#this is just a dartboard for me to stick Things That Would Be Just Mostly Sad to I think

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 15

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 6k

warnings: self-esteem issues, feelings

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 15/? 

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© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

The ride home lasts ten minutes, during which you’re holding back tears the entire time. It’s only when you’re finally inside your own apartment that you let them fall. It doesn’t help to see Fenrir’s collar and leash hanging next to your jackets, or his bowls still on the floor. In a way, it feels like you’re back at square one. 

You know you promised Jeongguk you’d call Jihyo, but you don’t, knowing she’d disapprove of you being on your own probably just as much as he does. Still, realizing that sooner or later you’ll need to either get back to work or find another job, you send her a text, asking if there’s any case for you to work on remotely until you’re ready to return fully.

The first night back is emotional, but you’re relieved to finally be home.

“I don’t think it matters how hard you throw it,” a worried Jimin watches Jeongguk hurl a dart at the dartboard. “Actually, I’m pretty sure you’d see better results if you didn’t throw it like an Olympic javelin thrower.”

Jeongguk doesn’t reply, just rolls his eyes and grabs another dart. The music around them is surprisingly quiet, drowned out by the chatter of the bustling bar.

“So, care to tell me what’s up with him?” Jin asks, nodding toward Jeongguk as he sets the three pints of beer on the table and takes a seat. 

“His little lady left him,” Jimin explains sadly, sliding one of the pints closer to Jeongguk.

“Oh. Why? You weren’t a couple, were you?” Jin asks.

“No,” is all Jeongguk mutters before he heads over to the dartboard to retrieve the darts. He has three of them, but only one actually hit the board; the other two embarrassingly stuck to the wood-paneled wall. From the marks already there, he’s at least not the first terrible dart-thrower. When he returns to the table with all the darts in hand, he pushes his designated pint back toward Jimin. “Can’t drink.”

Jimin meets his eyes, looking defeated. Jeongguk already explained that when you’re not with him, he can’t risk being drunk in case you need him. If you called, saying Hoseong had found you, Jeongguk would not hesitate to get on his bike or in his car, no matter how much he’s had to drink, and driving under the influence is something he’d rather avoid.

“She’s scared of me,” he repeats what you told him a few nights ago. Hearing the words from his own mouth stings less, but his heart still aches and his blood boils. He throws another dart but misses the board, and it sticks to the wall a few inches left of it. 

“Wait. What do you mean?” Jin asks, confusion written all over his face.

“Yeah. Although I’m pretty sure she hasn’t ruled out that I’ll just snap one day and kill her, she’s mostly scared that I’ll want to hurt her emotionally.”

“But why would you? I thought you two were doing alright? I mean, she’s been living with you for, what, the last month?”

“We were. Or at least, I thought so. She kissed me, and we were… getting closer, but I guess it freaked her out.”

“Why?”

“Remember how I told you I was horrible to her before I found out what Hoseong had done? Yeah, the things I said… they were inhumane.”

“What did you say?”

Jeongguk throws another dart, swinging his arm and using way too much force. “What haven’t I said? I’ve told her that she’s too ugly for me to look at, that she needs to stop eating, that she’s incompetent, and that she basically deserved being trafficked if only the traffickers would take her. That’s the short version.”

“Fuck, man,” Jimin breathes in disbelief. Jeongguk told him what happened ages ago but not explicitly what he’d said to you.

“Yeah. I just��� I wanted her to hurt, to pay for what I thought she’d done, but she never seemed affected. I’d call her something, and she’d flip me off or glare at me or call me an idiot or whatever, but she never… I thought she didn’t care, so the next time I saw her, I said something worse. But I wouldn’t have, obviously, if I… If I… knew.”

Jin puts his glass down, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean, I haven’t met her, but isn’t she, like, objectively very pretty? From what I’ve heard?”

“Yeah, she is,” Jeongguk sighs. “Which is also why I didn’t think she’d take it to heart, ‘cause what I said isn’t true in the slightest.” 

“But can’t she see how pathetically in love you are? No offense,” Jimin asks. “I mean, I take it you’ve apologized and probably told her what you really think? She doesn’t trust that?”

Jeongguk falls silent as he retrieves the darts again, shamefully avoiding eye contact with his friends on his way back.

“Wait, you haven’t apologized?”

“Of course I have,” he argues before lowering his voice. “I just kinda… fucked it up.”

He feels the confused stares of his friends. “I’ve apologized many, many times for how I treated her, and she seemed to kinda accept that? But I never explicitly apologized for the things I said. Nor have I told her how I actually feel about her.”

He sees how Jimin is about to tell him exactly what he thinks about that, but Jeongguk cuts him off before he's able to.

“After I somehow convinced her to stay with me, I thought carefully about how to act around her. I thought that it would be better to apologize for… everything. I thought ‘I’m sorry for how I treated you’ would cover it. And I didn’t want her to second-guess my intentions, so I didn’t actually tell her what I really think.”

“You mean ‘second-guess your intentions’ as in…” Jin trails off.

“As in think that I chose to help her because I was interested in her. I didn’t want her to think I had an agenda or to feel like she’d owe me in any way. She hasn’t had the best experience with men—men in law enforcement, especially—so I wanted to be as… safe, I guess, as possible for her. I didn’t realize she was still thinking about it, taking what I said as the truth.”

Jimin sighs. “So she thinks you might still consider her the ugliest creature to walk the earth is what you’re saying?”

“Apparently. I tried to convince her before she left, but of course, it didn’t seem genuine. I don’t blame her.”

A bit more optimistic, Jin tilts his head. “You don’t think she’ll believe you if you just tell her exactly what you just told us?”

But Jeongguk lets his shoulders slump. “I don’t think so. She told me I scare her because I have a desire to hurt anyone who wrongs me, and she doesn’t feel like she can read me. And I believe her. I wanted to hurt her, and during the mission, I had to pretend to love her when I really didn’t, so I kept switching up on her.”

The atmosphere shifts from frustrated and sad to just sad as Jeongguk runs his thumb over the dart in his hand.

“I lose either way. If I tell her that what I said back then was true, then I think she’s ugly, and I wanted to hurt her by saying so. But if I say that I lied and that she’s really the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, then I still wanted to hurt her. And after everything she’s been through, she doesn’t want a man with a desire to hurt.”

“But like you said, you didn’t mean to hurt her to that point, more so to be taken down a notch? And it got out of hand?”

“Is there a difference? I’ve hurt her, probably beyond what is salvageable, and she thinks I’m still capable of that; that if we disagree on something, I might turn on her.”

With a deep breath, you pull open the doors to the police station one chilly Monday morning, the sky outside gray and heavy with the threat of snow. It’s been three weeks since you came home, and though Jihyo put up a fight, she eventually agreed to let you stay.

Since months have passed, and you still haven’t caught Hoseong and his crew, you figure you might as well try to get back to normal. So you started planning your return to work, but then Christmas came, which you spent at your mother’s, two hours away.

Jihyo also agreed not to tell Jeongguk about your living arrangements, per your desperate request. You’d rather not deal with his savior complex, and you know he’d park outside your building if he thought you were in danger. You scoff to yourself, but almost immediately, guilt settles in. A savior complex isn’t why he’s worried about you; he’s just a good guy. You know that. Still, you don’t want him to know.

Walking through the station at nine a.m.—on your way to Jihyo’s office to discuss your new assignment—you almost hold your breath. Some officers glance your way, still not used to seeing you back, and maybe even less used to seeing you without Jeongguk. Or maybe they know you had a “falling out?” Would he tell anyone here? Jihyo, maybe, if she didn’t already know, but you’re not sure if he’d tell anyone else; his closest friends besides Jimin don’t work at this station anyway. And Jimin probably wouldn’t gossip about you either.

Jihyo is waiting for you when you reach the door to her office, calling out for you to come in as soon as you knock.

“Hey,” you say, closing the door behind you.

“Hey. Want a donut?” she asks from behind her desk, happily pointing to the open box, a half-eaten donut in hand and what you assume is part of the other half in her mouth.

“Nah, I’m good,” you grin, sitting down in front of her.

“Alright,” she says, swallowing and wiping some crumbs from her lap. “So, I’ve been looking over your request and proposed methods.”

You watch as she pulls her laptop in front of her, setting the donut down on the table, and starts scrolling.

“And I’d say it’s very reasonable if we’re okay with the risks.”

“I don’t think there are any risks at all, actually,” you argue softly. “We parted on good terms.”

“Yeah, I know. And they played a part in your survival. But I’m still gonna need to have a risk analysis performed. Who would you want to go with you? I could assign Sana, I think, if you want her? She’s on an assignment right now, but we’re hoping they’ll be done by Wednesday, give or take.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m glad to see you back and wanting to work on what matters to you. I know the chief—ex-chief—did his best to be a pain in the ass for you.”

“Yeah. I can’t wait until the investigation’s finished, honestly. He deserves to rot in jail.”

“Agreed. I haven’t heard anything else from the higher-ups, so they’re probably still elbow-deep in it. Anyway, if you have any details you’d like to show me, I’m all ears.”

Your smile grows, and you reach into your bag for your laptop and notebook.

“Thanks,” you smile, standing up an hour later with your bag in hand. But before you exit her office and close the door behind you, you glance back at Jihyo. “By the way, I’m so glad you got the job. You deserve it more than anyone.”

“Thank you. It’s been… rough, these last couple of months. A lot to do and a lot of stress and pressure, but I think it’s worth it. And I’ve had help, making it easier for me to adjust.”

You know who she’s talking about; you don’t need to hear a name.

“He asks about you, you know.”

Holding onto the door, you look away. You’re well aware of what Jeongguk has done for not only you but also Jihyo, Sana, and the entire police station. 

“Let me avoid him for at least another month. Then you can tell him whatever you want, and I can try to be a better colleague. But now? I can’t… I don’t…”

Jihyo looks at you, seeing the pain well up in your eyes when you think about the reason you left his house that night. If you can just have another month to force the warm, yet invalid and hurt feelings you have for him back into the box they broke out of when you first kissed him, you can try to be more civil with him. Hell, you’ll even work with him if he can keep it professional as well.

Jihyo nods, sad but understanding. After all, she had a front-row seat when he used to tear you bloody.

For another hour, you sit at an empty desk, excitedly looking over the preliminary plan that starts on Thursday. You can’t believe it’s about to actually become reality.  

Step one:

Preliminary timeframe: Thursday. 

Possible obstacles and risks: Low risk of hostility or danger. 

Safety measures: Two detectives, civilian clothes, civilian car, concealed firearms.

Step two: Plan A or B, depending on what you find, if anything.

With your notes full of prepared questions, you rise from the chair, deeming it time to leave the station for the day. As you stand there, organizing your papers, movement catches your eye, and you look up just in time to see Jimin enter the big room. And of course, who does he have in tow if not Jeon Jeongguk, dressed, like so often, in the academy's navy crewneck and uniform pants?

Meeting both of their eyes, you’re saved by your phone’s ringtone, a sound that seems to stop even Jeongguk from taking an impulsive step toward you.

Fishing the phone out from the pocket of your black pants, you swipe your finger across the screen to answer. It’s Sana.

“Hello?”

“Hey! So I talked to Jihyo, and she said that your request got pre-approved? I’m a little busy at the moment and for the next few days, but send me anything you’d like me to look over in preparation.”

“So you’re up for it?” you ask, a wide smile forming. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Jeongguk reluctantly follow Jimin further into the room, where they start talking to two other officers with their backs turned. If you were more of a hopeless romantic instead of a realistic one, you’d describe the glances he sends your way as… yearning. To avoid his gaze, you focus on the notebook lying on the desk.

“Of course! You and me, just like old times.”

“Old times? It’s only been like a year since we worked on a case together.”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, I gotta go. See you.”

“I’ll send the info tonight. See you.”

Discreetly, you end the call and gather your things, quickly but quietly heading for the exit. But in the corridor, you hear a call of your name. You shut your eyes for a second before turning around. It hurts to see him, to walk these halls, avoiding him just like you used to. Only this time, it’s a different kind of pain.

The shame creeps in at the same rate Jeongguk approaches. It’s the same shame for how he sees you, but also for how you’ve reacted. You can barely look at him, yet you’re ashamed for not giving him a chance, even though he’s the one who made the bed he’s now tossing and turning in. He's so handsome, looking so warm and strong as he approaches, his black hair looking soft, shiny and just a little longer than last time. A part of you wishes he’d close his eyes so that you could throw your arms around his neck and breathe him in.

“Can you please leave me alone for a while?” is what you ask instead, clutching your notebook to your chest.

Now standing right before you, he looks down at you with sad, desperate eyes. “I’ll be quick, I promise. Two minutes is all I need.” 

You’re not sure why, because you’re not an immature person, but you press your lips together, trying to suppress a smile. Noticing the shift in your expression, Jeongguk thinks back to what he said, smiling as well. “I set that one up pretty well, didn’t I?”

You turn your head, trying to stifle the smile, but you find that it fades easier than expected. 

“And you think I’d wanna fuck that?” he snaps, eyeing your body with disgust. 

Your gaze locks on the lower part of the wall. You wish someone would lend you the cloak of invisibility so that you could hide yourself from him and the world.

“Look at me,” he instructs, but you don’t. The more you think about his eyes on your body, the more you want to leave. 

“Look. At me,” he repeats, firmer this time but still without sounding angry. 

So you do.

“I get it if you don’t want anything else to do with me, but I can’t have you walking around, believing what I said is true.”

Although you don’t cry, you reluctantly let him see just how hurt you are.

“You were right. I wanted to hurt you. I said those things because I was angry, and I wanted just… some kind of justice. When you instead seemed so… unfazed, I let it get the best of me, and somewhere along the way, I lost myself. But I was wrong and although I wanted payback, I didn’t mean to hurt you to this degree. I was only looking for a reaction, anything that showed me that you were paying for what I thought you’d done. If I’d known how I really made you feel, regardless of if you were innocent or not, I would’ve stopped.“

“So you’re just a man, after all?” you ask, and maybe it’s uncalled for, maybe it’s not.

Jeongguk takes half a step back, appearing lost for words, and with enough pain in his surprised eyes for you to think he looks hurt.

He blinks and lowers his voice. “Yeah. Just a man. But listen to me—the things I said were. Not. True. Okay? You hear me? I cannot let you go around thinking you’re anything like what I told you.”

“I find that hard to believe. How else would you know exactly where to hit? What to say to cause maximum damage? Talking about my cellulite and my… weight and…”

“I said what I figured any woman would be scared to hear.”

“Yeah, sure,” you dismiss. 

It doesn’t matter what he says now—he did know exactly what to say, which means he must have looked at you, inspected your body and found every single one of your flaws. It makes you nauseous, as if some of those flaws didn’t exist to the world simply because no one other than you had noticed or mentioned them. Then Jeongguk and his friends scrutinized every inch of you, uncovering them all and putting them on display.

“I think you’re gorgeous.”

“You would’ve told me.”

You really think he would have. The Jeongguk who wants you to sleep in his bed, holding you from behind, who asks to hold your hand, and who puts frosting on your lips as an excuse to kiss them—he would have told you if he liked you. If he thought you were beautiful.

“I didn’t. I thought–incredibly dumbly–that if I told you what I really think of you, you’d think I was hitting on you. If things were different, if we ran into each other somewhere without all this… baggage, I would’ve hit on you, but all I wanted at the time was for you to trust me as a friend and to trust that I just wanted you to be safe. I didn’t want you to think I was looking to get laid or that I would… that I was anything like Hoseong. I didn’t know that you took my bullshit to heart—because again, it’s just not true—and so I chose not to say anything.”

“But we’ve been past that point for a while, haven’t we?” you ask, finding his explanation a little too weak to believe. “I trusted you enough to tell you about the worst moment of my life, I kissed you, and I told you how pretty I think you are, yet you couldn’t even…”

Frustration boils in your veins, mixing with the raw disappointment and hurt which cools you back down. You feel so… small, so defeated. “I don’t need compliments. Just… something. Something that would’ve shown me you weren’t being sweet only because you felt guilty.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say to that. In retrospect, yeah, he should’ve told you, and thinking back to his joke about pretty being for girls makes him cringe with both shame and regret. Especially since he’d used multiple occasions to taunt you with the fact that you’re not a pretty girl. But it had been hard, finding a balance in showing his affection without scaring you off. When you reacted the way you did that night during the power outage, he... didn’t want to risk making you more uncomfortable or afraid. He’d decided to take a step back, let you lead, and he would follow. Of course, that backfired horribly.

You look at him, hurt still brimming in your eyes.

He searches for words, trying to explain himself better. “I should’ve told you, but I… I didn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable. I wanted to follow your lead and let you decide everything. You wanted me handcuffed and blindfolded—of course I realized you were nervous. But I thought you were more worried I’d do something to you, rather than what I would think of you. I didn’t want to influence you to do anything you would’ve regretted.”

You’re clearly not convinced, and you shake your head slowly.

“You could’ve just given me a ‘you too.’ That’s all I would’ve needed.”

Jeongguk can only watch as you leave, obviously still very much hurt by him. Ten seconds after your footsteps have disappeared, he heads back to the desk area, his head hung low.

Jimin looks at him, JJ and Min gone. The unasked question hangs in the air, and Jeongguk can see Jimin realize that no, it didn’t go very well.

“You gotta remember that she’s had a hectic few months and maybe wasn’t really able to process everything. You being an ass was probably the least of her worries for a while—until it wasn’t anymore. And healing isn’t always linear. I’m sure she’ll come around one day.”

Jeongguk sighs. “I don’t think she will, and I can’t expect that of her. I just… hate myself for what I did to her. I never even realized she was just walking around, bleeding from my words.”

You haven’t fixed your car since the last tampering, but fortunately, Jihyo agreed to lend you one of the station’s unmarked cars. A discreet black thing that you park outside the station at ten a.m. on Thursday to pick up Sana, who needed to retrieve some things and told you to meet her there.

Getting no reply, you lock your phone and step out of the car with a sigh. The ground is powdered white, your shoes leaving tracks as you walk up to the station’s main entrance.

Warm air envelops you as you step inside, the doors falling shut behind you.

“Good morning!” Sana rushes over, a coffee in hand. “Sorry, I’ll be done in a minute, I just gotta ask Mark something.”

She gestures for you to follow, and you do, trailing behind her into the sea of desks. The place is unusually crowded with officers, so you decide to wait near the wall, leaving her to weasel her way into the middle on her own.

There usually aren’t this many people here when you’re around, but in your case, the problem isn’t necessarily people; it’s big, strong, law enforcement men. Though they’re not paying you much attention—they must be preparing for something big—you still can’t will your body to fully relax.

By instinct, you tug at your clothes, wishing you hadn’t left your jacket in the car. Since you decided to wear civilian clothes today, you thought you might as well dress somewhat according to your original mission’s dress code. Except adjusted for winter, of course. 

You’re wearing winter boots that reach your upper calves, a pair of those invisibly fleece-lined pantyhose you’ve seen all over social media the last few months, and a cream-colored knitted turtleneck dress. It’s been in your closet forever, but unfortunately, you didn’t try it on before you had to leave.

It feels too tight on your body. Not to wear into a ‘strangely religious neighborhood,’ but too tight to wear here. You pull at the hem where it ends at your mid-thigh, keeping your eyes down when people pass you and hoping no one is looking at you and taking note of how awkwardly shaped your body is.

You stand there for a while, avoiding people’s eyes while you wait for Sana.

However, when you—out of the corner of your eye—notice a uniformed man walking toward you, you look up. Jeongguk’s eyes flicker between you and the people walking past you, as if he’s seen exactly the shameful way you carry yourself around men—these men—nowadays. It’s gotten worse since you left his house; you know that, but when all of your confidence was fueled by anger and then denial, removing those leaves… not much left.

He comes to stand in front of you, looking down at you with frustrated eyes. He’s so broad, so imposing, and it’s very evident when he wears his navy uniform, the sleeves rolled up his veiny forearms.

“Listen to me—”

You look away, about to step back, but he grasps your hand—not just to stop you but to guide the two of you a few steps away from the path of officers and behind the tall panels of a cubicle.

“No. Listen to me. I’ll leave you alone after this if that’s what you want, but I need you to know that you are so incredibly beautiful.”

You sigh, looking at him and wordlessly begging him to just give up already. He’s quiet for a few long seconds, his frustration seemingly growing.

When he speaks again, his voice is calm, more earnest. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“No,” you shake your head. You can’t recall the very first time you met him.

“I do. It was a rainy day—my fourth at the station—and I ran into you at the main entrance. The rain had wet your hair, and I held the door open for you. You thanked me, but you didn’t really smile much, just politely. I think you also bowed your head slightly. I remember thinking that you must’ve been cold from the rain, but I realize you were wary around the men here, even if you and I didn’t know each other.”

Sounds about right.

“And I thought that you were just so beautiful.”

You look down. It’s humiliating, and you feel like shit, hearing him throw compliments your way just to make you feel better. You can’t tell if he’s lying or not, but what else would he say? You can’t exactly say you expected him to approach you today to call you ugly.

Noticing your hesitation, he appears to be searching his mind for something, and you glance at him. 

Suddenly, his eyes widen slightly, and he reaches into the pocket of his navy uniform pants. It’s his phone that he pulls out, and he starts to scroll. He scrolls, and he scrolls, until he finally finds what he’s looking for.

“Look,” he says, handing you the phone.

Although you’re not too keen on entertaining whatever this is, you can’t help but be a little curious. What could he have on his phone that would convince you?

Accepting the device, you start reading the words on the screen. They’re text messages from an old group chat, dated years back, and though you can’t remember the exact date Jeongguk first showed up at the station, you assume it was right around then. The chat seems to have consisted mostly of him, Ryung, Hoseong, Seunghwan, and Junseo.

Seunghwan: Yeah, we’re excited to have you, just let us know if you need anything.

The next few texts are from the following day.

Jeongguk: So I just met the most gorgeous woman I think I’ve ever seen??

Jeongguk: Quick question, is there a work dating policy here? I can’t remember. 

Jeongguk: And if not, where do I find this woman again? Is she an officer? I’m not even kidding when I say that I’m absolutely head over heels from a three-second interaction, and she didn’t even really say anything. 

Jeongguk: I’d love to ask her out.

Ryung: If it’s who I think it is then you better stay away, man.

You read on, seeing how Ryung goes on to describe a woman’s features, which happen to align with yours. The length, color, and style of your hair, the color of your eyes, and your height. But also a very generous way of describing your face and the shape of your body.

Jeongguk: Yeah! Is she with one of you already? In that case, I apologize!

Ryung: No, but Hoseong did her briefly, and she’s absolutely mental. Pretty, but crazy

The next words are not very nice, the men urging Jeongguk to stay away from the woman who could only ever be you, promising to tell him what happened the day after.

“See,” Jeongguk says, “Even Ryung knew exactly who I meant; I didn’t even have to describe you, just say that you were the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen.”

You’re not sure. Yeah, the evidence points to that, and you can’t deny that you’re definitely feeling some form of relief, but… you can still hear his voice in your ears, see the anger and hatred in his dark eyes.

You hand the phone back, and Jeongguk looks around, sighing before turning his attention back to you. “You want me to be completely honest? Tell you exactly what I think of you?”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “No? That’s the point? I know that I’m not your type. I’m full of flaws. I don’t have a body fat percentage in the negatives like you, I don’t always have the energy to shave every inch of my body, and I’ve never gotten flowers. No matter what you say now, I’m not someone you want.”

“You think I’m someone who would care about any of that?” he asks, his voice tinged with hurt.

“You look like someone who would.”

Jeongguk looks away, taking a second to gather his thoughts.

“I… wanted to ask you out that day, after I first met you. You looked so pretty out there in the rain, and I think my heart stopped for a while. I think that you’re cute—really fucking adorable—and charming, and you’re smart and kind, and you’re absolutely breath-taking and sexy as hell.

"Which was another reason I was so angry at you; I saw this… stunning woman, who appeared to live a very privileged life, yelling ‘sexism’ whenever something didn’t go your way to… I don’t know, avoid consequences and get ahead, not realizing what sexism truly meant for other women. I didn’t think there was that much harm in what I said because I thought you knew very well how goddamn pretty you are, so I gripped at every straw, trying to get a reaction.”

You listen to every word he says, still unable to decide. You want to believe him, but the deep wounds he carved into your skin are still bleeding.

“I was so conflicted during our mission. On one hand, I had to pretend to like the person who had shot one of my best friends, who got away with it and refused to be held accountable for it. On the other hand… I liked seeing you pretend to like me too. First, out of spite, but then I realized that I liked seeing you smile, and how nice you were to the people around you, except for me, of course, but I guess I always started it. Then you fell asleep in my arms at the barbeque, and I knew I was fucked. I felt like I betrayed my friends for… feeling something other than hatred for you. 

“But this little thing, that hated me so much, let herself be so vulnerable as to sleep in my arms. And I guess I looked at you differently after that. The more I realized that you might actually be a pretty decent detective; a decent person, the harder it was for me to be mean to you. After everything, and after I’d found out what had happened, I wanted to tell you how much I liked you and how pretty I thought you were, but I was scared you wouldn’t come with me if I did. I was scared they’d look for you at your apartment, so I kept quiet.

“Even after you came to stay with me, and it seemed like you started to trust me, even just a little bit, I had to convince myself to wait. And the more I got to know you, the harder it became. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to bury you in flowers? Hold you and kiss you silly? And you know why I was always up before you—or at least I tried to be—when you slept in my bed with me?”

You shake your head because you don’t know.

There's something else in his eyes when he holds your gaze, “Because I dream about you, and I wake up hard. But I remembered how I freaked you out when we made out back at the house, when you were on my lap and I got hard. I didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, so I made sure to wake up before you, just in case.

“I wanted to kiss you and hold you and really, it would’ve been my pleasure if you’d wanted to sleep with me. But more than that, I wanted you to be safe and feel safe, never doubting why I was doing what I was.”

He shuts his eyes for a short moment. “I guess that’s all I can say. I don’t need you to forgive me, I just need you to know that all I wanted was revenge; nothing of what I said was true.”

He opens his eyes again, looking into yours with his soft, brown ones and a gentle sincerity. Though it’s overshadowed by something else. “I have many regrets, but you are my biggest. What I did to you.”

Regret.

As if she’s been waiting for the right moment to make her return, you hear Sana call your name. When you turn around, you spot her approaching.

“I gotta go,” you excuse yourself.

Sana looks between you and Jeongguk, but when no one says anything, she shrugs and turns her attention to you. “So, Jihyo said you had a problem with your apartment? The door, was it? Cause I can call my brother, and he’ll fix it for free next week if you want?”

“You’re living in your apartment? On your own?” Jeongguk questions, his voice upset.

You turn back at him, “Yeah. Have been since I left your house. It’s fine.”

Despite the clear worry his eyes display, he makes no effort to follow you and talk you straight, probably realizing that there’s nothing else he can do; that was his last chance.

<previous | next> author's note: so there's that! thanks for waiting for it <3 this was the last puzzle piece of their past, i think, and i'd love to hear your thoughts on everything, but especially him lol <3<3

[chiropteracupola]

sketching around for the undead keith au which is now parasitizing my brain

[trvelyans-archive]

my baby’s sweet as can be

a comm for the lovely @montliyets of her adorable detective miss honey hudson and one stunning felix hauville trying to make pancakes !!! these two are so cute and sweet so i hope you enjoy <3 <3 <3 

-

“So, are you a vampire now, too?”

Honey stops scrolling through her phone to glance over at Felix with an amused smile. “No,” she says before good-naturedly rolling her eyes and returning to her search for the right playlist, “I just found this recipe online when you were in the bathroom and I thought it looked cool.”

Felix doesn’t say anything – he just stares at her with round amber eyes until she turns to look at him again, raising an eyebrow curiously.

“What?” she asks.

“Well – what is it?” he prompts. “You can’t just say that and not tell me about the recipe!”

That wasn’t actually why he was staring at her – it was because a bunch of hairs came loose from her bun and were hanging in little blonde curls at the nape of her neck that he couldn’t help but stare at and want to push back up into her bun – but it’s a good enough excuse. He hopes it is, anyway.

She giggles, grabbing her phone and presenting it to him – on the screen is a plate of fluffy pancakes topped high with whipped cream and strawberries. It looks good – it even looks good to him, which is saying something, considering vampires rarely ever enjoy food. It also looks incredibly complicated, though, and Honey hasn’t slept a wink tonight – Felix would know, because they’d been watching musicals on the couch until now and the clock on the oven reads 2:06 am. Way past her bedtime, especially if she has work in the morning.

He can hear Adam’s scolding in his head, but if she doesn’t want to sleep, who is Felix to stop her? Especially because he needs at least ten more minutes of staring to commit all her curls to memory… and then another ten minutes so he can work up the courage to ask her if he can tug on one of them to see how springy it is.

Besides, he likes spending time with Honey. She’s just so sweet.

“Should I make some to bring Tina for breakfast?” Honey asks, taking the phone from Felix when he hands it back to her. “Yeah, okay, I’ll do it. I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish so many myself, anyway.”

“Wish I could eat some,” Felix says, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout as he hops up onto the counter.

Honey returns his pout as she opens the fridge door. “I know,” she says sympathetically, glancing down at her phone before looking up at him. “But – maybe you can try these? The ingredients are pretty, y’know, normal – they might not be too bad!”

“What are some of them?” Felix asks. He’s managed to stomach the odd potato chip or sugary cereal in his day (though usually only because Mason dares him, considering - as much as he enjoys the first bite - he doesn’t always enjoy every bite after that).

“Milk, eggs, butter… oh, what?”

Felix leans over, trying to read her screen. “What?”

“These use mayo,” she says. “Hm. Okay, well, maybe you won’t like them!”

“That’s okay!” he says brightly. “I might try one anyway… With the right motivation.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, but she already turned to the fridge and started looking for ingredients. Damn. He’ll have to try that again later.

After she collects everything and places it all onto her counter, including a bottle of vanilla that Felix spent five minutes helping search through her cupboards for until she revealed it was actually hidden behind a couple of plants, he settles back in beside her and watches her pour everything into a medium-sized mixing bowl with mushrooms painted on the sides and starts mixing it together, only occasionally flinging batter over the side of the bowl onto her counter. She bites her bottom lip as she focuses, swaying back and forth to the music playing from her phone, and he forces himself to look away for a second before he gets stuck thinking about how cute she is (which happens more than he’d like to admit).

“So…” He leans back against the cupboards and crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you come here often?”

He can picture it in his head – a sleepy Honey dragging herself out of her bed and into the kitchen to make a full Thanksgiving turkey or something at four in the morning. (He’s seen her half-asleep some nights when she sleeps at the Warehouse. It’s incredibly cute. She’s cute right now, too, but there’s something extra special about seeing her right out of sleep.)

She glances up at him and laughs. “Sometimes,” she says. “I mean, I try to get enough sleep before work, but – I get distracted, and if I get distracted, it’s hard to sleep.”

Felix understands that – he gets distracted easily, too, sometimes. Especially when he daydreams about beating Mason in a game of darts, because then it’s hard for him to do any of his Agency work when he knows that the dartboard in the games room is just down the hall at the Warehouse. “Distracted by fancy pancakes?”

“It’s not always food!” she protests. “One time I went to the convenience store with Tina at three in the morning because I thought there might be stuff I would need to do, like, embroidery there… surprisingly, there wasn’t any. And then I forgot by the end of work the next day, so… there went my dreams of embroidering a pillow.”

“I’m sure you’d be great at that,” Felix says.

Honey smiles. “Well, play your cards right and I might crappily embroider you a pillow for your next…” She trails off uncertainly. “Uh, I was gonna say birthday, but… do you have one?”

“I do!” Though he probably would’ve made one up even if he didn’t, because he doesn’t want to miss out on a gift from her, especially if she was planning on embroidering a cute little flower onto it. He doesn’t need to sleep that often, but he might end up doing it more just because he’d get to use the pillow she made him. “You don’t have to get me anything, though!”

“Of course I do, Felix.” She stops to dip her finger in the bowl, scooping some batter up on her finger and licking it off. “What kind of chef would I be if I didn’t get a birthday present for my cooking assistant?”

“Well, I don’t know how good of an assistant I’ll be, but I can try!” Felix says. On the rare occasion Nate is cooking, Felix lingers in the kitchen to watch (and almost always ends up getting swatted away when he tries to add more ingredients than necessary).

“Well, I don’t know how good of a chef I’ll be with this recipe, either, so…” She grins at him. “We’re in this together, I guess.”

Felix grins back at her. ‘Together’ makes his heart flutter. “Good.”

When the pancakes are finally finished at exactly 3 am (with Felix only trying to add honey to the batter once or four times throughout the course of cooking), she crams the pancakes that she set aside for Tina into a tiny container and stuffs them into her fridge before the two of them sit down at the dining table. “Alright,” she says, her cutlery clattering together as she picks them up in her hand and moves her plate onto her placemat with the other. “Moment of truth.”

The truth, from his end, is that the pancakes look good. While Felix is having trouble smelling anything but the mayonnaise which is super overpowering and – well, it doesn’t exactly make him think of nice, sweet pancakes, they still look good. They look like they belong in one of those food magazines he’s seen lying around Haley’s. He’s about to tell her that she should take a picture of them to send to Tina when she cuts a piece off and barely gives him enough time to start his drumroll before she sticks the forkful of food into her mouth.

Felix just sits there and watches her while she chews until she swallows the pancakes. There’s a long, thoughtful pause before she nods and her face breaks out into a bright, pleased smile, and she immediately picks her cutlery back up to slice off and scrape up another forkful of pancakes. “Good,” she says. “Yeah, they’re good.”

“Yes!” Felix claps. He wasn’t ready to see her disappointed if they weren’t good. “Good job!”

“My middle-of-the-night baking is almost never good,” she laughs, running a hand over her hair, “so I’m really glad that I didn’t embarrass myself.”

“Psh. Nothing you do is embarrassing.”

Honey fixes him with a disbelieving stare. “I once set off the fire alarms in the building trying to make soup,” she says. “Soup, Felix.”

“Well… that’s okay!” Felix smiles at her. “Besides… maybe this means that I should come over more often when you’re trying to cook. Maybe I’m your lucky charm!”

“You are,” Honey says, grinning when he wiggles his eyebrows at her. Nice. He knew that’d work. “Don’t tell Tina, of course, because she probably thinks that she’s my lucky charm. Do you want some pancakes, by the way?”

He’s tempted. Mostly because she’s looking at him so hopefully, but also because the slice she cut off looks super pretty and it would be hard for anyone to turn it down (except maybe Adam and Mason). Still, he can’t exactly get over the smell of mayonnaise…

And then he gets an idea.

“Hang on,” Felix said. “Hold that thought!”

He stands up and darts into the kitchen, then turns around to poke his head through the doorway and add, “But you can eat that slice, y’know, if you want!”

Her kitchen is a mess after all the baking – he doesn’t even know where she’s going to start in terms of cleaning off her counter – but he somehow manages to find what he was looking for within seconds. He holds it close to his chest as he heads back into the living room, sitting down in his seat a little closer to her than he was before and placing a small yellow bottle on the table in triumphantly.

“Honey,” she says, looking up at him. “You know syrup is basically the same thing, right? I mean... isn’t it?”

He places a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Are you questioning your cooking assistant, Chef Hudson?”

She laughs, shaking her head and leaning back in her chair. “Not at all,” she says. “Be my guest! Just… don’t throw up on my table, okay? And if you do get sick, please don’t tell Adam it was because of me!”

Felix’s genuinely offended that she’d even have to say that – he’d blame himself a million times before he’d even think about blaming her – but now he’s too distracted by his mission to respond to it, grabbing her plate and pulling it towards himself until it’s sitting perfectly in the center of his own floral-printed placemat. He cuts off a slice of pancake and flips open the top of the honey bottle, pouring an amount of honey onto his fork that makes her gasp and cover her mouth, but he only looks up at her and winks as he grabs it and shoves the pancake into his mouth.

Yep, it tastes like mayonnaise and eggs just like he knew it would, but the honey is sweet.

(Felix already knew that, too.)

“Good?” she asks, placing her elbows on the table and leaning towards him expectantly.

“Good,” he replies, nodding. “If you ask me, you could quit your detective job and become a full-time pancake chef.”

Honey smiles. “Only if you’re my full-time cooking assistant.”

Felix reaches out and curls a strand of hair around his finger. “I’m fine with that… on one condition.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“We have to incorporate honey into every recipe,” he says. Before she can protest, he adds, “It’s the perfect business model!”

“Alright, alright, you have a point.” She glances at the plate of pancakes again, biting her lip. “Do you want another bite?”

He doesn’t – what he wants to do is lean closer and closer to her and see if she’ll let him kiss her. Or if she’ll kiss him first. Or if they’ll kiss each other at the exact same time like in the movies. He can tell that she wants another bite, though, and he’s nothing if not a gentleman, so he pulls his hand reluctantly away from her and pushes the plate towards her again.

Besides, if he doesn’t get to kiss her tonight, it’ll give him a good excuse to come over another time.

[snarkwrites]

round two of my ✨thot✨ spam

this was inspired by the “i would never let a man spit in my mouth” tiktok and while i whole heartedly agree with said sentiment, i would totally let ryan do that to me without question. if anyone else tried to do that, it would be hands on site. BUT ALSO the fact that he could call me a whore [ or any other variation ] and i’d thank him - ❤️

Ooooh, I love this one. One, I can totally see Ryan doing it. T O T A L L Y. Also, I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment too. I LOVE THIS OMG, YEAH.. Lemme see what I can come up with here.

Just for reasons, I'm gonna go ahead and venture this might well... Get dirty.

Life edit: I kept it mostly clean.. Mostly. Sexual encounter is heavily hinted at.

Warning:

Absolutely no minors here. If you're not 18+ you clearly do not need to be reading this, whether it's full on sexual or not, because sexual themes will be implied. So, if you're one of the kiddos, please take this time to click away from the adult content.

If you continue to read beyond this point, here are a few things you need to be on the look out for: dirty talk / light name calling & heavy af on the teasing / public makeouts....

It didn't get sexual BUT... it's filled with innuendo. Oops?

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@twistnet

[ faq - tag list doc ]

( at me all you want. I'll stop using this gif when he stops being so damn pretty when he's a lil wounded.)

RYAN WOLFE & dirty little girl;

“You’re all depraved, holy shit.” I glanced around the table at my sister and her friends, taking a sip of my margarita. Grimacing because it tasted as if someone doubled up on the tequila and skimmed on the margarita mix.

“All I’m saying is sometimes it’s fun to be dirty. You’ve never just given in to the urge to let a man spit in your mouth?” Natalia asked, more in teasing than anything. Smirking at me when I pretended to gag because I have a strong feeling she can see straight through my bullshit.

“What the fuck? No! I would never let a man spit in my mouth. I don’t know why ya’ll keep saying spit in my mouth, spit in my mouth. It’s not hot, okay? It’s gross.”

“There has to be that one guy you’d let do it. Everybody has that one person.” my sister gave me a teasing grin as she said it. I shook my head firmly. “Nope. No and no. I have never looked at a man and just thought “Oh hey, I’d gladly let that man spit in my mouth and call me his dirty little slut…”

“That’s oddly specific for someone who says she’s never thought about it and thinks it’s gross.” my sister was at it again, teasing me. I tensed a little, because of course, she was right. I’d die a thousand painful deaths before owning up to it, but she was 1000 percent correct. There was a guy.

But it was a non issue. Because the guy in question?

Only had eyes for my sister Natalia.

Ryan Wolfe.

“I think you’re onto something, Nat.” Calleigh mused as she gave me a thoughtful look. I could feel myself tensing. Quick to shake my head no. Quick to laugh and joke, “Oh no, trust me, she’s not. Just face it, ladies. I have my limits. There are no exceptions.”

Calleigh gave a soft laugh and shook her head. Taking a thoughtful sip from her mixed drink. I relaxed, thinking that maybe they’d both drop it.

And then Alexx spoke up.

“It’s Ryan.”

I shook my head, doing what I hoped was my best unaffected and unamused act. Sipping my drink and watching the guys in the back of the bar, gathered around the dartboard. It was Ryan’s turn to throw and naturally, my eyes were glued to him. Laughing to myself when he smirked and launched the dart and it just barely settled beneath the bullseye.

But I was curious enough to ask… “What makes you think that?” I asked Alexx. My intention was to figure out if maybe I wasn’t as good as hiding my feelings as I previously thought.

Alexx gave a soft laugh and shrugged, saying nothing.

My sister was watching me, a brow raised. Thinking long and hard about something as she sipped her drink.

“You’re not denying it.” she finally spoke up.

I shrugged. “Because I know the truth. Doesn’t matter that you guys don’t believe me.” I turned my attention back to the ongoing game of darts, slamming back a shot of tequila. Ryan’s turn came around again and when he landed a bullseye, we locked eyes. He flashed me that smirk and I bit my lip, pounding the bar as I held his gaze, smirking back. Ordering myself another round of tequila shots when the bartender came.

When my shots arrived, I slammed them all down, turning the shot glasses upside down, forming the first and second row of a pyramid. Wiping the back of my hand over my mouth as I found myself doing it again, staring at Ryan just a little too much.

“Maybe we’d believe you if you weren’t staring at him like you were on fire and he has the hose.” my sister teased, making me glance over at her and stick out my tongue. “I still wouldn’t let him spit in my mouth. I mean.. I don’t think I would…” I trailed off, going quiet. Well aware that I was dangerously close to letting everything come pouring out.

“Says the woman who openly admits to having more than a few kinks.” my sister teased, laughing. Pushing me when she heard what I said under my breath. “What was that? Was that doubt? If you’re not sure whether you’d let Ryan Wolfe spit in your mouth or not, that usually means you might be open to it.” my sister teased.

“My kinks are choking and bondage… Spanking on occasion. Not… That.” I scoffed, smiling at the looks on their faces when they all turned to look at me. I shrugged and slipped off the barstool.

“Where are you going?” Calleigh called out, an almost teasing gleam in her eye as she asked the question.

“I’m going to show those dorks how you play darts.” I answered, trying to maintain as much nonchalance as possible as I did so. Truth be told, I wanted to get away from the conversation before it got too deep.. Before they dragged the whole truth out of me.

“You mean you’re going to go get a closer look. It’s okay, go ahead.” my sister and Calleigh teased and I turned to walk backwards, flipping them both off as I went. “Ha freaking ha. I am not going to get a closer view of Ryan Wolfe. And if I were, what’s it to ya anyway? It’s a free country. And I can’t help it my eyes like lookin at him?”

As a parting jab, my sister called out, “Spit in my mouth.” and the three women dissolved into rowdy laughter as I poked out my tongue and rolled my eyes at them, calling out in response, “Okay, fine. Maybe I’d let him spit in my mouth and call me a dirty little slut. Maybe.”

My back smashed into someone just as soon as the words left my mouth. I gritted my teeth, swallowing hard as my ice cold beer spilled all over the front of my favorite white shirt. Soaking through immediately, revealing a fire engine red bra. I turned abruptly, prepared for it to be some drunk person, a stranger. Praying against everything that it was just that.

Naturally, it wasn’t. I wasn’t going to get that lucky.

Ryan stood there, staring at me thoughtfully. Almost a stunned look on his face. The look he was giving me faded and I swallowed hard, raising my free hand to tousle my hair.

“Shit.” I muttered softly. I could feel my stomach churning nervously.

Ryan chuckled, nodding at my shirt as he took off the button up he wore, leaving him in a white tank top. Holding out the shirt to me. “Looks like you need that more than me right now.”

All I could do was nod.

And for some odd reason, the entire “Spit in my mouth” debate I’d just been in with my sister and her friends replayed itself in my mind. And I wanted to disappear into the floor of the bar when I realized that he’d probably just heard every single thing I said… ,, maybe not. Maybe he didn’t.” the thought came, but when I saw the playful teasing gleam in his eyes, my stomach churned nervously because I knew he had to have heard it all. Every single word.

I bit my lip and took a shaky breath. As much as I hated asking the question, it had to be asked.

“How much did you hear?” I asked in as innocent a way as possible. Fidgeting and shuffling my feet under his intent and thoughtful stare.

All Ryan did was smirk and shrug. “I heard enough.”

“How much is enough?” I asked, not sure why I wasn’t just leaving it alone.

Ryan stepped closer, towering over me. His hand settled on my hip and his eyes settled on my lips as he licked his own. Seconds that seemed to drag on like hours passed and he finally leaned down enough to whisper against my ear quietly, “Let’s put it this way… I heard you say you liked looking at me. Among other things...” before standing up straight again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

I swayed slightly, the beginnings of a healthy buzz taking over. Giggling at the way he kept staring at me, raising a hand to my mouth to stop the giggling. He reached out, lowering my hand. Pulling me against him slightly as a crowd made their way past.

He tilted my face so that I had to look up at him. Biting his lip. That thoughtful look in his eyes that prompted me to ask quietly, “What? Do I have something on my face? Lipstick on my teeth?”

“Just thinking.” Ryan answered quietly.

“About?” I questioned, holding his gaze. Smirking to myself a little when he looked away first.

“ How much I like looking at you too.” Ryan finally replied. I swallowed hard when his eyes locked on me all over again. Hints of a teasing smirk turning the corners of his mouth upward as he closed the distance between us. His hands went straight to my hips settling. His fingers digging in as I melted against him.

“Oh you do, hm?” I purred, raising to tiptoe. Leaning into the buzz I had going for the necessary courage to just let go and roll with whatever was happening.

“Very much, actually.” his voice was this perfect mix of velvet and gravel and I could feel my thighs getting slick under the weight of his gaze. His eyes roamed over me slowly. I gulped and licked my lips, found myself staring at his.

“You didn’t… hear anything else I said..Right?”

Ryan chuckled. His mouth inched towards mine. Almost painfully slow.

“Which part? The part where you said you might let me spit in your mouth and call you my dirty little slut?” he muttered just as his lips barely brushed against mine. He pulled away, smirking. Teasing me and I knew it. The realization had me pouting and dropping my gaze.

Which wouldn’t do for him, apparently, because he gripped my chin, guiding my face so that I had no choice but to look at him.

“Ya know…” he muttered in a daze as his tongue slipped past my lips, dominating the kiss as it deepened, “ typically, I’d prefer to buy you a drink or somethin first.” the kiss breaking so we could breathe.

“Yeah?” I breathed out, pouting at the end of the kiss. He chuckled and nodded, whispering quietly, “But honestly, as bad as I want you right now…” his hand circled my wrist, guiding my hand down to the way he strained against the khaki trousers he was wearing, letting me palm at the bulge. “I don’t wanna waste any time.”

“Get me out of here.”

Ryan scooped me up in his arms, carrying me towards the door. Once we were outside and standing beside his car, he sat me on the hood, moving to step between my legs. Devouring my mouth with his hungrily. His lips strayed, latching onto my neck as my hand slipped down between us, palming at the front of his trousers all over again. Making him buck against the movement of my hand and growl into my mouth, “You gonna show me how dirty you can be tonight, princess? Are you gonna be my dirty little girl?” as the kiss deepened, getting sloppier. I rubbed against him, clinging to him frantically, gasping out “Yes.” as I felt myself getting even wetter. His hand slipped down, settling palm flat against my aching sex, rubbing. The friction building had me rocking against his hand, earning me a smirk from him.

“Good girl.”

[sadistic-second]

Raw meat; Your blood drool attracts the flies

Eat Raw Meat = Blood Drool by Editors

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The back alley smelt like blood. Sweat. Tears. Depression. Desperation. Fear. Cowardice. A mixture of emotions and various other things. Junkies came here to shoot up. Alcoholics who couldn't take no for an answer brought their victims here. Rival gangs settled their business here. Nothing good happened in a back alley past a certain time. The Turk knelt there on his knees, body hunched over. One hand supporting him as blood oozed out of his mouth. Voices echoed around him, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The night had started with Reno taking his younger siblings, Axel and Rem, out to Wall Market. Mostly to celebrate the two of them coming home from a particularly difficult mission. Partly because he had some business of his own here and didn’t want anyone to know what he was doing. But really, when would he get to spend a night on the town with his small family like this again?

The appointment that he meant to keep wouldn't be happening until well past midnight. By then he was hoping Rem would be occupied with her usual honeybee girls and Axel might have gotten himself all hyped up for the Colosseum. That way neither of them would be the wiser. So with plenty of time to kill, it was off to dinner first.

They couldn't just decide on one street vendor. No, they had to go to all of them and get something different each time. Reno made sure he paid for all these things. Sure Axel and Rem could have done it, went so far as to offer, but he kept telling them it was fine. Save their money. He could get this. While they ate, they walked around and started talking about all the things that they wanted to do while they were here.

Axel mentioned heading over to the gym. He heard about a squat competition and wanted to see if he had what it took to beat the high score. That really wasn’t Reno’s thing, but he’d let his brother do it if he wanted to. Rem was talking about gambling so that meant either placing bets at the colosseum or going to the casino. Though Rem had made it painfully clear that she would end both their lives if Chocobos got involved somehow. That meant they’d be walking everywhere and Reno just sighed. 

Their first stop was a gambling house. Just someplace to play cards, perhaps a couple of slot machines. For this he let them use their own money, he needed to save at least a little bit of his own. A couple of hours later, the trio was walking out with more than they’d gone in with. Turns out there was a dartboard in the back and well. Turns out that Axel is just really good at chucking darts. From there, they headed for the Honey Bee. 

Now, they were arriving here a bit earlier than he thought they would. Shouldn’t be too big a deal. A glance at the time and he started to chew on the inside of his cheek. They were putting on a show tonight and though the redhead did enjoy sitting front row, tonight he wanted to sit mixed into the crowd. Too bad his siblings weren’t having that. Front and center, wanted to see everything there was to see. Somehow, Reno wasn’t really sure, Axel ended up on stage. Might have had to do with something he heard Rem say. Hadn’t comprehended it at the time, but watching the way his brother moved his hips like that?

“Rem, why is Axel up there?” Honestly, it was weird to watch. But his brother just seemed so good at it. 

“Simon Says.”

Of-fucking-course. Should have known. God, this was going to get them thrown out, wasn’t it? It was a train wreck in the making that he couldn't tear his eyes away from. And yet, there was cheering. Clapping. Something about an encore? Were they really asking that Axel come back for a repeat performance? How drunk was he? Considering he hadn’t touched a single drop of beer or alcohol all night, probably wasn’t in the slightest. 

His siblings, on the other hand, had had a few. That contributed to the giggling and the clinging to his arms as they made to leave. Oh, but they wanted to talk to Axel about his dance. Something about putting him on the schedule? What? No. That wasn’t allo- And there he went. So Rem and Reno would wait for him. Except for one of Rem’s usuals came around and asked if she, too, could stay. So that left Reno all alone. Well, look at the time. Better make it to his appointment.

Hands in his pockets, the Turk left the Honey Bee and took a couple back alley passageways to Madam M’s place. All he had to do was walk inside, collect what he went there to get, and leave. She had even seen him approaching. They’d waved. But she seemed to see something he hadn’t. Maybe she assumed he’d known and that’s why nothing was done about it. Half an hour passed before Reno finally left. She watched him leave just in case. When she noticed that he didn’t even make eye contact with the two thugs following him, that’s when she knew.

And that is what brings us here. A couple of people from the old gang had seen their old pal walking around with his siblings. The departure from the gang hadn’t exactly been the most pleasant. When he was younger, some ShinRa employees in tow, Reno said he was leaving. That he wasn’t coming back. That was his notice. One does not simply leave gang life just like that. The only reason he had been allowed to walk away unscathed that day was the back up that he’d brought.

Well, today he didn’t have anyone with him, did he? Baby brother and sister weren’t here to save him either. The two thugs following him jumped him as he tried to slip back down the way that he had come. Bag over his head, arms tied behind his back. One does not simply get to pull one over on a Turk. But a good blow to the back of the head while distracted certainly does the trick. When he finally came to, Reno was on his knees in the old stomping ground where he used to turn tricks as it were.

“Hey fellas.” Something of a smirk spreading across his face. “Long time no see. How’s the family?” The first blow was a boot to his jaw. Slight dislocation, nothing moving it around wouldn't fix. But the blood from his teeth colliding with his cheek? Oh, it oozed from the side of his mouth. Alright, so not in the mood for chatter. Got it.

“You thought you could just walk into Wall Market like nothing happened between us?” The leader Rocko pushed his way through the small gathering to kneel in front of the Turk. “Nothings changed. You still run your mouth, I see.”

“Do a bit more with my mouth these days if you know what I mean.” A wink and he was mocking the man by blowing a kiss. The second blow to his face was a punch, the bone in his nose breaking. More blood began to freely flow. The laugh sounded a bit gurgly, but when he raised his head to look up, there was that ever-present smile. “What’d I tell you guys about hittin’ my face?”

Rocko went in for another punch, but lightning-quick reflexes took over. Might not have gotten to actually kick the man in front of him, but a small rock backward got him to his feet. A backflip got some space between the two of them. They hadn’t taken all his weapons from him, if at all. Well. The gun was missing and so was his EMR. But the knife he kept in his sleeve? That was quickly maneuvered into his hand and the bindings removed. 

A hand reached up to wipe his nose at the same time he sniffed loudly. A moment later he was spitting blood out onto the ground. Arms raised, the blade glinting in the faint street lamp, the Turk was ready to take on the group of about fifteen guys. Now, what should have happened was that Reno killed them all. But for whatever reason, he tried to show them mercy. Injure them enough to leave him alone. But that just didn’t happen. Too easily overpowered. 

The current battle was one to twelve. He’d managed to take at least three of them out. Dead or passed out, he wasn’t sure. Just knew they probably weren’t going to be getting up any time soon. But there was Reno, on his knees. Hunched over, blood oozing from his face. Taunts filled the air, but they fell on deaf ears. Though he knew for a fact he could outrun them, it would only be for tonight. What about the next time he came into Wall Market? What if they pursued him outside of it? Something needed to be done, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy for it right now. 

Someone stepped on the hand that had the knife in it. Kicked it out of his grip. The Turk refused to scream. Someone else gripped a fistful of red hair and forced him to look up. Blood like drool leaked from the corner of his mouth. At least his nose had stopped bleeding. Face was bruised, probably going to have another black eye. Arms, legs, chest, back. Covered in bruises and minor cuts. Scrapes. Though he didn’t really feel it right now, something was definitely broken.

“Any last words before we give you a traitor’s death?”

“Just one.” A pause to catch his breath. “Get fucked.”

“That’s fou-” But the guy who started didn’t get to finish. A shot rang out, a hole appeared in his head. Down he toppled. A series of gunshots, fire coursing through the air, shouts, screams. Bodies dropping left and right. All Reno could do was laugh even as he was dragged up by his hair. A hand to hold him in place, the other pressing a knife to his throat.

“I’ll slit his throat from ear to ear. Don’t come any closer.” Rem took a step. The knife steadied itself and pressed more into the pale skin of his throat. Axel’s hand burned brighter, “And you, you fling anything at me and I’ll do the same.” For effect, the blade cut into the skin to stain the flesh with blood. Neither sibling moved forward. They took a step back and waited for the man’s demands. And all the while Reno just kept laughing.

“You’re gonna die and this is how you’re choosing to do it?!” Confusion on Rocko’s part. But the other two, they weren’t stupid. In the midst of the fighting, Rem had thrown one of her knives to Reno. It was sticking out of his arm. Now had that been her intention? Or had that been Reno’s? Either way, the laughter covered up that he was reaching for it. The blade was so sharp that he never felt it come out of his arm. Bonus points because Rocko never felt it go into his side either. It was only after the Turk twisted it, throwing his head backward to hit his capture in the face that he realized the damage had been done. Now, the redhead would have let him bleed out right there, but his siblings had other ideas. Something about an eye for an eye.

Bruised, broken, bleeding. The limping Turk reached into his sister’s coat with bloodied hands and tugged out a pack of cigarettes. Getting one out for himself, he used the still burning hand of his brother to light it. Then he brought it up to his lips, let that sweet taste of nicotine fill his mouth, overtake his lungs, bring him to peace before exhaling the smoke from his nose. He didn’t have to ask, he knew why they were here. Who sent them. Perhaps he’d have to pay her a visit a bit earlier than expected to say thanks.

“Come on, let’s go home. I am absolutely trashed and would like a shower.”

[hcpefulmarshmallow]

@the-taboo-king replied to your post “Send me a br/otp/3 to gush about please because…I don’t know. It’s...”

[Should I make you talk about Gundham and Nagito or have we done that too much?]

If there is a too much, I think we passed it forever ago. And so begins our regularly scheduled programming of, “dear god, will more people ship this please I am literally starving for content” - screenshot edition!

 Joking aside, there is some stuff I’ve had just laying about in my screenshots folder I’ve been meaning to find an opportunity to address, so here we are.

Approximately f̸̨̪̬̺̅i̶̤̦̯̟̊͗͘̕v̴̙͔̒͜e̷̜̫̻̟̮̓̇ ̵̧̨̞̮̉̋̀t̵̻̙̪̗̔ḧ̸͉̱̖̝o̴̮͉̲̐́ų̴̳̖̈́͆̈́͗̇͜s̵̨̉ả̷̛͙̹͙̳̝̂n̵̖̂͠d̵̻͐ ̶̳̅̆̃y̴͖͖͊̃̈́͌̄ë̵͙̮̝̼́́͂̍͝a̷̺̅̈́ŗ̷̧̗͖̳̂̓̓ş̷̫̲̞͎͗̀̇ ago, I answered one of those ship rate asks, and for the most part, I stand by my assessment at the time, rudimentary though it was. It mostly revolved around the common ground the two share; their similarities as people, and the radically different ways they cope with the pain and trauma in their lives. Nagito by externalizing and putting the world in a more bearable perspective, and Gundham by internalizing, changing himself to cope better with a harsh world. And then, as I recall, you, being the enabler you are, lowkey challenged me to write an essay I alluded to about the underdiscussed parallels between the two. Which I started and never finished because I’m horrendously lazy, seriously there is so much half-written junk in my drafts, I wouldn’t be surprised if the cure for all ills lay buried in there somewhere, waiting only for me to proofread it. So this is basically drawing off that, highlighting some of the canon gold that was unforgivably glossed over in favour of...uh, let me just check my notes...something called the plot? What’s that? Anyway, on with the ok_hand stuff.

 Parallel the first is very much covered ground, but I’m weak for it: they’re both pariahs in what should be a very accepting place. We’ve spoken before about DR’s dartboard of a moral compass, so let’s rewind to the anime, dreaded though it may be. For better or worse, it’s canon as anything. It’s so strange that so much of the class seems to vehemently dismiss at best, and despise at worse, Gundham. And Nagito too; while there’s something to be said for certain things he did, their disdain began way before anything could’ve been warranted. Sad and strange, considering how much certain other characters get away with. There was a wonderful opportunity for something beautiful to bloom from sameness, solace, identity and understanding, but go off, canon. Go off. 

 This extends to the game too, for the record. For instance, just as everyone was done freaking out over Hiyoko’s tribute, these two walk in and have the exact same reactions everyone else had moments ago, and are critisised for it. Wth. I need to have Words with someone 

 Next is that both of their deaths in DR2 were arguably sacrifices - and believe me, I will argue both cases. A swift and sure decision that something was worth more than their own lives. And in the same chapter Gundham makes his, both he and Nagito are the ones to brave the Final Dead Room, in an attempt to find information that would help everybody. 

 Onto three, they both have a good deal of respect for agency and consent. Being our two biggest white knights without being White Knights. They both treat their classmates with whatever respect their behaviour (and in Nagito’s case, talent) command, and best of all, really stick up for their female classmates when certain....others are misbehaving. 

 And since I’m really going for the small, unnoticeable stuff here that does not in and of itself a ship make, can I just say that I came here to be tormented by a black-and-white bear, not these two?

 Precious boys, getting all excited over tiny yet formative childhood experiences they were deprived of. Oh, and speaking of oddly distinctive childhood things, it seems they both have important memories of a certain and specific place. Amusement park date thread? Amusement park date thread. 

 And heck, while I’m here, can I just point out that, as much as Gundham seemed to say stuff like...you know:

 He’s also the first to...you know:

 And also the first (and debatably the only) to:

 And there’s also this gem:

 And they share the same most base desire; neither victory nor hope in the traditional sense no matter what they say, but rather:

 And yeah, I’m aware I’m looking at all this through a shipper’s gaze. I’ve joked about that enough times. I mean, it is established that Gundham values life itself, so Nagito losing his would probably be sad, regardless of Gundham’s opinion of him. But the point here isn’t to say that they’re perfect for each other because they both like dogs, and prefer quiet places, and struggle to form connections with other people. I’m sure you could find parallels between any two characters. It’s just that these ones specifically happen to intrigue me in particular, because many of them seem so unique and conspicuous, it’s a wonder canon never sought to make anything of it. 

 And I’m honestly running out of ways to express how much I love how this has all manifested in our threads. How they easily understand each other, and make an effort to use one another’s weaknesses to add to their strengths. How loyally they come to one another’s defense. How much patience they can each have for a person who is usually met with the opposite. They compensate for one another’s weak spots; like how Nagito can easily understand and translate some of Gundham’s more ornate sentences, how Gundham can understand Nagito’s motives before he gets too far with them. I could literally go on and on all day, this ship is so good and pure, and I’d give my soul that they redo the anime but it’s just these two living happily ever after with their fur children and home library. 

[thedouchebrigadesympathizer]

Hey. Quick ask from me before I go to sleep: do you have some Christmas headcanons for Shigaraki, Dabi and Himiko? Like, what they do, what they think about Christmas and some possible presents they give to each other? (If it's too much to do for all three, I leave it up to you to choose one person)

Coincidentally, I have a Tomura/Reader drabble I wrote a while back and I can add it to this post so you’re in luck~! HC go in order of; What do they do for the holiday, Opinion on Christmas, and Presents they give/want to receive. SFW ahead!!!

Tomura Shigaraki / Tenko Shimura / FuckHands McMike

Tomura just goes along with whatever Kurogiri or maybe All For One has planned for the holidays. He’s Mr. Grinch, but he might watch an american Christmas movie, but for the most part he lives this holiday as if it is a normal day for him. If Toga is running around, however, you might catch him leaning against the bar with a Santa hat on. Because she forced it on his damn head.

He doesnt like Christmas. He is the biggest Grinch known to mankind and honestly he tries to avoid the holiday all together, and holes up in his room unless Kurogiri drags him out to be forcibly festive. He has been known to destroy holiday cheer by walking in a room.

Tomura gives things he would like. Video games, mostly. He isnt very creative and spends as little of his money as possible anyhow. You might end up getting a second hand game from two consoles previous and he will expect you to like it. Tomura wants video games, electronics, and maybe a fucking hug. Someone give him a hug, he really needs one. And some whiskey.

Dabi / Smokey Todoroki / Burnt Toaster Strudel

Dabi, surprisingly, celebrates Christmas. Sure, he isnt decking the halls (maybe decking some drunks in the face, but it’s all in the spirit of the holidays), but he’s got the Christmas spirit, y’know? He spends the day in a ratty old Christmas sweater, wears whatever stupid hat Toga forces over his hair, and has a beer in his hand the entire day. Waking up? Drinking. Sit down? Drinking. Drinking? More Drinks. He’s going to be buzzed and screaming Christmas carols with Spinner.

He likes Christmas. There are a few sore aches in his heart when he wonders how the rest of his family is spending the holiday, but he’s chipper as much as Dabi can be, all while following Toga around to help her decorate and shop. He is a sucker for stealing during the holidays, and often comes back to the base with shit no one needs. Perfume? Uh, i guess it’s Toga’s or Magne’s now. Golf clubs? Kurogiri can take up the sport, sure. A self stirring mug? Mmm, He’ll keep that one for his hot cocoa later- so he can mix in the schnapps properly.

Dabi gifts what he steals, so honestly everything is kind of like a White Elephant gift from him. You could wind up with something cool, or like, silly putty. Its a win-loose situation, but there’s always going to be a laugh. Dabi wants cigarettes, alcohol, and new shoes. Specifically, new shoes that could be similar to docs.

Himiko Toga / Murder Child / Ghost Of Christmas Stabbing

Toga is so chock full of Christmas spirit that she’s the one doing all the decorating, she is the one planning a big “family” meal with certain League members, and she’s up before the rest to stuff presents under a tree in the base. Good noodle. She’s got the Christmas cheer, and she went to Elf Practice, I assure you.

As stated, she loves Christmas. Though, others are kind of worried about the backstory as to why the holiday is so important to her. No one besides maybe Dabi, who is brave enough to ask, and when he does, she ignores him. Most likely, her family didnt want to celebrate many holidays with her, so her new “family” is being set on a grand pedestal to replace them. She’s going to make happy memories with these villains, and she’s sworn it will e the best damn Christmas any of them had ever seen!!!

Toga 10/10 has a list of things everyone wants. and she sticks to it. Surprisingly, there is no random stuff from her, at all. All her presents are thoughtful and just what the recipient had asked for. Where did she get the money? Well. Ask Dabi. He helped get them. Toga would want cute things, and knives. Maybe those rainbow tinted holographic knives? She likes Rilakkuma a lot, and enjoys being gifted makeup.

“Don’t be such a grinch.” You snapped, hanging up your immaculately created paper snowflakes. Each one you had hung before had been shaped and styled differently than the last, the one you carefully tapped to the ceiling of the base being no different.

Below you and standing beside the ladder you had claimed for decoration use, you didn’t need to look down to know your grinch was baring an openly displeased look in his scarlet eyes. He scoffed at your accusation.

“You are way too old to believe in Santa.” He kicked lightly at a box just below the ladder, your army of crafted snowflakes shuffling about inside. “Christmas is stupid anyhow.”

“I’m an adult, I know Santa isn't real.” You shot him a look, stepping down from the ladder and scooting it out of his way, using your foot to push the box back to the step ladder and climbing it once again, a new snowflake in hand. “And like i said, don't be a grinch, Shigaraki. I’ll get you something for the holidays.”

“I dont need your charity.” The pale haired man said, insulted you would even offer. He scratched at his neck, clearly growing irritated. “I don't want to see all this winter wonderland shit, [First Name].”

You attached the snowflake to a piece of string, tapping it to the ceiling just like last time. You were slower now, thinking on Tomura’s actions and how he chose his words.

Why was he such a bitter, bitter man?

You exhaled through your nose heavily, glancing around the base with a somewhat pleased expression. You had done a lot with the time Tomura had given you. You were proud. It truly did look like a winter wonderland… The clean up was gonna be hell.

“No one is going to be here anyhow.” Tomura continued, surveying the bar with disgust. “You won't be here.”

“Actually,” you said softly, climbing down the steps before resting your elbows on the top one, eyeing Tomura with a gentle smile. “I will be here. So will Kurogiri, Toga, Twice and a few others. Dabi too, but i'm sure that doesn't thrill you.”

“It doesn't.” He confirmed quickly, still seeming annoyed, but you got the vague feeling he had lessened his aggression a tad.

There was silence between you as you continued to work at your goal of making the bar area nice and festive, your boss, despite his apparent disinterest, did not leave your side.

After a while, he spoke again. His vice softer than you expected, face bare of a mask so you would see the hesitation behind his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re going to be here?”

You nodded, stuffing remaining snowflakes and other little trinkets in an old cardboard box, which you had marked simply with ‘Christmas Stuff’. You picked the box up, brushing past him.

“I wouldn't miss it for the world, Tomura.”

He watched you leave, a skip in your step despite how off putting he had tried to be. Again, his gaze swept the bar. He noticed all the effort you put forward, the details of the snowflakes and sparkle of the tinsel lining the bar counter. There were christmas theme throws on the single couch in the by the dartboard, and packets of hot chocolate laid on the counter.

Unbeknownst to you, he  felt a quirk at this lips. Not a full smile, but something in the very least. You had called him by his first name, and had cleared your schedule for him. He liked that. Even if he didn't realize quite yet why that fact made his heart flutter just a bit more, he knew it meant something. Something special, so he supposed, you were special too.

So maybe this Christmas wouldn't be so bad, after all, he would have you this year.

[omnical]

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

( Previous - Next )

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

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

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

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

Links: AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And birthday parties.

And weddings. Video calls.

Auntie’s funeral.

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

...

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

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

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

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

“Why did you decide to stay?”

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

“I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“I can see that.”

Angela looked down at their patient.

Hi .

Time to get back to work.

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

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

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

I am so sorry.

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

“That’s weird.”

“Very weird.”

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

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

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

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

Lucio handed her a scalpel.

…

“Wanna order Italian later, doc?”

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

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

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

“Hey, I'm just saying.”

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

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

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

...

“Need help there, doc?”

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

“Got it.”

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you figure?”

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

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

"Wouldn’t that be a sight."

“Speaking of the Chief of Police--”

Angela and Lucio jumped at the new voice.

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

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

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

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

“Oh, shit.”

Detective Amari was here.

Detective Fareeha Amari.

Fareeha Amari. She was here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was horrible.

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

“Fancy dashing you here."

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

Angela cleared her throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, goodness.”

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

“Sounds... exciting.”

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

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

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

“We got a video clip.”

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

“Maybe the recording was tampered?”

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

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

“She hid the camera inside his bookcase.”

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

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

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

They shared a look.

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

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

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

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

Detective Amari froze.

“No.”

“Unless I -- ”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sometimes they get annoyed.”

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

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

“A tiny oversight?”

“Fareeha, please listen to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And what if there's no other way?”

“I’ll find another way."

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

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

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

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

Angela’s shoulders fell.

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

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

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

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

“We will.”

“Are we okay?”

“We’re okay.” Angela croaked.

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

An early morning jog around the park?

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

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

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

“I’ll be seeing you.”

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

“Yes, doctor?”

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

Live a little.

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

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

“Any time, Dr. Ziegler.”

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

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

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

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

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