#the Inspector scolds her

[hephaestuscrew]

Favourite Fleet & Clara quotes from High Vaultage 

(Page numbers from my Goldsboro special edition, I'm not sure how they line up with page numbers in other versions. Spoilers for all of High Vaultage.)

p27: Clara had met Fleet only weeks before. She had just arrived in London and started work as a crime reporter, and pursued a murder case alongside Fleet despite his repeated objections, until he eventually conceded - as Clara had known he would - that they were making a good team, and furthermore proposed - as she hadn't a clue he would - that they go into business together.

p51: "There you are, Fleet. Where have you been?" / Fleet paused, made some confused looks between Clara and the room he had just left, and finally pointed at the door. "Isn't this the waiting room for detectives whose partners have run off? They were quite a few of us in there. Quite a lot in common." / Clara suppressed a grin into something more disapproving. "You're not as funny as you think you are, Inspector." (More below the cut.)

p70: [After Clara successfully sneaks into the Iron Bridge Club] [Fleet] should have known Clara would make it in. Her tenacity had been clear to him since she had first left the police roping at a crime scene of his. It was one of the things he admired about her, even if she didn't always check whether there was somewhere to land.

p76: [After Clara's business card strategies work on Cosgrove] Fleet glanced at Clara. She grinned back, eyes wild with pride, before tapping her bag and mouthing the word 'Posner'.

p116: [After Professor McCabe says “Top marks, Miss Entwhistle”] Clara beamed, and flashed her eyebrows at Fleet while elbowing him in the ribs.

p132: "Don't think you can shake me off, Inspector. I'll come with you." / " I'm not trying to shake you off. It's just late, Clara.” / "You're always trying to shake me off. Ever since we met. Despite my constant usefulness." / "I'd say occasional usefulness," replied Fleet, maintaining a straight face. / Clara, with some effort, twisted her grin into something approximating outrage. "Frequent usefulness, surely!" / "No, but I'll agree to "regular usefulness"." / "Deal.” / “And I asked you to join me in business, Clara. If I'd wanted to shake you off, that's a poor way to go about it."

p154: [From Fleet's POV] Clara really was the sort of person - indeed the only person he knew - who could find genuine joy and wonder in a building site.

p172: [When Clara fears for her life at the display of the Lanterns] She thought of her brother, her sister, her parents... Her ridiculous detective.

p176-178: Clara without her usual pep was almost unrecognisable. [...] Normally that sort of reply would at least elicit some playful scolding. Fleet grew concerned. [...] "Do you want to talk about it?" [...] " What do you want to talk about?" [...] He tried to think of more options. Not talking about things was Fleet's speciality, but for Clara this signalled a worrying malaise. Things were dire. He was going to have to resort to small talk. "Would you like to hear about my day?" A brief pause. "Yes," she replied, with a note of hope [...] Fleet remembered the mess he was in before he switched to the task of cheering up Clara.

p184: When he saw her, she noticed his eyes were shining with a rare zeal, and he appeared bursting to explain whatever he was thinking.

p187: Fleet had, after all, taken her under his wing, even if she did have to thrust herself there initially. She thought about the door plaque he’d had engraved with both their names on it as his way of inviting her to be his business partner – typical Fleet, refusing to tell her so much as his favourite breakfast food and then to go and do something like that. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her.

p201: [After Fleet sees a magpie get electrocuted] Fleet looked at Clara, who thankfully had been facing the other way.

p214: [After Fleet falls into the frozen river] Clara, removing her cape and placing it over Fleet's shoulders 

p225: [Clara] had read several books on the subject - Surreptitious Sleuthing, Introduction to Ingression, Undetectable Detection, to name a few - but she always seemed to pick up more from her partner, whose years in the police had left him full of [useful tricks].

p235: [While navigating the Brunellian tunnels for the first time] "I still think my way is more fun." / "Escape, Clara. Escape and then fun." / "That's a promise, Fleet. You've promised it now.”

p259: “That's too much topiary,” said Fleet [...] Clara's eyes lit up at this rare revelation of a personal opinion from her colleague. “I didn't know you had such strong views on topiary, Fleet.”

p293: [When Crowe increases how much he'd be willing to pay them to investigate on his behalf] Fleet knew his answer, but felt he had to see whether Clara was still in agreement. He looked to her, only to be met with an expression of astonishment that he had taken even this long to respond.

p337: [After their falling out] Where do you even begin, she thought, let alone end, with someone you've worked with so closely?

p338: [After they squash the scone Fleet brought Clara as part of his apology] "You want me to eat an exploded scone!" cried Clara, stifling laughter.”/ “I think it says a lot if you refuse.” / “Fine,” she said, grabbing the bag, pulling out the crushed scone and taking an enormous bite. / The corners of Fleet's mouth twitched. Clara was sure he almost laughed.

p341: [Before they go into the Church of the Mechanical Man to look for Helena Evans] Clara smiled, and punched him in the shoulder. / "Ow! What was that for?" / Clara realised that in her excitement at Fleet's plan she had landed her friendly thump with rather more power than intended, so she clarified: "You're a good one, Fleet.”

p371: [After Fleet gets shot in the shoulder] Fleet thought he heard Clara scream his name, but he couldn't be sure. Suddenly she was next to him, checking his shoulder.

p371-372: Clara turned to Fleet. “Now I have an idea.” / “What kind of idea?” / “A terrible idea. Just the worst idea I've ever had.” / Fleet looked towards the distant exit, which could barely be seen beyond the fire, and then back to Clara. “I like it.”

p373: [As they anticipate an oncoming wave of molten metal] Fleet felt a sensation he did not recognise. Something like calm. Then Clara took his hand and turned him towards her. For some insufferable reason she was smiling again. He couldn't help but return it. [...] Fleet realised Clara still had his hand firmly in hers, and she seemed to be saying something at him that he couldn't hear. He tried to listen, but she stopped speaking, shook her head, threw her arms around him and hauled him down onto the ground.

p375: [When Clara won't tell Fleet whether she knew they were going to be saved by Helena Evans] “And you don't think this might affect how likely I am to trust your plans in the future?” / “Does it?” asked Clara. [...] “No,” said Fleet. “It doesn't.”

p381: Clara stiffened her posture, as though she might salute. "Archibald Fleet, I challenge you to a battle of business." / "We're partners, Clara. We're on the same side." / "A point for whoever solves a case first! More for trickier ones!" / "But we work together..." / "Let battle commence!" she cried.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Ten

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Ten: One Hell of a Fair

Summary: (Y/N) and Sebastian go to the Frost Fair and, of course, find trouble there.

            (Y/N) looked around at the frozen Thames as people milled about in small shops made of tents, kids happily played in the snow, and people contentedly walked across the thick ice keeping them from falling to the watery depths below.

            “The Frost Fair takes place next to London Bridge on the frozen River Thames,” said Ciel, bundling up against the cold. “The last time it was this grand was back in 1814, apparently.” He grinned suddenly as they passed some stalls.

            “What is the matter?” asked Sebastian.

            “All the wares they have lined up here are shoddy,” said Ciel. “If the ice freezes over like this next year, we could clean up with a stall here.” He nodded to a small ark toy. “That, for example.”

            “Oh, young nobleman, I see you have quite the eye,” said the salesman. “That is an item made by the now hugely popular Funtom Company when it was still a small craft shop.”

            “What a total fake,” said Ciel. “The Phantom Ark, enjoyed by the last generation, was made by the most skilled craftsmen, and it was an extremely rare and valuable item because only three were made. Since the mansion burned down, even the current company doesn’t have the real item anymore. There’s no way there would be a real one here.”

            “Noah’s Ark is a lot like this country,” remarked Sebastian.

            “What?” asked Ciel.

            “A ship steered by a single boatman,” said Sebastian. His eyes were cold. “The only ones who will be saved are the select few.”

            “Arrogance and lack of empathy,” said (Y/N). “It kills humanity at every turn.”

            Ciel looked like he was about to respond, but someone stepped out and said, “You’re…”

            (Y/N) glanced at the new arrival and remembered him. It was Abberline, the detective from Scotland Yard.

            “To see one of Scotland Yard’s detectives has enough free time to dawdle around here, I suppose London must really be at peace,” remarked Ciel. “Today, at any rate.”

            “I don’t! I’m on duty right no!” defended Abberline.

            “Well, then, work hard enough to earn your keep on behalf of Her Majesty and the people who employ you, Inspector,” said Ciel, turning away.

            “Wait, I have something to ask you,” said Abberline. “Master Ciel!” He reached out to touch Ciel’s shoulder, but Sebastian swiped his hand away.

            “Pardon me. As you can see, our Master is quite frail…I mean, delicate,” said Sebastian with a smirk. “So I would ask you not to lay your hands on him too roughly.”

            “We can grab a cup of tea, and you can speak for a moment there,” said Ciel simply, walking over to a small tea room before Abberline could argue against it.

            (Y/N) sighed when they entered the warm shop, bristling from the winter cold. Sebastian snuck a look at them and smiled in amusement at their little habits that betrayed how they were feeling. He had always scolded them for not completely controlling their reactions, but Sebastian was rather fond of them.

            “So, then,” said Ciel once they were seated. “What is Scotland Yard doing here, Inspector Abberline?”

            “This morning, a man’s corpse was found under the ice of the market,” explained Abberline. “The man was a member of a specific criminal organization. At present, we are chasing after the culprit who killed that man as well as the ring he stole embedded with a blue diamond worth around two thousand pounds.”

            “Diamond: the stone that radiates exquisiteness for all eternity,” said a new voice. Lau had arrived in his tea room. “All that awaits those mesmerized by its shine is destruction. However, even knowing that, it is said that it is impossible to resist.”

            “How do you know about the Shard of Hope?” questioned Abberline.

            Ciel raised an eyebrow. “The Shard of Hope?”

            “Huh? What? What?” Lau blinked innocently. “There’s really a gem like that?”

            (Y/N) sighed. Lau was an expert at seeming like he knew what he was doing and then actually having no clue.

            “He was just joining in,” said Ciel, eyebrow twitching. “Don’t pay any attention to him. More importantly, Lau, why are you here?”

            “Because this is my restaurant, Young Earl,” said Lau.

            (Y/N) glanced over at the scantily-clad waitresses and deadpanned. “We should have guessed.”

            “Not interested?” remarked Sebastian teasingly.

            “In the outfits or the women? I’m afraid I’d be saying no to both at this instance,” said (Y/N).

            “Pity,” said Sebastian. He thought they’d look sinful in one of those dresses.

            “By the way, it seems you’re having a rather interesting conversation, Young Earl,” remarked Lau. “Will you please fill me in on the details?”

            “Have you heard anything?” asked Ciel. “It’s part of Lord Henry Hope’s collection; a blue diamond that has become known as the Hope Diamond.”

            “Nope, nothing,” said Lau.

            “It is a devilish stone that is rumored to have brought all its owners an unfortunate fate, from Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette on,” continued Ciel. “After disappearing from the world, the stone was divided in order to hide its past. It was cut, and a small shard was taken off. Consequently, one of the two shards of the Hope Diamond is what you are searching for. Correct, Abberline?”

            “The carriage was attacked while it was being transported as evidence, and it was stolen,” said Abberline grimly.

            Ciel smirked. “This is intriguing. Tell me more. I’ll participate in this matter, too. I won’t force you to tell me. However, if you refuse, your superior, Lord Randall, might end up in quite the predicament.”

            Abberline paled. “Fine. Since you insist.”

            Ciel smirked in satisfaction. “Well, then, what are your leads?”

            “Well, I was going to ask a certain man for some help,” said Abberline.

            “A certain man?” asked Ciel. “Not…”

            Abberline nodded gravely.

l

            (Y/N) cocked their head as they regarded the tent before them. It was Undertaker’s. He had set up an undertaker’s shop on the ice. What a strange man…

            “Apparently, quite a few people have died of frostbite, so he decided to set up a shop,” said Abberline.

            “Earl…the name of this shop…it can’t be…” said Lau grimly.

            “Since I permitted you to tag along, please wait here, outside,” said Abberline. He went to open the door, but as it was just a painted tent, he fell through to the floor below.

            “How reckless.” Ciel deadpanned.

            “That is but a privilege of birth,” said Lau. He paused. “So, where is this?”

            An irk mark appeared on Ciel. “The Undertaker’s shop! We met him during the Jack the Ripper incident, remember?!” He huffed. “Abberline will be in tears in a moment. Sebastian, get ready to—!”

            Outrageous laughter startled the group. Undertaker’s cackles rang out through the air, and his tent nearly came down from the force.

            Shocked, Ciel pushed through the flap of the tent and walked in with Sebastian, (Y/N), and Lau. Undertaker lay on the ground, legs twitching as he laughed. Abberline looked incredibly confused.

            “You’re amazing. You have definitely chosen the wrong profession,” giggled Undertaker as he stood. “As a comic, you could be world renowned!”

            “Just what did you do?” asked Ciel.

            “I-I just started talking as I normally do, but then this guy just started laughing,” said Abberline in confusion.

            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Impressive, he managed to make Undertaker laugh…”

            “It seems you are quite skilled, Mr. Inspector,” said Sebastian darkly, huffing at a human impressing (Y/N) everyone.

            “No, I’m just…” Abberline trailed off nervously.

            Ciel slammed his hands down on a coffin. “Tell us about the ring, Undertaker, the one that the body you disposed of this morning was supposed to have.”

            “There’s a possibility that it was buried around the area he was found in,” said Abberline. “I implore you on behalf of all the good citizens of London, such as yourself, please assist us with the investigation.”

            “I have been highly impressed by you, Inspector,” said Undertaker, still giggling. “I’ll tell you. Or, more precisely…I’ll show you.”

l

            The group stared at the ice sculpture of Queen Victoria and the blue diamond ring around her fingers.

            “See? Over there,” chirped Undertaker.

            Abberline looked aghast. Lau just smiled. “I guess one of the ice sculptors here just happened to come across the frozen ring, and in order to take advantage of it, they made it into a statue.”

            (Y/N) leaned forward. “I usually prefer rubies, but I have to admit, the tales of sorrow and anguish around this jewel appeal to me.”

            “Get it out! Right now!” cried Abberline at the two constables.

            “Understood!” replied the men.

            “What are you doing, you ignorant whelp?!” demanded an official voice. All heads turned to a group of people glaring at them.

            “That holy maiden is the prize that will be presented to the winner!” declared a dramatic voice. Viscount Druitt withdrew a pink rose and shook a finger at the group. “You mustn’t touch it.”

            “Viscount Druitt!” gasped Ciel, going white as he remembered the embarrassment of having to flirt with the man.

            (Y/N) deadpanned. Of course he’d weaseled his way out of jailtime.

            “The contest’s judges?” said Ciel, fighting for composure and looking at the other officials. “Why is he one of them?”

            “Wasn’t he taken in by Scotland Yard for organ trafficking?” wondered Lau.

            “He was released a few days ago,” said Abberline bitterly.

            “Money,” said (Y/N) with a distasteful “tsk.” “Unbelievable.”

            “I’m sorry,” said Abberline, stepping forward to the judges. “Scotland Yard will have to take this statue into its possession now.”

            “No! Even if you are from Scotland Yard, we will not permit anyone to have their own way at the Frost Fair, the peak of excitement for all the townsfolk,” declared the head judge haughtily.

            “Beauty is something to be adored!” cried Druitt. “Are you people trying to force shame on this beautiful maiden?”

            “Like you’re one to talk,” muttered Ciel.

            “If you really want her, then just bring out enough beauty to satisfy her,” said Druitt.

            “As expected of one who loves fine art, beauty, and cuisine, it’s as Viscount Druitt says,” said the judge. “If you want this statue, win the contest.”

            Ciel smirked. “I see. I can agree to that. The ring will belong to the one who wins the contest. It’s simply and clean.”

            “Master Ciel?” asked Abberline.

            “I will obtain that ring,” said Ciel.

            “That’s a stolen object!” cried Abberline. “It’s also important evidence in the serial kidnappings of several young girls!” He covered his mouth after he spoke, realizing he gave out too much information.

            “I see. So, that’s why Scotland Yard is in such a frenzy searching for it,” said Ciel with a smirk.

            “Even so, it is true that those in possession of the ring have met ill fates, one after the other. It really does fit its name of the cursed stone, and yet you still—!” Abberline was interrupted.

            “Cursed, huh?” remarked Ciel. He smirked and gazed at his Phantomhive ring. “Then, it really does fit me.”

            “That reminds me,” said Undertaker. “Your ring also has a beautiful blue stone set in it, doesn’t it, Earl?”

            “Yes,” replied Ciel.

            “You should be careful,” said Undertaker with his mischievous smile. “Diamonds are hard, but for all their hardness, they’re fragile. If you overexert yourself too much, it may shatter.”

            “What of it?” demanded Ciel. He smirked. “This body and this ring are both things that have shattered and been revived. As if I would fear them shattering after everything I’ve been through.”

            Sebastian’s lips curled into a smirk at the determination at Ciel’s determination. (Y/N) cocked their head. They had been mortal once and seen thousands of lives come and go, and yet human resilience never faltered through the centuries.

            Ciel turned on Sebastian. “Win the contest, Sebastian.”

            “Yes, My Lord,” said Sebastian. He turned to (Y/N). “Join me for some entertainment?”

            “And get all cold and wet? No, thank you,” said (Y/N), their nose twitching. “Besides, I doubt you need any help.”

            Sebastian smirked proudly. “Of course. And I will demonstrate that today.”

l

            “And now we will commence the traditional Frost Fair Ice Sculpture contest!” declared the announcer as time ended. “The judging will now commence! First up is the ‘Joyful Scotland Yard’ team with their ‘Guardian of London!’ ” Scotland Yard saluted the actually fairly realistic sculpture of Lord Randall. “Judges, your marks! One. Two. One. Zero. A total of five points!”

            The announcer cleared his throat. “Next is the ‘All Women’s Dresses Should Be Tiny” team, but…for obvious reasons, it has been disqualified.”

            (Y/N)’s eye twitched as they looked at Lau’s statue. It was of a woman entirely nude.

            “Why?” asked Lau “innocently.”

            “There’s no way they could show that in public!” cried Ciel.

            “I think hiding it with those banners makes it more perverted,” said Lau in disappointment.

            Despite the argument, the judges each held up an “X” for their judgement. Except, of course, Druitt put up a perfect “Ten.”

            “You can win, right, Sebastian?” asked Ciel.

            “Of course. Once you have given an order, I exist but to fulfill it,” said Sebastian.

            “Next up is the ‘Queen’s Puppy’ team with ‘Noah’s Ark,’ ” said the announcer.

            The curtain fell to reveal the large sculpture of Noah’s Ark, glistening under the sun.

            “This is what ice art truly is!” cried a judge in amazement.

            “This is amazing!” gasped the announcer. “Please, give us your results.”

            “Please wait one moment,” said Sebastian. “You have no seen everything yet.” He snapped his fingers, and on cue, the warmth of the sun melted the slight seal in the ice. The cabin of Noah’s Ark broke apart to reveal a carving of the many animals saved on board.

            “Amazing! It’s like it’s alive!” clamored the crowd.

            “Good job,” said (Y/N), nodding to Sebastian.

            “I see!” cried the head judge. “He made the joints in the roof weak on purpose so that, in time, they would melt and fall off!”

            “Oh! Oh!” cried Druitt. “God’s rage! The only one to escape unscathed in the blazing storm was Noah! Leading his paired animals, waiting for the time of regeneration as they drift upon the waves!”

            “Young man, I am completely astounded,” said the head judge. “To be able to see such a high-class ice sculptor…!”

            “No,” Sebastian smirked, “I am just one hell of a butler.”

            “You really like that line, don’t you?” remarked (Y/N).

            Sebastian smirked at them. “I am simply being honest.”

            (Y/N) huffed a laugh and rolled their eyes in fond amusement.

            “Well, then, let’s go to the grading!” declared the announcer.

            “Wait right there!” cried a man’s voice, running out to the middle of the ice. He pulled out a gun, and the crowd gasped. “This ring was originally ours. Sorry, but I’ll have you return it.”

            “What? You people aren’t the—!” said Abberline.

            “That’s right! We’re the bombing thief ring that’s been the talk of the town lately,” said the man proudly. He pulled back his jacket to expose a multitude of sticks of dynamite tied to him. Behind him, two more men kicked over a barrel with more explosives. “I’ll count down from ten.” He grabbed his lighter. “If you don’t want to die, then get lost. Ten!” The crowd ran.

            “Master?” asked Sebastian.

            “My orders haven’t changed,” said Ciel. “Do it, Sebastian.”

            “Join me this time?” said Sebastian.

            “Well, this time it will actually be fun,” said (Y/N), smiling brightly.

            “Eight!”

            “What are you doing? Get out of here this minute, Master Ciel!” said Abberline.

            “Seven!”

            “If you want to run, then do so,” said Ciel calmly. “Don’t pay attention to me.”

            “Six!”

            “Like I could do that!” cried Abberline.

            Ciel’s eyes widened in surprise.

            “I became a police officer to protect the people,” said Abberline.

            “Five!”

            “In order to protect everyone!” declared Abberline.

            “Four!”

            “What an idiot,” said Ciel.

            Abberline ran forward, but a shot at his feet stopped him.

            “Don’t get one step closer!” said the thief. He pointed the gun at Ciel. “I’m down to the last three. Are you really not gonna run, little nobleman?”

            “I have no need to because…” Ciel didn’t have to finish speaking as Sebastian jumped into the air on skates and knocked the gun from the thief’s hands.

            “What?!” the other two thieves began shooting at Sebastian, but (Y/N) skated up behind them and spun, knocking them down. They landed the jump in an arabesque backwards, and the judges clapped.

            “What flawless form!” cried a judge.

            The two thieves grabbed for (Y/N), but they tightened once more and jumped into the air, letting the men crash into each other before landing expertly again with a smirk.

            “Incredible!”

            “It’s the elegant raven dancing on the wings of night!” cried Druitt as he watched. “They ride the winds of darkness with feathers of ebony beauty! They tantalize those who cannot fly with them! Oh, but to touch such beauty!”

            (Y/N) sighed at his dramatics, and Sebastian tsked.

            “Ten! Ten! Ten! Ten! Ten!” cried the announcer as the judges watched the performance and graded it. “It’s a full score!”

            “Excellent job, (Y/N),” said Sebastian, skating up to them.

            (Y/N) spun before extending an arm and winking. “Well, I can’t let you take all the praise today.”

            Sebastian took (Y/N)’s hand and spun them before matching their movements, and the judges clapped in amazement. “I suppose not.”

            “You brat!” hissed the leader of the thieves at Ciel. “Be blown to smithereens!” He threw a lit stick of dynamite at him.

            (Y/N) and Sebastian picked Ciel up by the arms and skated him out of harm’s way. The dynamite exploded on the ice behind them. The thief glared at them and lit another stick, throwing it once more. Again and again, (Y/N) and Sebastian kept Ciel lifted off his feet and skated him around to avoid the explosions.

            “Stop it, boss!” cried the other two thieves, grabbing their leader. “Have you forgotten?! We’re standing on ice!”

            As if on cue, the ice cracked, and the three men and the statue of Queen Victoria plunged into the freezing waters below.

            “Sebastian!” warned Ciel, wanting the ring saved.

            Sebastian and (Y/N) let go of Ciel, and his eyes widened, but Sebastian caught his arms, smirked innocently, and spun him around. Ciel furrowed his brow, and Sebastian threw him into the air. As he flew through the air, the ice beneath Sebastian and (Y/N) cracked. The crowd gasped.

            (Y/N) moved to jump into the air, but Sebastian’s had already grabbed one hand and put the other on their waist to leapt dramatically up with them. (Y/N) grinned at the dramatics and allowed him to pulled them closer as they landed on Noah’s Ark.

            The crowd gasped in amazement as the ice sculpture supported all three people as it sailed forward through the Thames.

            “The ship sails, leaving behind people’s despairs! The ship sails, along with the world’s future, carrying the chosen hope with it!” cried Druitt as women cooed over his poetry. “Onward, to a winding, dreamlike journey, the ship sails!”

            “It’s Noah! It’s the living incarnation of Noah!” gasped the head judge. “A biblical miracle has occurred on the Thames!”

            “Yes, quite biblical, but more on the other side of things,” remarked (Y/N), smirking.

            Ciel put his hands on his hips and looked at Sebastian and (Y/N) crossly. “That was a rather rough method.”

            “Apologies. We thought it was the quickest method to ensure your safety,” said (Y/N) with an innocent smile.

            “Says the one that got to look dignified,” muttered Ciel. He huffed and looked down at the Thames. “And so the Shard of Hope will sleep at the bottom of the Thames.”

            “I suppose that is amusing in its own way,” said Sebastian. “It will curse London.”

            “If it ended like that, then it would show that was all there was to this town and country,” responded Ciel. “After all, we Phantomhives have always…fought back.” He gazed at his ring.

            “I suppose we’ll have to see how poor London fares after the curse,” said (Y/N), smirking.

Taglist:

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@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

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[petrichorramen]

moth to a flame [1]

main lead(s): n.brown, black fem!reader

character(s): w.archangelo, a.bendetto, christianos, monroes, pauklees, corsicans, georgiana, nina, dr. theo, original character(s) & more.

content warning(s): age-gap relationships, explicit language, sex & sexual acts, nudity, drugs & drug use, prostitution, misogyny, human trafficking, slight mentions of sexual assault, mental disorders, suicidal ideation & suicide, organized crime, death & murder, violence & gore, corruption, discrimination & more.

author notes: the reader is a burlesque dancer and is very sure of herself and her skills.

You hadn't expected him to be here. You really hadn't.

You breathe, straddling the sheened, stygian vinyl floors and rocking your hips with smooth vigor, your fingers running across your thighs and torso freckled with your signature golden flecks. The apricot-led lights of Bastard’s insignia hanging from the prop behind capture the bejeweled pieces of costume scattered across the stage and the copious boa scarf dangling around your neck, veiling your breasts. There are praises and whistles from the showgoers— all you can see are shadows of faces, the burnished uplighting obscuring your sight, but you honestly don't care and nothing matters except for your stage, your dance, and you.

You turn your back and stand with the boa scarf in your hands, swaying your embellished cage panty-clad ass and twirling your hands toward the Arcadia as if allotting worship because tonight, well— you chuckle through your nose— you were all. Tonight, you were everything.

You sit with your legs crossed at the edge of the stage, an arm propped behind, and the other pulling at the shawl around your neck powdered with sweat. The jazz band drags the note of their instruments to inflate the anticipation, the ache— the wait. And still, when the article of clothing nearly plunges from you, both hands bunch feathers toward your breasts, feigning a look of innocence that earns a parade of laughter.

You carefully remove your grip with the muffler sliding down your back and down to the crook of your elbows, slithering them over your stomach once again and then over the contour of your waist and hips, the musicians belting the final interval of the song. Then, the uplighting dissipates and you nearly miss him.

He leans against the PA speakers in the far back, arms crossed and eyes riveting into yours, the alloyed tags around his neck amongst the sea of them sending taunting glares. Your gaze trails down to the brandished sheathed blade laced to his side with a red ribbon you had flung in his direction during one of your enactments years ago.

After they resigned from the Monroe Family, your latest semi-encounter with the neutral power known as Benriya, or otherwise, the Handymen was amid your debut burlesque rendition. During that encounter, you barely had enough time to evade the wine bottle that soared toward your head as an altercation broke out in the cabaret that evening, the fermented beverage spattering the jeweled corset you had upcycled yourself and the matching garter stockings. Seated on your broken suitcase in the backroom while an EMT nursed your foot after you stepped on the broken glass attempting to make your retreat, you weren't sure who you had been infuriated with on your unsuccessful opening night. When you limped your way toward the exit, using the blood-soiled walls as leverage, blue lights pulsated across your face and he saw you before you could, he and Worick under fire for another vicious scolding from Inspector Chad Adkins. His cheeks were stained and the wideness in his eyes from the thrill of combat had vanished, ushering him back to reality, and yet some of that vigilance remained in the wake, lurking, snarling, and darting. 

Your coat slunk down your shoulders when stiffness left them when you met his aloof gaze, the brisk air nipping at your melanin skin. You breathed, and the grip on the defective telescopic handle of your suitcase tightened. That night would have cost you working electricity and water had it not been for the senior caregiver work you did in the early mornings to mid-afternoons. Still, when you opened the door of your townhome, there was a redi-seal packet brimmed with crumpled cash and a scrawled message which stated, “For your performance and the dry cleaners.”

You swore you spotted a figure disappearing on the rooftops after you received the parcel.

Now, in present day, waitpersons cross your vision as they gather your tip envelopes with written amounts and your mind is back in Bastard once more, the applause battering the air reaching you. You fumble, sending a glance toward the framed portrait in memory of Sherry. You could almost hear her teasing as you make a rather gauche departure and strut down the polished, marble stairs backstage. Your stilettos clack against the floor and you shift your body to the side to bypass a group of entertainers waiting for Galahad to complete his introduction. 

It shouldn't come to me as a surprise. Benriya had become the hot topic of Ergastulum, hired by everyone and anyone who desired their expertise whether that be to replace the old, dusty filters of a venting system in your home or to get rid of another sleazy jackass exploiting your claimed territories to get rich quick. Perhaps the pair were the hired guns for tonight's soirée as a fill-in.

You head to the restroom since the green rooms are crowded. As you study your reflection in the mirror, you relish in the fruits of your labor for a while, almost feeling remorseful when you have to remove the rhinestones and false lashes. You wash the tacky residue from your eyelids and cheeks and peel off the colored full lace wig, undoing the cornrows for tomorrow morning—or today since it's a quarter past midnight.

You eventually decide to acknowledge the shadow you caught in the mirror leaning by the restroom door as you wipe at your stubborn lipstick.

“Not allowed backstage,” you sing, pulling your suitcase from the out-of-order stall to find a coat to throw over your corseted frame. “Disrupts and puts the performers at risk.”

It happened a few years or so ago. Some deadbeat motherfucker beneath the guise of someone’s boyfriend helping performers with their luggage of costumes and makeup lured an exhausted woman to an abandoned greenroom under renovations at that time and attempted to assault her. It was you and a few others who heard her muffled cries and restrained him until security arrived and dealt out the rest with a strenuous beating while you all stayed to console the woman, offering some water and airing her with your Marabou fans. Since then, Mr. Cristiano prohibited anyone from backstage besides the entertainers and bouncers, doubling the safety tenfold and offering his apologies, and taking accountability.

The creases in between your brows soften at the faint memory of the mob boss. He’d always joked he’d only see you around Bastard when you were there to run his pocket dry for your burlesque performances. How could you ever forget the grin on his scarred lip and his eyes smiling along with him?

Nicolas signs curtly as he does, tugging you from your brief remembrance. “I’m working security.”

Guessed right. You hadn't seen Aldo all evening, an old churlish but giant teddy bear of a bouncer.

You turn to Nicolas, a hand stuffed in your coat, face damp and fresh, taking strides until you're only inches apart, the scent of ginger taffy, Paradise mints, Perrier lime, and copper overtaking you. He breathes you in too, chest caving into his sternum, never missing the way his eyes line the shape of yours. You roll them, scoffing with a caustic smile. It was so like him to dance around and to create hurdle after hurdle, denying himself. After all, what audacity did he have, he'd say. He was just some dog.

“You need to be careful,” Nicolas begins, tearing his orbs away and gazing into the crevices of the tiled walls.

You were a neutral employee yourself. You perform in most territories which include Corsican domains and, though you weren't particularly well-liked by other performers and the occasional club owner, you were undoubtedly well-received. You never were there to make nice with their intolerant faces, to make friends. The only thing that mattered to you was yourself. You were there to dance, to act, to display. To do what you adored, to be a tease, and to get paid—and believe it, you were worth every damn rack and no insufferable asshole could negate that.

It's funny though. The bigoted public of Corsicans hold themselves in such high regard and yet the most respect and human decency thereof you’ve gotten were in Twilight-safe zones. Remarks like “Twilight-fucker” or “Twilights favorite pussy” (while still being able to spur the crowds on, mind you) as you brushed past scowling groups after another performance, weren't exactly polite. 

But, hell, Uranos Corsica— as much as he abhorred even the vaguest whisper of Twights— didn't bat an eye on your works in his territory. You did increase the popularity and revenue at his businesses he must confess and you were “a Normal”—you roll those eyes of yours hard— Thus, you continued your job. 

Besides, Worick, who tells people that you belonged to the sword-wielding Twilight as he does with every woman he comes to appreciate, must’ve put the fear of God in people when he paraded this around at Big Mamas. And though his habit was originally intended to protect his work as a Gigolo, with that alarming piece of information, most people were talking out of their asses when they made their threats.

You are casual-spirited and pert, not stupid. Never that. You never walking late hours alone was standing proof you were prudent and conscious about the scorn carbonating in the abdomen of Ergastulum. That hatred was why you frequently found the small number of acquaintances and colleagues you had six feet under at funerals, rather than six hundred feet under the luminous explosions of fireworks in the night sky on New Year's Eve.

There's a honk coming from Bastard’s exterior and he blinks when you vanish after you eye him again, tilting your head slightly and cooing, “Oh, thank you, baby, but I can take care of myself.”

It's the way you sigh every syllable like it's a sweet, rich glaze— practiced. It’s only a force of habit, but the gouge is prevalent in his chest.

He’d become clientele.

He rushes after you and young Marco Adriano scrambles for the mop he places on the wall, you laugh incredulously, “Naughty lil boy, don't let me catch you doing that again,” as he attempts to look productive after eavesdropping. Nicolas sees the sleek, vintage ivory limousine and there's a titled, well-groomed man in his senior kissing the apple of your cheek as you sit in the backseat beside him with your hands on his chest while the chauffeur handles your luggage. The gouge widens, gushing in the air and onto the ground when a salt and pepper-haired face and head feathers you. You smile a smile so authentic with your hand draped over his chest, Nicolas nearly staggers from the significance and weight you carry behind it.

You’re chattering about your performance as the elderly man asks you about it exuberantly and if you’re supposed to notice Nicolas, you don’t. Not until “Dear, Old” Mogavero clashes his eyes against his. Brown doesn't move to hide, neither does he falter in his stance. And as he stares at one of the most influential men in Ergastulum, his eyes narrow. 

“Benriya,” He smiles, eyes crinkling and Nico hopes to find a semblance of malice or dishonesty. “I'll have to place a request for work to be done at my place sometime.”

“Do you even want to keep that house?” You say. You hadn't experienced their exploits personally but Chad Adkins's complaints and the gossip of others in the city made you well aware of the collateral damages they’ve caused at times.

He throws his head back with crinkled hazel brown eyes, a gums-and-all laughter booming through the alleyways. Some passing heads turn to look at him like he's a madman, but he doesn't care and doesn't offer a sheepish little apology.

“Just need a hand with the water heater.” He says and nudges his head toward Brown. “Can't have this little lady and the others hauling ass to heat some water for a bath, eh? What do you say? Wouldn't be too much trouble for you boys, right?”

“None, Mr. Mogavero,” Nicolas replies, his voice rumbles when he does. “But I’ll have to take it up with my contractor.”

There's a nippy silence and he sees the way your jaw clenches at the word, the way you swallow. You hadn't heard that in a while, but he hadn't forgotten the way it made you twitch.

“Ah, no, that's okay.” The elderly man clears his throat with a cough. “I'll call you when I don't have company, yeah?”

 He nods in understanding and you gaze at him over your shoulder before the chauffeur closes the door. The vehicle spurs away from the cobblestone forefront of Bastard with fumes, the lights of the club radiating his shoulders and casting shadows over his dark eyes. His hand instinctively grips the red thread draped across his sword at his hips. He lets the thread slide through his fingers until it softly caresses the sides of his thighs and when he looks, the rear lights of the limousine flash when it stops at the end of the road before fading into the night at the next street.

Nicolas turns and enters Bastard once more, eyeing Worick who makes himself, leaning against the entrance with crossed arms.

Nothing but a dog, Nicolas looks away and thinks, feeling content. It's no use for any of it. Don't try to act human—

—monster.

[kiltongrammarwriter94]

Whispers of Tiny Footsteps

Pairing: Pippa Fitz Amobi x fem reader

Baby Fitz Amobi junior inspector Headcannons

Warning: Utter fluff. Pippa Fitz Amobi stealing my heart.

Did not expect this to be so long.

Your heart races as you hold the positive pregnancy test. You’re a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, fear, and sheer disbelief. “Pippa,” you stammer, “we’re going to be parents. Can you believe it?” Pippa laughs, pulling you into a tight hug, leaving kisses on your forehead, your jaw, anyplace she can reach . “I can’t believe it either, love. But I’m so ready for this adventure.”

Pippa can’t stop talking. She rambles about baby names, nursery colours, and parenting books. “What if I mess up?” she frets. “What if I accidentally teach our child Morse code instead of nursery rhymes?” You kiss her forehead, the apples of her cheeks. “Pip, you’ll be an amazing mum. And I promise, no secret codes until they’re at least five.”

Pippa transforms the spare room into a cozy nursery. She paints the walls a soft mint green and hangs fairy lights. “Look, love,” she says, pointing at the crib. “Our little one will sleep here.” Your heart swells. “It’s perfect, Pip” you can’t help but say, bring her close to you, kiss the top of her frigid nose, “you are Perfect. Our baby will just love you”.

Pippa insists on visiting Harrods for baby essentials. She buys the softest blankets, designer onesies, and a mobile that plays classical music. “Our baby deserves the best,” she declares. You chuckle. “Pip, they won’t even remember the mobile.” “But we will,” Pippa replies, her eyes shining.

Pippa becomes a sentinel. She hovers over you, making sure you eat well and rest enough. “No heavy lifting,” she scolds. “And don’t stress. Our baby can sense it.” You roll your eyes. “Pip, I’m not made of glass.” “You’re carrying our child,” Pippa retorts. “You are made of glass” she scolds, moving to cup your jaw, lithe fingers holding your jaw in a firm grip. Her blue eyes staring into yours, “I want our baby to be healthy. I want you to be healthy. So no heavy lifting. If I have to call Ravi to do some heavy lifting I will. I’ve been needing to build that cradle in our room”. You lean your forehead into her chest, trailing your finger down her jaw, down to her neck. “I don’t think Ravi should help build it. After all you know how much I love watching you work with your hands” you whisper suggestively. Pippa blushes, “why don’t I get started on that now.” You laugh as you watch pip fly to her feet, eyes already trailing your figure. Hunger evident in her eyes. It’s only later when your backed up against your bed, a hungry pip laying desperate kisses on your sensitive neck that pip speaks. Her voice muffled by your skin. “Pregnancy makes you so much sexier have I told you that?”. You only blush.

“What about Agatha?” she suggests. “Or Hercule?”You laugh. “Pip, we’re not naming our child after fictional detectives.” “Fine,” she pouts. “But I’m still pushing for Mycroft”. Pippa arranges the nursery bookshelf meticulously. Agatha Christie’s novels sit next to Dr. Seuss. “Our child needs a balanced literary diet,” she declares. “Murder mysteries and whimsical rhymes.”You add a copy of “Goodnight Moon.” Pippa raises an eyebrow. “Is there a hidden clue in there?”

Pippa’s eyes widen the first time she feels the baby kick. “Sweetheart did you feel that?” You nod, tears in your eyes. “Our little inspector is saying hello.”Pippa presses her ear to your belly. “Inspector Junior, reporting for duty.”

Pippa packs the hospital bag like she’s solving a cold case. Extra socks, snacks, and a magnifying glass (just in case). “What’s the magnifying glass for?” you ask. “To examine our baby’s tiny fingerprints,” she replies. “And also to read the fine print on hospital forms.” Oh how you love this woman.

Pippa holds your hand through contractions. “Breathe, love,” she whispers. “We’ve got this.” When the pain subsides, she kisses your forehead. “You’re incredible.” “So are you,” you reply. Pippa is attentive to you, constantly holding your hands, kissing your cheeks. Josh is constantly waiting at the door, victor close behind, anxious to meet his grandchild. Leanne is constantly fretting over you, fluffing your pillow and wiping the sweat of your brow. “Just hold on a tad longer my loves” she encourages. Cara and Naomi come by, they bring board games and laugh over how protective pip is. But you love it. As labor progresses you no longer can have small moments of peace, pain is all you feel. It’s a deep primal pain that fills your veins. You cry, feel tears down your cheeks.

Pip holds you, chases the tears. “I’ve got you my sweet. Deep breathes for me” she says, eyes on alert. You had a history of holding your breathe when the pain got to high. Leanne is close behind, monitoring your oxygen level.

The moment they heard their baby’s first cry, Pippa’s eyes filled with tears. She kissed your forehead and muttered, “You’re incredible, love.” And she meant it. She watched as the tiny, wrinkled baby was placed onto your chest. A mess of pink skin and strong lungs that shook the walls. Leanne had smiled, “just like Pippa when she was born. Lungs made of iron”. “She’s perfect,” Pippa murmured, her voice full of awe. She hovered over the baby, checking her fingers and toes, making sure everything was in place. When a nurse approached, Pippa narrowed her eyes. “Be gentle,” she warned, as if the nurse were handling precious evidence.

“What’s her name?” Leanne had asked.

“Grace Fitz Amobi” Pippa had answered.

Pippa insisted on skin-to-skin contact, her shirt unbuttoned as she cradled their daughter against her chest. Grace’s tiny head nestled into the curve of Pippa’s neck. You watched as Pippa kisses her tiny forehead. You’re going to be brilliant,” Pippa promised. “Just like your mum.”

Josh and Victor were allowed in a few minutes after. Josh with his almost teenage voice had begged to hold her. Pippa had smiled, handing the small bundle into her brothers arms, “hold her gently now Josh” she corrected him. Josh was a natural, hoisting the baby against his chest and smiling widely. “I think I might love grace more than you Pippo hippo” he commented.

The car ride home was nerve-wracking. Pippa drove cautiously, her eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror, where their daughter slept in her car seat. “We’re responsible for a human life now,” Pippa said, her voice filled with wonder. You laced your fingers with hers. “I’m sure our parents felt the same” you reassure.

Pippa took the night shift, sitting in the dimly lit nursery with their daughter cradled in her arms. She’d read her research papers aloud, hoping Grace would absorb some knowledge. You would tiptoe in, watching Pippa’s face soften as she gazed at their daughter. “She’s got your eyes,” Pippa whispered. “And my curiosity.”

As days turned into weeks, Pippa marveled at their daughter’s development. She’d watch her kick her legs, fascinated by the tiny muscles in action. “Look at her,” Pippa would say, her voice hushed. “When she’s mobile it’s going to be a nightmare”.

Pippa, in her meticulous nature, once put the nappy on backwards. You had discovered it during a change and burst into laughter. “Well,” Pippa deadpanned her cheeks crimson , “I was just testing your observational skills.”

You had prepared mashed bananas for the Grace’s first taste of solid food. Pippa, ever the researcher, decided to taste it herself. Her expression? Utter disgust. “I can’t believe she eats that”.

Pippa introduced Grace to classic literature—board books with titles like “Sherlock Holmes and the Missing Rattle.” You had caught Pippa whispering, “Elementary, my dear Watson. The rattle thief strikes again.”

[heretherebedork]

The Only Friends gang needs to gather around and play Truth or Dare for Halloween.

I love it and am also terrified by that idea. I can barely even imagine. They would lose their minds. None of them could do that sanely. It would be the biggest blow up.

Ray would pick dare every time and everyone would know it and the dares would get increasingly dangerous while they waited for him to back out but he never would until Sand finally lost it at someone for giving hm a particularly stupid or dangerous dare because it would absolutely be Boston who did that. And when it's Ray's turn to give the dare/truth, he's over the top but in a goofy way.

Mew would answer truth every single time and he would scold Ray for picking dare and he would sigh but he would never actually step in. He would get upset if Top agreed to any stupid dares, though, and scold him afterwards. He also asks the worst, hardest truth questions.

Top would alternate between dares and truths but he would not hesitate to turn down a stupid one or one he didn't want to do and just take a big drink with a smile. No hesitation here.

Boston would take dares and do them but in the most malicious compliance way possible. Be very careful about what you dare him to do because it will come back and haunt you someday. He also gives truly dangerous truths and dares with no hesitation and with the goal being creating something interesting.

Nick would be a bit more careful with his acceptance of dares and truths but he would not turn them down as often as Top. He'd do anything that Boston dared him, no matter what it was, but he won't extend that to just anything. He tends towards dares but will take the occasional truth and is perfectly willing to lie. His truths and dares are typically about posting something on social media.

Sand would... rather not play. He'd mostly pick truths and he'd really only be there to make sure nobody gave Ray a dare that hurt him or anyone else. He'd mostly be there as a sanity inspector. His truths and dares would be more controlled than the rest of the groups and he would be the first to try to end the game... probably by punching Boston. Or Top.

Chuem would play with them and have a grand old time because no one would be mean to her because she's just having goofy fun with this game and she'd be the only one out come out unscathed and unscarred.

The whole game starts casually but starts going downhill the moment Boston gets involved. His first dare is the start of the game going downhill and when he dares Ray to kiss Top is when the entire thing goes off the rails and ends in disaster.

Without Boston, Ray is probably the one to ruin it because he just can't stop himself and starts daring people to drinking contests or to do drugs and Sand drags him away.

[paintedgrilledcheese]

The inspection

(Ivan has to deal with a OSHA inspector)

Everything was pure bliss. Ivan twirled around the slick floors with the mop, as he dance to the classical music on the gramophone. There was no better way to do chores than with the sound of strong violins colliding with the loud brass instruments. An graceful and elegant battle between the instruments. Symphony No. 10 in E minor, Op. 93: II. Allegro. One that Ivan has heard many times before. He could feel his left hand subconsciously move to the position of the cords as if he was playing his violin along.

The music was loud and fierce, Ivan couldn't hear anything else. That is until the faint sound of the company's phone range, snapping Ivan out of his blissful state. He spun on his toes to the phone, holding the mop in one hand and gracefully scooping up the phone in the other. His hair waterfalls down to his side as he tilted his head.

"This is the RITHOTD, Head chamberlain speaking. How may I assist you?" Ivan asked, having perfected that introduction hundreds of time. His voice was soft and elegant.

The voice on the other end sounded high pitched and feminine. "Hello? This is Ms. Cheese. I work for OSHA. I uh... I been assigned to come inspect the RITHOTD work place. I don't know if I was supposed to come unannounced but I felt bad if I didn't give you guys a heads up about your appointment. So I'll be coming around at 3, be prepared." She spoke, unsure and unprofessional. As if this was her first day on the job.

She then hung up quickly, barely giving Ivan time to process what she just said. After a moment of realization, Ivan looked around to see what he needs to prepare and clean before inspection. He wasn't too worried. How could he be worried when he's in pure bliss 24/7? The music resumed, he glides over the wet floors as he continued to dance his way through his chores.

Soon it's 3 o'clock, perfect time for afternoon tea. No one else was at the base, at the moment. It was just Ivan and his music. Eventually the expected guest finally arrived. Upon opening the front door, Ivan found a small 4'11 women with big blue eyes and pink hair. She wore glasses and a orange vest with the words OSHA on the back. Ivan was a little taken aback to see he had to look down to make eye contact. Such small people.

"Alright it's OSHA INSPECTION TIME! You better be prepared!" She greeted a little loudly, his high pitched voice still prominent. This must be Ms. Cheese from over the phone. She tried to look serious but her big eyes were making it extremely difficult to seem intimidating.

"Prepared as always." Ivan replied with a hum and a smile, allowing Ms. Cheese in. Ms. Cheese has a glance around the entrance, carrying a sparkly blue gel pen with her and a notepad. She starts scribbling down some stuff. Actual words or not? Ivan doesn't know.

Ms. Cheese continued to scribble down her thoughts and observations. "Why are there firearms left out so haphazard for anyone to grab? This is dangerous for young children and workers. They should be locked away somewhere convenient and safe. Violation number one! Show me the kitchen." She scolded and demanded. Ivan felt some of his confidence shot down as they manged to already get a violation under 5 minutes.

"Ah- er- understood!" Now feeling awkward Ivan guided Ms. Cheese to the kitchen. She had a look around and smile in approval. Ivan took extra care and time working on the kitchen before inspection. He felt a little proud for his hard work.

"Hmmmm clean so far. You guys have a new fire extinguisher and the sprinklers aren't blocked.... but wait what is that?" Ms. Cheese turned her head towards something dead by the oven. Ivan's eyes widen, a rush of panic came over him as he saw the dead rat by the oven. "Can you explain to me why there's a dead rat here befor I give you a health violation?" Ms. Cheese demanded.

"..... Ah.... Must be one of master's-" Ivan cuts himself off, hoping the OSHA employee didn't hear him. The rat must have been one of Fyodor's. How it escaped it's cage, Ivan has no clue. He'll have to find a replacement from the sewers later. Ivan clears his throat. "Er, we were, filming! And we used that for... realism! No food is cooked without inspecting the area first." He lied.

It was such a obvious lie, anyone with two brain cells would have figured that out. But after staring at Ivan and back at the very dead rat, Ms. Cheese suddenly smiled. "Oh so it's just a prop! I see. Very well. This area has a clear pass." She goes back to scribbling on her notepad. She didn't even ask any further questions. It can't be that easy, right?!

Ivan blinked a few times in shock still, but who is he to complain when he just dodged a bullet back there. Ms. Cheese looked back at Ivan, after scribbling more, with a smile on her face. "May you please show me the bathroom as well? That area must be inspected as well." She politely asked, chewing on the tip of her pen.

Ivan though for a moment. The bathrooms were fairly clean, but he remembered that his bloody bandages were still hanging out the trashcan, since he forgot to change out the trash can. Ivan shakes his head, his hair long swaying side to side. "The bathroom is currently occupied! Would you like to inspect anywhere else, though?" He asked, trying to stall from showing her the bathroom.

Ms. Cheese chewed her pen more, tapping her fingers on her notepad. "Hmmm what does this company specialize in? I need to see the working conditions how the employees are being treated. You know, pay and wages, stuff like that." She answered with a shrug.

"Does terrorism count as a specialty?" Ivan muttered to himself before coughing purposely. "...Ch... Charity! We...- our leader- my master- is working to create a better world and also offers people a place to stay with better living conditions. His organisation is full of people he has helped. We work in return for food, clothes, etc. If we need to buy something, however, master is more than happy to hand us the money we need." Ivan explained.

He was trying so hard to not get this operation shut down or fired. He couldn't imagine being separated from Fyodor, all because of one little pink hair woman with half of a brain cell gave them a few violations. Then again she only gave one so far. But still, that's a lot of money already lost.

Ms. Cheese smiled, buying into Ivan's cover up stupid easily. "Oh how nice! I never heard of your charity work until now. It's so good to be provided for the unfortunate in a away that doesn't involve work place abuse." She goes back to scribbling on her notepad. Ivan had to restrain himself from laughing at the mention of non work place abuse.

Oh dear is she saw the true nature of this place for a second, they would have been shut down immediately. . The amount of times Ivan was allowed to whack his fellow coworkers with a metal tray was far to many. Not to mention the fact Fyodor was much worse when it came to his own men.

"Now may I ask you a few personal questions about the company? How do you get along with your coworkers?" Ms. Cheese asked curiously, still scribbling and chewing on her pen at the same time.

Ah yes, Ivan's coworkers. Most of them were tame and alright, though to add to the workplace abuse, he did kick a few down the stairs one time. Ivan smiles at the thought of his coworkers, all of them weren't bad. "I get along quite well! I often make them tea and things of the sort to bond with them." He answered with the same warm smile.

Ms. Cheese smiled in approval, continuing to ask more questions. "Great to here. Are your coworkers interesting in anyway? Any odd behaviors? I ran into one earlier. Though he's a little delusional and talks about birds a lot?"

Oh crap, she ran into Nikolai earlier?! When did this happened?! Ivan's smile became larger as he panicked internally, he would look like a mad man right now with his expression on his face. Stupid lobotomy, making him smile at the worst situations.

Odd behaviors? Hahaha that's so funny, Ivan thought to himself. If this place was anything it would be the jackpot of odd behaviors and suspicious activity. Heck Ms. Cheese is talking directly to the CEO of odd behavior.

"Oh, that's not our coworker, merely a friend of my master's. No odd behaviour here! We're all very sane people." Another lie he spewed, waving his hand dismissively. Ms. Cheese tilted her head to the side, pushing her glasses back up.

"Sane people huh? What about that Nathaniel guy who was pacing back and forth outside. He didn't look sane to me. Is

your boss providing any sort of therapy or

medication for this 'chairy'?" She assumed and asked suspiciously. She was actually starting to get suspicious. Looks like she has half a brain cell after all.

Ms. Cheese comment about Nathaniel made Ivan feel slightly upset. How dare she assume and offend one of his friends like that? Ivan frowned angrily. "It's very rude to assume he doesn't look sane, that's just how he is! >:(" Ivan defended.

Ivan then put a hand on his chest and proudly exclaimed, "And master does provide joy! I am actually one of the people master has made happy!" He said with pride. Glossing over the fact he had a lobotomy performed on him.

Ms. Cheese eyes widen and she held her palms up in a backing up motion. She didn't mean to offend Ivan or Nathaniel. "Oh my apologies. I was just concerned when saw his eyes. They seem hallowed and terror. It looked like he seen things." She starts to scribble on her notepad again, about to change topic. "So you said your master has made you happy? That is very good to see chairys like this can

provide resources and and joyful moods to the unfortunate without expensive medication or brain altering lobotomies."

She's so dumb! Ivan is crying on the inside. Girlie LOOK! Use your half of a brain cell and LOOK. How can she cleary not see the bandages around Ivan's head?! Is she blind?! That would explain the glasses she wears, but even those glasses can't even show her how oblivious she is!

It's so obvious! She quite LITERALLY look UP to have eye contact. The fact that she can't see his bandages just blows Ivan away from how dense this lady is!

Ivan starts to sweat at the mention of lobotomies and laughs nervously. "......Ahahah, of course not, that would be ABSURD. I mean-that's so silly, ahah wh- hah.-..imagine THAT." Ivan clasped his hands together and smiled. "Well! Are there any more questions?" He wanted to get this overwith quickly.

Ms. Cheese continued to chew her pen. "Two last things. I still haven't inspected the

bathrooms yet and I would like to meet your boss. Nothing to serious in meeting him. I just want to know what drives him to have such a wonderful charity like this :D But if he's not here or too busy that's alright." She was buying into all of it.

Oh thank God this inspection was almost over. Ivan has singlehandedly dodged 29492 bullets in less of a hour, he was quite impressed that he's managed to prevent the organization from being shut down so far. Fyodor better be proud of his hard work, if not at least Pushkin should.

"Unfortunately master is a very busy man, but his religious views drive him to be a good man! He believes people should not suffer from sin, and therefore he saves them." Ivan said with a smile, not mentioning that fact how Fyodor "frees" his victims from suffering and sin. "As for the bathrooms, right this way."

Ivan guides Ms. Cheese over to the bathroom, all sparkly clean from his chores earlier. Ivan stood in front of the trash can to hid his bloody used bandages from Cheese's sight while she gives the room a top down inspection.

Everything was looking good and she hum and approval. "Hmmm everything seems to be in fine and clean condition. All the cleaning products aren't so easily accessible and nothing seems to be broken. Oh but what's this?"

Out of EVERYTHING she could have spotted, of course she nitpick a tiny wet spot on the floor that wasn't dry yet from the mopping. "Tsk tsk tsk. No caution wet floor sign? Employees can easily slip and that wouldn't be good for the medical bill if they break their back. Tsk tsk tsk. Violation." She shook her head and scribbled down a violation on her not pad.

Ivan threw his hands up and huffed before collecting his cool and smiling again. "Oh, forgive me, I was rushing to prepare

everything for when you come along. I must have missed it, but I clean everything

thoroughly!" He defended.

"Hmmm well put a sign there next time." She replied before scribbling more for a long time. After a time of "deep thinking", even though there isn't a single thought behind those eyes, she turned back to Ivan.

"Alright, that concludes this company's 6 month OSHA inspection. So far this place seems to be standing well and only two violations, but nothing too bad to be shut down. I give this the stamp of approval." She torn off the page of her notepad and stamped it with a green approval stamp. She gave it to Ivan and who took it with curiosity.

It was all chicken scratch! He couldn't read any of this! But who was he to complain when they manged to pass. Ms. Cheese turned her heel to walk away, yelling out as she exits the building. "I shall be off! And next time I'll show up unexpectedly. Farewell, take care. Lock those fire arms away and buy some wet floor signs."

Just like that she was gone. "Farwell!" Ivan waved goodbye with a smile. But the moment that door closed her turned around and clutched his chest tightly, finally letting his guard drop and de-stressing. "How was that so easy?" He mumbled to himself before laying on the couch.

It's been less than a hour, but it felt like a whole day went by. He was exhausted. Perhaps he'll order take out for the men tonight.

The End.

[101flavoursofweird]

Layton & Katia: Kindred Spirits

This moment where Layton firsts sees Katia and they have a stare-off always felt odd to me. And not just because Layton’s eyes are HUGE For the player, Katia is being introduced as a main character here, much like how Flora and Clive are in their games. But Layton’s fascination towards those two feels more understandable; Flora is disguised as a ‘mysterious girl’, different from the other villagers, and Clive is disguised as ‘Future Luke’. Both of them either seek Layton out, or call upon his help.

But what connection could Katia Anderson have to Hershel Layton? 

When they’re investigating Dropstone, Layton and Luke learn of the Andersons— a beloved founding family of the village. They hear about how Mr Anderson has fallen out with his daughter, Katia, since Sophia died. The family’s servants are very fond of Katia, so much that they all come to see her off on the train, behind her father’s back. Layton muses that Katia must be beautiful and refined. 

Moments before they board the train, Mr Anderson begs for Layton to pass on a message to Katia: Her father wishes she’d come home. Katia is his only child and she means everything to him. He’d be forever in Layton’s debt if Layton could help.

So, here, Layton could be looking at Katia with Mr Anderson’s plea in mind… But what if it’s more than that? 

I think Katia reminds Layton of his younger self.

Layton’s Miracle Mask profile describes how, as a 17-year-old, he was ‘pampered and adored by the people of Stansbury’. This changed, however, after Hershel returned from Akbadain without Randall. 

While I’m sure the residents of Stansbury didn’t all believe Layton murdered Randall,  Layton was still consumed with guilt over Randall’s death. He agreed to accompany Randall to the ruins, after all, and he couldn’t save Randall from falling in the end. When Layton returned home, his parents ‘gave him the hardest scolding of his life’ and then ‘the warmest hug’. 

Dalston notes how Angela ‘drove Layton out of town’ (though, Layton wrote in his journal about how Angela ‘never left the house’)… Whatever the case, Hershel felt so guilty that he decided to leave Stansbury to attend university in London. In the years following Randall’s ‘death’, Stansbury became a ghost town as the residents moved away…

I wonder if Layton thinks of Stansbury— over eighteen years later— when Mr Anderson confides in him about Sophia and fears for the fate of Dropstone? ‘Dropstone must never be allowed to die and wither like so many other villages…’

A rift has formed between the Anderson family, since Sophia’s death. Perhaps Mr Anderson fears this rift will affect Dropstone… (Much like how Randall’s death devastated Stanbsury…)

With Katia suddenly setting out on an adventure, against her father’s interests, it’s easy to see how Layton would be concerned too. Layton and his parents are very close, but his mother constantly worries over him— much like Mr Anderson with Katia. Layton suffered a loss as a teenager and he chose to leave his hometown— much like Katia. If you want a more recent ‘death’, Layton thought Dr Scharder had died and jumped on a train a few days later to find out why.

Both Layton and Katia are well-liked, but they’re quiet, solitary characters who keep their intentions close to the chest. When Inspector Chelmey comes to investigate Dr. Scharder’s death, Layton decides conduct ‘his own investigation’ behind Chelmey’s back. At the hotel in Folsense, Katia implores Layton to give her the Elysian Box, but Katia refuses to tell him why. Both Layton and Katia struggle to accept the help of others…

But, that doesn’t mean they will ignore other people in need! Layton’s always helping random people with mysteries or puzzles. On the road to Herzen Castle, it’s implied that Katia leaves lanterns for Layton and Luke to light the forest path. Plus, Katia is willing to guide Luke and Layton out of Herzen Castle. 

Katia is frightened when they encounter Anton and he mistakes her for Sophia. She trusts Layton enough to hide behind him.

(Huh, Layton also must have had an identity-crisis when he took on Randall’s legacy as an archaeologist, or when he learned he’d inherited his name from his older brother…)

It always bugged me how Layton interrupted Katia when she was trying to explain everything to Anton… but it is kind of understandable, if he’s worried Anton might lash out at Katia. It’s even kind of sweet, when you remember Layton is watching out for Katia, as Mr Anderson asked. Katia is missing her father and Layton is missing Flora, his adopted daughter.

When the gang escape from the castle and Anton is revealed to be an old man, he finally acknowledges Katia as his grandfather. 

The look on Katia’s face here… my heart… reminds me of THIS:

Hershel was able to find out the truth about what happened to Randall, and the truth about his birth family— just as Katia found out about her family’s history.

They’ve reunited with lost loved ones and their respective journeys are over, for now. 

[scruggzi]

Sins of the Father sounds amazing!!

I really like the themes in that one. It's all about Phryne being allowed into the boys club of intelligence officially. She's not in any way happy because Hugh is in danger but she's very glad that she doesn't have to fight the men on her side as well as the kidnappers. But it comes at this horrible and non-negotiable cost of having to become the gatekeeper with respect to Dot, when she known full well that if she was in Dot's place she'd be tearing the walls down.

And Jack is playing a delicate game convincing his contacts that Phryne should be on the inside whilst knowing that she's not exactly the best at obeying orders.

So there's this very legitimate balance of Phryne - who has earned her place there in every way - feeling resentful at the limitations of the power she's given and Jack feeling frustrated that she's not more appreciative of the lengths he's gone to to bring her in. Even whilst they are both fundamentally on the same side. And in the best traditions of a phrack disagreement they are both right.

Here's a bit I really like:

Jack picked the telegraph slip up from the stack of thicker envelopes on the table and Phryne was shocked to see his face blanch as he read it. Before she could ask what the matter was, he strode over to the telephone, dialled the operator and requested to be put through to a pub in Fitzroy without a word to her.

She had no objection of course; in fact, she often scolded him for not treating her home as his own. Still, the uncustomary discourtesy struck an ominous note, and she listened intently hoping to glean something from his conversation.

“Is Mr Whistler at the bar?” “…” “Thankyou.”

There was a short pause, punctuated by the nervous tap of Jack's fingers against the hall table.

“It's Shiner. Has it started?” “…” “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He put the phone down and turned to Phryne his face more scared than she had ever seen it.

"Phryne, do you trust me?” “Of course, Jack. What’s the matter.” “I can’t tell you, not yet, but I do need your help.”

She was tempted to respond with something flirtatious or flippant but the cold fear in his expression stopped her and she simply nodded, ready for anything.

“I need everyone in this house armed and all the doors and windows locked. Where’s Jane?”

The question was enough to scare Phryne in turn, although she did not understand what it meant.

“Staying with friends, is she in danger?” “I can’t be certain but it’s possible. I need you to drive me to The Spotted Dog in Fitzroy as fast as you can without getting arrested, then make sure Jane somewhere safe. Don’t tell me where, and it might be safest if you don’t know either. After that come back here, make sure you have bullets in your gun and don’t let anyone in. Will you do that for me?”

‘Will’ not ‘can’ it was an important distinction. He wasn’t asking her if she was capable, because he know she was. He wasn’t asking her to protect herself and let him run into danger because he knew she wouldn't. He was asking her to help him protect the family they had built together, and he had thought of Jane even before she had known her daughter was in danger.

There was no way she could refuse.

“Did you say fifteen minutes, Inspector? I’ll have you there in ten.”

[ilikecrystalsanddirt]

Hello I must talk about Hobie Brown or I will actively die. I have been hyper focusing on this man since I saw ATSP. This is a collection of things that I’ve seen others pointed out or my own thoughts compiled into one big list. MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE

The scene where Pavi, Gwen and Miles chase Spot to the force field just before Hobie shows up gives us the basic premise of this technology. It is “impossible” to go through. Miles tries anyway and is struggling with it.

Absolutely no hesitation from Hobie as he blasts through the force field with a wave of sound and a kick.

He does a cool pose. What a nerd.

Hobie canonically knows how to get through the force fields, which makes a lot of sense for his character.

Him and Pavi have a v cute moment and he definitely gives big brother energy.

He immediately knows who Miles is by Universe, which is interesting, isn’t it?

Despite Miles showing obvious irritation/dislike for him, he gives him advice, but also ribs him. Huge big brother vibes to the spider band. Also confirms that he knows exactly how to dismantle the force field and then teaches Miles.

Goes against the dynamic of how every other spider person has introduced themselves.

“And I was bitten by a … wouldn’t you like to know?” >:) Hot

Refuses to show off secret identity which is weird right? He just said his name. Specifically, he doesn’t show his face until Spot isn’t close by. Is he worried about retaliation?

We learn he is an activist, an anarchist, hates the AM, hates the PM, hates labels.

I personally think that his rant about hero being a term used by “self-mythologizing narcissistic autocrat” is targeted. Probably at Miguel who we later learn very much thinks of himself as the good guy.

This man has read Marx and that’s hot.

Him and Gwen are close and this annoys Miles. He brings it up casually and is very nonchalant about her leaving stuff at his place. I def think they are platonic. Specifically I think he’s queer and she’s like way too young for him.

“Are those my chucks?” “Heh.” SIBLING VIIIIIIBES also someone pointed out that specifically her shoes don’t change like his do and that they’re in her size which probably means he bought them and pretended to leave them out

Him saying he doesn’t believe in teams is interesting to me. He’s an anarchist. What do you mean he doesn’t believe in teams??? Nah nah I think this is much more specific. One of two possibilities I think. 1) Lost a lot of people and teams are scary. It means you care about someone and trust someone, and you could lose them. 2) He’s specifically taking about the Spider Society and/or another “team” that screwed him over/other people over. Juries still out, but it doesn’t make sense.

He hates consistency, yet he’s consistently funny? Doesn’t believe in comedy, yet he makes me laugh so much? Curious 🧐

He and Gwen are immediately going to pick Miles back up after the blast from Spot. Mans cares.

“I’ll do it, but not because you told me to.” DYING. STOOOOOP

Him and Gwen do the exact same technique to pull up the building which means more than likely he taught her that.

This man is wearing full skinny jeans, doc mhartins, leather vest and carrying a guitar. He is DEDICATED to the aesthetic.

Despite knowing that Pav is supposed to lose either the inspector or his Gwen, he immediately goes to help save her.

Does not scold or patronize Miles after he “messed up”. Encourages him and hypes him up.

“It’s a metaphor for capitalism.” 💀

“I don’t follow orders and neither does he.” Hobie is trying to persuade Miles not to go back to HQ. He already knows something will happen if he goes, but he follows anyway knowing.

“I was this cool the whole time.” YEAH YOU WERE!

“Bit much, innit?” Slowly building up negativity to the society. He knows how to talk people out of joining things like this.

GWENDY!!! Adorable and not being scolding

“How much have you told him? Bout his place in all of this.” Assessing the situation while Jessica is right in front of them and can most likely hear everything.

Also knows A LOT about what’s going on. That Miles is a key player, an anomaly. That he is someone who means a lot to his friend, Gwen, and that he matters in taking this place down.

“Maybe not enough.” Miles doesn’t even know about glitching, which means he’s coming from a place of ignorance to the whole thing.

“Apart from having a great name? Yeah it’s super cool and not creepy.” Planting the seed about this place whereas Gwen is downplaying the red flags.

“Bet this doesn’t even do anything.” Actively stealing from this place to build the watch more than likely, and is showing the security theatre of the place. Showing Miles that this place isn’t as high tech and air tight as one would think.

“Propaganda, bro! It’s to distract you from the truth.” His voice is so sincere here, and it’s for sure how he feels. But when Miles pushes back, he changes tactics.

“I ain’t got a Scooby Doo mate.” Yes he does. He knows something, or at least has theories. Also keeping it nonchalant and chill so as not to upset Miles, which would push him further into the Society.

“That’s what they want.” He is correct though. We’ve seen they keep things from people in the society if they think it will make things go smoother.

“Why do you want to be apart of this stuff?” Trying to figure out what he’s missing from home that would make him want to join this cult

“Make your own watch.” Not only does he believe Miles can do that himself, but he’s actively stealing parts to do just that.

The little roll he does and hanging off that thing 😍😳😩🥵 God he’s just so casually hot

“Bet you got a nice set up, nice parents.” Checking on his living situation, establishing if he has parents what kind of relationship he has with them.

The way he looks at Miles when he says he got in a fight with his parents is very telling. It’s like a seriously? kind of face. In the comics, he is an orphan which I think will carry over, so it makes sense he might be jealous.

“That’s a bloody shame. Cuz you’re not ready for everybody else.” He knows about the canon events and if Miles dad isn’t dead, he won’t want to join if he knows.

Trying to convince him not to join, and almost pitting his happy home life against the Spider Society. After that line it immediately cuts to Miguel which means he knows about Miguel’s hatred for him/intentions for him

Physically puts himself in Miles way to block him from going forward.

“The whole point of being Spider-Man is your independence. Being your own boss, you don’t need all this.” Trying to convince Miles right before they go in. He has a chance to run right now without all the chaos that will happen. He’s trying to give him a chance to run.

“Then why are you here?” “Looking out for my drummer is all.” He’s looking out for Gwen and for Miles. Putting himself in a place that allowed horrible stuff to happen to him and his friends. More stealing for the watch.

“Alright, squashed! But don’t enlist until you know what war you’re fighting.” Doesn’t want to test Miles or Gwen when they still have allegiance to this place. Giving him one last piece of advice so he continues to ask questions and not blindly trust.

Hobie is actively hiding in the shadows trying not to be noticed. Obviously knows Miguel is a threat.

He looks so anxious when Miguel speaks to Miles. Knows what’s to come and is ready to throw down. Possibly afraid of him.

Seems unphased when the box is thrown at Miles. Bad home life? Knows Miguel’s temper is bad?

Immediately eats the Empanada. Based.

The little wave he does. It’s so sarcastic and obviously making fun of him.

Puts his feet up on something, acting all cool and aloof.

“I’m ain’t even here. Or here.” He’s testing Miguel’s patience and having a blast doing so. Also he’s sneaking around looking at shit and being fairly open about it.

“The kids an anarchist.” V cute, loves how it pisses of Miguel

“Taking a crap on the establishment? I salute you.” She obviously knows him as she likes being picked up by him. V cute together. He’s great with kids.

Kind of fades in and out as the tension escalates.

“Yeah what of it?” Defensive much? Was once close with a cop. My personal head cannon is that something forced him to kill a cop and he’s embraced it. More than likely the fact that in his universe in the comics Venom is used on cops to make them stronger.

Reminds Miles how to break free when he is panicking.

THAT SMIIIIIIRK 😭😍😳

“Just for the record I quit.” Actively leaving the watch so no possibility of being tracked and in the middle of the commotion so nobody is paying attention.

Makes a watch for Gwen!!!!!! Also he makes it all punk which confirms that stuff from his universe stays punk after leaving, interesting.

Joins the Spider band!!! He def believes in teams.

Editing to add “You’re not helping.” “Good.” Like god he’s such a rebel and actively antagonizing the situation bc he knows where this is going. Thank you Robnicole for the note!

Also adding to point out that his Docs are laced with blue shoelaces which if you weren’t aware is a code in the punk community. Blue signified you’ve killed a cop.

[combeferres-mothematics]

Adventures in Pontmercy Babysitting for WIP Wednesday please

Adventures in Pontmercy Babysitting - Les Mis

"“Valjean, for goodness sakes, please remove the miniature Marius.” 

The man laughed as he scooped Georges off Javert’s lap, giving him a gentle, yet scolding look. “Now, Georges, we mustn’t stick our fingers up Javert’s nose, it’s not very nice.” 

The baby gave him a blank look, babbling softly as he snuggled into his arms. Madeleine looked up from her braiding to ask. “Grandpapa, why is Monsieur Inspector always grumpy?”"

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

Secretary of the Army Christine Wormuth on Friday called for military leaders to “stand up for women” amid a roiling Defense Department controversy over how to respond to vicious criticism of female soldiers by Fox News host Tucker Carlson.

A fierce debate was triggered after Maj. Gen. Patrick Donahoe was recently scolded by the Army — and his retirement put on hold — for defending female soldiers, with one of his tweets last year calling out Carlson.

Retired Col. Yevgeny Vindman — the twin brother of retired Lt. Col. Alexander Vindman, who testified at Donald Trump’s first impeachment investigation during his presidency — lashed out last month at the treatment of Donahoe by an Army cowed by the political right because he “stood up to Fox/ Tucky.”

The Pentagon and the Army “are lost. They fear the right,” Yevgeny Vindman tweeted. “They are losing their moral compass and service-members will vote with their feet.”

Carlson has repeatedly bashed women in the military with misogynistic insults, as he denigrates an increasingly “feminine” U.S. armed forces — and hails the brutish “masculine” militaries of Russia and China. Carlson has never served in the military.

Wormuth warned at a conference earlier this week that Army leaders need to stay “out of the culture wars” — and out of politics.

“We have got to ... have a broad appeal,” she cautioned. “When only 9% of kids are interested in serving” in the military, “we have got to make sure that we are careful about not alienating wide swaths of the American public to the Army,” Wormuth added.

But on Friday, she clarified her comments amid a furious backlash.

“Let me be clear: I expect @USArmy leaders to stand up for women—and all Soldiers—who are unduly attacked or disrespected,” she tweeted.

She added in another tweet: “Use good judgment online. Keep it professional.”

Several top military leaders have angrily responded to Carlson’s insults — without referring to him by name — and issued statements supporting women in the armed forces.

Donahoe had named Carlson in a tame retort in March 2021, saying the right-wing Fox host “couldnt be more wrong” with his insults against women in the military.

That’s when Sen. Ted Cruz (R-Texas) fired off a letter to Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin, accusing Donahoe and other military leaders of partisanship for sticking up for soldiers and other service members.

A report on the issue by the Army’s Office of the Inspector General, obtained last week by the website Task & Purpose, stated that “while potentially admirable,” Donahoe’s post “brought a measurable amount of negative publicity to the Army.”

A headline on a Washington Post opinion column early this month asked: “Why is the Army punishing a General for calling out MAGA lies?”

The military is “rightly eager to stay out of politics, but this laudable instinct can lead it to run away from controversy even at the cost of ceding the information battlefield to the far-right forces trying to subvert American democracy,” warned writer Max Boot.

Donahoe’s “only offense was to champion on social media the very values the Army claims to stand for,” Boot added.

[whisker-biscuit]

The Lines We Cross: Chapter 26

A Strange Reunion

--------------------------------------------------

Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.

--------------------------------------------------

Murray had no idea what time it was when his phone startled him awake. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, hand reaching blindly for the thing that was blaring like a siren on his nightstand. Squinting at a number he didn’t recognize, the hippo silenced the call before laying it back down, then rolled over towards the wall in the hopes of falling back asleep quickly.

No such luck. After barely twenty seconds of blessed quiet, the phone lit up again just as obnoxiously loud as the first time. Murray groaned in irritation as he realized that this was still that same strange number and they weren’t going to go away any time soon. What kind of telemarketers called multiple times in the middle of the night?

The most stubborn ones, apparently.

Against his better judgment, the hippo answered it with a groggy “hello?”

“I need to talk to your coworker right now.”

“Whuh…” He sat up with a frown. That voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t for the life of him place it. “I’m sorry, what? Who are you?”

“It’s Sly – the, the raccoon with Inspector Fox. You gave me your phone number, remember?”

It took a few moments for him to remember the quiet guy who had come in with Miss Fox several weeks back. He sounded impatient and stressed, and that made Murray sit up in bed just as much as recognizing the caller did.

“Oh, uh, yeah, hi Sly, it’s good to hear from you? Why are you calling in the middle of the night?”

“It’s not night where I’m at right now,” Sly said, still impatient although now he seemed a little apologetic about waking him up. “Look, I need to talk to your coworker. Do you have his number so I can call him?”

“Uh…”

The hippo glanced at his shut bedroom door. He and Bentley were roommates, and it was more than likely that the turtle was still awake and working, but he wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea to tell this stranger. Everyone always told him he was too trusting for his own good, and that it wasn’t polite to share personal information about other people without asking them first.

“…Why do you want to talk to him, exactly?”

Sly let out a loud, frustrated huff. “It’s really important. I need – I – it’s – Inspector Fox and I were working on a case together, but she’s in danger. I can’t help her without your friend’s help.”

Murray’s eyes went wide. He clutched the phone closer to his face. “Wait, Miss Fox is in trouble? Is she okay? What happened?”

“I don’t know if she’s okay.” The stress in the raccoon’s voice was even stronger now. “I can’t tell you what happened, but the more time I waste, the more likely it is that she’s – that I can’t help her. So I need to talk to Bentley. Please, Murray.”

He bit his lip and began making his way to the door. “Okay, um…hang on just one second, okay?”

Sly made another noise, like he was being strangled, and that got the hippo moving even faster. If it was true that Miss Fox was in danger and only Bentley could help, then he couldn’t waste any time!

He headed down the hall to his roommate’s room and was relieved to see light filtering through the crack under the door. When he knocked, he heard Bentley jump in his chair.

“Murray?” The turtle asked as he opened the door to squint at him. There were large bags under his eyes beneath his glasses and he looked like he hadn’t even tried to go to bed the whole night. “What are you doing up this late?”

There would be time to scold him for not sleeping later, after they dealt with whatever scary thing Miss Fox and her friend were involved in. He shoved his phone into Bentley’s hands, making him blink rapidly in surprise.

“That raccoon guy who was with Miss Fox just called me,” Murray told him as fast as he could. “He said she’s in danger and he needs your help! You gotta help him, Bentley!”

“I – wha – hold on…” He put the phone to his ear. “Hello? This is Bentley. Why did you call Murray in the middle of – what?”

The hippo watched, anxious, as his friend’s expression changed from confusion to shock to concern in seconds.

“Well, that’s awful, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to…her tech? You’ll have to be more specific; I don’t even know what you have – okay. Uh huh. Shock pistol and a…a jetpack? What model? You need to find the serial number! It – yeah, it should be somewhere on there.”

Murray twiddled his thumbs while Bentley began talking about special technology and how to use them and other things that just went completely over his head. He tried very hard not to shuffle in place, afraid that it might distract him.

“…Okay, that covers everything, I think,” the turtle finally said after several minutes of back-and-forth. “Are we finished? Cause I’d really like to go back to bed. I know you’re worried about Inspector Fox, but I’m sure you’ll be able to – pardon?”

He got quiet very suddenly, eyes growing wider and wider over whatever Sly was saying.

“You want to make a – hang on, hang on, I need to –”

With one quick, nervous glance at his roommate, Bentley turned around to disappear back into his room, still on the phone. His door slammed shut before Murray could join him. The hippo stood there in shock for a minute, unsure if he should follow or not, before deciding that his friend had closed the door for a reason and probably wanted some privacy.

Why he wanted privacy was a mystery, but there were a lot of things the turtle did that were mysteries to Murray.

Almost half an hour later, Bentley finally came out of his room. He trudged over to the tiny kitchen where the hippo had started making a midnight snack while he waited, and gave the cellphone back with a glazed look in his eye.

“Uh, Bentley? Everything okay?”

“I sincerely hope that was a trusted coworker of Inspector Fox,” he said, slow and anxious, “because if he isn’t, I might have just done something incredibly illegal.”

Murray gasped. “You mean he might have stolen her stuff and you just helped him figure out how it all works?”

“No. Well, yes, but also…”

Bentley gulped.

“…I just helped him build a bomb.”

--------------------------------------------------

Sly watched the Panda King turn his back and leave the medical room without looking even the slightest bit upset, despite the fact he had just dropped a bomb on the raccoon’s life and destroyed it in a single instant. He should have known not to trust one of the people who had attacked his home and killed his family, who had helped kidnap him, but after all these years, he’d thought – he’d hoped – that things had changed. He’d really thought that the panda would protect him when it came down to it.

He should have known better. He should have known that the Panda King was just as much of a monster as –

“You cry over false hope.”

The kit froze with tears still streaming down his face.

He had not forgotten who had perched in the far corner during that fight, but that presence had not felt like the most pressing threat while he had been pleading with King to delay his fate. Now, as his wide eyes slid from the door to the yellow gaze burning straight through him, he felt very stupid for ever thinking otherwise.

“The Panda King was never interested in your wellbeing, and you are foolish to have ever believed otherwise,” Clockwerk continued. He had not moved a metallic muscle from his spot since speaking. “There are no allies for you here. Even his daughter, who you thought cared for you, has turned her back on you. She was the one who told me that you had fled. She is the reason you were caught.”

Sly didn’t dare protest; he didn’t even think of doing so. This creature had always cut to his core by speaking only the truth. He had taken great pleasure in it on the night he had told the raccoon that he belonged to the Fiendish Five, long before he fully understood what that meant. Even now he could feel it – under the hatred still radiating off of his metal shell, the monster bird was delighted that the few people Sly had cared for in this nightmare had betrayed him.

He took a deep shuddering breath and did his best to remain perfectly still. His chest ached horribly under its bandages. The owl studied him in silence for several agonizing seconds.

“Our conversation from here out does not leave this room.”

It was a statement, not a command, and the boy swallowed alongside a stiff, terrified nod. Seemingly satisfied by the agreement, Clockwerk stepped forward until he was standing at the foot of Sly’s bed. He had to hunch heavily forward, too big for the room’s ceiling; it made him loom even more over the tiny, trapped subject of his attention.

“As the Panda King said, you will join the rest of my team in their criminal exploits beginning next week. The consequences have already been laid out for if you refuse, or attempt escape again. These parameters will always remain in place.”

The raccoon didn’t close his eyes in despair like he wanted to. He continued to stare at the monster, paying attention for all he was worth.

“It is clear how much you despise us. You would run from us again if given the chance. The only reason you will not is that as much as you hate working for those who killed your parents, you fear death and pain even more.”

Clockwerk leaned down until his beak was an inch from Sly’s face. Now, there was nothing but hatred in those terrible eyes.

“Make no mistake, Sly Cooper: your survival from my attack was deliberate. I could have killed you as I did your father, and no one – not the Panda King, not the rest of the Fiendish Five, not anyone – would have dared to stop me. You despise all of us, but it is nothing compared to the loathing I have for you. Your name, your blood, your heritage, everything. You live by my word alone, and you will die by my claws. Sooner or later, you will become bold enough to retaliate against the others, or think you are capable enough to slip out of their grasp. And even if it is neither of these things, you are not infallible. You will eventually outgrow your usefulness to my team. They will tire of your presence, and they will ask me to relieve them of the burden that you are. It is not a prediction; it is a fact.”

The child could feel his breaths coming out faster, shallower, but it was as though all his panic was locked deep in his body as he stared into that yellow gaze while the owl told him exactly what his fate would be. He couldn’t flee, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even blink as the words sank into his brain and his heart. All he could do was clutch the blanket in his lap for all it was worth, waiting for things to end.

Finally, miraculously, Clockwerk pulled away, giving just enough space for Sly to feel in control of himself again. He let out one single, quiet choked sob, trying desperately to keep his body from falling apart for how much it had started shaking. Never once, though, did he take his eyes off of the threat still standing before him.

“There is one exception to this outcome, however.” The monster shifted so that he could lift one of his clawed feet into the air. Sly’s eyes locked onto the Cooper cane he was holding. “I told you, five years ago, that we would see how well you would measure up to your father. The Fiendish Five all believe that this referred to how useful you would be to them as a criminal, but that is not my true intent. Only you will have that knowledge. You have made yourself known as a Cooper, now, and thus you have earned my utmost honesty. Do not take it for granted.”

The raccoon gave another stilted nod, unsure if he was even supposed to respond but not willing to risk it.

“You see, I play a very different game than the rest of them. When we stole the Thievius Raccoonus, they saw it only as a means to an end; they have been using the book as a mere tool without understanding what it truly does. It does not simply give you a better way to achieve your criminal goals, but instead makes you a better criminal. The fools in your bloodline have flaunted this book of secrets, of betterment, for centuries upon centuries with no struggles in their lives. They inherited it through the ages, as if not thieves but kings, until this chain of arrogance and ego was finally broken with your very existence.”

Clockwerk placed the cane on the bed in front of Sly. He leaned forward again, scrutinizing the boy as if daring him to take it. The kit didn’t move.

“Let’s make a deal, Sly Cooper. You and I,” the owl said. His tone was unreadable. “I want to see what becomes of a Cooper who is forced to rely on his own raw talent instead of the Thievius Raccoonus. I want to see if you can keep up with the Fiendish Five, but more than that, I want to see if you can surpass them. I want to see if you can prove that a Cooper is worth more than the falsehoods and thievery that they are known for.”

He tilted his head, and the expectation was clear. Sly Cooper picked up the cane.

“I want you to steal back your Thievius Raccoonus from every member of my team. If you are caught in your attempts to do this, it will be treated as a betrayal, and we will kill you. However, if you succeed in restoring the book completely…you will be free. Free of the life you are living, and free of the name that you carry. Do you accept these terms?”

The very idea of freedom from all of this made his heart beat out of his still-bloody chest. He thought about the deal this monster was offering. This monster who had killed his father – the strongest person he’d ever known – and had hurt him so terribly. He was no more trustworthy than the rest of the Fiendish Five, and yet…

And yet, what other choice did the raccoon have? He was condemned no matter what. At least in this way, there was the tiniest bit of hope for a future he no longer dared to have.

Sly Cooper took one deep breath, then another, and held the cane out towards Clockwerk. His voice, thin and raspy from screaming, did not waver.

“I accept.”

Clockwerk took the offered hook by two talons. He shook it with deadly honesty, gentle as could be, then released it and turned towards the door.

“I have left my portion of the Thievius Raccoonus here with the Panda King to give you a sporting chance,” he said, staring at Sly as though he was a powerful rival and not an injured child. “My home is in the Krakarov Volcano, but I do not expect you to make it that far. In fact, let us assume that the only time you will ever see it is if and when you fail in this game we have begun. I think it would be a fitting place for the death of the very last Cooper.”

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When Carmelita woke up, it was to the loud, constant hum of machinery.

She groaned as she gingerly sat up, aching from head to toe as if she’d just been hit by a car. The ground beneath her was metallic, but deceptively warmer than she would have expected. When she looked up, she was surprised to see the slightest reflection of light in front of her. She did a slow three-sixty to the exact same sight at every turn.

She was in a large, glass…thing.

The inspector pressed one hand against the glass. It felt warm as well. Realization set in that it wasn’t just the container that was like this; the very air itself was thick with heat, despite the room she was in having no obvious source for it beyond the half dozen computers and their ridiculously-sized monitors lining the walls. From every top corner, four cameras were trained on her, and she could see heavy-duty vents embedded all over the floor outside her odd cage seemingly at random.

The single exception to all the fancy technology was one wall-to-ceiling mirror, which mocked her as she stared at it and her own face stared back. Her winter coat was in tatters – probably ripped to shreds by the talons of whatever had carried her off. Her hair was a knotted mess of a braid, and there were tiny grey flecks scattered about in it that was definitely not snow. Carmelita began lifting her arm to investigate and immediately regretted it as her body protested with pain.

She pulled up the rim of her shirt, mysterious hair dirt momentarily forgotten, and grimaced when she found a dark purple bruise wrapped around her entire midsection. It was visible through her fur, in the exact shape of the crushing grip that had stolen her breath and knocked her unconscious. Holding back the full-body shudder that threatened to overtake her at the memory took more willpower than she would ever admit.

Aside from the bruising, she was unharmed. The fox viewed it as a silver lining in this terrible situation she had found herself in, and next began cataloguing what she had available for escape.

Her jetpack and shock pistol were missing; it took a moment to remember that she had removed them while talking Sly down from his near-homicide and hadn’t picked them back up before finding him outside of the observatory. Taking them off was something she didn’t regret, even though she kicked herself for her lack of foresight after the immediate threat had ended. The only thing still on her was her radio, but, as she scrambled to turn it on, it was a hope quickly dashed when all it spit out was static.

Without the radio working, she had no way to contact Interpol. Her GPS tracker had been left in the truck with most of the rest of her stuff for the sake of mobility and speed over anything else. None of her team knew where she was; she doubted any of them had even seen her get carried off. Clockwerk – because it had to be Clockwerk, who else would it have been? – had ambushed her and Sly so silently that she hadn’t even heard his approach until it was too late. No one else would have thought to look up while they were preoccupied with securing the Panda King’s fortress. The inspector was on her own when it came to getting out of here.

She had the thought, for a moment, of her former partner – and then firmly pushed it away before it could give her false hope. There was a good chance he had no idea where she’d been taken, and even if he did know, he was terrified of the Five’s leader. Expecting him to follow her to the ends of the earth with his worst nightmare waiting there was expecting far, far too much.

Even if he didn’t hate her anymore.

Mind made up, Carmelita began testing the glass to see if it was thin enough to shatter with her feet or even the radio. It didn’t give no matter how much force she hit it with, so instead she turned to the floor where it met metal. There wasn’t the slightest weakness she could find in the entire circle. The glass rose high above her, capped by a metal cover, but the diameter of her container was too wide for her to climb up the cylindrical walls.

Frustrated and sweating up a storm, she began taking off her shredded coat, then paused as she realized there was a slight weight to one of the pockets that she hadn’t noticed before. The inspector pulled the thing out quickly, hoping it was something she could use.

It was Sly’s camera she held in her hands.

Carmelita’s mind stalled with surprise. She hadn’t seen this thing since Wales. She remembered it, of course – the raccoon had gotten it somewhere between the USA and Haiti, and she’d often catch him taking pictures of just about any novelty he saw while they traveled, which had been a lot.

In hindsight, maybe she should have taken more note of the fact that he considered mini-marts and migrating birds to be among such novelties.

Thinking about Sly and his terrible lot in life made a rush of righteous anger flow right through her. The fox tucked the camera safely away back in her coat, deeming it a mystery to solve at a later time, and turned towards the open room beyond her odd prison.

“Hey!” She yelled up at the ceiling. “Is anyone there? What’s the meaning of this?”

There was no response except for that continued, constant hum of machinery. Carmelita worked her mouth before taking a step closer to the nearest barrier.

“I know you’re watching me. I can see those cameras. What do you want? Is this a ransom for Interpol? Some kind of retaliation? What demands do you have?”

Still nothing. The inspector let out a frustrated growl and kicked at the reinforced glass. All it gave her for her troubles was a smarting toe.

“You’re Clockwerk, aren’t you?” She called out one last time, hoping to get a reply through that. “Kidnapping doesn’t fit your known MO. Is it because I’ve arrested all your colleagues? If you were afraid of getting caught too or wanted revenge, why not just kill me?”

The cameras all stared at her in mocking silence. She bit her lip, running over the few facts she had. Clockwerk didn’t do things like this. He worked in the shadows, never revealing himself except to help his fellow Five escape at the very end of a heist. The bird was as elusive a criminal as Conner Cooper had been.

Cooper.

Inspector Fox stiffened as she remembered that night in Kunlun. Sly, dejected and certain his life was over. Offering to let her arrest him because he thought it was the only choice of fate that he could make for himself. The pure horror on his face as he looked up at what had felt like the grim reaper bearing down on them both, and then even worse – the resignation that he had clearly fallen into without even trying to run.

She thought about Jing’s story of his failed escape and the price he had paid for it. His strange shift from just wanting to get away for good, to going back over and over to steal his family’s book back for no rational reason.

“This isn’t about me at all, is it?” She asked, as much to herself as to her absent captor. “It’s about Sly Cooper.”

It was like the name alone had flipped a switch of a long-dormant machine. The computer screens all over the room turned on, and Carmelita was suddenly, finally, face to face with the dark silhouette of the leader of the Fiendish Five.

“It has always been about Cooper.” The giant owl said. His voice was cold. Emotionless. Robotic, even. It sent a shiver up her spine. “From the very beginning to the very end.”

“But why?” She questioned, understanding the actions but not the motive. “You killed a rival criminal in Conner Cooper, and then kept his son alive because he was useful. But why the – why toy with him all this time? I know he was trying to take back what you’d all stolen from him, but…he doesn’t actually care about that, does he?”

Clockwerk didn’t respond. He simply stared at Carmelita, his yellow eyes the only detail she could fully make out in his shrouded visage.

“I asked him why he kept risking getting caught by you guys, and all he could say was that he needed to get his book back. He told me right before you attacked us that he had to do that, and then he’d be able to ‘escape for real.’ It sounds like someone obsessed with fixing their family’s reputation, but that’s not what was going on at all, was it?”

Her voice came out louder and louder as the revelation hit her in full, terrible force.

“All he’s ever wanted was to be free, but he knew you’d come after him. He’s terrified of you because he fully believed it wasn’t possible to escape while you were out there. You made him think that you – that you’d let him go if he stole his book back? That you wouldn’t chase after him if he, what, if he humiliated your team enough? Is that what this is all about?”

The owl’s head twitched to the side in a perfect forty-five-degree angle. “I suppose I can indulge in this thread you’ve managed to untangle, just this once. It has been a very long time since someone who wasn’t a Cooper discovered one of my plans, after all, and you are certainly not in a position to do anything about it for much longer.”

Carmelita suppressed another shiver, and refused to look anything other than the confident, collected Inspector she had become over the course of this entire affair.

“While it is true that I allowed Cooper to believe he had any fate but death waiting for him by recovering the Thievius Raccoonus, you are only half-correct about my motives. I do not care about such shallow, insignificant things as the Fiendish Five’s reputation. Any failure on their part to protect their stolen pages of that book was entirely on them, but I would never allow the world to assume that I would let Cooper go if he were successful. It is not possible for him to succeed, you see. Even though the rest of my cohorts disappointed me, I expected it. I planned for it.

“I wanted to show the world that without their precious book, the Cooper line was nothing. It has been their crutch for thievery for as long as I have known them, and now that I have taken it away, the proof of that is known to all. Sly Cooper was not even able to get this far on his own; he was so weak that he was forced to seek aid from you.”

The dark glee in his voice made her skin crawl. Her tail twitched without consent while she absorbed his twisted words and motives.

“I don’t understand,” she said, very slowly, as every alarm in her mind suddenly went off at once. “You keep talking about the Cooper family, like – like you’ve been around as long as they have. How old are you?”

Clockwerk regarded her for a long, silent minute. Eventually he tilted his head in the opposite direction, almost as if amused by the inquiry – or perhaps deciding she was worth an honest answer for her part in the game he had been playing without anyone else knowing.

“Perfection has no age,” he finally said. “I have kept myself alive for hundreds of years with a steady diet of jealousy and hate.”

Carmelita couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What are you saying? That you’re…immortal?”

“Revenge is the prime ingredient in the fountain of youth. I have been patiently awaiting the day when I would finally eclipse the Cooper family’s thieving reputation.”

The glee was gone. All that was left was the darkness and the spite. It was so powerful that the inspector nearly averted her gaze even though she wasn’t the target of it.

“Those arrogant Coopers dared to claim they held the title of master thieves, but they were always inferior. I am a master thief. I was the master thief. The original. The antecedent. And I have proved it, time and time again.”

“How…how would you prove something like that?” She asked, dreading the answer but compelled to learn.

“By achieving the ultimate crime.”

Soulless yellow eyes burned into hers. The eyes of a predator.

“To steal the lives of such master thieves – that is how I prove my superiority.”

Carmelita recoiled, appalled and horrified by the thing she was talking to. “Criminal” was too kind a word to describe him, even among his Fiendish companions. He was nothing less than a monster.

“How many?” The question came out in a whisper against her own will.

“Nearly all of them. Those who did not succumb to sickness, or injury, or unfortunate circumstances. I hunted entire family trees through the generations. I diluted their sprawling lineage across the entire world, narrowing it down meticulously until only one pitiful, struggling bloodline remained. I nearly completed my goal with Conner Cooper, but he evaded me for too long and became too well-known through his exploits and his book. So, I found fulfillment in his son instead.”

She finally let herself shudder. Sometime in their “conversation”, her fur had begun standing on end and hadn’t stopped. It was no wonder Sly had believed himself out of options the last time she had seen him. She had no doubt that if she hadn’t intervened, he would not have survived the trip to wherever Clockwerk had taken her.

That thought gave her pause.

“…What about me?” The fox dared to ask. “I stopped you from doing what you wanted to with him, and now I’m…here. Why let me live when I wasn’t even your target to begin with?”

“Your actions are inconsequential. Your life is inconsequential. You are alive only because I found a use for it.”

“And what use is that?” She demanded, drawing her shoulders up as high as she could to hide the way her fur was still puffed out in fear.

“Bait.”

The word caught the inspector completely off guard. Her bravado faltered just a little bit in the wake of confusion.

“I’m…what?” She blinked. “For Sly?”

Clockwerk’s answer was the slightest tilt of his head back to a vertical position. Carmelita would have pretended to scoff if not for the sick pit growing in her stomach.

“That’s not going to work. We were only partners for a month before I found out who he was, and I’ve been trying to arrest him since. He hates me.”

“Does he?” It was asked with something actually bordering on an emotion other than hatred and delight; the first he’d shown. The fox had been starting to wonder whether he was even capable of it.

And yet, that emotion was one she couldn’t identify at all.

“Of course he does!” For some reason, convincing Clockwerk of this suddenly felt very important. “He nearly killed me in Wales. And – and in Kunlun, I tried to gun him down when we ran into each other again.”

She pushed the last interaction they’d had out of her mind. Even if they had made some tentative form of reconciliation in the moment, it wasn’t enough to repair the chasm of hurt she’d caused him. Surely not enough for the raccoon to risk his life for her.

“If you truly think so, then perhaps I’ll simply kill you right now.”

Carmelita froze. The owl continued.

“You won’t survive either way, of course, but maybe a different lure would work better if you’re so certain you won’t be enough to draw him out. Considering the Panda King was the only of my former colleagues he had any attachment to, and has since been…compromised, his daughter may be an ideal substitute.”

“Don’t you dare harm that girl!” The inspector slammed her hands on the glass in thunderous, instinctive fury. “She has nothing to do with any of this!”

Clockwerk cocked his head. “What a peculiar response. I would have thought you’d beg for me to spare your life if I were to switch your places.”

“I will not let you threaten an innocent person,” she growled. “Not her, not Sly, not anyone.”

He chuckled. It was a low, terrible sound. “It’s too late for empty platitudes, Inspector Fox. We shall see whether Sly Cooper is willing to come and save you. If he does not, then I will dispose of you and find a better lure.”

And with that promise made, the ancient leader of the Fiendish Five disappeared from every screen. Carmelita collapsed to her knees, knowing she was still being watched but pretending otherwise as she stared at the giant mirror across the room and wondered whether it was worse to wish for Sly to save her or not.

Eventually, almost without thinking, she reached for her discarded winter coat and found the camera within. She ran her hands over it but didn’t turn it on, thinking over everything that Clockwerk had just confessed to. Her mind spun over the utter depravity of the creature she was trapped by. Knowing that Sly, or Jing, or any other number of people would be at his mercy was as bitter a pill to swallow as knowing that regardless of what happened from here on out, her life would probably not last long enough to witness the aftermath.

For the first time in a very long time, Inspector Carmelita Fox felt well and truly helpless.

She didn’t know when she finally began looking through the camera. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but at some point, her brain snapped out of its stupor long enough to realize that this inconspicuous little device was all she had left of her former partner. She didn’t know how it had gotten into her coat pocket, but she didn’t care – right now it was the most precious thing she had ever owned, right next to her lost shock pistol.

At first, they were exactly as she expected: pictures of stores and streets and cities, pictures of scenery, pictures of the occasional oddity that stuck out more than usual. But as they moved from the U.S. to Haiti to Wales, she began noticing herself popping up more and more. What had started as a sporadic appearance of blue hair or orange jacket in the background started moving to the foreground, and then became the focus completely.

There were pictures of her admiring the street vendors at a farmer’s market; pictures of her arguing with an officer over whether her parked car was a registered police vehicle; pictures of her up close, clearly looking at Sly behind the camera with a bemused yet open smile. Almost every single one was without the fox knowing the picture was being taken, and the few that weren’t featured the same slightly confused, honest happiness as Past-Her seemed to find it funny that her partner had wanted photos of her.

She’d had no idea. All the time they’d spent traveling together, that month or so of his snark and irritability and gradual trust, she had thought he surely couldn’t have felt the same way about her as she had started to feel about him. Whether he was aware of it or whether it was a subconscious thing, Sly Cooper had gone from seeing her as the cop who could be his means to an end, to someone he seemed to truly care for.

Carmelita cycled through all of them slowly, drinking in every detail so that she could commit them all to memory as she sat curled up against the wall of her glass prison and waited for her fate to be decided. This camera and its contents had been a candid snapshot into the raccoon’s mindset; she wanted to hold on tight to the feathery feeling in her chest every time a new picture of herself came up for as long as she possibly could.

And then, very suddenly, all pictures of her were gone. It was back to scenery and cities again, as it had started out, although she recognized very few of these locations. The personality he had started to grow in his photography – both with her as the subject or without – disappeared just as abruptly. All the new photos were almost clinical; no longer snapshots of lives and what it was like to live, but simply back to the basics of seeing something and taking a picture of it just to show he did.

Understanding hit the fox like a freight train, but she still gave the new batch her full attention. There were hundreds of them stored on the thing from when Sly had first bought it all the way to Kunlun; she recognized some of the scenery at the base of the mountain as the exact same that she had passed with her Interpol team probably days later. By the time she reached the end, her throat was dry from lack of water and her muscles nearly cramped every time she shifted.

And then, she came to the last one.

It was Sly – the only picture of him across the entire gallery – sitting on a bed, in a room that Carmelita didn’t recognize. He had his chin propped up in his hand and he was staring out the nearby open window at the night sky, obviously unaware of the camera aimed his way. There were bags under his eyes and he looked both contemplative and melancholy.

She could see historical Chinese décor all over the room, and the reason for the picture clicked in her head – as well as how the camera had ended up here with her. Either the raccoon had left it out where Jing had gotten ahold of it, or he had given it to her directly. She wondered when the teenager had slipped it into her coat pocket and couldn’t help but be impressed for not noticing it. Clearly, she had not been lying about learning a few things from her surrogate brother regarding sleight of hand.

Just as the inspector began working her way through the photos a second time, the screens in the room booted to life again, startling her to her feet in preparation for fight, flight, or another harrowing conversation.

This time, Clockwerk did not waste any time before cutting to the chase.

“Sly Cooper is here.”

Carmelita swallowed and flexed her hands at her side. She fought the icy panic and the dangerous hope that were both creeping across her mind, pretending instead to be indifferent to the announcement.

“He knows you are alive, but not where you are. I am curious if he will be able to find you before my security measures overpower him.” If the owl had seen through her bluff, or was worried that Sly would succeed, he did not show it. His metal countenance was as unreadable as always.

“I believe in him. He’s made it this far on his own,” she dared to say over the fear that her captor would take it as a challenge that he was underestimating her former partner.

“Indeed, he has. His luck has certainly held out longer than expected.”

Clockwerk leaned forward, and she very much did not like the sudden gleam in his eye.

“But this time, Inspector, you are not going to be his savior. You are going to be his doom.”

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A/N: I love villains. I love monologues. I love villain monologues. I may love these things a little TOO much because I think I made Clockwerk awfully chatty compared to canon, oops. The cat is finally out of the bag, the truth is finally revealed, and now we know exactly why Sly was so single-mindedly obsessed with recovering the Thievius Raccoonus instead of simply disappearing into the dead of night.

Also, kudos to everyone who predicted that Bentley and Murray would make another appearance! There were quite a few of you and I was delighted at how many remembered that Sly had a way to contact them.

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 1) Prologue

Prologue: Wasted Potential

            “Sherlock, we’ve already looked through all the kids’ rooms, there’s nothing here,” sighed the grey-haired police detective.

            Lestrade, thought (Y/N), recognizing him from the inspection of the boarding rooms a few days ago.

            Scotland Yard was currently investigating the death of Lori Nelson, a social worker at the orphanage where (Y/N) lived. The immediate suspects were the orphans housed there since there were several old enough and strong enough to push the knife as deep as it was in Nelson’s chest, and she was known to argue with several due to their attitude and destructive habits. ((Y/N) often faced the end of her scoldings because they didn’t try to engage with the other kids and was deemed “uncooperative in social situations”). However, Scotland Yard needed to consider alternatives because nothing had been found in searches.

            Now, however, there was a man with curly brown hair and a long black coat looking through the rooms once again. And although Lestrade seemed exasperated, he didn’t pull Sherlock away, so (Y/N) came to the conclusion that the man must have some intelligence if he was allowed to run rampant. On the other hand, though, he had no badge ((Y/N) had watched for any shapes in his pockets and glanced at his belt but saw nothing), so he was not affiliated with Scotland Yard. That added to the idea that he had to have some incredible deductive abilities of Detective Inspector Lestrade was letting him come here to investigate.

            All of that led to (Y/N0 hovering around the doorway as Sherlock lifted up mattresses and peer underneath.

            “Sherlock, we’ve already been through all of this. Nelson was seen arguing with several of the teenagers here, but there was no evidence of the weapon here, so we don’t know who to look into,” said Lestrade.

            “Graham, what is it like in your little mind?” asked Sherlock. “You need to think bigger than the obvious.” He grinned as he pulled out a large knife with small bloodstains left on the metal where the cleaning product applied to it failed to remove the evidence.

            Someone put it there on purpose. It’s under Miles’s bed, and everyone knows he and Miss Nelson had that argument a week ago because he almost set fire to the dorm with the matches he stole.

            Lestrade frowned. “The killer moved its hiding spot so that we would never find it. They must have moved it here because we were going to expand our search, and we’d already looked here.”

            Sherlock sighed like a tired teacher dealing with a toddler. “Again, bigger than the obvious.”

            Lestrade was struggling to remain civilized. “Sherlock, that scenario isn’t obvious. It would mean the killer is intelligent.”

            “He isn’t,” replied Sherlock simply, smelling the knife. He grinned, a slightly manic look in his eyes as he solved the case at hand. “Red wine. Expensive brand. Opened two days ago, likely right before the murder occurred.”

            Everyone blinked at him, not making the connection. Some of the other kids around (Y/N) glanced at each other with “is this guy crazy?” looks on their faces.

            Sherlock sighed dramatically. “Oh, come on! It’s obvious!”

            “Director Lillis did it,” said (Y/N), tired of the whole situation and wanting it to be finished so they could just relax in their dorm again without officers prowling all over.

            Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “Charles Lillis? Nelson’s presence made his life easier, why would he—“

            “Exactly,” said Sherlock, looking at (Y/N). “And how do we know that?”

            It was a challenge: Are you guessing or do you know? (Y/N) knew.

            “You smelled the knife. I’m guessing there was alcohol on it for it show through the horrible attempting at cleaning the knife. Lillis abuses alcohol, but he usually dresses it up as just being a collector,” said (Y/N), rambling a little but staying logical. “He always had a thing for Nelson, but she wasn’t interested. She probably accepted his offer for a drink to get him off her back and then rejected him again. With him being likely drunk and already short-tempered, he ended up killing her. But again, he was drunk, so he did a terrible job at hiding the body, which is how some of the younger kids found it so quickly in the extra freezer (we know they keep sweets in there sometimes so we snack from it. The adults never realized). And then he put the knife here hoping there would be another check so that Miles would be blamed.” (Y/N) shrugged. “His first hiding place must have been pretty bad for him to assume that would happen, but I guess he technically didn’t turn out to be wrong.”

            “(L/N)!” Another social worker, Miss Ross, gasped and pulled them back. She had let them and the other curious kids watch from farther back, but (Y/N) interrupting horrified them. “Don’t interfere official police investigations!”

            (Y/N) sighed tiredly as they were led away for detention.

Sherlock watched and turned to Lestrade. “George, I want to foster that one. Their potential is waster here.” He turned with a whoosh of cost and began walking out. “Oh, and arrest Lillis. It was him.”

            Lestrade sighed and motioned to his officers to go to Lillis’s office. One problem at a time. Arrest the murderer, then talk Sherlock out of trying to take in a kid.

            He only got one job done that night.

Author's Notes:

Hello, and welcome to A Study of the Heart and Brain, a Father Figure! Sherlock x Teen! Reader! As with every book, here are just a few announcements:

1) I am undecided on any romance, but if there is any, it will be with an OC that is of an appropriate age. There is nothing but platonic or familial relationships with the adults.

2) Updates are Mondays and Fridays. I will update until this book is finished, and then I go to another series.

3) I love interacting with readers, so please comment, I love responding to them.

Please enjoy, everyone! -Mouse

[galactic-dragoness]

Pillow Talk Chapter 8 Sneak Peak

When Carmelita finds herself at the front door of the cottage, her first instinct is to just turn around and leave.

After she silently scolds herself for briefly losing her nerve, she straightens, and knocks on the door three times; loud enough so someone were to hear if they were in the far back of the cottage.

For a moment, nothing happens, and Carmelita has the faintest hope that no one is in the cottage.

The hope quickly evaporates as she hears footsteps approach the front door from inside, and the door opens.

Sly Cooper, dressed in a simple turtleneck and trousers with readers glasses, is on the other end, inside the house.

His demeanor is calm, but his eyes are wide. He's surprised, flabbergasted.

He stands there without moving or speaking, and Carmelita crosses her arms because the weather has gotten slightly colder.

(That's what she tells herself. It's definitely not because she feels vulnerable, and her body responds by shielding her chest.)

The detective woman sighs. "Well?"

The question seems to snap Cooper out of his shock. He steps to the side. "Sorry, come in."

Carmelita hesitates, just for half a second, then crosses the threshold of the cottage, inside.

The raccoon man shuts the door, and Carmelita observes the interior of the humble house.

The inside is also very...average. The front door serves as a direct entrance to the cottage living room, where Carmelita sees an old gray couch with a matching gray armchair. In the center is a rustic looking coffee table with a single ashtray on top. Beneath the table is a dated rug with a complex but classic flower pattern. To the far right is a bookshelf partially filled with books, and next to it is a medium sized wooden dresser. In the back of the large room there is a worn wooden staircase with a handrail, leading to the second floor.

The living room has three large windows, two on the front side of the house and one on the left. The connecting room to the Inspector's left looks like some sort of study, while the second connecting room directly behind the living room looks like a kitchen, with a large table partially obscured from her line of sight.

The vixen also notes the aroma: chicken, sauces, herbs, wine. Cooper was either in the middle of or finishing preparing dinner.

She turns back to Sly Cooper, who is visibly unsettled.

Why? Did he really think I wouldn't come? He even cooked.

After a brief pause, Sly speaks.

"You got my card."

"So I did," the fox woman replies.

"I...actually didn't think you would show up."

"Well, you were wrong."

___________________________________________________

I DID NOT ABANDON THIS FIC! I do NOT intend to abandon this fic! My brain is just low on some chemicals and hormones, but I assure you it still works!!! Thank you for your ungodly amounts of patience!

[lgcjunkyu]

NAME: choi junkyu YEAR: second year

MAJOR: music theory SUBJECTS RANKING:

MUSIC PRODUCTION PERFORMING ARTS PHOTOGRAPHY I WRITING FOR MASS MEDIA KOREAN LANGAGE & LITERATURE

3 RANDOM FACTS:

he's like a mix of nate archibald and dan humphrey in the more cooler ways. he kind of keeps to himself like dan but with the more cooler elements of nate. he definitely doesn't try to be a popular person and has quite a few friends that if someone said his name, they would probably know him/of him. likes to be friends with everyone, will let them copy his homework if they needed but he would jokingly (most of the time) say they have to pay him for saving their ass. while he takes his studies seriously, he also knows how to unwind and have fun. so you'll see him at parties a lot.

lgc wasn't his first choice, but after attending a little opening, he quite liked it and met some people who were also considering applying, so his overall experience and enjoying the sounds of the courses, he decided to disregard his first choice and applied for lgc instead. and got in.

he got a pet hamster to keep him company while he's there's there but one day he forgot to hide him from the room inspectors because he was writing an essay and he had to rehome his poor hammy. wasabi, his little furry friend long gone, but don't fret, his cousin took him in for him and he is living a happy life with all the sunflower seeds (in moderation, even though junkyu isn't able to look after him, he still too often asks for updates and scolds his cousin when he asks her how many sunflower seeds she gave him within the week).

[toaverse]

In the Eyes of Outsiders

Summery: A few looks on some of the passengers from the teaser.

Note: So, I decided to write a bit about some background characters in the teaser.

Now also on AO3.

Enjoy!

-

Element City is not what she expected, at all.

Ember always thought that the city in question accommodates every element, but that isn’t true. While earth-people, water-people and air-people have buildings, shops and public transport designed for them, fire-people don’t…

So it has made her experience in the city not that fun…

Her mother was right. Elements cannot mix…

Currently, Ember waits at the translation for her train to arrive, already having herself covered with her jacket and hood, along with her headphones around her neck. She doesn’t want to hurt anybody, nor hear others whisper about her…

Finally hearing the train coming, and stopping with the entrance right in front of her, Ember puts her headphones on with a song from her playlist already playing, and steps inside.

=-=

“Dad, what element is she?” An earth-boy asks his father curiously. “She’s pretty.”

“She’s a fire element, Stowne.” The boy’s father explains. “They don’t come here often.”

“Why?” Stowne asks his dad. “She’s an element too, like us, right?”

His father doesn’t know how to answer his son’s question, not wanting to tell him that fire-people can easily hurt other elements.

But his son is right, fire-people are still elements, just like them, air and water.

=-=

Aquara has a date this noon. Of course, she wants to look her best. But due to her almost missing her train, she couldn’t get to her make-up.

Now that she has to sit in the train for yet another 15 minutes, she can get at least a bit of make-up on.

Aquara pulls out her lipstick from her small bag, and applies it to her.

But right before she’s done, the train shook, causing Aquara to slip her hand and her lipstick to smear over her face.

The water-woman sighs. Great, now what?

=-=

Afa is tired, really tired.

Before boarding the train, she managed to put her quadruplets to sleep again. Every day, The earth-woman brought her four babies to daycare before going to work, and would pick them up after her shift and go home again.

Afa nearly falls asleep, but she sees a fire-woman walk past her seat. Ugh, one of those…

But right after the fire-woman has walked passed, her four babies wake up crying.

The earth-woman sighs, and tries to make her quadruplets go to sleep again, but she doesn’t succeed.

Those fire-people need to stay away and out of the city. They obviously don’t belong there, and will only cause pain to others…

=-=

When she sees the fire-woman about to walk passed them, Freesia instantly becomes skeptical of her, not wanting her to hurt her or her son.

But when her son reaches out to that fire-freak, the earth-woman immediately pulls him back.

“Geo, don’t touch her!” Freesia scolds her son. “She’s dangerous! Do you want her to burn you?!”

The earth-boy shakes his head, and stays silent.

Freesia gives the fire-woman a disgusted look. She better stay away…

=-=

Ember walks to the other door further in the train, watching the city from the small window. It looks wonderful. Too bad fire-people aren’t included that much…

The city soon fades out of sight, as the train enters a dark tunnel. Once again, the train shakes a bit on the rails, causing Ember’s headphones to fall off her head and onto the ground, her music still playing.

Ember is about to pick her headphones up, but suddenly feels a painful sting in her hand.

“Ah!” She lets out of pain, pulling her hand away. Ember then looks at who did it, and he looks familiar.

“Sorry.” The water-guy apologizes. It’s the inspector from last week.

Recognizing him, Ember pulls down her hood, letting her flames be revealed.

And it seems that he recognizes her as well.

“I’m Wade.” The water-guy greets, introducing himself.

Finally feeling comfortable, the fire-woman does the same.

“I’m Ember.”