.. I was kind of an asshole when I was younger, too. I figured I could make a fresh start here with a brand new town of people that didn’t know or assume anything about me.

“I was doing okay for a little while, too, but I don’t know man I just.. something happened and I just- I don’t know why I’m a dick to you. But I’m trying not to be. This is that, like, ‘first step’, I guess?” Peter nodded along, attentive. 

"So, I don't know. I'm sorry for being a dick to you at work. I'm sorry for being a dick to the girls. I shouldn't yell at you or drag your family into this bullshit - I'm sorry, Peter."

There it was again, that name. His first fucking name. 

“I- thank you, Tony. It’s a start, and I certainly haven’t forgiven you, but… thank you. Seriously.” Tony sighed, shoulders visibly relaxing. Peter let go of his glass and wiped it off, standing and walking around to Tony’s side of the table. 

“Okay then, time for a do-over! Hi, I’m Peter Parker. I’m 19 and I’ve worked at Outback North Espresso for a little over 9 months. What’s your name?” He stuck his hand out, waiting for Tony to make the next move.  

Tony laughed, pushing his chair back and standing to meet the other teen. “Okay, uh, I’m Tony Stark, I’m 18, and I’ve worked at Outback for almost 6. Nice to re-meet you, Peter.” He shook Peter’s hand, awestruck at just how soft it was. He quickly steeled his face and sat back down, releasing Peter and allowing him to do the same. 

Once he was sat back down at his side, Peter looked up, confused. “Wait, you’re still 18?” 

Tony laughed. “Not for long. My birthday’s at the end of next month.” 

“Wow, I can’t believe I’m older than you!” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “That’s - it’s literally three months, that barely counts.” 

Their debate lasted well into the afternoon, alongside several other discussions. Peter’s childhood in Richland, and what it was like growing up there. What Federal Way was like, and why Tony left. Peter could tell he was remaining intentionally vague, but didn’t push it. 

Their beers were warm and the pizza was long gone by the time they abandoned their table. Tony guided him out the back, hand high on his arm. 

Once they were back in the car, Peter’s anxiety returned. It was like he’d spent the last few hours speaking to a completely different person, and now that he was sitting mere inches from Tony… 

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t. He wasn’t… sure, exactly. What it was. 

Tony spoke up when he noticed the tension in his passenger seat. 

“Hey, we’ll get you back to your car soon, I promise. Eight blocks, remember?” His right hand made its way to Peter’s knee, digging soft circles into the denim. Just like in the fridge.

“Please don’t- don’t touch me. Without asking.” It came out harsher than intended. 

“Okay, all good. No worries. We’re like, two minutes away.” Tony eased off the clutch, turning right out of the parking lot and onto the road. The windows rolled down and Peter let his head fall back in relief. Fresh air always helped him clear his head. 

It really was a short drive - right turn, left turn, right turn - and they were back at Peter’s car. The doors unlocked, and he was out in an instant. A bit too fast to be respectful, if he was being honest, but he knew he needed out. Tony stopped him before he was able to get in his car. 

“Hey, for real. Thank you for today. I’m sorry if it was too much.” 

Peter looked over and down to meet his eyes. “I- yeah, of course. No, yeah, thank you. For the apology. I’m sorry I freaked out on you. But no this- it was good. Yeah. Thank you, Tony.” 

He turned, unlocking the door and closing it before either could say anything else. After turning the key he sped off, without throwing even a glance behind him. 

Tony watched as Peter peeled away, reaching for the box of Pall Malls in his cupholder. He lit one, shifting into first and heading in the opposite direction. 

Not bad. Not good, but not bad. 

lmk if u want on or off the tags list!

@snowstark @kaleidoscopeluli @parkerrbitch @carelessannie​ @bluestarker​ @longlivestarker​ 

[luvlyrv]

Naughty | pt. 5 | Irene x F!Reader | Mafia!AU

Summary: Two crime bosses entangled in a deadly and tension filled rivalry start to find themselves entanglesd in a different kind of relationship

Not without going through a lot of death, pain, fighting and teasing first of course.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: Considering how long this chapter is it took a while to rewrite and get my footing again haha. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Date: 1/16/21

Series Masterlist

Part 5: A Blossoming Affair

Date. Date. Date. The word rang in your head, every second of the day, ever since the idea was brought up. It's been a bit over a week now, and you've been restless.

You groan as you stop looking at the map in front of you and lean your head back on your chair. You raise your hands and pull on your eyes, trying desperately to keep yourself awake. You're tired. Tired of it all. Ever since that day you've been living in paranoia of Irene's next move. Or was it anticipation? Every time you turn a corner your heart races, it races in fear that maybe you'll meet your end, it races at the thought of seeing Irene again. Wait, what were you talking about? Why would you want to see her?

Just to kill her of course. Your train of thought ends there.

All of a sudden you hear a knock coming over from your door and a deep muffled voice comes after.

"It's me, Taehyung." The voice says. You sigh back a response.

"Yes, come in."

The door creaks slightly as the man opens the door and makes his way to your desk. He pulls out the chair across from you, bringing it over to your side as he sits down on it. He looks over at you, eyes glistening with worry as he strokes your back. You look away from him.

"Y/N, you've been working a lot more than usual… " He begins to say. The thought jolted you, because it was true. You've been doing nonstop planning and organizing recently, which meant that nearly everyone else was working more too. You look back at Taehyung, an apology already quickly escaping your mouth.

"I'm sorry, have I been putting too much on your plate? I'll try to pick up more of the slack, just rest Taehyung, don't worry about it." You say, worrying about the health of your friend.

"No no!" Taehyung half-yells. "What I meant was that you have been working too much. Why don't you rest or something? I can take care of it." You shake your head at his offer.

"No, I can't. I'm close to finishing everything anyways. I'll be fine, I swear." You retort while Taehyung just shakes his head. Silences falls over the two of you before he talks again.

"How about I get you a coffee then?" He suggests and offers you a small smile. You just nod while spacing out.

"That sounds good, thanks." At this he jumps out of his seat. Carefully, he places it back across from your desk and leaves your office on the upper floor, descending to the lower parts of the warehouse to get you coffee from god knows where. After a few moments you also decided to leave your office, expecting coffee to be at your desk by the time you finish your little task at hand.

You watch your step going down the stairs until you reach the bottom floor of the warehouse. You walk towards the section of the warehouse where all your vehicles were, watching as people bustled to secure and transport items. There you scanned the heads bobbing around, finally seeing the man you had been communicating with more than usual lately.

Vincent, one of your caporegimes, was seemingly scolding one of the soldiers. You couldn't tell what it was about, but when Vincent raised his head and his eyes met with yours he patted and pushed the soldier away. You approach him and he bows slightly out of respect as you near.

"So, how is everything?" You ask.

"Everything is fine, ma'am." He responds and continues. "We have the strategy down and everyone has been briefed. Men are armed and readied." You nod after hearing this.

"That's good. I already arranged several drivers with vans. Use them to stash and go. They'll be taking a different route from you and will deliver things to a different safe point from here." Vincent hums while thinking before asking you a question.

"Again, are we taking anyone for interrogations?"

"Well I specifically wanted to attack these points since they're considerably more vulnerable than Irene's other bases. Although she has built a highly centralized and well-knit network, this area is newer, leaving it disconnected and weaker. I don't know if she sent out experienced members or inexperienced members to secure the area. I would say take them for interrogations if possible, but don't be surprised if you end up taking rookies who don't know anything valuable."

"If that's all then we can proceed to attack after nightfall, ma'am." Vincent says. You thank him for his time and go upstairs. A subtle weight was lifted off your shoulders after knowing the arrangements you toiled over for the past week would be executed well, but the dread of what was to come was still sitting in your stomach. At the very least though, after checking up on Vincent you could rest for the rest of the day without worry.

You open up the door to your office, the smell of coffee making your body loosen and relax. You walk to your desk and reach for the cup of coffee, taking some big gulps as the warm liquid ran down your throat and heated your hand. When placing it back down onto your desk your eyes spotted something you swore wasn't there before.

You go around your desk and sit on your chair while reaching out for the letter lying in front of you. You pick it up, realizing it was cardstock. You traced your fingers over the gold patterning on the borders of the cardstock, bringing your eyes to the center of it there were large golden letters. Everything about it was akin to a fancy wedding invitation. You stopped admiring the beauty of the piece of paper as your heart stopped. The center read "TO: Y/N".

You quickly flipped over the paper to the other side only to have your worst fears confirmed.

Dear Y/N,

Meet me at my place at 9:00 pm. Be timely. This is not a request.

Wear something nice, why don't you? Don't wear a mask, I want to see your face for myself.

Don't bring any weapons or anyone to accompany you. Wouldn't you like some alone time with me?

Sincerely,

Irene

You raggedly let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. What the hell were you supposed to do now?

You decided that certainly you had to go. The entire letter that Irene had left for you had a sinister tone in it. You didn't want to even imagine what Irene could possibly do if you enraged her at this point. Another part of you though, one that you didn't want to admit, was wanting to go just to see her again. Just to see what would happen.

Nothing about this screamed safe though. Your foot rapidly tapped the floor as you rested your elbows on your desk. Your hands supported your head as you thought. You couldn't bring anyone with you directly to Irene, sure, but you could easily have Taehyung stake out in a car a block or two away. He'd be able to arrive in case of an emergency in a suitable amount of time.

Bringing a weapon would be a sign of aggression, a sign that you didn't trust her. How in the world could she expect you to trust her though? Did she take you for a fool? You came to the conclusion that you'd have to bring something small and concealable. A pocket pistol would come in handy in this situation. Easy to conceal, and although it wasn't the highest caliber weapon out there it would do the job in the presumably close quarters you'd be in with Irene.

There was also the problem of how. How did this invitation just appear on your desk? At this point you could only assume the worst. There was a rat amidst your family. Disposing of traitors was always costly. It's a procedure that's hard to do in a timely and effective manner. It's a procedure that usually meant a large loss of numbers in an attempt to weed them all out.

You sigh. It was just too much to think about at the moment, and so you saved that worry for the backburner, because a much more pressing one was appearing at the moment. Why now? Why would Irene send out the invitation now?

You jump out of your desk and run down, hurriedly finding Vincent again. His eyes widen in surprise as you suddenly appear in front of him and blurt out an order.

"Cancel everything. Don't attack tonight and get in touch with the other capos to tighten security everywhere." You say breathlessly.

"What, why?" He talks back confused.

"Hard to explain, just do it." You order and he complies, rushing to his men and informing them. You run out of the warehouse and find your car to drive home. As you speed down the road the sky is painted in hues of blue and pink. You can't waste time admiring the site though as you quickly send texts to cancel the drivers that were supposed to be sent out later that night.

You park your car when you reach your house, opening your doors and rushing upstairs. You call Taehyung as you swing open your closet door. The phone only rings twice as he immediately answers.

"Hello?" You hear him ask.

"Taehyung, come to my place right now. I'm meeting Irene soon." You don't give him the time to respond as you end the call and throw the phone onto your bed. Your attention is now fully focused on the clothing in front of you. Wait, why were you trying to look good? It didn't matter what you wore as long as it was considered fancy. You picked out a suit and tie with matching dress pants and shoes. You quickly change into it, sighing as you looked in the mirror.

You do your hair while staring at your eyes, the dark discoloration becoming more noticeable the more you stared. Just as you finished you heard your doorbell ringing. You went downstairs and opened up the door for Taehyung. He steps inside, looking at you with a surprised face.

"What's going on with Irene?" He asks you as he closes the door behind him. He goes over to your couch in the living room and you sit across from him.

"I was sent an invitation today." You cross your legs while looking at him. His eyebrows furrow as he continues thinking. "I'm meeting her at 9, just two hours from now. This causes a lot of issues and we need to address them now."

"Talk." You've fully piqued his interest as he tilts his head and quietly fidgets with his hands.

"First, I need you to accompany me. I can't bring you with me to her place, but I need you to be there in case of an emergency. Stay in the car a block or two away so you can come if needed. Second, there's a traitor among us who Irene used to deliver me that invitation. Third, I have a really bad feeling about all of this." You can't help but to chuckle a bit at the last statement.

"Alright, I can come with you. I guess you want to talk details about the traitor before we head out then?"

"Yeah." You take a pause before asking one more question. "And by the way, do I look fancy enough in this?" Taehyung bursts open in laughter.

"Of course you do, don't you always?"

*

*

An hour passes and you decide to freshen up a little bit. You were going to be going on a 'date' with Irene after all. You also carefully tuck a pocket pistol into your back pocket. Meanwhile Taehyung continues writing down in small notebook, scribbling down notes from the conversation the two of you just finished.

"Ready to go?" A couple seconds pass before Taehyung stops his writing. He mumbles out an mhm in affirmation and then walks out of your house with you. The cold night air nips at your skin when you open your grand doors. The sound of your nervous heartbeat and your shoes hitting the pavement seemed to merge as you got closer to the car.

With the soft whirr of the car engine, the occasional bump on the road, and the warm seat you were sitting on, the fatigue that clouded your mind seemed to take over as you fell asleep. Apparently the coffee from earlier wasn't enough. It felt like you had only blacked out for a second before you felt your body shake from Taehyung's touch urging you to wake up.

"Sorry sleeping beauty, but we're already here."

You force yourself to get up, and soon enough you're back in front of a familiar penthouse door. You notice that Irene had installed a new, very much not broken, handle. You also see that there's a door buzzer off to the side and you press the button.

"Who's there?" A voice rings from the device in front of you.

"Your date." The response is blunt and hopefully emotionless. You don't need to give any clue about your exhaustion or nervousness about your encounter with her.

"Come on in."

Soon after you hear a soft click, likely the door unlocking itself. You turn the handle. Wanting to be cautious you decide to open the door slowly, peering into the small sliver of space you opened. The lighting of the penthouse is dim… romantic, even? As you continue to open the door bit by bit, looking at more and more of your surroundings, you feel relieved that at the very least you aren't walking into a squad of people pointing guns at you. You decide to open the door fully and walk in, closing the door behind you.

"Welcome." It's a curt welcoming, but it's said with such a sultry voice. You move your eyes to the small figure sitting across a small dining table in the middle of the vast living space. You walk to the table, pulling out the chair across from the woman and sitting down, seeing a plate of already prepared food waiting for you. Irene looks down at her wrist.

"9 o'clock sharp. I'm glad you're responsible enough to be on time." She looks back up from her watch with a smirk on her face and a glint in her eyes. She takes the opportunity to look at you up and down. "I didn't expect such a pretty face, albeit you seem quite tired. The suit looks nice on you, although…" Irene leaves her seat and approaches you.

You turn your body to look at her, noticing how Irene is wearing a dress again. This time it was a long-sleeved blazer style dress that gave her an angular, sharp form. As she nears you, your left hand subtly crawled towards your back, anxiously awaiting a moment where drawing a firearm would be needed.

That moment doesn't come though, as Irene's cold fingers ghost your neck and finish buttoning up your shirt for you. She finishes off by gently tightening your tie around your collar. Your exhaustion must've made you overlook some small details.

"Better now." She mutters, seemingly dissatisfied with how messy you looked earlier.

"Excuse you, that was a stylistic choice." You try to let go of your nerves and attempt to joke. Just like last time, Irene doesn't seem to laugh much, but she gives you a quick exhale and a continued smirk. She returns to her seat and picks up her silverware. She looks down and begins slicing into a cut of meat.

"Well, since you're in my home, on a date that I invited you to, about to eat a meal that I prepared," Irene looks back at you and tilts her head. "I think you should humor me and the stylistic choices I prefer." Then she continues on with her meal.

You look at your own plate, taking in the appealing colors and appetizing smell it gave off. Did Irene really make this for you? She went through all of that effort just for this? You can't help but feel something off about your chest. You pick up the silverware set on your side of the table, picking spoonful of food. You almost eat it until you remember the type of situation you're in.

"How do I know you didn't poison my food?" Irene stops eating and looks at you.

"I guess I can't blame you for worrying about that." She responds. Suddenly she leans forward on the table. "Feed me. I wouldn't eat it if I knew it's poisoned right?" She opens up her mouth. You can't tell if she's bluffing anymore.

Hesitantly, you bring the spoon to her mouth, and she eats it and stops leaning forward. As if nothing happened she looks off to the side, reaching for a wine glass. It was at that moment that you decided Irene was a weird person, you were in a weird situation, and that you actually weren't quite sure how to feel. After Irene's strange way of proving that your meal wasn't laced with anything deadly, you ate.

You're glad you ate, because honestly if this was what caused you to die you would've died happy.

"Were you a chef in a past life or something?" You ask before going in for another bite. Irene's smile seems to widen.

"No, although I am very much flattered." Before you could further compliment the woman's cooking Irene's phone rang.

"Hello?" As she answers her phone her gaze turns from the floor to your face. She nods her head as she responds to the other person on the line. "Alright then, I'll deal with it later." Irene's face is serious as she looks at you and tucks away her phone.

"What happened?"

"You happened."

"Could you further elaborate?"

"Let's just say I'm impressed." Irene admits while giving you her undivided attention. Although her face looks stern, she seems to be brimming with curiosity at the same time. "How did you know?"

"Once again, you're gonna have to stop talking so vaguely." You complain and Irene sighs.

"How did you know my men would attack?" She finishes the question with a short laugh. It scared you a little bit to see her reaction. Instead of being mad at her defeat she seemed rather entranced. Excited, perhaps?

"Isn't it obvious?" You don't look at her as you begin to explain, instead opting to focus on your food. "I mean, you can't just give me a physical invitation without someone being there to place it on my desk, right?"

"Right."

"So obviously you have a person in cahoots with you that's also in my circle." You pop a piece of a crispy potato in your mouth. Damn could Irene season like a goddess. "If you have someone that's there in that warehouse with me, they could easily know my plans, and the timing of when you wanted this date to happen was just too weird, don't you think?"

"I suppose you can look at it that way."

"So really, I think you already knew my plans. I think you wanted me here in front of you as I receive news of you raiding me when I've moved my soldiers to raid your bases. That's how I decided to reinforce my defenses tonight." You look back at her, and once again you're astonished at the fact she wasn't angry. She hums in contentment before speaking further.

"You know, this leads me to what I truly wanted to talk about tonight."

"And that would be?"

"I think we should form an alliance." As her words leave her mouth you immediately freeze up in confusion. Your eyebrows furrow. This wasn't the direction you expected things to go. Honestly, you just thought Irene would continue trying to weirdly play and analyze you, not suddenly suggest allying with each other when the last time you had met you both admitted to wanting to kill each other.

"Why?"

"I've been thinking ever since we last met." Irene reaches for the wine glass at the side of the table again. "I think you're interesting." She plainly admits. Again, there's a strange feeling in your chest and you begin to associate it more and more with Irene. "Tonight, I think you really proved that you're capable."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because, Y/N, we're both women. We're both women in a world that's dominated by men who underestimate us to a fault. If we work together we're both going to benefit and rule the criminal underground. Besides…" Her voice seems to falter as she lifts the wine glass close to her face, swirling around the crimson liquid. "This isn't just a business decision. This is a selfish decision, because I'm selfishly interested in you. I want to know you better." She stretches our her arm, bringing the glass high at the center of the table. "So, do you accept, Y/N?"

This is a bad idea.

Your hand slowly reaches for the relatively untouched glass that was set for you.

Didn't you swear to kill her just a week ago?

You lift it to your mouth, lips making contact with the glass and taking a sip of the wine.

Would it be weird to admit that you want to know more about Irene too?

The clink of the two glasses making contact creates a smile on your face.

"Deal."

[bellygunnr]

Checksum

[Previously...] [Next]

Chapter 2: Profit Margins

PILOT ORVILLE FREEBORN MCS JAMES MACALLAN // TITAN BAY 4 EN ROUTE PLANET TYPHON, IMC-CONTROLLED SPACE

The simpod's indicator light winks green. Orville watches it, lulled slightly by the deep hum of the egg-shaped machine while his colleagues talked around him. They were clustered together, talking freely about the two men semi-unconscious in front of them, though he had long since lost the thread of conversation. He never paid much attention to gossip and he wasn't about to start now.

Besides, the rifleman wasn't that interesting. He seemed quiet and never looked anyone in the eye. What Lastimosa saw in the man, Orville didn't know. But Lastimosa had only told them what he was doing-- not why he was doing it.

The kid could be his son, for all he knew. At the end of the day, the lone notion of the kid simply became the Marauder Corps's worst-kept secret.

"Say, Freeborn," Shaver says, nudging his shoulder.

Orville starts, dragging his gaze away from the 'pod to focus on his mate, Crane. He raises an eyebrow.

"You think Anderson and Grenier are even alive by now?" Crane asks.

His tone is light and conversational. Orville hums, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Sure, right? Why would they be dead?" Orville says.

He glances up at the crouched Titan behind them, BT-7274. It's focused intently on Captain Lastimosa, but he hasn't any doubt it's eavesdropping on them. Captain Cole has taken to opening and closing an electric lighter repeatedly, filling the space with anxious clicking.

"Apparently, the SRS outpost we had here went dark," Crane explains.

"So? That's just standard protocol. We've had ops like that more than once, Shaver," Orville says, gaining an edge to his voice.

"But this one just seems weird, y'know? Some backwater IMC planet, a mystery testing facility... Very hush-hush, I've heard."

"El-Tees Shaver and Freeborn," a deep, smooth, but still clearly synthesized voice erupts, "you are in violation of confidentiality codes regarding Oscar-Two-One-Seven."

Crane has the good sense to wince and Orville crosses his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes. For a second, he wanted to retort, but...

BT wasn't wrong. With Cole and the rifleman in the hangar, they really shouldn't be so loose-lipped.

"Sorry, BT," Orville says.

There's a pause as they both wait for a response from the Titan. Predictably, he says nothing, but the shutters in his optic suddenly twist, that blue pinpoint of an eye leveling on the 'pod. Orville, Crane, and Cole all turn their gazes to it, curious.

The green light was now blinking. It turns solid amber.

"They must be finished," Cole says.

BT-7274 draws itself to its full height with an abrupt scrape of metal. At the same time, the lights in the hangar stutter, plunging them in a half-realm darkness. Orville reaches for the pager at his belt, tapping the screen on, his chest already tight with alarm.

There's nothing on the pager. The lights flicker again.

"I thought they fixed this shit back at Harmony," Crane says.

Tai jerks to life with a start, the same instant the simpod beeps and pops its latch open. Orville turns to stare at a dazed Jack Cooper.

Alarms start blaring. Five pagers go off at once, shrill with the sound of a non-standard alert. The intercoms crackle, but it's not the ship's AI that speaks. It's the captain.

"All hands, abandon ship."

"Abandon-- but we haven't--?" Crane stammers, shocked. "What?"

"Get off your ass and go, pilot," Tai snaps. "Prepare for Titanfall, everyone. Rifleman--"

Orville hurries after Crane, where his Titan resides, already crouched and open for embarking. He jams his helmet on and flops into her palm.

He had a bad, bad feeling about this.

BT-7274 MCS JAMES MACALLAN // TITAN BAY 4 IN ORBIT PLANET TYPHON, IMC-CONTROLLED SPACE

The faux field BT-7274 finds itself in is reminiscent of the prairie surrounding much of the Militia's HQ back at Harmony. He takes it in cautiously, scanning the horizon for threats despite being fully cognizant of the simulated war fog obscuring the distance. A considerable distance away, Tai and the rifleman stand, both excited.

"That's my partner, BT. He's a Vanguard-class. Homegrown Militia technology... "

BT-7274 pushes himself upright.

"The first Titan chassis we designed ourselves. One we didn't have to steal from the IMC. Now, go ahead, Cooper. Call in your first Titan."

He flicks his gaze skyward to witness the sky ripple, a pixelated rift bubbling and expanding, spitting the under-rendered silhouette of a Titan-- a mere copy of himself-- to the ground, high-speed.

Before it can land, that rip in virtual reality explodes. The system error that rocks the simpod flashes in the corner of BT's own HUD. Quietly, he detaches  itself from the program.

Titan Bay 4 is in chaos. Pilots and ground crew run between his legs, shouting orders and clambering for their gear. BT-7274 checks his own inventory compulsively.

"They're killing us down there, rifleman. Trying to, anyway," Tai says.

SHIP AI UTAH to ALL UNITS: ABANDON SHIP. REPEAT, ABANDON SHIP.

BT-7274 splays his massive hand out flat for Tai to step onto, cockpit already open, obscuring its vision. It would take them fifteen seconds to return to their ejection stall. In a few ticks, he was pulling sensitive information from the ship's AI and the MacAllan's internal systems reports.

"We're going to see a new planet today, Cooper. Maybe even die on it. I'll see you down there, alright?"

Tai settles down with a grunt that's lost in the din. He shuts the hatch before BT can get to it, but pauses, allowing the neural link to wash through them both.

"Transferring controls to pilot," BT-7274 says. "You know I do not like it when you say that."

Tai chuckles. "But it's the truth, BT."

"Again, I ask-- do you want to die on these planets?"

The conversation keeps its nerves, so to speak, steady, as they move with haste to their stall. The platform dips beneath BT-7274's colossal weight, groaning in protest as it carries them into position.

"The 9th Militia Fleet has encountered a formidable screen of orbital defenses. Apparently, two of our own have already been lost," BT explains, summarizing the data he'd just pulled. "It seems our intel from Anderson was wrong."

The ship shakes violently.

UTAH to BT-7274: GET OUT OF THESE CHANNELS.

BT-7274 to UTAH: I will soon be out of effective range.

Odd, that it's now that Utah chooses to stop BT from looking where he shouldn't. He extracts himself from the MacAllan's diagnostics.

Tai and BT-7274 hunker down and lock their joints for impending Titanfall. The automatic ejection system rotates them outward, even as another hit jostles the mechanism. BT shutters his optic against rapidly strobing lights.

"Please wait," intones a modulated, cheery voice. "Titanfall in 10... 9... 8-- 8--"

The hydraulic frame holding BT-7274 and Tai in place shudders, then appears to fold in on itself, collapsing the floor and pushing its chassis through. Coordinates, speed, and other targeting information flies through BT-Tai's head, coalescing into a single point.

"Well, that wasn't normal," Tai says cheerfully.

"Planetside in 17 seconds," BT states, splashing a timer in a corner of their HUD. "Expect heavy IMC forces."

CLAY NGUYEN CICHLID SQUAD, 34th DIVISION JUNGLE CANYONS TYPHON, IMC-CONTROLLED SPACE

Clay wipes the sweat off his hands and compulsively triple checks his station, useless as it was in the deep, suffocating darkness of the jungle-like canyon. He could see nothing beyond the loose perimeter his team had setup, a consequence of the moonless nights that had been become the new norm, as well as the lightning storms that started around the same time. But who was keeping track, really?

Not him, surely.

"The Militia should just hurry up and get here," his partner grumbles.

"Why? So you can watch the drones do all the work?" Clay shoots at her.

It wasn't like they were going to be doing any fighting-- not against ground forces, anyway. But they'd been here for hours already, since the sun went down, and had nothing to show for it.

That was fine with him. His team? Not so much.

A bright flash illuminates the darkness. Clay looks around for the source before finding the good sense to look up-- where a web-like pattern had flared to life, suspended and writhing miles above their heads.

"The anti-ship cannons," Clay breathes. "Jesus."

"Look alive, Cichlid," crackles their radio. "There's reports of Militia drop pods starting to enter Typhon. Look out for ships, too-- it's quite the fireworks show above our heads."

Clay can sense his partner starting to move, but he's fixated on the sky above. Pinpricks of light were rapidly exploding into white streaks that descended into obscurity.

"Archer's showing potential targets," Suvia announces. "Would you get off your ass already?"

She shoves his shoulder. He pushes her back, momentarily rankled, but hurries to where the second rocket launcher stood. The tiny digital screen offered several potential targets, but no locks.

"I think it's just--" Clay starts to speak, but a colossal, bone-shaking boom drowns him out.

His teeth chatter, then his world turns over, as four distinct booms impact the earth. It's all he can do to keep his grip on the Archer despite the hail of rock and soil raining on his position.

"Suv, you okay?"

"I've got dirt in my mouth!"

When the initial spray clears, Clay sees fire, smoke, and the battered, conical frames of drop pods. He has to remind himself that they're Militia. The IMC war paint was from capture and thievery, but only two had met the ground levelly.

The other two had smashed against the jagged rocks hard enough to ignite something in their internals.

"Some of the pods hit the rocks," Clay says tightly. "Shit,  they're firing."

"They don't know we're here," Suvia says. "Here comes our birds."

He watches the Archer's targeting system instead of the evolving battlefield. He wasn't interested in the slaughter. He wasn't interested in facing a Titan, either, but...

The Archer chirps. Clay adjusts his grip on the launcher as it automatically adjusts itself on the tripod, tracking a blue blip in a sea of red and yellow.

"Titan," Clay calls. "Tone's good."

"Tone's good," Suvi repeats.

Clay searches the sky briefly. It's difficult to make head or tails of what he sees, but the enemy Titanfall attracts his gaze by triggering its Distortion Brakes. IMC technology again, a little voice reminds him.

The enemy Titan unfolds itself and sticks the landing gracefully.

Two Archer rockets zip toward it, trailing smoke.

[your-daily-biaswrecking]

Serva me, Servabo te

save me and I will save you

pairing: photographer!Taehyung x f.reader (oc)

more characters: Jimin x Yoonji

genre: angst, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut

word count: 4.6k   |  reading time: 25 min

summary: Somehow you end up having to share a Victorian Manor (that may or may not be haunted) with a person you really dislike: Kim Taehyung

warnings: nothing specific in this chapter, some swearing and toxic traits

A/N: Amy= Army= reader:)

All chapters | Masterlist   |  Read on AO3

Chapter 1: The tragic state of affairs

An hour and a half long car drive and you still managed to be in the middle of nowhere. You could almost swear the dirt road was leading to nothing, but the occasional sign swore otherwise. You sighed. How had you gotten yourself into this, again? Oh, yeah.

-9:34 pm, the day before-

A loud thud followed by an inhuman growl produced from the deepest pits of hell reached your ears in the kitchen. I guess you couldn't ignore her any longer. You leaned past the door,  peeping at your roommate cocooning on the floor.

"Uh... You good?" She immediately started mumbling with fiery passion and you couldn't understand a single word. That meant no. "What did Jimin do this time?"

Yoonji sat up, turning her spine abnormally to look at you. "He's an idiot," you managed to hear.

You pressed your lips together and nodded. "Right. You guys broke up. Is he still bothering you, what is it?" You walked to her and squatted down to her level. You noticed her cheeks were bloody red and stained with tears, her mouth giving you a pout. But you were unbothered.

"He won't let me go tomorrow," she complained.

"The Manor you guys had booked?"

"Yeah!"

"Why won't he let you go?"

"No, I mean... He says I can go but he says he'll go too and I don't want to see him," Yoonji mumbled while wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

Your immediate thought was to tell her to just go since they were going to make up eventually anyway. Seriously, the two of them broke up and got back together like twice a week. Sometimes it looked more serious, sure, but you had fallen for it too many times to believe it now. You would only be sure the two of them were done for real when... Well, actually, never. "So, you don't want to lose your vacation but you want to have the whole house to yourself?" you asked and she nodded. "Well, since you both paid for this, I'm sorry to tell you, but he has just as much right to go as you. You should have thought about that before you broke up over- what was it again? Dumplings?" I mean, this had to be some type of kink or something at this point. They had to be into breaking up and chasing each other all the time. Maybe it was the make-up sex, who knows.

Finally, one of the road signs pointed to the right for a turn. 200 m it said. You breathed out in relief; you were starving and so sleep deprived, you feared you'd drive your car into a ditch by the road. In front of you stood a large gate with an astounding metal design. It was open and you carefully drove in. Your breath hitched the moment the house came into view. What house? That was a whole palace! With three floors, a garden bigger than the nearest park to your apartment, and about a million windows adorning its two wings. So caught up in the drama, you hadn't even had the chance to see a picture to prepare yourself for the beauty of the Victorian artifact. Your jaw on the floor, all you could do was laugh.

Say, how had you managed to get here again? Right, right...

-11:04 pm, the day before-

There was a soft knock on your bedroom door and you hummed in reply. Yoonji burst in with great contrast to her knocking, dashing for the foot of your bed and plopping herself on it with nerve. You paused your texting on your phone momentarily to turn your eyes on hers, noting her tears were all dried up now, a frown in their place.

"I told him I'm not going 'cause I don't wanna see his stupid face," she announced.

The corners of your mouth turned downwards. "Good for you. I'm sure the house isn't worth it, you can do your vacation elsewhere."

"But now he says he's not going..."

You thought about it for a second, then got back to your texting. "Great. Isn't that what you wanted? Now, you can go."

The girl leaned over your legs, trying to catch your attention again with wide eyes full of conspiracies. "But... What if he's bluffing?"

You paused again. Damnit, why was this even making sense? You'd say Jimin is not capable of doing something like that... if you actually thought it to be true. "So, don't go." You looked at her again to make sure your point was getting across. "Yoonji, don't go. That way no matter if he goes or not, you still won't see his stupid face."

A middle-aged woman dressed to fit right into the aesthetic of the Manor greeted you on the big steps of the entrance with something like the enthusiasm you only show your favorite aunt on Christmas. "You must be Ms. Min Yoonji," she called before you even had the chance to reach her.

"Must I?" you replied, immediately following it with a peal of fake laughter.

The woman chuckled and walked towards you. With a closer look, you noticed how youthful her face looked, and how undeniably pretty she was. Definitely looking like a noblewoman who would be in charge of something like this mansion. "Welcome, I'm Mrs. Kim. I'm glad you're here, your partner is already inside," she said.

Oh... So he was bluffing.

You smiled. "Thank you. The place looks stunning."

"Oh, I'm hoping you'll get to enjoy all of its beauty to the maximum this week you'll be spending here," the woman said as she guided you towards the entrance." Just to let you know, every room is at your disposal, the kitchen is fully equipped and with every kind of food you might crave. Housekeeping is daily and with a very discreet staff. I have already given a tour to your partner."

You pushed the heavy door open and walked in, immediately hugged by a heavy but warm atmosphere with a strong, musky scent. Right across from you, there was a big, double staircase with a magnificent chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. All you could do was look around with a stupid face. Jimin was getting Yoonji this type of vacation and she had the audacity to fight with him? How had they even afforded this? You totally understood why your roommate was throwing a tantrum wanting to come here. Why had she even let you come instead?

-12:56 am, the day before, or more accurately, this day but super early-

"Amy... Amy..." You were startled awake, barely making out the silhouette of Yoonji hovering above you in the darkness. "Were you sleeping?" she whispered.

You exhaled and pushed her away, groaning. "Yoonji, a piece of advice: if you have to shake someone for them to answer you, yeah, they were sleeping!"

"Sorry," she said but definitely didn't mean it. She scooted you over to sit next to you. "Hey, so... I was thinking. Maybe you should go."

Be it the sleep or your roommate speaking utter nonsense, all you could think was: "What?"

"Well, I don't wanna go in case Jimin goes, but I also don't wanna let him have the house to himself -you know, out of spite- so maybe you should go." Yoonji blinked at you expectingly but it was still too complicated for you to process. "I mean, you're gonna have a good time, Amy. The house is amazing, I promise, this is a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, okay? I thought if I let you go then we could also be even for the time you did that assignment for me and got me an A? What do you say?"

You frowned, starting to shake your head. "Yoonji-"

"Please, I just want you to annoy him by just being there, you know? Also, he might not even go. Then you'll have a whole Manor to yourself for a whole week! You can take your books with you and enjoy some time away from society, right? Pretty please..."

Your frown deepened, but you started to think about what she was saying. "You really would rather just give up your vacation to a Victorian Mansion or whatever it is to your roommate than let Jimin have it to himself?"

"Absolutely, yeah."

Well, you couldn't think of a reason to say no to that.

Mrs. Kim finished her welcoming speech with a smile. "In the library, you will find a map of the hiking routes of the forest. There is a mushroom picking one that I wholeheartedly recommend. Of course, anything you might need, you can always pick up our vintage phone -it works perfectly- and call us any time of the day and night."

You gave her a genuine grin and nodded. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Kim!" And after that, the beautiful woman opened the door and left. Where to, you had no idea, since you doubted there was any kind of civilization nearby.

You dragged your suitcase to the bottom of the staircase, about to lift it and go find one of the surely many rooms to occupy. But in the silence of it all, you noticed a fire cracking in the background. So silent, it felt like you and the fire were the only things alive for miles. Yet Jimin must have been roaming somewhere in this Manor.

Huh... He still hadn't shown up at the entrance to check if Yoonji had come? Surely, he must have heard the commotion made but you two ladies.

You released your grip on your suitcase and slowly walked towards the room the fire seemed to be coming from. You wanted to find him and enjoy his face when he would see you instead of his girl- well, ex-girlfriend. You passed through a small hallway, little rooms with cabinets and bookcases until you reached a slightly ampler room that had a lit fireplace. It looked like a sitting room, with a pair of scarlet, velvet armchairs and a matching sofa. There was a large, thick carpet that covered almost the entire floor, and an ebony coffee table in the middle. On the right, a window that expanded from floor to ceiling, but was however half-hidden behind a rich curtain.

You were about to go towards the fireplace before you noticed the slim man standing tall by that window. Looking outside, turned opposite to the entrance. You almost didn't notice him as the colors and textile of his outfit matched the room so well. His brown, a little wavy hair tucked messily behind his ears, light silver glasses sitting low on his nose, hands in his pockets. He was wearing a sweater vest over a beige shirt and baggy trousers and was standing like a model. Something very off about him that you didn't immediately recognize.

"Oh." The interjection left your lips without your command. And at the sound of your voice, he turned around to face you.

-10:46 am, this morning-

You had left your apartment more than a long time ago, Yoonji was expecting that you would have arrived by now and waiting for your news. Had Jimin gone too? How had he reacted? She tried calling you a couple of times but was only met with voicemail. Maybe you didn't have a good signal up in the mountains. Oh, no, how would you keep her up to date now?

Her cellphone buzzed and she rushed to see the message she assumed was from her roommate. It turned out to be her ex.

"You didn't go, then?"

Yoonji laughed. How wicked of her. He must have just seen you arrive at the Manor, instead of her. So he was lying about not going, just as Yoonji had predicted. She flipped her hair from her shoulder dramatically and quickly typed her reply.

"Of course not, I told you I wasn't going."

She couldn't stop giggling like a little girl.

"Cool... Just so you know, I felt bad wasting this already paid vacation, so..."

Yoonji rolled her eyes, still giggling.

"Let me guess. You went by yourself?" How pathetic... He really thought his little trick would work.

"No."

Wait, what?

"I myself didn't go..."

Yoonji blinked.

Come again?

Your eyes widened when you realized the man in front of you wasn't Jimin. The man in front of you was...

"Kim Taehyung? What are you doing here?"

He was about to open his mouth to reply when your phone interrupted you. Without taking your eyes off the man and with a deep frown on both of your faces, you took it out of your pocket and answered. Yoonji's voice started ringing immediately from the other end.

"Amy! Finally! I've been trying to call you for ages. Did you arrive yet? I wanted to tell you Jimin isn't coming. He said he let Tae go." You rolled your eyes. "Can you hear me, Amy? The signal is so bad... Amy, the idiot did the same thing I did and sent Taehyung! Remember Taehyung? Jimin's best friend?"

You sighed. "Yeah... Way ahead of you. He's standing right in front of me." Your eyes traveled down his arms as he moved to fold them over his chest, tilting his head at you.

Yoonji let out an exasperated cry. "Ugh, man! So he told the truth... Look, I'm so sorry I got you into this. Amy, can you hear me? I hope you have no problem with him there. I know you guys are not close- wait, have you guys met? You have, right? Okay, I know you're not close but it'll be fine, right? Just don't pay attention to him and do your thing, yeah darling? Act the same as if Jimin were there, or as if you were alone. Amy, that's fine, right? You can do that, right? How is the house, is it awesome and totally worth it and you're totally not mad at me for sending you there with Tae? Huh? Amy?"

You sighed again. The signal was indeed bad. So you just hung up, hoping your roommate would blame your rudeness on that. Hiding your phone away again, you eyed Taehyung from head to toe. He was still glaring at you as if you'd stolen something from him. Well, I guess if he thought he'd have this whole place to himself, it was kind of like stealing. But that was only because he just happened to arrive first. Both of you had the same claim over the place. Or, well, neither of you did.

"Right, so..." you started since he didn't seem to be reacting any further. "I guess we'll have to stay together."

Suddenly, Taehyung started moving. His eyes still piercing yours and not a word out of his mouth, just a steady charge towards you.

"I-I know you didn't expect me-" you felt the need to mumble quickly, "-but I didn't expect you either!" Taehyung stayed silent, getting closer. "Okay, maybe we lied!" you exclaimed, your feet stepping behind each other. "But you guys lied, too!" There wasn't any more room to move and the man was now right in front of you, leaning into your personal space. "Taehyung, what-"

"Who are you?"

You were caught off guard. "What?" You thought he was joking, but he stayed looking at you with a serious face. "What do you mean who am I?" you sounded offended. "We've met before!"

"Have we?"

"Couple of times!"

Taehyung scanned your entire face before he shook his head. "I don't remember you."

Now you were offended. "I'm Amy!" you announced loudly. "Yoonji's roommate."

At last, he pulled away, his mouth opening in understanding. "Oh... Right, I knew Yoonji had a roommate by that name." He moved farther away but turned his head to you again. "I don't think I've seen you before, though."

You rolled your eyes and slipped around him to escape the place you had been trapped in earlier. "Alcohol does that sometimes," you snorted at him.

Taehyung rubbed his chin, looking at you differently now. You tried to avoid his eyes, examining the room more closely instead. The paintings on the walls, the black encyclopedia on the shelves, the candelabra and tea set on the small table. Every detail was thought of inside the house. "Why are you here, though?" he asked.

"Same reason as you, I assume."

He licked his bottom lip in the act of releasing a small chuckle. "Did you owe a favor to your best friend, too?"

You took out one random book and browsed its thin, yellow pages. "Actually, she owed me."

Taehyung raised his eyebrows in response, then started occupying himself with the little things around the room, as well. "They're ridiculous, aren't they?" You hummed in agreement and put the book back, moving along. "Do you think they might be done for real now?"

"No way." You moved to the smaller window behind the sofa and pulled its curtains away to look at the view. A hill decorated by a dense forest. "Yoonji is over her phone 24/7 waiting for him to text her."

He chuckled again. "I know for a fact Jimin is not taking this seriously. He laughs every time she texts him."

"As he should! She's a drama queen."

"Thank you!" Taehyung called out as if he had been struggling with this for a long time. With two long strides, he appeared next to you and forced you to look into his eyes. "Jimin gets mad at me every time I say that, but she is, isn't she?"

You were a little taken aback by how eager he seemed to be to find this one thing in common between the two of you: having had enough of your friends' relationship. You nodded with an amused smile. "Extremely."

He shook his head, pushing his hair back with a hand. "I honestly don't get how they make it work. Aren't they tired?" He turned serious again and looked at you with big eyes. "I could never have something like that. When I like someone, I want it to be Titanic, not Mr. and Mrs. Smith."

It took you a few seconds to reply, a little lost in his intense stare. But you shrugged. "I kind of get it. It keeps it fun and interesting. They've been together for three years now and yet it's still not boring. Like, they confess their love to each other every other week."

But he insisted. "I wouldn't need all of that to remind my girl how much I love her."

This was getting a little uncomfortable. He was a little too close, and a little too serious. So you leaned back and maneuvered around him, walking towards the door. "Alright, you do your thing with your relationship, they can do theirs." You turned to look at him right at the same time he did. "So, we'll be staying here together, right? I hope that's okay."

Taehyung shrugged just one shoulder. "If it's fine with you," he almost whispered.

You nodded once. "Well, as long as there is not only one bed," you smiled at your joke but he just frowned. You guessed he didn't read fanfiction. You cleared your throat. "The house seems big enough for the two of us, I'm sure we could go about our separate vacations without getting in each other's way."

"Sure, if that's what you want."

You nodded again and pointed to the door. "Should we choose our rooms?"

He clicked his tongue and moved past you. "Sorry, I have already chosen the big chamber on the east wing since I didn't expect company. You might want to get a room on the west wing to avoid me more efficiently." Taehyung walked quickly down the corridor without waiting for you, or even checking if you were following. Not that you had to be following, obviously. You thought he sounded a little annoyed, but you couldn't think of a reason why. If it was you being there, he'd have to get used to it 'cause you weren't going anywhere.

"Cool," you simply replied and followed. The man appeared in your line of view again only after you got in the lobby. He was standing by the staircase, looking at your abandoned suitcase. "I got it," you said automatically, only realizing he hadn't offered to carry it after he looked at you weirdly. You cleared your throat awkwardly, needing to change the subject. "Do you know where the kitchen is? I'm thirsty."

He motioned towards the corridor opposite the one you had just come from. "Down the hall, there's a small one," he said and started jogging up the stairs with his hands in his pockets.

You exhaled the moment he was out of view again. Being around him took up more of your energy than you expected. Which wasn't ideal for a vacation. The whole situation, to be honest, being isolated with Kim Taehyung in an old, strange house, wasn't ideal. You wondered if he felt so put out by it as you did while you walked around the house to find the kitchen. Definitely, you thought. He didn't want to be there with you, it was certain. Not necessarily because he'd shown something like that up until then, but because you knew exactly the type of guy he was. I'll tell you one thing: it wasn't a coincidence that you had such close, common friends, yet barely knew each other.

The kitchen was bigger than your living room, yet it was characterized as small? A long counter stretched all along the wall on the left, with three windows over it that overlooked the garden. There was an island in the middle and cabinets around the rest of the space. A very pleasant room, bright and with light colors on the furniture that went well with the green that posed on the window panes like self-illuminated paintings.

You put your whole face under the faucet and swallowed the very cold -cold like it was just now coming from a nearby river- water. After cleaning your dripping face with your hands, you did a short inspection. The cabinets and the fridge were filled with all kinds of foods, Mrs. Kim was right. You guessed that should have been the case, considering there weren't any markets anywhere close. But that also meant you had to cook all of your food. You and Taehyung. What were you going to do? Cook different meals or share?

That was a future problem. Now, you had to find a room. You dragged your suitcase up the stairs making a little too much noise and turned to the west wing without hesitation. There were a few rooms to choose from; a double room with navy blue wallpaper, a smaller one with a balcony, a more princess-looking room with a small bed and a boudoir. You picked the next one. It had a canopy, queen-sized bed with thick, purple curtains that matched the ones on the big window across the door, and a wooden wardrobe that looked like it was taken from the set of Beauty and the Beast. There was a small fireplace too, although it was not lit, it was still decorated.

A big smile appeared on your face at the sight of the cozy room. Perhaps the house would be worth it after all. Right before walking in, you quickly looked to your left, thinking you saw something, but when nothing was there you walked excitedly inside and closed the door. You tried opening the window to let some fresh air in, but it seemed to be stuck. Or maybe you just didn't know how to do it. It looked fragile and so you let it be, deciding against causing an accident. Instead, you took your clothes and your things out, organizing them around the room to make it more personal, and when you were done, you hoped on the rather tall bed with the softest mattress you had ever felt in your life and called your friend.

"Girl, you owe me big time after this!" you whisper-shouted at her when she picked up, still not certain of how soundproof the building was and not wanting to risk Taehyung hearing anything.

Yoonji giggled from the other end of the call. "Hey, girl! How is the Manor looking so far?"

"Oh, that part is fantastic," you said genuinely. "Still in awe you were stupid enough to let this thing go. But don't try to change my mind like that," you scolded her. You knew her too well for her manipulation to work on you. And she knew that, which is why she giggled again. "Why, oh, why is Kim freaking Taehyung here, Yoon?"

You could almost hear her pout. "Oh, babe, you know I didn't know he'd be there! It's not my fault."

"Well, yes, but when I agreed to do this, it was between having the place to myself or sharing with your boyfriend. I would–"

"Ex-boyfriend!"

"–much rather have Jimin here to annoy instead of stupid Taehyung annoying me," you said, rolling your eyes. You stared at the door then, thinking you'd heard something, but dismissing it as just the old house making noises.

"Oh, c'mon. Don't call him that. It's not his fault he got into this, either."

"You know how I feel about that boy!" you insisted.

"He's actually nice, Amy."

"To you. Because you're his best friend's girlfriend. He doesn't–"

"Ex-girlfriend..."

"–give a fuck about anyone else," you mumbled, playing with your hair. "Anyone who is beneath him and his stupid, rich ass is not worth being nice to, you know?"

Yoonji hummed. "I don't think he's that rich, he's just kind of famous. It's not the same."

You rolled your eyes and groaned. "That's not the point here." You got up and looked out the window. Air had picked up and was making the trees around the garden dance passionately. "I don't feel comfortable around him, so now I have to spend a whole week being weird and worried I might run into him no matter what I do."

Your roommate clicked her tongue disapprovingly at you. "Girl, I say give him a chance and get to know him. Who knows, you may become friends and when you get back we can all hang out together."

You smiled, raising an eyebrow even if she couldn't see it. "I thought you had broken up with Jimin, how are we gonna hang out all together?"

"Ah!" It really must have slipped her mind, too, which made it all that funnier. "You're right, don't become friends with him. You will never see him again, anyway," Yoonji was quick to correct herself.

You sighed, still smiling at your silly friend, as you propped one leg up on the window sill and leaned your head against the glass. "Can't I just leave, say, tomorrow?"

"Amy..."

"Too tired today," you added with a yawn.

"I think you should stay. First of all, if you leave, Jimin might come, and him with his self-proclaimed soulmate there would just make my blood boil, so we can't have that. But second of all, and most importantly, you are at a gorgeous Victorian Manor and all you do is complain about a gorgeous boy living with you. Things could be worse, Amy. He could have been an asshole and ugly." You burst out laughing. "So just enjoy it, okay? Fuck him and enjoy your stay. You won't ever get a chance like this again, Jimin paid for most of it, you know we could never afford that."

You rolled your eyes again, but as lovingly as you could. "Fine..." you succumbed to her words. "I guess I could put on my cute dress and go pick mushrooms and forget about the other guy."

Yoonji cheered. "That's the spirit! Go be a cottagecore fairy, baby, you deserve it."

"God, I hate you."

"Love you, too!"

Yeah, you should enjoy what you could from this. Maybe Taehyung wouldn't be such a pain in the ass. Not very likely, but maybe.

Next chapter

[bansheeoftheforest]

A Moment Of Glory

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Chapter 7; Parva Sub Ingenti

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Chapter 8 babyyyyyyyyyyy! Oh man, the next chapters to come are not going to be fun for Henry. I also had to rewrite this chapter like... Halfway through finishing the third-to-last chapter bc I realized that this route would be better to go with <3

Also, note, in case I did not make it clear in the actual chapter: it’s a week’s timeskip between this chapter and last chapter!

Also also! Since I have written all chapters now, I would not mind to update more frequently if that would be desired! Either I can hold onto the schedule I have rn (twice a week - Wednesday and Saturday) or I can change it so I update three times a week, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday? I would very much like some opinions on how often to update!

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Wordcount: 4300

Chapter summary: Brokenshire and the Scotland Yard come to a disappointing discovery, but waste no time in following a new lead.

CW [for this chapter]: Mentions of blood, mentions of murder.

[Ao3]

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Chapters:

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [Epilogue]

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Sergeant Enoch Brokenshire, a man who so often took pride in the loyalty and hard work he put into his position in the Scotland Yard, did not like his night duty. 

 He sat by his lone desk, elbows placed upon the only empty space on his messy workspace that was not already occupied by paperwork. The only source of light that found itself in the dark office was a flickering flame from a tiny, half-melted candle that was placed next to him, so bravely and so obediently bringing light to the documents that had caught his sole attention. For once, it was completely quiet. Not even the normal noises from the world going on and on outside could be heard tonight; no drunkards laughing their way home from the pubs, no footsteps from late-night wanderers exploring the streets, not even the sound of other officers standing guard outside seemed to find its way into the office. Had Brokenshire not long since gotten accustomed to the eerie silence that so specifically seemed to haunt him tonight, he might have found the loneliness and the quietness a bit depressing, a bit bleak. Perhaps it was merely because he had one of the most boring, yet most important jobs tonight. Perhaps it was merely because he was waiting. Perhaps it was merely because he was alone.

 Of every late-night duty he could have gotten, Brokenshire got the unfortunate luck of being stuck in his office for the evening. He could have been out wandering the corridors of this very station, maybe checking on one of the few currently held in the cells in the basements, or maybe he could have been patrolling the streets with Wipple and Jenkins like he normally did. Maybe he could have been breaking up gang fights, catching thieves, or inspecting the new shipments and arrivals by the docks and train stations in search of stolen goods, but no, he was stuck waiting for his two colleagues. A soft sigh of boredom escaped his lips, and yet he decided to occupy his time by gazing over the many documents laid upon his so often neat desk, the shiny wooden surface now hidden under dozens of chaotically sprawled papers. His eyes traveled, and yet it did not take long until his gaze was caught by a single photograph that displayed none other than Dr. Henry Jekyll, stapled to a short investigative essay about the doctor’s career in London, written and documented in hopes of getting a bit of insight about the whole case. Through the two weeks that had recently passed since his estimated disappearance, it felt like they hadn’t managed to get a single step closer to figuring out what had happened to him, who did it and where he was currently located. They could find no possible motives; after all, Dr. Jekyll was a beloved man. No one seemed to have any ideas of someone who had actively disliked him, rather than his work and connection to yet-so-stigmatized science, yet they were stuck on the single ‘suspect’ they had gotten from finding branded trinkets on the crime scene. They had interrogated practically every single person that had lived on the streets by the Society, and yet there hadn’t been a single witness, not a single trail to follow-- not even the blood that had so horrifyingly splattered upon almost every surface in the entire study had been found anywhere outside of the room, not in the corridors outside nor by the broken window. It seemed like the doctor had just disappeared in thin air, once he was, assumingly, dragged out of that window. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense at all and yet this wasn’t even one of the most gruesome or violent cases the Sergeant had gotten his hands on, no, but it was still so very unnerving, maybe because of the specific circumstances, maybe because it was specifically Dr. Jekyll everything was about. No matter, it was unnerving regardless and Brokenshire was going to stand by that fact, and yet he couldn’t help but let out another sigh. Another sigh among the thousands he had made just this night. Another sigh among the thousands to come.

 He felt how his eyes began to roam once more, and yet they did not wander for long before they were caught by a second photograph; this one displayed the second subject of the mess of his desk, one Mr. Richard Crawford. Having found his name-engraved jewelry on the crime scene, the opposition, aggression, and hatred that Crawford harbored for the Society for Arcane Sciences had only seemed to confirm their suspicion of him as a suspect, and since there were no more suspects at all, he was currently their main lead as well, yet Brokenshire doubted that Crawford had a vendetta against Dr. Jekyll himself, rather than their two opposing beliefs and opinions. There had been a lot of theories for why Crawford would have wanted Jekyll out of the way, some including the simple fact that Jekyll was probably the only other man in all of London as popular and influential as him, some including their clashing opinions in important political and scientific questions, and yet, through their feud, it had seemed like their rivalry had been quite one-sided. Brokenshire and his team had spent the last two weeks researching both men and their rivalry and at this point, the Sergeant was quite sure that he could give a ten-page essay for each topic respectively. Crawford was about a decade older than Jekyll and had therefore been in the public eye much longer. He was a working aristocrat and a businessman, having funded many of London’s most successful businesses, spanning from medical supply companies to breweries to real estate, and it seemed like he had seen the rise of Dr. Jekyll’s career as a threat to his own. It was not a secret that most of London and the people of power in the city were-- or had been-- against science, so while Crawford had been on top of the food chain for years, the establishment and success of the Society seemed to have struck a nerve of some sort, especially so once Crawford’s allies began to support it. It seemed like Crawford had seen that as a type of betrayal, and had come to the “clever” solution of trying to shut the operation down immediately, and yet he had never managed. It seemed like no matter what Crawford threw at Jekyll, the doctor would catch it with a smile on his face, light it on fire and toss it in the trash. No matter what the aristocrat did, Brokenshire couldn’t find a single instance of Dr. Jekyll doing anything to actively harm Crawford, his image, or his businesses, despite everything the latter did to him. 

 He guessed it was just another instance of what a goodhearted man that Jekyll was, of course. Ask anyone on the street and they would all tell you what a great man the doctor was, and it always seemed like every single person in London had a story about how the scientist had personally helped them, their family, or their friends. The only ones that Brokenshire and his team had heart talking badly about him had, of course, been the few people still against the Society, and yet it had never really been about his character rather than the entire idea of the Society. Everyone knew the doctor was a kind, helpful man who just wished everyone well. Men of his stock were, sadly, few and far in between, and it saddened the Sergeant to know that people were willing to hurt such a good man like that. He could not figure out why someone would do such a thing-- sure, Jekyll had made mistakes, but who hadn’t? He doubted that the doctor could have done anything to anger someone to the point of them thinking the only logical solution was to hurt him, abduct him, murder him. Sure, there were probably people mad at Hyde who decided to take it out on Jekyll, but that made no sense at all. After all, Jekyll had been just as much of a victim of the fire and Hyde’s scheme as everyone else had been. Going after Hyde’s ex-employer after leading the Scotland Yard to the Blackfog Bazaar was absolutely absurd, yet a type of revenge that Brokenshire would not put past the many criminals that lurked in the London Underground.

 Really, the reason why the offenders could have done it was completely unimportant. What was important was the fact that Dr. Henry Jekyll was gone, and they had to find both him and his kidnappers as soon as possible. Hell, Jekyll could be dying or very badly injured at this very moment! Who knew what kind of torture, what kind of sadistic treatment he was suffering through? Who knew if he was even alive still? Who knew if he even was in London at all? Who knew what kind of man he would be if he was found? For every day that passed, the probability that he would be found and found alive plummeted heavily, the odds and statistics were against them. They had to be quick, so very quick, and yet...

 Brokenshire’s hands found the edge of his desk as he pushed his chair away quite abruptly, grunting as he got on his legs and turned his head away from all these godforsaken documents, feeling the clinically white paper blinding him in the dim light. He made a beeline towards one of the few windows in his office, quietly running a hand through his ginger locks as he peaked between the blinds, observing, watching, praying that his goddamn colleagues would come back soon. It was dark, yet it was brighter out there than it was in his office, giving him just enough light to be able to decipher anything going on outside. The streets were empty, the night was quiet... Goddamnit, where were they?

 He sighed and shook his head, mostly to try to get rid of the slight paranoia and weariness that began to grip him. He moved away from the window, feeling how all the energy in his legs only got worse and worse for every second, and he almost could not stop himself as he began to pace around the office, trying to pass time and trying to distract himself as it only seemed like all his energy got worse and worse and worse for every second that passed. Jenkins and Wipple should have been here a long time ago. What could possibly have taken them so long? They didn’t have all night!

 Brokenshire was an impatient man as it was, he knew that. He seldom had the patience to wait for something unimportant and he had particularly no patience for things that were important. The fact that Wipple and Jenkins had been sent out to collect documents, proof of possible evidence of Crawford’s involvement in Jekyll’s kidnapping that could either incriminate him or prove him innocent of the whole ordeal... Sure, they had his jewelry, but that was certainly not enough proof to arrest him just yet. They needed more... More proof of Crawford’s suspicious behavior, proof that he was not above kidnapping, proof that he was not a man to be trusted. Two weeks of research, two weeks of potentially wasted and precious time amounted to this. Two weeks of quietly investigating Crawford, sinking so much time and so many resources in a potential dead-end... They were hoping to find the evidence they needed to arrest Crawford, after all, they hoped that he was the criminal in all of this, the orchestrator to the entire kidnapping and especially since they had no other leads, but for that, they needed definite proof, proof that Jenkins and Wipple had been in charge of, and if they never showed up...

 The Sergeant rubbed his sore eyes, regretfully feeling how the late-night weariness slowly began to get to him, slowly washing over his body like algae clinging to every surface, only seeming to become worse and worse and more and more in quantity the longer you didn’t pay attention. He had been working on this case non-stop for the last two weeks, having barely gotten any rest at all during that time, and yet it was much less because he couldn’t pawn the case off to someone else while he took his normal days off and got the rest he so desperately needed, it was much less the work piling up and being forced upon him because there was no one else to take the case, no, it was mostly the fact that he wanted to get to the bottom of this as fast as possible, and he wanted to be the one in charge of such an important case. He trusted his colleagues with his life and yet he only trusted himself with the Henry Jekyll case, even if he wasn’t fully sure why. Everyone was worried, of course, so he had no doubt that the other officers would be just as precise and active with the case as he currently was, but... Yeah. Jekyll was a beloved man, a man who was friends with practically everyone-- the commissioner specifically, but Brokenshire could not deny that he had taken a liking to that man, as much as he regretted admitting it. He knew the cautionary tale of scientists who went mad with hubris, narcissism, and... Well, madness all too well. He knew the tale of the bright young men and women who wanted to test the limits of every aspect of the world they lived in, who wanted to understand how things worked and wanted to manipulate it into their own liking, who only got hungry for more and more until they went insane and could find themselves in the Asylums all of them seemed to fear so, or until they found themselves exiled and on the run from the law. After all, Brokenshire had known Moreau once upon an eternity ago; he had been just as respectable of a gentleman as Jekyll was, then Moreau had shown his true colors, got exiled, and now he spent the last of his days stuck in a padded cell under solitary confinement and burnt to a crisp in Bethlam Royal Asylum. He knew that there seldom were scientists who did not go mad in their own way-- everyone knew the story of Frankenstein, even if she did seem... Relatively sane now, she had still caused catastrophic damage to the people around her, innocent people specifically, and Moreau was already mentioned... The odds that Jekyll and his Society, too, were just as mad as the rest of the scientists that had made and snuck their way into the history books were far too high. Respectable facades and silver-tongued speech were all they needed to trick practically everyone, both of which Henry Jekyll undoubtedly had. Impulsive, uncontrollable, testing the limits of reality while claiming that it was for the betterment of society, humanity as a whole. It was a tale Brokenshire knew all too well and yet Jekyll had done a good job of pushing himself away from any and all possibilities that he was like those scientists. They were rogue scientists, he would say, not mad scientists.

 Oh, it was a speech that the sergeant had heard a handful of times already, yet it was almost endearing, and quite charming after a while. He guessed that was just the effect the doctor had on the people around him. He was a charming man and no one could deny that. He had all of London wrapped around his pinkie, spun and held together with the silken thread he had woven with his silver-tongue, and that had been quite obvious, and it still was. After all, people had been outraged over his disappearance, and they could still hear the people of London making a ruckus and demanding that they find the doctor they all loved so much. Many of Jekyll’s friends had offered to put up rewards for whoever could come forward with any possible statements or for whoever could find the doctor, and with many, he meant many; Dr. Robert Lanyon, Sr. Lanyon, Sir. Danvers Carew, the commissioner himself, and of course the entire Society, and that was only to name a few, so there was quite a large sum of money at play now. So much money was at stake and yet they still had heard nothing related to the Henry Jekyll case. No one had seen suspicious activity, no one had any clue what possibly could have caused it... You might as well have thought he disappeared in thin air just because someone wished him gone, for no reason whatsoever. You might as well have thought the doctor never existed. 

 The only real ‘evidence’ and the only real statements they had about the case came from their investigation of Crawford. They had dipped their noses in practically every part of Crawford’s life, investigating and interrogating every servant, worker, acquaintance, business partner, and rival with a connection to the man in question, their statements now placed upon the sergeant’s desk, neatly waiting for when they would be of use. All they needed was Jenkins and Wipple with the rest of the accounts and statements, and hopefully they would bring the long-awaited truth. They all had theories, of course, both personal and more... Hmm, official ones, so to speak, all of which suggested that the kidnapping of Henry Jekyll was not the only crime that Crawford may be involved in, many of which seemed to be about tax evasion, blackmail... The classic stuff that men of his stock often dipped into sooner or later. Now, if Jenkins and Wipple could just come back...

 Knockknockknock--

 Speaking of the devil, Brokenshire couldn’t help but let out a relieved breath he hadn’t known he had been holding as he finally stopped his pace. His attention immediately shifted towards his door, and it only took a moment before he saw the door handle moving, and then through the darkness, Brokenshire finally-- finally!-- saw his dear colleagues entering, the expected documents in hand.

 “Oi, sergeant, why are you cooping up in the darkness?”

 As Jenkins moved forward with the documents, Wipple stayed behind to close the door behind them, taking the opportunity to also turn on the light, which, in its turn, successfully blinded the poor sergeant whose eyes had gotten so accustomed to the soft, simple light from the candle on his desk. He did not get a lot of time to adjust to it, however, as Jenkins soon placed the new documents down on the little empty space on the sergeant’s desk that had not been occupied with paperwork and, instead, occupied it with more documents. Brokenshire watched the papers, then his gaze turned to Jenkins, who looked less than proud of the work they presented. His thin lips and mustache curled into a frown, the disappointment in his sigh seemed to echo through the room.

 “You are not going to believe this, sir.”

 “Well, what is it? Did you find anything?”

 “Well... You are not going to like it.” 

 The three of them surrounded the desk, waddling together so everyone could have a good view of the newly added documents. Brokenshire eyed it up and down with great interest, if not suspicion and caution, yet he was quick to look back up at Jenkins, quietly gesturing for him to continue to explain.

 “Crawford has been actively against the Society, as we knew, but his way of sabotaging, as we theorized, is nowhere near illegal.” Jenkins filtered through the documents until he got a specific page, tapping it with his finger against the headlines, and them moving the tip of his finger down to the summary, “According to his bank statements, the only money that has been taken out and put into anything remotely against science as been into perfectly legal campaigns, some of just so happens to affect the Society, would the things they push for actually go through. Other than that... The only proof we have is the jewelry found on the scene. Sure, yeah, it’s clear proof but it’s nothing we can arrest or accuse him with. It’s practically impossible for the jewelry to have found its way into the office...”

 Brokenshire might as well have thought he got a door slammed into his face.

 Their main suspect turned out to be a dead end. All the work, all the time, and all the funds they had put into investigating Crawford turned into a dead-end, and now they came up empty-handed without a new suspect.

 But... That didn’t explain why his jewelry was in Jekyll’s workspace.

 “Well... Do either of you have any idea why the ring and necklace were in the office otherwise?”

 Wipple and Jenkins stayed silent, glancing at each other for a short second, yet they quickly looked back at Brokenshire and seemed to struggle to come up with a logical answer to such a question. So many things could have made the jewelry appear where they did, yet none of them actually seemed as logical as... Well, the theory that Crawford paid some thugs to get Dr. Jekyll out of the game, although having paid them with jewelry-- specifically name engraved jewelry-- was certainly not the most logical option, either. The thought that Dr. Jekyll might have stolen the trinkets didn’t even cross their minds, the thought that Dr. Jekyll might have planted them there seemed too absurd for any of them to even consider it, the thought of Dr. Jekyll having faked the entire thing would probably be the dumbest thing either of them would have thought in years. Dr. Jekyll was gone, he was kidnapped, there had been blood everywhere in the office and the blood might have dried into the wood at this point. Red crimson that coagulated and stained into the mahogany wood was a reminder of what Jekyll, in this very moment, might be suffering through, a reminder that if they weren’t quick, Jekyll’s blood might not have only stained his office. 

 But... Hold on...

 “What if it wasn’t Crawford who planted them there?” Jenkins suddenly spoke up, you could practically see the lightbulb shining over his head as the idea struck him. Both Wipple and Brokenshire furrowed their eyebrows, looking at their colleague.

 “Well... Obviously. It isn’t like someone-- if Crawford did hire criminals, would have put them there intentionally. Crawford would clearly not have done the dirty work himself.” Brokenshire pressed.

 “No, no-- What if someone tried to frame him?” Jenkins continued, “Think about it-- Crawford is a high standing man, he has a lot of enemies, someone might have stolen the jewelry and planted it on the scene when they kidnapped Jekyll, to throw us off of their tracks?”

 The officers all went silent for a moment, as Jenkin’s words and his theory began to sink in. It only took a moment, and then Wipple gasped, almost with excitement. He grabbed Jenkins’ arm and stared at him in awe, before immediately giving him a quick pat on the back.

 “Jenkins! You might actually be onto something!” 

 Jenkins grinned proudly, preening under the praises before the two constables turned towards the sergeant for his input. Brokenshire continued to stare down at the documents, eyebrows knitted into a deep, deep frown upon his forehead. Jenkins’ and Wipple’s excited grins slowly washed away as they watched their friend, a bit confused, a bit worried, as the sergeant reached up a hand to scratch his beard in thought. 

 “That... Complicates things.” 

 Brokenshire straightened himself, placing his arms behind his back as his frown only seemed to deepen by the second, yet his eyes did not leave the documents. If someone had kidnapped Jekyll and tried to frame Crawford for it... This might be a much more complicated situation than they had anticipated. This must be a gang activity, or someone who was very dumb for using two pieces of jewelry and nothing more. He could not deny that the idea seemed plausible-- it actually sounded quite reasonable and logical, But how did the criminals get their hands on the trinkets? Could the Scotland Yard afford to finally go and confront Crawford about it, if he knew that his things had recently gotten stolen?

 Well... It wasn’t like they had anything to go on, otherwise.

 “Gentlemen... I think it’s time that we go to the source, eh?”

 “Source?”

 “We have to interrogate Crawford. Perhaps he can point us to the reason for why his stuff was in Jekyll’s office.”

 Wipple and Jenkins looked at each other, and yet they both immediately turned back to the sergeant.

 “Well... What are we waiting for, then?”

The three of them looked at each other for a short moment, only allowing a second of hesitation before all three of them practically sprinted to the door, tearing it open and practically running down the corridors, immediately jumping into the police carriage that was stationed outside and then they were off, galloping through the city streets, off to an unsuspecting Richard Crawford. They had no time to waste, perhaps that’s why they all decided that they had to rush, perhaps that’s why they decided to be quick, or maybe it was the excitement of finally having another lead-- another lead that actually made sense and could be true. In just a few hours they might have their truth. In just a few hours they might find the culprits. In just a few hours, they could all just hope that they would find out what happened to the beloved Dr. Henry Jekyll.

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This chapter was originally going to be Thomas going home from the... Ahem, “hook up” with Robert and meeting Emma Carew and flirting a bit with her, but that plan was only in the drafts and I never wrote it so it’s not what I originally had planned and mentioned in the notes above, but I’m weak for Emma and also Emma X Henry so I hope I will be able to write something for them when this fic is over <3

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Taglist: @artzycreature @jekkiefan

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[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 8

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down. 

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Completed.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Smut, blood, violence, gunfight, choking, rough, angry, unprotected sex, foul language, bodily fluids.  

A/N: Okaaaay, it’s time to fuck shit up. The moment you’ve been waiting for. I lost sleep over this chapter, writing action sequences is HARD!!! So please leave feedback! Thanks, @agniavateira​ for editing my work and being my muse.💖

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Maw of the beast

Following the coordinates given to him by Knight, August steps through the muddy ground in the darkening evening sky. He listens to the squelching sound as his shoes sink into the moist mud, making sure the steps are his and his alone. His hand pushes a curled-up cooper fence that blocks the way and ignores the warning sign as he continues forward, following a man-made path of wooden planks.

A monstrous abandoned building towers in front of him, looking like something out of an Italian horror film. Scaffoldings and metal bars surround the dark concrete brick of what appears to be a spire or a gothic opera house of some sort, construction not nearly halfway finished.  

August narrows his eyes with deep suspicion, making careful hesitant steps while looking around him. His hand reaches for the gun holster beneath the long beige jacket, ticking the clasp off in preparation of whatever awaits him tonight. 

The entrance is guarded by two large gargoyles, leering at him from above a large archway. He stares back at the sculptures, focusing on their empty eyes before stepping through the open gate.

A great hallway welcomes him, accompanied by large pillars that guide the way inside. They’re engraved by winged creatures-angels or demons, he cannot tell. The corridor is showered by red construction lights chained to the floor, laid next to each tall column. 

Bright enough to determine shadow from light, yet not strong enough to conclude if the deconstructed hall is a church, an opera house, or the gateway to hell itself. 

Only one thing is certain: it’s most probably a trap. 

August’s own steps echo in the acoustics of the tall ceiling. Marble shines on the floor through the wooden debris, and large sheets of nylons huddled on the floor. His soiled shoes step between them carefully, trying to listen to whomever walks with him among the darkness. 

There in the umbra, a stalking predator moves behind the pillars. August pauses, his right hand resting on the grip of his gun while his ears capture the tapping sounds of small steps. An odd sensation spreads through each of his nerves, it almost feels like deja vu yet not as quiet.  His heartbeat accelerates, her name rolling on the tip of his tongue even before the outline of her petite figure becomes clear. 

‘How the fuck…?’

He might as well have summoned her into appearing by his endless thoughts of her. He can almost see her face as she moves with him with a succubus grin and shining eyes. She can tell he sees her, yet she does not bother hiding. 

This is a game.

Aggravated, August sighs and moves to seclude himself behind one of the pillars. His gestures are nearly graceful, displaying a lack of panic even though the blood in his veins begins to boil. This will be the second time she is messing up his plans.

The petite woman moves through the columns like a playful ghost; she is silent yet in his mind, he swears he can hear her demonic giggles. August begins to slowly mimic her behaviour, stalking behind the opposing pillars like a large feline creature, watching her face and learning her movement methodically. 

There is a loud drum in her heart, her muscles slightly quivering beneath the skin from the thrill of finally seeing him. The chase was prolonged, and even now where they’re finally sharing the same air, there is an unforgiving distance between them.

‘I will kill him with my own hands if I have to.’

Perhaps that’s the intimacy he deserves.

“You really value your life so little, princess?” August's deep voice finally graces her ears, and the baritone makes her heart flutter. Not out of fear, but the rush of having him close after days of chasing him with sick intent. 

“On the contrary, Mr. Walker,” she replies with a smile on her soft-spoken voice, her eyes alternating between his figure and the path which is nearing its end. Arriving at the last wide column, she pauses, half-hidden behind the angels and demons that embellish the pale stone. August does the same, staring directly into her eyes from the other side. 

No festive facade this time, just plain jeans and a black t-shirt. She grips her gun low to the side of her hip, her finger circling the trigger while her eyes stalk down his suited form, trying to learn as many details as possible. This time there will be no surprises, no hidden knives, or sins of vanity and arrogance which made her fail in the past.

“I told you, I will keep coming for you.” 

“And I promised you, I won’t be merciful.”

A gun would be quicker, yet he would very much love to kill her using his bare hands. For a week the ghost of her face haunted him and now as her vision appears in the flesh all he fancies is to mount her small body and have his hands around her throat, squeezing hard until the breaking sound of her hyoid bone will fill his ears.

‘I wonder how many people know that it happens while choking someone to death.’

“I finally read your manifesto.” 

The many images of him pinning her to the floor fade by the softness of her voice. His gaze pierces through hers. A shimmering glint sparkles in her eyes which are now painted twilight red by the lighting of the room. 

“Do not mock me,” he warns while sliding his gun out from its holster. The sound of hard metal scratching against boiled leather makes her shiver with anticipation. 

“I’m not. It’s beautiful, I mean it,” she replies with sincerity. Her eyes focus on August’s long index finger as it ticks the safety off. “The suffering I bring you is the bridge to ultimate peace.”

August scoffs as she recites his own words to him, mesmerized by how her voice speaks his own written vows. 

“Are you trying to get me hard, princess? Because I’m halfway there.”

She offers him a slight chuckle, her mind tempting her with visions of his naked form, yet she brushes them away, her smile quickly fading. “Too bad, you have to die.”

“Too bad,” he answers back, his eyes drinking her pleasing sight one last time before a final farewell. He takes a hasty mental photograph of the facility, planning his strategy carefully, memorizing every exit route and possible guarding point.   

“Well then, do we do this like in the American western films?” she taunts with a grin on her voice. “We count to four and draw? ”

He chuckles and shakes his head with amusement. 

“However you wish to die, babycakes.” 

“Alright then, on four,” she answers and turns to lean against the pillar with her back while cocking her gun, now switching to hold it between her hands while they are folded up, the barrel pointing to the ceiling. 

“One…”

Stripping his jacket off quickly and throwing it on the ground, August prepares himself for the assault. With his back shoved against the thick column, he holds the gun close to his chest and glances at her from the corner of his eye. One eyebrow crooks up as determination paints his chiselled face.

“Two…”

The sounds of shots being fired shudder through the hall and ring painfully in their ears. Too loud to be able to hear the expensive stone blasting and falling apart at the floor. There is a high-pitched hum buzzing in Ingvild's ear as she crouches down to defend herself. Her hearing becomes somewhat impaired from the loud blast, making it near impossible to hear his movement. 

He counts two shots from her weapon and sneaks on his knees to switch positions. Now hiding behind the doorless frame, which leads to another room. The lighting of the facility makes it difficult to see movement, and the gunshots have temporarily damaged their ears. He wants to praise her for selecting such a perfect location for a showdown, but he knows she won’t hear a damn thing if he will. 

Breathing slowly, Ingvild sticks her head out carefully, just enough to seek his location. A whiff of violent wind grazes her cheek as a shot is fired too close to her face. She crawls back to her hiding position, glancing at the bullet that is pierced through the wall. Quickly, she sneaks out from her hiding place and sprints as fast as possible to stand at the same row of columns that August previously occupied.

He spots her movement and empties his gun four times, trying to hit her before she makes it to a barricade.

“Fuck!” he yells, missing her on all four shots. Her slender limbs and small figure make her far too agile for long-range combat, and he already spent 5 bullets. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he quietly slides down the wall and disappears into the back room. His eyes quickly run through the next corridor, finding nothing but construction equipment, the scaffolding that holds the wall, and a half-exposed wooden floor that seems unstable as it creaks beneath his shoes. 

There is a disturbing silence coming from August’s frontier. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she attempts to sense his presence, trying to remember Liam’s training. Yet her heart pounds too fast in her chest making her forget everything she ever knew. She had endless successful terminations since she was 14, yet fighting August is like fighting Lucifer himself.

For the first time in her life, she feels doubt. 

Grabbing a rock that fell from one of the pillars, she throws it into the room, hoping the movement will fool him and evoke him to shoot yet there is no reaction from him, which makes her conclude he escaped to another room. 

Taking a deep breath and trying to keep silent, she presses against the wall, smoothly advancing toward what seems like a crooked door frame. Her hands reach inside first, her head turning back for a swift second to make sure he is not lurking behind in her dead-zone.  

She makes her way into an unfinished hallway of some sort, her eyes seeking for August in desperation, trying to determine movement, her feet nearly floating in the air as she hopes to remain unseen. The stern silence is needling and pricking her skin. 

The hunter is caught by her own trap.

Cold sweat covers her forehead, and a sharp intake of air is forced by her lungs as she feels his presence behind her. She attempts to turn and face him, but something hard hits her on the back of her head. Her knees lose the battle to the physical trauma, her gun falling from her shocked fingers as pain blooms through her head like an electric shock. 

Feeling triumphant for a split second, August seizes her by the neck with incredible force, eliciting a distressed scream from her lips. 

“Shush now, beautiful angel.” he coos at her and points the gun beneath her jaw. “You already died before, you know what awaits you.”

‘Nothing.’

August watches as she stares at him, helpless. Her big eyes reflect his face in cherry hues. She is drenched with fear, even her sweat is soaked with it. Darn. Doesn't it smell amazing, combined with her natural body odour. 

It’s an aphrodisiac, making him semi-hard, drawing him to smell it.

Ingvild scowls with shock as he nuzzles her neck, his moustache scratching at her skin. A terrifying chill flutters through her spine, adding to the harrowing sensation of death’s welcoming invitation. 

She is not accepting it yet, though. 

Her hands grab onto his and struggle to hold the gun away from her face. She claws her nails onto his fingers, leaving bloody trails across his fists.

The gun fires five more times, emptied into the ceiling until it runs dry, shooting desolated clicks again and again until August grunts with wrath. Still holding her neck, he shoves her toward the wall and slams himself against her back. The wooden floor creaks beneath them, its foundations starting to become unstable beneath their chaotic dance. 

“Why did you have to make this so fucking complicated?!” he barks at her, his hand lacing itself with her hair, pulling her head back against his chest. She can hear the stark sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath and watches as her eyes reflect on the sharp silver. 

“Why do you have to be such a fucking cunt?!”

August rasps at her, attempting to anchor the knife against her throat. Bracing a leg against the wall, she counters herself and pushes both of them back, also managing to knock the knife out of his hand and set herself free of his grasp.  

August’s shirt is stained with circles of sweat as she turns to face him; he is trying to catch his breath while glaring at her with blazing eyes. His infuriated gaze begins to travel lower, falling to the corner next to her and fixating on the floor. Bemused, she follows the direction in which his eyes are staring, finding her lost handgun resting on a pile of nylons. 

Their eyes meet together in a piercing glare, trying to read each other’s thoughts and calculate their next move. There is nothing between them but their loud breaths and the throbbing in their ears as their hearts pound heavily. 

Arrogant as ever, August is the first to make his move, lunging forward with ferocious speed. Infuriated, she moves to block him, her knee lifting high enough to kick his chest. Coughing violently he stumbles on his feet, his ankle thudding back through the rotten wooden flooring, causing the planks to fall through the basement level.

Ingvild stares horrified as the floor crumbles as if Hellmouth has opened in the ground. She attempts to step back, watching August fling his hands in the air as he loses his balance. His hand grasps the collar of her shirt, pulling both of them through the pit in the ground.

~*~

The air jolts from his lungs at once as his back hits the ground with incredible force and a twinge in his spine rips through his body, letting him know he is still alive. The sound of his own husky grunt is a plea in the darkness as his body remains stiff and immobilized. 

A sharp chill prickles his skin, moments of distilled fear are cold on his sweat. His mind begs to move yet his muscles ignore it.

Somewhere in the eclipse of the room, he hears Ingvild’s suffering grunts. Small movements catch his attention from the corner of his eyes. Attempting to find her, he slightly sticks his head up, watching her crawl on the floor with immense effort. Her black jeans are torn at the knees, blood and dust cake her chafed flesh. She coughs, holding one hand over her chest while the other supports her weight on the basement floor.

Scratches and blood stain her once porcelain face, her hair is a mess while her eyes are glossy from both the struggle to breathe and the burning hatred that boils within her. Dragging her limbs, she breathes so loudly every exhale comes out as a shrieking mutter. 

“You look so beautiful.” August mocks and chuckles in a rusty voice, his laughter melting into a pitiful cough. He manages to regain some of his motoric abilities, turning on one side, yet his body betrays him, every muscle screams with exhaustion as he attempts to get up. 

While watching August trying to get back on his knees, the bile rises in her throat. A spike of adrenaline shoots through her heart, and like a screeching cat, she lunges at him. Her hands push him back down on the dusty ground, securing his neck. She thrusts his head down and tightens her grip, strangling him while screaming with despair.  

She never hated anyone in her life as much as she hated him right now. 

August stares at her maddened face as she lies on top of him. Tiny wrinkles from between her brows as savage cries tear from her mouth. Her thumbs suppress his intake of air and force at his jugular. All the while, tears seam at her beautiful grey eyes, he can see his own reflection in the translucent glass. His lips are parted open, face turning purple. It almost feels like falling asleep. 

As his mind nearly drifts away, he thinks of Lacey. 

‘Was I the last thing on her mind?’

Aching as they are, his hands find their strength, reaching around Ingvild’s delicate throat. She hisses in disdain, trying to lift her upper body away from his reach yet he pulls her flat against him with all that remains in him.

Tiny spasms shock through her entire body as his lips crush against hers.

Her whimpers are divine, so gentle and delicate. He hums as if he is eating the most decadent desserts and devours every angelic sound her body produces. His hands are large and stark, restraining her head. Coarse fingers latch around her jaw, tethering her every movement while he dominates her mouth.

The scent of his own blood fills his nostrils as her claws paint his jawline threads of crimson, a pathetic attempt to resist him. Gory trails sear his skin, yet he is distracted by sugary-sweet lips. Capturing her, he suckles hungrily, flirting between the south and north of her maw while his thick moustache leaves the skin above her upper lip red and irritated. 

The devil’s kiss leaves her in daze, the touch of his lips made her heart beat to an irrational speed, fuming in her ears and between her thighs. 

It’s as if her nightmare came to being in order to haunt her, or perhaps the pit they fell through is hell itself. 

Fruitlessly she tries to pull away. Yet his grip is iron, her small breasts mash against his chest as he holds her and entangles their legs together. Somewhere amidst her impossible attempt to escape a dangerous throb awakens between her thighs.

‘No, I don’t want this.’

August’s sharp teeth nip at her succulent flesh, his tongue stubbornly fights to exhaust her defiance. Yet it’s not his mouth that tricks her into submission but a rogue gasp that rudely forces her mouth open as she feels him bumping his hips and grinding his rock-hard erection against her torso.

August smirks in vanity and exploits her disarray. Penetrating the hot velvet cavern of her mouth and groaning at the sweet cinnamon of her tongue. He licks and swallows every tender whimper while molten bliss dances through his tendons. 

Fear of death is replaced by a whole new strain of terror, making her squirm as August conquers her mouth. Ingvild’s mind whispers dark words, keenly reminding her that August Walker will not settle for just a kiss. The thought of his Adonis-like naked body pressed against hers sets a wild shiver in her arms. Horrified, she releases his neck and begins hitting his chest, exploiting the last drops of strength that still stream in her muscles. Her fist ploughs at him, seeking for that weakness until finally, his punishing mouth tears away from hers with guttural growl. 

Ingvild inhales sharply. Rage is hot and loud on her breath as she glances down on the man who violated her mouth. His unforgiving hands slide from her nape to her shoulders, caging her forcefully while his tongue flicks to clean himself from her taste provokingly.

A malicious smirks sparks his face as he watches her grey eyes turn into crimson. The sight of her mouth engorged and glistening from his abuse is enough to make his cock twitch with sheer anticipation. He wonders how hot and wet she is for him down below, how wonderful she will sound taking the entire length of his cock.

“I bet your cunt tastes even better.”

The blood seethes in her. Any coherent thought is lost, there is nothing but hatred as she bestows him a sharp smack across the face, causing him to turn his head aside from the force of her slap.

Iron caresses his tongue as he tips it at the small gash that formed in his lower lip.

‘Just like Lacey.’ 

He growls at her dangerously, his eyes narrowing and his grip tightening. He readies himself to hit her back but is stopped by delicate lips that smear blood across each corner of their mouths. 

Like an animal licking her prey, she drinks him. 

For a moment she feels weightless, floating feather-like, anchored by nothing but the gravity of his strong body beneath her. But the yearning to brutalize him grounds her back to reality. She bites and sucks, her fangs creasing small cuts at his chin and the apex of his lips before moving to torment his mouth which kisses back at her in a wet synergy. 

‘I knew it’d be fun to break her.’

August's hands travel south her spine, capturing her taut ass and squeezing it tightly. The heartless succubus tries greatly to be aggressive, yet he finds her kisses delicate as butterfly wings flapping on his flesh. The warm hums of her voice tickles his throat and her taste, a fear and lust mixed elixir. 

He could swear he has never been this hard in his entire life. 

Unrelenting desire flows through him, having had enough with letting her explore. He takes the reins and flips her down into submission. His tongue writhes into her mouth, snake-like and slippery while his hands ravage her body. He kneads and gropes, making sure to be as crude and ruthless. He hopes to hurt her every possible way. 

She wriggles beneath him, legs locked, entwined between his, her boots kicking the ground helplessly. Sharp talons tug at her shirt and her bra at once, huddling it up beneath her chin. Just enough to expose her perky breasts to feast upon. August breaks away from her lips, staring at her naked chest while his teeth chew at the gash in his bottom lip.

A rosy blush spreads down her naked torso, the cries that leave her mouth speak of just as much pain as they tell of pleasure. August’s fingers thread between her peaked nipples before reaching to kiss and nip at her breasts. Ingvild shakes beneath him, exclaiming small hisses as his teeth leave purple marks across her body. 

“Remember how I promised I’d fuck you, princess?” He asks darkly, a twisted fascination marking his face as his finger traces the stitches on the wound he gave her. 

“I wish you’d die.” she bites back with loathing to which he replies with a cold smirk.

“You can’t even get that right, little girl.”

Snarling like a possessed thing, she finds herself clawing at him. Berserk, mind twisted, sick with desperation, her hands seek through the shadows, nails ripping and yanking at fabric and skin, shredding at whatever she can find until his battered body is exposed to her.

August huffs at her, his nostrils flaring. The small vixen beneath him awakens his every primal instinct; he wants to gnaw at her bones, to reduce her to nothing as he fucks her through her tears. 

The violent scuffle to remove her jeans takes seconds. Sturdy fingers tug at both her undergarments and her trousers, pulling them down the bones of her hips in sheer brutality while she snakes her hips and kicks her feet. Exposed to the chill of the room and to August’s darkest needs. 

Alarm spikes in her chest, beating with anxiety as his hand runs smoothly up and down her creamy limbs. Her legs shut together instinctively yet the beast shoves his knees between her thighs, starved to enter the warmth of her body. He fumbles with his belt, and the noise of the buckle clicking makes her jostle with fright. She attempts to catch that whimper before it leaves her mouth yet fails. August sneers, pulling out his large erect cock and letting the base grind against the wetness of her slit.

One hand cradles her skull, his thumb pressing against her lips, holding her head in place. The horror feeds him, stupendous panic, making her shiver beneath his large body. 

The frozen girl who never feared death is afraid of him.

Feasting on her sight, he reaches his fingers to his mouth, letting his slippery tongue flake the tips. His thick saliva coats them before he sends his hand down to lubricate her inviting slit.

Ingvild’s breath suspends as scenes of her nightmare come to life. August hovers above her like a great incubus, and she muses if this is all but a dream, yet the brush of his wet fingers between her petals proves to be the only thing that feels real in her existence. There is a pulsating void in her chest and between her thighs, aching at his touch.

“Fuck.” he calls out ecstatic as the tip of his fingers finds her sleek and hot. Unable to wait anymore, he immediately grips at his cock and positions himself in her narrow slit. ”You’re soaked, you want this.”

Frozen in time, her breath takes away as the hard velvet of his manhood breaches her entrance, desecrating her with sin. His invasion into her body is brutal, ripping through her fresh core, while chanting moans of the most divine pleasure.

Every sensation becomes vivid inside her as he is buried in her depth, the astonishing, overwhelmingly tight grip around him, the nails that bite into his biceps, the small body that shudders unstoppably. 

It almost feels as if he just broke something inside her.

“Oh…”

Realization seeps into his mind as she remains still but for the twitch in her muscles. Frowning bemused, he tilts his head down, noticing the quiver in her lip and the wetness beneath her glassy eyes. Ingvild watches silently, white with shame as August reaches his fingers to the space where they’re connected and returns them stained in crimson.

“Huh,” he exclaims, playing with the blood between his fingers before landing his palm next to her head. Sick pride poisons his beautiful blue eyes, his tarred heart singing of great victories. He didn’t think it was possible to be even more aroused, having wanted her for so long, but the fact that he just stole something from her that she will never gain back drives the degenerate feral animal inside him wild.

“Did I just pop your cherry, princess?”

Ingvild answers with silence, ignoring the arrogance that beams on his face and the searing pain inside her. She feels the warmth of her blood and the righteousness of her walls trying to defend her lost honour while his manhood throbs inside her with excitement.  

Ever so slowly, he pulls out, his mouth ghosts over hers, aphrodisia coursing through his veins, fueled by the despaired gasp that leaves her mouth. 

“Aww…” he coos at her yips and cries with false sweetness, his hand snapping at her inner thigh, handling it against his hip to force another punishing thrust. Pain surges through her cervix as he hits too deep. His low groans are languished, guttural melodies of pleasure.

“You feel so good, princess.”

Unwilling to succumb to his cruelty, she growls in anger. As he pulls back for the third time, she pushes hard to meet his thrust, taking his thick cock all the way into her chasm. Still raw, her muscles scream with protest yet she grits her teeth and smiles twistedly, unwilling to let him triumph over her. 

August closes his eyes with delight, an onslaught of curses spilling from his lips at the sensation of her succulent walls engulfing him with woven warmth. He couldn’t be gentle with her even if he wanted to. His entire existence calls to shred her, to see her lips parting to small pathetic sobs of pain and pleasure as he conquers her. 

Pain still spasms in her core as he drives into her in a lewd manner, yet the odd sensation of fullness achieved with the reach of his cock to the pit of her cervix evokes a new pleasant tingle in her essence. Like a gentle chord it vibrates, playing the sweetest music and blooming within. 

Every time he pulls away, she suddenly grows desperate for his return. 

‘More please, more.’

Deep whimpers and laboured groans fill the empty spaces between the shadows, creating a violent harmony as August fucks into her in a wild, primal rhythm, ending every thrust with a slam which makes her arch against him and tear his skin with her nails. 

They can feel themselves pulsating in rage against one another, flesh slapping into flesh, blood and fluids, hot, savage like animals, reduced to nothing but their carnal lust. Their bodies move in unison, lips and tongues collide, teeth nipping at each other. 

“You like that?” August rasps, his voice cracking into groans as he continues to pump in and out mercilessly, feeling her walls growing tighter, milking his cock in demand to drain him from his generous offering. 

A hazed memory of a long time ago brushes through his mind. There’s a familiar sensation to this, surging through his ribcage, a desire to unload all his anger and hatred into someone else, to be baptized by her essence. It makes him fuck her harder, mistaking the thought that he could experience the slightest moments of redemption. 

‘She doesn’t feel like that ungrateful bitch, nothing about her does.’

Ingvild bites her lip tightly, withholding from crying his name. There is a wholeness in her she never felt before. Tears well in her eyes, loving and hating the way his body fits inside her, making every sensation she ever felt in her life become insignificant. All that matters is his lips, heart, and cock as it sinks into her in an unstoppable pace until the colours and tunes dance in her heart, and a burst of white flames explode within her.

For the first time in her life, she comes around something, feeling complete. 

‘She looks beautiful when she comes.’

“I’m going to come inside that virgin pussy of yours.” 

August gasps a threat as he rocks above her, astonished by the sight of ecstasy on her face. His balls clench against the seam of her cunt, and his cocks swell between her clutching muscles. Spiralling out of control his fingers snap at her feeble throat, choking tightly as he’s thrown beyond rapture. Ignoring her desperate fight for air, his orgasm takes him by force. He moans deeply and spills his seed into her virginal womb.

Sobbing gasps leave her mouth as he strangles her. Tears roll from the corners of her eyes, falling down to her dusty hair in the dim light. Too meek to fight him off, she watches as his stare turns black, lost in some trance.

‘What are you doing to the girl, August?’ 

As if waking up from a dream, he snaps back and gazes down on her, surprised by the vulnerability and fright in her grey eyes as his hand holds her down. 

‘End this.’ 

He frowns at himself, nearly frustrated, his hands releasing her slowly, backing away in the air, allowing her to breathe once again. 

‘You fucking idiot.’

August watches her heave, sobbing beneath him silently. Her skin trembles beneath his heavy body. Shock and grief storm in her eyes at her lost innocence. As his knuckle grazes her cheek, she suddenly flinches and looks at him oddly. 

The blue ocean in his glance shows no emotion, yet he croons at her and comforts her with the soft hush of his lips. His coarse thumb dries her tears, wiping them away and stroking her hair to cease her from shaking. 

“Shhh… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

His touch is tender, almost relaxing. But the more she stares at him, the more chaos charges in her chest, making her want to scratch her own eyes in anguish. Pushing him away, she forces him off, guilt-ridden and ashamed. She tugs her shirt back down and fumbles for her pants desperately. A pink mixture trickles down her inner thigh as she pulls her jeans up.

Her blood, his semen.

His cock is coated by her innocence as well, tainted by a thin layer of blood. He chuckles to himself, coldly while sitting up and holding himself from making a humiliating joke about it while she moves around between shadow and twilight. 

Unaware of what to say or do, he pulls his trousers back up and stands on his feet, trying to find his remaining piece of clothing before deciding what to do with her.

The sharp sound of a gun’s barrel being stretched pauses his musings before they even begin to take shape. His glare lifts up slowly to meet hers. There she stands, the untrustworthy whore, her gun gripped between her hands. A distressed look on her tortured bleeding face.  

‘Just like the rest of them.’ 

Her lips tremble as she speaks, her brow rising up as if out of mercy. 

“I have to kill you.” 

A burst of light flashes in the room, making her grey eyes shine so bright they glisten like stars in the darkest skies.

It’s the last thing he sees before his world goes black. 

_____________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise and/or August Walker

[charlthotte]

Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 9

Before I entered my house, I tried to curtail my emotions - expecting to see my mother's condescending expression at soon as I stepped past the threshold. And even though her shift at work had finished for the day, of course she wasn't home. The house was empty, just like always. That sight morphed my mood into one of a much lower level, I wasn't always on the best terms with her; but her being there just hinted that she cared in the littlest sense of the word. But obviously, she never was.

Since I was alone, I decided to make something simple for tea, seeing as though it was a meal for one. With a swift click, I set a pan of water to boil and began chopping some vegetables. After they were all diced to the measurement of my liking, piece by piece they were plopped into the pan. Whilst waiting for them to boil, I seemingly zoned out for the rest of the meal preparation. Everything was cooked perfectly but my mind wasn't present during the process. I fixed myself a glass of water and then sat down to indulge in the comestibles I had prepared. It tasted just fine, nothing more - after all, meals enjoyed in the company of yourself were always just the bit bland.

As I was washing up my plate and silverware, a loud ring echoed from the doorbell letting me know that someone was waiting behind the door. I half expected it to be some kind of delivery, yet it wasn't that at all. While unlocking the door, a hound of some sort howled from behind it. However, there wasn't just the hound standing there. Beside it stood the snowy mountain himself, holding a lead connected to the same beagle I had seen the day before. The reason as to why they stood there wasn't blatantly obvious. Perhaps there was no meaning to him standing there.

In a rare occurrence of events - Aone was the one to start a conversation, "Do you want to come with me?" He asked me, with his eyes dead-bolted onto the floor - almost as if he felt embarrassed.

"Yeah I'd love to, but I'll have to leave my parents a note." It sure was an unexpected situation, but it was rather uplifting to see someone at my house. I quickly shuffled over to a notepad and jotted my explanation down.

'I'm out on a walk, I'll be back soon. -(Y/N)'

After slipping a jacket over my shoulders, I laced my shoes up - and I was then ready to leave the house. "Do you have any idea of where we're going?" I inquired. Aone nodded, so I trusted him and followed his lead. His dog was a lively little creature - who was also very... talkative. From looking at its collar, I realised that his name was Shiro. He seemed to have no problem with me, but every other moving object that contained life - he would howl endlessly at. At least until Aone tugged on the lead, and after that he'd immediately quiet down.

Minutes passed as I followed Aone down a route I had never set foot upon before, that path was much more endowed with nature than any other street I had seen - with buildings few and far between. Compared to the rest of the town, it seemed like a different place entirely, even though the sun was shining radiantly through the gaps in the clouds, I saw but one person on the same path as us. We walked for a little longer, only for Aone to turn down a much narrower and dingy path that was hardly noticeable to the unassuming eye. It didn't take long to walk down, but after we exited that pathway - it was like a whole new world had been thrust into our grasp.

An abundance of fully-bloomed sakura trees outlined the clearing, completely blocking out this haven from the rest of the world. Several stone pathways swirled around in the grass, each one of them leading to eclectic little 'attractions' of some sort. From my point of view, there was an elegant marble fountain near the left of the clearing. Right in the centre was a pavilion surrounded by a pristine moat and stream, it trickled around the whole vicinity; its waters clearer than air. It almost seemed to glisten under the sunlight, making the most comforting trickling sound I had ever heard. Even though the clearing was moderately sized, there wasn't another human there besides Aone and myself. However, there were countless birds and small animals roaming and soaring around. People had obviously been there before, but somehow it felt as if we were the first people to discover it.

Aone unclipped Shiro's lead, letting him run around freely - and he did just that, he zoomed in and around the trees taking not even a second to let anything distract him. Truly relishing the freedom that place brought him. Aone seemed that way too, his eyes wandered around, taking in the scenery - his expression seeming somehow blissful. We then made our way over to the pavilion, strolling next to the stream the entire way. Inside of it there was just a single wooden bench, overlooking the rest of the clearing - the paragon of serenity.

"How do you know about this place?" I asked. 

"I don't know." He replied, his resonant tones weaving through the atmosphere. He must have been there before, recently or an age ago, both time frames were plausible. Either way, a place like this must have some importance to him.

"Thanks for bringing me here, Aone. It's just gorgeous." I divulged. Out of the corner of my eye, I observed him nodding his head. There wasn't much need for conversation in a place like this.

Abruptly, four scampering paws hurtled into the pavilion, Shiro was slightly panting from his sprinting, so he jumped up onto the bench to join us - leaning his head on my lap. As I ran my fingers across his sumptuously silky fur, his eyes gradually closed - letting him fall into a state of slumber. It almost looked like he was carrying a smile upon his face. He appeared so peaceful and nonchalant.

I soon clocked Aone gazing at Shiro too, his eyes shining with adoration for the small creature. From what I had seen, Aone always seemed the happiest in the presence of his dog. Friendships with animals were always enthralling to me, two living things from different species and walks of life forming a great connection with each other, but without understanding anything the other one spoke. Perhaps that was why Aone loved Shiro to the extent that he did, they couldn't literally understand each other, but somehow - deep down somewhere - they could.

I'm sure we sat there for nearly an hour - enjoying each other's company to the fullest, side by side in silence. The hue of the sky darkened as many sakura petals gently cascaded all around us. I was positive we would have stayed there forever if we could, had it not been for the rather urgent text I received from my mother.

-

'(Y/N), why aren't you home? Come back here right now.'

"Sorry, Mum. I'll be right back.'

-

As always, she was right there to ruin the perfect scenario. Quickly informing Aone of my mother's command, I made sure to walk at an elevated pace for the entire journey home. Aone stayed beside me the whole time; Shiro happily trotting beside us, seemingly more exhausted than the first half of our journey.

After arriving at my house, I apologised to Aone about the inconvenience I had caused him once again. I spoke a solemn farewell to him and Shiro before hesitantly unlocking the door, only to be greeted by my mother's unimpressed face.

"Why weren't you at home, (Y/N)?" Her arms folded tightly over her chest as she leered over the brim of her spectacles.

"I've just been out on a walk, I did leave you a note."

"And that note simply didn't suffice," She spat, "There was no apology about your absence nor where you were going on your walk. You didn't even ask my permission to leave."

"I'm sorry, I won't do it again." I hopelessly sighed.

"I'm sorry isn't enough, (Y/N). You should know that - now go upstairs, you've disappointed me too much."

Tired of all the condescension spouting from her mouth, I dragged my feet up the staircase and towards my bed, just to flop straight onto it. Hardly half a hour ago, my word felt serendipitous and ethereal, now it had all come crashing down into a brick wall. At that point, I didn't feel like moving from my current position. The orc that was my mother had sucked all the passion and drive straight from my system. Who knew how long I laid there, but the sky morphed into its nightly pallor. A faint knock tapped against my door.

"Come in." I sighed monotonously.

My father crept into my room, careful not to let his footsteps make a single murmur, he whispered - his voice nearly inaudible, "You feeling any better, (Y/N)?" I shook my head, hardly having the energy to make a sound. He continued to converse, "Was your walk okay at least?" I nodded, my memory of the clearing spindling itself into my head. I must have smiled a little, as my father did seem to pick up on something, "Let me guess, you were with that Aone guy?" I don't know how he correlated what he saw as my faint happiness to him, but he was very correct. I didn't react to his question that time, however he still must have clocked onto something I did, "I'll take that as a yes, goodnight (Y/N)."

---

For the next ten days, I continued to go out on walks to the clearing with Aone and Shiro, somehow growing even closer without the need for frivolous amounts of conversation. One aspect of those then days that could be described a frivolous was the amount of teasing I had to endure from Futakuchi - in lessons and during practice no less. It was surprising that I hadn't snapped at him yet.

During practice, I helped out a lot more - the team did seem to need it, due to their upcoming match against a powerhouse school. Somehow, their blocks improved in my eyes - adding a few extra inches onto that iron wall of theirs. Their overall power level somehow grew within those few days.

Hiroko and Rea hung around with me a lot during lunch, and Hiroko never curtailed her craziness for a nano-second. I thought  I might had grown slightly accustomed to her antics. Rea, however, I could talk to in a 'normal' way, we seemed to get along by chatting about the dreary aspects of life. After all, all Rea ever did was complain about the things she didn't like.

Day by day, the excitement about our upcoming match in Tokyo riled up inside of me even further, and at that point... It was only four days away...

[imjeralee]

Wallflower: Chapter 9 - You are Challenged by Pokemaniac Glenn!

Raihan x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Note: This is my first Pokemon fanfic. I hope you enjoy it :) Originally posted on Archive of Our Own.

Summary: You’re an unassuming Pokemon breeder who works at the nursery in the Wild Area and he’s Raihan, the fearsome gym leader of Hammerlocke who has more than a million followers. You don’t want anything to do with him but he’s…persistent.

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Lemon, smut, violence, language

YOU ARE CHALLENGED BY POKEMANIAC GLENN!

...

...

After the video call, you quickly call your mum to tell her the news: Glenn is in the Glimwood Tangle and a Shiinotic has him. Somehow, Glenn is under it's influence and Rotom's dex feature informs you that people tend to get lost in woods due to Shiinotic's lights which confuse them and divert them from their paths. You ponder what the Shiinotic wants from your brother in the first instance. With Raihan by your side, you tell him about Glenn’s Pokemon just so he’s aware - and you're so glad to have him as moral support as he takes your hand and leads you over to the group in front of the entrance to the woods - the locals have dispersed now - and Leon is first to greet the two of you.

"Raihan? What are you doing here?" He asks. Oh gosh, the Champion of Galar is just standing mere inches from you. He's not as tall as Raihan but he's a lot bulkier, with those thick, strong arms and sturdy chest.

"Hey Leon, I'm here with my girlfriend." Raihan casually introduces you to the group and you grow nervous as all eyes settle on you, your heart thudding a little louder than usual. "Her brother's lost in the woods and I'm gonna go with her to get him back. You guys don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all." Leon replies; he turns and smiles warmly at you, brimming with unwavering confidence, and you freeze up on the spot altogether. "Nice to meet you, I'm Leon. This is Sonia, Opal and Allister." Leon politely introduces you to the others and you end up awkwardly muttering out a feeble 'nice to meet you' to everyone except Opal, since you already know each other. Allister offers you a small, shy wave and Sonia smiles cheerily at you. Leon adds, "You've heard about the mysterious white light in the woods, right?"

You shake your head; you wonder if this was what Opal was investigating the other day.

"It's appeared in various areas of the forest. The locals think it's a hurt Pokemon who need help." Sonia says; she's a pretty young woman with flawless skin and long lashes. A Yamper stands beside her, looking eagerly at your group and wagging its small tail. "The woods are very large so we're going to split into two groups to cover more ground - I'll go with Opal and Leon will go with Allister."

Whilst you wonder if it'll be a good idea for Opal to go into the woods, Raihan says, "Sure, and if we find anything along the way, we'll let you know." He grins as he squeezes your hand tightly.

With a somewhat vague plan in place, you're rather stunned to see everyone entering the woods without much further ado and they begin to split up - Sonia and Opal take the route to the left, Leon and Allister go to the right which leaves yourself and Raihan with the middle route. Even though you've been in these woods before many times... somehow it's far more foreboding than usual and you stare into the darkness with dread in your gut.

"Let's go." Raihan says, tugging on your hand gently, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Okay." You're far more at ease knowing Raihan is with you. You're about to take one step forwards until you hear a familiar trill and turn round to see Phantump hovering down the path. It stops before you both, staring up at you with his big, wide eyes and you squat down to his level. "Phantump? What are you doing here?"

He makes a loud noise and circles you wildly, then gestures to the wood with one stubby arm.

"I think he wants to come with us." Raihan mutters, grinning.

He nods and you tilt your head in befuddlement. "It's not safe, Phantump. You should stay at home." But Phantump shakes his head and circles yourself and Raihan again and again, stopping to gesture to the woods before he clutches onto your arm. "Oh, alright." You say, whilst Raihan chuckles. Phantump seems adamant in coming with you despite your fair warning. Phantump is on edge and you're not sure why.

Without further ado, you enter. Inside, you both yell out for Glenn in hopes that you'll receive some form of response but to your dismay, you don't have much luck and your group wanders further and further in; you don't see any trainers down the path and you don't see any of the gym leaders, Sonia or Leon for all that mattered. It's just you, Raihan and Phantump; you're beginning to feel bad that you've dragged Raihan into this - does he need to return to Hammerlocke soon? Does he have better stuff to do? You stop at once and when he notices you're not walking beside him, he pauses and turns to you.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry." You croak out, "If you're busy, I totally understand and - "

Before you can finish your sentence, he reaches for your hand and squeezes it firmly. "C'mon, let's find your brother."

You stare at him as he ruffles your hair playfully, then nod. "Okay."

Your group continues, coming to a gradual stop when you spot two familiar figures up ahead, bumbling around in the darkness. It appears they are seemingly running away. Squinting your eyes, you're able to make out that it's your brother's Kricketune and Lickilicky and both are running around frantically. Whilst you wonder where Sugarplum the Galarian Ponyta could be, Kricketune and Licky are not alone; behind them is another figure - it's a tall, slender young man wearing all black attire - long black trenchcoat, t-shirt and boots. He's blond with blue eyes and fair skin and it looks like he's trying to capture your brother's pokemon.

"Stop!" You yell as you rush over without a second thought, and Raihan and Phantump follow you closely behind. "You can't capture those pokemon!"

The young man pauses, ultra ball poised in hand. "Huh?" He grunts audibly; spotting the dragon tamer beside you, he raises a brow next. "Raihan?"

Once Raihan stops by your side, he greets him casually, much to your surprise. "Hey, Eli."

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same." Raihan replies with a cool smile.

"Who's this?" The young man known as Eli gestures to you as you stand protectively in front of Kricketune and Lickilicky; they look relieved and hurriedly take cover behind your back, shaking.

On cue, Raihan slips an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "My girlfriend. We're looking for her brother."

"I thought you were with Alicia?"

As you bristle all over, Raihan says, "Why does everyone think that?"

"Never mind." Eli mutters, before he inspects you closely, "Wait. I've seen you before; you're that girl who works in the Wild Area. I didn't realise the old bag hired someone." He points out when he studies your face carefully, yet you're certain you've never seen him before. "Hmph. Well, whatever. I thought it was weird to see a wild Lickilicky and Kricketune all the way out here. What kind of reckless trainer allows their pokemon to roam around like that?"

"Chill, they're her brother's pokemon."

"Why are you talking for her? Can't she speak for herself?"

Your brows furrow at once. What's his deal? Before you can say anything, Raihan is quick to reply, "Don't talk to her like that. Besides, she doesn't need to speak to you." He says with a smirk; he didn't raise his voice in any way but it's enough to make Eli frown and cross his arms, visibly annoyed.

You're glad that Raihan has stuck up for you but you don't really want any unnecessary hostility or arguments here, so you croak out, "It's, um, nice to meet you."

Eli merely raises a brow again, unimpressed.

You're unsure if there's any point in telling this guy any details. Therefore, you turn to the pokemon instead. "Are you guys alright?" You ask and they nod; Kricketune lets out a sad whistle and click from its mandibles and Lickilicky throws it's morose gaze to the ground. Both look pretty exhausted and they're covered all over in dirt and grime. "It's okay, we'll find Glenn soon, I promise." Turning to Eli, you suppose it won't hurt to ask if he'd seen Glenn and you begin to describe your brother's appearance to him.

He gazes at you with half-lidded eyes in response. "Maybe I've seen him, maybe not. Who knows."

Urgh, this guy is no help at all...and rude.

"I'll see you later." Eli adds, and you know he's talking to Raihan, not you - unsurprisingly, he stalks past you without sparing a second glance. He disappears into the woods, swept up by the darkness.

It grows silent as you hear his footsteps echoing away and you and Raihan exchange glances. "What a charming guy." You mutter, rolling your eyes.

"He's like that." Raihan replies, dropping the smirk to coo at you affectionately, "Did he scare you?"

"No."

He brings you into a hug, squeezing the air out of you whilst stroking the top of your head, one arm clamped firmly around your waist and the other cradling the back of your head. "He's not good with people."

"I'll say."

"Don't take it personal. I'm sorry he spoke to you like that."

"Don't apologise, he's a complete and utter twat. Who is he exactly and how do you know him?"

"Eli works for Macro Cosmos; he's pretty close to Chairman Rose. He was meant to become Hammerlocke gym leader."

Your eyes bulge at once. "No way."

"It's true."

"Well, I'm glad Chairman Rose chose you instead. That guy has no respect for anyone." You reply, and before you know it, Raihan begins to pepper you with kisses and nuzzle the side of your head. You're left chuckling in response to his bout of affection before you wrap your arms around him in return and after a brief kiss and cuddle, he releases you. You did sense some bad blood between them, but you reckon Raihan will indulge more at another time. You've got more important tasks here - you must find Glenn - but now you have Lickilicky and Kricketune and your little party has grown bigger. You smile at them reassuringly as Phantump moves to rest on top of Lickilicky's head. "Guys, do you know where Glenn is?"

They both nod and begin venturing down the path; you inwardly breathe a sigh of relief and follow them. Finally, some good news! Further down and you're at a forked road - there's paths spiralling to the left and right. Unfortunately, Kricketune goes to the left and Licky goes to the right; you quickly haul them back. "Guys!" You exclaim, "Guys, I need you to really focus here." They look at you with their beady eyes and this time, Kricketune goes to the right and Licky goes to the left. Whilst you smack a hand over your forehead with a sigh, Raihan chuckles under his breath.

"What do you propose we do?" He utters, delving his hands into his pockets.

"I dunno, I - Eep!" You leap in the air with a shriek and cling onto Raihan as soon as you feel a tug on your elbow from behind, turning round only to see that it is the Stow-on-side gym leader, looking up at you behind his mask. You didn't even hear him approach at all! "Allister?!" You exclaim.

The boy throws his glance to the ground. "....Sorry...didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay."

Raihan glances around but there's no sign of the Champion. "What are you doing here on your own? Where's Leon?"

"....We got separated. Sorry....Can I...can I come with you?" His voice is so soft you strain to hear him.

"Of course!"

"....Thanks...."

And your party has grown even bigger. With Allister, your group decides to head down the left path. Now you possibly may have to find Leon too. With no Glenn or Sugarplum the Ponyta in sight, you don't feel too positive and the path becomes more and more worn out and divides into various, smaller paths that are so dark, you're wondering where exactly you are because you have never wandered so far into the Glimwood Tangle like this but suddenly Phantump leaves his spot on your shoulder and begins to float off on his own, specifically heading to a path where a worn out wooden sign is slathered with the words 'NO ENTRY' in faded white paint.

"Phantump! Where are you going?" You try to grab him back but he evades you and continues to float away. "Phantump, come back!"

"Let him." Allister says quietly, "He's found something. Or someone...."

Eyes wide, your group hastily trail after your ghost pokemon. It's hard to keep track of Phantump because it's so dark and you have to either keep ducking away from the low-hanging branches of the trees or push them away from your path. Phantump leads you deeper and deeper into the woods and eventually, he stops. He's stopped at a clearing that's full of overturned, rotting tree trunks. There's a large bog in the middle and the air is musty and old. Phantump glances around before he hovers over to one of the fallen trees and there's a small, raised bump in the ground which is uneven and mossy. Then he turns to you, trilling loudly.

"What is it?" You step forwards with Allister by your side and you both squat down. Raihan crosses his arms as he stands behind you. "What's wrong?"

Phantump makes a sad, warbling noise and you look around yourself. You can't imagine anyone passing here. It's far away from the main path and the encroaching darkness and huge, foreboding trees along with the 'no entry' sign are huge turn offs for most passerbys. It's decayed and there's mould everywhere. The bog smells foul, too. There's overgrown moss and fauna over the area but everything looks...dead. It's then you spot some strange twigs sticking upright out of the earth near the bog. You cock your head to the side and Allister tugs at your sleeve.

"...Look." He points to the sticks which disappear under the bog and the two of you glance over where you see a strange shape in the dirty water...as you attempt to make out what it is exactly, it's then you see...

...a row of teeth?

You immediately stand up in fright, slapping a hand over your mouth.

It's a body.

Phantump trills sadly and hovers over the surface of the water, closing his eyes and crying loudly. It's a sad sound, eerie and haunting.

"What's wrong?" Raihan utters; you watch your Pokemon blankly until you hold your arms out and he floats towards you. You bring him into your embrace and he's so small and tiny in your arms; you clutch him tightly as he cries. Phantump hasn't cried in your presence before. Raihan moves to stand beside you and you both take turns holding him.

"....It's his." Allister mutters.

Your eyes widen the second time. You recall that Rotom once told you Phantump were the spirits of children who had become lost in the woods. As that knowledge surfaces in your mind, you find yourself unmoving; you're numb with shock and horror. You have no words for this. What was meant to be a mere search and rescue mission has spiralled out of control. You were only meant to find Glenn, goddamnit. What the hell is going on here exactly? Holding him close to you, Phantump cries loudly; it takes a while for him to stop and when he does, you sit him down on a log with Allister whilst you and Raihan discuss.

"We'll need to call the police." Raihan mutters, holding out his phone and he's not surprised that he's barely able to get a signal here.

"We can't just leave; Phantump needs us."

"I can stay with him...." Allister mutters quietly from the side, "...And you can go look for your brother. Don't worry, I know my way back. I'll be okay."

"No way; we're not leaving anyone behind."

Allister blinks behind his mask whilst Phantump floats off the log and moves to perch on your shoulder. He turns to you, trilling again. Allister murmurs out, "....Phantump says he's fine now and that we should go. Go find your brother."

"Are you sure, Phantump?" You ask; when Phantump nods, you sigh gently under your breath. "...Alright."

You make a mental note to find Phantump's family, if possible.

...

The search continues. It's possibly been an hour now, maybe more. You still haven't crossed paths with Sonia, Opal or Leon and you're beginning to wonder if you'll be able to find Glenn at all until Raihan suddenly stops in his tracks.

"I heard something." He mutters, and everyone falls silent and you're not sure what you're listening for until -

"Zzrt...help..."

"It's coming from over there." Raihan offers you his hand and he leads you towards the source; soon, you find yourself in a familiar area with rows and rows of neon green mushrooms. To the far left, you spot Glenn's dirty, mangled phone which is wedged between some undergrowth. You rush over, picking it up and turning round to see a struggling Rotom who is fizzing weakly.

"Help...bzzt..."

"It's okay, we got you." Raihan carefully hands you him.

"Poor thing." You mutter as Rotom struggles; you wonder if this means that Glenn is close. You gingerly place him into your bag and -

"Hey, sis."

Turning round, you see a familiar figure steps towards your group. Indeed, it's your brother; he's wearing the same clothes when he left your home prior the weekend, indicating your hunch was correct. Usually, he looks healthy and he's always smiling. Now, his eyes are tired and his complexion is pallid. Beside him, a Shiinotic latches onto his hand. It's possibly draining his life force and things will become even worse if you don't get your brother out of it's clutches soon.

"Glenn!" You cry out with relief. "You're okay! Let's go home."

"I'm surprised you made it this far." Glenn mutters in a zombie-trance. "I'm afraid I can't go with you. I'm going to stay here forever."

"Glenn, snap out of it!" You yell, before you turn to the Shiinotic, "He can't stay in the woods with you! Let him go! Let my brother go, please!"

"I'm not leaving." Glenn drawls again. "He will be our protector. We can't let this one go. He is our chosen one."

"Look, we found Rotom!" You scoop his phone out and hold Rotom up; poor Rotom is weak and tired, his eyes closed as he buzzes limply.

Glenn's left eye twitches in response but it's not enough. The Shiinotic's filaments begin to grow and stretch further up his arm, up to his elbow. Your brother lets out a miserable groan and uses his other hand to clamp his fingers over his face, grunting. However, he's quick to recover as the Shiinotic stares at you unrelentingly; Glenn grabs a pokeball behind his belt and holds it up, "I challenge you to a battle and if I win, you'll leave us alone and never come back."

You stiffen all over; you were really hoping it wouldn't come down to this. Shit, a Pokemon battle with Glenn? You aren't exactly prepared for it... However, it looks like you have no choice - turning to Raihan and Allister, you give them a nod. "Don't worry, I'll handle this." You assure them, although deep inside and you're terrified. You've not battled Glenn for a long time and for a good reason. You feel Raihan might protest to this challenge so you add, "It has to be me."

"Be careful," Raihan says, "You got this; I know you do."

You smile weakly at him as they move away to give you some space for the battle. Shiinotic leads Glenn to the right and you go to the left - you make sure there's enough room between you two before you grab a pokeball out your bag. Swallowing down, you both release your pokemon at the same time. "Go, Garchomp!"

"Go, Umbreon."

You pale at once as the moonlight pokemon emerges in a burst of red light and lands on the ground in front of your brother, facing off against your pokemon. There's no time to waste; you issue a command immediately: "Garchomp, Swords Dance!"

"Wish." Glenn commands.

You watch as Umbreon leaps into the air and curls into a ball and a tawny yellow glow emits from this body. Uh-oh. You know what this means; you better beat his Umbreon fast. "Dragon Tail!" You yell, and Garchomp acknowledges your command and begins his assault, however -

"Substitute." Your brother utters, and Umbreon immediately vanishes and is replaced with a little pokedoll on the ground that takes the brunt of the attack. Your Garchomp stays on high guard until the Umbreon reappears. "Toxic." Glenn adds, and Umbreon opens its mouth and unleashes a foul, purple liquid that begins to seep into your pokemon before he can evade and you're all too aware that he's been badly poisoned.

"Damn." You growl under your breath; you try not to dwell on the fact that you have an audience which spikes up your anxiety levels. You're determined not to mess up but it's difficult when you're aware that people are watching, especially Raihan. He's so important to you - you can't let him see you mess up or lose, not here, not now.

However, you know they realise that Glenn's Umbreon has been trained in the same manner much like your own pokemon because it is so agile and its moveset is unique. Hell, Umbreon has no physical attacking moves at all. It only knows how to stall, wear out and annoy its opponents.

Glenn's not an entire goofball as he appears to be at all. Nope, he pretty much knows what he's doing and destroyed you every time you battled. He took training to a whole new level. Not only did he EV train his pokemon to the max, but they've also been bred to perfection with the right nature and meticulously selected by their IVs. Although you knew this, you were happy with your Beldum and Gible. You didn't mind what nature or IV spread they had. It didn't matter. Growing up with Glenn meant you also know his pokemon since they were babies - well, some of them. You know Umbreon, for example - she's Espie's sister.

You wonder if things probably wouldn't be so bad if you had an Antidote or a Full Restore at hand too but you don't have any and don't have the time for it - Garchomp hasn't even landed a hit and he's already incapacitated. Your Garchomp roars wildly as the poison starts to spread, his condition worsening as the minutes tick by.

"Outrage!" You command next and Garchomp slashes at Umbreon - again, with Substitute in play, your pokemon slashes into the wretched doll and he flinches as the poison sends severe pain shooting through his body. You command one more attack until finally, Umbreon reappears as Garchomp continues his rampage.

"Protect." Glenn utters, and Umbreon's eyes glow as a large barrier surrounds it. Your Garchomp's attack shatters the shield but Umbreon is unharmed. It protected itself from one attack but your Garchomp is quick on the offensive - your pokemon aims another well-timed slash; your Garchomp's attack lands and Umbreon takes a huge beating but to your dismay, it's still standing.

You watch as Garchomp finally stops and you're left with a confused, poisoned pokemon. Umbreon's Wish is granted and you grit your teeth as Glenn's pokemon is almost fully restored whilst your Garchomp flails around helplessly until a little light sparkles and your pokemon stops writhing. Glenn suddenly recalls Umbreon even though your pokemon has recovered from its confusion thanks to the Persim berry you gave it to hold (and never used, until now).

"Go." Glenn tosses another ball into the field and a tiny pokemon that resembles a dirty and old, stuffed Pikachu doll appears. Oh shit, it's Mimikyu. You are so screwed. "Play Rough." Glenn says quickly, and before you know it, a slither of black sweeps out from the bottom of it's rag body and smashes into your Garchomp. It's so powerful your pokemon is knocked out in one swipe.

You stare, eyes wide.

A deathly silence fills the woods as your pokemon crashes to the ground with his eyes closed, unmoving.

Raihan and Allister watch in silence.

"...Good job, Chompy. Get some well deserved rest." You shakily return your fallen pokemon and take out another pokeball, tossing it onto the field. "Metagross, go!" You release the massive pokemon and once it drops to the ground, the entire woodlands shake under it's weight. "Use Earthquake!" You yell; your pokemon obeys and you're relieved when Mimikyu has nowhere to run; your attack slams into it's little body and although you've played with Mimikyu before in your childhood, you're left a little heartbroken when it lets out a pained squeak. It's still standing however, because your attack only broke through its Disguise.

"Shadow Sneak." Glenn commands, and Mimikyu slashes at your Metagross before he can avoid which cripples its front arms, forcing your pokemon to collapse over its front.

"No!! Metagross, are you okay?"

Your poor pokemon slowly drags itself up to stand and you're reluctant to let him battle... It turns to you and your gazes meet. It wants to continue.

"...Bullet Punch." You mutter unfocusedly, and Metagross uses what little strength it has left to slam one of its arms over Glenn's pokemon. It smacks into Mimikyu successfully but your Metagross is severely weakened.

Glenn recalls his fainted Mimikyu and fishes for another pokeball. "Go, Excadrill."

You can't bear to see Metagross suffer anymore so you recall him, thank him for his hard work and send another pokemon to the field. It's Starmie, who stands proudly in front of you, its beautiful red gem glittering under the dim light. "Use Surf!" You cry out, and Starmie shoots an impressive jet of water from one of its points which slam into Excadrill; however, you're stunned to see it still standing and Glenn issues his command.

"Rock Slide!"

"Starmie, look out!" You yell, as Excadrill summons a barrage of rocks that wails down on your pokemon with no warning and Starmie is left sprawled flat over the ground, it's gem flashing like crazy. You decide to return your Starmie as the attack is simply too powerful. No wonder people don't like competitive battling. They're vicious, intense and nerve-wracking. These types of battles aren't fun at all. Well, not now anyway, because you think you are on the losing side. You still have several remaining pokemon so you grab your next pokeball and hurl it far into the field. "Tyranitar, I choose you!" Interesting, it's been a while since you said that.

Glenn returns Excadrill, holding another pokeball in hand. "Go, Milotic."

Oh crumbs.

You watch as a beautiful, ivory serpentine pokemon is released and slithers over the field, towering over your Tyranitar; it lets a haunting, melodious cry and you remember the day your brother told you enthusiastically over the phone that he had just caught the world’s most ugliest Pokemon - Feebas - after two weeks of nothing but extreme fishing in Hoenn and now his hardwork has paid off. Milotic wipes the floor with your Tyranitar in one move, and it's the move you just used - Surf. Damn it. Glenn's knocked out Garchomp and Tyranitar. You've only managed to defeat Mimikyu. Raihan and Allister have been dutifully watching from the sidelines and you've not been on the losing side for a long time. It's not good at all.

With Starmie's pokeball in hand, you let your psychic starfish return to the field and thunderbolt the shit out of Glenn's Milotic - you can't help but mentally apologise to it, wondering if it was a good idea to push your Starmie so hard like this but your pokemon manages to take it down in one hit. Glenn recalls Milotic and his next battler is Excadrill - who has returned with a vengeance - and in a revenge-fuelled attack, your Starmie is knocked out after being smacked around with one Iron Head. You recall Starmie and thank him profusely before reaching for your next fighter.

"Go, Whimsicott!" Once your pokemon emerges, it jumps up and down with a cheerful trill and you immediately issue a command: "Moonblast!" Your pokemon obeys and quickly unleashes a bright beam of light from it's body that covers the entire area - but Excadrill dodges and Glenn quickly instructs it to use Earthquake. You hurriedly tell your Whimsicott to use Cotton Guard and after the ground stops shaking violently, your Whimsicott is still standing albeit a huge chunk of its health has been whittled low.

Your jaw hangs in mid-air as Excadrill returns to its stance in front of Glenn, despite it's HP being low too, it's still going strong. Fists clinching, you remember how powerful his Excadrill is - and you're stunned when Glenn recalls it once again and picks up another pokeball. Releasing it, Hawlucha appears, throwing its little arms up in the air before it moves to a fighting stance. You're not surprised when his Hawlucha speedily takes down your Whimsicott using a Hone Claws and Acrobatics combo. You're onto your last healthy pokemon now - a very dangerous situation - and Togekiss emerges before you instruct it to use Air Slash. Unfortunately, Hawlucha dodges the attack thanks to its insane speed and agility and Glenn uses High Jump Kick which successfully connects with your pokemon and knocks it out.

It was so...quick.

Upon realisation that the majority of your team has been completely wiped out in one hit or less by your brother's pokemon, you can't stop shaking. Metagross is your last pokemon. You have no choice but to let him return to the field and Glenn recalls Hawlucha, using Excadrill once more. You command Metagross to use Hammer Arm but Excadrill destroys Metagross with another Earthquake which your pokemon can't avoid. You wince when Metagross collapses and crashes to the ground, its eyes closed; the earth trembles fiercely and mud and dirt explodes into the air. The woods grow quiet at once following the defeat of your pokemon.

The battle is over.

"I...I lost?" You murmur out in disbelief. But it felt so one-sided... you were no match for Glenn at all...

Raihan and Allister make their way over to you but you're devastated; you can't focus on them at all. In fact, you feel hazy...your head is throbbing, cloudy. Everything is so unclear right now. You cannot register this. How? How could this happen? You've lost. Glenn is too strong; although you both EV-trained your pokemon, he's on a completely different level.

...Glenn is unbeatable.

Raihan helps lift you back onto your feet and props you up to stand in front of him. Finally, you swerve your gaze to him but you're dazed. Your gaze passes through him as though you’re in thick fog. His mouth moves; he's speaking but you don't hear. Instead, you throw your glance to your downed Metagross and your heartbeat speeds up, your breath shortening.

You lost.

"Hey, look at me." Raihan cups your cheeks, his hands are large and warm. "Look at me. C'mon."

You blink and inhale sharply; returning to reality, you let out a noisy wheeze and gasp and look up at him. He stands in front of you, peering into your face. "Raihan?" You squeak.

"Are you okay?"

You shake your head.

He brings you into a hug and you bury your face into his chest. You close your eyes briefly, sinking into his embrace whilst Lickilicky and Kricketune look at you, then sadly avert their gazes to their trainer. You feel this loss is totally your fault - ever since you left Johto and moved to Galar, you feel you've slacked off, you made wrong choices, weren't quick enough...you haven't been working hard... You've let your pokemon down.

"Glenn." You croak out next; you gently pull yourself free from Raihan's grip, turning to your brother, "Glenn, please..."

"Glenn is no longer here." Your brother says, "He will stay with us from now on."

You take a step forwards, desperate. "No, please! Don't take my brother away!" You wail as you squeeze your eyes shut, "Glenn, wake up!! Glenn!"

...

"Glenn, this is your little sister."

There's a little girl presented in front of him, holding onto the strings of a Drifloon. She has a permanent sunken expression and there are a few bruises and marks on her face and arms.

Before he can ask what happened to her, his mum tells him, "Go play with her. Be nice."

"Okay, mum."

His parents told him that he will have a little sister; he didn't realise it would be so soon, however. His mum leaves him to it and he stares at this little girl and she stares at him.

"I got you a present." He says, handing her a pokeball.

She throws her glance at it limply.

"Go on."

When she presses the button, a small fox-like pokemon appears. It's an Eevee. It shakes itself before looking up at her. Her jaw drops slightly.

"Hehe, she's cute, right? Do you want to play with her?"

There is no response.

"I have one too! So, what do you want to do? Do you want to dress up as pokemon?"

She doesn't say anything. She doesn't even blink.

"Great!" He exclaims, before he makes her sit down on the floor of the living room and he grabs his toy box and pulls it over. Rifling through, he lifts out a Hydreigon hood along with two Hydreigon sock puppets and dons them, slipping the hood over his head and the sock puppets over each hand. "RAAAAARGH! I'm a scary Hydreigon, raaaargh! I shoot lasers from my mouth - pew pew pew!"

It's silent, so he lifts up the hood to see the little girl has actually stood up and waddled over to mum, who's in the kitchen. The Drifloon and Eevee begins to follow her. They exchange some words before she slowly returns to Glenn. She watches as he continues to dash around the lounge, imitating the dark dragon pokemon, and she sits down; glancing at Drifloon and Eevee, she reaches for the small pokemon and hugs them.

Days pass.

He hasn't had much success in getting his little sister out of her shell, but she's been watching and following him around a lot albeit she maintains a distance from him. When he plays tag with his Mimikyu, he knows she wants to join in too but she won't speak up - instead, choosing to silently observe from the side. When he plays water gun with his Eevee, he spots her staring from afar as well. The days continue to pass and one day, he grows exhausted playing dress up as a Hydreigon so he goes through his box and finds a Caterpie onesie which he quickly puts on. As usual, she watches from a safe distance as he begins pencil rolling over the floor.

"Caterpie!" He yells, "I'm a Caterpie! Caterpie, Caterpie, yeah!"

"....Can I be Weedle?"

He stops, and looks up. She's said something.  "Weedle?"

She nods.

"Of course!" He searches his box for another costume and fishes out the Weedle hood. It has a pink nose and a horn and he abruptly hands her it.

She puts it on and says, "Weedle-wee-wee."

...

Glenn laughs.

You stare, eyes wide. In fact, everyone is staring at him now. Glenn laughs harder and harder and suddenly, he pulls his hand free from Shiinotic. "I remember that." He says, chuckling.

Gawking, you cannot believe your eyes. "...Glenn?"

He blinks, turning to you and your group. "Hey sis! Thanks for coming to get me!" He waves at you with a grin, before he glances around himself and spots Shiinotic by his side; it stares at him in stunned silence, much like how you did before. "Oh, hi there."

You can't help but smile widely, the corners of your eyes well up with tears that threaten to fall. "Glenn, you're okay!" You croak out with relief; Raihan lets go of you so you can rush over and throw your arms around him. You're not alone; Kricketune and Lickilicky follow suit and join the hug.

"Whoa!" Glenn exclaims, exchanging glances between you and his pokemon as you pile onto him, "Yep, I'm fine. Sorry for making you worry."

When you release him, he moves to kneel in front of the mushroom pokemon who blinks blankly at him. "I'm really sorry, but I can't stay here with you. The woods are fine, it was just that little douchebag digging up wishing stars. It's not under threat. I'm flattered you want me to stay and protect all you guys but...you don't need me."

Shiinotic looks at him silently, then slowly averts its gaze to the ground.

"Buuuut, you could come with me if you want?" Glenn offers with a grin, and it looks up again, nodding. "Great!" Your brother grabs a spare pokeball from his bag and lifts it up, pressing on the button; Shiinotic's blank expression shifts to a happy one as it vanishes into the capsule and Glenn moves to stand up and greets Kricketune and Lickilicky; they cling onto him, rubbing their faces affectionately against his waist and he chuckles. "Aww, I missed you too! Whoa, wait, who are these guys?"

"Oh, um, Glenn, this is Raihan and Allister." You introduce the two gym leaders who had been watching your interaction keenly. "They helped me look for you."

"Thanks, and thanks for looking after my sis too." Glenn says sheepishly and you watch as the gym leaders introduce themselves to Glenn; ultimately, your brother throws his glance to Raihan, rubbing his chin. "Are you two dating?"

Your face grows red whilst Raihan chuckles and wraps an arm around your shoulder.

Well, that pretty much answers the question and Glenn merely grins wider in response. "Let's get outta here."

"Sure."

"Wait, we just battled, right?"

"Er, yeah."

"And I won?"

"Yeah." You utter, before you sigh and rummage through your bag for your purse; Rotom flies out, hovering beside you. "Okay, how much do I owe you? Rotom, can you help work it out please?"

"Bzzt, you got it! If my calculationzzz are correct, the total izzz four thousand eight hundred pokedollarzzz."

"Er-hem." Glenn coughs into his fist loudly, "I believe my Excadrill was holding an Amulet Coin."

Throwing your glance to the mole pokemon, it's then you see a shiny gold bar dangling off its neck via a gold chain which makes you scratch your head in confusion.

"Oh, my apologiezzzz. You actually owe Pokemaniac Glenn nine thousand six hundred pokedollarzzz."

Before you can retort,  Raihan squeezes your shoulder tightly and says, "Don't worry, I'll pay."

"What!? Raihan, no, don't."

Even Glenn looks surprised. "It's okay, I was kidding."

However, Raihan merely smiles at you as he fishes around his pockets and begins pulling out a wad of notes which he promptly hands to your brother. The two of you look at him, stunned.

...

Meanwhile.

Watching the group from his spot behind the trees, Eli moves to stand. That pokemon battle was the most intense battle he'd ever witnessed in his life; he had never seen anything like it. Not only did Raihan take away the title of Hammerlocke's gym leader from him, but his girlfriend is insanely strong too. How the hell can Raihan be so lucky? Annoyed, Eli curls his fist as he mulls over this but then his Rotom rings and he plucks the phone out, swiping the screen.

"Hello?"

"Eli, where are you?"

"I'm in the Glimwood Tangle; where are you?"

"On my way to Rose Tower. Did you find them?"

"Yeah." He throws his glance to his bag, which is bulging with Wishing Stars he dug up from the forest. "I'll meet you there, Bede."

...

[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 8 - Winter Comes Again (Part 4)

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Nakasendo is one of the five routes of the Edo period that connected Edo (Tokyo) to Kyoto

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The Ageo City Half Marathon was held in the middle of November, just when everyone was beginning to put on their thick coats.

At the Ageo Sports Park track and field stadium, the university athletes that had been invited arrived in succession in microbuses. The members of Chikusei-sou arrived in Ageo City in their usual white van. This time, the landlord, who had been recovering at home from his stomach ulcer, accompanied them. As usual, he didn’t want to get into a car Kiyose was driving, so Hanako took out Yaokatsu’s pickup truck.

The stadium looked like a Roman colosseum from the outside. Plastic sheets were laid out along the road, securing places for each school to change clothes or rest.

There were food stalls set up in the sports park, creating a festive mood, and the area around the park was crowded with spectators and participants.

The landlord gave instructions while munching on the takoyaki he had immediately purchased.

“Today, our goal is to get used to the atmosphere of a road race, so you don’t need to focus on speed. Just run as fast as you can without forcing yourself.”

At that, the landlord glanced at Kiyose. Kiyose nodded as though to say, Exactly. Kakeru guessed what was going on: the landlord had simply given Kakeru and the others Kiyose’s instructions. Kiyose seemed to have decided to take a step back because of the friction among the residents of Chikusei-sou.

However, the twins did come with them to Ageo, as it seemed that the soccer team was able to find substitute members. Although they had rebelled against Kiyose, they didn’t break or renege on their promise, which was just like the cheerful and honest twins.

The half marathon started at 9 AM in the stadium. There were about 350 invited runners alone. Adding the citizen runners to that number, it would take time to cross the starting line even when the signal gun sounded.

At the starting line, even though he was only wearing the uniform tank top and shorts, there were so many people crowded together—in order of their numbers—that Kakeru didn’t feel the cold. In front of him there was a group from TSU; Kakeru stared at the back of Sakaki’s head for a while, but of course he couldn’t see Sakaki’s two hair whorls from his position.

Kiyose was teaching Prince about positioning and things to look out for when starting.

“Don’t get pushed from behind and fall. You don’t need to rush forward, so just get behind the runners whose pace you can match and use them as a windbreak. In your case, you don’t need to think about putting on spurts—just get into it so you don’t drop out of the group.”

Prince nodded meekly. Maybe Haiji-san is planning to enter Prince-san in the first leg of Hakone, Kakeru thought. In the first leg, of course, the first runners of the participating twenty teams would start all at once in Otemachi. At first, they would be in a cluster, so runners who weren’t timid and could compete with others while keeping an eye on the pace around them would be suited for it.

Prince-san’s time is definitely not fast compared to the level of the runners in Hakone. I wonder if it would really be effective to put him in the first leg.

As Kakeru pondered, the group finally started to move forward. By the time they had run halfway around the track and exited out onto the road, the group broke up and it became easier to run.

A quiet shopping street along Old Nakasendo. (1) The flow of the river and the green of the golf course. The skies had cleared, and the winter wind felt refreshing on his skin as it warmed up.

It felt good to run on a road that was closed to traffic. Kakeru soon got into a rhythm and simply moved his legs along. People from the houses along the street came to their doors to cheer them on and children playing in small parks eagerly chased after them.

Water was provided at three locations. Paper cups were lined up on a long table and volunteers tried to hand them out. They weren’t used to it, so it was difficult to take them; the runners were sprinting at a speed faster than bicycles. Kakeru got as close as he could to the sidewalk, but the impact of receiving the cup caused most of the contents to spill out.

Even so, the little water that remained was cool and refreshing.

Right before the turning point, he and Sakaki passed by each other. Sakaki looked at him, but Kakeru pretended not to notice. As his coach, the landlord—and by extension Kiyose—wanted him to not force himself. He didn’t think he could get along with Sakaki in any way, so he decided to leave him alone.

Kakeru watched the Rikudou runners carefully. They had good forms, as expected, but they all looked like second-string runners. Kakeru went to ask a Rikudou runner who looked like a first year and was turning at almost the same time.

“Where’s Fujioka-san?”

The first-year seemed surprised to be spoken to out of the blue, but he seemed to know Kakeru’s name and face. “The regulars are at a high-altitude training camp in Kunming,” he said.

“Kunming?”

“In China.”

“Wow.”

As expected, Rikudou’s scale is different, Kakeru thought, surprised. He wondered if he would get diarrhea if he went to China. But Fujioka, who was a demon when it came to looking after his own health and discipline, would probably never make a gaffe like that.

The first-year runner ran ahead. Feeling like humming a tune, Kakeru maintained his pace of one kilometer per 3 minutes and 3 seconds. Fujioka would be getting stronger and stronger at the Chinese training camp. Kakeru wanted to meet him at Hakone. We’ll make it clear on the big stage who’s faster.

They returned to the stadium and reached the finish line. Kansei’s pace was moderate, so their rankings were not that good. However, they were able to grasp the atmosphere of a road race. Even Prince, who had the slowest time among the ten of them, had a satisfied look on his face after he finished running; he must have gained confidence that he could run a distance that was almost the same as Hakone’s first leg without difficulty. Kiyose’s plan to have the members who lacked experience join a half marathon seemed to have worked.

The organizers provided lunch boxes and bananas to the invited schools. Musa and Shindou went to the management tent to go get them and returned with a cardboard box full of bananas.

“There’s so many.”

Jouta and Jouji peered into the box. Hanako looked at the stickers on the bananas.

“These are good bananas,” she evaluated like a grocer’s daughter.

Bananas were useful after a workout because they provide a quick calorie intake. They swiftly peeled them and when everyone was on their second or third, a visitor approached them.

He was a man in his late thirties, dressed in the same casual clothing as the spectators.

“You’re Kansei University’s track team, right?” the man said.

“Yeff we arr,” Jouji mumbled as he stuffed his third banana in his mouth. “Why?”

“Is Kurahara-kun here?” the man asked, but his gaze was fixed on Kakeru. He seemed to have already recognized Kakeru’s face. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

Kakeru stood and took the business card the man held out to him. “Shinjitsu Weekly    Mochizuki Shuuji” was written on it.

Most of the people present probably thought that a reporter had come to interview him about catching the shoplifters, but Kakeru knew better. This man got wind of my past.

“You graduated from Sendai Jousai High School, correct?” Mochizuki began. Out of the corner of his eye, Kakeru saw Kiyose immediately stand, his face quickly changing color.

“Yes,” Kakeru answered.

“You caught a bunch of shoplifters the other day, didn’t you? I saw it in the papers.” Mochizuki raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner, as though he was impressed. “A sportsman among sportsmen with an overflowing sense of justice—you’ve become a hot topic even in your hometown. Especially around the track team at Sendai Jousai.”

Kiyose came to Kakeru’s side and faced Mochizuki.

“Please don’t interview our runners without permission.”

“This won’t take long,” Mochizuki laughed thoughtlessly. However, there was a sharp light in his eyes. “Kurahara-kun, you competed at the Inter-High in your second year at high school and achieved good results. However, you quit the team as soon as you became a third-year. Why is that?”

“Hey!”

Kiyose was indignant, but Kakeru stopped him, saying, “It’s fine, Haiji-san.” He couldn’t run away or hide it. As long as he continued to do track, this matter would always follow him. He had been prepared for this the moment he decided to go to Hakone with the residents of Chikusei-sou.

“You’ve already looked into it, haven’t you?” Kakeru said. “I hit my coach.”

“I heard that you broke your coach’s nose. Furthermore, you rejected the university that gave you a tentative offer for track, and you quit your team, in spite of the fact that the coach had tried to keep the incident private because he was afraid that it would become a public scandal.” Mochizuki peered into Kakeru’s expression. “What were you so unhappy about? What kind of disagreement did you have with your coach?”

Kakeru kept silent. His high school coach was famous for his thorough management of his runners and his spartan training methods. Of course, there was no doubt that he was a competent coach with a good track method to match.

However, ever since Kakeru had first enrolled in high school, he was unable to get along with his coach, and he disliked how he only talked about times.

That was why, when he had witnessed the coach cursing out a first-year who was having trouble recovering after an injury in the club room, he got angry. That first-year was on a sports scholarship, and if he was forced to quit the team, that would make it hard for him to stay in school. Kakeru could only think that the coach knew that the student was in a vulnerable position and was simply tormenting him.

That might be something he thought of in hindsight, but really the first-year had just been a trigger for Kakeru; a good detonator for releasing his pent-up resentment. Because the moment he hit the coach, the only thought in Kakeru’s head was I can end it with this.

There hadn't been a single shred of heroism in the act. He hadn't been doing it for the first-year, and he hadn’t even thought about how ashamed that first-year would feel in the club if his senpai hit the coach because of him. There was no sense of justice or compassion, just violence for the sake of his own satisfaction and pleasure—just to dispel his pent-up frustration and anger towards the coach. Kakeru had felt the cartilage in his nose break through his fist and felt refreshed.

“Committing an act of violence on a high school team, and it was at a prestigious track and field school. Since the story got leaked and you didn’t deny it, the Sendai Jousai High School track and field team voluntarily suspended its activities for a while. I’m sure there are a lot of people who didn’t think well of you at that time; not only the coach who was punched by you, but also your teammates who couldn’t participate in meets.”

“What do you want to ask Kurahara?” Kiyose cut in. “Even if what you said is true, I think what you should question instead is the school's position in not rocking the boat, as well as the results-oriented mentality that is rampant in some parts of the high school track world, where runners are managed with excessive restraint and interference which can crush growing talent.”

“Are you Kansei’s captain?” Mochizuki turned his gaze to Kiyose like he was appraising him. “Did you know Kurahara-kun committed an act of violence? What do you think of him?”

“He’s a runner with talent. But before that, for us, he’s a comrade who’s reliable as a person.”

Kakeru’s heart shook at the word “comrade.” It was as though he were in the middle of a happy dream when he was suddenly grabbed by the shoulders and woken up; the feeling of floating, like he was still in a dream, and the disappointment of returning to reality, and then the relief of opening your eyes to see the face of someone close to you. So many emotions welled up within him that he recoiled, not knowing how to take them in.

Unaware of the slightly shaken Kakeru, Kiyose stood his ground against Mochizuki.

“Please leave. I would like you to have your interview request approved with our PR department.”

PR department? A murmur spread through the residents of Chikusei-sou, who had been watching the proceedings from behind. Shindou and Hanako raised their hands.

“Yes.”

“That’s us.”

“We refuse your request for an interview,” Shindou said. “Exactly, exactly,” King nodded. The landlord didn’t say anything and ate his lunch. It was hard to tell from his detached and casual attitude if he was troubled or amused by the situation.

“Good grief, these bananas taste awful,” Nico-chan said, and Mochizuki gave a forced laugh as he was given a reproachful look.

“Then, one last thing. Kurahara-kun, you’re going to run in Hakone, right? Do you have anything to say to your high school coach? Anything is fine, even if it’s something like ‘Serves you right.’”

“I have nothing to say.” Kakeru quietly shook his head. He didn’t want to apologize, but he also didn’t want to boast that “Even without your help, anyone can survive in the track world if they have the ability.”

“I regret it. I regret that I couldn’t think of any other way other than knocking him down at that time. That’s all.”

The following week in Shinjitsu Weekly, there was a double-page spread with the headline “Disaster in the High School Sports World!?” With a provoking line of “What’s behind the frequent scandals…”, the article mentioned old troubles at the Sendai Jousai High School track and field team along with Koshien regulars and high school soccer powerhouses.

“The other day, K-kun was in the news for catching shoplifters. He is a runner with a promising future who will take part in next January’s Hakone Ekiden, but there are also rumors that K-kun caused a violent incident in the past. The coach of the track and field team at Sendai J High School stated, ‘That incident has already passed,’ and meaningfully closed his mouth, but…” It went on after that, and even if you didn’t know anything about track, it was easy to guess that it was talking about Kansei’s Kurahara Kakeru.

“This was clearly leaked by that coach.” Jouji threw down the magazine, annoyed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Musa said, anxious about Kakeru.

Kiyose and Shindou were busy explaining the situation to the university and the supporter’s group and dealing with them. Apparently the landlord was also going around and bowing his head, saying, “Sorry for the trouble.” When Kakeru learned about this and apologized, he proudly said, “Well of course, I’m the coach.” He didn’t say anything that blamed him.

Kiyose persisted in his stance of protecting Kakeru, so the area around Chikusei-sou remained calm. The repercussions of the article would probably die down, but it didn’t change the fact that he had caused trouble.

The residents of Chikusei-sou treated Kakeru the way they always had. In order to meet those expectations, he had to run well in Hakone. Kakeru continued to run silently.

Previous | Next

[champagnesuperhoeva]

Seasonal depression is on its way back, so why not analyze another scene from Red Dead Depression 2???????

I’ve been meaning to do another screeching ramble about one of Red Dead Redemption 2′s many incredible scenes, but just couldn’t put my finger on which one. So I threw a rock and hit the Saint Denis bank robbery, that’s the story

strap in, motherfuckers, it’s time to regret the concept of empathy

It is such a missed opportunity that we weren’t able to chaperone the girls as they went about putting on their various bullshit personas to gather reconnaissance. I want to see Tilly reading a newspaper with glasses, a fake nose and a mustache

Something Red Dead Redemption 2 spoiled me on is just how much ROI they squeeze into every last line of dialogue. Not a single word feels generic or hamfisted. Every sentence, every twitch and blink, adds up to a greater whole. The more I watch, the more I unearth. There are several AAA titles that frequently get painted with the ‘Good Dialogue’ brush like Uncharted that don’t hold a candle to Rockstar’s work here. 

Take Hosea grilling Dutch here, for example:

Dutch acquiescing to Hosea’s justified criticism is depressing in its hindsight. Sir Spam der Linde is an arrogant blowhard that could give Dr. Gregory House a run for his money...and yet he still mumbles and bows his head when being told he needs to get his shit together. Compare this to earlier in the game, when he was snipping at both Hosea and Arthur for all their doubts and questions. Double that for the camp interactions you can find where Dutch and Hosea argue about the Blackwater Heist. 

Is reality finally sinking in a little for our manic pixie dream man? Does he just have a hard time bullying Hosea, who’s around 5,000 years old and doesn’t give a fuck? For every answer you get, you get another question...and I fucking love it. This character -- and the series at large -- toes the razor-thin line between transparent portrayals and thicc layers of intrigue. This kind of carefully sewn subtlety is sorely lacking in not just videogames, but mainstream media in general. Sometimes I still can’t believe I got to experience this game.

This little scene is just one of many ingredients to make you wonder that, if the bank job had turned out all right...if Dutch really would’ve started changing for the better. 

Arthur clutching his belt buckle like he clutches my neck in my dreams

So the plan is made and the cowboys are off to Sand Penis, and I bet nobody in the history of the world has made that joke before

Just the build-up to the bank sends goosebumps up my arms. 

Even with apprehension in the back of your mind, it’s hard not to get sucked into the whirlwind of adrenaline here. You have each member playing their part, from Abigail as the helpless damsel to Charles and Bill as crowd control. Great back-and-forth dialogue as characters anticipate what’s about to happen (with some delicious doubting from John). It’s like a group project, except you don’t want to slap your partners!!!*

*except micah ‘I Haven’t Scrubbed My Nailbeds In Fifty-Three Years’ bell

Fun fact: if Dutch hadn’t said ‘one last time’, the bank robbery would’ve been a success. Should’ve browsed TVTropes.

The direction of this game remains impeccable. 

This is a simple shot of a few dudes riding their horse...and it’s made just that much grander by the camera angles, slung low to the ground to create a stronger sense of scale. With the tense drums in the backing track and the sudden quiet that’s befallen our beloved anti-heroes, this provides the perfect finishing touches to one of the most memorable and stressful parts of the game:

The runway.

We start off this display of cowboy couture with Dutch Fam Der Linde, well-known in the West for wearing crushed velvet while hiking the open trail. Dashingly long coattails make up the bulk of this iconic look, with a sexy pop of red to round it all out. A complimentary red bandana lined with a hint of gold brings out the buttons, chain and belt buckle. Very regal. Much fucky. Still want to slap him for future crimes, so 9/10

A surprising comeback from the man who invented skid marks. Lavender pinstripes add a splash of character on an otherwise minimalist black ensemble. Complimentary silver bow on the hat and dark bandana makes me uncomfortably wet, so 9.5/10, would leer again

A classic suit with just a touch of more. A wide velvet collar with matching velvet cuffs create a refined softness, contrasting the gold buttons and dramatic coattails. Shoes shiny. Skin moisturized. Even his everyday ponytail looks fancier than ever. 15/10, if Javier kicked over my sandcastle I’d thank him

What are those????????? I think Bill got pranked by Uncle while out shopping for robbery gear. That, or he confused one of Susan’s tablecloths for a three-piece. The topmost layer of dust is so thick it could be peeled off and donated to charity. 3/10, could probably still pass for a picnic table

Shameless. Unacceptable. Walking around like a bootleg Egoraptor with a crinkly suit that looks like that oil-stained pizza napkin you keep forgetting to toss. Why did I take a screencap that makes it look like Dutch is jacking him off. Micah’s even jutting his beer gut out in an ominous foreshadowing for the Guarma chapter. ThereIsn’tANumberLowEnough/10

Arthur strolling in with that slow, confident walk that gets me pregnant in both legs, someone please fetch the plan B

Dutch calls a Hosea an artist and is most certainly one himself. He speaks with the affect of a poet, even as he’s holding a pistol in people’s faces and making them shit themselves in slow-motion. This man redefines stage presence. Why would he want anything less than the best, when this is the final hurrah of his iconic, infamous career:

THE RUNWAY: PART TWO

Bill out here just confusing everyone’s laundry for low-level loot. 5/10, may or may not be susan’s granny panties

charles: “is my iron giant cosplay valid robbery wear”

dutch: “no, charles, iron giant cosplays are not valid robbery wear”

dutch: “gorons from legend of zelda aren’t valid either”

JAVIER IF I GIVE YOU A 10/10 WILL YOU LEAVE

Here’s a little detail I didn’t notice (even after several viewings of this scene): Charles over in the corner looking like a dweeb.

Notice how awkwardly he holds that rifle: two-handed and with his knees bent, suddenly looking like he’s never handled a weapon before. This is such an odd contrast from the unapologetic badass we know. Remember, this is the same man who can wield a sawed-off shotgun one-handed like it’s nothing. One of the most adept physical fighters in a gang full of cutthroat motherfuckers. 

This detail on top of his dorky robbery gear? It’s actually a peek into just how out of his element he is. 

Charles has been with the gang for less than a year at this point. Even then, he’s usually helping with tracking, hunting and scouting. Whenever he goes off with Arthur on a mission, he’s always the first to suggest a peaceful route. This is not someone who’s used to robbing people for a living and it shows in the most adorable way. What you see here is a man putting on a persona of what he hopes looks like a bloodthirsty robber.

This whole scene is a fucking blast. Herding the upper-class elite into the far rom, figuring out the combination key under codenames, listening to the banter of the squad in the background. It doesn’t help I’m a slut for baroque-styled architecture and half my attention was on the pastel decor. Yeah, yeah, I know we have three thousand dollars on the line, but look at that gold filigree

These outlaws move like a finely oiled machine, not a detail out of place...which makes the ensuing mess all the more tragic.

...and this post is getting too long, so I’m going to post the second part separately. Ain’t I a stinker?

[lizzybeth1986]

Quick Thoughts on The White People Waambulance, Chapters 18 and 19

• Sorry this QT is coming out so late, guys. I regret to say my heart wasn't really in this one...and it hasn't been with regards to my QTs for a while. This one might be my last, unless we count me finishing them off for the (not rewritten) Book 1. It's been two years since I began, and the last two books made the process honestly really exhausting.

• I clubbed the two finale chapters together because I really couldn't be bothered to do separate ones for both.

• In fact...I won't be doing any of what I have been doing for my QTs so far. I'll be honest to you: I usually do multiple replays, the last few in tandem with the other routes on YouTube. I go through the scenes one by one. I keep note of differences and variations and carefully choose screenshots that will reflect the gist of the scenes.

But I couldn't be bothered to do any of that this time. I pressed the "continue" and then the "end book" buttons as soon as I finished my first run of those chapters. I'm drained, guys. And I don't think I'll be coming back to the TRH series at least, not even for Liam or Hana or Kiara. Maybe my mind will change by the time the second book comes out (update from present-day Lizzy: no it didn't) but I'm not counting on it. And you'll probably know why by the time this QT ends.

• TW: Discussions on racism, both fandom racism and from within the narrative. The last section of this QT is going to be...pretty heavy, guys.

There's also going to be a lot of anti-Drake, anti-Olivia, anti-Madeleine and anti-Penelope content here, so if you like any of those characters...well, you've been warned.

The ensuing post is going to be LONG, and I know a lot of you have good reasons not to deal with long posts, so here's a tldr:

1. The TRR writing team stick to their weird obsession for jobless whiny white men.

2. Read this book once and you'll feel like you're drowning in an ocean of white tears.

3. WOC continue to get scraps from the writing team, even as they boast of being diverse and inclusive. In fact, they're regularly treated as mere tokens, exotic eye-candy or non-entities, while their behaviour is measured on standards that are very different from their white counterparts (this happens in other books as well).

...okay I wasn't expecting for the tldr to be long too 😅

• Me @ my QTs then:

Me @ my QTs now:

• I'll probably be finishing off my TRR Book 1 QT series when I'm a little less burnt out, but for now this is where it ends, I guess.

• So...here is to summarize the last two chapters: Accident happens. LIs mad. Paparazzi sad (but largely get away scot-free). MC and baby safe. At the Council meeting Kiara slam dunks the murderer of Liam's mother with the style and elegance this fandom still refuses to acknowledge her for. The MC is nice to her for like half a second. Last Apple Ball. New clothes for everyone as if they had a Diwali bumper sale the week before or something. Godfrey is somehow responsible for the security (who thought this was a good idea) and seeing the Auvernese Royal Guard outside our doors is SO not-creepy.

We get to see if we impressed our Auvernese and Monterriso allies enough. Bradshaw compliments Kiara for like half a second. Olivia sees the dude from the Q&A session (Jin) at the Ball and (if you pay) you get to see her catch, interrogate and lowkey flirt with him.

Leona and Bianca make it to the ball (where is Bartie Sr. Where are Xinghai and Lorelei. Where is Regina) and this time the narrative makes sure to shoehorn a plot element into their presence here: Leona is there so we can do something about the reveal that she constantly ratted us out to the press for money. ("oh look! Walker Ranch was plot related after all! We have a reason (albeit a flimsy, paper-thin one) to set 9 whole chapters in Texas. Even though we had to literally come up with this bit in the last minute, because really - all we wanted to do as a writing team was nut collectively over Drake Walker")

(I also can't believe that between the time I wrote this line and the time this QT finally came out - they literally found a way to re-fucking-write Book 1 so they could nut collectively over Drake Walker earlier)

• Why were we required to dress down in Texas for these assholes when they couldn't even bother to dig up their Sunday best for this ball??? Oh right, they're Walkers. Hypocrisy runs in the family.

• Good thing is you can choose to banish Leona if you want. She's angry about it for a second then accepts it and leaves. But like what is the point of banishing her when she hardly even bothers to come there in the first place? She's not going to be bawling her eyeballs out saying "boohoo, they threw me out of this country that I spent like five minutes in and never even wanted to visit in the first place".

• Bianca is present at the end of Chapter 18 mainly to deliver to us a plot point at the very last minute: a clue about where we could find proof about Queen Eleanor's murder. Bianca mentions conversations Jackson had with her, and a secret room somewhere. Her leaving the palace and abandoning her children is addressed, and the MC gets to berate her. It's...short.

• Why this important piece of information was given to Bianca when idk LEO could have pitched in and spoken about it, no one knows. Oh wait. I keep forgetting. Bianca is Drake's mother. That's why.

• Okay so Amalas valiantly found out about Leona's involvement in this and gave us tangible proof via photographs. But we're kiiiinda forgetting that the scrutiny and privacy invasions were happening even before we hauled ass to Walker Ranch? Who was responsible for those? Who was the "source" that the Chapter 17 paparazzo was referring to, the one that mentioned they would triple the price for more photos of the Queen/Mother of the Heir (Coz like why would she do that. She's already broke)? How did Amalas come by this information so easily and why was she really that invested? Why is no one asking these questions? Why isn't the group asking these questions? Why are they stupid. Jesus, they're all so stupid. HOW ARE YOU SO STUPID, SQUAD.

• Shortly after they get rid of Leona and Bianca, the rest of the group give the happy couple a choice of toys for the nursery - and that's our final nursery purchase. You can either go for the corgi - which is on brand for the series by now I think - or the lion, which is seen as very Cordonian.

• More party shenanigans. We're nice to Kiara for another half-second. Kiara arranges a photoshoot for us. The team can't pretend to give a fuck anymore about its fans so they will ask us to pay for an edit that I've seen millions of edit-creators in the fandom do wayyyy better. Like let's be honest - compare the engagement shoot pics (messy as they were) to the shoots we eventually got this book. You can see the difference. You can tell which one required more work.

• Anyway, if you choose this scene you wind up going back to the ballroom, dance with your spouse, aaaaand it's time for another diamond option. This time your spouse gives you something you've been craving (mousse parfait for the Liam MC, chocolate chip cookies for the Hana MC, handmade chocolates for the Maxwell MC and a choice between bacon and a veg version of it for the Drake MC. Damn, team TRR. Your favouritism is showing). The couple also writes a letter to the baby that the child can read growing up, in a bit of a parallel to Eleanor's letter to Liam that we see at the end of the chapter.

• After this, Liam reveals he has been pondering over what Bianca said, and wants to find out where they could find that secret room. Cue Liam's own flashback scene for free. Godfrey bringing to Queen the same goblet that the RoE MC found in a flea market in Book 2 for Regina (or perhaps just a similarish one). Liam and Eleanor reciting a rhyme that turns out to have clues for the secret room.

• To give the team credit, they seem to have (finally) put some thought into this. Like this actually feels like Liam's scene. Not one that delivers information about his family but is really about another character. They seem to incorporate all the things Eleanor seemed to be known for - things that were hardly addressed in the books when it came to talk of her. She is shown with a love for books given that books and poetry form an important part of the clues she leaves for Liam. One of the books is about foraging, which is unsurprising considering her love for gardens that was established in Book 1 of TRR.

• So...like...nice job but why was practically everything about Eleanor (including the way she'd stand up to Constantine, her displeasure at the sound of Godfrey and Bartie's names, her nature that Liam not only inherited but also learned) left only for your finale? Why no buildup? Why was I seeing you lot constantly pandering to Drake's family the entire time? Why do I know way, way more about Jackson than I do about Eleanor whose story this WAS? Why is she and her son suddenly getting this burst of attention at the tail end??

• They still manage to push young!Drake into a scene focusing on Liam and Eleanor, so we can see how Eleanor's teaching of how to be a responsible royal began to make inroads into Liam's way of thinking. It's the ultimate irony, that Liam took his mother's advice so much to heart that he lets Drake stay in his home, eat his food, and complain about those dastardly nobles to his heart's content for free.

Poor Eleanor in her grave is like

• Very fitting, how Constantine's proposal to Eleanor happens in the hedge maze, very much like Liam's first declaration of love in Book 1.

• If you're married to Liam, you get an extra letter that's addressed to Liam's future wife. She clearly knew her days were to be numbered by the time she gave birth to that second child at least.

• Lmao @ how the team somehow managed to remember that Eleanor would have been Leo's stepmother too. He's mentioned a couple of times. They didn't have enough time to develop a sprite for young!Leo but somehow had all the time and resources to make one for young!Savannah who had literally no purpose in Drake's flashback scene? Hmm. Hmm.

• They somehow manage to find the twin to the RoE MC's gifted goblet that Godfrey gave Eleanor the night she died, and Liam reveals that he's been obsessed with poisons enough to know that it wasn't the drink that was poisoned, it was the cup itself. Everyone is shook.

• Love that extra little detail about Liam's obsession with learning about poisons and how it's a sign of how deeply Eleanor's death affected him. But tell me honestly if you remember this plot point coming up even once before in any significant way. Even during the one time a person is poisoned in the previous book (by the laws of karma, the victim in this instance is Godfrey's only daughter) Liam shows very few signs of this "obsession". At a time when he has also lost a father. Convenient how something that could have added more depth to Liam is kept aside until there's a scene where his knowledge is required. Convenient indeed.

• I kind of understand why Liam acts on impulse, okay. The man just discovered who murdered his mum, at least some amount of irrationality is allowed (esp considering he hardly got to express ANYTHING when his goddamn father died). But you'd think Liam's friends would hold him back and help him think this through? Convince him that there are more effective ways to confront and get a confession out of Godfrey who after is in charge of security at the moment? You seriously think charging into the ballroom and suddenly stripping this man of his titles is going to actually work??? You couldn't figure out how to make him vulnerable instead so that he wouldn't be able to escape???

• I mean like, sure, one could always rationalize it all as "well see Lizzy, they needed a dramatic end to this story and they needed to wrap this mystery up quick". But there were other ways they could have spread it out than make it all sound so...so random. And you bet we all know why the narrative had to scramble around last minute to solve this. It's because we spend half the damn book in a dilapidated ranch with a shit family!

• Anyway, Godfrey escapes...and the MC tells her spouse that she's going into labour after...two contractions? Um. Okay.

• So. That ends Book 1 of this new series. And with it my QTs, for this series at least. My QTs for Book 1 (the OG, not the rewrite) might continue, but I'd need to repeat my failplay again because I lost most of those screenshots 😭

General Thoughts on the Book:

• So far, this is what I can see as happening in the next book:

- The birth, obviously

- Any extra perks from our purchases (ie. the nursery and the garden)

- Subplots involving the LIs' conflicts regarding parenthood and their own childhoods

- The mystery behind Eleanor's death isn't quite over yet, nor is the truth behind the constant paparazzi presence in TRH. Leona was the scapegoat this time around, but how did Amalas get all this information so quickly?

- Where is Eleanor's other child? Olivia's investigations may or may not lead to that answer. I'm pretty sure Jin might be involved as well.

- Another possibility is that Madeleine may give us important information since she was potentially aware that Eleanor was pregnant at the time.

- The mystery behind Jackson's death and what he knew regarding Eleanor's condition.

- What part did Bartie Sr have to play in all this? How involved was Constantine in the murder (if in fact he was)? What more dark secrets will we learn about Constantine, Godfrey and Bartie Sr during this time? What ultimately caused the breakdown in Constantine and Jackson's relationship, since Drake mentions Jackson being around when Regina was Queen as well?

- Speaking of Regina, how involved was she in any of this? We know she was Godfrey's cousin-in-law and Bartie Sr made a comment on her during the announcement about the heir, and that she married Constantine a couple years after Eleanor's death, but was she aware of any of this or was she largely out of the major plot and brought in later to cement Godfrey's position and power?

- I'd mention the possibility that Lorelai could know something, but they didn't really give anyone connected to Hana any time at all, so I have my doubts.

- Operation Swan, and possibly a visit to Monterisso. Liam's younger sibling must be in one of these places but my guess is on Monterisso.

- I'm guessing the team will write a nice wedding for Penelope and Ezekiel next book, while Kiara continues to get scraps from the same team.

- Drake and Olivia will continue to eat into the plot. Madeleine will join this unholy trinity as well because they've set the stage for her to have plenty of angst.

With that over, these were my thoughts once this book was finished:

WHERE ARE THE DUCHESSES?

Remember how, back in Book 3, we all marvelled at the number of women in this country who were in positions of power? Adeleide and Emmeline were powerful duchesses while their husbands were secondary figures, and Joelle though married into a noble family is an influential artist and - according to Liam - the embodiment of King Fabian's values. It seemed like, despite the underlying sexism and racism in the story, women were at least at the forefront of Cordonian politics.

This is virtually gone in TRH1. Godfrey (who wasn't even interested in Krona in the first place, much less Cordonia) and Landon (whose only concern seemed to be Penelope, leaving Emmeline to manage the duchy) have a seat in the Council. In fact we never even see either of these woman in the book. I can maybe understand the logic behind not appointing Adeleide, but the fact that Emmeline is passed over for her far-less -qualified husband is a mystery to me!

Also, has anyone noticed how white-male-centered the whole Eleanor story is? Notice how we never see Eleanor's friends, besides Jackson? We never see any of the courtly ladies of that era? She's the Queen. She'd have her own court. I find it impossible that Eleanor would have no interactions of importance among her own goddamned court, that Joelle, Emmeline or Adeleide wouldn't even be mentioned in her story thus far. It's fascinating that forget being part of her story - these women are largely forgotten in the book itself.

(Note: It's also important to add that none of Kiara's family - besides Zeke - makes an appearance this book. At all. One member of Penelope's family and one member of Madeleine's family is in the council, but we never really see or hear anything from Kiara's, even though Hakim was Constantine's old friend and Joelle could have easily been connected to Eleanor, given that Eleanor was exactly the kind of ruler Joelle would have loved and respected.

While we're on that subject, Lorelai could have been connected to Eleanor as well - considering that we know next to nothing about her years in Shanghai. There were ways Hana's story could have been tied into the overall plot as well that were largely ignored. The fact that both the main and secondary WOCs presented opportunities for better plot and story, and despite that they were largely ignored in the books...I think that says a lot. But I will get into more of that in detail in a different section).

LI SPACE AND STORY

• Now...as we all know, The TRR/TRH series is primarily a romance-focused book first, with an underlying plot about royalty and politics. So it makes sense to evaluate the book based on what it gives its love interests. That includes the number of scenes they get, and the kind of focus their story is given. So...here's the rundown of how that goes in TRH Book 1:

Liam: Overall, not too bad. He gets one individual scene, a free and paywalled childhood scene (though the free one is essential for the group's realization of who killed Eleanor). The letter his mother writes to Liam includes an extra section towards the end, meant for the MC who marries him. However, we must note that a lot of this "attention" was thrust into the very final chapter of this book, and 99% of the same book didn't exactly make an attempt to explore his inner thoughts on anything - his mother's death, the dealings with the foreign countries, his political activities. Eleanor being pregnant came from a scene that made Olivia the center of attention, the MC had the opportunity to ask him how he was feeling only once or twice, and most of the time the narrative relegated it all to "the matter is still being investigated". It's a slight improvement from the absolute lack of concern the MC and the narrative showed about Liam's emotional state post his father's death in Book 3, but not much.

Variations wise, the team did step up on the basic ones for most of the LIs, so clearly we've moved past the days of seeing cut-paste scenes and the likes of Liam and Hana saying "I'm so dumb in love with you". However, in playthroughs where the MC is Liam's wife and Queen of Cordonia, her lack of genuine concern for her country and lack of curiosity about the place she's ruling, sticks out like a sore thumb. The fandom loves to highlight how the plot is "written for Liam" or is "easier in Liam's playthrough", but besides his own child being the heir, nothing else from Book 3 onwards seems like it was particularly written with him in mind.

Drake: Hoo boy. So 2019 was clearly the year that many people didn't believe me about Drake eating up space, and the year they had to eat their words because in TRH it was too obvious to be ignored. On an overall scale you cannot avoid the extra perks even his LI scenes got - his Valtoria scene in Chapter 4 was longer, set in a different place and he was allowed to expand on his decision to say yes to Liam's request in a way Hana and Maxwell never were. We learned way more about his familial relationships and dynamics than all the LIs combined. His childhood scene was the first to be given variants depending on whether the MC was his wife or not. His sister's wedding takes up almost half the book, leaving little to no space for either the intrigue, or even the pregnancy that was supposed to be THE most important part of the book.

An insane amount of retconning was done to emphasize strongly on the "marshmallow" part of his personality, having him state time and again that for the MC he can even "sport a tutu if you said you had a thing for the Sugar Fairy". Part of these changes could be attributed to the backlash the team got for having him call a pink cake "girly".

There is a strong possibility that Jackson might be explored further in the second book, and it's no surprise considering that he's the one parent that is most talked about in the series. The book looks like it was truly written with Drake in mind, with a heavy dose of Olivia, and everyone else was added as a bit of an afterthought.

Maxwell: Pretty awful treatment for a character that the head writer of the team claims to like. He has no individual character scenes, and one childhood scene where his older brother Bertrand is given more focus. Ironically, Maxwell was more wary of Bartie Sr in TRR Book 2 than Bertrand was, but somehow they changed this little detail so that Maxwell could be written out of his own story.

His LI scenes were also not given much effort - some were badly written, and some scenes (like the free ones) showed little to no variations between the friendly and romantic playthroughs. One that comes to mind is the baby announcement photoshoot, which was so poorly done it added nothing of value to the character or the relationship.

Like the last book, Maxwell isn't allowed much development in TRH1, and he's still forced into a largely "court jester" role in the story. This reflects very poorly on him in certain situations, such as the chapter where we finally get glimpses of his book. The aim was to be humourous and light about the events of the series, but he comes out of it sounding thoroughly insensitive towards his friends, none of whose consent he took to write this self-centered pile of garbage.

However, there is hope that they might do things a bit better for him next book, if the rewrite of him in TRR 2.0 was anything to go by. However, it would be awful if they tried to do a better job of him and then left out Hana. Speaking of which...

Hana: I'm going to begin this section with a comparison to another character, someone who should have been treated as a secondary character - Olivia.

Olivia in this book has 2 character scenes (they're very plot driven, but they also explore her outside of her friendship with the MC and dynamic with the group). The spy scene with Auvernese royalty, and the scene with Jin, the Auvernese spy. An entire chapter is spent in her duchy (by now we've seen Lythikos four times and I'm now sick of the place), and she winds up taking over Maxwell's Q&A scene as well.

So that's technically 2.5 scenes AND a childhood scene that revolves around her even though it's about Liam's mother. In addition to this, Olivia also gets her own mini-book, The Royal Holiday, that revolves (again) around her duchy and has the group clamouring to give her attention when no one else wants to.

Here are the stats for Hana, who by virtue of being an LI, is also a potential co-protagonist in the series:

Nothing.

Zilch. Zip. Zero. Nada. Nothing.

She has one childhood scene that is part of the group's scenes - a beautiful, heartbreaking one that serves as a slap in the face to anyone who'd dared to be dismissive of what she went through earlier - but none after that, and no individual scenes either. The team - in one of their most offensive choices this book - force a storyline where she has fertility issues just so the MC can be the one carrying the child, and the same MC can opt(!!) to ask about her well-being after two days. The same MC has the chance to whine about not getting pregnant soon enough in front of Hana.

There have been a few efforts made to make the MC appear more caring towards Hana: she can angrily defend Hana against Isabella's jibes, and she can make Hana relax for once during the baby shower (unlike the wedding reception where the same MC treated her like a bridesmaid). The MC even gets to tell her wife that she should never consider herself secondary or unimportant.

All of these are nice, but at the end of the day they're all scraps. I'd equate it to how we're allowed to give Kiara compliments on the final two chapters, but the white women around her still get a far bigger chunk of space, story and attention dedicated to them. The team have a pattern of adding these tiny tidbits that will temporarily satisfy stans while still maintaining the status quo, and that's precisely what's happening here. Its important for us to understand this. Underneath all this surface concern and all these scraps, Hana is still getting dust in place of actual story and characterization. And given that they made ZERO major changes to Hana's scenes in TRR 2.0, I'm not expecting that to change.

As for the book in general...I don't have to go into why this book is a mess, do I? We all know. We've all witnessed how disproportionate the writing has been and while I'm glad more and more people recognize what I've been seeing since Book 3, it's sad that it took 9 whole chapters in Walker Ranch for so many to understand exactly how much space Drake has been eating up for no good reason.

BLACK HOLES AND WHITE TEARS

I'll begin this section by talking about Drake Walker. He's the most prominent sign of the larger problem.

Drake Walker is what I call a Black Hole LI. And yes I mean black hole as in the one that exists in space (Beckett from TE also fits into this category). He is the kind of LI that sucks up everything. Love. Light. Joy. Common sense. Other characters' spaces.

He is the kind of love interest that will have Liam's traumatic experience centered around him. The kind of love interest for whose problems - largely created by his mammoth ego - we have to resolve in Shanghai, the home of the lone female LI. While that same female LI gets nothing, and then disappears in a subsequent chapter. The kind of love interest whose love confession can take precedence even over the MC's own issues (remember the Beaumont House chapter in Book 1? The one that took place the day after Tariq nonconsensually kissed the MC? 98% of the dialogue revolved around Drake's feelings. Not about the faulty lock, not the possibility that the MC's security had been tampered with - Drake's feelings). The kind of love interest that was given an entire extra wedding and artwork for his mother in Book 3 itself - none of which were given to any other LI.

A Black Hole LI is totally the kind of LI that would get 9 whole chapters in their home while we have never even visited the homes of the others since the early books of the previous series.

This wasn't something that began just this book. It's been a constant since Book 2, and you can even see signs of his story gaining way more importance in Book 1. It's also not something we can - in all honesty - blame simply on finances and fan popularity: the writers confirmed Drake to be one of their favourites, and attempts to give his scenes additional perks (eg plot elements pushed into both the Whiskey scene and the Beaumont Office scene) happened long before they could make any conclusions about his popularity. I bought the Beaumont Office scene to find out more about that family. I bought the Marshmallow scene so I could find out more about Liam and Hana's conversation post Coronation (remember - Hana was never even allowed to speak about her return to Cordonia because that scene was given to Drake). I bought the Italian Restaurant scene to learn more about Liam's assassination. The funny thing about all these three is that these were their stories to tell, yet Drake is the focus. Quite a few of Drake's initial scenes sold because the team consistently made the effort, consistently ensured that the information from his scenes would benefit us in the long run. The narrative allowed for Drake to have his own story, and additionally let aspects of his story overshadow that of the other LIs' (see the examples I've given above). Even though he has very little of value to contribute to the larger story (no job, his friendships are shallower than a wash-basin, and no genuine communication with any commoner in the story - only endless whining).

The treatment Drake gets that no other LI does, is a problem in itself, but it also is a small part of an even bigger issue. He isn't the only white character who gets this sort of attention and detail to his story.

Take Olivia, for example. Started out as a rival to the MC, before her sad sad childhood and her genuine love for Liam was revealed in the Book 1 finale. Over the course of the story, her role changed from petty rival to Warrior Duchess to reluctant bff. Over the course of the original series, Olivia became one of the most prominent characters in the story, on par with the male LIs. I'm not sure how many people realize that Lythikos is the ONLY duchy in the kingdom we've seen thrice (four times if you count Holiday). To give you an idea of how big a deal that is, here's how many times we've visited other duchies besides the capital and Applewood:

Fydelia - 2

Portavira - 1

Castelserraillian - 1

Ramsford (the home of our sponsors!) - 1

Hana's mother's home - Never.

Lythikos has a detailed familial and cultural history, and I wouldn't be lying if I said we know more about this one region than we know about the entire country of Cordonia. And honestly for me, the obsession with this one duchy has reached saturation point. Lythikos is not Cordonia. Lythikos is not all there is to Cordonia or even the only place that should matter. Yet it seems the team is more than eager to flog that horse until there's nothing of interest left.

Olivia is the only character who gets an entire mini book that revolves around comforting her and making her feel better about her background and origins. I don't think we've ever given Hana this much attention when she left her home for us. Or when she was being bullied by Madeleine. Or when she was the other bride in that grand wedding. Or when we received the news that carrying a child to term would be dangerous for her body. Or --

We were given an entire mini-book to comfort Olivia - the woman who continued to call Hana "damaged goods" and " a failure" for not marrying a man, while Hana's friend/wife stood by and watched. The woman who didn't have to think twice before making snide remarks about an equally skilled courtier who never did her any harm, only because she could get away with it. Istg when I heard that most of the court snubbed her during that first event in Holiday, this was my reaction:

Like girl I feel bad for you but at least now you know how it feels to be held responsible for shit beyond your control!

Hana, in the meantime, is forced time and again into situations that would break most people - but with very little payoff. Her arc with her parents was given a resolution that confirmed that Hana could only be considered worthy if she was useful. She was made to interact time and again with the woman who harmed her with such glee in Book 2. The MC - as a friend or as a wife - is at best neglectful of her issues and at worst someone who uses and discards Hana as she sees fit. And now...in her romantic playthrough she's given a storyline that doesn't allow her to bear children easily, and the MC spends less than two minutes to actually check on her. Hana is one of the co-protagonists, yet a side character given the treatment she should be getting. One could technically blame finances for the way she's being treated too, but keep in mind that the bad treatment goes as far back as the Applewood chapters in Book 1. Technically a time when she was bringing in money.

I get it. Olivia is a fan favourite. Many in the fandom wanted her to be an LI, the writers didn't, so they carved out this middle path where she'd have a major portion of the story anyway. But keep in mind that a lot of this attention came - and is still coming - at the cost of Hana. The team pretty much gave Olivia what they'd been refusing to give Hana all along.

On a smaller scale, you see similar patterns with the secondary characters - especially the women of the court. Madeleine and Penelope had elaborate backstories designed to make people forgive and sympathize with them, and Kiara - even though her backstory in Book 1 was inherently tragic and deserved to be handled sensitively - was given validation with great reluctance from the team, and with no consequences if we treated her cruelly. Even now, the team has only tossed Kiara a couple of scraps in the final chapter, while already setting the stage for Madeleine to get her own tragic "patriotism" arc for TRH Book 2, and a possible wedding for Penelope in the near future.

The difference here doesn't just lie in who gets attention and who doesn't. It lies in how the MC is supposed to view these women as well. A lot more sympathy and understanding is automatically extended to the white women, and the MC faces consequences if she fails to acknowledge their pain. Far less sympathy is offered by default to the black and the Asian woman - the MC may be friends with Hana but a huge chunk of their relationship is mostly about the MC benefiting from Hana's skills without giving much in return.

Even though their misdeeds are acknowledged and spoken about, both Madeleine and Penelope are written in such a way that the problems they're currently facing matter more than anything they've ever done in the past. Hana is made to sweet-talk Madeleine despite being bullied by her in a previous book. The MC herself never gets ANY opportunity to directly address what Penelope put her through in Portavira, because what the MC went through matters less than Penelope's condition.

Compare this to the relatively small scale of Kiara's "misdeed" (being honest about not continuing with an alliance - I'm surprised people think this is an actual thing to be offended about!), and the way the MC is allowed to mistreat her sans consequences afterwards. We're even allowed to call Kiara a snob in the books - which isn't at all true if you look at any of her scenes in canon - and constantly make fun of her desire to learn (in fact, if anyone in the series could be called a snob, it would be Olivia). If I were to sum up how a woman of colour is spoken about in the books, vs a white woman - this screenshot would do the trick:

(Notice how none of the options to speak about Penelope allow us to speak rudely of her, yet in Kiara's case we're allowed to make judgements on her as a person. In Hana's case, while we don't exactly drag her the way we can drag Kiara - we get precious few opportunities to actually defend or support her when others talk rubbish about her).

When you explore the series overall, it's impossible to ignore the casual racism that makes disrespecting people of a certain race/colour easier than on another. It's impossible not to see where the narrative chooses to give consequences to an MC who treats a white woman badly, and where it allows the very same MC to suspect, and then (optionally) gaslight, a woman of colour a couple chapters later. It's impossible not to see which people are meant to be respected despite their bad behaviour, and which people can still be treated badly despite their better behaviour. It's impossible not to see a pattern emerging.

This is not even a problem that plagues only the TRR series. From TCaTF to ACOR to Platinum to even MoTY, there is an ongoing pattern of discrepancies between the way white people and people of colour - particularly women - are treated. Many POC characters are placed in situations where it's easier for them to suffer/die/be shown disrespect, than it is to show them kindness or mercy. MOC are regularly either exoticized (Prince Hamid is the most glaring example of this) or placed in very traumatic situations for which the payoff isn't always going to be that great (I know this happens to Dallas, but I don't know about the payoff for Syphax).

WOC particularly suffer quite a bit in a lot of PB novels, in comparison to their white counterparts. Rowan Thorne of TCaTF, as a character, didn't deserve for her death to be made easier than her survival (in contrast to Diavolos, who was given far more opportunities AND will live simply by virtue of allying with Kenna), any more than Kiara deserved to be interrogated by the people who should have been concerned for her safety or Xanthe deserved to be shipped to slavery. All this, while a Vanessa (who is in a position of power and who plays an active role in rendering the MOTY MC financially helpless) gets a diamond scene where she "explains" her situation and a Madeleine doesn't even have to hear about her bullying from her victims.

The fandom, too, has contributed to this on a number of occasions. Speaking specifically of TRR, how many times have we seen Hana being dragged on Olivia posts? (also, if we were really measuring Olivia by the impossible standards that we held for Hana's characterization, Olivia would appear pretty damn one-note too: after all, 80% of her characterization consists of knife jokes). How many times was Hana being looked at with disdain for either her niceness or the poor writing for her, while the same fandom would regularly coo over a nice-presenting Penelope (whose characterization is one of the most inconsistent in the series)? How many times have we seen Kiara being called a creep/obsessed for merely looking at a man, while almost no one judges Olivia for kissing a man without his consent? How many times have people forgiven a traitorous Penelope and hated on a far more innocent Kiara in the same breath? How often did the fandom hate on Liam for accepting the MC's advances after she rejected him, yet not say a word when Drake did the same thing? How many times has Maxwell been loved for his humour and childlike nature while people of colour with a similar personality (Lily from Bloodbound, for example) were hated on instantly? Clearly, there have been more instances of people in the fandom sympathizing automatically with the white character, than with characters of colour. Time and again, brown and black characters - particularly women - have been required to match up to impossible standards (if they're nice they're boring. If they don't like the MC they're <insert every gendered sexist insult you can think of here>). The standards are far more relaxed for white characters, and they're often given more breathing room and to most of what they want without the constant judgement that black and brown women get. The standards set up for both are grossly different.

Racism is a beast that assumes many forms - and not all forms of racism will appear obvious to some, especially when such stereotypes are so normalized in media and popular fiction that we almost accept it at first. Almost. To get to the root of why there's such an imbalance in this series - among others - we need to first acknowledge the sexism and racism that are such a vital part of its narrative, and that its fandom regularly buys into and (sometimes unwittingly) promotes.

At this point, it's important to understand that having queer characters or characters of colour simply exist in the books isn't enough. Token rep can be found in PB's books by the dozens, but at the end of the day it means nothing if there is a constant reluctance, over and over and over, to treat those characters with the same care and sensitivity that they treat their white ones (or their "exoticized brown" ones).

• Like I mentioned earlier, I won't be playing TRH from this point forward, but I do hope to finish my TRR QTs soon. I have a LOT of thoughts! If you'd like to be tagged on those, do tell me!

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (13)

Chapter 13: Strange Way of Finding Things | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

A/N: This was supposed to be a full-length flashback chapter but I looked at the word count and I just-- 😳😵😧😬 So I just decided to split it because I don’t wanna drag you guys on with more than 5000 words of a single chapter. I would’ve broken my record average word count 😜 anyway, I hope y’all are ready for the angst

Also tagging: @silver-is-in-too-many-fandoms​ @berenilion​ @justtinfoley​ @stellar-trinity​ @peterwandaparker​ @calgasm​ @queen-destenie​ @calsponchoemporium​ @cal-jestis​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @sweeetteaa​ @fallenjedii​ @superwarsofthrones​

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC | Additional (last 2 tags count as TW): Nomara Anesh, Jedi Master! Fem OC, Togruta Fem OC, Jedi Seeker! Fem OC, family separation, separation anxiety

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 | Previous: Part 12 | Next: Part 14 | Masterlist

13 of ?

31 BBY

ESHYN, LAU’NON SYSTEM, OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

The clouds clear a path for the Jedi Starfighter, aboard it is the young Jedi Seeker, Nomara Anesh, one of the youngest seekers at only 34 years old.

Her aerial view of the archipelago captivated her as she flew by the land mass. The sapphire blue coastline surrounded the island, high mesas with a vast carpet of grass framed the formation while the torrential waves kissed the rigid rock faces with its ivory-white seafoam and mist.

It was simply breathtaking.

Though it saddened her that the Trade Federation has begun to press its ugly thumb into this tropical masterpiece. Prior to her visit, Nomara did her reading on the planet, its current political and economic state as well. She has always been the curious one amongst her batch—said her former master—thus resulting to her inquisitive upbringing.

“There it is, Evy,” Nomara peered through the side window of the cockpit. “Sa’Junna: where we need to be.”

She afforded another pass above the main island, searching for a safe place to land with the assistance of the astromech droid.

“Do you see anything, Evy?”

The droid, EV-65 or Evy as Nomara personally nicknamed it, chirped in excitement, equally as captivated as its Jedi owner; the droid popped out a tiny satellite from a small hatch on its dome head.

The young woman managed a smile at her droid’s happy trills, but something stirred within her as she approaches the island. The closer she got, the swirling at the pit of her stomach became stronger—though, it didn’t alarm her because she doesn’t sense anything wrong with it; nevertheless, whatever the Force was subtly telling her, it intrigued her.

“Bee-beep!!”

“Great job, Evy. Override the landing cycle now,”

“Beeep-doo!”

It took Evy a few seconds before relaying the area coordinates for a safe landing area to Nomara’s dashboard. A virtual map of the island flashed and a green blip blinked over the center section of the land mass. The Jedi followed the lead and managed to dock her ship in between the capital and a village half a mile away from each landmark. The droid remained on the ship while Nomara dismounted the vessel.

The city of Sa’Junna was developed by a civilization of old, and then later cultivated and nurtured by the past generations until the current one. Having grown and thrived for countless millennia, a great majority of the residents were humans, but other humanoids like Twi’leks and Nautolans have migrated to this idyllic sanctuary. The place appeared to have seen better days priors to the Trade Federation’s occupation.

Nomara could see the bustle of trade in the city, it wasn’t as grand as Coruscant or Naboo, but the prosperity is evident.

Upon alighting her starship, she was promptly greeted by a tall stature of a human male with a greying beard that covered half of his olive-skinned face. He gestured with open arms, welcoming the Togruta, while subtly keeping a tinge of caution in his words and actions.

Nomara bowed slowly and solemnly in greeting.

“Welcome, traveler. What is it that you seek in our already-disturbed home?”

“The exact disturbance you speak of, friend.”

The tribe leader introduced himself as Sentuk Nirmo, he governed one of the villages that networked with the main city—where most of the trade transpires. Seeing that Nomara bore better will than the Trade Federation’s emissaries, he invited her into their settlement where they could speak openly within closed walls. As they walked, Sentuk briefed Nomara of their situation.

“At first, they wanted the metal. But when they found the deeper caverns, that’s when they’ve completely sucked our mines dry! The Federation has robbed us of our own homeland.” Sentuk grieved, and then added. “They barricaded the Yishen Strait—our main trade route—from civilians and real traders. Since then, business has been slow for many of us.”

Sentuk’s voice trailed off when he noticed Nomara subtly panning her head left and right, as if searching for something. The Jedi apologized for zoning out, the tribe leader dismissed it as a fascination towards the planet as well as exhaustion—and so he invited her to their settlement. The Togruta follows the Sentuk into the village; along the way, he explains that each village has a leader which then comprises the council. With every step, the faint trace of the Force that Nomara has picked up gotten stronger.

Sentuk presented his humble home, it seems that the Federation has already left its mark in this village along with the others surrounding the capital city—Nomara looked around and found children playing out in the open, whilst weavers make baskets and rucksacks out of their looms for the hunters to store their game, other residents tend and plow their modest vegetable gardens and orchards.

“It seems so peaceful here,” Nomara’s smile faded as instantaneously as it appeared. “But I sense the distraught in these people.”

Sentuk hummed in agreement, recalling his grievance of their overall predicament. Nomara’s brows pulled together, she closed her eyes for a moment to detect that trail she’s picked up.

“There’s something else,” she mumbled so quietly that Sentuk barely heard.

The Togruta blinked her eyes open and the first thing she saw was a small girl watching the other children play—she looked like she had just learned how to stand and walk. Forgetting that she stood with the tribe leader, Nomara approached the child slowly until the girl acknowledged her with wide, quiet eyes bursting with curiosity.

She knelt down to level with the child, she offered her open palm, and without a single ounce of hesitation the toddler placed her pudgy hands on the vibrant red-skinned palm of the visitor. Their eyes met, Nomara’s heart leapt for a reason she can’t explain, her lips involuntarily curled and by impulse, her fingers folded around the soft, tender hand.

“Jidné!” a melodic voice beckoned from the cottage.

Both Nomara and the child turned to the direction of the voice, it was the mother. Nomara slowly hoisted herself back to her full height, when the mother stepped out of the doorway of their home, two more little girls followed behind her—presumably the little one’s older sisters—but they kept themselves close by the skirt of their mother, intrigued and at the same time shy of the unusual-looking visitor.

“I’m sorry, I just…” stammered the Jedi softly. “Your daughter.”

The mother flashed a friendly smile, “Yes, what about her?”

“She’s strong with the Force. For someone so little, she carries a significant amount of it within her.”

The woman immediately got the hint, she’s heard the stories, though this is the first time she’s met one in the flesh. Her eyes wandered to the waistband of the Togruta’s robes and spotted the silver hilt shimmering, dominating the neutral colors of her clothes.

“You’re a Jedi, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my name is Nomara Anesh,” the Jedi bowed her head briefly as soon as she uttered her own name.

“My name is Tymara Sheedra, I see you have met my little Jidné,” the woman peeked over the backside of her skirt, spotting her two other daughters, she introduced Krea and Maryn—aged eleven and eight respectively. The girls greeted the Togruta who beamed a gentle smile at them as she returned the gesture.

Nomara clarified that she was a Seeker and stated her purpose to Tymara, the Togruta’s emotions synched with the other woman’s—that friendly smile reduced into a poker face and then replaced with a blank smile.

“Um… Why don’t we talk inside? I just finished making supper,” Tymara invited the guest into her house, who politely obliged despite the tension.

The single-storey cottage was quaint, although each room was cramped and limiting to a number of persons inside. The kitchen was in the same space as the dining table—which lacked chairs and had woven cushions and mantles in its place. If one is to peek a little bit to their right, they could see the bedroom—the girls’ beds were thick-enough cushions each sitting atop a wooden frame, whilst the parents’ bed is settled on another side of the room; the only thing distinguishing the “rooms” was a wooden divider panel.

Nomara wagered this house couldn’t fit any more family members, Jidné would be the live marker of the home’s limit. She settled herself by the table—across where she sat, the three girls played in a small space that only fit them perfectly without needing to duck or crouch, the two older sisters watched with great fascination as Jidné lift a doll off the floor without touching it, Nomara watched intently along with them.

Tymara offered her a bowl of broth and bread on the side.

“I’m really sorry about our house. It’s not exactly much, isn’t it?” Tymara initiated quite apologetically, poking the bits of meat in the soup.

“I don’t mind,” Nomara awkwardly chuckled, parroting Tymara’s nervous poking before scooping up a spoonful and then bringing it into her mouth.

“What is it that you Seekers do?”

“We search the galaxy for Force-sensitive children. We bring them to the Jedi Temple in Coruscant and then train them into becoming Jedi Knights like myself.”

Tymara bit her lip and gawked emotionlessly at her food, it took her a good minute before she started to touch her food again. She spoke again, but didn’t face Nomara when she did.

“Have you come for her?”

The Jedi’s head perked to the mother, Tymara let the bottom of the spoon float above the soup—sensing her fluctuating appetite swirling together with the anxiety slowly eating away her mind; Nomara inhaled deeply, ceasing to touch her food to find the right words to say.

“Not specifically. I didn’t even know it was her until I… well, found her. The Force—or perhaps the universe—has a strange way of showing things we need to see when we least expect it, no matter how difficult it is to accept the signs.”

“And this Force… showed you to my daughter?”

“It would appear so,”

“Are you going to take her from me?”

“I wouldn’t force it,” Nomara replied somberly, as if understanding the grief of separation. In a way, she has felt that in one way or another.

There was silence, even the girls have purposefully hushed their voices and giggling to secretly listen to their conversation between the guest and their mother—even the little, two-year-old Jidné followed suit of her sisters.

“Eshyn isn’t what it used to be anymore, this was my home, and my husband’s, and our parents…” Tymara mumbled, watching her daughters resume playing. “We thought the Federation would make us prosper—because that’s what they promised us. You could imagine how stupid we all felt when the Trade Federation delivered the perfect opposite of what they told us. Ever since then, life has been hard for all of us. Especially the children—even if they don’t see it that way, at least not yet.”

Nomara understood Tymara’s sentiments, after all, she is a mother just looking for out for children and wanting what’s only best for them. The collective giggling of the girls was the only thing that warmed the abode today.

“Where’s their father?”

Tymara’s clasped fingers tightened around one another, she breathed deeply and bit her lip before she spoke a word.

“I lost him to a mining accident… because they wanted more metal. That’s all we ever heard from them. More metal. More work. More yields.”

“I’m sorry,” Nomara averted her gaze to the food that had now gone cold.

Little Jidné approached the table, specifically to Nomara’s side. She waddled towards the Jedi, the baby stared and studied the vibrant indigo patterns of the montrals while feeling its texture; then her pudgy paws found the tassel of turquoise beads that framed the side of the Togruta’s face, mistaking it for a toy. The two women giggled, endeared the little one’s innocence as Jidné continued to lightly swat the accessory and watch it dangle, immediately and easily entertained. Eventually, her sisters joined in and bombarded the Togruta with questions of wonderment—to name a few, they asked her where her species lived, if the white patterns on their faces were actual skin or tattoos, and how long can their montrals grow.

Nomara is simply overwhelmed by the cheeriness of these three girls combined, but the unexplainable lightness of Jidné prevailed. She knew it was the girl’s Force energy, but also the purity of her heart and spirit.

Tymara smiled at the sight of her youngest daughter getting along too easily with their visitor, but it was a sad smile—in her mind, she was already arguing against herself for the betterment of her youngest. With the occupation rendering them dirt poor and being a single parent, she had to make the toughest decision of her life. It took Tymara the entire evening to let it sink into her and toughen herself up even though she’s already falling apart because of their economic state.

By sunset, the entire village was rattled by the presence of the Trade Federation emissaries and their guards—a small unit of battle droids. What barred them from taking a step further into the settlement is Sentuk, with his warriors and hunters united to making a barricade out of themselves to protect their home.

“Not one step further!” Sentuk bellowed.

“I am sure you are aware of your settlement’s dues, old man,” the Neimoidian official flapped its trouty lips at the tribe leader.

“Your demands do not have a single drop of realism in them! You demand large yields over a short period of time, not even the manpower of two villages combined can make that quota,”

“Yeah, with what you’ve done with our mines—that quota is ridiculous!” added a spear-wielding warrior standing beside Sentuk and the men behind them murmured in agreement.

“Is your brain smaller than what it appears?!” taunted another man in the barricade, the joke was received differently from each party.

Vexed and provoked, the Neimoidian emissary raised a finger at Sentuk.

“I have given you more than enough time for that quota and you have failed me once more! I told you what would come to you should you not do what you are asked!”

A hasty wave of the hand prompted the guards to aim their rifles at the people making up the human barricade, the people in the village shrieked in fright—many of which have already retreated into their homes but peered through their windows. Nomara, who had been observing the sour exchange between the leader and the slimy emissary, rushed into the scene a split second after the command to fire has been given—killing off five of the men already and fatally wounding Sentuk after being shot in the side of his stomach.

“Jedi!? Here!?” the Neimodian screeched in a panic.

All of the villagers completely retreated into their homes—including Tymara and the girls—while Nomara aided the warriors in eradicating the battle droids, leaving the empty-handed emissary standing amongst the pile of dead clankers. Completely befuddled and frightened for his life, Nomara had him at swordpoint.

“I… I didn’t give the order! I’m just a messenger…!” he whimpered and his sheer terror had unconsciously dragged his legs to make him run away, leaving the wake of the ruined droids behind him.

When the tension eased, Nomara quickly turned her attention to the wounded Sentuk. A group of people have already gathered around him.

“Bring him to your healer, quickly now!”

The group carried their leader by the feet and underneath his arms, they briskly brought him to the cottage of the village healer while Nomara caught her breath and examined the droids’ remains. She felt the gaze of Tymara piercing right through her, she found the mother and children huddled by the doorway after the skirmish; Nomara saw the sad, disdainful sigh of the mother as she herded her children back into the house again.

After tucking the girls to bed, Tymara joined Nomara who was overlooking the coastline; the ocean breeze made the ladies’ robes and skirt billow wildly above the grass. There was a voiceless banter between the women, as if they have already began this conversation in their minds and linked it to each other.

“Will she be taken care of?” Tymara blurted.

Taken aback by the question, Nomara turned her head to the mother and stared at her for a long moment, unaware that her lips have parted due to the surprise. She turned her eyes back to the ocean slowly being devoured by the evening’s darkness.

“What?”

“Jidné. If you bring her with you, to become a Jedi, will she be taken care of?”

“Tymara, a Jedi’s hard life is a hard life,” Nomara shifted her body to face Tymara. “Jidné will have to grow up facing a lot of dangers as she grows up if she comes with me.”

Tymara bitterly chuckled, more of a nasal exhalation than an actual laugh, “Better than scratching the earth for her next meal. At least I know that she lives fighting for something honorable.”

“What about you? And Krea and Maryn?”

“We’ll manage. They’ve already learned how to loom and tend farms, they know their craft well. But for Jidné, well…” Tymara licked her lips. “This will always be her home, but I know she’s made for something greater. I just know it. You can never underestimate a mother’s intuition.”

Nomara smiled, although sadly, mostly for Tymara and the girls. Having nothing more to say, the two of them continued to look into the horizon, finding an individual sort of comfort underneath the pale blue moonlight.

“No, I suppose not.”

That night, Tymara snuck upon her sleeping daughters, but fixated her eyes on the youngest—plump cheeks squished against the pillow, her round and supple belly rising and falling as she slept, and her twitching eyelids made Tymara wonder what the little one could be dreaming of. She knelt down by Jidné’s bedside, her hands smoothly glided over her soft head and fine head of dark hair, and leaned forward to kiss Jidné’s forehead—it was a long kiss, and even after she pulled her lips away, the roundness of the baby’s cheek perfectly fit the curve of Tymara’s nose bridge, inhaling Jidné’s infant scent.

The woman bit her lip as she battled with her tears. It’s going to be a long night for Tymara.

Nomara watched from the open doorway, arms crossed with each other, there was a heavy gloom around the house that suffocated her—not even sighing deeply helped. She retired to the space in the bedroom that Tymara had personally fixed up for her.

In the morning of their departure, Tymara held her youngest daughter for the final time and rocked her as if putting her to sleep. Her sisters, as well, bade their own tearful goodbyes to their baby sister, ceaselessly riddling her plump cheeks with kisses and leaving tears stains upon her skin—in a way, Jidné is lucky that she is unaware that this is the sorrow of parting.

Tymara nuzzled her cheek against Jidné’s smooth forehead. One last embrace and a kiss buried into the crook of the child neck; with her eyes closed, she imagined how Jidné would grow up to be—but she’s completely certain that she’d grow up to be a strong, courageous woman—and she painted a mental picture of how her daughter would look like once she’s come of age.

In a prayerful solemnity, Tymara whispered all of her wishes for Jidné to Jidné herself—be strong and brave yet remain kind, wise, and gentle; make good friends with the other children if she meets any; listen well to the instructions of the elders; and most importantly, listen to her heart.

Tymara savored this last moment, Nomara was kind enough to give all the time she needs—the Togruta passed the time by prepping her Starfighter and doing the necessary maintenance checks before takeoff.

“I love you… I love you so much, my darling girl,” Tymara feigns a brave face. She held Jidné right in front of her, then Jidné’s pudgy hands caressed both of her cheeks, and that’s when she lost it—tears streamed down her cheeks, wetting the child’s tiny fingers.

The true, final embrace and kiss from her mother before Jidné is transferred to the arms of Nomara Anesh.

“You have my word. She’ll be treated well.”

“I know,” muttered Tymara quite weakly, rubbing her arms together to whisk away the cold goosebumps pelting her skin. “I know.”

Tymara watches her daughter walk away in the arms of the Togruta. She watches a part of her heart and soul shrink in the distance, unaware eyes looking over the shoulder of the Seeker and back into the grieving eyes of her mother. Tymara’s hand flinched into a short-lived wave and quickly brought them to her lip, biting into her fingernails until her daughter has fully disappeared in a ship with Nomara and out of Eshyn.

[allie1804-fan]

The Middle of the Road (Chapter 13)

Warnings: None just romance

Chapter 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8 , 9, 10, 11 , 12 13

Eventually they got up to eat, feasting on one of Keanu’s favourite breakfasts - French toast  - and freshly brewed coffee out on the terrace  - it was nearly 11 by the time they ate so it was warm enough to sit out. Later they were planning a hike up into the woods then back down to the lake for a picnic. Emily had packed 2 of his favourite things for lunch: Heinz tomato soup and  pastrami to go in a rye bread sandwich including all the trimmings: Sauerkraut, Russian dressing, mustard and dill pickles. He loved her for being so thoughtful.

Before they left, they checked in with Chloe and John that all was well with their children which it was. That night, they would return them home where Karina and Keanu’s mom would take over the babysitting.  With their minds put at rest, Emily and Keanu set off up into the woods behind the cabin, taking a route about half-way up the mountain before looping round and back down to the lake shore. 

For the first hour or so they were largely quiet, enjoying the open air, just commenting occasionally on the plant life and vistas. Eventually, Emily suggested they start to tackle some of the issues they had put on the table the week before.

“So maybe we should start by thinking about how we handle the situation now – I mean while I’m still feeding Hannah and not working and you have stuff to do but you’re not filming. I don’t really like the idea of being regimented but it might help if we lay some markers down. It feels like because we didn’t, that’s why things slipped off the radar without us meaning them to.”

“And the children need routine I guess, so yeah that makes sense  - and it appeals to the Virgo in me!”

“yeah” she laughed “Mr regimented sock draw!”

“hey, leave my sock draw be”

It was good to have some light-hearted banter to punctuate the discussion. They continued and agreed on designated days for her writing and his gym when they were all in LA.  Swapping days was allowed, but ideally to be an exception only so everyone knew where they stood. It didn’t sit well with him to demand that others working on his projects fit in with him, but he reluctantly agreed that his status was high enough for him to be able to ask for that so they could make the routine stick.

For the time being, Emily wasn’t ready to throw her hat in the ring for live projects, but she thought in around 4 months time, when Johnny would be 2 and Hannah had turned 1, she would contact her agent about working again. 

If she did get a script she really wanted to do, whether just to get her name out there again or if she really loved it, then they would probably need to think about childcare options since Keanu did have a film coming soon as well as Arch and some production commitments with Company films.  She didn’t need to work for the money clearly, but so she had her own life and her own creative outlet. It was one of the things they had talked about last week – that her sense of self wasn’t complete without writing just like his without acting. He’d fallen in love with Emily the writer and he wanted her to have that back as well as the new identity of mother to their children.

For childcare, a nanny was an obvious option but Emily had concerns about finding the right one given they didn’t need someone full time all year round but they would possibly need someone full time every now and then.

“We can pay someone a full-time rate though even if we don’t need them full time” Keanu stated.

“Yeah I know, but is a good nanny going to want to be paid to do nothing sometimes? Or maybe there are people who do this on an occasional basis to supplement their income? I guess that is a question we can tackle when we have an actual need.”

They agreed to park it for now. As the children got older there would be more social settings they could go to and then of course kindergarten and school.

“What about when you go on location?  Would you want us to travel with you? Us all being there  might be a bit much for you after long days on set – I know you get so focussed”

“yeah but before I didn’t have them to think about  - the last film was in LA so I haven’t ever had to film and be far from them so it’s kind of an unknown. I mean if it’s a long shoot,  it would be hard on us all for me to be away without you. And when they’re older you’ll have to stay home if they’re in school”

“What do you mean “if” they’re in school?” she raised an eyebrow “Are we going off grid?”

“naaah  - I meant that some kids are home schooled or tutored – but I dunno,  doesn’t that strike you as a bit weird? I mean you know I didn’t enjoy school, the education part I mean, but the social thing is key. I don’t want them to grow up weird!”

“Me neither. I mean maybe sometimes we’d take them out of school for a bit when they’re younger if the experience they’d get from travelling with you to a shoot would be valuable, you know but I’d want to be in a house not a hotel if it was more than just a week. A hotel would soon lose its appeal after a few days!”

“Sure, I’ve been in a rented house or apartment on shoots for a while now – I’m less of a gypsy boy these days. You’ve tamed me I think!  Anyway, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Like we said before, when we were actually planning on having kids, we did say I’d cut back so I can’t see me doing more than one location film a year from now on. I don’t want to miss them growing up. It’s not like we need the experience or the money. And it was fine,  you know last year just making one small film.”

By the time they stopped for lunch by the lake, most of the points had been talked through and they could enjoy their lunch.

“You know, that whole conversation and the conflicts were so much more simple to resolve than I’d imagined, now that we’re actually talking” Emily marvelled.

“and listening,  that’s the difference – I know I spent time second guessing what you wanted or worse assuming rather than just coming to you with my questions.  Could have saved ourselves a whole lot of heartache!”

Em leaned over to kiss him.

“Ewwww you taste of pickle!”

“Your fault, you made me my sandwich!”

“touche”

“Sorry but that’s what you signed up for!”

“I don’t recall signing anything!” she laughed.

“would you like to?”

“What? Sign a contract to kiss you even when you eat pickle?!”

“No, Em, I mean would you like to marry me?”

“what?!” Em’s eyes were wide with shock “ what are you talking about?”

Keanu’s mind was racing, trying yet again to second guess her thoughts. He pressed ahead again, just to make it clear what he was saying.

 “Em, I mean, will you marry me?”

 “But we never ……I mean I know it was years ago when we discussed it, but we said we didn’t need the piece of paper” she stuttered

 “I know, but now, it feels right”

 “Why?”

 “You don’t want to, it’s OK” he said frowning slightly

 “No, no that’s not it at all, not what I meant at all” she repeated for emphasis and took his hand in hers, “but  I asked you why”

He sighed,  relieved,  then took a moment to steady himself. He’d surprised himself by asking the question and then when she hadn’t just said yes straight away, it had thrown him off. She was right though, they’d always said they didn’t need a piece of paper, and when they’d got pregnant with Jonathan, they had other things on their mind, like just making it through to having a heathy baby. Once he was born, they had been in the thick of having a new-born and shortly after that, pregnant again with Hannah.  There had been no room to think about marriage or for that matter to really prioritise their relationship.  Now was time for a reset.

“Emily, ever since we started trying for kids, it’s like “us” hasn’t been the priority, but we’re lucky, we’ve got through it, so far at least and we still love each other. And the love I have for you, the connection mentally and physically, I’ve never had that before, not with anyone and I can’t imagine it, and I don’t want it with anyone else. That intimacy we have, it’s so special, so wonderful and I just think I want to celebrate it, to make a public commitment to you, to us. And I know a piece of paper won’t make it secure, only we can do that. But for the kids, as they grow up. I think the solidity of parents who are in love AND married would be helpful to them too. So, errrm, that’s why!”

Tears were running down Emily’s face by the time he finished his speech. She pulled herself together and knelt up in front of him, taking his face into her hands.

“How, just tell me how I got so lucky to fall in love with you? Yes, Keanu I’ll marry you, in a heartbeat I’ll marry you”

A gentle kiss sealed the deal.

“Yes?”  he kissed her again

“Yes!”

 “You’re sure?”

 “Yes, one hundred percent yes, a thousand percent no, make that a million percent, yes!”

@penwieldingdreamer @fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithkeanu @ladyreapermc @witty-wallflower @gatsbynouvel @bitchyslut99 @keanureevesisbae @omg-imagine @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @kindainlovewithkeanu @paperplanesandwallflowers