#to work as a neutralizer of the other two more accurate to vision faces

[largemandrill]

The reason I’m so good at using the datv character creator is because I’m from the fromsoft trenches and have thus learned that shit like “forehead depth” and “jaw bone height” are actually incredibly important to the construction of a face and figuring that out before the hair is pretty important.

[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Reptilia - Strigiformes

(Sources - own work, 2, 3, 4)

We move on to our next order of birds, the Strigiformes, commonly called “owls”. Strigiformes are divided into two living families, Strigidae (“true owls”) and Tytonidae (“barn owls” and “bay owls”).

Owls are recognizable for their large, forward-facing eyes, hawk-like beak, and circle of feathers, called a “facial disk”, around their eyes. The facial disk can be adjusted to sharply focus sounds from varying distances onto the owls' asymmetrically placed ear holes. Owls have stereoscopic eyes which permits the greater sense of depth perception necessary for low-light hunting. While they have good (but farsighted) vision, especially at night, most of their perception is through their highly accurate hearing. Owls also have filoplumes, hairlike feathers around their beak and feet, which allow them to better feel their prey. Serrated edges on owl flight feathers muffle their wing beats, allowing an owl's flight to be practically silent. Most owls are nocturnal ambush predators, and these many adaptations reflect that lifestyle. They hunt mostly small mammals, insects, and other birds, although a few species specialize in hunting fish. They are found worldwide, except the polar ice caps and some remote islands.

Most owls are solitary and only tolerate the presence of other owls for breeding. In most species, the male will stay in his territory and call, while females travel and look for mates. Some owls will only pair bond for the breeding season, while others may remain together for a year or more. Males will use courtship calls, flights, and may even offer food to potential mates. Owls do not build their own nests, but rather opportunisticly nest in tree cavities, rock crevices, burrows, directly on the ground, or in the abandoned nests of other birds. Females primarily incubate the eggs, while the male will bring her food and sometimes incubate as well to give her a “break”. Once the chicks are hatched, the female will primarily stay in the nest and watch the chicks while the male brings food to the nest. The female will rip the food into smaller pieces to feed the chicks. As the chicks grow, they begin to wander from the nest. Fledglings may continue to be fed by the parents for a short while until they leave to establish their own territories.

The Paleocene genera Berruornis and Ogygoptynx show that owls were already present as a distinct lineage some 60–57 million years ago, hence, they possibly evolved some 5 million years earlier, at the extinction of the non-avian dinosaurs.

Propaganda under the cut:

Owls are the apex predators of the night. The main predators of owls are other, larger owls.

Blakiston's Fish Owl (Ketupa blakistoni) is the largest owl species by body mass, with the larger females weighing from 2.95 to 4.6 kg (6.5 to 10.1 lb) and growing up to 72 cm (2.4 ft) in total length. Great Grey Owls (Strix nebulosa) have them beat in the length department, at 61 to 84 cm (2 to 2.8 ft) long.

The endangered Blakiston's Fish Owl is revered by the Ainu peoples of Hokkaido, Japan, as a Kamuy (divine being) called Kotan koru Kamuy (God that Protects the Village).

Elf Owls (Micrathene whitneyi) play dead when handled, an adaption that encourages a predator to relax its grip so that the owl can escape.

Burrowing Owls (Athene cunicularia) are uniquely diurnal, terrestrial owls that live underground in burrows. Usually the burrows are constructed by other animals, but the owls may dig their own in soft enough soil. When threatened, the owl can retreat into its burrow and make a rattling, hissing sound, sounding like a rattlesnake. While not flightless, Burrowing Owls have longer legs than other owls, allowing them to sprint after their prey.

The Barn Owl, the most recognized owl in the world, was formerly considered to have a global distribution with around 28 subspecies. However, following gene studies, the Barn Owl is now split into four species: the Western Barn Owl (Tyto alba) (image 4) (10 subspecies), the American Barn Owl (Tyto furcata) (12 subspecies), the Eastern Barn Owl (Tyto javanica) (7 subspecies) and the Andaman Masked Owl (Tyto deroepstorffi).

Owls are sometimes kept as pets, especially in countries where animal welfare laws are scant. However, owls are wild animals and do not make good pets, and as they are non-social, nocturnal, ambush predators, being in a bright, noisy environment surrounded by large humans can be very stressful for them. Owls also have very different body language from the animals humans are used to, and thus most humans are not able to tell when an owl is stressed or scared. Falconry owls and those used as educational “animal ambassadors” are often imprinted on humans, and cared for by multiple experts who can better determine their needs than someone just keeping an owl in their house for fun.

While owls are viewed in many mythologies and cultures as evil harbingers of death, in Hinduism they are also associated with the goddess Lakshmi, the goddess of fortune, wealth, and prosperity.

Owls are often used as a form of natural pest control, via placing nest boxes in attempts to attract owls to a property. One family of Barn Owls can consume more than 3,000 rodents in a nesting season.

Owls are under threat worldwide due to the use of rodent bait. Most rodenticides are anticoagulants, forcing the rat or mouse to wander for days in search of relief, eventually internally bleeding to death. Rodenticide poisons remain in dead and dying rodents, and are then ingested by predators who see them as easy prey, such as owls. Rodenticides can stay in the owl’s body for months, and will accumulate if the owl eats more poisoned rodents. If the rodenticide does not kill the owl, it can still build up in their system and be passed on to the next generation. If not treated, the owl(s) will begin to exhibit neurological symptoms, internal bleeding, and eventually external bleeding, and will slowly and painfully die. When the owl dies, other animals may scavenge its body, continuing the cycle of poison. When seeking to control rodents, it’s best to consider natural methods, rather than taking entire ecosystem out in the process!

[joanshan]

Coming Into Alignment

In my last blog, I talked about facing the times when nothing seems to be working. I wrote it because I found myself in a period of my life when I seemingly hit a wall. One of the steps I suggested in my blog was relaxing and reflecting on one’s path. That is precisely what I did, and today, I want to share my experience.

Once I calmed my mind and began to reflect, I realized that it was time to make the shift that I had been resisting for years. I have been on a non-religious spiritual journey for over 30 years. My evolving spiritual understanding defines my reality, shapes my worldview, and informs my work. However, I am very aware that people are at different places in their journeys, and to many, my beliefs may sound like a foreign language. In my desire to be everything to everyone, I have pushed my worldview into the background, hoping that if I appeared very neutral, it would appeal to the general population. But that didn’t feel satisfying, so I split my time between being a regular hypnotherapist and doing regressions, dream interpretations, and other sessions that I mentally filed under “spiritual work.” My spiritual work largely did not interfere with my hypnotherapy work.

From the moment I started my practice, I experienced internal conflict – all I wanted was to help people reconnect and align with their spirit, but a part of me kept holding back, hiding, and insisting that my approach to life was something personal and should be kept that way. For years I felt like I was trying to walk two separate paths. Meanwhile, the more client issues I dealt with, the clearer it was becoming to me that the vast majority of human problems would be handled much more effectively by shifting the person’s spiritual perspective. If that seems far-fetched, consider this: so many challenges that plague us today – fears, phobias, anxiety, depression, lack of motivation or direction, low self-esteem, self-judgment, anger, loneliness, victim and poverty consciousness, addictions, self-harm, etc. result from feeling (and believing to be) disconnected from the Source. We perceive that we are separate from everything and everyone and alone on this journey; we perceive that our life is limited to the years we are currently living on Earth. We believe that resources are finite, love must be earned, and acceptance is conditional. We yearn for a very different experience because at a very deep, subconscious level we know that all these perceptions and beliefs are wrong (even if consciously we accept them to be true). We yearn for something we can’t seem to reach, and consequently, often find an escape instead.

In a world that continues to reinforce our perceptions of disconnect, lack, uncertainty, and danger, it takes special effort to see beyond that and begin to construct a more accurate vision of ourselves (individually and collectively). I believe that this is the only thing that can bring true relief and transformation, and that is what I am here to help people experience.

It has taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that I am more than just a hypnotherapist. I am a spiritual teacher and an agent of transformation for people who wish to awaken to a more congruent and empowering reality. I no longer wish to isolate and hide my worldview from my work; I wish to integrate them. The pause in my life prompted me to rethink how I present myself to potential clients and become comfortable with being open about my beliefs. I realized that if I don’t hide, I can attract clients that are in greater alignment with what I have to offer. As a result, I made some changes to my website and added a page about spiritual coaching. I will no longer be a generic hypnotherapist for a generic client, but I do believe that this course correction is the right step for me and the people I am meant to serve.

I hope you will find this story somewhat helpful. None of us can avoid challenges in our lives, but when we look at life’s pauses as blessings, chances to adjust course, and opportunities to shift gears, we can find ourselves getting much further ahead than we ever thought possible.

Source: Coming Into Alignment

[leviathans-body-pillow]

Mc’s Drink Gets Spiked at the Fall

(Maybe part 1)

(Mc+Asmo+Lucifer)

Trigger Warnings: drugs, getting drugged, reference to sexual assault, alcohol, puking

This is really long and I got tired of working on it lol. Maybe if it’s popular I’ll continue

Ya so I’ve been drugged at the club, shit sucks ass omg I’ve been sick and hungover before but nothing compares to how I felt that night and morning after. If you’ve never been roofied before it’s like you’re fine and then suddenly your drunk x100 and hung over x100.I was t able to even walk the next day. Thankfully I was with a friend so she was able to keep me safe and who ever did it wasted their drugs.

With all the being said, fanfics are my coping mechanism like a weird dairy. So Mc gets their drink spiked while out with Asmo and Lucifer has to save the day

Mc is gender neutral with they them pronouns

*************************************************

The night was coming to its climax! After a few fancy cocktails at Restaurant 6 you and Asmo had decided to take the party to the Fall. The dance floor was packed, the music shook the floors, and Asmo kept the drinks coming one after the other.

You and Asmo danced and drank for hours, slowly the crowd started to thin as the night grew old. You freely laughed with Asmo as you both stubbled over to the bar. Asmo was what could only be described as white girl wasted, wobbling in his heels giggling as his balance swayed back and forth. You wouldn’t say you were wasted perhaps tipping over the line of tipsy would be accurate. The fall only carried a small selection of human world liquor so compared to your date you had had considerably less to drink.

You sat Asmo a top a tall bar chair at cocktail table with in arms reach of the bar.

“Ooo grabme a drink!” Asmo slurred as you left to grab you both waters. Both of you unaware of the hungry eyes that lingered on you from a dark corner.

“Here babe” you said setting the water in front of you very sloshed date.

Asmo happily grabbed the glass taking a big swig only for his face to fall at the distinct lack of alcohol. “Hey! Thisisolywater!”

“Ya and you should drink it.”

“I’m fine~” Asmo wasn’t very convincing as he went to stand. “I’m getting somthin real todrink”.

Asmo took about two wobbly steps before he lost his balance and not so gracefully fell to the ground.

“Asmo! Are you ok!?” You quickly moved to his aid abandoning your waters at the table.

“Imfine imfine,” Asmo simply laughed as you helped him back to his seat.

“Come on let’s drink our water and have Mams come pick us up.”

“Ugh fine.” Asmo huffed taking a sip of his water.

Satisfied, you began to drink yours. Feeling a little dizziness, you laid your head down. ‘Maybe you had more to drink than you thought’

Asmo finished off his water feeling the spinning in his head start to slow. Just as he was ready to call Mammon suddenly you released what could only be described as a waterfall of vomit.

“Mc!?” Asmo was quick to side, propping you up from laying in you puke puddle. “Hey darling are you ok?”

“Mo I don’t feel sgood” you voice came out weak and strained.

“It’s ok hun come on, let get you some fresh air” but as Asmo helped you to stand you legs gave out toppling both of you to the ground.

Your head was spinning as you vision blacked out. All you could comprehend was Asmo’s voice as he frantically called over the bouncer for help.

With the help of a very concerned bouncer Asmo was able to get you out side. However the cold night air did nothing to clear your head. Asmo gently propped you up against the bars brick wall only for you to slide down legs to weak to stand.

“Hold on Mc, I’ll call Mammon we’ll be home soon.” Asmo tried to reassure you and him self as he frantically pulled out his D.D.D.

“Lucifer…” you groaned in you delirious state.

“Damn!” Asmo cursed. Five calls and Mammon’s useless ass couldn’t be bothered to answer a single one.

“Lucifer…” you weakly called you again.

Asmo paused, he could call Lucifer. There’s no question the eldest brother would answer his call. But if he saw you in this state there’d be serious hell to pay.

“Lucifer… I want Lucifer…” you called his name like a scared child calling for its father. You head lulled to the side suddenly feeling to heavy for you neck to support.

That’s it, Asmo quickly dialed Lucifers number, pacing as he waited for the eldest to pick up.

“Yes Asmodeus, what is it this time?” Lucifer answered already irritated by what ever it is Asmodeus could need at two thirty in the morning.

“Lucifer! We need you to come pick us up! We’re at a bar across from the Fall.”

“Unbelievable. Asmodeus it’s 2:30 in the morning. Do you really expect me to drop my work just to come play taxi for you. Unless your legs are broken I suggest you start walking.”

“Please Lucifer!” Asmo begged. “Mammon was supposed to pick us up but he’s not answering his phone!”

Lucifers mind wandered to Mammon who was currently hung from the ceiling. “Very well, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Stay by the curd where I can see you.”

“Thank you! You’re the best big brother ever!”

Asmo knelt down to your level, patting you face gently to see if you were still conscious.

You simply groan turning you head to puke again.

“I’m so sorry Mc, Lucifer will be here soon! We’re gonna get you home and cleaned up before you know it!” Asmo assured you rubbing you back.

Asmo sat you down on the curd where he stood anxiously waiting for Lucifer to arrive. What was he going to tell the eldest when he saw the state you were in. All the times he had seen you drunk off your ass either at home casually drinking with his brothers or at one of Diavolo parties, you had never been fucked up to the point you couldn’t stand. Asmo counted your drinks, maybe three cocktails and a few shots? That’s not nearly enough to make you this sick. Asmo couldn’t wrap his head around what had happened to put you in such a state.

Asmo was startled from his thoughts by Lucifer honking his car horn as he pulled up to the curb.

Lucifer rolled down his window. “Where’s Mc?”

You had fallen back waiting for Lucifer. With out the brick wall to support you, you body had been too heavy to keep up right.

“They’re right here!” Asmo leaned down to pull you up.

Lucifer leaned out the window to see you laying on the ground. You head lulled back as Asmo hopelessly pulled on your arms trying to get you to stand.

“For fuck sake,” Lucifer groaned getting out to help get you into the car. “This is absolutely unbelievable.”

Lucifer easily scooped you up in his arms. “What the devil is wrong with them?” He immediately noticed how your body felt completely limp as though you were merely a doll.

“I don’t know! They were fine one second and like this the next! We only had a few drinks I swear!” In his big brothers presence Asmodeous finally felt his anxiety over you state over whelm him.

Lucifer signed, of course you couldn’t just be drunk, at least then he could scold you for being irresponsible. He gently rocked you, testing if you were still conscious.

“Lucifer,” you weakly called you your voice barely above a whisper. “I want Lucifer.”

Good at least you were awake although you clearly weren’t able to process your surroundings.

“Mc can you hear me?” He tried getting your attention.

“Luci? Wanna go home, don’t feel good.” You began to cry, delirious and scared you curled into his chest.

Good he thought, at least you’re responsive. “Hush now Mc, I’m here to take you home.”

Asmodeus began to cry too his head still spinning from all the demonous, “I’m so sorry Lucifer, Mc. I don’t know what happened.”

“Keep it together Asmo, just open the door so I can get them home.”

Asmo did as he was instructed chocking back more tears. Lucifer gently sat you in his passenger seat laying it back so you head wouldn’t hang forward.

On the drive back to the House of Lamentation, Asmo recounted all of the nights events to the best of his memory. Lucifer listened careful trying to figure what could have possibly happened to put you in such a state. He agreed with his little brother that it couldn’t have been the alcohol. He too has seen you wasted stumbling through the halls of HoL with his brothers, but you always seemed to bounce back rather quickly.

“Asmodeus, I want you to call Solomon. Have him meet us at home.” Lucifer signed, he hated to ask that shady wizard for help but you were more important than his pride.

“Ok,” Asmo couldn’t hide the nervousness in him voice. If Solomon needed to be involved it must be serious.

The phone rang only twice before Solomon picked up. “Hello?”

“Solomon I need you!” Asmo’s voice was desperate his anxiety over you completely consuming him.

“I’m sorry Asmodeus, I’m not really in the mood tonight.” Solomon completely misunderstood, used to the demon calling him out of a different kind desperation.

“No not that, somethings wrong with Mc!” Asmo explained everything he could, from the nights event to you current condition.

“Ok, hmm I understand. I’ll meet you there.”

Solomon was standing out side the main door when Lucifer pulled up. Before Lucifer could even turn off the car. Solomon was opening the passenger door and lifting you into his arms. Lucifer simply bit his tongue not in the mood to argue with the sorcerer.

Solomon navigated the halls of the house as if he too lived there, making his way to your bedroom. Lucifer was right behind him as Asmo stumbled behind.

“Wait!” Asmo called to Solomon.

Solomon didn’t stop but he did slow his pace for Asmo to catch up.

“Solomon, take them to me room.”

“Why?”

“Look at them,” Asmo motioned to your crumpled form.

Solomon took a moment to inspect you. Your cheeks were stained with tears, your hair matted and disheveled, your clothes were stained with puke, and your were covered in dirt and sweat.

“Let me get them cleaned up.” Asmo pleaded.

“Very well, Solomon please do as Asmo asks,” Lucifer spoke up. Above all else caring for you comes first.

“Alright, here Asmo.” Solomon handed you off rather reluctantly but he couldn’t argue considering you’re state.

Asmo carefully cradled you in his arms. Despite his thin frame you were still feather light in his arms thanks to his natural demonic strength. When he felt just how limp you were he had to bite his lip to keep his emotions at bay. All he wanted to do was get you cleaned up and tucked into bed.

Solomon and Lucifer followed him to his room further discussing the incidents to had occurred that night. They waited in Asmo’s room as he took you into his bathroom.

“I’m sorry Mc, I promise my intentions are pure at least this time.” Asmo gave you an apologetic look as he stripped you out of your vomit stained club wear. ‘I’ll have to take them shopping’ he thought as he tossed the ruined garments aside. He was carful to watch for any resistance as he removed your underwear but you were like a doll with no strength or will of your own.

Asmo propped you up against the wall for a moment as he got the bath ready and removed his own dirty clothes. He hesitated for a moment before picking you up to place you in the bath. The thought of feeling your skin against his and bathing with you did make his heart flutter but he quickly pushed those feelings down focusing on caring for you. He scooped you up into his arms, testing the water before he lowered you down with him.

He laid you between his legs, having you lay back against his chest. He went to work gently scrubbing you down. Asmo felt ashamed as his cheeks heated up and his heart fluttered running his soapy hands over your body carful to avoid any intimate areas. His emotions were running high seeing you so sick and vulnerable. He can’t help but feel his heart ache remembering how you called out for Lucifer. He wondered if you would rather have Lucifer in here with you. No, he could think that way. Not now while you were still in this condition.

He finished by leaning you back to wash your hair. He cradled you head in one hand carful not to let and water or soap get in you eyes as he ran the shampoo through your hair. He felt satisfied with getting you cleaned up and feeling much cleaner himself. There wasn’t much else he could do to help you, he felt so helpless. But, at least he could make sure you were comfortable. Asmo wrapped a warm fuzzy pink towel around your form, as well as one around his hips.

Solomon and Lucifer stopped their conversation when they hear the bathroom door. Asmo stepped out of the steaming room suspicious of they’re sudden silence. He didn’t like that they wanted to hide what he assumed they believed had happened to you. He also didn’t like the way Lucifers gaze was fixed on you or how Solomon’s gaze racked over both of you.

“Could we have some privacy?” Asmo’s question came out as a demand as he placed you on his bed to fetch you both pjs.

“Right,” Lucifer quickly turned around, averting his gaze from your form.

“Of course,” Solomon however turned around slowly his eyes lingering in you.

Asmo quickly dressed you in his coziest jammies before dressing himself. He tucked you into his bed making sure you’re head had plenty of support. By this point you were out cold and completely unresponsive to anything happening around you. Asmo sat next to you on the bed, gently pushing your damp hair from your forehead. “Alright, you perverts can turn around now.”

Lucifer and Solomon both turned back around. They traded glances before meeting Asmo’s eyes.

“So what were you talking about?” Asmo asked trying to keep up his usual sweet and innocent act.

Lucifer spoke first, “we were discussing a few theories about what we believe happened to Mc.”

“Oh? And what’s wrong with them?” Asmo couldn’t have hidden how nervous he felt even if he wanted to. They were being awfully cautious.

Solomon spoke now, “we believe it’s either a curse, a poison, or a human world drug.”

“We just need to examine them to figure out which it is so we can better treat them.” Lucifer finished.

Asmo could take a hint. Reluctantly he moved away from the bed allowing them to approach.

Solomon and Lucifer took his place by your side. Lucifer went first scanning your body for any hint of magic tampering or a curse. Solomon then thoroughly checked you over. He checked your vitals, as well as your eyes and mouth. He felt over your body searching for any abnormalities that could indicated the use of Devildom poison.

“Well?” Asmo asked growing impatient watching his friend feel you up.

“Well Lucifer?” Solomon asked first.

Lucifer sighed, “I didn’t find any residual magic or signs of a curse. And you Solomon?”

“Well the good news is I don’t believe they were poisoned at least by anything that could be found here in Devildom.” Solomon rubbed his chin in thought.

“Ok so then what’s wrong with them!?” Their answers did nothing to calm him down. “If it’s poison or a curse, what is it?”

Lucifer and Solomon shared a glance again. Lucifer shook his head no but Solomon remained firm. Before Lucifer could stop him he stood to face Asmo. “It’s hard to confirm with out proper medical testing but I believe Mc’s been drugged with a human world substance called Rohypnol or some call it roofies. It’s commonly used in the human world to sedate victims so they’re easier to s…”

“That’s enough Solomon.” Lucifer cut him off before he could finish but it didn’t matter, it was clear Asmo understood as the color drained from his face.

He wasn’t stupid. He’d heard of “getting roofied” before and he was fully aware of how humans used it. Asmo’s felt sick. Best case scenario you’re attacker would’ve just devoured you. However he knew if they had gone to the trouble of drugging you with a human world drug they had more than just eating you in mind.

Asmo broke down. “It’s all my fault.” He fell to his knees sobbing, “Mc could’ve been raped or worse and it’s all my fault.”

Lucifer said nothing. Truthfully he wanted to be furious. Angry at you for being so careless and angry at Asmo for not keeping a closer eye on you. But he just didn’t have it in his heart to lecture his little brother who was currently crumpled up on the floor crying. And fortunately for you he was much more worried than angry.

Solomon kneeled down to Asmo’s level gently placing his hand on his shoulder. “What’s important now is it’s nothing fatal and Mc will get better with rest and plenty of water.”

In his mind Asmo knew Solomon was right, you were going to be ok at worst just extremely hung over and dehydrated for a couple of days. But his heart ached with the knowledge of what could’ve happened.

This knowledge also weighed heavy on Lucifer’s heart. One slight slip up tonight and you might not have been with them now. Although you’re time in his life so far had been short, he couldn’t imagine it with out you.

“Since Mc’s going to be ok,” Lucifer finally spoke. “I’d better go start working on the paper work and reporting this incident to Diavolo.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose the exhaustion of the night catching up to him.

Solomon signed, “I’d better join you to help explain Rohypnol and how it’s used to Diavolo. Watch over Mc for us Asmo.”

Asmo sniffed taking a deep breath to calm him self. “Ok I will.” Solomon help him to his feet, turning to exit with Lucifer.

After the two left Asmo stood there for a moment focusing his breathing to calm down. He looked to you still knocked out. You looked as bad as you probably felt. While still sniffling, Asmo went to work on your face routine at least want he could while you slept. He massaged the serums in to face, feeling satisfied with the slight glow they gave you. He took care of his own routine before running to the kitchen to get you both water.

[likeastarstar]

Proof of Work Ch. 2: Empathize

read ch.1 here

(A/N: Feedback is appreciated! I hope you guys like this chapter, I really wanted to detail the dynamic btw OC and jk and dig more into the dumb and dumber duo lol. things will heat up pretty fast after this!)

Summary: a week after getting assigned an impossible project at work, your impossible project partner Jungkook and you are forced to work together...chaos and uncontrollable physical thoughts insue!

masterlist.

Having Jungkook as a coworker was impossible.

He barely answered texts, he was always in mysterious meetings when you tried to ask him questions at work, and never held the elevator door for you.

He was entirely frustrating and annoyingly enough you forgave him for all of it because he was so good at apologizing. He brought you coffee and made you laugh and let you borrow his phone charger whenever you asked for it.

It was annoying how his pros really did outweigh the cons but this, THIS was the final straw.

"Jungkook," You seethed, "It's been a week and we haven't even came up with research for user profiles for this fucking project."

"Well you've shot down every idea I've had-"

"Your only two ideas were pooling for focus group candidates on a college campus and a fucking roller rink." You snapped, crossing your arms.

"I thought it could be fun to go roller skating," He grumbled, twiddling his thumbs in his lap.

"I'm telling boss that we can't do this together, one of us will just have to take the account and be done with it," You decided, turning on your heels.

Jungkook called your name but you ignored him, already halfway to your boss' office.

You weren't sure how she'd respond to your complaint- but it wasn't this. You had just finished ranting when she quirked her eyebrow, making you freeze involuntarily, any other arguments you had built up dying on your tongue.

She was terrifying- how did she have any friends? Did she have any friends? Jungkook shuddered next to you, sneakers squeaking against the floor as he shifted slightly to hide behind you. He had caught up to you quickly, storming into her office behind you and arguing that you needed to relax and just go with his plan.

Coward.

"You can't possibly research user profile data accurately unless you're on the same page. Get to know each other before starting- that's not a suggestion, that's a part of your job." She said with determination, "Or you can quit the project and I'll consider it your resignation."

You opened your mouth, a strange, creaking sound flying out of your throat.

"Sorry, no, we'll work it out," Jungkook said quickly, "You'll have a functional user profile assessment with research data to back it up in a week."

He grabbing your hand, tugging you out of her office before you could say another word. You creaked again, staring off in shock. Jungkook's face shoved its way into your vision, wide eyes staring back at you in alarm, "Are you gonna puke? Are you gonna cry?"

You creaked in response, longer this time, with a squeaky cry at the end that made Jungkook recoil in fear.

Resignation? RESIGNATION?

You had worked to get this job for three years- how could all of that work be dangling on a string tied to this one project? Did your boss hate you? Did she want you to fail?

It wasn't an option- resignation wasn't an option, failing wasn't an option. Your only option was standing right in front of you, staring at you like you were an explosive weapon. You closed your mouth, standing up straight with a neutral expression, which only scared Jungkook more.

"Let's go," You said suddenly, squeezing your hand in Jungkook's because for some reason he never let go of it when he towed you out of your boss' office.

"Where?" Jungkook asked nervously, letting you pull him towards the elevator.

"We're going on a date."

You made him choose where to eat, wanting to do exactly what you were told to do, which was get to know him in some desperate attempt to understand him. He chose a restaurant you had never heard of, a food you had been too scared to ever try. You agreed reluctantly, trying to be a big girl about it but you were nervous. Jungkook, completely oblivious to your food fear grinned and bounced his way into the restaurant in true bunny fashion.

"Does it...I mean, is it chewy? It looks really chewy," You whispered, looking up at Jungkook across the table anxiously.

"No, it's good." Jungkook insisted with an amused look on his face, "Here, try."

You watched him assemble what must've been a perfect bite and opened your mouth reflexively, waiting for him to feed you. He held the spoon out towards your hand for a moment before pausing, realizing you didn't intend to take it from him at all. You watched a blush creep on his cheeks and laughed, still holding your mouth open.

"Come on, feed me," You urged, opening your mouth wider. "We're meant to be getting to know each other, remember?"

He smiled awkwardly before leaning over the table, pushing the spoon against your tongue and watching deliberately as you closed your lips around it. He pushed out a slow breath as he eased the spoon from your mouth, wiping the bottom of your lip with the pad of his thumb carefully.

You savored the bite, tilting your head pensively as he slowly sunk back into his seat across from you, watching Jungkook's large eyes flick back and forth from your mouth to your eyes.

"Is it good?" He asked quietly, tone softer than it was a moment ago. "So good," You agreed, smiling at him.

He stared at your mouth, watching your jaw flex and unflex, chewing thoroughly before shaking his head, grinning casually after a beat of tension, "Let's play a game- we'll take turns asking questions and by the end of it, we'll know each other more and we can get on with this project."

"Ask me anything," You agreed, taking the spoon from his hands and getting more food for yourself.

He joined you, taking the spoon that was meant to be yours now laying abandoned on the table by your elbow for himself.

"Tea or coffee?"

Tea. He liked coffee more, said he needed it since he stays up so late.

"So, I'm guessing you're a night owl and not an early bird?" You mused, asking him a question of your own this time.

Jungkook laughed, nodding his head, "Exactly, yeah. I've got a question- when's the last time you went out on a real date."

He was studying you carefully, steel eyes tracking you like a hawk. You sat up straighter, feeling on edge. You frowned, trying to pick your words carefully. The answer depended on who was asking. If it was your mother, you'd say it's because you're focusing on your careers. If it's your best friend, you'd be honest.

But it was Jungkook, your hot, annoying coworker.

"It hasn't been that long. How'd you know I was single?" You asked nervously.

He shrugged cockily, a small smirk gracing his lips. You didn't know how Jungkook got away with being so smug, so arrogant. Then again, yes you did because he let out a geeky little giggle after, his shoulder shaking slightly, "I can sense these things. The question is, why are you single? Is it your control freaky ways?"

"You're so mean," You grumbled, hanging your head pathetically. He was right- it was. Why did he care?

"Hey, I didn't say it was a bad thing!" He insisted, still laughing at you, "Nothing wrong with being a little freaky."

You glared at him, rolling your eyes, "Sweet or salty?"

He smiled wistfully, accepting the shift in conversation with a tilt of his head, "Sweet."

You grinned, "Me too."

The game continued on like that, the two of you asking questions in rapid succession.

Jungkook liked to talk with his hands a lot. You watched his fingers twist into shapes, emphasizing whatever it was he was trying to tell you. How were his hands that big? You tracked the veins running down his forearm, hidden by tattoos and peeking through bare spots on his skin, pulsing through the tops of his palms. You felt wetness pool in your mouth as he turned his hand over, palm side up, the width of Jungkook's hand dramatically large in comparison to the thinness of his wrist.

His fingers were thick and long, bruises and callouses around his knuckles no doubt from doing all that boxing he always bragged to you about. He said he was good, like really good. You wondered if he'd let you watch sometime, maybe show you how to throw a punch.

Why were his hands so hot? His hands were well cared for and manicured, clean enough to slip into your mouth and suck-

"So what do you think?" Jungkook asked, tilting his hands out towards you.

You froze, stopping yourself from your wild train of thought, "Huh?"

"About heading back to the office to plan out how we're gonna get this research pool going?"

Right- the project. This wasn't an actual date.

Duh.

"Sure," you grinned, "Let's go."

"We just need a plan," You announced, staring at the ceiling, hoping the entire building would collapse and swallow you up.

"You've said that five times- I get it, we need a plan. Are you ever going to come up with one or are you just gonna wait for me to make one?" Jungkook pointed out, staring at you over a pair of kaleidoscope glasses you had no idea why he put on as soon as the two of you got back to work.

You groaned, swiveling your chair in slow circles as if that was going to help you catch a clue. Rebranding an entire company seemed impossible- it was a death sentence for you and your career. Things seemed to go from worse to worser every time you tried to break down the list of problems you had to fix.

The only silver lining you had wasn't as much of a silver lining as it was a line of silver piercings, currently bobbing up and down childishly in his chair. Jungkook had dragged you into one of the conference rooms in the office as soon as the two of you got back from your pseudo date, claiming that isolating yourselves away from your other coworkers was the only way to be productive.

So far, all the two of you had done was play three rounds of tic tac toe.

"Did you really make us sit in here to work or were you just trying to hide so you could slack off all day?" You asked him, drumming your fingers on the large table.

He grinned, spinning his chair around to face you, "I did it so we could slack off, aren't I just the best?"

The truth was, you really couldn't blame any of this on him when you yourself weren't doing much of anything at all. You were almost jealous of the way he could be so carefree, so easygoing in the face of a massive problem. And his hair- how was his hair so fucking perfect after working all day? You looked like a rat and he looked perfect. It was irritating.

"Wait- I have an idea," Jungkook gasped, sitting up straight. You twisted towards his direction, eyes wide and at full attention. Jungkook's brows were furrowed, slowly raising his hands in the air and miming out a box with intense focus. He acted as if he was tilting the box, nodding pensively before holding up both hands and-

Squeezing.

Curling his fingers around air in a pulsing motion almost like he was honking a pair of boobs.

"Jungkook!" You reprimanded, crumbling into a ball of despair while Jungkook remained entertained by his imaginary boobs.

"I'm just kidding- here, put these on and listen." He laughed, sliding the pair of glasses over to you.

You frowned, taking them gingerly and pushing them on your nose,

"Why did you bring these?"

"They help me focus. Anyway- I have a plan."

"They're warm," You grimaced, wondering how hot his face must be to warm the plastic. The colors around you fragmented, painting the world in a million different shades and covering the ugly parts of reality. You could see how these help him focus, you couldn't even remember what you were so stressed out about a minute ago, distracted by the pretty pretty shapes floating around.

"Got them nice and cozy for you, baby. Skinsense- surgically inspired skincare aimed towards the illusive ideal of perfection." Jungkook listed in a dramatic tone, reading off the client webpage you had studied for days in nauseating detail. "First problem- they're promising perfection. Too broad, right? Write that down. Second problem, all the pictures on this website are of the most random stock photo models I've ever seen, they're all so ugly. Are you writing this all down?"

"I can't write with these on," You said lamely, shoving the glasses off. "And anyway, first we need to build up a clientele profile. We need to cater towards a specific market. Like you said, the random stock photo models aren't cutting it and there's got to be a reason why product isn't selling- Skinsense has no direction."

"Okay, so we do research to find out exactly what the market is looking for in cosmetics products and how to convince them to buy this shit." He snapped, leaning back into his chair. He threw his arms up and crossed them behind his head, a cocky little smirk on his face. "Write that down."

You narrowed your eyes at him, resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at him. He was so annoying, so infuriatingly smug with nothing to back it up with. This was his problem, he had all of these ideas and yet, hated coding them. You could see where this was heading- you doing all of the work and him getting all of the credit. What was next? Jungkook passing you up for a promotion while you're still stuck at being the office dumbo? No way, no way-

"Maybe we can do a focus group or survey people at the mall." You suggested with a shrug.

"Well, actually..." Jungkook mumbled, trailing off.

"What?" You asked nervously, entirely too scared of the look on his face.

This was going to be a pain in your ass, wasn't it?

You stared ahead blankly, wondering how on Earth you got to this point. Maybe you really were dumb. You had to be, nothing short of an idiot would let Jungkook convince them that the way to build a user profile for the Skinsense site was to come here- a pilates studio on the rich side of town.

"This is our clientele," Jungkook said confidently, crossing his arms with a smug smile on his face.

You looked around the room, turning your head slowly towards him with an exhausted expression on your face. You knew exactly why he did this- why he was so insistent on waking up at the crack ass of dawn to force you into taking a hot pilates class. There could only be one reason behind a man who insisted that boxing was the best workout ever would volunteer to do this.

Everyone else in the room was a very specific type of person- prim and proper, rich ladies with a large bank account and even larger, extremely perky asses. You narrowed your eyes as you looked around, wanting to shoot this idea down but you had to admit- these women had very nice skin.

"You are such a boy," You seethed, glaring at the sea of sports bras and tight leggings.

"I'm all man, baby. Let's get it," He grinned, eyes drifting towards a particularly bouncy blonde.

"You have to stop calling me baby," You mumbled, trailing after him.

"I'm gonna talk to some people, you know- ask about their skincare routines. Maybe get their contact information for a focus group," Jungkook mused, grazing the room with his eyes. What he meant was: he's going to hit on a bunch of women.

Things only got worse. The actual class was Hellish, stretching you out in ways you hadn't ever experienced before. It was so difficult you could feel yourself getting lightheaded at some points, which didn't get much better when you looked over at Jungkook, who sailed through every move the instructor modeled, all with the cheesiest grin on his face. You got distracted watching the way his legs flexed and stretched to hold him in impossible positions. His thin waist flashed alluringly when he bent over backwards in a bridge hold, exposed by his thin shirt riding all the way up. 

You were weirdly thankful for the heaters blasting you from all directions for giving you an excuse for your flushed complexion. Jungkook's sex appeal was really starting to get to you. It wasn't your fault, any girl in your position would be having the same thoughts. This was all because of that fake date earlier- he was right, you hadn't been on a real one in way too long. 

Looking at Jungkook made you feel lonely- more single than ever. Why was that?

The class ended before you could self analyze to death. He had already gotten three phone numbers from women, chatting up just about everyone in the room about their skincare routines and how amazing their complexion looked, slipping in charismatic compliments that had every girl blushing. You did your best to match him, making polite conversation with the girls in the back who seemed to be struggling just as much as you. They were nice and told you all about their ideal skincare, barely recognizing the brand when you name dropped Skinsense. 

You had your work cut out for you.

"Okay, I'll admit it," You said after the class was over, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. "You're good."

"I told you, I know what I'm doing," Jungkook smirked, wiping the back of his neck with a towel. He was dripping, the white shirt he had on clinging to his body, outlining thick pecs and chiseled abs. It was...distracting. "I think I got enough information to know how to make a user profile, what about you?"

"Yeah, I think I've got it too. Why are you so fucking sweaty?" You frowned, enchanted by the way his body looked at the moment. His skin gleamed, a bead of sweat running down his carotid. 

"I dunno, I run hot. Im always like this." He shrugged, pulling his shirt up to inspect how soaked it was, revealing his abs more. Your head ducked instinctively, leaning in closer to get a better look at his exposed skin before stopping yourself.

"You're always sweaty?"

"Yeah, are you always dry?" Jungkook said, reaching out to touch the back of your arm, checking for perspiration.

"When I'm not wet." Your mouth said it faster than your brain processed that this was Jungkook you were speaking to, making you pause for a beat after in regret.

Jungkook stared at you with the beginnings of a smile on his face, a stuttered, shocked laugh caught in the back of his throat.

"You should see someone about this," You said, moving on quickly and dragging a finger down the side of his neck, running through the sweat there.

"Y-Yeah, probably," Jungkook mumbled, stunned. 

"Let's go- will you drive me home? I don't feel like walking and your car has a great AC system," You asked, already walking towards the exit because Jungkook never said no to you. 

A week later, you submitted the user profile and it was flawless- completely operational, perfectly understandable from all angles, it just worked. You knew exactly what the clientele was looking for and what Skinsense needed to become in order to fill it.

"Did she say anything?" You asked nervously, nudging Jungkook in the shoulder.

You were standing above him at his desk, too anxious to keep refreshing your e-mail yourself. You had submitted the progress update to your boss as promised and were waiting for a response. He hummed in response, shrugging nonchalantly. You made a noise of annoyance, peeved that he didn't seem nervous at all. No, nothing even seemed to bother him at all- the only small sign of discomfort was his persistently tapping foot beneath his desk.

"She messaged-" Jungkook muttered.

You gasped and shoved him out of the way, sending him flying on his wheelie chair. Jungkook squeaked in protest and you felt him hook a finger into your belt loop to anchor himself to you, pulling himself back towards his computer by it.

You scanned the screen, mumbling through the email, "She approves- we're good, we're not fired."

"I doubt she was really gonna fire us," Jungkook grumbled.

"We did it!" You cheered, turning towards him with a grin on your face.

You were elated, over the moon, so incredibly happy.

"I told you," Jungkook said softly, a small smile on his face, "We make a good team."

"Yeah," You agreed, "We do."

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch.7

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6

Cassandra gradually starts taking up more of your time. Or, more accurately, demands it like it’s her birthright.

Every day, you wake her up with a kiss to her shoulder or neck and a whisper of her name. She comes to you when she’s bored at random times during your shifts, to either talk –complain— about her sisters or to outright distract you. There are times at night when you’ll feel the chill of her slip into your bed and press up against your back, but she’s always gone by morning light, like a dream.

She used to be just another component to your nightmares. Now… she’s what takes them away.

And you’re afraid.

That you’re growing to like the time with her while she’s just playing around, that it will cut that much deeper when you find yourself on the end on her sickle. Because how else can it end, you reason, between the two of you?

The thought momentarily makes your liplock with Cassandra taste bitter, despite the sweet strawberry taste of her lip balm -and no way she’s putting that on for you, right?

She has you pressed deep into a plush armchair with her palm on your chest, while her thighs are locked tight on either side of yours. You want to tell her that you should stop –both because you’re literally in the open and anyone can walk in on you and because it’s late—but her lips are doing wicked things to your neck and you can’t find your voice long enough.

When Cassandra starts grinding down on you though, rather impatiently too, you have to speak up before she starts something neither of you can finish.

“Cassandra.” you say breathily. A sharp nip comes over your pulse, then slippery lips close around the area. “Ah! Cassandra. You’ll be late for dinner.”

She tsks and pulls back, expression much like a kid that got her hand slapped away from the cookie jar. She dismounts you with the same sour look, smoothing down her robes.

“Walk me there.” she orders.

You rise and fall into step beside her, trying not to linger on how strange it feels. It should be nothing, really, considering all the activities the two of you nightly indulge in, but it’s… something.

Cassandra, uncharacteristically quiet, keeps gazing out the windows as though calculating or pinpointing something while you make your way to the dining room.

She comes to a sudden halt just before you reach it, turns to you, steals a quick kiss and then quickly leaves you behind, a colder aura about her as she strolls inside.

You hear Lady Dimitrescu’s voice, but not what she says. Once a few minutes have passed and you can safely blend into the background, you join the other maids on standby within.

You used to hate it here. Having them all in front of you like that, serving them wine, when they’re all to blame for taking any semblance of normalcy out of your life. You never glance at what they’re eating. You still dislike dinner time.

But.

When Alcina makes a snide comment about Heisenberg and you hear Cassandra’s laugh above Daniela’s giggle and Bela’s chuckle…

It no longer seems so bad.

-

-

“Bela, stay a moment.” Cassandra says after Lady Dimitrescu leaves with Daniela in tow.

“Oh, no.” The blonde huffs under her hood.

“I didn’t say anything. Yet.” The younger sibling raises her hands in exasperation.

“When you go ‘Bela~’” You bite your lip to keep your expression neutral as you’re cleaning the table because hearing the normally stoic sister mimic Cassandra’s voice like that is just plain gold. “It’s never good.” her tone turns flat once more.

Cassandra very pointedly rolls her pretty eyes. “I need you to cover for me.”

“See?” Bela sighs. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, it wasn’t really a question, I was just trying to give you the illusion of choice.” Cassandra shrugs. “I’m going out tonight.”

“What?” Bela damn near hisses. “Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s fine it’s, like, thirteen degrees.”

“How is that fine?”

The elder sister’s gaze then flits to you. There is no other maid in the vicinity that can overhear them, but she’s clearly uncomfortable with you picking up the implications of their conversation.

You still don’t get it. You guessed their aversion to sunlight has to do with their mutations… but why would the cold be an issue?

The survivor in you wants to know more. To know if this is something that can be used to your advantage when the time and circumstances are right for a potential escape.

Another part of you… just plain worries.

“I know what I’m doing.” Cassandra says, stern.

“Then you’re doing it alone.” Bela turns to leave…

Except.

“Oh, well. Guess mother should know about that little maid you’ve been orbiting around, lately.” Cassandra comments. “The one you even did a favor for? Just imagine her disappointment in you, the shining example of the family, stooping so low.”

Bela’s back goes rod-straight. The piercing look she sends Cassandra sends ice down your spine. You think she’s going to pounce… yet she exhales.

“One. Hour.” Bela states. “If you’re not back in one hour I’m coming to drag your sorry behind to mother. And she—” A gloved finger points directly to you, “Won’t be coming back with you in one piece.”

Wait.

What?

-

-

You didn’t know Cassandra planned to take you with her. But she didn’t deny it when Bela pointed to you. After her sister left, all she said was: ‘Dress well.’

Which brings you to your current position, pacing by the entrance hall of the castle, in a warm coat and two layers of clothes underneath. You turn to look behind when you finally hear her steps descending the staircase.

And— you freeze.

Because Cassandra is not wearing her usual robes. She’s dressed in all black, yes, but the outfit is tight on her form, fitting every curve, hugging her wonderful legs like a second skin. She’s wearing knee-high boots instead of heels and her hooded, gothic overcoat reaches down to mid-thigh.

There’s not a single patch of her skin visible other than her face… and you can’t, for the life of you, explain why it’s that hot.

“You’re staring, plaything.” she chastises, yet doesn’t sound like she minds. Rather, she’s smirking.

“Uh—” you can’t really form words.

“We need to hurry, clock’s ticking.” she says as she jiggles the very key you’ve looked everywhere during work hours for. The key to freedom. To leaving the castle.

Cassandra double-checks her clothes before she opens the door. You file it as useful information for later as you hurry to catch up to her.

The path to the village –or what’s left of it— through the forest is… difficult. Mainly because Cassandra is entirely unbothered by any and all obstacles and moves like she’s on a walkway, leaving you to fight with every rock hidden in the snow.

You manage. Somehow.

Until a distant howl makes you jump and quite literally crash into her side.

Cassandra laughs. It’s a clear, beautiful sound in the dead of night. “My, my. Scared of a Lycan in my presence?”

“I thought it was just a regular wolf!” You whisper, mortified.

Yellow eyes blink at you. Then her gloved hand raises to yours, taking it in a secure grip. You didn’t realize you were shaking, yet the tremors quickly cease when she does that. It’s just your heart that still feels like it’s going to give out on you, but for an entirely different reason, now.

Cassandra safely leads you to the village. It looks more or less the same, except empty, void of life. You don’t linger on memories. You don’t.

“Show me your house.” she says.

You never thought you’d be tracing the steps of your front porch so soon. You only have to push the door for it to open. And the inside is just as you remembered. A quaint little house. It’s simply not… home, anymore.

Nothing is.

Maybe nothing ever was.

And the thought makes a thin, cracked wall inside you finally give. Cassandra is saying something a few paces behind you, but your vision has blurred, your eyes sting and hot, salty rivers roll past your lids.

“Are you listening to me?” she asks. “...Plaything?”

You can’t talk. If you do, you’ll sob and break to pieces on the floor like a pushed glass statue.

Cassandra’s grip is tight and demanding on your elbow when her fingers curl above it, but she turns you with gentleness you’d never think her capable of. You do not meet her eyes.

Her other hand comes up to your neck.

You can’t, you can’t—

“Alexia.”

Your eyes snap to hers when she says it, from the shock. You didn’t think she even knew your name. Cassandra shifts her weight from one leg to the other, then seems to decide on something and wipes the tears beading at your chin away with her thumb.

“Pack what you wish. We don’t have long.”

As you turn into your bedroom and open your wardrobe to pack a few clothes into a bag, just to feel a tad more yourself when you’re in your room in the castle, the sound of your name falling from her lips follows you.

Haunts you.

You have half a mind to get your mp3, phone and chargers before you return to her. Cassandra is holding whatever she wanted to get from the village in a box tucked between her arm and body.

“Come.” she orders. Her hand settles on your elbow again and practically drags you along.

You don’t talk on your way back to the castle.

From one of the many windows overlooking the front yard, you spot Bela’s eyes on the two of you until she retreats into the shadows. Rigidly, Cassandra enters and immediately goes by the large fireplace to warm up. You only then notice how much more fluid her movements get. Or rather, how sluggish she was during the trip.

You shut the door and turn the key and realize it’s much easier to handle your situation when you’re the one locking yourself inside.

You take off your coat and scarf, then make to head for your bedroom —according to your calculations you’ll only get 3 hours of sleep— until… you notice how cold Cassandra looks.

She’s one step away from hugging the flames. And you can still hear her call you by your name in your head.

Great. Another thing to keep me up at night. You think as you approach her.

Slowly, so as to not scare her, you slip your arms around her slim waist from behind. She’s like a block of ice in your embrace, at first. Her body thaws gradually, to the point she’s fully relaxed against you.

“Thank you for today.” the words don’t come easy –they’re like pulling teeth— but you manage to get them out clearly enough.

“You’ll thank me in very many ways, plaything.” she says. “Having your own belongings in the castle is not a privilege any maid gets. But.” her voice, although quiet, hardens the slightest amount. “If, despite my generosity, you harbor dreams of escape… I will turn them to nightmares.”

Your blood goes cold in your veins. You can only nod against her shoulder.

Cassandra turns in your arms to look at you.

“And if you ever try to leave me alone here… I will find you and kill you myself.”

[acid-rain2912]

Breathless

Throwing in my two cents with some last-minute Shirtless James Potter May™ fluff (which is by far the most delightful concept of 2021). 

Shirtless Vignette #1 of 3, with two other chapters up on FFN (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13892284/1/Breathless). 

*~*~*~*~*

Lily’s breath hitched in her throat.

She had been trying to study, really. She had even moved outside in order to escape the heat after a failed study session in the library. However, once she had picked the perfect tree and set everything up just-so, her mind continued to wander insatiably. She reasoned it was probably the many distractions inherent in the outdoors: the wind, the sun, the falling leaves, the crows talking to each other, the critters from the forest answering.

And the other students. Children and adolescents from every house and year had similarly flocked to the Hogwarts grounds to find reprieve in the uncharacteristically hot October day. The majority of them seemed to have intentions that were far less studious than Lily’s. Most of them were chatting and laughing loudly. Some of them were playing disruptive games. A particular group was being particularly loud over by the lake. She didn’t need to look at them to know who they were or what they were up to; she’d been in their house for six years and would recognize their voices halfway around the world. She knew them like the back of her hand and could picture all of their antics so well and so accurately, there was no need to even turn and look.

But she did.

Against her better judgement, she had turned to look at the four boys’ horseplay just in time to see James Potter fall (or maybe he was pushed?) into the lake. But it wasn’t surprise or concern for her Co-Head that caused her to lose track of her breathing; it was the site of him emerging from the lake, completely unscathed, but soaking wet. He had been wearing most of his uniform – just the pants and shirt – when he fell in, and when he came to stand again, his shirt was completely translucent and clinging to his body in a way that made Lily feel things she was less than proud of. It was a surprisingly intimate scene to which she had never expected to be privy. She quickly turned her head back to look at the castle, praying that no one saw her ogling another student (let alone one she had so publicly denounced). She took several steadying breaths, trying desperately to calm her internal emotional rollercoaster.

One voice told her to go back inside and read the most boring History of Magic text she could find. The other begged for her to turn back again. Demonstrating extremely self-destructive tendencies, she gave in and peered around her tree. But the sight she was treated to made it even harder to breathe.

That shirt. The shirt that she wanted to steal and frame and mount over her bed. That shirt. That Shirt – with a capital ‘S,’ because it was now a proper noun – was sitting on the ground. And one very shirtless James Potter was boisterously lambasting his best mate, completely unaware of Lily’s peeping, transfixed eyes. She drunk in his appearance sinfully and gluttonously. Her eyes wandered over his half-naked figure, taking in his beautifully-defined muscles, the patches of skin that had been slightly darkened by a long and hot summer, and a couple of small scars she never knew about. She was suddenly consumed with a desire to trace her fingers over those muscles and scars. She had absolutely no idea where it came from and was immediately embarrassed that her mind had even produced it. After indulging the vision for a moment, she closed her eyes tightly and tried to force it from her mind, as though she could un-think it. You have a good working relationship, she told herself, though it was palpably ridiculous. Also, for Merlin’s sake, breathe!

“You’re staring.”

Lily’s eyes popped open. “No, I’m not,” she told Hestia.

“Yes, you are.”

“My eyes weren’t even open,” Lily pointed out, tremendously glad that it was true.

“When I got here, sure. But you were staring as I walked over.”

“I wasn’t!” Lily insisted, flustered.

“Yes, you were. Shamelessly, I might add.”

“Looking and staring are different things.”

“Sure they are,” Hestia agreed. “But both would be hilarious in this context.” Lily sighed and forced her eyes to stay on her book, even if she wasn’t absorbing any material. “James has a lot of chest hair, eh?” Lily looked up to see that Hestia was twisting her body around the tree to watch the boys just as Lily had moments prior.

“I suppose,” Lily said as neutrally as she could muster. ‘A lot’ was probably an overstatement, but he did have some chest hair... as well as hair in certain other places.

“I just remember how you said you prefer your men hairless,” she commented.

“I did say that,” Lily agreed, thinking back to the night the pair of them had stayed up gossiping in the common room after finals in fourth year. “Over two years ago,” she added.

“Oh, okay. Glad to know the chest hair’s no longer a deal-breaker, then,” she said with a grin. It wasn’t.

“There’s no deal to break,” Lily insisted. She wouldn’t have been surprised in the least to learn that she was blushing.

“He’s still topless,” Hestia commented.

“Bully for him.”

“We can stare together, if you like,” she offered. Lily kept silent. “There’s nothing wrong with staring at the bloke you want to shag if he just so happens to be gallivanting around shirtless, you know.” More silence. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect it from you of all people, but us mere mortals wouldn’t resist a shirtless James Potter.”

Lily closed her book with a snap. “I don’t want to shag him. I don’t even fancy him.”

“Both of those are bald-faced lies.”

“Oh Hestia,” Lily sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Thank me for my great insights into your psyche,” she answered happily.

Lily ran her fingers back and forth over the spine of her book. She considered arguing her case further, but her mind had wandered back over to the lake several sentences ago. She sighed again. “Is his shirt still off?”    

[levihantrash]

Priorities

For Levihan week Aug 2021 Day 2 prompt: confessions

Also based on a cute ass tumblr prompt by @sanothebreadpup <3 hope you like it!!

Summary: It’s been a while since Hange wanted to confess, but their to-do list was too goddamn long. Erwin suggested going to Levi for advice on managing prioritises. Instead, they asked Levi if he wanted to bake… for a titan.

note: no smut but lots of spicy poetic touching

cross-posted on ao3 🤪

-----

Hange wanted to confess. It had been months since they knew that their best friend status with Levi could potentially be tweaked to include just a bit more romance, and they knew they had to be the one to take that step. As much as Levi was quick-witted on the battlefield, he wasn’t quite the risk-taker in ordinary settings. In fact, Hange figured Levi would sip tea beside them until he was greying and would probably be as content with the arrangement.

Hange wanted to confess, but their to-do list was too goddamn long.

Out-of-the-blue, though characteristically charismatic, Erwin gave the soldiers a pep-talk on how they need to know what to prioritise (i.e., humanity's victory).

Inspired, though the speech’s intended audience was clearly for new recruits, Hange tried to prioritise their tasks. Within a day, they got overwhelmed, the list being more of a reason for delay than for action. Moblit, well-meaning as always, tried to get Hange to focus on one at a time but that was unthinkable to them. One at a time meant that the confession would never happen. There was too much to research. Too much at stake. Too much for one inconsequential confession.

Unknowingly, Erwin saw Hange wringing their hands, muttering to themselves in the dining hall.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just can’t prioritise the important stuff,” Hange grumbled. Perking up at the mention of priorities, Erwin advised Hange to seek Levi’s guidance.

“Levi only does one thing at a time once he sets his heart on it.”

Eager for a chance encounter with someone they technically already hung out with on most days, Hange asked Levi for help. More accurately, in perhaps the most roundabout manner, they asked Levi if he wanted to bake… for a titan.

“For research,” Hange said, almost convinced by their own performance.

“You can do that yourself,” Levi said reasonably.

While starting a task was horrendously difficult, Hange was not one to give up once they began on one.

“You’re the only one here who can bake.”

Eyes narrowed, arms folded, Levi was not buying the compliment. He had a pile of papers left to read. Hange’s whims could be settled by someone with more well-matched interests and time management.

“Go ask Petra.”

Hovering nearby with another paper for her captain to sign, Petra noticed Hauge's crestfallen face.

“It’s not about the baking being done but who Hange is doing the baking with,” Petra whispered, as discreetly as she could.

"I'm busy," Levi said, loud enough for Hange to hear, heedless of Petra’s input.

“Alright.” Hange sighed, internally fuming that they should’ve found a more legitimate excuse. Bluff out something like Erwin’s orders. Levi followed Erwin’s orders without question. Hange’s requests were dealt with more scepticism. Not that Hange had the best track record of requests.

In the end, Hange prepared the baking supplies, because even if titans couldn’t stomach cake, it was an experimental endeavour. Practically speaking, they could give some baked goods to the juniors. Maybe even gift some to Levi.

Stumbling into the kitchen with too many ingredients in hand, they found Levi leaning against the entrance looking positively sullen. Upon spotting Hange, his face morphed into a more acceptable, neutral expression, nodding towards them.

"I thought you were busy!"

Levi shrugged, grabbing some of the ingredients from their arms. "I was. Didn't you want to bake?"

“I guess?”

The sudden change of mind was too abrupt for Hange to wrap their head around. A hopeful glow had unfortunately begun growing in them. Levi was being exceptionally nice today. No doubt that he was usually nice. Just not will-bake-for-your-titans kind of nice.

"Erwin said that you are really good at prioritising tasks,” Hange said, slowly digging through the cabinets for the utensils.

"Huh. Let me guess—he wants you to learn from me."

Hange scratched their head absent-mindedly. "He did tell me to ask you."

"I'm not actually very good at sticking to a task,” Levi admitted, wondering where in hell Erwin got the idea that he was focused. If he were, the paperwork would have been submitted, instead of lying around, flapping aimlessly in the wind before Petra (and Oluo) offered their generous help. He refused—every time. Levi was simply good at keeping a blank face and reporting to Erwin that he needed more time, which Erwin must have mistaken as a sign of seriousness than a sign of procrastination.

“You are! You finished work before coming have, didn't you?”

Levi didn’t breathe out a word, silently pouring through the book of recipes.

"What do you want to bake?"

Hange didn’t mind his lack of response, pondering over his poor cover-up question. "Something easy. What about bread?"

"Bread isn’t easy."

Difficulties translated into the promise of adventure for Hange. Pumped up, Hange prodded at the picture of an unremarkable loaf of chocolate banana bread.

"Let's do it anyway!"

“Suit yourself.”

-----

The small touches were the ones that were hardest to ignore. Hange felt the accidental-deliberate brush of Levi’s elbow when he reached over to choose an ingredient. Other times, he guided their hand with the right amount of strength for stirring the batter. His fingers over their stirring hand were firm and reassuring.

“You’re stirring too fast,” Levi said patiently.

“You’re distracting me,” Hange replied half-heartedly.

“Oh, am I?” The fingers left Hange’s hand. Just as Hange was about to lament their moment of folly in allowing that to happen, the fingers reached out towards their face. Forcing in a breath, Hange felt Levi’s thumb rub out a chocolate stain at the side of their lip.

“How did the chocolate get there?” Levi murmured, more to himself than to them.

“I was snacking on some of the chocolate bits a while ago…” Hange said cheekily, licking the side of their lips only to realise that Levi’s thumb was still there. Their tongue brushed his finger, and in that contact, Hange was ready to collapse from self-generated sexual tension.

Though his eyes widened noticeably, Levi quickly resumed his blasé expression. Rubbing the rest of the stain out, he walked to the tap to wash his hands. There was some hesitation, before he hurriedly turned on the tap, letting the water run for two seconds over his hands before going back to his position next to Hange.

Unsure as to whether to be offended or pleased by the sight of Levi cleaning the evidence of their encounter with such carelessness, Hange busied themselves with breaking eggs and separating yolk. If it had been Levi with a finger lined with fudge, Hange would’ve licked it spotless. With permission, of course.

To pay him back in kind, Hange plotted their own routine of touch as well. The touches became bolder, starting innocently enough. From casually brushing away hair that was poking Levi’s eye, to going behind Levi who was busy slicing up bananas and placing both hands on the counter. Their arms were now on either side of him, conveniently taller than him so that their head could peer right over his shoulder. The cutting didn’t cease—it only got more rapid, the bananas becoming neat circles in a matter of seconds. Hange let out an impressed whistle, hands not leaving the counter.

“Stop distracting me.”

“Oh, am I?”

One drop of the knife, and a swift turn later, Levi found himself staring straight into Hange’s bright, beautiful, heavily eye-bagged orbs.

"Hange, do you know why I'm in the kitchen at 2am baking for some shit-brained monsters?"

“Titans don’t have—”

“Because I have priorities.” Levi interrupted, not allowing Hange to clarify what the physical anatomy of titan subjects entailed.

Hange blinked, maintaining an oblivious exterior. “Your priorities include titan research?”

“You know what I was going to say.”

“Somewhat. I want to hear you say it out loud, though.”

Grimacing, he concentrated his gaze on Hange’s collar instead. Skin flushed, collarbones peeking out mischievously. Bad idea.

“You little shit.”

Their laugh was quieter, milder than the ones they let out on other days. “My favourite little shit! So what are your priorities?”

“Wiping the blades. Cleaning the toilet. Dusting under the tables. Doing laundry. Having enough tea. Baking with a scientist who thinks—”

Hange pressed a gentle hand on his mouth. “I get it.”

“Which part do you get?” Levi asked, enjoying the fact that when he moved his lips, they grazed Hange’s palm. How would it be like to replace that hand with their mouth?

“That you like me.” Hange grinned, tugging Levi by the straps of his apron just a bit closer.

An unexpected flash of clumsiness made Levi knock down the bag of flour, spilling it onto the floor. The fall clouded up the vicinity in white dust. Gaining confidence with obscured vision, Hange held the back of Levi’s head, tracing his undercut, admiring how his immaculately combed hair had come undone. An attractively dishevelled mess. Hange was in no hurry. Yet.

Levi, in a spur of restlessness, looked up at Hange questioningly. Eyeing their faint smirk, he tilted his head sideways, watching carefully for any sign of reluctance. An impatient “are you going to kiss me or not” from Hange; a straightforward command was what he needed to hear. No time was wasted pulling Hange into an urgent, searing kiss. Backed against the counter, hands cupping Hange’s face, Levi devoured the sensation. The taste of sugar, fruit, flour, and chocolate clung onto the entwinement, as Hange breathily pressed up against him. Erwin had warned them both. Love in the military meant the threat of loss. The possibility of sorrow. As he felt the rumble of Hange’s satisfying groan beneath his lips sending an unprecedented warmth through his body, he was certain. He would have loved Hange whether he kissed them or not. Death would happen, whether or not Hange rubbed his waist in soothing, awe-inspiring strokes. Right now, he would die in absolute bliss.

To be honest, Hange would’ve been disappointed if they didn’t end up fucking, or at least, aggressively kissing eventually. Erwin’s advice was only a stronger reminder that Hange was never one to be conservative. They loved Levi, as a comrade, as a friend, as the person whom they would kill for, if it meant saving his life. Still, having Levi sneak a hand into the bareness of their back, sucking their neck with a hot tenderness that made their head spin, they knew that chastity and platonic hugging could not be the only option.

“We should’ve done this sooner,” Hange said, peeling away his jacket.

“Couldn’t tell when the right time was,” Levi said, starting on the buttons of Hange’s shirt.

The door creaked open.

“This is your idea of asking Levi for help?” Erwin said, a thick eyebrow raised as he surveyed the mess.

With some willpower, he stopped unbuttoning Hange’s shirt. Lightly pushing Hange away, Levi straightened up, less than pleased with the interruption.

“Erwin, you better have something worthwhile to say if you—”

“I’ll clean this up.” Erwin, fully recovered from his shock, was beaming.

“Huh?”

“It’s about time,” Erwin said, with the proud sincerity of an unwitting matchmaker, gesturing towards the door.

“We owe you one, Erwin!” Hange waved at him on the way out, while Levi cast him a grateful, wary glance. With his hand was secure on their back, and Hange’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, there was no care for an audience. Only the smell of baked goods and unfinished business fuelled their steps towards a private space. A place where they would end up in each other’s arms—spent, sweaty, and deliriously at peace.

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

Into The Dark Side pt 1

So I wrote this a few months ago, and I wasn’t gonna post it until it was finished, but it felt kinda relevant after yesterday’s episode so here, take it

No Spoilers!! I didn’t add anything since yesterday (except for like fixing some grammar mistakes) so none of it was influenced by the ep. It’s an AU either way

Word Count: 2400

Rating: Teen

Pairing: gen

Warnings: swearing, suggestive language, threats of violence (Remus stuff)

~~~START~~~

“I want you to make me a Dark Side.”

Deceit raised an eyebrow at both the odd request, and the fact that the other Side thought he could just barge into his study without knocking. “Excuse me?”

“I know that you control the separation between the so-called ‘Light Sides’ and the ‘Dark Sides’. I want you to turn me into a Dark Side.”

“Indeed,” Deceit replied thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. He was hoping to come off as casual and aloof, but on the inside, he was completely lost. “I definitely follow. Light Sides ask to become Dark Sides all the time, it’s never the other way around.”

“Thomas frequently asks for my opinion, but once I have given it, my opinion is ignored. I believe my function would be performed more efficiently if I were working behind the scenes, so to speak.”

“Yes,” Deceit leaned forward, steepling his gloved fingers under his chin. “Because Dark Sides are known for being listened to and respected.”

“If my opinion is not going to be listened to, then I would prefer everyone stop asking for it.”

“Hmm, very well. I won’t fulfill your request, but just know, everything in life is free. There is never a price to pay.”

“I do not care. I shall pay, whatever the price.”

Deceit smirked at the other Side, and held out one hand. “Then won’t you shake a poor sinner's hand?” He purred, watching the other Side closely.

He took Deceit’s hand without hesitation and was immediately engulfed in a blinding yellow light. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Deceit muttering “transformation central.”

~~~

“-you to make me a Dark Side-”

“-definitely follow-”

“-opinion is ignored-”

“-never a price to pay-”

“I do not care.”

Logan woke up in his bed, glasses still on his face. His room looked exactly the same except everything was in black and white.

Odd. Do all Dark Sides see in monochrome or is this some sort of practical joke played by Deceit?

He was scanning around the room, trying to decipher whether or not Deceit held up his side of the bargain, when he noticed that the lights were off. A glance at the clock told him that it was 5:30 am, much too early for him to be able to see anything more than vague outlines without a light on, let alone the most minute details on his periodic table poster.

Extremely odd indeed.

Cautiously, Logan made his way across the room to the light switch. He flicked the lights on, and suddenly all the colors of his room returned.

Interesting

Curiously, he switched the lights off again. Everything lost color immediately, but not clarity.

Very interesting. Perhaps Dark Sides can see in the dark. Further testing is required.

Leaving the lights off — he could see perfectly well in the dark so why waste electricity? —Logan headed to the bathroom attached to his room to begin his morning ablutions. He didn’t make it very far, however, because as soon as he caught sight of his reflection, he realized why he could see so well in the dark.

Ah, this is what Deceit must have meant when he said there was a price to pay.

All Dark Sides had animal traits. Deceit had snake scales covering random parts of his body, as well as a single snake eye and a forked tongue. Lust - while technically a Neutral Side - had black markings around his eyes, as well as having swan-like wings that jutted out from his back. Apathy also had black marks around his eyes - though his trailed down his face while Lust’s swooped back towards his ears - as well as an overly-large fuzzy sweatshirt that’s sleeves extend well past the tips of his fingers. Greed had intermittent scales like Deceit, though his were larger and shinier, and sometimes smoke came out of his mouth. Jealousy had opposable toes and a prehensile tail. The Duke had tentacles. And Anxiety… Well, Anxiety hid his animal traits well, but Logan was sure that he had some somewhere.

(And then of course there was Malice, Pride, and Rage, but while Logan was aware of their existence, he had never seen them before, and therefore did not know what animals they were represented by, nor how their traits manifest.)

Logan now had animal traits too. His glasses were now round with thick frames, and while his prescription hadn’t changed, they were now magnifying his eyes, making them look overly large and round. His eyebrows had gotten bushier and seemed to be permanently downturned, making him appear to be perpetually glaring. And worst of all, his hair no longer lay flat in a simple, professional style, but rather created two spikes on his head that seem to line up with the angle and trajectory of his eyebrows.

He was an owl. A great horned owl to be precise - and while owls were not known to be any more intelligent than any other type of bird, Logan understood that Dark Sides’ animal traits came from Thomas’ perception of animals, rather than from the actual behaviors of said animals.

This shall… take some getting used to. Still, it’s hardly a great price.

After several minutes of trying - and failing - to get his hair to lie flat, he gave up and decided to just start his day like he always did - with a strong cup of coffee and a nice, healthy breakfast.

Perhaps the hardest part of getting to the kitchen was that, other than his room, everything in the Dark side of the mindscape was a mirror image of how it was in the Light side, though, the fact that there were significantly more doors, and a good number of extra hallways that Logan — even with his more enhanced night vision — could not manage to see down didn’t help. It took him longer than he’d like to admit to make it to the kitchen, and when he got there, he was surprised to find he was not the only one awake.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Anxiety was sitting on top of the fridge, eating chips right out of the bag, and staring down at him.

Logan bristled a bit, which unfortunately meant his hair and clothes flared out like feathers on an agitated owl.

Unfortunate. I should make a note of that for the future.

Thankfully, Anxiety didn’t laugh at him (he wants to, though), instead he just continued to stare at Logan expectantly.

“What’s with the owl getup?”

“Ah, that. I made a deal with Deceit to become a Dark Side.” Logan answered, trying to regain his dignity. Anxiety stiffened at the answer.

“What was the price?” Anxiety demanded, gaze scanning quickly over the room, resting for a moment on a dark hallway that didn’t exist on the Light side, returning to Logan only when he found nothing to be out of place or unusual other than Logan himself.

“This, I presume,” Logan stuck his arms out to show off his unfortunate shirt-feathers. “I’ve become part owl. A bird characterized in popular media as being exceptionally smart, though in reality is of average intelligence for avians. A more accurate choice would have perhaps been a crow or a parrot, both of which are not only considered smart for avians, but for animals in general.”

Anxiety began shaking his head long before Logan finished his rant. “The animal traits are part of the gig, teach, not the price. What did Deceit ask for in return for making you a Dark Side?”

“I, uh, do not know,” Logan admitted slowly. In his haste to become a Dark Side, he had brushed off Deceit’s mention of a price, and now he was faced with the fact that he didn’t know what he paid.

“You don’t know?” Anxiety asked incredulously. Perhaps Logan should have been a little more like Anxiety. Anxiety would have never made a deal if he didn’t know exactly what the deal was, his overly cautious nature was what made Thomas double check the locks in his apartment before going to bed.

“No… I do not.”

“For being the smart one, you sure are a clueless moron.” Anxiety jumped off the fridge in one fluid motion, landing lightly - almost silently - on his feet in front of Logan. “C’mon, we’re gonna go ask Deceit what you paid.”

There was no room for argument as Anxiety grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the kitchen. Anxiety didn’t appear to be thrown off by the mirror image layout, or by the mysterious extra doors and hallways, but Logan supposed that was to be expected.

He has always lived here; he would know his way around much better than I. In fact, he would probably describe the Light Side as being a mirror image, despite the fact that it has the same basic layout as Thomas’s apartment.

“What are these extra hallways?” Logan asked curiously as they passed by two, one on either side. “And there appear to be a great number of extra doors.”

“Don’t go down hallways you can’t see down, and don’t open doors if you don’t know where they lead,” Anxiety ordered sharply instead of giving a proper answer.

“Why?” Anxiety let out an annoyed hiss, and yanked Logan to a stop.

“Just. Don’t.” He released his grip on Logan’s wrist and turned to the door that they’d stopped in front of. “We’re here.”

Anxiety rapped on the door three times. Nothing happened.

“Dee!” He called, knocking again, louder. “I know you’re in there! Open the d-”

The door flew open suddenly, banging loudly from its impact with the wall. A tentacle shot out of the impossibly dark room, wrapped around Anxiety’s wrist, and yanked the Side into the abyss before Logan could even process what was happening.

Barely a second later, another tentacle wrapped around Logan’s wrist, and yanked him into the room as well. The tentacle let go of him, and the door slammed shut again behind him, cutting off the only source of light in the pitch-black room.

“Anxiety!” A voice chuckled. “You never come to visit me! Oh I’m so touched!”

“Get off of me, Duke!” Logan could hear struggling a few feet away where both the Duke and Anxiety’s voices were coming from - as well as an interesting squwelshing noise. “I’m looking for Deceit, why are you in his room?”

“Oh, emo, you’re so funny!” The Duke laughed. “Deceit’s gone.”

“WHAT?”

“Oh yeah, seems he made a trade with a certain, discontent Light Side. I came across this empty room this morning and though it could fit sooo many butts in here, so it’s mine now!”

“Though I loathe to place myself in the middle of this conversation,” Logan interrupted. “Why can’t I see anything?”

“Cuz it’s not your room, dipshit,” Anxiety snapped.

“Now, Anxie, be nice to the nerd,” the Duke cooed. “He’s not from here.”

Suddenly, the lights flickered on, allowing Logan to take in their surroundings for the first time. The room was empty other than for himself and the other two Dark Sides, with nearly pristine white walls and carpet - though a splattering of… interesting colors littered the area around the Duke’s feet. Logan was about a foot away from the door with a tentacle reaching past him towards the light switch.

The Duke was standing in the approximate center of the room, about five feet away from Logan. His two human arms were wrapped around Anxiety, trapping his arms to his sides, lifting him off the ground, and clutching him to the Duke’s chest, while two of the Duke’s tentacles are wrapped around his legs to keep the anxious Side from kicking.

“Great,” Anxiety commented sarcastically. “Now lemme go you slimy-“

The Duke’s final tentacle wrapped around Anxiety’s head like a gag, cutting off whatever expletives were about to come out of his mouth.

“That’s better!” The Duke cheered. “Oh! My my, Anxiety, I didn’t know you were so kinky!”

The words spurred on another round of struggling from Anxiety, but the Duke held fast.

“Now, Archimedes,” the tentacle that had turned the lights on then wrapped around Logan’s wrist and pulled him closer to the conversation, though it was considerably gentler than when it had dragged him into the room - less like being kidnapped and more like having a child excited to show him something. “You can’t see in the dark in other Side’s spaces, it’s rude! You can only see in the dark in your room, and the common spaces.”

“What about all those hallways I couldn’t see down?” Logan asked, ignoring the silent glare coming from the trapped Anxiety.

“Oh those?” The Duke leaned in close enough that Logan could smell his foul breath. “Those are where the Darkest Sides live. The ones that give poor wittle Morality and Anxiety nightmares.” The Duke punctuated this by licking Anxiety’s cheek. “The ones that Deceit keeps under strict lock and key because even he’s afraid of letting them out.”

“Pride, Rage, and Malice,” Logan guessed.

“And me, of course.” The Duke dropped Anxiety in order to pose dramatically, arranging his tentacles around himself menacingly, but artistically.

Definitely Roman’s brother.

“But as I’m sure you know, Raerae, Octopi can fit through any opening they can get their beak through. All Deceit’s horses and all Morality’s men can’t keep me in the darkness forever. Every now and then, I get out and share all my fun ideas with Thomas.”

“Your ideas aren’t fun!” Anxiety hissed from the corner where he’d retreated to as soon as the Duke had released him. Logan noted his defensive stance, darkened eyeshadow, and involuntary hissing, and wondered if Anxiety’s animal traits were perhaps that of a racoon. “Now let us out!”

“Sorry, Tickle Me Emo,” the Duke giggled. He reached a tentacle out to open the door, but instead of the dimly lit hallway Logan and Anxiety had come from, beyond the door was pitch black. “I can’t open doors to the Dark Side unless someone lets me — like you did earlier when you knocked — but since Jay Jay the Jet Plane’s flown the coop, ~no one’s gonna come looking for you,~” the Duke advanced towards Anxiety, his posture and tone becoming less friendly and more menacing. “It’s just you, me, and Pigwidgeon here.”

~~~TO BE CONTINUED~~~

To be clear: Lust is a swan, Apathy is a sloth, Greed is a dragon, and Jealousy is monkey

Ten points if you guess Virgil’s animal traits

Twenty points if you guess what Pride, Malice, and Rage are

General Taglist: @royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple

[korpuskat]

Kinktober Day 12 - Choking - [Katsuki Bakugou/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,017 Summary:  Training with Katsuki takes a turn. Contains: Sex-neutral and gender-neutral reader; choking, D/s overtones (dom!Katsuki), orgasm denial =====

It's a simple agreement: if either of you can't sleep and the other is still up, you go and train until you're too exhausted to stand. It's easy, straight forward, and most importantly it works. It's not about winning.

Which is good, because you never do.

Your hands grapple with his, circling as you test your strength early, waiting for who will start the next bout. The muscles of Katsuki's shoulders flex, the pressure on your hands increases- and you side step, duck down to close the gap between your shoulder and his torso- and he's faster than you. He keeps moving where you expect him to stop. His hand- huge and warm- becomes a vice around your wrist, squeezes down on the little bones there- and pulls you, spins you- until the floor meets your back and knocks the wind from your chest. His weight comes down on you, right on your belly as his other hand lands on your throat and squeezes.

You should be kicking him, rolling off and countering- but all you can focus on is the pressure around your neck, the warmth of his hand and the soft fuzz of lightheadedness that follows. Your hands grasp his thick wrist in a weak, naïve attempt to get him off. It's not how you were trained, you know that- but your eyelids are fluttering, mouth dropping open to suck in more air-

"Fuckin' serious?" He growls, slaps his other hand over your mouth and rolls your face away from him. Your head feels empty. "That's all you got? If you aren't even going to try-"

You lick his palm.

"What the fuck-"

It's sweet, makes your tongue tingle. The hand at your throat tightens on reflex and you're floating too high on hypoxia to even feel ashamed at the weak moan that vibrates against Katsuki's other palm.

"Are you getting off on this?" He bares his teeth, lip curling up into a snarl-

You barely have to arch your back to feel his half-hard shaft along one pants leg. Your words are muffled by his palm, "Are you?"

He grunts, shifts his hips back. "Is that what this was about? The whole time?"

"No," You struggle to speak- and it occurs to you that he hasn't let up on his grip. Your head still spins, thoughts sluggish with the slow, heavy pounding of your pulse against his skin. The skin of your cheeks heats from the restricted blood flow. Your mouth brushes against his palm, more of that harsh sweetness coating your lips. "But you like it too."

"Hng- shut up." The hand over your mouth squeezes down again, keeps your jaw closed. "Losers don't get to talk." Whatever restraint he had is gone now, twisting his body to press his cock against one thigh. "You're not even a challenge for me, you know that? So damn weak you've never won a fight. Is that why you message me so late, so I can put you in your place?"

You whine, your hands finally leaving his wrist to grab at his waist. His body warms and more of his sweet-smelling sweat rubs off onto your face, slips between your lips as you try to lick again. Katsuki takes the incentive, turns his hand and pushes two fingers into your waiting mouth. The flavor isn't as intense as his palm, but it's still there- the scent of caramel, of burnt sugar- and you suck on his fingers like candy.

He groans, presses down on your tongue. "God, you are a slut. What, couldn't just work up the nerve to beg me to fuck you? Or are you some kind of masochist?" His grasp of your throat tightens- and when you squirm, he laughs harshly. "You are! That's why you do this! You want me to use you so bad, fine."

He adjusts again, moves up until his knees are nearly in your armpits- and he takes those sweet-tasting fingers from your mouth. Saliva strings along and you leave your mouth open, ready for his cock. Katsuki shoves his sweats down, reveals his cock and strokes it with his spit-slickened hand. The sight makes you drool, makes your hands twitch to replace his- "You think I'll fuck your face?" He huffs, lips curling into a cruel sneer. "You don't deserve that, suckin' on my fingers like that, you want it too much."

Rebellion sparks; you buck hard, shove at his ribcage- and his hand tightens over your throat again. He holds it there, keeps that pressure on until spots dance before your eyes, 'til your arms go weak, fall down to the floor on either side of his legs. The corners of your vision darken, eyes rolling- and only then does he let up. The world wavers and you fight to focus on Katsuki's face, his lips parted as he pants, his red eyes squinting, lifting up, and the rhythmic beat of his hand increases its tempo.

"Keep your mouth open." He demands and you obey without question, stretching your tongue out as far as you can. He grunts, groans- and his thin, blonde lashes lower as his breath catches. The skin of his lip blanches white as he bites there- and you flinch, close your eyes as the first spurt lands high, arcs from the inner corner of one eyebrow, arcs down to the opposite cheek. The next is more accurate, controlled as he continues to stroke himself- splatters against your tongue, across your lips-

The hand at your throat finally, finally releases its grasp- moving up to pinch the sides of your jaw. You whine, but oblige him nonetheless- let his salty, bitter cum slide across your tongue, coat every tastebud in his flavor. "That's a good slut. Now swallow it."

You obey- and you don't even need his next order of lemme see before you're opening your mouth again. He inspects your mouth- sticks those sweet-tasting fingers under your tongue before grunting in satisfaction. "I might let you suck me off next time, if you manage to hit me."

It's not about winning.

=====

If you like my writing, please consider reblogging or leaving me a tip!

[recollins]

On Three (Spencer Reid x Reader)

You’re strapped to a bomb and Spencer stays with you until they can get it defused.  Pairing: Spencer x Neutral Reader Words: 5,383 Content: Angst Warnings: Bombs/explosives  A/N: I know exactly nothing about actually defusing bombs. I did as thorough of a Google search as I could but don’t hold it against me if this isn’t totally accurate.  Masterlist

--

This is the last time I ever stop and offer to help someone after I clock out, you think bitterly, cursing the engrained manners you’d been brought up with. Man, if you got the chance, you’d make sure your parents never heard the end of it. Yeah, they had a point – being polite definitely had gotten you somewhere in life, but this is not where you’d ever wanted to end up.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Shane sighed, tightening the strap on the vest he’d just wrestled onto you. Your vision was still swimming from the hit to the head he’d given you, but fear had you blinking away the blurring and struggling to sit up.

“Then let me go,” you croaked, voice still raw from screaming as he’d dragged you through the halls of the office you both worked at. Shane tsk’d and gave a placating pat to your cheek. “I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, [y/n], we are,” he agreed, sitting back on his haunches to study his handwork. “And this is what friends do. Help each other out.”

“Friends don’t blow each other up!” you snapped, and instantly the fear was bubbling in your chest again. Fresh tears started to fall as you look at him desperately, reigning in the panic to try and appeal to the human side of him you prayed was buried underneath the heaping pile of batshit crazy. “Please. I’ll – I’ll give you whatever you want. I have some money saved up, I can withdraw it –“

“Don’t insult me. I don’t want money,” he scoffed, shaking his head as he pushed to his feet. “I want all of you sons of bitches to pay for thinking you could fire me. Fire me. I hold this damn company together. And you see? Now it’s all gonna fall apart. Literally.”

The cold, heartless edge to his words set your stomach churning, and the sharp glint in his eye confirmed what you’d been fearing: he wasn’t letting you go.

“I didn’t fire you, Shane. What did I ever do to you?” you whispered, dropping your head back against the railing he’d chained you to. Shane simply shrugged, scooping up the duffel bag at your side and stepping over your legs as he slung it over his shoulder.

“You screwed me over, and then you stripped me of my job. Been here ten years, [y/n], and that’s what you’re gonna do to me?”

“Shane I didn’t do that. I - I’m just the secretary! I just transfer the calls and order takeout!”

“Now you can add bomb-holder to that embarrassingly short resume. For the brief time it’ll matter.” As you met his eyes, honestly not believing he could be this sadistic this effortlessly, he leaned down and hit a button on the front of the vest and instantly it started ticking. The sob tore out of your throat before you could stop it. Shane gave your shoulder one last squeeze before he started off into the shadows. “Like I said, [y/n], I’m sorry.”

You sat in petrified silence for several long, tense moments after you heard the door close down the hall. Completely alone now, desolate fear and despair began to rise up, crash over you like waves breaking relentlessly over the unsuspecting sand. With each pass they grew stronger, colder, threatening to drag you down into the dark depths they rose from.

No, no. You couldn’t let yourself sink right now. Deep breath, [y/n]. Come on. Okay, granted, you were just the secretary for a small insurance agency, and you had no idea how to diffuse a freaking bomb, but you had to do something. There was no way you were just sitting here letting yourself be a victim.

Desperately, your shaking hands tore at the vest, careful not to disturb the mechanism on front. From this angle you couldn’t see if there was a timer, couldn’t see the wires to even begin to pretend like you knew what to do if you found them… maybe the straps? Your fumbling fingers felt around your sides, and there! There was the buckle! For several moments you tried to pull it free, but it wouldn’t budge. Another few moments went to trying to twist yourself around just to see…

Your heart sunk. Shane had tampered with the buckle, managing to secure a padlock through it that, of course, connected to the chains that held you in place. You and the vest were all tied together in a pretty metallic bow. Fucking fantastic. The guy couldn’t figure out how to properly fill out his damn timecard, but he could apparently MacGyver a homemade bomb vest to you.  

Okay, new plan: the vest wasn’t coming off of you, so you’d have to come off the railing with it. You could do that. Right? Experimentally you moved to the chains. Shane had connected you to the obnoxiously solid railing that lined the walkway above the first floor, looping it around your upper arms so tight you couldn’t lift them up. You tried shimming your shoulders to work them up, but with how he’d attached the chain to the vest, all you were doing was wearing yourself out.

Fine, new new plan: you’d just fucking rip yourself either out of the vest or off the rails. You couldn’t really get your feet under you for leverage, but damn if you didn’t throw yourself forward, praying the bars would bend, or the straps of the vest would break, or you’d knock loose a secret key he’d left stashed on your body he’d forgotten about…

Nothing. You weren’t budging. Seriously, couldn’t you catch a break and find a loose railing you could snap off? Maybe the lock could jimmy loose if you tugged enough, or maybe you’d find a way to untangle yourself, get free… something! Couldn’t you catch a fucking break? I mean come on, you paid your taxes! You’d switched to a reusable water bottle instead of plastic ones! You made so many donations to the zoo last year you’d earned a membership –

You stilled at the thought and slumped back against the rails, ragged breath catching in your heaving chest. Your membership. You wouldn’t get to use your membership. Out of all the things running through your mind, that’s what finally broke you. God, that membership had been something you’d been working for, something that you’d been building up to all last year. As dumb as it was, you were really looking forward to using it. You got free admission all year long, you got a free meal with every visit, you got a cool little badge you’d pinned proudly to the visor in your car…

Now it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. You would be dead before you got your official membership card in the mail. You were going to die on the floor of this godforsaken call center, chained to a fucking indestructible fence, in a jerry-rigged bomb vest, completely alone. Your sobs echoed around the empty building painfully loud, bouncing back as if they were mocking your last moments, nearly drowning out the click of a door down the hall.

Wait. Door.

DOOR.

“H-hello?” you called, voice pathetically small in the wake of your still-echoing cries. You saw a figure coming around the corner to your right and your heart leapt up. Had Shane come back?! “Shane? Is that you?”

The man that stepped into the dim light of the walkway was definitely not Shane. He crept slowly down the hall, gun held in front of him, making a slow progression towards you as he studied the surroundings. It was dark enough you were probably no more than a lump on the ground,

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, and I’m with the FBI,” he called to you, and instantly you struggled to sit up straighter. FBI? How the hell – “Are you alright?”

“Um, no,” you admitted, and as he started to close in on you, you realized he had no idea what he was walking towards. “Wait! No, stop, you – you should stay back. It’s a bomb.”

Dr. Reid paused just ten feet from you; the light from the lower level was just enough you could make out his features. He was admittedly handsome: short, tousled brown hair, a chiseled face with full lips and a killer jawline, all packed onto a tall, lean frame… in any other setting you’d be blushing and smiling and desperately trying to see if he was interested in drinks Friday night.

Right now, you were so relieved to see a friendly face, have someone there with you, all you could do was stare up at him as tears ran down your face.

“Is anyone else with you?” Dr. Reid asked, squinting further down the hall as he started towards you again. Had he not heard the thing about the bomb!?

“No. I’m alone,” you whispered. “Shane – he, uh, he put this on me. He went out the way you came in. Everyone else was gone for the night.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, relaxing his stance as he reached up to his vest to say quickly, “Morgan I’ve got a hostage strapped to a bomb on the second floor. We need bomb squad.”

As he tucked his gun into the holster on his hip you sniffed and repeated,

“You should get back. I – it’s been ticking for a while now. I don’t know how long it’ll be until it just –“ you cut off as another sob caught in your throat. Instead of listening to you, though, Dr. Reid closed the distance between you and sunk down onto a knee at your side.

“The bomb squad is on their way, and we’ll have you out of this soon,” he said softly. You looked up at him, tear-filled eyes flicking between his own, unable to understand why he wasn’t running the opposite direction. I mean, yeah, he was an FBI agent, but it was just the two of you. No one would know if he just turned tail and ran; you wouldn’t even hold a grudge at this point.

“If they’re on the way, you don’t need to stay. You’re in danger here with me, Dr. Reid,” you reminded again, trying to urge him to go. There was no point in letting both of you die. Dr. Reid studied you for a few moments and then asked,

“What’s your name?”

“[y/n],” you whispered; he smiled and rested a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

“You can call me Spencer, okay? And I’m not going anywhere, [y/n]. I’ll stay with you until the bomb squad gets you free, okay?” when you continued to look up him uncomprehending, he added softly, “I wouldn’t want to be strapped to a bomb all by myself, and I have a feeling you don’t want to be either.”

“No,” you admitted, another tear rolling down your cheek. “Thank you.”

Spencer quirked a smile, hand coming off your shoulder to tug a flashlight out of his pocket. He shone it on the vest as he tenderly poked and prodded the contraption Shane had activated.

After several moments of quiet investigation over the entire setup, Spencer sat back on his haunches, lips pressed together. Instantly you shifted under the chains as you struggled to sit up a little more. 

“How bad is it?” you asked softly; Spencer shifted and folded his legs underneath him to sit in front of you.

“There’s no timing mechanism I can find, so I can’t say how long we’ve got,” he admitted, lips turning up into an apologetic smile. “Bomb squad should be here in a few minutes, though. We’ve just got to wait.”

“And what if it goes off before they get here?” you pressed, the knot of worry in your chest forcing the words before you could stop them. You were really trying not to be so negative, but could he blame you?

Spencer simply shrugged and said,

“We’ll deal with it if we get there.”

Despite the situation you let out a snort that dissolved into shaky giggles, rolling your eyes up; you caught a wry smile from the FBI agent in front of you. 

“Sorry. That’s not funny. None of this is. I shouldn’t laugh at that,” you snickered, shaking your head. Spencer gave a toothy smile and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Laughter’s a completely normal reaction under intensely stressful situations. It enhances your intake of oxygen-rich air, stimulates your heart, lungs and muscles, and increases the endorphins that are released by your brain.”

Huh, cute and smart. Okay, for your last moments, you’d gotten pretty lucky. To your surprise, Spencer gave you an apologetic smile and ducked his head.  

“I’m sorry. Facts and statistics are a passion of mine and I know they’re not comforting to others like they are to me.”

“No, I liked that,” you assured quickly. “I like learning new things, and I’m not exactly doing anything else right now.”

This time is was his turn to laugh, which got another giggle out of you. As you both fell quiet again he cleared his throat. 

“You asked if I was Shane. Is that who did this?” you nodded quickly. “Shane Michaels, right?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“My team and I, we’re the Behavior Analysis Unit within the FBI. Our job is to profile criminals in order to catch them. Shane Michaels was on the short list of suspects -”

“Wait. Were you... this is tied to the bombing at the truck driving academy, isn’t it?” you asked slowly, brow furrowing; Spencer nodded, watching you piece it together. “I’m a secretary here. We do commercial insurance for truckers mostly, Shane’s one of the sales agents. He... oh, god.”

The realization of what you’d just fallen into the middle of hit you hard enough to take your breath away. You squeezed your eyes shut, nausea and fear ebbing into your stomach, making you physically ill. A timid hand reached out and rested on your knee, getting your eyes to open. 

“[y/n]?” Spencer coaxed, ducking down a hint to catch your eye. 

“He uh... Shane had lost a lot of commission off of them but our agency refused to let him drop the company unless they wanted to. Or...”

“Or they were no longer in business,” Spencer finished, and you nodded as you swallowed hard. He saw the look on your face and you asked softly, 

“Why’d he do this to me? I - we were friends, I thought. We’d worked here for years together. I know our boss was firing him for losing us money, but I was always nice to him. Why me?”

Spencer sighed, eyes dropping down for a moment like he was considering if he should answer you. His hand was still on your knee, and you managed to shift your arms enough to rest your fingers on top of his own to get his attention. When he lifted his gaze again, his expression softened. He could tell right now you wanted answers more than anything. 

“Shane’s a classic narcissist. For him, the attempt at firing him was more than just the loss of a job. It was a direct blow to his ego, and he couldn’t let that go. Bombing the trucking company was just rage, just an outlet for his immediate anger. This agency was his main target all along. I don’t think he was specifically after you, I think you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I helped him do his stupid timecard every day,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut. “I ordered him extra egg rolls with lunch. I - god. Instead of just walking past him tonight I stopped to help him carry his bags. I thought he was just cleaning out his desk, and then...” your eyes opened, more tears rolling down your cheeks. Spencer’s face was soft, gentle, filled with a deep understanding that somehow made you feel even less alone. He truly knew the terror you were in, the sadness, the confusion... “I should’ve just gone home. Just walked past him, driven straight home, heated up my leftovers.”

Spencer hmm’d and raised his brows. 

“What’s for dinner?”

He was trying to take your mind off it all. Distract you. Keep the panic at bay as best he could when there was a chunk of explosives resting on your chest. 

“This weird meatball casserole thing,” you started, the face you pulled unable to be helped at the memory of it. He laughed at the look and you explained, “I’m not the best cook, but I wanted to be creative. It’s... well, if I’m in a pinch I could probably use it to fix holes in my drywall.”

The honest, toothy smile he gave you got another unexpected giggle from you. 

“I’m not that great of a cook either,” he admitted. “Usually I resort to take-out. I’m not adventurous enough to try my own creations.”

Now you were both giggling, the sound thankfully drowning out the incessant ticking for a few moments. When he met your eyes again, you found yourself admitting,

“Usually I do take-out too. I’ve been trying to save up money, though, so I’ve been getting ingredients on sale and then pretending I know what to do with them.” Spencer made a face and you nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that’s about how well it’s working out.”

“What are you saving for?” he asked, tipping his head to the side when he caught the instant embarrassment that lit up your face. “If it’s personal you don’t need to answer -”

“No, no. It’s... I like animals. A lot,” you admitted, clearing your throat. “I just earned a membership to the zoo, and... they have this program where you can sponsor an animal. Ever since I was little I really wanted to do something like that. I don’t make a ton here, so it’s been a slow process, but I almost have enough.”

To your surprise there was genuine intrigue on his face, and he studied you with what almost looked like admiration. Seriously, if you could get the eminent death device off of you, you’d really need to find out if he ever got some free time away from bombs and weird animal-obsessed insurance secretaries. 

“I think that’s really neat,” he admitted, without a doubt pulling a blush out of you. “What animal do you want to sponsor?”

You gave a shrug of your shoulders and explained, “I can’t decide. Actually, I was gonna go to the zoo this weekend to look at them all. But now I...”

You cleared your throat and fell silent; the ticking seemed to get even louder just to mock you. Spencer’s hand, still on your knee, gave a gentle squeeze. You hadn’t noticed your lip was trembling until you tried to speak and only a whimper came out.

“We’ll get you out of here,” he promised, the assurance in his voice soothing the tight ache in your chest. You went to answer and without warning, the steady ticking of the bomb stopped. 

You actually gasped, going completely still, eyes flicking between Spencer’s own startled gaze and the vest. The unearthly silence you’d plunged into brought on a wave of hope, and then loud, frenzied beeping began. 

“What that? What’s happening?” you gasped, hands flying to the contraption on your chest in panic. Spencer was on his knees instantly, catching both your wrists in one of his hands while he leaned closer to study the vest. 

“I don’t know - [y/n], hold still. Take a deep breath, okay? Let me look,” he instructed, voice gentle but commanding, putting the brakes on your alarm as you struggled to suck in a ragged breath. He was mumbling under his breath, soft brown eyes flicking over the vest, lips finally pressing together as he lifted his gaze to you. 

“Please tell me,” you begged him; when he still didn’t answer, you managed to twist one of your hands over in his to squeeze his wrist. “Please.” 

“The display is flashing red,” he described, leaning back a hint. “Nothing else has changed, but -”

“But this isn’t good,” you finished, fresh tears forming. Fast beeping? Flashing? It had to be about ready to go off. “Spencer, you need to leave. This is gonna go off and you’re -”

Spencer let go of your wrists, and before you could miss his warmth, his hand took firm hold of one of yours. He sunk a little lower in front of you to meet your gaze with a resolute, unwavering stare. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you.” 

You clung to his hand, managing a nod, sucking in another shaking breath. You really didn’t want him to get hurt, but... you really didn’t want to be alone. Maybe that was selfish. I mean, this guy could die because of you, but the thought of having to sit through this alone was almost more frightening than the bomb. 

Almost. 

Spencer has his phone out a moment later, and he popped it onto speaker as it rang. Not a moment later it picked up and the person on the other end instantly said,

“Squads three minutes out, kid - what’s that beepin’?” 

“It just started doing that,” Spencer rushed. “And it’s -”

“You’re still in there? Reid, Hotch told you to evacuate -”

Spencer’s eyes flicked to you and then back to the vest a heartbeat later; you caught sight of the headset he’d radioed in on earlier. He’d been told to leave, and he was still with you?

“Morgan, it went from ticking to beeping, and now it’s flashing red. I need you to walk me through what to do.”

“What?! No, kid, just wait for the squad. Do you know how dangerous -”

“I don’t think we have time for the squad,” he admitted, and instinctively your hand tightened on his. He met your eyes instantly and said softly to you, “Morgan’s studied how to defuse bombs and he’s the best chance we’ve got right now.”

“Spencer he’s right, you need to leave,” you begged, guilt and fear swirling inside of you. You tried to pull your hand free and his own tightened. “Just go. Why are you staying? You don’t even know me and this is gonna kill you -”

“It’s my job to protect those who need it,” he told you firmly, voice low with resolve. “I told you I’m staying, and I meant it. We’re going to figure this out together and you’re going to go to the zoo and find which animal you’re sponsoring. Okay?”

All you could manage was a whimper; Spencer squeezed your hand as he pressed, 

“Okay, [y/n]?”

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding and sucking in a shaking breath. Morgan gave a heavy sigh through the phone. 

“We’re really doin’ this... okay. Kid, do you see any wires?”

“Just two, both feeding into the right side of the display. It looks like they attach to the explosive packs.”

“Okay. This is really important. [y/n],” he said, and your eyes fell to the phone on the floor between you and Spencer. “Do you know if there was a remote detonator, or a manual switch?” 

“He - he pressed a button before he left,” you said quickly.

“Can you show Reid where it was?” 

“Um, I couldn’t see, really, but...” you shut your eyes and tried to picture where his hand had been. “Is... is there something on the upper right side?” 

“Yes, two buttons. Morgan, one’s yellow, one’s black.”

“Alright. [y/n], do you know if he pushed the top or bottom one?”

“I don’t, I’m so sorry,” you rushed out. Morgan instantly said, 

“Ay, that’s okay, sunshine. Kid, yellow one’s on top, right?” Spencer made a noise of confirmation. “Okay. We only got one shot at this. You sure you’re good doin’ it?”

Spencer met your eyes again, giving a small smile as his hold tightened around your hand. 

“I am. Tell me what to do.”

“You’re gonna press that yellow button down and yank that top wire out. As soon as it’s out, you do the same thing with the bottom button and bottom wire.”

“That’s it?” Spencer asked in surprise. 

“It’s a direct connection trigger,” he said quickly. “Disrupt the connector with the signals and it shuts itself off. As long as he matched the position of the wires with the buttons that’s all it takes.”

You hated to ask, but you needed to. 

“What if he didn’t match them up?”

Spencer pressed his lips together; you already knew the answer before Morgan said softly, 

“It won’t really matter past that.”

“Right,” you whispered; Spencer went to pull his hand free and you instantly tightened your hold. “I - I can press the buttons for you. Just - please don’t let go.”

Spencer gave you a soft smile and nodded. “I won’t. Here -” he shifted hands briefly and then positioned your free one against the pack, putting your pointer finger on the top button and your middle finger on the bottom button. “Alright. On the count of three.”

“On three,” you agreed. Spencer’s fingers entangled with yours in your lap as his own free hand came up to the wires.

“One,” he said softly. You took a deep breath. “Two...”

You and Spencer locked eyes, giving each other small smiles as you whispered together, 

“Three.”

--

“Miss [y/l/n]?” one of the officers asked, pausing at the back of the ambulance where you were sitting. You glanced up from watching the paramedic wipe off the handful of superficial wounds along your arm as he said, “there’s someone that wanted to speak with you, if that’s okay.”

Your brow furrowed, but you nodded and sat up a bit. The paramedic, taking her cue, murmured something about checking on you in a few minutes before excusing herself into the back of the ambulance, giving you as much privacy as she could. 

Curiously, you looked around the busy parking lot; it was packed with police cars, the SWAT van the bomb squad had (now unnecessarily) shown up in, and a handful of black SUV’s. As the bomb squad had escorted you out of the building, you’d locked eye with Shane in the back of one. 

The fury on his face seeing you being let out of the vest was something you’d hold onto for a long, long time. His plans had been ruined, all thanks to you - and the handsome FBI agent that came around the corner of the ambulance. You were genuinely surprised to see him - moments after you’d pulled the wires out, the bomb squad had rushed the scene. Spencer as practically swept out of the way, and you’d assumed he and his team had left. 

Admittedly, you were really glad he was still here. Like, really glad. With all the life-or-death peril out of the way, you hadn’t stopped thinking about all Spencer had done. He’d stayed with you, against orders, and comforted you with a ticking bomb on your chest. And, instead of taking off when it was getting ready to detonate, he put his life on the line to take a chance at saving yours. 

You weren’t a romantic, but come on this was kismet. You couldn’t deny it. 

Spencer’s full lips pulled into a wide, honest smile as he took in the sight of you.  You couldn’t help but smile back, butterflies fluttering in your chest as he stepped closer. 

“I’m glad they got the vest off with no problem,” he told you; free of his own vest he’d been clad in, you couldn’t help take in his outfit. A fitted, dark sweater vest over a dark plaid shirt, and a dark tie pulling it all together. His dress pants fit him illegally well, and the converse peeking out from under them confirmed your suspicions from earlier: he was undoubtedly attractive.. 

“Yeah, a few scrapes on the way out, but I’m in one piece so I’m not complaining,” you joked, and to your surprise he stepped forward. He was as close to you now as he had been earlier, but this was different. This was Spencer standing crowded up against your legs, leaning over you, hand coming out to take yours. 

His fingers curled around yours for just a heartbeat as he lifted your arm, turning it over gently to study the marks. The butterflies surged at his touch, and when he lowered your arm and went to pull away, you quickly grabbed hold of his hand. Spencer’s smile faltered into an unexpected shy turn of his lips as you said softly, 

“I can’t thank you enough for what you did. You didn’t have to stay, and you risked your life for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said gently, smile quirking a little more; his hand gave a squeeze and he didn’t try to pull away. The feeling of his fingers tangled with yours was a comfort you had never experienced before. Maybe it was because of the whole held-your-hand-through-a-near-death-experience thing, but Spencer was comforting. 

He was a shimmer of warmth against the cold night, a breath of calm in the chaos of the last few hours. He was the boat navigating the waves, keeping you afloat, guiding you to the safety you’d been desperate to reach. 

In that next breath, you felt the air shift between you and Spencer, a new intensity sparking between the two of you. His soft caramel eyes held you in an unwavering gaze; his fingers intertwined with yours and his grip tightened as he shifted minutely closer. 

Normally, you weren’t one to be bold, but hell. After being strapped to a bomb, what was so hard about taking a chance?

“I’d like to try,” you said softly, eyes flicking between his as you slowly leaned forward, giving him the chance to pull away if he wanted to. Instead, Spencer shifted impossibly closer and you took your chance, leaning up and pressing your lips softly to his. 

Instantly he kissed you back with a power you hadn’t expected from him. Your lips brushed slowly against one another as his free hand came up, cupping your cheek to hold you in place. Your own hand rested against his chest and he stepped into your touch.

His hand slowly slid back into your hair to pull you against him, silently asking to deepen the kiss. Your tongue swept against his lower lip and his mouth parted instantly, his own tongue darting out and brushing your own. His soft, almost imperceptible moan wasn’t lost on you and you swallowed the noise hungrily. 

A horn honked across the parking lot and the two of you jumped back, staring at each other in surprise before dissolving into giggles. You felt your face turn six shades of scarlet as Spencer glanced back towards the black SUV now flashing its lights at the two of you.

“I, uh, I think it’s time to go,” he chuckled, clearing his throat as he finally stepped back and pulled his hand from yours. He was still smiling, though, and he peeked up at you hopefully as he asked, “but um, I don’t live too far from here. And if you wanted, maybe you and I could, you know...”

An idea popped into your head and reached back into the ambulance, grabbing a pen off the clipboard you’d used to fill out some paperwork. You took Spencer’s hand - reveling in the feel of it briefly - and scribbled your number on the back of it. 

“If you’re not busy this weekend, I wouldn’t mind some company at the zoo,” you teased, enjoying the grin that took over his face as he nodded quickly. “You and your FBI profiling skills can help me find the animal I want to sponsor.”

“I’d really like that,” he said as he gave you a wide, honest grin, tongue pushing against his teeth as he ducked his head. 

Okay, okay. So maybe your parents might’ve had a point. Turns out being polite had gotten you exactly where you wanted to be - on a date with the sweet, undeniably handsome Dr. Spencer Reid. 

Next time, though, you could really do without the explosives.

[supernovafeather]

Injuries And Ego

Duke Leto x F!Reader

Hi everyone !

Here's my second fic on Duke Leto Atreides. English is still not my mother tongue so there is certainely some mistakes, but I've been working on it for a while now, so I hope you'll like it !

;)

Also I learned about Dune getting postponed till october 2021 and I guess we're all sharing the same pain.:/

Warnings : description of injuries, blood, violence, rape (just briefly evoked twice and only as examples). And I guess that's it. Maybe some Dom/Sub dynamic but more in the military field?

Not Smut even if it gets spicy at some point.

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

  Limping, gritting your teeth, groaning. It was all you could do properly before reaching the throne room. The doors were still closed in front of you and you sighed, your body aching everywhere. The guards around you were frowning at the look of you, glancing at each other. For once you ignored them, you were not in a mood to teach them discipline even though you were their superior. You still could but you couldn't blame them on this one, you were responsible for your own failure. What a great day to have to meet Duke Leto.

  You pushed the doors open, regaining your composure quickly.You straightened your body, trying not to look too... out of place. You were synonymous with excellence in the Duke's army, but it was not an excuse. Everything had to be done perfectly. Perfection was expected at every moment, especially in his presence. And when you saw Duke Leto sitting on his throne with this stern frown of his, you knew everything had to be immaculate.

  You attempted to kneel down, your face hidden behind your dirty hair when you reached the ground that permitted to dissimulate your grimace. Suffering was not something you were not used to, far from it. But now it was humiliating. And you were the lieutenant scolding your soldiers when they were too lazy to wear a perfect uniform ? What a joke.

  Next step, trying to talk. Hoping that your voice could be found. Something was telling you that this meeting would be unbelievably short.

« Duke Leto, I'm here about the... », you managed to pronunce with such a broken voice that you were not sure if the duke heard you..

  Your eyes still turned to the ground met two boots, and your vision got blurry under the effort that was torturing your poor muscles. Kneeling down was exhausting. You blinked when your body started to shake a bit. The Duke's stern voice saved you when he ordered you to stand up, which you did hiding your discomfort. You clasped your hands behind your back, your lips a straight line and your eyes holding the intense gaze that was not leaving you.

  « Lieutenant... what happened to you? », he asked slowly. His face was unreadable, and would be neutral without the slight frown and the tension in his muscles.

  Usually if something was difficult for many people but not for you, it was looking at him in the eyes with confidence and pride. Somehow you always managed to stay calm in his presence. But today you feared a lot of things. You came back from the battlefield, alive, you didn't lose any soldier, which was a miracle – you hated that word as you always counted on your training and discipline but exceptionally your considered it as the accurate term.

  « We went on the indicated location... », you said before lowering your eyes to clear your throat and eliminate the lump in it. It only led your vocal chords to silence, as dry as the desert you escaped from a few hours ago. You were not even capable of  talking. You should have went to the infirmary but no, you were too stuborn, too focused on your objective. You were not in a good state at all, you moved almost like a walking corpse in front of Duke Leto Atreides, covered in blood, sand, bruises everywhere from your forehead to your ankles, 95% of them hidden under your ripped uniform.

  Duke Leto came closer, his hands still behind his back. This time his gaze was a mix between concern and anger and it was what made you advert your eyes from him. This time you were too weak. You didn't want to disappoint him.

  « Lieutenant, you can't even speak properly. You should go to see one of our doctors. Just tell me the results and we will talk about this matter later », he demanded in a commanding and low voice. Definitely not a good sign.

  Your lungs ached as you breathed in, your body almost convulsing slightly under the suffering you were experiencing. But right after you did your best to stay in your professional stance.

  « Didn't lose any soldier. Enemies eliminated. Area still dangerous. Data still incomplete. Sir.», was all you managed to croak under your breath.

  He nodded and turned his back to you before walking away to his throne.

  « Go to the infirmary right now. Come back only when you will feel better », was his only answer before looking at you again, a hint of pity in his eyes. Precisely the only thing you didn't want to see from him.

  You obeyed, having to hear the nurses and doctors commenting your dozens of injuries. You hated it when they detailed the bruises, the cuttings, the cramps due to dehydration, how they applied their medical supplies on some wounds that made you grit your teeth. Your mood was as dark as the sky at night in the middle of a desert and you could almost feel sorry for the potential soldiers that would have to walk pass you in the hallways. Abuse of power was not your thing but today there could be an exception against some curious eyes.

  It took several hours before you felt better enough to go back to the throne room. Your stance was much more balanced, your legs carrying you at a normal pace, your body cleaned from all the blood, sand and sweat You changed your uniform to the one dedicated to the meetings. As your neck was visible more bruises were coloring your skin, and the textile was not torn this time. Your boots were lighter, your legs suffering less from the contact with the stoned ground.

  Once you entered the throne room you could see Duke Leto standing next to the center. He was looking at his seat with distracted eyes, thinking clearly about something serious and important. Diplomacy ? War ? Commerce ? Strategy ? Maybe he received more information from the battlefield.

  This time you were about to kneel down but even without looking at you he knew you were there. He stopped you from a gesture with his hand, then turned to you with a serious expression as you stiffened.

  « Lieutenant, I learned some disturbing... news about your behavior during the battle », he began in a low and disapproving voice.

  You swallowed silently, feeling your muscles becoming stone-like by themselves as Duke Leto walked closer to you, the dark bags under his eyes emphasizing his eyes animated with authority. You said nothing, waiting for him to give you more details. The strength to look at him directly in the eyes was back but you didn't know if you were glad of it or not. Whatever, you had responsabilities.

  Duke Leto cleared his throat before humidifying his dry lips with the tip of his tongue, letting the pinkish flesh visible for a short moment contrasting with his black and greyish beard. You focused back on his pupils as he squinted to you.

  « They told me you attacked the group of mercenaries with only a part of your battalion even though the orders were clear : ambush them with all your men and don't leave any survivor ».

  He stopped a few steps away from you, an eyebrow quirked as he was waiting for an answer. Well, he was not waiting, he was demanding it, and his tense muscles indicated very clearly that he wouldn't let you avoid the question. This was perfect, you never avoided any of them.

  « We had a few indications about their strategy but it was too vague. We did not know if they were in one group or divided into several groups. The desert did not offer us many choices. I wanted to attack them on two sides at the same time but they outnumbered us. Fortunately a sandstorm helped us to hide away. We managed to take care of the mercenaries once it was over, sir », you said and your leader nodded, his fingers passing through his beard after your exhausted and still fragile voice shut down.

  He stayed silent for a while, holding your gaze with a strange focus. As if he was trying to find a lie in your eyes. This hurt you as you have been serving him dutyfully for years, without failing and without complaining. It was basically the only goal you had in your life, serving him and his family in the military field.

  « Lieutenant, even though I have to congratulate you for not losing any soldier...I have to ask you how you could get injured this... much. I heard you were acting... carelessly on the battlefield but I got no detail about it. You should know very well to keep your distance with the enemy to avoid useless injuries or even death. You are a professional. Or I believed so », he said with a cold voice that made your blood boiling for the first time.

  You breathed in, avoiding his gaze and focusing on the curly hair that were falling over some parts of his forehead, your voice still too weak for your liking.

  « I saved two soldiers who almost got caught in a blast. I got captured briefly and the mercenaries tried to strangle me. I had to wait for almost two hours for the sandstorm to end while I was losing blood, hidden behind some rocks. I would be dead if my men and women were not there to save me. With all the respect I have for you Duke Leto, and I understand your opinion as you don't know half of the things that happened out there, I did nothing that seemed to be careless or stupid. I did my job and I could have died. I'm ready to do it again », were the word escaping your lips with a stronger voice than before.

  Your eyes still focused on his hair, you could feel the time freeze and your muscles turn into anxious and tense flesh under your skin. You hated this silence. You didn't know if this went too far. He was taunting you, which he didn't do usually with you. Disappointed ? Angry ? Was he making fun of you ? It was impossible to be sure. You learned to understand him after all these years working with him, but he could always find a way of knocking people off their balance and their self confidence.

  The deadly desert heat was far away from you now and your body went cold when hearing the soft pace of Duke Leto towards you. Slow. Bringing life after a minute of silence. But what kind of life ? You shivered when he stops right in front of you and your mind cursed as you were almost as tall as him. You couldn't avoid his gaze anymore and you gritted your teeth, ready to get slapped for your potential lack of respect even though it never happened in the past. His pupils were... severe and sad at the same time. You were used to see his tormented face when tough times were back, but this was a different kind of sadness.

  Your heartbeat was deafening you and your clasped hands behind your back began to sweat when the duke lowered his eyes on your neck, his palm getting closer to it. Some flashbacks of the mercenaries trying to strangle you appeared but you didn't pay attention to them. Your leader wasn't about to make you suffocate, it was stupid to think such a thing.

  « So this is the reason why your voice sounds so off today... », he whispered with a frown as he brushed some bruises on your neck with the tip of his forefinger.

  If they weren't injured after the battle, your lungs couldn't work properly anymore. This time you could focus on his eyes as they were not directed to yours. He was entirely focused on your bruises, his face giving away some anger or disgust. He squinted at some point, and he made you look up at the ceiling, pressing your skin a bit more with his thumb. You swallowed, feeling vulnerable but not daring to say anything, your lips and throat already dead.

  « They strangled you... and that's something else right here... » he growled with a clear animosity.

  He brushed your skin with the pulp of his thumb already laying on you, and he made you turn your head, examining this area with a deepening frown before making you look at him, his palm gently pressed on your neck. He was visibly troubled, disgusted, enraged.

  « Did you get trampled by those men ? Or beaten up ? », he asked in a hushed tone.

  You blinked before finding your voice again, trembling slightly under your confusion and your damaged vocal chords.

  « They did beat me up. A dozen of them. Some tried to crush my neck under their boots. The doctors told me I would feel better soon and I would get my normal voice back in a matter of days », you answered waiting anxiously for his reaction.

  Duke Leto sighed as he walked around you, your skin shivering under your uniform as he pressed his hands sometimes on your shoulders, sometimes on your back or on the side of your head, checking for all the colorful stains that poisoned your skin with blood. You were not used to receive this much attention from him, especially this close. The way he was holding you was a mix between gentleness and authority. He was commanding you to stay still while showing you his compassion and worry. You sighed silently when his fingers brushed your hair at the top of your head, his thumb almost massaging your scalp around a nasty bump. He was silent, making every sound of contact between the two of you even louder to your ears.

  His disgusted growl sounded too good, especially so close to your face and you discreetly moved your thighs to sooth the heat between them. He didn't notice anything, and cupped your cheek with this same mix of authority and respect.

  « And you said you were still ready to die if necessary ? », he said in a calm voice, his pupils never leaving yours.

  His question sounded so stupid to your ears. He didn't have any idea of how dedicated you were to him, his family and your soldiers. This frustration made your blood boil again, your look sharpening while you forgot about his calloused hand still resting on your cheek.

  « Sir, I am not the kind of soldier stepping back in presence of danger. I got trained to kill. I got trained to defend you and your family against all kinds of threats. I got trained to get killed if necessary to protect you and what you represent. I would do the same if your son Paul was in danger. If anyone important here was in danger, I would try to save them. I wouldn't hesitate. I almost died, yes. I was closer to death this time, it's true. You expect me to be a perfect lieutenant. I'm certainely not perfect, but I know I'm one of the most loyal. I could have get killed, tortured, raped, they could have tried to brainwash me to make me join them. I know it. I looked at them in the eyes, I saw what they could have done to me or to anyone else only because I'm by your side. Still, if I need to get killed, tortured, raped to protect you, then it will be done. I left their ranks many years ago to join you because you were an excellent leader and you still are. I see it everyday. So, yes sir, I'm ready to die and I'll prove it if necessary all the next times I'll have to fight. In the deserts, in the mountains, here and anyywhere else ».

  Your usual self-confidence managed to soften his face. The thing was that it made you blind. You didn't notice how he has been brushing your cheek with his thumb since you promised to defend his son with your life. You didn't notice how his pupils slowly went from authority to respect to adoration. How for the first time his eyes were shining with pride. How his lips got animated by this grin that was so rare these last weeks. His beard hid how he was gritting his teeth, trying not to leave his composure. How baddly he wanted to kiss you right now, softly not to hurt you but still with passion. He regretted how he talked to you earlier. It was nothing against you. He has been stressed out by seeing you in this state, weak but still trying to stay professional with him. He wanted to kiss you. Again and again. He didn't know if he deserved a lieutenant so dedicated to her own cause. You were so brave. So respectful. Still ready to defend herself against him if he was behaving poorly with her. He didn't know why but he loved this so much. You had this flame inside of you. A true warrior. You were the opposite of so many woman who tried to seduce him without even gaining his interest. And here you were, an elite soldier who had almost kissed Death on the lips in the middle of this bloody desert. He saw you covered of blood, sweat, bruises, with dirty hair, exhausted, unable to speak properly and yet you were superior to anyone else in this galaxy.

  Your eyes fluttered shut when the Duke's forehead met yours gently, your heartrate skyrocketting as Duke Leto hummed so close to your mouth, his own eyelids closed. You could feel his breath caressing your skin, and you were beginning to think that you were hallucinating before swallowing, his other hand resting on your nape, his warm palm making you feel safe, a total contrast with your earlier wariness of his touch.

  « Trust me, I've never wanted to lose you. Far from it. I've always seen something exceptional about you. Never think I don't care about your life or your death. I have to keep some distance with you as I am who I am, but I respect you so much, you have no idea. When you confessed me your fear of being treated differently as you came from an opponent army so many years ago, I knew you were different », he whispered softly.

  You swallowed, still confused by your contact. Your muscles were relaxing though, your brain being lulled by this gentle voice of his, so different. He sighed, brushing your lips with his breath and making you shiver before talking again.

  « If I were to chose one person to protect my family and my kingdom, it would be you. If there is one person I trust wih my life, it's you. I know how loyal you are. But hearing you think I don't trust you enough is enough to make me feel guilty. »

  A fire spread onto your skin as you felt a kiss on your forehead, lasting several seconds, his palm resting on your nape with his thumb caressing your throat without hurting you. Then Duke Leto cupped your cheek when you opened your eyes, his focused on your lips. His face was distracted, like hopeful of something. You've never seen his eyes getting this soft before, and the adoration in them only grew as he looked at yours.

  « You don't know how scared I am each time I hear you got caught in a fight or injured. »

  Before you could stop yourself you nuzzled his palm, some tears threatening to fall. You refused to believe anything of ths was true. It was impossible. A few moments before you thought he didn't trust you anymore and now...

  … now he was getting closer again, his lips just a few inches from yours, his eyes half-closed. His calloused hands cupped your cheeks and he looked at you with an expression so intense and focused you thought you were about to melt. When did you put your palms on his chest ? Why was he so warm even through his uniform ? Were you ready to go further with him ? It was just crazy and...

  « May I ? », he whispered tenderly, getting slightly closer to you.

  You answered with a weak « Yes » and closed your eyes. He hummed softly and your fingers grabbed the textile on his chest when he sealed your lips with his. You could only melt in his embrace, getting completely lost in both of his passion and gentleness. He deepened the kiss after a few seconds, one of his hands resting on your back to pull you closer to him. Your fingers caressed his scalp gently, playing with his curly hair, enjoying the moment as if it was a privilege that would never happen again.

  It was stronger than you, you felt disappointed when he broke the contact but you moaned immediately after when he kissed you again, his tongue begging for access, his hand on your back sliding slowly underneath the top of your uniform. Your grip on his body tightened and the kiss became a battle for dominance between both of you. As no one was winning after a while, you had to stop, forced to do so by the lack of oxygen.You recognized his hunger for control when he attacked again, this time making you moan loudly as he took possession of your mouth with his tongue. Shortly after the man was driving you crazy, harassing your cheeks and forehead with so many tender kisses that you definitely thought it couldn't be real. You felt weaker than ever when he whispered your name in pure adoration, your lungs empty when your back reached the wall behind you.

[saferemercer]

Worthy

June 26th, Late Evening, After the Queen’s Gala

"There ya go lass, she's all set for yeh!" 

Safere glanced at the dwarf gryphon master, still holding the winning ticket in her hand. To the right of her, stood Snowbeak, the majestic, white Wildhammer gryphon she had just won in a high society raffle. The beast was immaculate; feathers shining in the moonlight, beak seemingly polished to a mirror sheen and talons sharp as adamantine steel. She was straight out of a storybook. 

Safere looked down at her rented tuxedo; a crab meat stain on her collar, one cufflink gone and her shoes having stepped in something grey and slimy. She didn’t want to think about that too much. All in all, she felt pretty damn foolish standing in front of this paragon of gryphon-kind, ready to take her as a mount. 

“So uh...you have any tips for how to...uh, care for her?” she asked. “I mean...I have another gryphon, but he’s older and kinda half-blind…”

The dwarf chuckled, unlatching the gryphon’s chains. “Oh, Snowbeak is ah’ feisty young lass, she’s gonna want ta’ fly around prettah’ often. You’ve got ah’ roost fer her, yeah?” 

Safere rubbed the back of her head. “Yeah...definitely,” she hoped. 

“Good, good. She needs tha’ best of care! You gala types can manage that, ah’m sure. You ah’ knight or ah’ cleric of some kind?” 

Safere rubbed her head, harder. “I’m...a...uh, protector.” 

“Protector! Ha, tha’ sounds good! Yeah, Snowbeak is fit fer the grandest of adventures. The soarin’ clouds, the tallest mountains, the greatest-” 

“I get it, I get it,” Safere said, through gritted teeth. “I’m...sure we’ll have a wonderful time together.” 

The dwarf shrugged and gave Snowbeak a final pat on the snout, before he opened the gate and led her out of the pen. Safere walked up to her, trembling just a little. She raised a hand and brought it down to touch her beak. The gryphon stared into her eyes, as she was touched. Safere swore she could sense a subtle disappointment in those eyes. She sighed. 

“I know, Snowbeak...we’ll...make this work,” Safere said, now starting to regret ever taking a raffle ticket. 

July 20th, Mid Evening, Crowsfield.

Snowbeak was screaming at her. Well, squawking might have been more accurate, but it sure felt like screaming to Safere. If the beast could speak common, she had an idea of the level of vitriol she’d be experiencing right now. 

“I know, I get it, you’re angry!” Safere grumbled, trying to clean her feathers with an old brush. “We don’t...we don’t fly as often as you’d like...and I wish I could fix that, but I just...don’t travel as often as some people. Ok?! Buddy doesn’t mind, do ya pal?” 

She turned to the black gryphon in the pen next to her. The cross-eyed, older gryphon was chewing on a large ferret he had caught earlier that day, but in the same way a tired farmer might sip on a tall glass of sweet tea. He was in no rush. 

As if Snowbeak could understand Safere’s words (she was almost certain she could, some days), the majestic gryphon snorted at her, in seeming disgust. 

Safere sighed. “Yeah, I know, you don’t like being compared to Buddy. But he’s the only gryphon I’ve ever really known before, so maybe we can just-” 

Snowbeak raised her legs and flapped her wings right in Safere’s face, knocking her to the ground, landing flat on her ass in the dirt.

“Oh, fine!” Safere shouted, lying down in defeat. “Have it your way! I’ll just let you-” 

“Might I be of assistance, Miss Mercer?” 

She looked up to see a man in copper colored armor, standing above her, offering a hand. She turned around and gripped his palm, rising back to her feet. She recognized the man immediately. He was the only one she knew who would wear a fully enclosed helm in such sweltering weather. 

“Mordecai, right?” Safere asked, despite knowing she was right. She just..hadn’t spoken to him that much. 

He nodded. “Indeed, Miss Mercer. Mordecai Sharpe, at your service.” He sounded calm and helpful, even if his expression was entirely unreadable. That copper-colored mask he wore always bore the same neutral, placid expression. His eyes were the only thing that could be seen. Kind brown orbs, blinking every so often. 

Safere sighed, dusting off her trousers. “Well, uh, have you got any experience with gryphons? At least more than I do?” 

Mordecai nodded once more. “I rode one for nearly a decade. Back when I was a more...active member of The Silver Hand. She was a gorgeous creature, fair and swift...but I didn’t appreciate her at the time.” 

Safere blinked. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I...neglected her,” he began to say. “Not in the sense of health or feeding, I assure you. I always kept her well fed, clean and cared for. Until the day she died, she never missed a meal, nor was she abused. But…” 

The man’s shoulders fell, for but a moment. “I didn’t truly appreciate her. I never even named her. Not really. Whenever a fellow knight would ask me, I would say something like...Silverwing or Judgment. But it was a hollow excuse for a title. I simply didn’t care. She was a beast to be used for glory. Much like a sword or a shield. Cared for, certainly. But never loved. Never seen as more than a tool.” 

Mordecai turned to look at the gryphons. “Do I have your leave to approach her?” 

“Sure,” Safere replied, shrugging. “Just be ready, because she’s in a mood.” 

He walked up to Snowbeak, slowly reaching into a pouch on his waist and retrieving a handful of wildberries. Once he reached the gryphon, he held out his palm and let her eat from it. She did so with some trepidation, but soon enough, had cleaned his gauntlet entirely. She then leaned her head against his arm, as he stroked her gently. 

“A beautiful lady...you should be very-” 

“HELP!” 

Mordecai and Safere turned around to see a young woman running toward them, a distraught expression on her face. The paladin ran forward to meet her halfway. 

"Miss, what is wrong?!" 

"Please, they took my brother, please they took him into the forest-" 

He laid a hand on her shoulder...and she seemed to calm down, enough to explain more clearly, at least. By then, Safere had joined Mordecai by his side and was listening closely. 

"She took Theodore, the...some witch, I saw her snatch him from his bedroom window and take him into the moor! I tried to run after her, but these...skeletons rose up from the dirt! Undead monsters! Out in the Bleakmoor! Please sir, miss…please help my brother…” the girl wailed, tears welling in her brown eyes. 

“We have no time to lose. Miss, return to your home and wait for us there. We will find him. Safere,” Mordecai said, turning to face her. “Might we-” 

She nodded, already running back to Buddy. “Come on!” she called back. Fiddling with her ebon gryphon’s chain, Safere mounted him and pulled the reins. He may have been an older gent, but Buddy knew when it was time to get serious. Years of getting Safere out of sticky situations had given him a kind of sixth sense. He rose to his feet and flapped his wings, ready to burst off. 

Mordecai was running up now, while the young woman returned to her homestead.  He looked at Buddy and Safere. “I...don’t know if I’ll be able to fit on there with you. Or if your gryphon can carry my extra bulk,” he said, gesturing to his mix of chain and plate mail. “Perhaps if-” 

Safere shook her head. “You’re taking Snowbeak!” 

The paladin shook his head. “No, miss Safere, she is yo-” 

“This is not the time to argue, pal! Get to it!” Safere shouted. 

Mordecai nodded and ran to the ivory bird, expertly climbing upon her saddle without even a wayward twitch from the proud beast. She shrieked out a battle-squawk and took to the air almost immediately, leaving Safere and Buddy to catch up. 

They were soaring above the hills now, keeping low enough to spot any figures...if it wasn’t so bloody dark. 

“I can’t see a damn thing down there!” Safere shouted, the wind coursing through her hair. 

“Let us remedy that,” Mordecai roared back. “Cover your eyes, Mercer! For just a moment!” 

Safere did as she was told, bringing her wrist back across her eyes, just as the night turned to sunrise in front of her. Her peripheral vision was a holy inferno, but it soon faded enough until she felt comfortable to gaze openly again. Mordecai was still glowing, casting a net of light across the hilly moor below. 

“There!” he said, pointing down. Sure enough, no longer shrouded beneath a barrow-hill, Safere could spot a crowd of figures. Over a dozen skeletal warriors, covered still in the dirt and grime of their former resting places. Most gripped broken hatchets and rusted blades. A couple held ancient shortbows. These two decrepit snipers took aim as Safere and Mordecai came down upon them. With surprising dexterity, an arrow was loosed, aimed right at Snowbeak’s chest. 

But the gryphon saw it coming, swiping the missile away with a talon. The other shot toward Safere and Buddy; its aim was less true, allowing them to dodge the projectile with a quick turn. By then, the two of them were landing. Hard. 

Snowbeak smashed into the center of the undead, scattering two of the boney bastards into splinters. Mordecai pulled his great morningstar from his shoulders, the flanged head gleaming with golden fire, as he slammed it into the rotting ribcage of another, crushing the sternum and wasting the foul creature away. 

Safere came down less glamorously, but no less effective. Her cutlass in one hand, silver edged and shining, slicing through the skull of the axe wielding monster nearest to her. The foolish archer she had landed by, tried to swat Buddy with his bow, only for the elder gryphon to grab him in his beak and snap his spine. 

“Interlopers!” A shrill voice screamed. Safere turned to see a wretched old hag, twisted and deformed, holding a young boy by the scruff of his pajamas. The child was wailing, kicking at his captor, to seemingly no avail. “You will not stop the sacrifice to Gorak Tul!” 

“Gorak Tul is vanquished, fiend! Killed in his own realm of shadow and failure!” Mordecai growled, shattering the knees of an approaching skeleton. “You will accomplish nothing!” 

“Yeah, you suck!” Safere helpfully added, stabbing another undead. 

“Fools! Gorak Tul’s spirit lingers, forever! And I will be his new bride!” the witch shrieked, raising a twisted dagger to the child’s throat. “The boy’s blood will show me the way!” 

Safere grit her teeth, looking around for any options. There were still a half dozen skeletons advancing. Buddy was fighting off one more to her left. Snowbeak...was gone. Where had she-

Mordecai let loose a sharp whistle. The gryphon moved so fast, she was more of a blur of white upon the wind, than any discernible form. Just as the witch had barely begun to look behind her, she was rammed by the Wildhammer gryphon, sending her gangling form flying forward, her loose grip on the boy’s shirt going slack, as he fell a few feet to the ground. 

Safere ran over to him, making sure he was unharmed. Aside from some dirt stains and a bruise on his shoulder, he seemed to be fine, if still wailing and terrified. Within that handful of moments, Mordecai, Buddy and Snowbeak had dispatched the handful of remaining skeletons, their bones scattered and unmoving. The witch...lay in a defeated pile nearby, groaning like a sickly weasel. 

“You are beaten, monster. Submit and be judged!” Mordecai commanded, his aura pulsing like wildfire. He stood above the subdued wretch, morningstar at her throat. 

The witch mewled and raised her elongated arms, in a show of surrender. “I...yes, I am defeated! Oh, brave and powerful paladin! I...submit to your mercy! Please!” Her yellow eyes wide and pleading. 

“Mercy! How could a villain such as you deserve-” Mordecai began to say...before stopping and sighing. “Very well, witch. You will come with me, bound and subdued...to be judged by the people of Autumnhearth! And see what mercy they lay upon you!”  

The paladin barely shifted his gaze, but for a mere moment, he did glance at his belt, to retrieve a length of rope...only for Safere to watch as the hag began to channel a pale blue energy in her palm. 

A Ruinous Bolt! Safere thought to herself. She had been researching just last night. In a flash, she drew her Gnomish pepperbox from the back of her trousers and fired. One, two, three, four…

Her aim did not fail her. Each silver shot ripping into the hag’s flesh, with the last metal ball landing right between her sour yolk-yellow eyes...which made the spell in her palm fade away and the witch slump back onto the ground, as dead as her would to be husband. 

Mordecai looked back at the shot riddled body and exhaled. “My thanks, Miss Mercer.” 

She nodded, sweat dripping down her forehead. In her arm, the young boy blinked and wiped away tears. “That was...so loud!” he squeaked. 

“Ah yeah...sorry about that, Theodore,” Safere said, grimacing. “But it’s over, your sister is waiting for you.” 

The boy nodded and hugged her, still crying, but less feverishly. Mordecai came over to him, kneeling down and offering a hand. 

“How would you like to fly on a gryphon, master Theodore?” he asked. 

For likely the first time that night, the boy smiled. 

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

The reunion with Theodore’s sister (Charlotte, they learned) was full of more tears and smiles alike, but the boy was soon returned to his own bed, with a small number of local farmers promising to watch over the house until morning. Mordecai would join them, sitting down by the front fence with Safere. Snowbeak and Buddy waited nearby. 

“That was...an exciting evening, wouldn’t you say, Miss Mercer?” Mordecai said, having removed his mask, among the two of them. Safere had seen his burned visage before and grown accustomed to it. The permanent half grin across his partial lips and exposed cheek, were little more than a beauty mark to her by now. 

“Hell of a lot more...fighting than I expected, that’s for damn sure,” she said, sipping from a glass of fresh milk. Supplied by Theodore's grateful farming family, after the two of them had refused the meager amount of silver they had scraped together as a reward. “But this is good cow juice.” 

Mordecai sipped from his tin straw and nodded. “Indeed. Regardless, you fought well. Thank you again for your expert shooting.” 

Safere chugged the last half of her moo-juice and stood up, brushing off her pants. “Don’t mention it, Mordo. Last thing I needed tonight was having to tell Wes that her Warden took a Ruinous Bolt to the chest.” 

He chuckled and stood with her. “You recognized the spell? How impressive.” 

“Yeah, all that reading paid off, just like Mere said it would,” Safere replied, smiling. 

“You make the steward proud, I’m sure,” Mordecai said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you returning to Easthollow with your gryphons, then? They’ve had a busy evening too.” 

“One of them, yeah,” Safere said. 

“Good, I hope they-” 

The paladin turned to look at her, confusion in his eyes. “One of them?” 

“I’m leaving Snowbeak with you, Mordo. You made an incredible team. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna break that up.” 

Mordecai shook his head, raising a hand in disagreement. “No, Miss Mercer, I couldn’t accept such a-” 

“First off, call me Safere. Or Saf, even,” Safere said, making sure her cutlasses were properly attached to her belt. “Secondly, I’m not gonna hear any arguments on this. Snowbeak deserves someone like you. Someone brave and worthy of her. Someone who can make the best use of her skills. And that ain’t me.” 

The man was silent for a moment. “You are worthy of more than you think, Mi...Safere. And you are as brave as any champion of the Hand that I’ve ever known. You joined me in the search for Theodore without a second thought. Lent me your steed, without hesitation. Charged into the mass of undead and stood by my side.” 

He whistled, causing Snowbeak to trot over. Mordecai rubbed her neck and watched as she nuzzled back. “If this is your desire...your command, I will do so. I will care for and love Snowbeak, as I failed to do for my former steed. But never believe it is because you are unworthy. Promise me this.” 

Safere sighed and smiled, looking down at her boots for a second or two. Before returning his gaze and nodding. “I promise.”

He nodded back. “Good. Also, I ask that you bring Buddy along to visit every so often. The two are quite...attached.” 

She blinked and looked from Snowbeak to Buddy. The white gryphon was looking back at him, softly cooing. Buddy in turn was waving his wings slowly and...prancing? 

“Buddy, you scoundrel!” Safere exclaimed, laughing. “Have you been laying down some moves behind my back?!” 

Buddy squaked, shaking his wings and hopping up and down. Snowbeak scraped her talons in the dirt and squawked back. 

“Best warn your gryphon master of the possibility of eggs, in the future, eh?” Mordecai cautioned, chuckling along with her.

Safere gave him a thumbs up. “You bet. Keep safe out there, Mordo! See you soon!” She left with a spring in her steps, mounting her flirtatious bird and soaring off toward Easthallow. The wind in her hair felt like energy flowing through her. She let out a loud “woooooooooo!” and grinned. 

It had been quite a night to fly. 

[iwriteforthetincanman]

Mandoctover Day 15: Jetpack

WOAHHHHH WE’RE HALFWAY THERE OHHHHHHH LIVIN’ ON A PRAYER!

(or alt. livin’ on pedro’s Din Hair~)

ALSO GENDER NEUTRAL READER BROUGHT TO YOU BY @kiwi-the-first

@dindjarindiaries @leo-moon

Warnings of physical harm, mild to severe concussion (up to you but Din’s basically drunk on pain meds) Also there is a hetero couple in this that I LOOSELY based off of my high-school music teachers but oh well. 

(I had to use this gif, I know it’s not a Frankie fic but you’ll get it once you’ve read it XD) Somedays you thanked both the Maker and the Armorer for Din’s jetpack. 

Today...wasn’t one of those days, if this morning was any sort of example.

Firstly Din had grabbed you with no warning whatsoever, picked you up like you were a ragdoll, and to top it off, he thought it was okay for him to launch into the air with you completely unaware of the complications of flying.

Y’know...with no armor on to cushion your breakable body.

Maybe he knew this in the back of his mind. But his carelessness towards the situation pissed you off more than you cared to admit. 

That all came crashing down when he shielded your body with his against a crumbling mountainside. 

Tearing recklessly through the rubble you screamed his name until your throat was scratchy. When you could no longer speak let alone shout, tears blurred your vision. Rubble, boulders and stone. You didn’t know how much longer he would be okay for...he didn’t know your true feelings for him, romantic or otherwise. You couldn’t do this alone. 

That’s when you heard him rasp against the stone destruction.

“Cyare-” 

This time you were crying in happiness, hope yet the searing pain was still there as you could only just make out the outline of his visor. It was cracked in some places. You hoped he had suffered any brain damage...thank the gods, at least he recognised you.

“Mando! Din! Are you okay? Can you hear me?” You shouted quietly this time. Not wanting to bring any unwanted attention back to yourselves. You were both running out of time. 

Din was in no shape to use his jetpack...or to fly the Crest.

Which meant only one thing...either you let the baby drive, or you would end up destroying his precious Crest one way or another. 

You knew what he would say if he were half conscious.

“Get out of here, go. I don’t care about the Crest-” The romantic part of your brain effectively cut you off as his hand wrapped around your wrist. 

Nothing was broken thank god but you had no clue about his vital organs, his ribs or, gods forbid, his lungs. 

You had no idea how to treat a punctured lung. Not only was this mission’s time coming to a close alarmingly fast. You also needed to race to the next safest planet just to find the best medical care the both of you could afford.

---

“Y/N Djarin?” 

“...Y/N Djarin?”

Preparing for a fight as you had fallen into an uncomfortable yet fitful sleep next to his bedside, you could only cry with relief as you saw a doctor and a nurse standing in front of you. 

“We have a few mandatory questions for you. Heh, Mandatory questions for the Mandalorian that is.”

Any other day you would’ve found that funny, maybe Din too if it was a good day. 

A babble of laughter erupted from your lap. Ad’ika was wide awake. 

“Thank you...for cheering him up when I couldn’t.”

An exhausted sigh left your mind as you glanced over your beloved Mandalorian...what a mess. 

A beautiful mess to you...but to a doctor. You had no idea how you were going to afford this. 

“I have a few questions too if you don’t mind answering them doctor…” trailing off you hadn’t caught the medical duo’s names

“Dr.Pavan, Dash Pavan. And this is not only my wife but my assistant doctor/nurse Pana Pavan.” Wow, this couple was all about repetition huh. 

“Uh...I’ll call you by your first names if you don’t mind.”

“Oh everybody does dearie don’t worry about it.” The female doctor was built very similarly to you, which scared you in a way because of how put together her life was in comparison to your...well, at least yours right now.

“I...don’t know how I can afford the medical treatment he needs. It’s true that his line of work isn’t good to him but I can’t just let him die either.” Attempting to keep yourself together, you saw pain and sympathy flash through the couples’ eyes. 

“We know exactly what you’re talking about. If we didn’t make nearly as much as we did last year I could’ve died myself...I was expecting y’see and well, we lost our daughter.” Pain rang through your heart as your hands tightened around Ad’ika’s slouched form. He was tired but he refused to sleep, just like his buir.

“I’m so sorry...I can’t imagine what that must be like. I’m scared too.” 

“If the force is on your side dear, you never will, and the husband is always the biggest of help, I love Pav with all my heart and I knew that when we married we'll stick together no matter what. Which is why I married him in the first place. It was tough...it still is sometimes when we face similar cases today....which is why we offer free medical care to those who need it the most.”

You couldn’t help sobbing into your son’s head as they told you this. They were so kind when the rest of the universe had been so cruel to all three of you. It was a race for the little moments...moments like these when all you could do was watch as Din got better more and more every day. Yet you continued to lie just so you were allowed in. 

It wasn’t your fault they mistook you for his wife. You cared about him a great deal, you weren’t afraid to show that now. Not after this accident. You knew when he woke up...you were gonna tell him how you felt. Whether he reciprocated or not. 

It was...one of those moments

---

“Good morning Djarin.”

“Hello Pana. Please, call me Y/N.”

“Oh shucks. Alright Y/N. That’s such a badass name, Y/N Djarin.”

“I guess so.” you chuckled.

“So...how did you two meet?”

Oh no...now you had to lie for real. 

“Well...he saved me. I was all alone with only an Ugnaught named Kuill to guide me, he was like a father to me. Then, late last year, he was killed. Protecting the little one from imperial troops.”

“Oh my!” 

“I know...sounds way more dramatic than it actually was, believe me. Well...in my case anyway, I’m...just a mechanic. I’m nothing special.” 

“Dear listen to me. Everyone is special in this universe. My mum taught me that. When she passed away I was devastated for years. Then I met Pav and...everything just fell into place.”

“...it was like that with me and Din. Although...I’m not afraid to admit it was puppy love. When I walked into Kuill’s hut that night I wasn’t expecting another...bounty hunter to show up. Let alone a Mandalorian. I wanted to ask him so many questions, yet I didn’t want to pry about his culture...his past. There’s still some things to this day I don’t know about him...but I remember when I started falling in love…”

“Aw...You sound like you’ve come straight out of one of my western novels!” 

You blushed at this admission. Not wanting to sound like the starry eyed waif that you were. You fell in love with the man...not the helmet or the blasters and definitely not that infernal jet pack. 

“One night...Ad’ika was fussing and I just snapped. I couldn’t cope, it felt like the stars were imploding on me. I couldn’t sleep, my hormones were going crazy (this isn’t aimed at a specific gender btw) I refused to eat until after I slept so my stomach hurt. I was going through the paces of newfound buirhood it seemed.” You laughed to yourself.

“Buir?”

“It’s Mando’a for parent.” 

“Oh, they are a very gender neutral race aren’t they?” 

“Yes...it was also one of the many reasons I didn’t know if he was gonna love me back. I was scared. To say the least. When he startled me awake I realised I had been close to dropping Ad’ika on his head. It hurt me...that I wasn’t being a good mother. It was so unexpected...I didn’t have any heads up whatsoever.” Laughing to yourself at the memory now, you realised how fond of the both of them you really are. They were your Aliit.

“I love them both so damn much…” Reaching over to Din’s bed side, you grabbed his bandaged hand. Rubbing the newly discovered yet so ardently him, tattoo with a smile on your face. 

“I will always love him...I know that now.”

---

You were standing in line for some caf at the hospital canteen when you ran into Pana again.

Or...more accurately she ran into you. 

“DJARIN! Y/N! I FOUND YOU!”

“Yes Pana you found me.” You were way too grumpy and sleep deprived for this much energy, which is probably why you missed the cheshire cat grin on her face.

“YOUR HUSBAND IS FINALLY AWAKE! DON’T STAND THERE WAITING AROUND FOR SOME CRAPPY CAF!” Yanking the empty plastic cup out of your hand she yeeted it as hard as she could towards the bin. 

“That’s so bad for the enviro-wait...what did you just say?”

---

You had never run so fast in your life, you didn’t think it was possible for your lungs to burn. 

Dashing through the door, your heart warmed at the familiar sight. Ad’ika was babbling up at his father happily once more, his helmet resting in his son’s hands as they talked in hushed tones. Clearing your throat playfully yet with your eyes full of tears.

“Din...you’re awake.” You tried so hard not to cry, you really did. 

You didn’t even notice both the doctors step out of the room to give you both some privacy. 

“Good morning...my love.” 

Then everything froze.

“...Pana told you didn’t she.” 

Deadpan tone returning to your voice...you knew he was never going to let this one go. 

“Actually I kind of like it.” 

“You, you do?”

What the kriff was going on?”

“Yeah, I mean I always hated your last name.” 

“Djarin that’s so unfair how could you say-”

“Only because I’d happily give you mine.”

Was he….proposing?

---

When Pana and Pav next entered the room you didn’t even realise that you had gained a concussion from keldabe kissing him so hard. 

They gave you a pink and blue bandage though…

Besides the modest wedding band on your finger, it was a badge of pride that you were now happily married to Din Djarin. 

Although getting married in a hospital wasn’t unconventional, you adored the fact that Pana and Pav happily agreed to be your best man and woman. Seeing as they brought you two together of course. They easily forgave and forgot the common lie of pretending to be someone’s wife/husband/partner just to see them. 

A couple months later you were buzzing with joy about telling Pana about the daughter you had named after her.

[wkngsnds]

So remember when I published “Whether You Fail or Fly”? I rewrote it! Well, some parts of it; I tried my best to reach the dark tone I was aiming for, fixed some things I thought were awkward, and so and so forth. I hope y’all enjoy it all the same.

I’ll post it on here too under a read more.

Title: Your Side

RATING: Teen and older audience

Two weeks ago, he never wanted a tool. Tonight, he’s grateful to his hitwoman.

Fuyuhiko had not been the type to black out during his fights; in fact, he savored every cut and bruise that he could take before Peko eventually intervened. He exists in a constant state of irritation with his anger never falling far behind. Despite being a yakuza, or perhaps that is exactly why, his anger was his weak point— almost as blinding and fervent as Kabukicho during the night. Just like his parents, he got hot under the collar relatively quickly and chose to focus all his energy on his victim, so he’s an extremist in his own right too. Fuyuhiko preferred to handle things “a man’s way”: being direct as possible instead of exhibiting a passive aggressive attitude. He believed he could smash his way through his opponents as he refused to lose sight of his goal.

Tonight was no different.

Peko never got hit during a fight— she was fast, strong, and cunning. However, it would be more accurate to say that she couldn’t afford to get hit; a thousandth second too slow, a single hair strand out of place, and it would all be over. She exists in a hypervigilant state even within the confines of the Kuzuryuu manor. It is not that she lacks trust in her “coworkers'', per say, but protecting Fuyuhiko is the only thing she finds herself capable of doing. Truth be told, even with a small army of guards roaming the grounds it does not guarantee his safety, but by acting as his shield he’s all the more safer. It’s why she keeps her mind blank, but never loses focus; that is not to say she does not think at all— if anything, she is the type to overthink matters more than someone in her position should. These constraints both forced upon her and self practiced are why her rage is restrained. She’s not the type to anger easily, but when the emotion visits her it must be leashed and kept within bounds.

Tonight was no different. 

An ocean of alarm and disquietude drowned the underground of Tokyo, and nearly flooded the overground the day after Fuyuhiko confirmed Natsumi’s corpse. It had not been long until civilians heard of the misfortunate incident, and they took it upon themselves to go home earlier than usual as a precautionary measure. Even if they did not know Natsumi, her surname carried all the weight it needed to: it was not just a member of the clan who died, but someone with a direct relation to the leader. This action of avoidance, of course, did nothing to deter the Kuzuryu clan from their own private investigations; they were a 24/7 kind of business, after all. Each family belonging to the Kuzuryu-gumi had crawled out of their own holes-- those who supported Natsumi above Fuyuhiko worked especially hard to find their princess’s murderer. Then there were those, in their true yakuza nature, who wanted to take advantage of her death to strip the Ultimate of his inheritance. For them, it had not been a simple preference of the younger sibling, but instead a dissatisfaction and disfavor for their patriarch’s son. By extension, Peko received the same condemnation if not to a worse degree. Those in Natsumi’s faction who were slightly sympathetic to the heir blamed the bodyguard for his physical weakness and lack of will; her entire presence caused his spoiled and rotten nature. Put simply her existence, they thought, hindered his bloodlust. Others argued that the main family was not meant to kill as they were an ‘invisible hand’ which directed them all. A minority thought Peko to be a better yakuza than him, but they were smarter than to voice that opinion. There were also a few who thought him cursed— a way of karma for all the blood the clan spilled since its early days, and that blood most certainly flowed like a river. Nevertheless subsidiary matriarchs and patriarchs respected him as their heir at best, but they would not hold their breath for him either.

The funeral service would bring out the worst in the family.

Nastumi died in less than a week of attending the academy, so the two knew their investigation was limited to this timeframe. After confirming her corpse’s identity, the next step was to speak with the custodian who found her; if he had decided to keep information from the police Fuyuhiko had no qualms in using extensive methods of extraction. Meanwhile, Peko worked to address the rumors of a supposed pervert who was thought by the students to be the perpetrator. The mysterious figure had stolen one girl’s swimsuit, and then planned to violate the young mistress (the disgusted rage she felt momentarily dulled the pain in her wrist as her hand formed into a tight fist). Peko knew she needed to focus, so she took a deep breath and went to look for the first girl whose swimsuit had been taken; if the two were both victims to the degenerate, then it was important to establish a possible connection or a pattern. On the hand, if the attacks were random, it would have been hard to track down a possible suspect with the incredibly vague information. They also did not allow Fuyuhiko, understandably, to enter the crime scene, so her chances of success in that area were virtually zero. On the other hand, if this were a targeted attack, then there was a greater problem to be dealt with, and this girl might be connected.

She could not recall any subsidiaries with the name Sato, but it was also possible her mother married out of the respective family. Furthermore, Peko had not been ignorant to the clan’s...favoritism, but she would not be convinced by the apparent blind adoration; it could have been the start of a coup d’etat, and her young master would be the next target. Peko already failed both Fuyuhiko and Natsumi by not protecting the latter, failure to aid him in apprehending her killer or letting him die meant she truly was useless. Therefore, finding this girl and ‘speaking’ to her took over all her priorities. The kendo athlete scans the morning cafeteria until she spots her suspect (someone had kindly described her appearance) sitting at an empty table near the large windows. Like a tiger, she moves carefully to disappear from the girl’s direct line of sight and peripheral vision; she intended to take her by surprise— using that confusion to assert dominance in the conversation and as momentum for a potential confession. However, before Peko could get any closer Mikan had unfortunately bumped into her; like always, the nurse made a scene whenever she apologized to someone, and blew Peko’s cover. To make matters worse, she spotted the injured wrist she acquired from punching the wall yesterday, and became shockingly insistent on treating the wound. Mikan did not yield to any of her protest, and all but dragged her out of the cafeteria to the nurse’s office. For a weak willed clumsy girl, the kendo athlete did not expect her to be as firm in her handling.

True to her sensitive nature, Mikan noticed Peko’s state of irate despite the latter having a stoic face, and began to apologize once again. Stuttering throughout her explanation, it appeared as though she hardly slept the prior night. Mistaking the red eyed girl’s neutral, if not apathetic, question for sympathy the super high school level nurse rambled on about doing an emergency shift at a nearby clinic. Yet, even for Peko who was only half listening something felt off.

‘What you just said...was a lie, wasn’t it?’ A tit for tat question. 

‘H-Huh?! You w-were able t-to tell?’ She focused on the splinting for a moment, ‘U-Um...Pekoyama would it be too presumptuous to ask...if I could c-confide in you with s-something? I-It feels like my chest is going to explode if I can’t g-g-get it out.’

She’s weary of agreeing, but slowly nods her head nevertheless. 

‘I...I saw the body. Kuzuryu’s little sister...W-We found her in the music room l-last night.’ 

‘What did you say?!’

‘Eek! I..I’m sorry!’

‘Tsumiki, you need to explain to me exactly what happened. What do you mean ‘we’?’

At 7:30 pm, both yakuza convened at the heir’s off campus apartment to consolidate all the information they gathered. After deeming that he had nothing left to hide, Fuyuhiko “convinced” the custodian to allow him into the music room. There’s a tight feeling in his chest at the sight of the white tape— he had seen it plenty of time, but knowing it was his sister’s outline made him lightheaded. However, he knew there was no time to be distracted by his grief; he needed to devote all his energy on finding her murderer. Fuyuhiko mentioned to Peko that he saw the broken glass from where, according to the police report, the criminal had escaped.

‘It also said a nearby guard heard the sound of the glass breakin’ but never saw or heard anyone runnin’.’

‘That’s suspicious.’

‘Yeah, and there ain’t any security video footage of a shady person walkin’ ‘round campus. Not to mention, that hole in the window don’t look big enough for someone to jump through. None of this fucking shit adds up!’ He viciously kicks the low table before falling onto the couch behind it, rubbing his eyes and groaning loudly as he did, ‘Either this sick bastard is crafty as hell or...or someone who knows this fuckin’ school’s layout did it.’

She assumes a pensive position, ‘So, someone within the school is the culprit...? I believe that is an accurate deduction. There are even suspects to support your theory.’

‘W-What? Suspects?!’

‘Tsumiki, Koizumi, Hiyoko, Mioda, and a person by the name of Sato were at the crime scene. As it were, those five were the first to encounter the young mistress, and most likely—’

‘The ones who started the rumor of a pervert going around.’ His fists tightened to the point where his fingernails cut his skin and he began to bleed, ‘Those cunts...those goddamn fucking cunts...if it turns one of them killed Natsumi...I will never fucking forgive them. If all five of them were in on it...I don’t care how much blood is on my hands I’ll slaughter them all.’

Peko could not bring herself to calm him down; she shared his sentiments, after all. 

The next day went by in a blur. For the first time in a long while, the two yakuza were on the same wavelength: Peko advised him to avoid confronting any of the suspected girls without enough proof less he scared them away losing their only lead. Conceding to her counseling, he keeps his distance from them and their own classmates in general. However, he did not stand by, and instead went to question a few of the students in 77A. In return, he asked her to monitor the behavior of those four— they were citizens who, more than likely, had never dealt with corpses or killings in their life which he thought gave Peko a great advantage. Bluntly put, it takes a killer to know a killer. 

At the end of the day, when all was said and done their respective tasks were successful enough to narrow down their suspect list quite considerably. Fuyuhiko learned that not only was Sato with his sister on the day of the incident, but the two often bumped heads with one another. Concurrently, Peko overheard an anxious Mahiru mumble about needing to meet with the same Sato during their lunch break, so she messaged him those details when Koizumi had left the classroom. Although he didn’t find them in time to eavesdrop on their conversation, he had caught a glimpse of someone (he assumed to be Sato) throwing away what looked like paper into the garbage. At first he made sure to stay out of sight, but as soon as the coast was clear he made a beeline for the trash bin.

And just like that the number of suspects dropped from five to two to one.

In hindsight, investigating Sato and Koizumi should have been their first thought, but both were neglectful towards Natsumi’s own complaints and scheming. They had not noticed the particular animosity she held towards the photographer, and instead considered it yet another part of her antics. With Fuyuhiko constantly running away from all criticism and Peko mindlessly chasing after him, they never once considered looking behind them to see if she needed help. However, why would they need to? She was strong, probably stronger than the both of them combined and more than they’ll ever be. It is why she had been so reverend throughout the clan-- the reincarnation of a legend or perhaps something even greater than that. Where they both lacked brutality, bloodlust, and pride Natsumi made up for it a thousand times over. Fuyuhiko could still remember the day his father scolded him right after Peko rescued him from the man’s chokehold; it was a heated argument over something senseless the teenager had done earlier that week which left the patriarch a mess to clean up. 

‘This is why you need a fucking tool and your sister doesn’t. Maybe if you had your act more together like her, you would be half the fucking yakuza she is!’

Whether or not they moved forward is debatable, but they left her behind to fend for herself. Natsumi was a tough girl in a league beyond their own, and they were too wrapped up in their selfish problems. Truthfully, Fuyuhiko and Peko knew they were as responsible for her murder as Sato was. 

‘I will NEVER FORGIVE YOU!’

-- 

When the two finally returned to Fuyuhiko’s apartment they sloppily kicked off their shoes, and collapsed from exhaustion in the seats of the sleek black dining table. True to their upbringing, they had chosen a seclusive section of the nearby riverbank as the dumping ground. The route from the school to the river was relatively light, but the combined weight of the corpse, adrenaline, and guilt made it all the more treacherous to walk. Initially, Peko suggested contacting one of the nearby families who worked in construction to place the cadaver in concrete, and then toss it into the river. After a few moments, however, he refused. Fuyuhiko did not want to hide the body; he wanted her to rot for as long as possible before she was found— maggots crawling in and out of the holes they made of her. Normally, he wasn’t the morbidity type, but it would be a lie if he were satisfied with her death alone. Again, it was the first time in a very long while that they were on the same wavelength. 

Fuyuhiko could only watch as Peko stood, unsurprisingly, before he did; she had greater stamina and...experience than he did in all of this. She left his direct line of sight, but kept herself in his peripherals. For him, once the adrenaline of killing passed, the soreness dropped upon him like a ton of bricks, his muscles were tense, and it felt as though the slightest movement made his joints crack. He could feel the phantom force from swinging the corpse back and forth before throwing it down the bank. He rested his forehead on crossed fingers as his eyes briefly crossed over; part of him felt ashamed for feeling so weak-- what did that say about his future as a patriarch? He only did the killing, but Peko, like always, ended up cleaning his dirty work. In this case, she was the one who quite literally carried dead weight on their walk to the river. He did not argue when she picked up the corpse like a sack of rice and arranged it to fit in her kendo. The angles were awkward, but after breaking some joints here and a few bones there the corpse fit perfectly. All he could do was watch her. What could he say that would not end with him being in her way? He knows he can trust her to handle this, but what gave him the right to sit back and do nothing? He can do with expressing gratitude towards her or, at the very least, express a greater sense of gratification at avenging his sister. 

But all he felt was exhaustion.

 “You need to bathe.” It is rare for her to speak with a semblance of authority in her tone towards him, so she captures his attention quickly. On any other day, he might have told her kick rocks for treating him like a child, but he can only put up half a fight tonight. 

“It can wait until morning.”

“No, it cannot.” He heard her reach into a separate duffel bag she left in his apartment earlier this morning, “The stenches of blood and death are ones that linger if you do not remove them immediately. I am sure the doorman noticed, but kept his mouth shut.”

From the bag, she first pulled out a loofah and an antibacterial wash set. Next, there was a roll of black bags, a bottle filled with what he assumed were cleaning chemicals for the bat, and a cardboard box. He handed over the baseball cap at her request; she placed them in one of the aforementioned black bags along with her own and instructed him to throw his personal trash in there as well since she would burn everything later. He could also hear the crinkling of the paper that was used to wrap the corpse being stuffed into the bag. Watching her fix the box and line it with another black bag— the way her movements were quick and sharp nearly gave him vertigo, but it’s her calm demeanor (as if doing everything from muscle memory, which was most likely the case) that causes all his hairs to stand. This...this was her true speciality, wasn’t it?

Still not being able to raise his head, he asked if his own clothes needed to be burned as well, but the kendo athlete reminded him of the suit’s hefty price tag, thus intended to send it back home to be thoroughly cleaned. However, in all her fretting of his needs the realization hits him,

“What about your clothes?”

“Please do not worry about that.” 

“You just said we have to get rid of the stench, so do you have clothes of your own--”

 “Young master. Please go bathe.” Her voice initially sounded strained, then slowed down as if she were controlling her breathing. Not only was this a part of her speciality, but it was clear she had a method for her work that she hadn’t been too keen on straying from-- it was the same inflexibility (one not so different from the blond) that would get her killed on Jabberwock Island. For all the exhaustion Fuyuhiko felt, Peko silently masked her oncoming mental fatigue whilst also trying to ignore the ton of guilt weighing on her. From her perspective, she had just failed for the second time in a row: first, by allowing Natsumi to die and second, by allowing Fuyuhiko to kill by himself. It was not as though she could rid herself of any culpability, because she has disobeyed him in the past for the “sake” of his protection. So why didn’t she refuse him now? He had instructed her to act as if they were fellow high school students, so she would have been well within her orders to randomly check on her-- if not as the young master’s sister, then as a member of the Kuzuryu family she was owed the respect of being welcomed. What made his order so particular this time around that she found herself unable to deny? To make matters even worse, she allowed him to sully his hands with death while she stood and watched the bat crack Sato’s skull open. If she were forced to make an excuse, then it was as if some external power prevented her from interfering. Maybe it was a part of her, the human part, that understood it had not been her place to interject-- that she knew him well enough to know this revenge and avenge was to quench his heart from the sorrow plaguing him. No, perhaps this humanity of hers knew from the very beginning that he would not have been satisfied if Sato died by anyone's hands but his own, so she took the extra precautions to protect him throughout the conspiracy. Taking this into account, it was only natural that the tool she considered herself to be would come into conflict with the meddlesome human she actually was. 

As per usual, his movements drew her out of her spiraling thoughts; his stumbling did not go unnoticed, but before she could reach him to help stand, he had already taken the wash set, grabbed his nightwear, and headed towards the bathroom. 

 “There’s a washer-dryer set in this closet. Wash your clothes.” The door shut promptly behind him

Normally, it took him 15 minutes to get himself clean, but the falling of hot water on his back kept him in for five minutes longer. For five minutes longer, he mulled over his ambivalent thoughts— remembering how Sato’s face contorted into shock, and then overcame by dread and terror at the sight of him...it elevated him. The way she tried to run from him, but Peko threw her to the ground; kept down by an elbow between the shoulders, yet her head kept up by her hair. He’s never felt that kind of power: having everything and everyone in his control. For once, they feared him and not her. For once, someone begged at the feet for his mercy and not his father. 

Did Natsumi beg for her life?

Was she afraid?

Did she call out for him?

Then came the boiling rage once again; the jarring reality that it didn’t matter if he killed one person or left an entire town to die, he still had to bury his little sister. He knew her death wasn’t his fault, he’s not that delusional, but he thinks he could have stopped it. If he stopped running away from being compared to her, would she still be alive? He could have been a better brother if he had not been such a damn child. Would she have come to him for her personal problems if he was? If he had convinced their father that she needed a bodyguard if only to keep her out of trouble would that have kept her safe? If he let Peko go check on her, she would still be here, wouldn’t she? He watched as the blood from his hand (there’s only a crack on the tiled wall) washed down the drain, and then turned the faucet off altogether. As he dried himself, he noticed the basket he left in the washroom before the shower had almost been emptied save for his underwear and socks. He only rolled his eyes at this; she did this every once in a while when they were at home, and he grew tired of chastising her to let the maids do their jobs. Fuyuhiko could not begin to understand why Peko did these silent and small acts for him-- her only “job” was to follow his commands; going beyond that just seemed unecessary. It only dumbfounded him more when he realized, at some point, that she’d done more for him in a single week than he’d seen his parents do for each other since he was born. Of course, it was twice as aggravating when she opposed him returning those small acts every once in a blue moon. 

He exited the bathroom with his pajamas on and towel over his head as he found her meditating in the same clothes she arrived in. Everything around her had been prepared: the box of his clothes was closed ready to be sent home, the ‘burn bag’ was placed into her kendo duffel, and her black yukata was folded neatly next to her. 

Truly, that was what a professional looked like. 

“There’s an extra clean towel in the washroom. ‘Left the soap and shampoo inside the shower for you.” 

“Thank you.” Her weakened voice does not go unnoticed by him-- in fact, much of her behavior and mannerisms are more observed than she thinks. Though Peko believed herself to have spoken in perfect monotone, Fuyuhiko was able to hear the falter in the middle syllables*. It had been easier for him to count the days they were separate than together, so it would be highly alarming if he couldn’t pick out some difference in her attitude. Of course, recognizing the problem and doing something about it were two different objectives; furthermore, doing the obvious by asking her what was wrong didn’t seem like the right answer either. How many times has she asked him, and he’d brush her off at best and yell at her ‘to leave him alone’ at worst. What right did he have to interrogate her when he wasn’t the talkative type himself**? 

Besides, the yakuza heir knew the kendo athlete well enough to sense that she would also brush him off in return just so that he would not worry about her. In this regard, he understood how she felt: just like him, she hated when people fussed about her or gave her any more attention than what she could tolerate.  Peko was simply better at masking her disdain than he was; not that Fuyuhiko tried, of course, but still better nevertheless. In fact, this had been one of the many traits they had in common; regardless of surface level differences, Peko and Fuyuhiko were more similar at heart and at will than other people, or themselves for that matter, tended to realize. It’s why they were able to coordinate manslaughter so well.        

She cleared her throat which snapped him back to reality; it’s clear he had been staring at her for far too long causing her to become both concerned and uncomfortable. She tried not to express the latter, but, again, he’s well versed in her micro expressions. 

“Is there something you need, sir?” Now it’s her turn to watch his movements as he made his way to his bedroom, hands fumbling with the towel still on his head as he slid it down to his neck. 

 “It’s nothing. Go bathe while the bathroom is still warm.” And with that she disappeared, the door shutting quietly behind her.

Fuyuhiko released a tense sigh as he sat heavily on his bed. He could feel the conflicting twitch of his nerves; his muscles ached now that the adrenaline passed, but the near state of silence save for the hum of the shower relaxed him. If he has access to a mass fortune (legality of said money’s source notwithstanding), he might as well spend it on a condo away from the loudmouths that inhabited the Hope’s Peak Academy student dorms. Slowly, he picked his feet up onto his bed and laid down on his pillow; it felt like his head would explode with all the pulsing in his veins.

2:20 AM.

In three and half more hours, he will be awake for twenty four hours— nothing unusual for him, but worth noting in silence.

He breathed. 

Shuffling was heard in the background. 

 2:36 AM

Fuyuhiko was half asleep when Peko finished showering, and caught her trying to leave quietly. He slowly got up and made his way to lean on the doorframe, hand lazily stuck in his jinbei, and watched her. Despite all her yukatas being black, they had subdued patterns on each of them if one looked closely enough-- the blond was trying to discern whether it was her plain one or one that he bought her. He had gotten two of them for her birthday and Christmas last year, and all but screamed at her in an attempt to convince her to keep them.  

He speaks up “That’s the birthday one, right? Your yukata.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you greatly once again.” With a towel in hand, she continuously wrung out the excess water out of her hair, “The material is incredibly comfortable and breathable.” 

Recognizing his semi consciousness, Peko seemed more relaxed under his watch; though it wasn’t her place to understand, she remembered him doing this when they were children. On the worst days (i.e the patriarch and matriarch endangering his life during their fights), he would not fall asleep despite being put to bed first by the maids. Instead, he would watch her nestle into her spot beside him, and only then could he fall asleep. She just like then, she told him to put his worries aside, sleep for the rest of the night, and advised him to take today off as no one would dare pester him over his absence. Though, for as long and as well as she knew him, it was ironic how concerned Peko was for Fuyuhiko yet remained oblivious to his deeper troubles. It’s why she mistook the worry in his apprehension at her leaving for a sense of weariness and exhaustion to which she promised she’d quickly leave him to rest. Of course, her words only inflamed the expression on his face (that was not ironic, but instead typical) while his arms crossed in a defensive position.    

Even if she knew her heart to be kind, she could not comprehend why that kindness would be extended to herself, a tool, and therefore she could not understand why he protested her leaving.

“I-It’s the middle of the night in Tokyo; there’s some pretty drunk bastard roaming out, no doubt.” 

“I will avoid confrontation.” 

“Didn’t you say the lock at the girls dormitory is super loud? Wouldn’t you cause a scene entering this late?”  

“I can move quickly before I am spotted.”

“Gh-- Your hair is still wet, and then you’ll get sick dumbass!”

At this she looks at him directly with a raised brow, but he doesn’t meet her gaze. Her hand rested on the string of her sword bag, “Please do not worry me. I will be fine.”

He seemed to have no more arguments.

 “Then, if there is nothing else you need of me, I shall leave you alone now.” Just as she headed to the door and reached for the handle, Peko paused. Perhaps what he needed now was...comfort, though the bodyguard is not confident enough in doing such a thing-- at least, not in the way he may need it, if at all. Who could fault her hesitation? The last time she tried to ease his worries she let too much of her own weakness show and it worsened the situation.

But if she could provide him some closure...

“What?”

Her posture straightens to face him, “Sato deserved to die-- no, she deserved a fate worse than death. Even Koizumi should...” She stabilizes her breath and unclenches her hand, “I digress. You did it: with your strength and your wits, you killed Sato. That being said, accepting the fact you’ve murdered another person is not without trouble. Regardless if they deserved to die or not, regardless of how strong or skilled you are, regardless of premeditation or in the heat of the moment. Someone’s blood is now personally on your hands.”

“And there’s going to be more in the future.” 

“Yes...I suppose that is inevitable. Please forgive my impudence, young master. Sleep well.”

Just like that she messed up again; she wonders when she’ll learn to just keep her mouth shut instead of trying to comfort him...or whatever that pathetic display of encouragement-- if one could call it that. Peko reckons that life would be easier for the both of them if she were a simple yes man. As per usual, being so wrapped in her worries of offending him she failed to perceive the true problem he was facing at hand. When the yakuza heir said there would be more bloodshed, he did not intend to brush her off, but meant that the responsibility and weight of killing was something he needed to adjust to sooner rather than later. Of course, his usual poor communication which fought with a trepidation he tried to hide from her did nothing to help her understanding.

Sometimes, Fuyuhiko forgets that Peko isn’t a mind reader, so there’s no possible way she would know he feared losing her the same way he lost Natsumi if she walked out the door this instance unless he spoke bluntly.

“Stay with me.” 

The blond wasn’t sure if the words even left his mouth, and if they did he had not been sure if she heard him. Even though he had always been told to command her, he could never bring himself to do it-- there schools lives notwithstanding as he convinced himself it was for both of their sakes. It wasn’t like Peko’s...circumstances were unique to her; in fact, there were plenty of subordinates throughout the gang who shared her position, her ‘status’ as an object. The self-justified feudal system the clan upheld made bile rise to his throat each time he thought about it. Fuyuhiko has witnessed firsthand the horrid treatment of those people (tools, as they were denoted): the fear in their eyes, the way their bodies are thrown like rag dolls, and the absolute aura despair surrounding them. He doesn’t want that for Peko, he doesn’t want her to be his victim anymore than she already is.

In the end, it seemed that she did hear him, but not in the way he expected when she kneels with her back to the door placing her shinai on her lap. 

“I don’t mean guard my door. I meant that I want you to spend the night with me.” 

So much for speaking bluntly.

“Young master...?” 

“Fucking hell-- look, what I meant was,” He exhales forcibly, “What I mean is...remember when we were really small, and I had those shit fucking nightmares? How I wouldn’t sleep until you climbed into bed next to me?” 

He relaxed when he saw her relax. 

“I understand.”

He speaks slowly hoping to regain some composure, “I know this kind of thing is inappropriate even if we’ve done it already. I-I mean, we’re high school students now, ya know? Even if it’s just sharing the same bed space, this isn’t something teenagers should be doing. But I...I just--” 

“It’s fine. You do not have to explain yourself to me.”

“So you’re okay with doing it? Sh-Sharing the bed, I mean. And don’t say just yes because I asked you, got it?!”

For the third time, “I understand.” 

Now it was Fuyuhiko’s turn to overthink their conversation; he knew neither of them were the ‘heart on the sleeve’ types, but he wonders how much exactly she keeps to herself. Whether she thinks him pathetic or weak, but wouldn’t dare tell him directly to his face. Whether she truly hated his existence, and put on a front because she had no other choice. Theoretically speaking, it was a silly thought to worry about. He knew she all but worshiped the floor he walked on-- excused his behavior when it shouldn’t have been excused, took all the cursing he threw at her without blinking, and so on and so forth. But knowing all this and hearing her curt responses did nothing to ease the tension of his nerves.

If Peko thought him incompetent, was there truly any hope for him?

 It doesn’t take him long to set up a makeshift divide on his queen size mattress with an extra pair of flat sheets. Fuyuhiko was in bed before Peko as the latter made sure to lock the door; just like earlier, all he could do was watch her move about doing her own security check. He doesn’t think he’d ever find a justifiable reason for all his starring-- perhaps hypnotism would be the closest explanation. She does everything from opening and closing the window (checking it’s bullet resistance and angles for assassins, no doubt) to leaving the room to make sure the front door and balcony door were properly locked. When she returned, Peko looked over the bedroom; with a small sigh, it seemed her rigid inspection was finally finished. 

Seconds after this, the lights were turned off as now the soft glow of his bedside lamps filled their portion of the room. The mattress dipped when she sat down, and Fuyuhiko heard the faint sound of the silver haired girl fixing her bamboo sword between the bed frame and the nightstand. Her glasses were the last to leave her body, and joined the lamp on said stand. However, before she could lay down Fuyuhiko stopped her with a sudden jolt that even caught her off guard. The yakuza heir reached under the pillow to find the tanto knife he always kept hidden. She had lent it to him long before they arrived at Hope’s Peak Academy— when they went to different high schools; if she were to be separated from him, then at least he could use it to defend himself. Obviously, there were no qualms of ‘packing’ in the estate, but no one bothered to give him a weapon in the first place-- he even had to use part of his allowance to buy his favorite brass knuckles. The clan members assumed with her by his side she was the only weapon he would use. Nevertheless, there had been a sense of satisfaction for Peko that he had kept it with him for the past two years. She had selected the knife from her collection based on what she assessed of his skills and strength.  Once he placed the weapon beneath his pillow, their bodies collapsed on top of the blankets— each letting out an exhaustive sigh. It was the kind of exhaustion that made it impossible to sleep despite a long day of physical labor. Neither of them could be bothered to switch off the lamps, so they laid in silence for a few moments, eyes facing the smooth ceiling above them.

“Hey, Peko. My bad for cutting you off like and saying shit like that.”

Peko was never sure how to take his apologies; she was not the type to hold grudges, and she had never done so with him. They were unnecessary, as she thinks she would forgive him no matter what he does (to her or otherwise). Therefore, she took a moment to choose her words carefully; perhaps if their relationship were better, she would be able to speak more comfortably around him. 

“You needn’t apologize. You are correct: once you ascend to your role as the patriarch, you will have even more enemies.” Her tone becomes more assertive, “Rest assured, I will be the one to dirty my hands and cut them down if they oppose you.”

 “I still should let you speak.” He stared back at the ceiling,  “You said something like that before, ‘Someone’s blood is my hand now’. What were you gonna say after that?”

“Simply...that it would be wise to detach yourself from what you’ve done. Regret is futile, but to associate this with any kind of pleasure is dangerous as well. If you let Sato haunt you it will be as if you never killed her at all.”

“I-Is that what you do?”

Peko eyes darted across the roof above them as if looking for something that wasn’t there. She was a child the last time she gave too much thought into her first assassination; she’s more ashamed for allowing her emotions to seep through than the killing itself. 

“I don’t feel anything when I do. Not anymore.”  

“When was the first time,” Why does he keep pushing her about this, “That you killed someone?”

How could she forget, “When Mr.Hiromitsu notified Lord Raiden that his team identified our kidnappers, I was instructed to dispose of them.” 

He could only stare horrified at her. How does one respond to that? To be told that the person laying next to you, who you grew up with and were closer to anyone else in this world, had been turned into a murder at the age of six. He knew his father wasn’t a saint and in fact might have been the devil himself, but there was something particularly putrid about involving children with his bloodthirst. What was the point of having a code if the boundaries were blurred altogether? Sure, Peko had stained her hands with blood now, but what was his father hoping to accomplish by sending her out to do something so dangerous at the age of six? What if Peko failed and died? Did his father, or his mother for that matter, think they could just replace her without him noticing or caring? His parents should be smarter than that. His parents should know... 

He might have been foolish enough to fear her as children, but they should have known how worse everything would have turned out if they let her die.

 “Young master, I am sorry for my failures on that day.” Her voice brought him back before he spiralled into an abyss.

 “Huh?! Peko, what the hell are you talking about? We’re both still alive ‘cause you were the only one who had any sense left.” 

The swordswoman sat up, feet swinging onto the floor— he couldn’t see the expression she was making, but he didn’t need to know she was blaming herself. Again.

 “My inability to control my emotions worsened our predicament. If I had controlled myself as I was supposed to,” Her fingers gripped the yukata, red eyes dulled and downcasted, “Then perhaps we would have returned to the manor sooner. If I kept my head clear…it is my fault we were lost in those woods for so long.”

He quickly sat up, “Peko, we were six! I’m pretty fuckin’ sure any normal six year old-- hell, any normal person would have also been scared out their fuckin’ wits. Weren’t you just on my case about letting shit go?”

“That is…” What he didn’t expect was for her to turn to him with a pained expression; somewhere along the lines of pleading, regret, and shame all bundled into eyes that once, unwillingly, struck fear into him, “I’m...not...a normal person, I’m-- I am my young master’s tool, a tool to protect you and to kill for you. That is my only purpose. I should never make you doubt your safety. This also means that I must protect what is precious to you, and Lady Natsumi...if I were not so useless she would still be alive and you would not have dirtied your hands.” 

It returned again: the heavy feeling in his chest that was filled with remorse and his self-loathing. He knew she was right, but not in the way she thought. How many times had he pushed for her to be independent of him, to express her opinions and insight? Then, the one time she did as he asked he proceeded to not only dismiss her altogether, but brushed off her rightful concerns for Natsumi’s adjustment into Hope’s Peak. He knew his sister better than anyone, knew the type of trouble she would get into in a normal high school; sure she could throw her weight around ordinary bastards, but this school had its fair share of freaks and superhumans. He also knew that she had Peko run her a few favors (both normal and yakuza related), so it would only be natural for the swordswoman to investigate her transfer even if had no desire of doing so. 

“You...you can’t blame yourself; you were just following my orders. Natsumi was my responsibility and mine alone, and I fucked it up by not checking in on her.” 

But Peko, as stubborn as Fuyuhiko, would not hear it.

“Sir, you mustn’t blame yourself. If I were a tool capable of being trusted, then I am sure your orders would have been different.”

“Why don’t you get it already? Out of everyone in this world, you’re the only person I can trust. Everyone else is willing to kill me without a second thought.” It felt like he was suffocating, “You’re always putting my life first with no damn regard to your own. You're not invincible, Peko!”

“That is exactly why I intend to fulfill my purpose as your tool until I am a corpse at your feet.”

“Goddamnit, we are done with that crap!” He’s grateful that the room was sound proof, “I don’t want a tool! Tools can’t die. They become dull, they break, and you replace them, but they definitely cannot die. If some fucking rotten cunt smashed your skull in you’d die!”

“I-I wouldn’t let that happen, I assure--!” 

Peko’s eyes widened when he suddenly gripped her shoulders; shaking her not violently, but almost desperately as if she would have disappeared into thin air if he didn’t cling onto her that very moment. She had not realized the full look of anxiety and fear on his face until she fully met his stare for the first time that night.

“But you can’t know that,” His voice broke, “You can’t possibly fucking know that! What the hell’s the point if you’re dead?! Natsumi thought she was untouchable, that’s why she was all starting shit with everyone around her. And now what? Now we have to cremate her.”

Finally, his guard breaks and he rests his forehead on her shoulder,

 “So, please...stop saying you’ll protect me until the day you die. I don’t...you can’t expect to keep going with whatever life you give me. It’s not worth it, because if I have to bury you too—”

“...Young master?” Peko remained as still as she could; his voice was so weak that she feared he’d fade away from existence if she made any sudden movements. He was so close to her she was sure he could hear, if not feel, her erratic heartbeat-- not that he fared any better than her at the moment, of course. Since neither were the hugging type (at least not openly), the silver haired girl thought to support him through a light touch on his arms.  

“Please don’t leave me. I’m so afraid. I can’t do this on my own, Peko, I need you.”

Suddenly, his confession sparked a fundamental shift within the two. From her shoulders, Fuyuhiko’s hands now clung onto the fabric of her back leaning into her more, and Peko welcomed him without a second thought. Relying more on her instincts, one arm supported his weight while her other hand rested below the nape of his neck. An outsider looking in may think it a fond scene: two high school sweethearts expressing their love for another in the middle of the night. However, that sort of naivety could only last so long. What the outsider misunderstood was their embrace had not stemmed from affection or intimacy, but possession and obsession as they clung to one another.

In other words

“I will never leave your side, young master. There is no other place for me than by your side. If you wish for me to stay next to you for all eternity then that is where I shall stay no matter what. Even if the world turns upside down, I will stay beside you.” 

“Good.” He pries away from shoulder just to meet her ever intensive stare; it doesn’t affect him anymore (he welcomes it), “Peko, from now on it’s just you and me. Not as master and tool...just together, okay? We live together and we die together.”

“Then let us die of old age and nothing else.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

 Finally, they laid down embracing each other and fell asleep.

 ———

[nicostolemybones]

3 Days + 1: Day 3

Solangelo Spring Ball 2020 collaboration with @solangelover

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

We've been working on this together for a while now and we finally get to post!! I'm linking all the parts together so make sure you reblog them when the links are up and running! You can also find this on my AO3 and FF.N for my collab partner!

@solangeloweek

-

Nico couldn't sleep. He'd tried- and by tried, he meant closed his eyes for two hours, but his thoughts wouldn't stop racing. It was finally hitting him what a diagnosis of a chronic pain condition would truly mean. It meant pain wasn't temporary. It meant he wouldn't recover. It meant he was disabled. And that wasn't a bad thing, or a new thing- but it changed how he viewed his capabilities. He'd always had aches and pains in general, from fatigue and malnourishment he was sure, chronic nausea too. He knew he'd need more tests to determine the exact condition- there was a fair amount of damage to his limbs from the various injuries, nerve damage that flared up, and aches from the constant fatigue made worse by the damp, but his back had started to really hurt more over time, especially in the mornings. It was a deep, dull ache. His back and hips and shoulders ached and his dumb eyes were prone to inflammation and light sensitivity and blurred vision and his posture was terrible but honestly some days his pain stopped him getting out of bed of a morning.

He reached across his bed for the notes Will had made, skimming them. There were vague notes about watching out for fusing vertebrae and fractures and curvature and further breathing issues and future heart issues- something to do with the aorta and a risk of the valve- something going wrong with it, and that Arthur thing old people get in their joints (arthritis) and some other thing Nico wasn't even going to pretend to understand. Will's writing was terrible, and Nico was confused about ankles and spores written on the page (it did not, in fact, say anything about ankles ankles and spores, just that Will predicted it may have been ankylosing spondylitis, but he'd to run way more tests because onset was usually early adulthood and he couldn't rule out other conditions yet).

Nico put the notes away- he could barely understand them, and honestly, he didn't really want to. Especially because he'd barely been here a few days and Will couldn't accurately diagnose something that fast. He rolled onto his side, although rolling onto werewolf scratches was apparently horrendously painful, so he rolled back onto his back with a huff, gave up, and sat up in bed. Insomnia was here to stay and Nico craved death. 

He reached for his water, ecstatic to find a small collection of pills- he didn't bother checking what they were- he just hoped they took the pain away. He stared at the wall, contemplating his life from now on. Maybe he'd have access to mobility aids that would help him get around easier, but also he might have to cut down on his training. He didn't know what to think. The idea of finally having answers appealed to him greatly, but he wasn't sure if he was going to get the answers he truly wanted. That wasn't anybody's fault, though. He decided not to dwell on it until he knew more. 

Given the fact he'd be awake a while, he decided to make his way to the bathroom to take a long shower- and he realised he didn't even remember the last time he had showered, or really even stripped his clothes off completely for more than a few seconds. The water was so warm on his body, yet the patter of water was an intrusive sensation he wasn't used to. He was used to sink washes and river washes and bucket washes by now.

His skin was grey. Grey with patches of clean skin where he'd scratched, but otherwise otherwise a flaky grey brown tinge masked the olive skin beneath. He knew his hair was badly matted, and regretted that he'd most likely have to cut it out, both out of shame and pain prevention. He remembered the time when he was a little younger and his hair hadn't been brushed for a while, and it took five hours and a lot of crying to get his hair smooth again. 

Nico was shaking. The dirt was so ingrained in his skin that this was his third time soaping himself up, flannel white with dead flakes of skin, trying to make his skin as clear as possible, although he was beginning to suspect that some of the mottled grayish tone over his olive brown skin was more to do with poor health. He'd been in the shower for so long his legs were aching and he was shaking despite the aid of a shower chair, and as Nico cupped his hip joint in his hand, he let out a shaky sob at the realisation that he'd lost weight. He felt fragile, weak, scared- because this wasn't healthy, he wasn't healthy, and he'd been so caught up in the trauma of war that he hadn't noticed the toll it was taking on his body. 

He wanted to be healthy. He wanted his skin to return its usual healthy rich tan, he wanted the dull shade of pallor to fade. He looked like a ghost, or like a fresh corpse, drained of colour like there was no blood beneath the darker melanin of his skin. He was paler than he had been as a bouncy kid, sick.

As soon as he was clean enough he exited the shower, looking in the mirror whilst he leaned against the sink to catch his breath. His eyes were sunken, the delicate flesh below looking almost bruised in its grey/purple discolouration, and he looked… normal.

It surprised him. 

Because he was so sure his distress was obvious, but he could only really see it in the dull pleading expression he wore in his eyes, the rest of his face neutral, maybe angry at best. He experimented with a pained expression, one so deeply ingrained into muscle memory that it almost felt more natural than resting, and almost cried when he saw he looked angry- or at least, what people told him angry was supposed to look like. He slowly closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath before towelling himself off and picking up his clothes.

His clothes… now they were off his body and his sinuses were full of steam and the pleasant aroma of carbolic soap, he was finally able to detect that his clothes smelled like sour milk at best. The pits of his shirt were stained and particularly pungent, and Nico felt so ashamed that he hadn't noticed. The shirt was stained with various foods, months old, and there were small holes everywhere, like it was mothbitten or badly worn. His jeans smelled like eyeball dissections, a weird smell that whilst not exactly intense certainly wasn't pleasant by normal standards, a slight smell of rotting fresh too- and Nico supposed his skin had been flaking and rotting, confirmed by the inside of his jeans, which was coated liberally in dead skin cells that seemed stubborn to shift despite the copious amounts that fell to the floor. The denim was shiny and worn in some parts, and he decided not to give any more thought to the state of his jeans after thinking about all the lack of sanitation and choice that came with tartarus and the jar. 

Nico never wanted his clothes to be discovered. He never wanted anybody to see the state they were in, the stains he didn't want to think about, or the smell of bad hygiene. He scrubbed them furiously in the sink, but he never wanted to wear them again, too small and too worn and too tight and too dirty and too traumatic- he'd endured so much trauma whilst in these clothes. He threw them in the bin, pulling off as much tissue as possible to shove over the top of his clothes in the bin, hoping the weight of them wouldn't raise suspicion.

And then it dawned on him that almost everything he owned was now in the bin so he scrambled to fetch them back out and scrub them until his skin was irritated, but he could swear that he could still smell every unpleasant stain and every unpleasant sweat patch and every unpleasant smell from the garbage. He hadn't realised that the blur to his vision was significantly worse, hindered and impaired and impeded by the hot rush of tears and panic as he pulled on his wet clothes. 

He eventually sat back in the bed, cold and wet and hair still matted, his curls damaged and matting worse after months of no care and Nico using the wrong soap. He was shivering violently, but the cold felt almost comforting, a chilled relief he never had in Tartarus. It granted him some relief from the encompassing heat spreading through his body at patchy memories of Tartarus, but he had so much racing through his heads that it wasn't even a prominent thought or a flashback. 

The cold soon became insidious, like the cold of the shadows, the dark, the sensation of fading, numb, intangible. His focus still didn't pick just one thought, but now he was hyperaware of them- from the burning throat from the waters of the Phlegathon to the icy nothingness of shadows, to the intrusive thoughts of graphic violence and horrifyingly strange acts of self mutilation to mental bombardment with his triggers.

He felt like existence was this room, was the bedsheets he voila numbly trust and a door with a light void upon the other side. It felt like the rest of the world didn't really exist, like it couldn't exist, because he couldn't perceive, interact with, or process and comprehend that it was real. It felt like he wasn't real, dissociated, seeing and suffering but not there, like he was in a dream or a coma. Was he?

He didn't have time to dwell on it, the sudden nauseous drop in his gut and the lump in his throat and tightening in his chest signifying the start of a panic attack.

The problem was, Nico was either terrible at controlling them, or did not outwardly react at all. The first option usually involved lots of zombies and dead plants, whilst the second usually meant people trying to hug him and talk to him during sensory overload. This time, Nico was alone and he needed to scream it out, but when he tried, he found himself non-verbal.

Everything felt off and it was too bright, too loud, too dark, too clinical- although he'd lost his sense of smell and taste, so thankfully, the clinical scent of antiseptic and blood couldn't assault his senses. But that didn't stop the shrill metallic beep of the heart monitor from giving Nico sharp jolts of pain, the small lights on the various monitors far too bright whilst the electric buzzing of the electrical outlets filled his head- and they all sounded different, because of different devices, which made it worse. And it was blindingly dark in the room now, which made the shadows whisper in a way that had his head pounding, trying to process if they were even real, and it was all just too much-

He clamped his hands painfully over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that he could feel the strain in his cheeks. He tugged at his hair, not even a distressed whimper or a cry for help able to escape, trapped by his own lack of voice in a time of distress.

His brain was shutting down and melting down, the racing thoughts unable to process like a browser with too many tabs open, nothing pausing but nothing closing, frozen with plenty of horrifying podcasts and videos playing with no pause at the same time, only it felt like they could touch him, and he couldn't shut them off.

He had nothing left to comfort himself, no way to voice his distress, only able to rock back and fourth in a vain attempt to soothe himself as the onslaught continued, and all he could do was sit there and cry hysterically for hours, hours of distress until…

How long had he been… staring at the wall for?

Nico shivered, emotionally and physically drained. He knew he was still non-verbal, so he didn't call for help. He briefly considered the panic button, but he didn't want to be a burden over a now resolved emotional breakdown of some kind. There had been flashbacks and sensory overload and he was pretty sure he'd experienced some kind of meltdown or shutdown, but he wasn't exactly a stranger to them.

He sat in his bed until the sky began to turn blue and the smallest hints of light eased the crawling feeling of the insidious, suffocating dark of a confined space, a closed door room, a claustrophobic nightmare.

-

Much to Will's chagrin, he woke to find several of the infirmary's plants officially dead, although as his sleep induced haze lifted with the stabilising buzz of caffeine to help organise his thoughts, he processed that Nico must have had a bad night. He grabbed a quick breakfast and some for Nico and rushed there as quick as he could. 

Nico most certainly hadn't slept, his face puffy with both exhaustion and crying. He took a moment to observe, and Nico didn't seem to notice his presence, dissociated. It wasn't until Will moved his hand and little too fast that Nico suddenly snapped out of it, his hypervigilance kicking in as he flinched harshly, looking just about ready to put up a fight. 

"It's okay," Will began gently, backing away slightly to show his intentions weren't to violate Nico's personal space boundaries. He waited until Nico visibly relaxed enough to hunch his shoulders before he proceeded to step fully into the room and take a seat on the chair besides him. Nico looked up at him with what looked like hope, or maybe a pleading expression- maybe something mistaken for anger in different circumstances, and whilst Will struggled to read people's emotions sometimes, he'd begun to learn Nico's, folding his expressions away neatly in a mental schema full of flowcharts amend checklists designed to accurately mentally code for different emotions. 

Will had certainly observed levels of hypervigilance in Nico, but the way he would glance between the door and the shadows had Will distinctly concerned for his mental wellbeing- he appeared paranoid, skittish, and Will had on occasion poked his head around to find Nico mumbling to the shadows. Will had no way of knowing if that was because of genuine shadows or some form of psychosis that Nico seemed familiar with handling well on his own. He'd considered asking Hazel, but she may not have the exact same powers as Nico, and may not have been able to reliably tell Will whether the whispering shadows were normal or not if she didn't experience them herself. He'd have to ask Hades somehow. But not right now.

Will also didn't need a professional to tell him that Nico was severely depressed- he'd experienced it enough himself to know how to recognise it, and given the trauma that Will already knew about Nico, there was no logical way that Nico could be okay. 

Most demigods presented with symptoms of PTSD, and he recognised the most similarities between Percy and Annabeth and Nico's symptoms and severity, most likely because to some degree they had the shared trauma of Tartarus. Some demigods with traumatic backgrounds had gone on to develop some form of psychotic disorder, or OCD or eating disorders, and there were a few traumagenic systems at camp who Will had gotten to know personally. So Nico having C-PTSD wasn't a surprise. Of course, Will needed a lot more time than a few days to accurately assess and diagnose Nico, but he was fairly confident that Nico was presenting with many symptoms of PTSD and likely had been long enough to officially meet the criteria for a PTSD diagnosis.

And then there was Nico's overall neurodivergence- of course, the ADHD and dyslexia were confirmed, but Will suspected that Nico could be on the spectrum, like Will was. Autism wasn't uncommon in demigods either, sharing many similarities to ADHD. They were practically brain cousins. 

Will pulled himself out of his musings, focusing on how to talk to the trembling boy before him. His clothes looked wet, and Nico made as if to speak before looking sadly down, shrugging and offering a half smile greeting that Will had become familiar with during Nico's quieter days. Nico struggled anyways with communicating and expressing his emotions, and he was even worse at reading them- as a general rule, unless he knew you well, Nico didn't appear to pick up on body language cues indicating someone's distress unless they cried or explicitly stated how they felt. Yet, once Nico was clued in, and was able to rationalise the situation by drawing parallels and drawing from his own personal experiences, Nico tended to grasp a very nuanced and deep understanding of exactly how somebody was feeling, allowing him to better empathise- what was Will's point again? 

Will let out a frustrated huff, wishing his brain to just do the focus thing on his patient. And then he realised he hadn't taken his meds in a few days and oh. That explained it. Will realised he definitely hadn't showered in like- at least a week, and he definitely needed a shower but his usual soaps were in his cabin and he couldn't be bothered to get them- but he could use that deodorant, the musk one with the cinnamon and citrus undertones in the black spray can or he could just use old spice but what about his strawberry shampoo would it go-

Will took a deep breath, looking back to Nico. Right. Doctor, patient, mental health- Will absolutely needed to suddenly start a full on a case study project- no, never mind, focus. Somehow. Please. Right. Okay. Breathe.

Will gave Nico a gentle smile, taking out his stim putty to squish in his hand to ground himself and focus better. Nico usually would have spoken by now, so Will figured that he must have gone non-verbal- and now Will's focus to do that case study project was gone forever, great, well done, you're a failure Will, oh great, now your mood's dropped, just great- Nico must have had a meltdown maybe, although that didn't explain the damp clothes.

"Hey Neeks," Will began gently, "do you want some fresh clothes?" Nico looked at him pleasingly, before curling in on himself with his knees bunched up and gripping his shirt as though it was a comfort to him. It took Will a moment to decipher, but he figured Nico wanted dry clothes but was reluctant to part with his clothes. 

"I can get you some pyjamas," he said softly, quietly- he didn't want to overwhelm Nico if the guy had just had a meltdown, because sensory overload sucked. "You could put your clothes on the chair to dry." Nico seemed to consider that, before giving a slight frown and pout, but a slight smile. He was considering it, but still reluctant.

"The pyjamas are cotton," Will continued, "with the labels cut out, and the seam is sewn down so it isn't scratchy." Nico nodded jerkily, and Will smiled reassuringly, standing up slowly with a determined look in his eye. "I'll go get those for you, we don't want you catching hypothermia now, do we? You don't need pneumonia with the state of your lungs right now."

Will fetched the pyjamas and granted Nico the privacy to change whilst he quickly took his meds- which reminded him to set about figuring out a treatment plan for Nico going forwards- then returned to see the pyjamas fitted well and Nico looked comfortable, discreetly rubbing the soft fabric against his cheek, eyes closed. Will liked the smell of the fresh linen more than he liked the feel of them, but Nico appeared to be touch sensitive, perhaps explaining why he was so easily overwhelmed by touch. Will had a sense of smell like a sniffer dog, and hearing that left him unable to find silence or sleep without loud music blaring through his headphones.

"Does that feel any better," Will asked, and Nico nodded, turning pink and smiling slightly. "Is it okay if I ask you some questions and you can nod or shake your head? Nod if yes, shake your head if you need some time first, it's okay. Nico nodded gingerly, and Will gave a gentle smile.

He went through the standard questionnaires first, looking for markers of depression and anxiety levels, and finding, unsurprisingly, that Nico was at crisis point. Will briefly considered keeping Nico in the infirmary, but he didn't see Nico as particularly needing that kind of treatment. Nico would be better coping in comfort. 

Nico gradually became verbal again, and finally Will was able to investigate deeper. Nico was slowly beginning to open up, and Will was more than happy to listen, perhaps a little intrigued.

"It feels like… I'm not here, like I don't exist. Like I'm just… observing, but I'm not… feeling. It feels like I'm in warm heavy water, and I'm stood outside, and inside is bright and colourful, but I don't have the energy to move my limbs and step inside. Sometimes I'm able to say hello but I can't move when I'm invited in, I can only stand there. And I want to, I want to go inside. But I can't, and instead of coming outside to me, people carry on the party, and I'm just… outside, creepy. To them, I'm a disembodied voice, and ghost in the dark. An apparition with a slightly off centre smile and an unsettling artificial expression. I'm in an alley and I beckon them and they freak and run. I'm like something from The Magnus Archives to them, like the Angler Fish episode. And I don't feel empty, I feel… heavy, but like I'm on cotton wool. Everything feels off, all of the time, too dark and too bright all together, like shining objects in low light. I want to scream for help, and I am screaming, but nothing comes out. And when I scream I scream loud and their eyes turn in and their ears fold back and their mouths seal shut and their hands become bound and they carry on as though everything is perfectly normal, like I never even existed in the first place. They turn a blind eye because I make them uncomfortable, not realising how uncomfortable they make me too. And it buries me in a warm coffin, scratching to be let out whenever somebody uses me."

Will didn't know how to respond to that. There was no sane way to respond to that. Partly because Will had a vivid imagination and now had a horrifyingly graphic  mental image in his head that was guaranteed to give him nightmares tonight. But Will loved horror, so he ended up distracted thinking of Nico as a horror podcaster. Occasionally his voice took on a velvet husk with a slow manner of speaking that made his voice perfect for horror. The other times, it was horribly squeaky and breaking. Then Will remembered that he was procrastinating assessing Nico's mental health. "You should be a horror writer," Will said, to buy himself some time to process and respond.

"I wanna do scare acting or horror podcasts," Nico replied, "so people are supposed to find me creepy. It hurts when I'm not trying to be creepy and people find me creepy. But if I'm intentionally creepy, I can make it fun, and maybe, when I reveal the real me, it's such a far cry from my scaresona that they don't register me as creepy."

"Scaresona-" Will repeated, trying to fully process that like it was a cursed post on tumblr.

"Yeah," Nico replied casually, "maybe a zombie because I feel like one. I wouldn't be a ghost, because I'm already invisible."

"You're not invisible to me, Nico," Will cemented in ages firm but gentle tone. "You matter, I'm listening to you, and I believe everything that you are saying to be true. You're not faking or attention seeking- actually scrap that, the term should be support seeking- I believe that your struggles are valid and I would like to support you through this."

"Thanks, Will…" Nico began, mouth open as if to say something when the infirmary doors burst open. There was yelling, and Will's pager beeped not soon after, and he had to prioritise the medical emergency first. 

"I'll try be back later, definitely in the morning, okay? Take care, death boy!" And with that, Will switched to clinical cold emergency combat medic. Didn't mean he was quite used to the bad smells, though. Nobody ever really was. He vaguely remembered the joke spray liquid ass was used by the military to train combat medics for the smell of the battlefield, and with one last thought to the ironic hilarity of that, Will was at the side of the patient and ready to save a life.