#I have the bones of chapter two and would usually not post until it is also written bit

[sideblogforcrimpy-plus]

Rinse; Repeat

Words: 4,478, chapter one of probably two.

Rated: Handle with care, cw suicidal thoughts/discussion, canon typical violence, hints at abuse/bullying

Summary: Spencer and Derek meet before either of them are in the BAU. Spencer is hesitant as a deer to be close and all Derek wants is to be close (so does Spencer). Spencer is clearly Troubled and Derek just wants to love him softly, honestly. Like filtered afternoon sunlight and sepia filters.

but for real I just, I saw a post that made me laugh and go 'ahaha, unless?' and then sat down uncomfortably on the floor for three hours and wrote this.

For my own comfort/entertainment, Derek and Spencer are closer in age than my recent google search would lead me to believe. Thank (●'◡'●)

---- 2003

Derek was having a truly sucky day. The academy was rough, and as good as he was at all the physical stuff, there were some real smart people and he was so scared that he was all brawn and no brain. Not that he’d readily use the word ‘scared’ to describe himself if he could help it, but he was.

But realistically, he did get this far. So he did have some of the brain, but was it enough? Had he set his sights too high on the BAU?

Still, the doubt and insecurity wasn’t going to have him quit early. Partly because he really, really wanted this, but also partly because what would he tell his family if he’d put so much time into this and failed?

They’d comfort him and say they’re proud; he knows it. But would he be proud?

He doesn’t want to find out.

Dead tired despite the lack of physical training that day, he walked through the house and out to the balcony, only part stopping to shed his jacket and backpack.

The sun was long gone by now, and the stars were too hidden in such a built up area, but he braced himself with his arms on the railing and stretched his neck, trying to relax.

God, how many people even got through the academy each year?

“Chances are, if you’re already in the academy, you’ll come out the other side.”

God?

Had he asked that aloud?

Derek just about jumped out of his skin, training be damned. He was on the top floor and roof access was blocked. He must have made some sort of noise, because the sad, quiet voice came again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m not- I wasn’t… Startled.” Derek rubbed his forehead, hoping his voice didn’t sound it; startled. He wasn’t sure he’d heard that organically in conversation, more something you come across in text, in books and things.

“Oh. Sorry for assuming?” The speaker was hesitant, like they’d started apologising before they really knew why. Curious, and not thrilled someone had roof access and it wasn’t the guy (and his sister) who had the top floor apartment, Derek leaned out over the railing and twisted his neck, trying to see who answered him.

Before he could get a glimpse, he heard them step back.

How close to the edge was he? He watched as a bit of rubble fell past him and to the concrete below.

“I don’t think that’s something you need to apologise for, man. How’d you get up there, anyway? I was told we weren’t allowed because they don’t have railings. Or insurance, I think.”

“Well, that makes sense. Although a fall from a five story building isn’t guaranteed to be fatal; you’re better off on the eighth floor for that. But then again, there have been people that survived from even that height so, you can’t really win, can you? If you’re scared of heights or something.”

Derek’s curiosity took a quick dive into concern that sped right down to worry.

“Now I think you got that the wrong way around, better off on the lower floors if there’s no railing, right?”

There was a long pause, and Derek wondered if he’d be able to get up onto the roof in a reasonable amount of time if he had a sense of urgency pushing him.

“Perhaps. Can you imagine the injuries you’d be left with after surviving the fall?” He heard a foot scuff the ground above him and thought he’d started sweating despite the cool breeze. “It’d really suck to not have insurance then, huh? As the building owner, I mean.”

“Okay man, well, that’s a dark topic. And since there’s no railing, or maybe no seats up there either, why don’t you join me on my balcony instead? I might even be able to find a beer or something for you.”

“It’s not safe to go into a stranger’s house.”

“It’s not safe to think about people surviving and not surviving falls while you’re alone on a rooftop, close to the edge, and there’s no railing.”

“Well… Perhaps that’s a reasonable counterpoint.”

And that’s how Derek started becoming friends with a bundle of limbs and greasy hair that hid an incredible but haunted mind.

–

Spencer didn’t have a phone, so he’d just show up at Derek’s apartment intermittently. Well, his and Sarah’s. His mother had put money towards them renting it for the duration of Derek’s time at the academy and Sarah’s short term study since they lined up almost the same, with him likely finding some place more permanent for himself after.

He didn’t do well in the claustrophobic, shared dorms of the academy so would escape to the apartment when he could, and Sarah was completing her course close enough to make the apartment almost worth it. 

It had two shoebox rooms, and they had to share a bathroom, but it still had two rooms so it was a step up from the low bar the academy set. But she was out often with friends, study, and a part time job while he was still largely sleeping at the dorm, so they hardly saw each other.

He’d come back to Spencer hanging out near the block only a couple times; he didn’t seem to like loitering, like he was concerned Derek’s neighbours would get suspicious.

More often, though, Derek would go out onto the balcony and make some sort of noise, and Spencer would respond from above. Over time, Derek was relieved to note that Spencer was usually not so close to the edge as he was the first night.

But most of the time, unfortunately, was not all of the time.

Spencer wasn’t all that interested in drinking, but he was interested in sharing whatever he’d learned about recently. He absolutely did not share much about himself at all.

Despite how private Derek felt as a person though, he found he was sharing quite a lot about himself with Spencer. It was hard not to, inviting Spencer into a place he and his sister were living in though. She’d met him in passing once or twice, and had commented after he left, thankfully, about how shy he seemed to be.

Spencer was a bit like butter from the fridge; he needed time to soften up every single time he came over to Derek’s.

His most recent obsession, to Derek's suffering, had been body farms. After finding out that Derek was studying at the academy (which he was loath to share on account of those ever-present insecurities), Spencer had told him that he was interested in criminal behaviour, among other related things.

Not in a ‘watch true crime documentaries just for the nightmares, apparently’ kind of way, but more to work out the why, and sometimes guess at the how, of everything. He’d dropped stupid time into geographical profiling, in Derek’s opinion, for someone who wasn’t pursuing a career in a related field.

“And they have one, a body farm that is, in East Tennessee. Did you know that they run ten week courses there? Something they’ve done recently is watching for changes in hair for a body left in a car for two months. That’s so specific, isn’t it? Hair changes in a car? Although it’s safe to assume they’re obviously looking for more at the same time.”

“Obviously,” Derek agreed.

Spencer was way too excited for the topic at hand.

Derek continued before Spencer went back to talking about something like maggot life cycles. “Okay, so if I get through to being an FBI agent and I see a body in a car, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“You mean when. I don’t have a phone.” Spencer’s lips had a little curve, like he was self-conscious of smiling still but couldn’t help it fully.

“Right, right. Can you tell me how to summon you then, or will I just have to come here and call out at the roof until you appear?”

Now that was definitely a smile. Why did that feel just as good as high test scores?

The next time Derek was at the apartment, Spencer didn’t show. But there was a phone number written on a paper plane that had been thrown onto his balcony. Three, actually, and one he picked up on the way to the apartment that was stuck in a sad, over-pruned and under-watered hedge out front. How many had Spencer made that Derek didn’t find?

Eleven, it turns out. Spencer was a horrible shot, but Derek liked watching his long fingers folding the paper in what was ‘the most aerodynamic plane folding method’ the next time he was over. It felt a little silly to challenge him on it, especially since Derek knew fuck all about the aerodynamics of paper planes. And Spencer called him out on it.

“Superior hand-eye coordination doesn’t mean your plane folding method is superior, it just means you’re good with your hands.”

Derek wiggled his eyebrows, but continued speaking after he let the flush of Spencer’s cheeks sit for a moment.

“So you want me to throw one of yours, to see if I can do it better with your method?”

“It’s a reasonable request. You can’t test two theories for quality results if the testing methods are different.”

“You’re a sore loser, you know that?”

“You’re an unfair winner, did you know that?”

“So you admit I’m a winner?”

Spencer felt terrible that his next plane hit Derek in the eye, so Derek only milked it for half the time he would have liked to.

Spencer shoved his shoulder when Derek finally caved and laughed, indignant.

“You were playing it up!”

“It’s paper! It can’t hurt me that bad.”

“It did hit your eye. They might be the fastest healing body part, but they’re not impervious.”

“Pretty boy, if you want to kiss it better, I won’t stop you. But you don’t need to worry that much about it.”

Derek saw that sweet rush of colour on Spencer’s neck and cheeks, and the smile he was trying to hide before now took a shy edge as he tried to look casual.

“Well, if I injured you, I should do what I can to help.”

His voice was so quiet that Derek almost missed what he said. He tilted his head in question, raising a brow while trying to figure out if this was more word-based flirting or if one of them would actually take it further for once.

Spencer’s eyes were focused on his fingers, picking at lint that certainly wasn’t on the leg of his pants but held his gaze anyway. His eyes flickered up to Derek’s face though, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips just after.

“Well, you’re the doctor out of the two of us, what do you think I need?”

“I’m not a medical doctor.” Spencer’s voice seemed to be getting quieter, but Derek liked that his gaze was flicking more to Derek’s lips now.

“Maybe so, but I bet you know more about first aid than I do, especially with that fear of germs you got.”

“Me not shaking your hand is normal. The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss.”

Derek almost laughed at how embarrassed Spencer looked at that line, but knew if he did Spencer would think he was laughing at him and might take offense.

“So I should kiss you goodbye when you leave? Doctor Reid, who knew you could be so forward?”

“That’s not what I was saying! I just-”

Derek held up his hands, placating, while Spencer seemed to flap his. “Now now handsome, I didn’t say I was opposed.”

Derek thought he was floating when Spencer, so quickly it was barely a kiss, pressed his lips to Derek’s cheek when he left that night.

–

The next time Derek heard Spencer’s voice from above his balcony, he was almost back to his subdued, distanced self from when they first started speaking. It was over an hour before Spencer let Derek coax him inside. He was shocked when Spencer came to his front door, hair lank and pulled forward to try and cover his eye and cheek that were dark with bruising.

“Spencer, what happened?” He ushered the younger man in, directing him to the couch.

“Nothing. An accident. What were you saying about the fitness test?”

“You’re not interested in fitness tests, what happened?” He tried to bring his hand up to Spencer’s cheek, tilt his head up into the light and assess the damage, but Spencer shied away from him, getting up and heading to the kitchen instead.

“I’m interested in the fitness test.”

“I’m not. Since when are you interested in that?”

“Since you’re the one talking about them.” Derek tried not to feel warm and fuzzy with that comment. Spencer was being genuine, the man was a terrible liar, but he gives away shy truths when he wants to distract.

Derek leaned against the tiny kitchen counter while Spencer turned the kettle on.

“I thought you didn’t have tea at night because of the caffeine.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight anyway, so I may as well enjoy a tea.”

Derek scrutinised him, wordlessly getting a still sealed pack of decaf tea from the cupboard and putting it down beside Spencer’s hand on the counter.

“You know this isn’t truly decaffeinated? It’s just lower in comparison to other teas.”

Derek stayed quiet and watched as Spencer started to squirm under his gaze. He turned then to face Derek, a frown on his face that softened when he saw whatever emotion Derek’s expression wasn’t hiding. Concern, probably.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t use your behavioural training on me.”

“I thought I wouldn’t feel the need to with you.”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line before he turned back to the kettle, mumbling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

When Derek put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, Spencer jumped, then looked guilty.

“Sorry. I don’t-” He looked at Derek’s hand, which he’d pulled back like he'd been burnt when Spencer flinched at his touch. “I don’t mind.” He wrung his hands, nervous or something like it and unable to look at Derek with that soft red on his cheeks again, marred by bruises. “I don’t mind. The contact, if it’s you. But I’d rather not be surprised by it just now.”

“I get it, pretty boy, and I’m sorry.” He held out his hands, palms up, for Spencer to take. Spencer’s hands shook a little, and he’d forgotten to pour water into his mug now.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, I won’t ask how you got- that.” He jutted his chin to try and gesture at Spencer’s purpled skin while his hands were occupied. “But is what I see all you have, or is there more?”

Spencer bit his lip, watching his own thumb as he rubbed it against Derek’s fingers.

“Spencer, please.”

Spencer shrugged, still unwilling to meet Derek’s eyes.

“It’s not just that. My face. It’s-...” He lifted their joined hands, but didn’t let go of Derek’s to gesture any better. Instead, he pressed their hands to Derek’s chest, just beneath the collar of his shirt, then slowly moved them down and around a little to Derek’s sides. The movement was awkward, but Derek appreciated the tight grip on his hands, and the touch Spencer was initiating, and the information being shared all in the way Spencer was capable of.

“It’s all over, isn’t it pretty boy?”

Spencer hesitated, almost nodding before deciding to try and move on. “I don’t know if I qualify for that. Not normally, or especially now.”

The shy smile was back, and too self-deprecating for Derek. But fighting Spencer on that too strong right now would push him away, so he let some of that anger slide away before he spoke.

“You callin’ me a liar, handsome?”

“No, I think I’m calling you a sweet-talker.”

“But a lying sweet talker, hot stuff?” Spencer pursed his lips as he looked up at Derek, finally, to suppress a smile.

“I’m starting to think you have a biased opinion.”

“I’m starting to think you do too, although on the other side of the spectrum. Why are you so hard on yourself?” 

Spencer squeezed Derek’s hands before letting them go, turning back to pour hot water in his mug. Derek bit back a sigh when Spencer changed the subject again.

“So only two weeks before you’re done at the academy, huh?”

Throughout the night, as Spencer started melting into his more comfortable self the longer he was there, he was less aware of the bruising on his face. It wasn’t until he caught his reflection, or Derek staring, or felt it twinge when he smiled too wide, that he remembered it and grew self-conscious again. That he pushed his hair back in the way of it like if Derek couldn’t see it then Spencer could forget he was injured.

He’d foregone contact lenses and worn his glasses that night, like he did most nights, and Derek thought it might be so it felt like there was another barrier between his bruises and the rest of the world.

Derek wanted to kiss them better, and then all the other hurts Spencer seemed to have. And Spencer sure seemed to have a lot of hurts.

Hurts like how his expression tightened when Derek asked about his childhood, his parents, his friends, or his time at school. How Derek, in the earlier days, made a comment about Spencer missing social cues, and heard a bitter ‘well I can’t pick up on cues if I don’t have anyone to teach them to me’ in reply before Spencer tried to cover it up.

How if he had a particularly bad day, he was so jumpy near Derek that Derek almost wanted to sit on his hands to show he wasn’t going to use them for anything.

How on days when Spencer’s eyes were sunken with a lack of sleep, and the clothes he wore showed how thin he was, and he was so so close to the edge of the ledge on the roof above Derek’s apartment that he thought Spencer just might not care if he fell over the edge.

Like he’d had a lifetime of hurts and still had to face more each day, and Derek only saw little slivers of him and couldn’t learn enough to help him as much as Spencer needed; as much as Derek wanted.

God, he was going to make a terrible profiler.

“Derek?” Spencer looked hesitant, and Derek realised he’d spaced out; probably while staring at Spencer’s bruise again going by how he’d tried to angle his face away awkwardly, unable to fully turn and hide it while looking at Derek at the same time.

Derek couldn’t help it, he just kept on staring. Spencer’s tongue darted out to wet his lips again, and Derek’s eyes tracked the movement. He knew Spencer noticed that, too, by the way his breath seemed to stutter.

Slowly, he shuffled forward on the couch, eyes holding Spencer’s gaze as he did so.

This time, Derek’s name from Spencer’s lips was much quieter, like he was asking for something instead of questioning him.

“Spencer,” The younger man’s eyes dropped down, watching as Derek’s hand came up to his arm; his shoulder. Watched it still as it moved higher, cupping his unbruised cheek. Spencer turned his head, almost pressing a kiss to Derek’s palm as his eyes closed and his bruised cheek was fully on display.

“Spencer, I’ll be gentle. May I?”

Spencer didn’t open his eyes, just hummed in agreement, nosing at Derek’s palm. 

Goosebumps broke over Spencer’s neck when Derek’s breath hit his cheek, and Derek felt him shiver. Careful to avoid the worst of it, Derek skated his lips over Spencer’s cheekbone, pressed them just in front of where his earlobe met the back of his jaw, then trailed them down his jawline.

Spencer tipped his head, allowing easier access as Derek watched Spencer’s fingers grip the couch cushion beneath him. Unsure if it was entirely due to sensation or something going on in his mind, Derek didn’t push further. Using his hand on Spencer’s cheek, he turned the man’s head to nudge his nose to Spencer’s.

“This is alright?”

In lieu of an answer, slowly, Spencer lifted his chin and kissed Derek on the lips. Derek’s chest swelled and he smiled into it, his other hand coming up to Spencer’s side.

They shuffled closer to each other, to be able to press themselves into each other more comfortably. Spencer’s mouth opened beneath Derek’s lips, and he could taste that terrible decaf tea and honey, and the cashews Spencer liked to snack on while reading.

He wondered what Spencer would think he tasted like, the cheap vending machine snacks and the god awful protein water he’d bought without realising it was terrible.

Suddenly, he had the urge to brush his teeth. He made to pull away, but Spencer’s fingers curled in his shirt and his resolve weakened.

Their hands were slowly moving over each other, everything was moving so slowly. Sweetly, like they were learning each other and had all the time in the world. Derek’s fingers found the hem of Spencer’s shirt, and he tugged the man’s lower lip between his teeth as his fingers slipped under the fabric and brushed against Spencer’s skin.

God it was soft, but it felt thin, too. He became scared of hurting Spencer, especially when remembering he had some other injuries too. So he kept his touch light, fingers probably tickling as they travelled further up Spencer’s side as Spencer laughed into the kiss.

Spencer tugged at Derek’s collar, then his fingers slipped around to cup the back of Derek’s neck. Caught up in being able to touch, they quickly moved back down, trailing over his shoulder and down his chest, then Spencer’s hands lingered there. They would have moved further down, Derek thinks, with his hands now pushing Spencer’s shirt up, if it weren’t for his sister coming home.

They didn’t realise until they heard her laugh, surprised.

“Oh, Sorry! I didn’t text ahead, my phone died. Go about your business!” She laughed again, more of a giggle, then her bedroom door clicked shut. Spencer was rigid beneath him - when had he pressed Spencer into the couch beneath him?

‘Sorry, Spence, I didn’t-”

Spencer pushed him up and off, the heat flushing his face more than the usual shyness or what Derek might expect from making out on a couch could bring about. More than embarrassment of being caught, even. He scrambled to get up and right his clothes, walking to the door and scooping up his bag on the way.

“Spencer, wait! Where are you going?” He didn’t want to pull Spencer back by catching his arm, knowing the man wouldn’t react well. His eyes seemed watery and Derek was lost.

And he stayed lost, when, after three weeks, Spencer hadn’t come back. His texts went unanswered and when he called the number was disconnected.

And he kept right on being lost when Spencer didn’t come back to visit him before he had to move out.

–--- 2005

Derek scowled at the scene before them. 

“You’re saying someone was turning people into books?”

The local officer walking them through the scene nodded, nose wrinkled but face otherwise resigned.

“Yup. See, we had a couple people go missing here and there. Transients, runaways, you know the type. And we’d thought they went missing by choice. Sure, we looked,” not enough, Derek thought. “But we never thought they’d end up. Well. As books.”

“As books.” Derek’s skin crawled.

Aside from a specific wrinkle in his brow, Hotch didn’t even look perturbed. “These materials, would they be specialised? Potentially unique or traceable?”

“The tanning stuff? Not as far as we can tell. Out here, we got people doing this the normal way, tanning hides and such.  A lot of leather workers out here. As far as we can tell, it’s basically all the same stuff.”

Hotch looked back at Gideon who shrugged and looked at Derek. “He’ll take a breather now that we found his workshop; he’ll need time to set himself up again. Derek, you’re going to a library to speak to someone about human skin book binding.”

Derek and Elle looked at each other before Derek held his hands out, gesturing broadly.

“We just have someone who knows about human skin being made into books?”

Elle smirked at him. “And you get to visit them. How nice.”

Derek wasn’t thrilled about it, and the feeling that his skin was crawling and unclean hadn’t left since they found the workshop their unsub was using. It reeked in both usual and unexpected ways, and the forensic investigator on scene and all too happily told him that urine could be used in the tanning process.

Perhaps a clean, quiet, library would help in easing his mind, but the subject matter wouldn’t. Derek flashed his badge at the desk, and the librarian assistant he’d found nodded without him needing to explain.

“Agent Gideon called ahead, I’ll lead you through to the doctor now. The books were already here, we’ve held them for ages, but the doctor only arrived recently. Good timing, too, what with this horribleness happening.” She chattered as she led him through shelves, picking up carelessly placed books as she went and piling them up on her other arm.

“Wait, the doctor showed up for the books after the murders?” Derek frowned; Gideon hadn’t called that far ahead, had he?

“Yes, though it’s not his first time here. He’s such a joy to have.” She looked at Derek, then laughed. “You don’t think he did it, do you?”

Derek shrugged, and she shook her head. Then, they stopped outside a room labelled ‘staff only’, and she knocked before pushing the door open.

Derek patted down his pockets for his notepad and pen, then stopped short when he looked up.

The assistant kept talking.

“So this is the doctor Spencer Reid, the veritable specialist on these books. Our Margaret, who usually cares for these books and who we’d recommend you to normally for this, she’s been unwell. But we’re lucky to have Dr. Reid here,” After that, she looked between the two, and her smile slipped into confusion.

“Do you two know each other?”

Derek swallowed, and Spencer barely moved.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to it, then.” She cast a hesitant glance at Spencer, who nodded to her, and she seemed to take that as a sign it was safe for her to leave them alone.

“Spencer?”

[peachdues]

THE SWEET, FAR THING — NSFW TEASER

Knight!Kyojuro x Princess!Reader • Royal AU

A/N: surprise! It’s been so long since I’ve posted any Kyojuro content, and this fic has been my quiet project since originally teased. I love royal AUs, and I love a good forbidden love story.

Enjoy a first look at some of the spicy, smutty goodness to come in The Sweet, Far Thing. But be warned: these two blue ball the living daylights out of each other for several chapters. This fic will be one of the first breaks in my usual pattern of letting characters bone the first chapter.

You can read the prologue and find links to the other teasers HERE

CW: MDNI • explicit sexual content • grinding • lots and lots of sexual tension • Kyojuro’s got self control but it’s rapidly fraying • Reader’s a bit of a brat

shoutout to @tearmint for letting me flood their DMs with this

The scroll of containing the young Lord Agatsuma’s flowery prose lies forgotten on the floor, hidden beneath the layers of Kyojuro’s discarded uniform. Across the polished wood floor, you’ve been hoisted by your Knight into a distant corner of your room, your legs wrapped firmly around his bare waist.

The great roaring fire in your hearth bathes the dark room in an orange glow. Its flickering brilliance, however, seems dull in comparison to the flames in Kyojuro’s eyes as he grinds his bare member harder against your drenched sex.

He grunts as he ruts his hips into yours, mimicking the movements you’re so desperate for him to make while he’s buried inside you. He leans forward and catches your lips in a bruising kiss. Another thrust, and the thick, leaking head of his cock nearly snags at your entrance.

You gasp into his mouth just as he moans into yours. For one, foolish moment, you hope he will cast caution into the flames where it belongs and finally make his claim on you.

But Kyojuro’s self-restraint will forever be the bane of your existence, for he twists swiftly out of reach, the blunt head of his cock instead shoving into the crease of your thigh. He breaks your kiss with a ragged pant, though he resumes his desperate, jolting rut.

Your nails bite into the thick, corded muscles of his shoulders as Kyojuro’s length passes through your wetness again, though slower than before. There is a shadow of a smirk on his lips as he studies you, brow furrowed, your mouth pulled into a faint pout as you buck into him.

You will catch him; you will take him into your body, and then you will be his. He just needs to stay still —

“My Flame,” Kyojuro leans in and nips the soft spot beneath your ear in warning. “Stop.”

“Please,” you try and guide him back to your entrance, your fingers fisting in his hair to force his obedience.

Kyojuro seals his moan against your throat as your nails graze his scalp, but he stills your efforts by pressing you harder into the wall. The solid weight of him only flames the ache of your longing.

He pulls his face away from your neck. Despite the flush of his cheeks, his eyes remain sharp. “I cannot have you. You know this.”

“You can,” you insist with a demanding roll of your hips. “I command it.”

You try once more to maneuver your way back to him, to coax his thick, turgid length right where you need him most, but Kyojuro tenses. Slowly, he unsticks himself from where he’d pressed you solidly to the wall, shifting his arms out from under your legs, returning your feet gently back to the floor.

“If that is your command, your Highness, then you will have to send me back to the barracks for punishment. For I cannot obey.”

Kyojuro tries to turn away, but you catch his forearm, your fingers digging insistently into its thick muscle.

“Why?” And his heart strains at the plea in your tone. “Why must you continue to deny me? I would give you all of me, if you’d only allow it.”

Kyojuro guides you back into his arms, his lips pressed to your forehead until his mark is seared into your skin, before pulling away. He brushes a knuckle across your cheek. “Can this not be enough? Is it not enough that I risk your ruin — never mind my own head — so that we might be close like this? Are you so unsatisfied?”

You jerk away from him, swatting his hand from your face. “Yes. Because I have told you I care not about any pompous lord or prince of a distant land. I want you. Completely.” You know you are doing yourself no favors by acting like the spoilt, petulant princess you’d always tried so very hard not to be, but Kyojuro’s rejection strikes at some soft, unguarded part of you, and you are too easily bruised. “Yet you continue to only give me half of you.”

Kyojuro bristles, eyes narrowed. “I have lain with you in every sense of the word —“

“Except for how I desire you most,” you finish, cool, so as not to let the bitterness of your disappointment show. “You have had my body in every other way, yet this is where you draw the line?”

Kyojuro’s shoulders are rigid as he snatches his tunic from the foot of your bed. “Do not trivialize yourself for the sake of your argument. You know as well as I that the kingdom’s viability rests entirely on your marriage prospects.”

You storm to his side, still as nude as the day you were born, your loose hair spilling down your bare breasts. You plant your hands on either side of his face and twist, forcing him to meet your stare head-on. “I would marry you. I will march before my father this moment and declare I will have no other.”

You press your body against his, every soft, unblemished curve of you molding perfectly with the solidness of him. Though his limbs are rigid with restraint, he cannot stop himself from cradling your face between his palms.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Princess —“

“I dream of you inside me,” you breathe against his lips. Kyojuro’s fingers curl into your cheeks, and his breath turning ragged. “Every night, I dream of it; of how you might lay me back against the bed and make me yours. How you would feel, sheathed within me.”

“Y/N,” his desperate plea is little more than a gasp of air; a whimper for mercy you will not give.

You dig deeper into the wound you’ve opened. “I dream of you putting your claim in me.” You stretch tall on your toes, pressing your lips just below the notch in his throat. “I would carry your child for all the kingdom and those beyond to see. I dream of it so fervently that I am aching when I awake.”

You tease up the length of his neck, kissing his chin once, twice, before settling on his mouth. He indulges you with a soft, pleading moan. His tongue brushes your bottom lip right before you break away.

“You desire me; that much is clear.” Your fingers trail down his torso, finding your proof where it stands taut against his abdomen. “Do you not dream the same?”

Of course he did.

It is his most dangerous, most treasured fantasy. One he’d held even long before he ever began training to be a knight, back when he’d been young and foolish and dreamed of marrying not the Princess of his beloved kingdom, but his dear childhood friend. The girl he trailed after during her family’s lavish feasts, stealing away with her under tables to watch revelers drink and dance and sparkle the way all adults seem to, when one is young. And as he laughed as you would sneak a small hand out from beneath the table’s cover to tickle some lord or lady’s ankle and startle them, he imagined one day whisking you out onto the dance floor. He, in some handsome, smart finery he’d seen the other young lords wear; you, resplendent in the finest of gowns, a crown of jewels sat atop your head.

It is all he has ever wanted; to have you, openly. His love and devotion to you a display that did not have to be concealed in the shadowy corners of your chambers.

But he’d always known it could never come to pass. It was why he’d been able to hold back, even when you were as you are now, bare before him, demanding he lay you out on your bed and claim you for good.

Your thumb strokes his cheek. “Will you continue to deny me? When you swore an oath to serve me?”

You were not his to possess; to love. You belonged to the kingdom and its people. Your people.

Not him. Never him.

You know his answer before he speaks it; can see it in the way his eyes lift to yours, pained yet resigned. Kyojuro withdraws reluctantly, his hands dropping to your wrists before stepping away from you entirely.

“I serve the kingdom.”

He doesn’t need to clarify. Not you.

Kyojuro would rather swallow his own sword than raise a hand to you; you know that. Yet his words are an ugly, vicious slap and you recoil all the same.

The sharp bite of your nails into your palms is all that helps you keep your voice steady, even as embarrassment warms your cheeks.

“If that is your answer,” you swallow once, and force your chin high. “Resume your post then, Sir Rengoku. You’re not needed here.”

He makes as though to say something more, to protest, fight back, do anything that might prove someone in this castle cares for you, not merely what you represent. But even Kyojuro, kind, sweet, loyal Kyojuro cannot elevate you above his own duties. He cannot be fully yours.

Instead, his hand balls at his side. “As you wish, your Highness.”

You’ve put your back to him now, too prideful to allow him to see the silly tears burning in your eyes under the sting of his rejection. Even as your fingers find your dressing robe, the material sliding silkily over your shoulders as you conceal your bare body from sight, you can imagine the curt nod of his head; the ease with which he slips back into his mask as Captain of your guard.

A small, childish part of you longs to lob one of the small pillows decorating your bed right at his head. You opt instead, however, to stare into the fire burning merrily in your lavish hearth.

You try not to linger too long on the way the flames dance like his hair in the wind; how its warmth caressing your face feels dangerously close to his hands; his lips.

Behind you, Kyojuro silently gathers his own abandoned attire. Your ears are painfully tuned into every snap of leather, every shift of metals as he completes his metamorphosis with careful precision.

He cannot help but hesitate as he dresses, silently willing you to face him, to say something — anything — but the only sound that passes between you are the ones of him preparing to leave. Again.

Resigned, he makes his final adjustments to his uniform, his armor, and then slips quietly to your chamber door. He chances one, last hopeful glance back at where you stand before the hearth before pulling the door shut.

You do not turn around.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Not a Word

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 48

After a brief night of celebration, the final test begins.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

Sunlight strained through trees.

Music, playing so softly you could barely hear it. 

Warmth in your heart, blooming from the fresh memory of his touch. 

I love you. 

The words Leon had whispered to you as your skin pressed up against his. A secret more devastating and dangerous than any of the reports that Krauser had given to you. 

He loved you. And you hadn’t been able to say it back. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not as the two of you redressed yourselves, nor as you lingered in the woods for a little while longer, listening to the radio and eating the sandwiches Doc had intended only for you. You should have been enjoying the final day together - a day that had so luckily happened to fall on a holiday once again. Instead, you couldn’t stop thinking of those words, from the walk back to base proper, well into the evening. 

An evening that should have offered some distraction. 

STRATCOM recruits worked hard, but on the Fourth of July? On the last day before their final test? They played even harder. 

Your stolen radio was just as celebrated as the fact that, for your squad, training was almost over. The months of pain and pressure were coming to a close, and as your squad gathered in the barracks that night, pushing bunks out of the way, you were happy to try and drown your screaming thoughts in the music. To watch your fellow recruits dance and laugh. To watch Leon smiling and trying not to look at you as the two of you gravitated towards each other. 

He loved you. 

You remained on the edges of the party, not sure whether to thank God or damn him for that love. You’d known, you supposed, but now it was real. Tangible. Lingering like the growing soreness in your body. There was no way to ignore it, to set it aside. What was that box with the cat inside of it? The one where you weren’t sure if it was alive or dead? Well, it was alive and well and now you had a life in your hands that you didn’t know what to do with. Because soon enough, it would be Leon that could be either living or dying and he loved you and you didn’t know how you could-

“I’m stealing your pretty boy,” Valeria pulled you from your thoughts just as she pulled Leon towards the cleared out space in the middle of the bunkhouse. His eyes widened and he tried to protest, but you just smiled and shrugged, not coming to his rescue. 

Watching him dance with the others was funny enough to outshine your turbulent mind for a moment. You got the feeling that Selena wasn’t what he usually listened to, let alone danced to. Still, you knew better than anyone that he was a fast learner. Valeria and the others laughed, and it wasn’t long before Leon was laughing too, finding an easy rhythm as songs went by. 

And for a moment, you found yourself caught in a different memory, same circumstances; same stupid, happy music, but different faces. 

Faces that had been warped and twisted not by time and memory but by a weapon without a blade or trigger-

“Not gonna dance, Sarge?” Alenko had once been hesitant to talk to you. Hell, most people on base had been. Now, he left the dance floor and wiped his brow with an easy smile and nothing but friendly affection for you in his eyes. 

Williams answered for you, shaking her head and approaching after her friend. “Nah. Having fun? This one? Maybe when hell freezes over.” She had a teasing tone to her voice that was familiar but not entirely welcome . . . but welcome or not, that tease made itself at home and started brewing a feeling of amusement in you. 

“Or when you learn to not overcommit on your slashes,” you shot back, earning a smile from Williams in turn. “That’d be just as likely.” Still, even with the joke, you didn’t move. 

Not until Alenko came and sat at your side, his voice lowering so others couldn’t hear you as well. “Come on,” he said, “it’s our last night all together. Can’t be a proper unit without our Sergeant.” 

Even with how those words stung, you almost said no. At least, until Leon looked over at you from the dance floor, looking younger and happier than you’d ever seen him. 

You’d prided yourself on your defenses, once. Now, they crumbled so easily. 

“Fine,” you said, and you had to try to sound annoyed as you stood, feeling like you were stepping into the past.

Against all your best efforts, against everything in you screaming to make it not so, you had fun that night. Dancing to whatever other stupid songs came on the radio, trading muted but real smiles and laughs with the men and women you’d trained alongside . . . sharing glances with the man who loved you. 

Who you loved in turn. 

“I owe you an apology for that first day too,” Leon told you, a little out of breath, as the two of you stepped off the impromptu dance floor for a break. 

“I seem to recall you were the one that walked away with a bruised face that day,” you pointed to the matching scrapes you’d picked up in the woods that matched. 

Leon chuckled but shook his head. “Nah. I said you couldn’t dance. Think you proved me wrong tonight.” 

You just laughed at that, because you honestly hadn’t even remembered that snide remark of his until now. “Glad to know I haven’t lost that skill entirely.” 

“Well, maybe we’ll have to try again some other time,” Leon offered with a low voice and a shrouded smirk. Dancing with him again. In the future. He sounded so hopeful when he said it. Hopeful . . . and afraid. Still, he’d always been good at hiding his fear. “You know, practice makes perfect and all that.”

God, you loved him.

“That is what they say.” 

You didn’t get the chance to tell him that night, though, as Krauser knocked on the barracks door and told you all to get some rest. All you did was try to memorize his smile. God, you would move mountains for that smile. It was a smile that you held on to as you all turned in for the night, one you clung to as you lay in your bunk. His smile, the feeling of him, all the moments you’d stolen with him. You thought of it all as you went to sleep. 

Sunlight strained through trees.

Music, playing so softly you could barely hear it. 

Warmth in your heart, blooming from the fresh memory of his touch. 

I love you. 

It was, by all accounts, the best day you’d had in a long damn time. 

You only hoped that Leon felt the same. That you’d given him enough to hold on to when he passed his test - and you knew he would pass his test - and went into the world. You hoped that whatever horrors he would face, he would remember the sun and your touch on his skin and find the will to keep fighting. 

You hoped that he knew, even if you hadn’t spoken the words, that you loved him. 

You hoped he knew.

⧫⧫⧫

Krauser had told them he’d wake them all at 0200 - that the test would begin in earnest then, that it would span over the next three days. Leon wasn’t surprised when the door to the barracks was knocked open at 0100 instead. 

Just as well, he hadn’t been able to sleep much anyway. He’d allowed himself to get lost in thoughts of you. Memories of your touch, of how you’d felt. 

As soon as Krauser came through that door, though, Leon did his best to push those thoughts aside. It would be days before he saw you again, he couldn’t let you distract him any more than normal. Easier said than done, when only a few hours before you’d been above him, framed by sunlight and-

Leave it to you to find a way to make this just a little more challenging for him. 

You rose with everyone else, even if you weren’t going to be coming along. It seemed that you hadn’t been sleeping much, either. Leon hoped the thoughts keeping you awake would be more pleasant ones, but he knew there was likely more on your mind than just your time with him. Leon glanced over at you as he got ready, unable not to. Not just because you had given him a memory he would never forget, but because you should have been going with. You should be putting your skills to the test alongside the rest of them. His only solace was that you wouldn’t be deployed with the rest any time soon. 

You would be safe for just a little while longer. 

He knew that would be of no consolation to you, though. That was likely why your smile wasn’t genuine when you caught him looking at you.

Even so, you made your way over to him, just before the squad moved out. “You ready?” you asked, searching Leon’s eyes for the truth of his answer. 

And honestly? No, he wasn’t. He didn’t fear the days of tests that awaited him, however grueling and cruel Krauser and Hellman were going to be. He feared what would happen if he passed - and he had to pass, didn’t he? The government wanted their toy soldier. Their weapon. If he didn’t pass this test . . . well, for Sherry, he wouldn’t let that happen. 

That meant there was only one path open to him. One that led straight towards the nightmares you’d kept at bay. Still, he didn’t want you worrying for him any more than you already were. 

“As I’ll ever be,” he answered, technically with the truth. 

“You’re ready,” you reassured him, surprising him with the certainty of the words. 

He gave you a little smile. “Not gonna tell me to stop worrying about everyone else and start worrying about myself?” 

“You gonna start listening?” 

He laughed at that, but as it faded, his look became more meaningful. “Wouldn’t have made it this far without you, you know.” He spoke because it was some truth that had been weighing on him, but you just shook your head. 

“Yes, you would’ve. You would have found a way to get where you needed to be.” 

Leon just swallowed, then, his lips pursing before he spoke again, quieter this time. “It wasn’t the sparring that kept me going.” 

Your eyes flashed, your lips parting. Whatever you were going to say, Leon could see it get stuck in your throat. He realized then that he’d pushed it too far, perhaps. That he was saying too much, even if it was all truth. When you didn’t respond to his admission right away, Leon just tilted his head in a shrug, trying to play off the awkward pause. “Sorry. Running my mouth a lot today.” 

“Just today?” You raised a brow, and he laughed. 

“Alright, most days.” You scoffed and shook your head, just as a sharp knock sounded on the barracks door. Time to go. “I’d tell you how it all goes when we get back, but-” you didn’t give Leon the chance to finish. 

“That would defeat the purpose of the test?” 

The two of you shared a knowing smile at the joke that felt older than it actually was.

“Have to keep things fair, don’t we?”

You hummed as you nodded, looking to the door, then the rest of your squad, and then back to Leon. “Go on,” you urged, nearly reaching for him before you stopped yourself. “Go kick ass.” 

Leon didn’t intend to refuse an order from you. 

So, he decided as he loaded his pack up with rations and everything else, as he and the others received their rifles - loaded with blanks, of course - and formed up in line under the street lamps one last time. Krauser and Hellman stood before them all, and Leon was glad that the agent stayed back to let the Major speak instead. 

“I’ve asked more from you all than any other instructor has in your careers,” he began, his gaze sweeping the line of ten before him. “And you all have met those demands. That is why you’re standing here today. You’ve found ways to overcome every obstacle that’s been thrown your way, and you’ll need to continue to do so because this world is going to ask more of you than it has of any other soldiers before. And even if soldiers aren't exactly what you’re going to be at the end of all this, you are all still some of the finest men and women I’ve been in command of.” Leon could feel the pride in those words, just as he felt the stab of a challenge as Krauser’s eyes met his. “Course, you’ve still got fifty-four hours to prove me wrong.” The Major gave a warning sign in the form of a smile. Trouble was, Leon didn’t fear that look. Not anymore. That was why he was able to return the expression, however faintly. Krauser tilted his chin up at the mirrored taunt, and Leon saw that smile grow.

Maybe he shouldn’t have played with that particular fire, because his own last name was burning at his ears a moment later. “Kennedy! Soto!” Krauser called, and Leon and Valeria both stepped forward. The two that Hellman wanted gone, that only stayed thanks to Krauser’s own intervention. “You two will be squad leaders during our little test.” Leon felt himself suck a breath in at that order, because he hadn’t expected it. “You will be responsible for the men under you. Their successes are your successes, their failures are your failures. Am I understood?” 

There was no room for argument. “Sir, yes sir!” 

Krauser nodded once. Gestured with his chin down the road that waited for them all. “Then stop wasting time and move out!” 

The squad obeyed without complaint, and so it began. The beginning of the end. 

Through the night, they marched, out of the base and into the hills and forest outside. Krauser and Hellman rode ahead in a truck, and a few other instructors remained with the squad for the march. There was little sound in those first few miles. Only the sounds of footsteps against the dirt path and the forest around them coming to life . . . but then . . . 

Williams started it. Humming softly one of the songs that had been on the radio the night before. One Leon recognized immediately. 

“Thought you hated the Spice Girls?” he grinned, looking over his shoulder at the tall woman. 

She just shrugged. “Maybe they’re growing on me.” 

He couldn’t help but smile at that, because it was almost a way for you to be here. Almost. He didn’t know he could be so sentimental about a soldier who’d given him more bruises than kisses . . . but here he was. The instructors along with the group didn’t seem to appreciate it when some of the other squad members joined in, singing along as the group traveled through the dark with just their flashlights to guide them. 

By the time morning came around properly, the songs had been stamped out in favor of birds and the forest around them stirring . . . and a sound that made Leon and the other nine recruits freeze in their tracks. A hissing-growl that Leon wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly, at first. 

It echoed through the trees, bouncing off the trees and setting ice forming in Leon’s blood. 

Because Leon knew that sound - he’d learned all too quickly in Raccoon City that answering that sound with one of his own would mean death. It would mean a skinless monstrosity with a maw of saw teeth and claws like butcher’s knives coming his way. Thanks to the reports Reed and Hellman had gone over with the squad, they knew too. Still, Leon raised a finger to his lips as he looked over at his comrades, his first command as squad leader delivered without words. 

Not a word . . . not a sound. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

[maespri]

your turn to die chapter 2 deaths ranked by how painful they were (and why)

CRAZY ASS TITLE AGAIN. i know. hear me out. this post is kind of an addition to this post i made ranking all the deaths in YTTD, but it focuses only on the "game over" deaths that occur in chapter two of the game. because... i watched a video on it, and jesus there were a lot. and i wanted to analyze it all again!

as usual, spoilers ahead, and TRIGGER WARNING that this post will be going in-depth on the deaths and the nature and science behind them. it gets gory and detailed. if that will be too upsetting to read, please keep scrolling!

let's get into it!

if you haven't read my other post, some backstory: i have a special interest in anatomy & physiology, and i find it interesting to analyze these deaths and try to work through and understand exactly how they occurred.

each death/"game over" is named after the attractions/circumstance under which they occur. then i'll go into specifics. some of these were difficult to analyze due to the fact that it wasn't totally clear what happened, but i did my best!

quick glossary: exsanguination: severe blood loss asphyxia(tion)/hypoxia: inadequate oxygen supply to the body artery: vital blood vessel carrying blood out of the heart and to other vital tissues/organs spinal cord: cord that carries nerve signals from brain to body and vice versa pneumothorax: condition occurring when no oxygen can enter the lung(s), resulting in the organ shutting down hypovolemic: loss of fluid in the body, often referring to blood or water shock: life-threatening condition where the body does not have enough blood circulating through it TBI: traumatic brain injury cerebral: relating to the brain hemorrhage: bleeding necrosis: cell/tissue death neurotransmitter: chemicals that allow neurons to communicate with each other throughout the body

most painful:

stay on target:

sara and her partner get eaten alive. that sounds painful upon first hearing it, and it only gets worse when you consider what that actually means. for starters, sara and her partner are alive for every bite until the end of their death, where the mouth spits out their blood.

getting chewed alive would be excruciating. necrosis occurs as the bones, muscles, and nerves sitting in the lower limbs get crushed into mush, and as it moves further up the body, it worsens. until the spinal cord is severed (and even then, there's no certainty it actually would be severed; whether or not that occurs depends on the strength of the bite and the angle), they'll feel every bit of that pain. and if the spinal cord is cut, they'll only stop feeling pain everywhere beneath wherever that part is severed. for example, if sara's spinal cord snaps around her thoracic vertebrae (basically the middle discs of the spine), she'll stop feeling pain from the mid-back down- but if it doesn't snap again above that? she'll keep feeling it, if that makes sense.

so... overall, i think this would be one of the worst deaths. just imagine getting crushed over and over and over again.

-> official cause of death: likely shock, and/or fatal TBI from the brain getting crunched last

hide and seek:

this one was really interesting to analyze. judging by the blood splatter, it seems sara was slashed with a scythe around the right shoulder/lung. which... i hope i don't have to explain why that would hurt like hell. namely because she would likely still be alive for at least some amount of time and in terrible pain until the damage to her torso results in death.

irreparable damage to her lung combined with exsanguination would result in death here. the axillary artery sits around the armpit, meaning a hit to that area would most certainly result in the huge amount of blood we see staining the wall behind sara. and once that artery is hit, and in such a severe way... yeah, it's over.

-> official cause of death: hypovolemic shock due to exsanguination + pneumothorax leading to fatal shock

fly swatter:

so... this one was kind of insane?

my friend and i did some research for this one as well as suspended some disbelief and decided the answer that made the most sense given the characters appearances is that the flies literally chewed through their scalps and into their brains. there are actual flies in the world that can bite, but not to this extent, so it makes more sense that asunaro would have created these flies specifically for the death game and given them abilities.

there is also the possibility they were stung, but the amount of blood streaming down their faces, in my opinion, makes me think they were actually eaten. i also think this because if gin is your partner in this game, there will be holes in his hoodie implying the flies chewed through them (not pictured, apologies).

anyway, in this case... having your brain get eaten from your scalp... um. that would suck! pretty bad! you'd likely be terrified, thrashing around, and have intense pain in your head while your brain literally gets eaten. while, fun fact, the brain itself can't feel any pain, everything surrounding it can. i think this is just a nightmare scenario all around.

-> official cause of death: cerebral hemorrhaging/TBI.

quick draw:

in this death, sara gets impaled by a sword. its unclear exactly where the sword impales her, but it is obviously somewhere in the torso. the exact positioning actually does vastly change the amount of pain.

if the sword impales sara through her lower torso, it'll certainly pass through her intestines. potentially the pancreas and/or kidney(s). if it does hit her here, she'd be in pain for a long time; the organs of the lower abdomen are not as vital as the organs of the upper torso such as the heart and lungs, so... she'd basically be lying there, in horrible pain, bleeding out for some time. also, the conus medullaris (where the spinal cord essentially "ends") lies in the lower back often above the lumbar vertebrae. a direct hit there would result not in loss of sensation as spinal cord severing often does, but instead in severe back pain alongside other painful symptoms.

my point is- it would hurt. bad.

if the sword impaled sara's upper torso, she'd still be in pain, but for a far shorter time. the blade would pierce the heart/lungs, and, being in the center of sara's back, likely result in a complete spinal cord injury and cut off all sensation below that. she'd be unconscious due to shock within a few seconds, and total brain death would occur soon after.

i also want to note that there is blood on the blade above sara's body, which means the blade was inserted very quickly and resulted in her blood splattering upward over it. all this really means is the damage was even more extensive.

-> official cause of death: exsanguination, shock

painful:

spirit shutter:

this death occurs from sara getting choked to death. the first hand that appears on her is the one wrapped around her neck. the others fade in to hold her down, with one even covering her nose/mouth to make it even harder for her to breathe.

i think this death is painful especially from a standpoint of pure fear. being held down, choked to death, unable to do anything, is a horrifying concept in and of itself. add to that the fact that there all these other hands covering your face and grabbing you as well, and it's all just. awful.

choking occurs from the crushing of the windpipe which doesn't allow for adequate oxygen supply. overall, terrifying and painful.

-> official cause of death: cerebral hypoxia.

arm-wrestling:

this death was. disgusting to think about in-depth!

i think the thumb/forefinger of the red hands are digging into the eyes of sara and her partner. first of all, jesus, that hurts. ultimately, i believe their heads are just squeezed until they explode.

it's difficult for me to consider the science behind that considering that, in real life, it is impossible to crush a 17-year-old and late-20s-year-old's live human head with one hand. but it would definitely be incredibly painful. first the skull starts cracking and splintering, then it closes in on the brain, just... eugh.

the fact that their deaths appear to be mostly instant, however, shown by a single flash of red before the screen cuts to black, makes me think this death is less painful than the others, at least. it's very quick, at the very least.

-> official cause of death: fatal TBI.

charge card battle:

in this death, a giant blue beam crashes into sara. while i have no way of knowing what exactly that beam is made up of, it's likely some very strong volt of electricity.

the wound on sara's chest, the blood splatter behind her, and the cracked wall implies the beam was powerful enough to cut all the way through her skin, muscle, bone, and organs and break the wall behind her.

what's interesting here is that sara is killed immediately upon impact, but keiji has enough strength to lean to the left slightly toward her (shown by his outline not making the blood outline behind him) and tell sara he's sorry, an apology which sara is not alive to hear nor respond to.

i think this would be incredibly painful for what i hope are obvious reasons. a fiery electric beam cutting through your body would result in blinding, burning, pain for at least a few seconds before leading to death. however, i put it lower because the death is almost instant.

-> official cause of death: exsanguination, blunt-force trauma to the entire body

"least" painful:

runaway-minecart:

i would argue this is the least painful death out of any in this post, because it is instant. there's no time to feel pain. they're just dead. getting crushed by a giant boulder? you're just nothing. dead instantly because the brain gets crushed.

-> official cause of death: TBI.

white gas:

this death occurs if you fail to help shin hack the security system in time. a white gas floods the room, sara says she "can't breathe," and the "game over" appears. i'm uncertain what kind of gas is thrown into the room; some sort of advanced poison gas. most poison gases cause terrible symptoms and pain for a long time in victims, but because sara seems to be affected and presumably die instantly, i'd guess it's some sort of specific concoction conjured up by asunaro.

either way, the fact that it kills her so quickly makes this one of the least painful deaths.

-> official cause of death: asphyxiation due to poisonous gas.

poison door:

this death occurs if you input the wrong number into the door. something pricks sara's finger and presumably injects a poison into her bloodstream.

poison works by unleashing neurotoxins, cytotoxins, and hemotoxins into the body, all of which affect the nervous system, cells, and the blood respectively. all of these can have adverse effects on the body which ultimately lead to the destruction of nerves and result in paralysis, seizure, and death.

in sara's case, she was likely injected with a very fast-acting poison. my guess would be a high dose of cyanide. cyanide interferes with cellular respiration, which causes cell necrosis and essentially results in the body's tissue being unable to use oxygen.

cyanide poisoning very quickly results in a loss of consciousness, which is also shown through sara passing out practically instantly. so even if she were to continue to have symptoms (such as seizure- which i would guess would be unlikely, given she would likely be dead before any would begin), she wouldn't feel it.

that's why this falls under one of the least painful deaths.

-> official cause of death: cell necrosis -> hypoxia.

uncertain:

i was unsure about how this death worked.

memory dance:

this one was very confusing to me. the death scene begins with white ropes wrapping around sara's arms and legs, keeping her in place; then, a curved woosh of something white crashes into her. the screen goes red, and this is the final thing shown. at first, i thought maybe she was hit by a large blunt object whilst being restrained, and that it killed her upon impact.

but the weird thing about this image is sara's stance. she can't be hanging from something because her arms are at her sides, not up, meaning her body is relaxed. but if she isn't hanging, that means she's standing up... despite being dead?

i really have no idea what to clock this death as. something obviously hit her and killed her, but i don't know what it was or where it hit. i'm also confused on the way she's standing. i could very well just be stupid though, so if someone else has an explanation, please do enlighten me. lmfao.

bonuses!

i wanted to touch on the hallucination-related "game overs," of which there are two. while they technically aren't deaths, i still think they're really interesting to talk about from a psychological/neurological standpoint. this might just be mostly mindless rambling, fair warning... but, whatever. here are my thoughts.

if you use the hallucination machine three times:

before i get into this, i'm really gonna need you to suspend some disbelief for this game. modern medicine isn't at a point yet where we can ultra-specifically cherry-pick memories to remove. i'm aware of that. i'll try to explain how this might work, anyway.

if sara uses the hallucination removal machine three times, joe will essentially appear to be "eaten away" by sara's psyche. sara appears to have become addicted to the machine, begging to be allowed to use it one more time. safalin uses this to her advantage, stating that if sara obeys her, the machine will be her "reward."

while it is impossible to pick and choose specific events or people to remove from your memory in modern medicine- as far as i know...- this is still interesting to me for a few reasons.

the first reason being that it illustrates how unstable sara's state of mind has gotten. she wants to keep using the machine, no longer out of a desire to forget joe- she already did that, it was shown- but solely because it's the only thing bringing her peace anymore.

so why does overusing the machine result in a bad ending- and if sara has forgotten joe, why is she still addicted to the machine?

countless neurotransmitters are responsible for memory formation, but i want to hone in on glutamate, acetylcholine, and serotonin.

glutamate is heavily involved in long-term memory. a decrease of this neurotransmitter can result in memory loss, alongside a myriad of other unfortunate symptoms.

acetycholine helps organize working memory into long-term memory. cholinergic neurons (nerve cells in which acetycholine works) innervate the hippocampus (the part of the brain where your memories are stored), and aid the formation of episodic memory (your memories of specific events) as well as semantic memory (your long-term, basic, memory, such as numbers, words, and concepts).

serotonin has a few ways of aiding memory, but one of its most vital functions is its construction of neural pathways which allow you to learn new information more quickly.

with that in mind, if i had to assign an actual science to the hallucination removal machine, i would imagine it works by:

impacting the hippocampus in some very specific way, to where it only impacts sara's memory of joe

or, somehow decreasing the level of glutamate, acetylcholine, and serotonin in the brain.

for the first two hallucination removals, maybe a minimal or safe amount of each neurotransmitter was removed. just enough to make sara forget about joe enough to calm down again.

but repeated depletion of these neurotransmitters would cause immense problems. i also want to point out that sara appears to struggle a lot with anxiety in chapter two due to the hallucinations, and anxiety is thought to be related to inadequate amounts of serotonin. my point there is that she was (obviously) already struggling before ever using the machine.

so by the third time sara uses it, something in her brain must snap. too much has been taken out, whether that be because safalin manipulates the machine to remove more than necessary, or just because sara's body has truly hit its limit.

this makes sara physically weak. each of the previously mentioned neurotransmitters affect the memory, but they also play a vital role in your body's basic functioning all throughout the body.

what makes sara mentally weak is dopamine.

dopamine is the feel-good neurotransmitter; it makes you relaxed and satisfied. every time sara uses the hallucination machine, she's flooded with dopamine; she gets to forget about all the pain of remembering joe. that feels amazing.

most likely, she came to associate the hallucination-removal machine with dopamine release, and in a situation where dopamine release would otherwise be incredibly minimal (not much satisfaction to be gained out of watching everyone around you die and lie and fight), the hallucination machine would be a godsend.

my point here is that sara basically became addicted to the machine because it became her only solace.

so combine her now-physical weakness with her addiction to the dopamine she gets out of the hallucination machine, and she gets this ending where she fully submits to safalin under the condition that she gets to keep using the machine.

so... that's my messy explanation there!

reaching maximum hallucination level:

if you reach a hallucination level of 130, sara will essentially lose her mind. she'll see a version of herself walking up to joe during his death scene with a knife in hand, which she ultimately plunges into his neck. after this, she screams, it cuts to black, and there's a "game over."

this entire ending is the embodiment of sara's self-blame as well as her desire for control.

when it comes to loss, the first person people tend to blame is themself. for sara, this is because she actually does blame herself for not being able to do more to save joe's life. but it is also because she felt powerless both in the death game and during joe's death. she clicked over and over and it led to nothing. by blaming herself for joe's death, she gets to maintain some control over it, even if she wishes it never happened to begin with. that control brings her some subconscious sense of sick comfort.

her self-blame and guilt for joe's death, despite not actually being her fault, causes her to conjure up this manifestation of her own internal struggle in the form of a hallucination of joe.

it's very realistic for sara to try to avoid thinking of joe during chapter two. i believe sara develops PTSD after witnessing joe's traumatic death in chapter one. memory loss is very common in PTSD and is a defense mechanism by the brain.

but sara doesn't forget joe entirely; she just tries not to think about him. unfortunately, she's triggered by certain things around her that force her to remember him. however, she can no longer conjure up good memories of joe; only able to think about the fact that he's dead. with no other concrete figure to blame, she blames herself.

psychologically speaking... no, you can't die of "losing your mind." but grief, PTSD, and trauma can result in physical symptoms. for example, a heart attack, which most certainly can kill you.

but in this ending, i don't think sara actually dies. her last words are just her laughing. i think she kind of just... loses it. and that makes sense.

i think the reason this ending happens, and the reason sara sees herself killing joe, is because her mind is no longer able to understand why joe died. so it makes something up.

she sees all these things that remind her that joe was alive once. every time we see something that reminds us of someone else, we think, "that reminds me of this person" -> "that makes me feel [sad] [happy] [mad]" -> "anyway..." and move on.

but sara's brain instantly jumps to extremes. she goes from "this reminds me of joe" to a very blunt "oh, joe is dead" to the question of "why is joe dead?"

and instead of thinking logically- "joe is dead because he got unlucky and drew the sacrifice card. joe is dead because he got kidnapped and put into this death game. joe is dead because miley told the wrigglers to drain his blood."

sara can't compute that. she sees hallucination joe blaming her. just goes straight to, "joe must be dead because of something i did."

in psychology, this is a very common way of thinking in children. they aren't old enough to understand that the world doesn't revolve around them, so they think everything that happens happens because of them.

in sara's case, she seems to kind of regress back into that way of thinking, even if it is only in relation to joe.

so after being reminded of joe so many times and going through this cycle of thinking, her mind gets tired of trying to sort between real and fake memories of joe's death and just solidifies itself on one side of the story.

sara's brain basically decides, sure, we killed joe. it's easier if we believe we killed joe. here's how you did it, too. you took a knife and plunged it into his neck. there, now it's definitely your fault.

which totally backfires for sara, who has now completely lost it. there's no line between real and not real for her anymore. anything she convinces herself she's done, she believes.

so that's how that ending works, in my opinion.

that's it!

as always, if i got something wrong or if you have any thoughts of your own, please do correct me or share with me! i'm not a professional, just insane.

thank you for reading!!

[kimmiessimmies]

OC Deep Dive Questionnaire Tag

A set of 20 questions to get to know your OC!

It's been a while since @nocturnalazure tagged me to do this again. Life took over for a while, but here we are, after all. Thank you for tagging, my dear! ❤️ Upon your request, here's Rachel!

I was actually hoping to post the next chapter today, which also centres around Rach, but I need two more days to get that sorted. So consider this your Rachel-fix to pass the time. 😉

What uncommon/common fear do they have?

Rachel has a fear of heights and things that go at excessive speeds.

Do they have any pet peeves?

When people comment on the fact that she's quiet, talking on the phone (especially when it can be texted).

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Books, her diary, and a collection of hairbands.

What do they notice first in a person?

If they have kind eyes.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Maybe a 6? She can handle some pain, but not too much. She's also afraid things might hurt.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

This totally depends on the situation. Rachel would fight if she feels passionate about something, but when it's something less important to her heart, she wouldn't.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

Rachel comes from a very warm, open-minded, and accepting family situation. She doesn't have a big family, but her parents, her brother and her sister are hugely important to her.

What animal represents them best?

A golden retriever. Loyal and helpful.

What is a smell that they dislike?

Rachel is not a perfume girl. She dislikes most perfumes and artificial smells in general. She picks showergel with a natural smell and non-perfumed washing detergent for her clothes.

Have they broken any bones?

She broke her underarm when falling off a slide as a kid.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Quiet, shy.

Are they a night owl or a morning bird?

Rachel loves her sleep. She likes to go to bed at a reasonable hour and sleep until she wakes up naturally, which is usually around 8.

What is a flavour they hate and a flavour they love?

Rachel is vegetarian. When there's meat in a dish and she didn't expect it, she immediately notices upon first bite, and it literally leaves her nauseous. She loves avocados!

Do they have any hobbies?

Reading, writing, yoga, ballet (although she hasn't done that in a while).

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises?

Not too great. Well, she wouldn't show it, but those who truly know her, know she likes to be prepared.

Do they like to wear jewellery?

Yes! Earrings especially! But always understated, never big or flashy..

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Compassion and insecurity

Do they have a favourite fabric?

Wool and cotton

What kind of accent do they have?

No noticeable accent, but she can speak very softly. Sometimes so quietly that it's hard to understand.

[byuteablanc]

One Human and a Whole Lotta Bones! | Skeleharem x Gender Neutral Reader

—

I hope you enjoy this! If you need to find the beginning or any chapter, refer to the links at the bottom of the post!

And if you prefer to read on AO3, click on this!

—

Chapter Two: Hand Soap

Your hands were covered in coffee grounds. Of course Sans just “had to go to work” and he “was almost late” and couldn’t spare a single minute to clean up after he knocked over the container of specialty South American coffee grounds.

You made a mental note to get him back later, maybe put the coffee grounds in his slippers? Maybe in his bed? Maybe in his skull while he was sleeping? Decisions, decisions…

As you fantasized your revenge, your hands were busy with cleaning the mess. To even more detriment, these skeletons did not own not one broom in their whole house. And when you asked Sans where the broom was so that you could sweep, he asked “what’s a broom?”. So you had to get on your knees and scoop of the small mountain of coffee grounds. You didn’t know how these skeletons survived.

Your hands, now considerably dirty, needed to be cleaned. You got up and turned to the kitchen sink to clean them, only to find the soap diluted with water. You sighed, trying to make the best of it, but it was so diluted that the coffee just got watery and combined when you tried to wash it off.

Now frustrated, you decided to walk past the foyer and up the stairs to the nearest bathroom. This bathroom was shared by Edge, Stretch, and Blue, it also had diluted soap. You would think that Edge in particular would have better standards of soap to wash his hands with.

Continuing to the next bathroom, which was shared by you, Cinnabar, and Russ. There was a similar issue. You remembered that the soap was a little low this morning, Russ and Cinnabar were going to answer for their crimes as soon as they came home.

Traversing the hallway to the third-nearest bathroom which was Sans’, you would’ve usually been hesitant to enter someone’s room without their permission, but right now you were so frustrated and coffee-handed that you could care less. Despite your frustration, the same problem occurred in Sans’ bathroom. “This is ridiculous…” you muttered to yourself.

It wasn’t your first time encountering this issue. But when you’d walk about the house to another bathroom, at least the second one you went to had pure, non-ninety-percent-water hand soap.

Your last hope was Papyrus and the basement, and you had hoped with all your little human soul that Papyrus would be your salvation. That Papyrus would be the one to save you from this coffee-grounds-on-hands nightmare. You reached his bathroom and the same lack of real soap was found.

You were considering up wiping your hands on Sans’ bed sheets.

With just a sliver of PATIENCE left in you, you decided to go all the way down the stairs to the basement bathroom. You found the same problem.

You took a deep inhale, decidedly fed up with this whole ordeal.

“mornin’, sweetheart”

“Red, get your coat. We’re going to the store to buy hand soap,” you thought for a moment, “also a broom.”

“what the hell is a broom?”

—

Coffee grounds still on your hands, you were on a mission. Eyes narrowed, hands on the wheel, you took Red in your car and to the store. Red thought the whole situation was hilarious and started laughing as soon as you told him, and continued to laugh until now.

“oh! oh it hurts! hahahah!” He had your passenger seat laid back to accommodate for him. You silently noted just how large he was, which wasn’t a bad thing, just interesting. You didn’t know how a skeleton could be “large”.

“I’m glad someone is getting a kick out of this.” You remarked, rolling your eyes.

“hey doll, at least you have free car freshener after this!” he laughed, holding a hand to his would-be-stomach in pain.

“Maybe you should get car freshener? Yours always smells like mustard.” you shivered in the memory. You and Red arrived home at the same time one evening and when he opened his door to speak to you, you got punched in the face with the smell of the mentioned tangy yellow paste. It was so potent that it threw you back a little like how a small tidal wave would.

“i would want nothin’ better than to be surrounded by golden delicious,” he recalled fondly, getting a dreamy look to him. This seemed to knock him out of his laughing spell however, which you were grateful for.

Face contorting into a look of disgust, “You have odd tastes.”

“don’t knock it tell ya’ try it, doll. you might just find yourself in love.”

“Over my dead body.”

“don’ threaten me with a good time.”

You shot him a look of surprise mixed with excuse-me-what-the-fuck-did-you-just-say. Acutely noticing your rage, his lackadaisical smile turned nervous. “s-sorry sweetheart! i didn’ mean it! h-honest!” he had his hands up in defense.

Satisfied with his apology, you turned your attention back to the road. After this, a somewhat thick tension began to settle between the two of you. You ignored it, not caring about the lack of talking. It allowed you to focus on the road better anyways.

“soooo, what’s school like?” he muttered, trying to ease the tension.

“Tiring at times, but otherwise it’s educational I guess? It’s just learning so that I have better opportunities, not much to it.” You shrugged, getting closer and closer to your destination.

From your peripheral vision, it looked like he furrowed his brows. “well, ain’t it fun at least? i would think school was interactive and entertainin’, what otha’ way would there be ta’ learn?”

Did he not experience school before? “Much of the opposite, especially in graduate school. Maybe it’s fun in elementary, but after that stage, learning becomes more and more tedious.”

You took a glance to his face, he was frowning, usual smile now crooked. “that sounds awful…”

You shrugged. “It is what it is. I mean, have you ever experienced school before?”

“no”

Your eyes widened in surprise, turning to him just slightly. “So you don’t have an education? Like not even kindergarten?”

“first of all, i do “have an education”. like i know pemdas and how to read and whatnot. second of all, what the hell is “kindergarten”?” he stated sassily, enunciating the “r” in kindergarten for emphasis. He might’ve even sounded a little offended.

“Kindergarten is the first stage of systematic schooling young kids go through, well that’s if you don’t count preschool. Did monsters not have a school system for their society?” you raised a brow. Your knowledge on the underground was incredibly sparse, forged on small snippets on what Cinnabar already told you that you just happened to remember. You usually didn’t like to ask about it, because the underground seemed to be not so great for any of your roommates to discuss openly.

“well, uh, we didn’… i mean we… everything that we uhh…” his eyelights got darker and darker.

Well now you felt bad.

“Sorry for asking, just disregard what I said.” You waved to him, attempting to soothe the tension and absolve your guilt.

Here comes that familiar tension. You exhaled in result. You noticed that with Fell and Edge in particular, that whenever the Underground came up they quickly became tense. You were somewhat concerned, always wanting to ask what was wrong. But since you weren’t close, you always defaulted to an apology and running away to leave them alone. Only now, you were stuck right in this small confined metal space on wheels.

“It would seem like we’re here!” You said quickly, thanking the universe that you had something to say. Your announcement also knocked Fell out of his trance and within a blink of an eye, his light returned to his eyes.

“now i’ll finally see what a broom is,” he chuckled, acting as if he wasn’t just a little rattled.

“You’re probably going to be disappointed in the results honestly. It’s not too interesting.”

“oh doll, any dumb human shit is interesting to me.”

—

“you were right this is borin’.”

You stood before the mighty cyan broom with white bristles, hung up against the white peg board. You were in the housekeeping section of the store. You had now wished you double checked what these skeletons also didn’t have before you came here.

You chuckled. “I told you so.”

“i mean, humans got to live on the surface for years and some loser created somethin’ that’s only used to sweep stuff up? you all couldn’t think of anythin’ else?” He asked, disappointed.

You shrugged for like the third time today. “Humans are practical, not at all fun like you guys.”

“well that’s fa true!”

You slowly furrowed your brows, turning before him. “‘well that’s for true’?” You repeated back to him, amused.

Red seemed confused. “yea, what about it?”

“And you say you have an education.”

Now it was his turn to give you a glare.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

He sighed, taking the broom from where it was hanging. “What’s next on our list, scholar?”

Jeez this not being educated thing really seemed to strike a chord. “We need hand soap as you might recall.” You showed your hands for emphasis, which were still covered in coffee grounds.

“heheheheh yeah.” he giggled.

You continued on your journey to obtain the gilded hand soap, Red in tow, definitely debating whether or not to poke you with the head of the broom.

You looked all around the store to any section otherwise applicable to where hand soap might be and you couldn’t find any. This was your worst nightmare. Red seemed to enjoy your misery, but was not happy with all the walking you two were doing all over the store.

You ended up approaching an employee about it. They were a small monster that looked like cat or a dog, either was fair game honestly. They had white fur, and were wearing a yellow and light blue striped shirt with a little green vest that has their name tag. ‘*Temmie*,’ you read, ‘*Interesting name*.’

“Hello, Temmie is it? Where might the hand soap be?”

“Hoi! I am TEMMIE! I wok heRe! yayA!”

You heard Red snickering behind you, more at your situation than the store employee.

“Wonderful, but do you know where the hand soap is?” You asked again, trying to be polite.

“buy temmie flakes! me went to cooleg for sails!”

You frowned just a smidge. Red was shaking with how much he was containing his laughter.

“Hey, Mx. ! I can help you!” Said a voice.

Finally someone helpful!

You turned behind you to see another little dog or cat creature thing. Their green vest read “Bob”.

“Sorry about my colleague, you were requesting hand soap correct?” You nodded. “I see you’re in the home goods section. Did you look in the sanitization section?” You nodded again. “The kids section?” You nodded again. “Even the utilities section?” You felt like your head might pop off with how much you were nodding.

“Oh great Asgore! I‘ll look in the back and see if we have any.” Bob said, quickly turning a corner to go look.

Red was smiling. “the day can’t get easier for you huh, doll?” You simply sighed in reply, hunching over in hopefully-short-lived defeat. “you sure have a latte on your plate.”

You giggled a little at that. This situation was too stupid not to. Red seemed to beam at this a little, becoming considerably more perky in demeanor. “i mean, if i was in your situation, i would’ve bean home and given up by now.”

Your giggling turned to chuckles. He continued gleefully. “i would be a little depresso if i was you right now.”

You began to laugh out loud, surprising Red and making him laugh too. You could see through squinted eyes a small dusty red blush form on his cheeks.

After a moment of laughing, your energy died down. You looked at him, giving him eye contact. “Thank you Red, I appreciated that.”

His face suddenly bursted with red, but then quickly faded as he looked away from you. “n-no problem, sweetheart! anytime! if you ever need a couple of laughs, i’m the funniest monster around.”

You looked at him with mock skepticism. “Now don’t sell yourself too long, Red.”

He began to wear an expression of mock offense. “what? i make ya feel better and that’s how ya do me? you might as well rip my SOUL to pieces, doll.”

You giggled at his silliness, putting a hand up to your mouth. You then heard foot steps coming your way, it was Bob!

“Sorry, but we don’t have any hand soap in the back. And I made sure I looked, we are out out.”

You sighed, shoulders falling. “I appreciate you looking, thank you for helping me.”

Admitting defeat, you take Red to the self checking aisle to purchase your broom.

—

Now back home, hands stiffened by dried sticky coffee grounds, you sat in the den. Red went somewhere, probably to his room. You were alone.

Until Cinnabar came in and saw you.

“You’re home early.” You remarked.

“And You Have Coffee Grounds On Your Hands… Why?” He replied, raising a brow.

You sighed, being reminded of your predicament. “The house doesn’t have any hand soap for me to use to wash it off, and when I went to go buy some with Red, the store had run out.”

“Ahhh…” He hummed in response, brows furrowed for just a moment in something other than thought. “Did You Look In Our Supply Closet?”

You didn’t know they had one of those. “You guys have a supply closet?”

He playfully rolled his eyes, putting a hand on his hip. “C’mon Y/n, We’re Not Savages!”

Well until today, two of them had no idea what a broom was so you wouldn't put savage past them.

Decidedly leaving that detail out, you raise your eyebrow in skepticism. Cinnabar sighs and softly grabs your wrist, deliberately avoiding your hands, taking you to the supply closet close to the kitchen.

You could cry right then and there. There was hand soap! Finally you could wash your crusty hands and finally go back to your soft, supple skin! “Thank you so much Cinnabar!” You take a bottle of soap and run to the kitchen sink.

“No Problem Dearest!” He yells to you as you ran, giggling at your enthusiasm.

—

BEGINNING | Current | Next Chapter

[ror-witch]

Sooooo, I’m not usually one for “sneak peaks” or whatever (mostly cause a chapter can take 180 degree turn whenever with me) but it has been such a long time since I posted anything fic wise I figured anyone who has read and left me such lovely comments on “Pressed and Faded Roses” would appreciate a sign that I am, in fact, still actual working on it 🥲

So, here you go. A snippet of what’s to come. *Spoilers obviously*

Nine months after the destruction of Torin Gulch.

Cedric clutched his prisoner's thin jaw, the small bones beneath his fingers as fragile as the brittle twigs of winter. The girl, a lovely thing who was really more woman than girl by human standards, looked desperately at the man across from her, her soft pale-green eyes watering in terror.

“Father, please! Just tell him! Please!” Her thin voice cracked with anguish, and the shifter could feel her hot tears sliding down his hands. And yet, the man, her father looked more stoic than Cedric would have appreciated. Hadn’t these yet people learned Lord Cedric didn’t bluff?

Apparently not.

His finger’s drifted down to her neck. “Now, I have been told by a reliable source that they heard you say you know the location of the rebel's base in the Western territory and we wouldn't want this precious flower here to think her father is a liar? Would we?”

The other prisoner was silent, unyielding. That was until Cedric pinched the girls windpipe hard enough to elicit a strangulated gurgle.

“No!” Came the immediate response.

Letting go, Cedric clapped his hands together. The room winced.

“Wonderful! It’s so important to set a good example for the next generation, after all.”

Cedric had never been a fan of conventional torture, well, at least, not for information’s sake. The process was slow and messy, and notoriously unreliable. More than one idiot had been dragged along on a fool’s quest following directions from a mouth who would say anything to make the pain stop. And there were much more reliable ways of gathering intelligence. In particular, humans, despite how precious their limited offspring usually were to them, allowed them to wander so freely it would make even the most negligent shifter mother aghast. He’d found this one nearly two towns away from her progenitors. An easy target if ever there was one. He certainly wouldn’t have allowed one of his hypothetical children to fall so easily into enemy hands.

“You will lead my men to this encampment, and once that little infestation is dealt with, I will allow Gemma here to return to her mother. I’m sure she is worried sick.”

“The word of a worm is no better than dirt it writhes in,” the man spat.

Cedric just chuckled. His finger’s drifted back to the girl’s face, and the air in the room chilled.

“Wait please! I—“

“You people just can not understand the concept of not having the upper hand, of not being ‘better’, can you? If someone held my daughter I would hardly be spitting insults at them. No, I would be on my knees begging for her life. But pride is the only thing that matters to your kind, isn’t it? Well, let me show what your pride buys in this world.”

There was a blur of motion, a loud snap, and the undeniable thud of a body now devoid of life hitting the stone floor beneath them.

The shrill scream rattled the shifter’s delicate ears, and his responding hiss was enough to quiet the shrieks of the fallen man's distraught daughter for a moment.

“Why?!” She sobbed, falling to her knees and cradling the man’s macabrely twisted head. “He would have told you…”

“Your father was not the only one who knew the rebels' location. Perhaps, he should have thought of that before deciding to test me. You would do well to remember this little girl. Remember it when your brethren threaten to burn my crops and disrupt my trade lines. Now get out of my sight.” As her pale blonde hair spilled over her shoulders he wondered, idly, if the girl had bastard Escanor blood somewhere in her line.

“Go find your mother,” he added, more gently, and wordlessly left her to her mourning.

Silently, ascending the stairs from the dungeons, Cedric supposed he should have handled that with a touch more decorum. But the days where he allowed humans to insult him to his face with no recourse had passed, and the man was a corroborating witness at best, hardly a truly valuable asset.

Still, a waste was a waste.

Signing, he swung open the door from the lower levels of the castle, and was immediately engulfed in the smell of salty rotting beach-cast seaweed.

The Capital seemed further and further away every day. Were it not for the rebels nipping at his tail, one could be forgiven for forgetting the dark, stormy city and all its dark, stormy inhabitants entirely.

As he slinked through the castle halls, the pale faces of servants scattered with record speed and his guards stood more rigid than oaks. He’d never been…well-liked by…well, anyone, but now most of the inhabitants of Metamoore at large had become convinced he’d gone quite insane.

But that was just as well, in his opinion. People thought insane were often underestimated, but he was thinking with a clarity that he’d not done since before…well, everything.

It was habit that had caused him to shield his eyes from the glare of sun off water as he entered the promenade that separated the two distinct buildings of this castle. After, nine months he’d gotten used to the, albeit still somewhat dimmed, presence of the sun that the areas near Capital had not seen in years. Here, in the Western shores of continents the only storms that brewed the sea caused, not…him. Cedric frowned but pushed the thought away as he pushed a great driftwood door open.

The library was, as always, deserted. The servants of the castle, wisely, did not frequent the same spots he did and Cedric was the only nobility of any note in residence. It was a small, informal setting. Perhaps twenty shelves, and one large desk facing the only window. The library of the Capital contained all the knowledge of Metamoore, but here, thousands of miles away in Wavebreak, the only records of any renown were the genealogical archives of the noble family Cedric had ‘displaced’ on his arrival and their strangely frequent travels to the sister planet earth. Which would have been useful to the Lord, and the Prince he served, should he have cared enough to read them.

Upon settling carefully at the desk, Cedric twirled a massive sapphire gem idly on the wood, and, as he had for the last seven months that he’d sat at that desk, engaged in a silent, sullen, staring contest with the singular envelope that lay upon the table nestled carefully amid a pile of papers and half-read books.

A fine layer of dust had settled on the wax seal, twinkling in the sunlight like the ground remains of a jewel.

His fingers twitched and reached out. The paper was soft and tempting under his fingertips.

“Oh dear, and you’ve been so good up until today!”

Cedric jumped out of the chair, hands clenching at his jolting heart, scales already peeking through his skin.

“Miranda! Do not do that!”

A great mass of spiky black hair blinked its four eyes languidly at him, and then burst into a cruel, raspy laugh.

He snarled at her with an intensity that would have had a human cowering, but only made her narrow her multitude of eyes to determine his seriousness. And upon doing so, she produced a thin line of gossamer from the alcove she’d been spying from and descended gracefully to the ground. Her form shimmered and in a span of a breath, gone was Beast and before him stood a waif of a girl, curtsying, though every muscle in her body exuded mockery.

“Lord Cedric,” she greeted. Her voice and body was soft and childish in sound and appearance, and yet, from their very first meeting Cedric possessed an acute awareness she was likely older than even his mother might have been.

“Miranda,” he greeted her curtly. One should respect their elders, but he was above her both in the foolish hierarchy humans arranged themselves in, and the natural order of their own kind.

“Do you have anything to report?”

“No.” She answered simply with a roll of her reduced eyes.

Cedric huffed, though he was hardly surprised. Miranda had a habit of lurking about him for no discernible reason. “Then why are you here?”

She gave a smirk. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Cedric did not answer her.

She was at his side a breath later, too close for decorum's sake, but he didn’t tense up until her fingers slid tauntingly across the table and laid delicately upon the ivory of the paper.

“What do you think will happen if we open it?” Her breath was a tickle in his ear.

He wondered if Miranda knew just how heavy that question was.

He’d received the letter two months after taking residence in WaveBreak. Two months before that he’d received a different letter between Torin Gulch and the Capital, delivered by a Royal courier on official paper, written in a servants hand, with an official seal, as if he were another servant in the Prince’s employ.

“Lord Cedric, you are ordered to take the Western Stronghold from the House of Lady Imelda. As a reward for your successful campaign I will grant you the regional capital of Wavebreak as your new seat. From there you will oversee trade between the West and the Capital evermore.”

-His Royal Highness Prince Phobos”

Perhaps, that should have stung. Certainly, it would have stung the Cedric of even a mere two days before the letter was set in his hand. Produced tears and rage or some other pitiful display of emotion. Instead, the shifter had signed, picked at a scab near his ribs and turned his troops in the opposite direction without fuss.

The ashes of Torin Gulch were heavy on his soldiers, the Prince’s biting words back at the castle even more so.

But he was no longer struggling under the weight of them.

A lifetime of servitude had left him blinded to reality. Made him a timid shell of what he’d been meant for. Oh, he’d felt glimpses of it before, in battle, after the nobles had revealed themselves as traitors, when he’d stood oh so, perilously close to the top of his Prince’s throne and looked down on those below him, and when he’d seize said Prince by the hips and had his way, however gently it had been, with him. And he’d pushed it away, afraid. Afraid and ashamed of what he was. But now? Now the truth had been laid bare with the bones of Torin Gulch. Now he, and everyone else, knew the truth of it with every haughty step further from the capital, with every broken bone, and village set to flame.

He’d not been made to be stepped on.

Not even by him.

The second letter had arrived as the blood was still being mopped up from the floors of his new castle. Delivered by Raythor who had been allowed to return to the capital, with a grim but seemingly sorrowful expression. The seal on the paper was one that was set on Phobos’ desk and was used exclusively for their personal correspondence, and this was addressed simply in the Prince’s elegant script.

Cedric.

Raythor had given him an uncomfortable little shrug upon handing it over, and said “His Highness said it explains everything.”

Cedric had sent him away with a snarl. And the letter remained unopened.

For as long as it did, the Prince of Meridian existed in a stasis in his mind. His everything, and nothing all at once. A god lurking in his black palace, untouchable, and a lover of whose flesh had quivered under his fingertips and drawn laughs from his breath.

Cedric pulled the letter deftly from the spider’s grasp.

“You know, interfering with royal correspondence can be met with the death penalty.”

Miranda chortled in delight at his not-quite threat.

“Do you not have anywhere else to be?”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Cedric was quiet for time, his eyes upon the paper.

“No.”

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Reflections

Chapter Nine

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: language, fluff, 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library  with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

~

Mia spent the rest of the day distracted, which didn't help when she attempted to read Henry's list. The man had chicken scratch for writing, making deciphering it - and his Scottish colloquialisms - damn near impossible. Thankfully, she'd fed the ducks, geese, and chickens before; the horses were waiting at the gate when it was time to come in for their evening feed, and the dog food was a quick scoop for the pair of good boys.

And, as Henry was gone and they usually bunked with him for the night, she convinced Cora to let them in the house so they could curl up at her feet while she watched her evening telly. As long as they left the kittens alone, they were welcome. The kittens were not so convinced, but neither dog paid them any mind, happy to sprawl out on the floor before the fire. 

"If ye dinnae come back after dinner, ye best text me so I can look after the critters." Cora cackled as Mia clicked her way into the room on short heels. 

The older woman was intent on the television, but when Mia cleared her throat, Cora glanced in her direction, looked back at the television, then whipped around and whistled, causing the dogs to lift their heads and look at her. "My, my. Ye clean up good, lass."

Mia ran her hand down the front of her dress. It was a silk wrap dress she wouldn't in a million years have ever considered buying before Ivy talked her into it. With flirty cap sleeves, a knee-length hem, and tiny gold details on the sleeve cuff, she looked at it on the rack and thought there was no way it would look good on her, but Ivy refused to be denied, saying the colour would be glorious with her hair. Mia was more worried about the fit, but the dress had some sort of magic to it, for when she put it on and tied the fancy bows, it surprised her. That it was Marvel Loki green and made her hair glow like burnished copper didn't hurt either. 

Her skin shimmered lightly thanks to the moisturizer - also insisted on by Ivy - and she'd taken the time to curl and pin back her hair, apply a smokey eye and gloss her lips, and paint her nails a pastel pink she knew would last until tomorrow when it chipped off with the first scoop of a manure shovel.

Her necklace was a simple golden chain with a gold heart with so much sentimental value it was priceless, while small gold hoops dangled from her ears. 

"I look alright?" Mia asked, more out of nervousness than any real fear she didn't. 

"Hot damn!" Cora cried, giving her two thumbs up.

Mia laughed, then breathed out slowly, attempting to calm herself. 

"Jeez, why are ye so nervous? Ye've already tasted his tonsils. This is just dinner," Cora huffed. "Maybe ye get lucky and have a wee snog in the car, but ye dinnae have to jump his bones if yer not ready."

"Cora," Mia groaned, placing the coat on her arm on the end of the sofa so she could fix the strap on her austere black heel. 

"What?" she practically yelled, clearly exasperated. 

"I really like him, okay!" Mia shouted as she crouched down. "And it makes me nervous."

"Well, that's good, as I find I'm terribly fond of you too, darling, and I'm happy to see I'm not the only one nervous."

Mia froze, all but her blood that drained from her face, leaving her light-headed before it rushed back in and blazed brightly in her cheeks. 

"Fuck, you could have said he was already here!" she hissed at Cora before rising and turning toward Tom, who leaned against the wall with a tender smile. 

Dear Gods. The look of him was something else, all long and lean, in a suit that had to be bespoke as nothing off the rack would fit that well. It was a blue pinstripe that complemented his eyes, his shirt a pale pastel blue, shoes shiny black and tie in navy with opposing stripes.  

His smile turned appreciative as it swept from her feet to her face, softening with understanding as he pushed from the wall to cross to her and take her face between his hands. He didn't walk; he prowled with a lazy kind of grace that screamed predator. It was a walk she recognized, having seen it before on the movie screen when he played Loki.

The man should be illegal. 

His lips were whisper soft when they glided over hers. "Don't be embarrassed, love. I let myself in when I saw Cora curled up through the window. I didn't mean to catch you unaware, but I am glad I'm not the only one feeling this pull."

"Tom." She sighed, stroking his chest. The cloth beneath her fingers even felt expensive, making her want to keep petting him until she purred. 

His lips skimmed slowly to capture and pull on her ear before he whispered, "You're wearing my colour."

"Not yours. Loki's," she whimpered, lashes fluttering as her pulse quickened. 

"Mine," he growled. "It was my part. Have you forgotten? Must I remind you? Should I command you to kneel?"

Her knees buckled, but he caught her before she could do more than sag into him. "You're a cruel man."

He chuckled softly. "But I could be such a benevolent ruler."

"Keep flirtin', and yer gonna miss dinner," Cora quipped, smirking at them.

Tom cleared his throat and took a step back. "You look lovely," he murmured, retrieving her coat and helping her into it, even pulling her hair from the back. 

"Thank you." Mia shivered at the brush of his knuckles over her nape and collected her purse. She glanced at the grinning Cora and said, "Don't wait up."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Have fun, but not too much fun! Remember what I said!" 

Mia blushed again, causing Cora to cackle like a lunatic and Mia to rush Tom to the door before he could ask questions. 

Once outside, with Cora's laughter firmly shut inside, Tom took her hand and led her to the car. 

"Do I want to know what she's on about?" he asked, holding the door for Mia as she slid inside. 

"No, you do not." Mia chuckled, admiring the butter-soft leather of the vehicle when he shut her in before hurrying around to the driver's side. "Nice car." She smiled when he slid in beside her. 

The caramel leather and swanky interior of the sporty white car said it was something fancy, but she wasn't exactly a car girl until she looked over and saw the symbol of the leaping cat on the steering wheel and when Tom started the car, it freaking purred. 

"No way. This is a Jaguar!" she gasped, almost afraid to move. 

He laughed. "It is. It's my fancy show-off car. Do you like it?"

Mia nodded, though she wasn't sure if she should wiggle deeper into the plush seat, stroke it like the cat it was named after, or ask the burning question on the tip of her tongue. She didn't know exactly what a car like this cost but knew it was well into six figures. 

He glanced at her and shook his head. "You really don't know the body of my work outside Loki, do you?"

Mia shook her head, entranced by all the fancy lights on his dashboard. "Only what I've Googled, but I'm not much for movies. I watched The Hollow Crown, or most of it, with Cora yesterday."

"Most of it?" He gasped. "Should I be insulted that I can't seem to hold your interest outside of the one part?" he teased. 

She scoffed. "Let me assuage your fears. It had nothing to do with your performance and everything to do with Cora and her inappropriate stories."

He shot her a boyish grin. "Cora tells naughty stories?"

"You have no idea." Mia snickered. "And let's just say I didn't need any clarification on her liberal use of Scottish slang for the obscene bits."

Tom burst out laughing. "Brilliant! I love that woman."

"So do I," Mia agreed, finally giving in and running her fingers over the dash. 

"Ah, well, you wouldn't know about Jaguar's Good To Be Bad commercials then. I was in three, the last with Ben Kingsley and Mark Strong."

"Ben Kingsley! Sir Ben Kingsley, the guy who played Ghandi?" Mia gasped. "Wait, he did a commercial?"

Tom chuckled and shook his head. "Of course, you would know Ben. Yes, but once you see them, you'll understand why. They were very… villainous. I think you'd like them."

The look he sent her caused Mia to squeeze her thighs together. 

"Part of the deal was a car. This car. When everything went tits up after our parents died, I sold it, but when Kip's star began to rise, he bought it back for me. Insisted on it, though I cussed him out for spending the money."

"The same car? He bought the same car, not a similar one?"

"I was fortunate enough to sell it to a friend. He was kind enough to sell it back." He smiled fondly. 

"Pretty good friend."

He glanced at her again as he drove along the winding roads. "He is. He and his wife have remained close, and I'm grateful for their friendship. I don't suppose the name Benedict Cumberbatch means anything to you?"

Mia's jaw dropped. "You know Sherlock Holmes?"

Tom groaned. "Why? Why is it only me you know nothing of?"

"Hey, I didn't know who Kip was either, even worse than you. At least I admired you."

He sent her a sultry smile. "Yes, you do admire me don't you?"

Mia blushed and changed the subject. "Was that the last job you took?"

"Coriolanus, actually. The ads were for the Super Bowl, so they were filmed long before, but I was performing at the Donmar Warehouse from December through February when the news came. I loved standing on that stage, performing live. Theatre was my first great love." He sighed. "Their death came only days after my last performance."

She reached over and curled her hand over his on the gear shift. "I'm sorry, Tom. Both for their loss and for yours. I can tell you miss it, acting."

"I do, but we would have lost Highpark. My family will always come first, not only as a duty but also because many depend on us. My father, for all his good traits, was a poor businessman. He preferred to spend and damn the consequences, no matter who it hurt in the end."

The bitterness didn't go unnoticed, though he tried to hide it with a flash of a smile. 

Mia let it go unacknowledged, drifting her fingers down the back of his hand and around to circle his wrist, where she lightly stroked his pulse point. "There is one thing I don't like about your car."

"How could you not like something in this car?" he muttered. 

She glanced pointedly behind them. "No back seat." She let that sit for a beat as his pulse jumped under her fingers. "And really, the consul makes any front-seat shenanigans difficult." It jumped again and beat hard, making her bite her cheek to keep a straight face. 

"You are a cruel woman," he growled, shifting just a little to spread his thighs.

"Payback can be a real bitch." She chuckled, settling in to enjoy the drive.

~

The restaurant was quaint. It was small, the lighting dim, and the seating secluded. 

It was definitely a date place. 

Mia looked around and found only other couples in singles or pairs as they were led to a table set back in an alcove where the hostess waited to take Mia's coat, pour glasses of water, and leave them with their menus. As she walked away, she pulled a cord that dropped half the swept-back curtain, closing out the restaurant without completely closing them in. 

She smirked at the stripped, tasselled addition and arched a brow in amusement. "Swanky."

Tom snickered. "I may have called ahead and called in a favour to get us this table. It's usually reserved well in advance, but the owner is a friend and made an exception."

"And the people who were supposed to have this table?" she asked, wondering if they'd ruined someone else's special occasion. 

"Agreed to come at a later date and have their dinner comped. They were happy with the arrangement, and so was I."

Mia smiled, glad it seemed so easy and picked up the menu. "So, you know the owner?"

"We were mates at Uni. He was rubbish at acting but amazing in the kitchen. Eventually, he went to Paris and trained there, but he wanted to come home and start this." Tom waved at the walls. "It's very exclusive, and people come from London, Edinburgh, all over really to eat here."

"I'm impressed." And she was. As she read through the menu, she grew even more so. Everything sounded delicious. 

As she was about to ask what Tom would recommend, the curtain swept back to reveal a large, portly, grinning man. 

"Thomas!"

"Malcolm!" Tom smiled, rising to do the manly shake and shoulder hug. "It's good to see you."

"As it's been years since ye've bothered to make the drive, yer damn right it's good to see me," Malcolm blustered. "And ye, calling in a favour without so much as a by the by." Then he turned to her, eyes bright with teasing laughter. "But with such a bonny companion, I canna blame ye for doin' all that beggin'."

Tom huffed. "I didn't beg. I requested assistance."

Malcolm leaned down and whispered, "Begged. Almost in tears, he was."

Mia snickered. "I could see it."

"Camila!" Tom gasped, but his smile said he didn't mind her teasing. 

"Camila, is it? A bonny name for a bonny lass." Malcolm took her hand and kissed her knuckles like something out of a rakish fantasy novel. 

"Leave off flirting with my date, please," Tom grumbled. 

"Oi, territorial, are we?" Malcolm snickered. "She must be mighty special this one."

Mia blushed and glanced at Tom, only to find him staring at her intently. 

"Very much so," Tom agreed, his foot sliding against her ankle. 

Malcolm beamed. "I'll take those." He plucked the menu from Mia's fingers and snagged Tom's off the table. "Tonight, ye eat what ye get. Allergies?"

Mia shook her head, an action mirrored by Tom. 

"I ken ye've none. Ye ate everything and anything put before you for years!" Malcolm muttered as he walked off.

"You have an interesting friend." Mia chuckled. 

"He's something at any rate," Tom agreed. 

"Well? Should we get the tough questions out of the way?" Mia asked, finding his calf with the toe of her shoe. 

He arched a brow. "And those would be?"

"Favourite artist, movie, and colour."

Tom shook his head. "And here I expected you to lead with hockey team. Are you Canadians not known to be wild for hockey?"

Mia rolled her eyes. "Sure, for some people. I never got into hockey, not really. I'll watch it and cheer if it's on the TV, but I'd rather go paint or read."

"That doesn't surprise me." He chuckled. "Rodin, Heat, and blue or red."

"Why Rodin?" she asked. 

"I like the movement in the work. Other artists can create beautiful works of rock, but something about his, perhaps the roughness of the piece rising from unfinished stone, evokes this deeply provocative feeling. It is like looking at emotion rather than seeing the person feeling it."

Mia leaned closer, fascinated by his insight. "Your favourite piece?"

"The Eternal Idol." The intensity was back as he leaned toward her. "I love the language of it. It is worshipful, languid, serene and stunningly sensual. He is enamoured of her, desperate to show her, but afraid to touch the object of his desire. And she, the way Rodin cast her face in this breathless moment of utter adoration as she gazes tenderly down on him. I did not know one could capture love in stone until I first laid eyes on the piece."

"Tom," she whispered, enchanted. 

He caressed her cheek. "She is perfection."

Mia couldn't tell if he still spoke of the statue or not and cleared her throat. 

He grinned and sat back. "Same questions."

It was an out from the thickening tension, and Mia seized it with both hands. "Van Gogh, The Fifth Element, and green."

"Van Gogh? Really?"

She frowned. "What's wrong with Van Gogh?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I just expected something a little more obscure, perhaps someone less well known."

"I have others that I like, but his style inspired my own. With a little Andy Warhol thrown in."

"That I can see," he agreed. "But I must admit I have never seen - nor I think heard of - the movie you picked."

Mia shook her head and grinned wryly. "It's a guilty pleasure. This very colourful, neon, sci-fi action movie starring Bruce Willis, Mia Jovovich, and Chris Tucker. It's your typical hero/heroine, save the world, fall in love, and have a happy ending."

Amusement danced in his eyes. "You'll have to show it to me."

"Only if you promise not to make fun of me for it."

"I make no promises." He chuckled. "But I will do my best."

The curtain twitched back as the waitress arrived with a bottle of wine, compliments of Malcolm. Tom stopped her at half-pour, indicating he was driving, but Mia accepted a full glass. The waitress left the bottle and slipped away. 

"You can't make fun of it," Mia insisted. "It's my tub movie, and if you spoil that for me, I'll never forgive you."

Tom leaned forward again, bracing his forearms on the table. "What, pray tell, is a tub movie?"

"It's the movie I watch in the bathtub." When he only grinned at her, she shrugged. "What? Like you don't watch a movie or read a book in the bathtub."

"Can't say I'm overly fond of baths. I'm more of a shower man."

"Maybe you're doing them wrong," she quipped. 

His smile widened. "Is that an invitation to see how one has a proper bath?"

Mia smirked over the lip of her wine glass and ran her foot up his calf. "Play your cards right, and we'll see."

"Don't tempt me, love," he purred, shooting heat to her core. 

She swallowed and set her glass on the table before leaning in again. "I do what I want, pet."

His eyes darkened. "Naughty girl. Don't start something I can't finish, Mia."

"But we've established that I'm well acquainted with mischief," she whispered, her grin widening. 

"Darling," he crooned, his gaze drifting down to her cleavage and back up, sparking fires in his wake. "If you keep this up, I will pull your chair over here, slide my hand beneath your skirt, and tease what I can only imagine is a very wet cunt until dinner arrives."

She gasped, excitement adding to the wetness he threatened to find for himself. 

"Fuck, woman," he growled. 

She was moments away from moving her chair herself when Malcolm returned with appetizers. 

He paused as he took them in and asked, "Am I interrupting?"

"No," Mia murmured as Tom growled, "Yes."

Malcolm snickered. "Ye want me to close the other curtain?"

Mia blushed but laughed and shook her head. "Tom was just saying he's ravenous. Thank you for the food."

"I don't think it was the food he was after," Malcolm snickered but made himself scarce. 

"It wasn't," Tom agreed, shifting his chair to the side to grab Mia's seat and scoot her closer to him at the round table. 

The loud scrape of her chair made Mia laugh. "Discrete."

He leaned in and kissed her where her neck and shoulder met. "Discretion is what the tablecloth is for."

His hand was already sliding up her thigh, but Mia stopped him. "Tom."

"Too fast?"

"A little. I know I'm just as bad." She sighed. "I'll tone down the teasing."

"Please don't." He smirked, squeezing her hand. 

Mia shot him a grateful glance. "Maybe it's pitiful, but Colt was my only relationship. Shifting back into dating after five, well four really, years is an adjustment."

His arm found the back of her chair as they shared the tasty appetizers. "How long has it been since you and he split up?"

"Emotionally? Over a year. In reality, a week before I moved here, but we weren't intimate anymore. We were pretty much roommates pretending to be more."

"And he hasn't reached out? Not even to apologize?"

Mia shook her head. "I told him not to. We were done, had been for a long time, and what he did was unforgivable. I had Fergus return the ring when I realized I was still wearing it. By now, I'm sure he's moved on." She tilted her head to look at Tom. "And so am I."

"Good," he murmured, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. "He didn't deserve you. He had no idea the treasure he discarded."

She turned into him and kissed him sweetly before breaking away. "What about you? When was your last relationship?"

"Serious?" He hummed and chewed as he thought. "Before I did Coriolanus, so twenty-thirteen.

Mia froze before looking at him in shock. "Ten… ten years?"

He grinned a little sheepish and embarrassed. "Well, between the disaster that was Highpark, my parent's death, the loss of my career, and then the virus, it became rather insignificant. Dating as a rising star isn't without its pitfalls either, so even before, my serious relationships were few and far between. I had dalliances, but they never lasted, which worked for both parties at the time."

"I'm sorry, that was judgy of me. You didn't gasp when I said I've only been with one man."

This time, he froze before looking at her in bafflement. "Only? As in first and only?"

Mia blushed and nodded. "I… didn't have time to focus on work, living, school, all that and men. The only person I had to count on was me, so if I fucked up, I didn't eat, or have heat, or any number of bad things."

"So you began dating in university?"

She nodded. "Friends first, then dating. He convinced me to move in with him before the pandemic."

He was quiet for a moment before he said, "I can't say I'm sorry it didn't work out because I'm not. You're here with me because he couldn't see how incredible you are."

She smiled. "Even if I talk to Loki?"  

He laughed and rested his forehead against hers. "Especially for that. Though I must admit, I spoke to him yesterday after you left."

"You did?" she whispered, surprised and humbled that he believed her so completely. 

"Maybe we're both mad." He brushed his nose along hers. "But I thanked him… for saving a special child so she could grow into an exquisite woman."

"Tom," she breathed, utterly overwhelmed. 

He cupped her face and held her still as their speeding breaths mingled before he captured her lips in a tender kiss she felt seep into her bones.

A throat cleared. 

They broke apart like guilty teenagers for the second time today. 

"I do appear to have poor timing." Malcolm grinned, setting a plate in front of each of them. "Enjoy. And Tommy, old boy, remember. It's a curtain, not a wall." 

"Fuck off!" Tom snarled. 

Malcolm's booming laughter followed him back to the kitchen. 

Mia giggled and dug into her salad.

Next Chapter

[zombie-rott]

"Burying myself alive: Part II."

Prompt: “Have you eaten anything?”

Pairing: Established Papa IV/ Reader

POV: You / Your 

Pronouns: She/her

Synopsis:

You haven't been coping lately, and things are getting stressful as the new tour dates approach. You don't know how you're going to survive without him, especially when feeling so vulnerable, and take to running to calm your anxiety.

But, even as a seasoned runner, you neglect yourself. Slowly you began slipping back into a world you promised you never would.

Notes:

This is a short, two-chapter (because it was way too long for one Tumblr post) personal piece. It is based on a conversation had by my husband and me many years ago after I relapsed pretty hard into Anorexia Nervosa. I don't have a lot of memories from that time (or previous relapse because, well, long-term side effects), but this is one of the conversations I will never be able to forget.

It's also now that I realise all the fluff I write about Copia is literally just how my husband is. Do with that what you may.

!WARNINGS!

Mentions of anorexia nervosa, eating disorders, and mental health issues.

Part I

~ ~ ~ ~

“La mia bellezza?” 

You wiped your eyes and looked up to see Copia coming your way. You hadn’t even noticed you’d reached the end of your route. 

“You didn’t run today? Perché amore?” 

“I-I just couldn’t.” You sniffed, as you closed the distance.

He looked at you with furrowed brows and handed you a mug of coffee. Black this time, with sugar. 

“You’ve been crying, amore.” He said softly,” Please, talk to me.”

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you tight to his body. You allowed it and leaned into him as he began walking you both back into The Abbey. 

“I just couldn’t run. Everything hurts, and I just don’t have the energy to push myself.” You answered, your voice breaking.

“Have you eaten anything this morning?” His voice was soft but stern. 

He’d been worried about you over the last few weeks. You’d been running more than usual and eating less, and he couldn’t help but notice the weight you’d lost. Your body didn't feel the same beneath his and your hip bones had become more prominent than usual.

After what happened during the last tour, he knew to remain vigilant and learned to recognise signs of relapse. But things had been going well until now. You’d gained a little weight and taken your medication as prescribed. You’d even been talking about the idea of weaning off it, just to see how you felt. Just to see if the depression had passed.

This time, however, things were getting worse before he'd even left, and it broke him to think about leaving you like this. 

“Cara mia? You have eaten today, si?” He asked again.

“N-no. But I did try.” 

Copia didn’t respond. He just signed deeply. You felt the pit in your stomach deepen.

“I’m sorry. I-I just can’t eat. Nothing tastes right. And I’m not hungry.” 

“Mia, you still need to eat. How do you expect to run so much with no energy? Your exercise is important, si?” You knew he wanted to continue on to talk about your health being important, and his own mental health never surviving this tour if you didn’t start looking after yourself. 

His raised words echoed in your mind.

"Don't you understand that watching you waste away is eating me alive?! How can I leave you like this, mia!? Bene?"

You felt the tears over flow again. You sniffed and wiped your eyes with your scarf. 

“Please don’t cry, mia. I don’t mean to upset you.” He pulled you closer and you felt his lips kiss the top of your head, “I love you, and I just want to see you well. I know not having me around for a few weeks - “

“Months.” You cut in.

“Si, months, is difficult. But remember you can call me anytime. We can even speak on the ‘Doom,’ si? And then there is Terzo. He is always there for you to talk to when things become too much. You can do this. And you know I’ll be missing you every second of every day?” He kissed your head again, “Please, mia. Please keep fighting.” 

At that moment, you so desperately hated yourself for allowing this to happen, for being so needy that you were hurting yourself to get him to stay. Your stomach twisted with anxiety, and in an attempt to stop the tears, you decided not to answer him. 

He didn’t say another word. He didn’t even speak when you entered your quarters, nor when you began to undress for a shower. You took the silence to mean that he was angry, or at least irritated. And you didn’t want a repeat of last night.

You were going to lose him to eight weeks of non-stop touring, and there you were, driving a wedge between you both because you couldn't manage without him. It sounded so dramatic and childish. 

Your heart stung as you berated yourself for being so unstable that you couldn't even let your love, your Copia, do the job he’d been chosen to do. You felt ashamed that you were making him feel conflicted between you and his Dark Majesty. 

It was all you could do to silence your whimpers as you turned on the water. You stood there biting back tears as you waited for the shower to warm. It felt like an age until you could climb under the faucet and allow the heat to wash over your bones. It felt good. It soothed your muscles and helped silence the world around you. 

And then the tears came. You buried your face in your hands as you cried. Sobs wrecked through your body as you felt a sea of emotions overcome you. Angry at Copia for leaving, anxious about your time without him and, most of all, ashamed of just how weak you had become. You couldn't even be apart from him without breaking down, without slipping into old behaviours. 

How had you let it get this far? How had you not seen the signs before they hit you like a ton of bricks? 

You heard the shower door open and shut before feeling Copia’s arms wrapping around you from behind. He laid his chin on your shoulder and kissed you gently on the cheek.

“I love you.” He cooed, “You know that, si?” 

“Y-yes.” You responded softly through tears. 

“Please tell me what is going on in your beautiful mind?” He kissed you again. 

“I’m being so selfish and I don’t know why I’m like this. I should have seen this relapse a mile away, but I didn’t. I–I’ve just been so focused on trying to cope without you.” 

“But, cara mia, I’m not gone yet.” 

“You will be, though. And I need to be ready. I need to figure out a way to survive, and in all the hustle to find it I somehow fell back into - “You gestured to your body, “all this bullshit. I don’t want to be like this anymore. I don’t want to be so weak and pitiful to you. And this shouldn’t be your problem.”

Copia pulled you tighter against his chest and reached for your hands. He didn’t say anything, he simply held you in the heat of the shower. For a moment you thought he might be crying, but you couldn’t be sure. The thundering of the water was loud and very good at disguising tears. But when he turned you to face him, there was no doubt.

Copia, the strong and confident Papa you had come to love, met you with red, tearful eyes. He kissed you softly on the lips and rested his forehead against yours. 

“This isn’t a relapse, amore mio. It’s a small blip in the road, si? You are so strong and have fought so well. I know that you can overcome this with me here or on the other end of the phone. You have so many people around you wanting to help and support you, cara. Don’t let it go to waste in the name of pride. Everyone needs to ask for help sometimes. Even I.” 

You close your eyes and let his words settle in your soul. 

“I know how hard it was for you to confide in me about this. And even more so in Terzo. I hope you know how brave you are.” 

“Y-yes.” You managed, your eyes meeting his. You sniffed back tears, “I s-suppose I am.” 

“You are!” Copia smiled as he reached up to move your wet hair from your face. He kissed you gently on the lips and took your face in his palms, “The bravest! Il mio amore coraggioso! And you can reach out again at any time. You will not be my problem because I love you, cara mia, I love you! And while I do not wish this on you, I would help you through this one hundred times over with the same fury and dedication.” 

You smiled slightly, feeling the hope restore itself in your soul. Copia, loved you. Like really loved you. And for that you had to fight; if not for you, then for him. 

“I-I love you, amore.”

“I love you too.” 

“Do you believe me when I say you are strong enough for this? That you can kick it’s metaphorical culo?”

You giggle at the terminology. He did always have a way with words. 

“I do, Copia, I-I really do.” 

[the-s1lly-corner]

.....i hate that you converted me. Fine, you win, may i please request Itward comforting reader? The post about matchmaking(specifically the bit where they get locked up) made me feel. Things.

I just think it would be interesting to see usually laidback and chill reader crumble a little at this. Specifically because i hate hate hate things going out of control when i expect them to be predictable. Outside? Yeah, i cannot control the world, it's not my burden. In a group of people? Well am a part of it only, so i can only do my thing and socialize, not police what they're doing.(althrough i do so.. sometimes.. i just like being reliable..) But in MY LIVING ROOM? Nah, if something unusual is happening i'm stressed. Oh the door is closed? Well fuck, just gonna have to sit here and panic, then rage for a bit and try not to cry. And if its a tight/dark space? OHOOHOOO, a panic attack is waiting!

Itward comforting reader !

Yahoo I'm finally getting to this ehehehe!! Hope you enjoy this!

As for the converting

Giggles

Evilly smiles

The evil spell has worked (evil spell is my writing and character interpretations)

Also that last bit gave me an idea so this post is gonna tackle two settings, in terms of where you guys get locked up >:)

Side note today today by jack stauber reminds me of itward idk why

So it may have.. left my mind.. but I forgot that itward can kinda. Teleport. Or at least make little portals, as seen in chapter 1... as well as being able to just vanish as seen when he opens the window for fran in the twins house (not sure if that was him becoming invisible or teleporting, both seem in character)

But let's say, for the sake of plot and perhaps some character stuff... there are rules for his abilities, which can prevent him from using them. Mostly cooldown stuff, which.. wouldnt prevent it much unless hes doing it a lot but.. hush, I dont have many ideas!!

With that said, let's get on with the post!

Assuming you guys are locked in a room within the ship:

At first only you notice the door shutting. Itward doesnt notice it wont open until he goes to exit, only to find you're both stuck. Lets also say this is the only room with one exit; so the chemistry room most likely. Though if it were any of the other rooms, we can assume the second exit is also locked down

Itward would likely think that it's a malfunction of sorts, thanks to the doors not being manual push/pull doors... probably silently curses himself for not thinking about the possibility of a jam

Though, hes very clearly a skilled mechanic and engineer, so hes already thinking of what could be the issue and how to fix it

Probably gets way too sucked in taking off the button panel thing to get into the mechanics and wiring... it's not until he notices you quietly freaking out that he looks over his shoulder to check on you

Oh..

Oh dear..

Slowly drops the spare tools he keeps on him (I mean.. we DID see him pull a wrench out of no where when he started working on his ship during the fire berry thing... perhaps he keeps them within his bones? Like his rib cage? Like obviously it was just the game trying to save time from hydt having him pull one out rather than animate him picking one up from the ground buuuuut I'm silly)

Quietly asks if youre alright

A silly question, he can admit, hes been around many people and this is no new sight for him..

Barely refrains from putting a hand on your shoulder but stops before he reaches you, afterall hes never seen you like this and he doesnt know if you're okay with touch

Assures you that he will have the door open soon, correctly assumes that that is the issue... I mean, he can understand why it's scary, I mean, to be trapped like that. No one would like that

(Ignore that he did the same to fran, albeit non maliciously)

Refuses to get to work on the door (doesnt even realize hes prolonging the issue) until he can get through to you and help you

Hangs onto every word you say, and delivers anything you need

Need a hug? He will wrap his arms around you, and perhaps even purr. Need reassurance? He'll let you know the door is just jammed and he will fix it soon enough. Need to fill the silence? Itward will rattle on about things to keep it from going wuirt5

As soon as the door is opened he steps out of the way, letting you exit first

Keeps a close eye on you for a few hours after the fact

If you guys get locked in a closet

This one is already way worse thanks to the limited wiggle room as well as the darkness. The only light is coming from itwards eyes, and even then its not a lot

You guys are pressed up against each other, but this little scenario is not at cheesy or romantic... itward can feel your heart beating against him, so he immediately knows something is wrong

How did you guys even end up trapped here?

I dunno :3

It's too tight and cramped to move, so itward trying to force the door open or mess with the button panel is a no go.. really, of all the doors to have a manual door, the broom closet should have been the one to have it..

Honestly I think he tries 1 of 3 things

Force the door open with his strength (can he do that? We know that in terms of his powers hes packs a bit of a punch, he managed to face off remor to buy fran time in chapter 1, but I'm unsure of how strong he is physically)..though hed have to try to twist around to face the door

Knock on the door with his foot to try to get someones attention for help, and perhaps guide them through how to open the door

Or three, try his little teleporting trick and take you with him

Regardless of what option he goes through, he can't deny that theres something wrong with you

Unfortunately of you need a hug he cant, given the limited room.. plus you may feel claustrophobic enough..

Tries to give nervous reassurances as he tries to come up with an idea

Most likely case is the teleporting thing, assuming he has the capabilities of doing so in that moment

But just know as soon as you guys are free hes sitting you down at the table in the main area of his ship and making you a cup of tea

Quietly asks you if everythings alright

Similarly, he keeps a close eye on you for a while after this

[justatalkingface]

Not a question but I think Hori drops the quirkless plot line bc "his audience" (and I meant this as the people Hori is catering above all) didn't care for it

It is either "bk will have a redemption arc" or people who see canon SHIG ad a revolutionary (no lies but people here are saying SHIG fights transphobia, as well he loves his found family all grated on a panel who is "SHIG likes quirkless things")

So yes Hori goose to who he is writing ...and we must deal with it.

Btw saw the answer for op IZU. In my fics, well in one of them, IZU has a op quirk but is not a hero but a reporter (I do admit I'm leaning on making the journalists more heroic but I should add paparazzis) the thing is....we never do see someone with a quirk not working in a hero job

On this, I go back to one of my usual claims: MHA is a story with the bones of a very different story in it, and that story is one where Quirklessness is a big part of it, similar to the MHA prototype chapter.

Those bones are presumably based off a later draft of that chapter, where Izuku was a kid instead of an adult, before Hori's ideas evolved into what they are now, and for whatever reason, the man just couldn't figure out how to separate the two... which is honestly frustrating, because that earlier draft, those earlier ideas, are basiclly lying to readers about what kind of story they're getting into. The earliest chapters are comprised almost entirely of those ideas for that reason, and as time went on, Hori separated Old MHA from New MHA more and more successfully until what we have now began.

Really, honestly? If the early chapters had been more in line with what the... let's say middle of MHA was like (I'm being nice by excusing the Post War Clusterfuck), I honestly don't think I would have gotten into this story like I did, if at all. It's frustrating, because whatever that was, whatever he was planning at that point, resonated a lot deeper with me than the product he apparently wanted to make, and I'd bet that's true with a lot of others as well. I really, honestly wonder how successful this all would have been if he made that separation, and how successful that earlier version could have been.

[spockandawe]

Awkward gap until next meeting. So. Things i COULD make on short notice

Software manual book(s): Easy. Mindless. Boring, but useful. I have at least two more targets in my sights, but i also have three half-finished books just waiting for cricut titles.

Long transformers essay: the formatting from pdf...... all the images........... but WHAT IF

Ylpeys ja ennakkoluulo: Needs learning time in Affinity, unsure how long formatting will take. Possible, also something likely to tank my sleep schedule.

Thousand Autumns: current doc has long stretches of half-edited mtl. That's. That would be a big compromise. I don't like it, I think I'd rather wait

Coming Up With A Villain Reformation Strategy: No proofread? It'd be fast. Unsure what commitment proofreading would be.

Peerless Immortal Surrounded By Demonic Disciples: Same issue.

Single-volume mxtx: Maybe. If I'm repeating myself i want something novel tho

Yuwu: Maybe? Same proofreading question, but this was a really good translation

Raksura fic: mmmmmmmmmmaybeeeeee. It's still actively updating though, it feels a little silly to commit a second time knowing it'll immediately be dated 🤣

PoF: maybe! Wouldn't be bad to at least format some pages for illumination practice even if I can't do much there yet.

New box????? Mysterious and vague, brut boxes make me happy

Writing

Raksura fic: I could :X Okay but this depends on me chipping at some short vignettes and either getting a full set done or being confident i have momentum to continue as i post chapters. Momentum is a gamble, especially since this is a destination wedding with vacation activities.

Bwx/xl: old wip, unsure how satisfied i am. But there was PROGRESS. I might be able to slam it out

Return to tlj shipping? No wips in progress, but he usually comes easily to me.

Brand new raksura fic: i have kink brainstorming i could try to leverage, but I really, really can't tell how well writing will go right now

Cronch fic: Oh.... That might work, ill have to look at that.

Ye olde svsss aus: restore diet bingge to second person, see if more scenes shake out. This is close to being something I'm willing to just post, but it's not QUITE got enough connective tissue. Finishing is probably outside the scope of "short notice" tho

Transcription. Also not short notice, but pleasing bite-sized chunks.

Art

Raksura

Cloun?????

Bones

Fiber

Other baby blanket: I'm.... Unmotivated. Crochet make hand hurty

Tardigrade: hand hurty is acceptable if the result is stuffed tardigrade. I need to find my safety eyes, though

Starscream cross-stitch: DEFINITELY not short notice, but very satisfying

Embroidery embroidery: Probably want to wait for better health, so I don't get frustrated.

Steering wheel cover: yes, probably, but that's a kit and won't scratch the sammmmme creative urges

Spinning: god, probably wait for better health and new house

Long furby: maybe do this BEFORE the move, tbh. But mystery time investment.

New applique quilt: also not short notice. Need a subject too. I feel like I'd had something in mind, but I'm drawing a blank.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Hard Truths

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 37

The squad learns what they're up against, and Krauser gives Leon some brutal advice. As per usual.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

There was no return to normalcy. No getting back into a comfortable cycle of pain and perseverance. How could there be, when the squad reported for First Call and you weren’t there? Leon had always felt galvanized in your presence. Your strength was his own. When he felt like he wasn’t sure he could go on, you’d been there, urging him forward. As morning drills began that first day, it wasn’t just his aching muscles and bruises that held him back. 

You can’t let yourself fall behind with me.  

His time in STRATCOM had taught him that he had a bit of a problem with authority, but he obeyed your words anyway. 

Even if it would mean moving past you. 

Even if it meant listening to the teachings of the men who did this to you, because true to his promise, Hellman was there to greet the squad for morning drills. Krauser looked just as angry as he had the day before. If the Major’s smile meant a world of hurt for the recruits of the US Strategic Command, then what did his scowl mean? 

Leon supposed he would be finding out soon. 

It was the final phase of training. That was what Krauser announced that first morning; that in eight weeks, if he and the others could pass the tests, they would graduate and be assigned into service. He would be an operative of STRATCOM. An agent of the United States. 

Not a soldier. 

Not what you or any of the others had been before this, but an agent, like Reed and Hellman. The two would indeed be assisting Krauser in training, offering lessons in the more shadowed of services. Secrets and broken locks and false names. The blacked-out text on a report. That was what he would become. 

That was what he would become without you. 

Six weeks until you recovered. 

Eight weeks remaining in training. 

The number was sobering. Staggering. The other recruits, the rest of his squad, didn’t know what that meant yet. They weren’t aware of what they were about to be facing down. 

They would learn soon enough, though. 

They would learn about Raccoon City, about the bioweapons created by Umbrella, and then they would graduate and be sent off to fight nightmares made flesh. They would be forced to see and fight and kill things that Leon had never imagined before that one night last September. 

Eight weeks before they were all sent to hell. 

And while he would be out there, fighting, you would be stuck here, trying to catch up for the time you lost. He tried not to let himself get lost in that thought too much as he pushed his injured body through Krauser’s ever-more difficult exercises - and Krauser’s still-sharp glares. The pain of it all was familiar enough now that he could endure it. He ran harder and faster, strained through the near-failing of his muscles as he carried the ammunition case across the obstacle course, not letting himself drop the added weight. He did all of that because he knew that, in eight weeks, his newfound strength and speed might be all that saved his life from some newfound horror. 

And, however he felt about them, he knew that whatever skills Reed and Hellman were here to teach might do the same. So, he swallowed his anger when he reported to the two agents with the rest of the squad later that day, gathered together in a room that reminded Leon of his time in the police academy, with desks and a projector. 

He didn’t bother to hide his sneer when Hellman began his speech. Even as he was reminded of who the real enemy was. 

“You were all chosen for STRATCOM based on exemplary performance or impressive feats,” Hellman began, and again, Leon was put off by just how different he sounded, now. How genuine. “Most of you have served with distinction, and I have no doubt that you would have had impressive careers - that you still will . . . but now that you are on this path, it isn’t glory that you’ll be getting. There won’t be medals or ceremonies. What would have brought you accolades before can never be spoken of, now. Your service will be hidden from the world, because you will be keeping that world safe from threats that it can never know are real.

“You will be the first line of defense against things the world has never seen. You may not receive glory for it, but your country will owe you a debt it can never repay.” 

The noble sacrifices. 

Leon tried not to scoff at Hellman’s wording, because he made it sound so heroic. Leon knew better. He knew that they wouldn’t be the unsung knights in shining armor. They would be the living shields for the world. Ones that would be cast aside when they broke at last, just as Andersen and the others already had been. 

But who else could it be? 

“And what exactly is it that we’re going to be fighting?” Valeria asked, not bothering to offer respect to the man who hadn’t earned it. “Who was so dangerous that you had to fucking torture us to test our strength?” 

Hellman didn’t react to her insubordination, but Leon tensed because Valeria very nearly hadn’t been allowed to be here. 

Just like him. 

We’ll need every soldier we can get.  

That and Krauser’s influence had been all that spared them. That knowledge that the fight they were preparing for was unlike anything the world had seen before, against an enemy unlike any other. 

“The Umbrella Corporation.” 

Confusion was the first thing that Leon felt in the room. “The pharmaceutical company?” Alejandro clarified with a raised brow. “We’re going to be taking down people in lab coats?” 

He didn’t know. None of them did. But Leon had reacted the same way, once. He’d not believed Ada when she’d told him that the company had created the horrors that now haunted his dreams and waking moments alike. Then he’d seen it firsthand. He owed a bullet-sculpted scar on his shoulder to one of those people in lab coats. And he owed months of restless nights to them too. 

“Not the scientists, necessarily,” Hellman shook his head, and Reed stepped forward. 

“Breathe a word of what you see in this room, and you will be tried for treason.” That was all the warning that was given before he reached forward. The agent flipped a switch on the projector to turn it on, and laid a semi-transparent image over the glass. There were murmurings of disgust. Surprise. Confusion. For Leon, though, it wasn’t some newfound terror. Even blurred and black and white, the image was one Leon recognized immediately. Rotting flesh falling away from bone and muscle. Teeth bared and darkened with viscera. A hand with bloodied nails reaching towards the camera.

Leon’s body reacted before his mind. Muscles tensing. Heart stuttering. He had to repress the urge to run. To aim his gun and fire desperately, even if he was sitting in a room miles and months away from Raccoon City. Even if he was just looking at an image taken from what had to have been that night or the days before it. 

It was good - or, perhaps, not so good - to know that his memory when it came to the zombies was clear. Crystal and cruel. 

“You’ll be fighting the bioweapons they create.” Hellman announced, letting the knowledge sink in. 

There it was. The truth that Leon had wanted the men and women around him to know. And now that it was there, he almost felt guilt for that, too. Guilt, because he wished he didn’t have the knowledge he possessed. 

No. Better they know. Better they’re prepared. 

“This image was taken during the Raccoon City outbreak, and is just one of many reported variants of bioweapons that were found in the city.” The energy in the room shifted, then, because even if they didn’t know the truth of the matter, everyone in the country had heard of Raccoon City. The strange disease that had broken out, and the city’s destruction to keep it from spreading. Not untrue, Leon supposed. Just omitting key details. Redacted information. Cover-ups. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that this was the path his life would take, going from one ghost-story to another. And even now, it seemed there would be more lies of omission. “According to our intel, there was an accidental release of viral weaponry in Umbrella labs beneath Raccoon City. Reanimation of corpses as well as drastic, fast-acting mutations were characteristics of said viruses. They were transmitted through water contamination and, later, through bites or scratches. The viruses escaped into the city and reports of violent individuals started popping up in mid September. By September thirtieth, the situation was deemed uncontainable.” 

And then Raccoon City, along with the monsters in it and those people still trying to survive within it had been wiped off the map. Nevermind that this had happened because one doctor had offered the US that same viral weaponry in exchange for his safety. Nevermind that maybe none of this would have happened if they’d just taken the man into custody from the start. 

Leon supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by the exclusion of that information, either. These men needed everyone in this room on their side. On the country’s side. 

“This is what the Major’s been training you for. Fighting against something that can wipe out a city in a week,” Hellman went on, clasping his hands behind his back. "We will endeavor to teach you how to avoid that fight. How to find the people responsible for the creation of these bioweapons before they can utilize them.” 

Tracking down Umbrella before another outbreak could happen, in other words. Cutting the head off the snake before it could bite anyone else. 

Too little, too late, Leon knew, because the cat was out of the bag, now. If the US knew, then other countries probably did too. Umbrella was a company. They would protect their interests, their assets. Viral weaponry that could “wipe out a city in a week” had to look good to someone out there. It had looked good to the US, after all. 

“The training we give you in the following weeks will never be complete,” Hellman warned, pale eyes sweeping the room of soldiers in front of him. “We could never give you full CIA-level instruction in time to send you after Umbrella. What we can give you are the tools we believe will help you to find and stop them.”

Not soldiers. Not CIA. Something else. New weapons for a new war. 

“They have facilities across the world,” Reed said, speaking in that usual cold timbre that made Leon’s hackles rise. “You’ll need to learn to adapt to new environments. Speak new languages. Pass where you’re not supposed to.” 

“And if we’re caught somewhere we’re not supposed to be?” Alenko asked from Leon’s side, picking up on what Reed was implying immediately. 

Leon already knew the answer before Hellman even spoke it. “The world can’t know about our operations any more than they can know about Umbrella’s research,” he said, adding to the gravity of the room. “But you were all chosen for your skill, and allowed to continue this training for the strength of your wills.” For holding out under interrogation. Leon didn’t miss how Reed’s eyes landed on him, then. He ignored that biting gaze, just as he’d been ignoring Krauser’s all day. 

“So if we get captured, if we die out there,” Alenko went on, his usual jovial tone gone, “then we shouldn’t expect anyone to come get us. That’s what you’re saying?” 

To his credit, the look Hellman gave in return actually looked understanding. Sympathetic, even. That didn’t change the fact that he was promising them unaided struggles and unmarked graves. “As I said, your work won’t bring you glory. But it will be more important than anything you’ve done in your lives.” 

Lives that could be turned into hollow shells. That could be warped and mutated into mindless violence. 

With or without the influence of a virus. 

But with nowhere to go but forward, Leon tried not to let those thoughts rule him. There were other things to think about. 

Things that the rest of the squad were thinking of too, by the time dinner rolled around.  

It had been quiet for so many reasons since the interrogations, but now there was an added layer of heaviness. Worry had carved creases across the foreheads of Leon’s squad, a sharp contrast to the exhausted but otherwise unburdened lower-level squads sitting at other tables. Young men and women who didn’t know yet what they would be facing. 

“So,” Williams finally said, trying to break the silence with hushed humor, “I guess we’ll all be able to put ‘monster hunter’ on our resumes after this. Not that anyone will ever see those resumes.” 

Leon wanted to smile at that, but all he could think of was dead hands and rotting breath and gnashing teeth. 

No one else laughed, either, their thoughts no doubt stuck on the images they’d seen earlier. The agents hadn’t told them everything yet. They’d have a hard time doing that in one day. Today was about fear, Leon knew that. Scaring everyone shitless so they’d respect the reality of the situation, like at Fort Benning when Cortez explained how a wrong move in a tank could earn you crushed limbs. With tanks, though, there was a field manual to understand; a list of knowns. With bioweapons . . . “How the hell are we supposed to fight those things?” Alenko asked, keeping his voice down so those cadets who didn’t know what awaited them couldn’t hear. 

And Leon knew then that he could help. That he could give his friends an edge before even the CIA did. So, he answered quietly, trying to adopt the easy authority you used when giving corrections in sparring. “The zombies, you shoot in the head,” he said, and all attention at the table turned to him. “Higher-caliber rounds work best. The more of the brain you can destroy, the better.” 

His squad looked at Leon like they were seeing him in a brand new light, realization slowly dawning across their faces. 

“There are other things, though. Different weak spots. None of them go down easy.” Because even once you knew where to shoot, where to place those bullets, it all came down to whether there was actually an opportunity to do so. Whether one had the ammunition required, or the moment needed to aim. “You have to be smart,” he warned, letting memory weigh down his words, “and you have to know when to run.” 

There was a beat of silence as Alejandro leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience, brother.” 

All sorts of secrets coming out lately, Leon thought as he nodded once.  

“I am. I was there. In Raccoon City.” 

He knew how he’d been thought of when he first arrived. He wasn’t blind to the judgmental stares when he’d struggled. The whispers that that kid’s gonna get himself killed. It was strange to be seen by everyone as you’d seen him so early on. 

“Son of a bitch,” Alejandro muttered, in disbelief. 

“How the hell did you make it out of there?” Alenko asked, and Leon wished he had a better answer. 

“Luck.” 

That was what it had come down to. His skill with a gun, his ability to think on his feet, they’d helped, but it had been luck that he’d been near those who could save him when skill alone failed him. Luck that had given him the tools he needed to survive. Skill, certainly, but luck was the reason he was still alive. 

He couldn’t change luck, though. 

So, he would focus on the two of those things that he could control. 

⧫⧫⧫

The Major didn’t look happy to see him. Not that it surprised Leon at all. 

He’d held out for a few days. He’d been focused in that time on throwing himself into the new lessons Reed and Hellman led. Languages, communication, codes, hell, even some hacking and lock-picking. All skills that may save Leon’s life, but not the ones he’d need if he ever came up against another monster that could fold a helicopter in two. Not that a knife would do much against such power either, he supposed. Still, he wanted to be ready. Had to be. For a while, he thought that he could get away with only sparring with Williams, Valeria and Alenko. Alejandro had joined them, and every so often so would the other members of the squad. Sparring while Leon told them of the hard-earned wisdom he had collected that night in Raccoon City. They were good, there was no denying that. But they weren’t you. They lacked your speed. Your instinct. Your gift for violence, earned not because you were a violent person but because you’d had such unspeakable violence done to you. You’d been a whetstone for his skill, and if all he had was eight weeks, then he needed them to be sharper than ever. 

So, he took your advice because you were right. Krauser was the best fighter on base. If you couldn’t spar, then Leon had to find other ways to become better. Even as Major Krauser scowled at him as he approached and all Leon could think of was the fact that he knew. 

He knew, and he wasn’t saying anything. 

Why wasn’t he saying anything? 

How long had he known?

What had he seen?

Another set of thoughts to be set aside. If Krauser wasn’t going to make trouble for you and Leon, then it was a situation that Leon could ignore. 

God, he really hoped he could ignore it.

It was a little difficult when the Major kept on looking at Leon like he wished he would cease to exist. Leon thought for certain that the man’s mood would brighten a touch when asked to spar. Beating the shit out of Leon had to be something he’d be interested in, right? 

“What? Your friends can’t be bothered?” Krauser grumbled. 

“My friends are taking the night off,” Leon shot back, because, frankly, he was tired of the angry glares. Tired of all the bullshit. His time here was ending, and it was Krauser’s job to make sure he survived after the fact. “I need a sparring partner.” 

What he got was an ass-kicking. Not that he’d expected otherwise. 

Still, Leon allowed himself to be proud of the fact that he actually put up a fight. He remembered sparring with Krauser all those months ago, how easily the Major had wiped the floor with him. It made each strike he earned against Krauser’s skin feel all the more vindicating. He’d gotten used to defeat thanks to you, and he’d always been able to get back up, even before that. A good thing, too, because Krauser was fighting like he had a score to settle. 

A kick with the force of a freight train hit Leon in the stomach, sending him falling backwards with a grunt. The Major didn’t waste any time, rushing to the ground with an overhead stab. Leon rolled out of the way just in time, hearing the scraping of metal against dirt. Dust washed over him, sent in a wave by the blade of Krauser’s knife, just enough getting into his eyes that his vision wavered. 

Unable to see, his heart rate spiked, trying to urge him to get up. To defend himself. He felt Krauser’s hand close around his wrist - the one whose hand held the knife. 

Leon acted quickly, bringing his other hand up, taking the knife. Slashing out almost blindly. Luck was on his side once again as he felt steel scrape against steel, parrying Krauser’s attack. The force of the blades meeting sent tremors through Leon’s arm, and it was through sheer will and memories of your words that he held onto the knife. 

His vision cleared and he was in a better position to attack, so he slashed at the Major’s wrist, freeing his own in the process. 

The two men got to their feet, putting some distance between each other. 

Krauser didn’t look impressed. “Thought with all that extra sparring you’d be better than this,” he said, and Leon wasn’t sure if it was a good sign that he was talking shit. Was it a return to form? Or just more anger? He might have gotten his answer when Krauser went on with words like a slap to the face. “Guess you weren’t really paying attention to the fights though, were you?” 

Leon knew it was bait. He could recognize that. Still, it was a shock to the system to hear Krauser imply it so openly. Even as a taunt, Leon hadn’t expected to hear it. It was just enough of a surprise that when Krauser rushed him, the younger man fumbled.

The feint was just fast enough for Leon to fall for it, and as he chased Krauser’s blade with his own - or where it would have slashed across his stomach - he nearly didn’t move fast enough to avoid the slash across his throat. You were fast, but Krauser? It was fighting you but dialed up to eleven, and it was too much for a fatigued and still-bruised Leon to handle. The blunted blade grazed his neck as he threw himself backwards. Off-balance, he nearly found himself losing his footing as Krauser pressed the attack, switching the knife to his left hand and thrusting it forward. Leon twisted his arm, getting his knife on the inside of the attack, his other hand going for the replacement . . . 

Too late, and he coughed and sputtered as Krauser swung his knife up and over Leon’s shoulder and sent it point-first into the side of his throat. Even if the Major was pulling the blow back, it landed hard enough that Leon knew he’d have a new bruise tomorrow. 

“Sloppy,” the Major shook his head as he pulled the blade away, stepping back. 

Leon retreated away, pressing a hand to the newly hurting spot on his neck. The pain was kindling for his anger - he’d moved past the frustrations of losing in these sparring matches, but he felt it now all the same. 

So he attacked first, this time. Hoping to catch the Major off-guard. 

He nearly had him, too, after a quick exchange. Nearly. Krauser twisted his knife inside Leon’s guard and switched hands again, kneeing the younger man in the gut and then running his blade up Leon’s arm in a move that would have filleted the flesh from his bones if it had been real. Then he pulled the knife away and drove it into Leon’s chest. Another bruise. 

“Where’s your focus?” Krauser snarled into Leon’s ear. “Your Sergeant isn’t here. Keep your head in the game.” 

Why the fuck was he pressing the issue? 

Leon shoved Krauser away - no small feat to make that mountain of a man move - and dropped into another ready stance. Resetting into another round, even as his muscles pleaded with him to stop. 

No. He wouldn’t be given a break out there. There would be no mercy. 

That was why you’d told him to do this, Leon knew. Krauser was as close to the real thing as he was going to get, if you were unable to fight. 

So, Leon charged again. Over and over, even if he ended up on the ground nearly every time. It was those first few weeks with you all over again. Near-victories followed by crushing defeats. All ushered in, Leon knew, by Krauser’s taunts. The Major was all too aware of that fact, as he swept Leon’s legs out from underneath him. His back hit the ground yet again, and this time Krauser didn’t even bother to go for a pin or a finishing move. 

“What did I tell you about being distracted?” the Major sneered, tossing his knife up and catching it in one smooth motion. “Because it’s the people who get distracted out there that end up dying.” 

“I’m not-”

“Don’t bullshit me. You have a weak spot and you’re letting me exploit it.” A weak spot. Leon had never once thought of you that way. You kept him going. You’d given him strength in the worst days at STRATCOM. Even during the days spent in those cells, the silent looks you would give him often felt like all that was keeping him sane. 

And then they’d beaten you in front of him, and Leon had broken. 

“You think I’m the only one who will figure it out?” The question was quiet, but cut straight to the bone. It was what you and Leon had talked about, all those nights ago. The last time in days that he’d seen you. And it was killing him. It hurt not to train with you. To get those reassuring looks when no one else was looking. 

You’d told him from the beginning that this life didn’t guarantee that the two of you would be together. 

He couldn’t let your absence drag him down. 

But he was frustrated and hurt, so he looked up at Krauser from the ground with a glare. “Why not report it, then?” Leon challenged, because that question had been eating away at him. “Why not let Reed and Hellman kick me out like they wanted to?” 

Krauser’s eyes flashed, and Leon knew that he’d overplayed his hand, admitting that he’d heard that conversation. 

“Get up, rookie,” the Major ordered, “and focus, or maybe I’ll change my mind and let them send you home.” 

Leon wasn’t sure if Krauser was serious or not, at this point. 

Whatever the case, he pushed himself up with a groan anyway, part of him debating just walking away. No. He wouldn’t give in that easily. He never did. So he stood his ground, meeting that disapproving stare that had been fixed on him for the better part of a week. The Major wanted focus? He’d get it. He wanted to talk shit? Leon could give as good as he got. 

So the younger man raised his knife, still keeping his gaze locked on his opponent. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to focus. Sure are taking an interest in something that’s none of your business.” 

Krauser didn’t take the bait, but Leon saw his expression shift. His brow creased further, his eyes glinting. He thought that maybe he'd hit a nerve, but that moment of emotion was gone quickly. “That the best you’ve got?” he asked, and then Leon was on the defensive again, blocking quick strike after quick strike. Their hands moved fast, and Leon’s mind never once wavered from the task in front of him. Right up until he ducked under a swing, his blade held parallel to the ground, and ran it straight across Krauser’s side. He followed the move through, ending up at the Major’s back, going for a killing blow to the spine. It didn’t quite land as Krauser whirled around, knocking Leon’s arm out of the way. Another side kick distanced them, but Krauser looked down at his side for a moment, looking at where Leon’s knife had connected. 

When he looked back up, he gave an almost reluctant nod of approval. “Not bad.” 

It wasn’t much assurance, but Krauser wasn’t you. Leon would take what he could get. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: Leon said "Why are you so up in my business?" and Krauser did not have a good answer to that question.

Speaking of Krauser . . . I did in fact cave and started writing his lil spin-off, it'll switch between Operation Javier and flashbacks of before, during and eventually after Between the Bones. Because I'm a hooligan. First chapter is out already! Even though I said I was gonna wait but I have no self control, oops. It is absolutely nonessential to the plot of this, and any references made to it will be fully explained in context but uhhhh I like the goofy beret man, so it exists now!

[indeedcaptain]

Regulatory Relations, chapter 4: The Fiance

The length of this is going to spiral wildly out of my control but I think that's allowed. It's also going to be way longer than 12 chapters and potentially have a plot beyond Will They Kiss?, so that's fun bahaha

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

When Kirk arrived, the mess hall was already crowded: he saw his alpha shift crewmates scavenging for breakfast and the recently relieved late night crew replicating post-work dinner before they headed to sleep. He scanned the assemblage of different departments, ranks, and groups, and thought, Perfect. This public forum was the ideal opportunity to kick-start their plan and also Enterprise’s unstoppable, 24-7-365 gossip train. Spock was already seated at their usual two-top in the corner, a plate of fruit and grain in front of him, with his concentration focused on a padd.

Kirk squared his shoulders and waded through his crew, smiling and greeting those who weren’t too focused on their meals to look up, making sure that his presence was known. Then he headed to the replicators to get his own meal and, in a stroke of what he might call genius, ordered a cup of Spock’s preferred tea as well. He loaded his meal onto a tray and turned to head back across the hall to his table. Maybe he would announce his arrival by grasping Spock’s shoulder, and start things off slow. That wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. But before he could weave his way through the crowd again, however, there was a warm hand against the small of his back and the tray was gently but inexorably pulled from his grasp. 

“Allow me,” Spock said, and he left his hand where it was until he was forced to break contact to wend through the tables. Kirk allowed him to steer them through the mingling crewmembers, and he thought he heard at least one whisper break out behind him as Spock removed his hand from his back. Spock placed his tray in his customary spot and requisitioned the tea. 

“Well done already, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, surprised and impressed. “You know, I wasn’t sure if you had it in you.” 

“I have spent my whole life in the company of at least one human being, captain. I do understand their rituals, however illogical they may be.” 

“I’m telling Bones you said that next time you make him explain something to you,” he said, and dug into his breakfast. As Spock returned his attention to whatever he was reading on his padd, tea held aloft in one hand, Kirk kicked his feet forward, crossed beneath the table, to brush against Spock’s ankles. Spock raised one eyebrow, but did not look up from his padd.

“Good morning, captain,” Yeoman Rand said as she passed, her blonde beehive bobbing through the air. “Commander.” Kirk did not miss her quick appraisal of his encroachment into Spock’s space beneath the table, and he left his feet where they were. 

“Good morning, yeoman,” Kirk said, smiling, and Spock nodded politely. She continued on her way to a table of other crew. 

“She just turned to look back at us,” Spock said quietly, looking over Kirk’s shoulder. Kirk resisted the urge to turn as well. 

“That’s great,” he said. “Uhura informed me once that she was a notorious gossip. I’m hoping that’s still true. What are you reading, anyway?”

The rest of their mealtime passed as Spock explained the intricacies of quantum--- or perhaps it was nonlinear--- physics, or maybe it was geometry. Kirk’s engineering abilities were far more applicable to the physical and technical, rather than the theoretical, but the way Spock explained the nature of the research question was more intuitive than he would have expected. When the bosun whistle of shift change rang out, Kirk loaded both his dishes and Spock’s onto his tray and bussed them to the recycler. Spock waited for him by the door and, not to be outdone, Kirk steered him out into the hallway with a hand to the shoulder blade. Spock radiated heat, even through the thick fabric of his science shirt. As the turbodoor slid shut behind them, he thought he heard a susurrus of curious whispers wash over the mess hall. 

In the turbolift, on their way to the bridge, he bounced on the balls of his feet and said, “I think that went well, as a starting step.” 

“Do you think that will be sufficient?” 

Kirk laughed. “Absolutely not, Mr. Spock. One showing in the mess does not a relationship make, and unfortunately our reputations precede us. I think convincing the crew will be a layering, rather than a step-by-step process.”

“I see,” Spock said. The turbolift opened. 

“Captain on the bridge,” Sulu called. As Spock broke away to claim his seat from his relief, Kirk squeezed his elbow, and he noticed as Uhura turned away from them with a smile. He settled into the captain’s chair and absorbed the hum of activity around him as alpha shift swept into full swing. They were en route to Starbase 27, out on the edges of Federation space, before venturing out into unclaimed territory. There were some distant mining colonies they had been instructed to check on, provide inoculations and resources where necessary, before they would be on their own to pursue first contact with warp-capable societies and study from afar those who weren’t ready for interstellar connection yet. Spock and his scientists would be delighted. 

Kirk signed resource allotments and allocations until he heard Uhura make a tiny ‘tch’ of dislike in the back of her throat. He spun to look at her as she thrust a padd in his direction. 

“Message from April for you, sir,” she said, and the little frown on her face told him all he needed to know. He tapped the padd open. The subject line of the message read ‘SPOCK?’ He thought he could guess where this was going. He opened the message. 

Cpt. Kirk: 

Hope you’re well. Pls send an update on Spock’s decision. Pls also inform him that I will come talk to him myself soon. Expect to pick up on SB27.

Adm. April 

Kirk smothered a grin as he typed back: 

Adm. April: 

I’m working on it. Looking forward to rendezvous in 10 days. Will report any updates as they occur. 

Cpt. Kirk 

He stood and leaned over the bannister between his chair and the science station to tap Spock on the shoulder. Spock turned immediately, and Kirk handed him the padd with the messages. Spock scanned them, and the corners of his mouth turned down in the slightest hint of a frown. 

“I didn’t tell him what I was working on,” Kirk said. 

“Your powers of subterfuge are unmatched, captain,” Spock said drily, and Kirk laughed before reclaiming his seat. 

The next few hours passed in a pleasant buzz of productivity and the white-line blur of stars passing by the viewscreen. Halfway through, Spock departed to attend to his duties in the laboratories, and passed by Kirk’s chair with one hand dropping lightly onto his shoulder in his wake. In front of him, he saw Sulu give Chekov some significant look, and he smothered a self-satisfied smile. Step one was already garnering the response he had wanted. He hoped the next few days would go just as smoothly. 

☆☆☆

An hour before the end of his shift, Kirk received a ping on his padd from Lt. Commander Giotto, requesting a meeting. He sent back a confirmation and stood, stretching the post-lunch stiffness from his back.

“Sulu, you have the conn. I’m off to meet with security,” he said, and Sulu saluted as he departed. He took the turbolift down to Giotto’s office, nodding at the crew that he passed, until he stood at the turbodoor. 

Kirk rang the bell, and the door swished open. Giotto’s office was, as always, somewhat akin to a crime scene after an explosive detonation. As head of security on the Starfleet flagship and chief mediator for on-ship disputes, he had his hands full: the Enterprise, on its five-year deep space exploration adventure, had both more dangerous away missions and more interpersonal drama than most ships. His desk was littered with padds labeled with different colored sticky notes according to some elaborate legend stuck to the wall, broken phasers and communicators were piled in the corners, and he had an impressive collection of indigenous weapons that he had compiled through his years as an officer labeled by quadrant, solar system, planet, and species. Giotto himself was halfway in the storage closet in the back of the room, digging around for something and mumbling to himself. As Kirk entered, the broad-shouldered man pulled himself from the closet and saluted. 

“At ease, Giotto,” Kirk said, smiling, and perched himself on the arm of the least cluttered chair in the office, in front of the desk. “What can I do for you?”

“Thanks for coming, captain,” Giotto said, and slid himself into the chair behind the desk despite the presence of multiple uniform shirts in varying states of shredded draped over it. “I wanted to talk to you, and potentially First Officer Spock, about a weakness I’ve noticed in the security team.” 

Kirk pressed his lips together to prevent himself from frowning outright. The security team had taken a beating--- a few beatings in a row, if he was being honest--- from various unfriendly planets recently. The casualty rate, while in the acceptable range for an exploratory vessel, was higher than Kirk liked, and he felt every death like it was his own responsibility. He was the one who signed off on those awful letters to their families, anyway.

“I’m listening,” Kirk said. 

“I don’t like that we’re so reliant on technology for protection,” Giotto said. He pushed away from his desk and pulled a bin of broken tech from beneath it. He started lifting phasers out and reading the labels he’d tied to them. “This one stopped working because of an ion storm. This one refused to fire because of the makeup of the atmosphere. This one was melted on the inside by those telepaths on Narlen II. And these are just the weapons. The comms break down even more, and when they’re our only link back to the teleporter, we lose people more frequently than I’d like. Scotty’s been tinkering with them, but we haven’t been able to make any serious improvements yet.” 

“I agree. I assume you bring this up because you have an idea for how to improve it, commander?

“I do, captain. That’s where you, and Mr. Spock, if he’s amenable, come in.” Giotto dumped the comms and phasers back into the bin, which Kirk could now see was labeled with a rather unprofessional sticky note. He ignored it. Giotto had earned the right to organize his office however he saw fit, many times over. 

“I’ve seen you and the commander sparring in the gym,” Giotto said. “Am I correct in thinking he’s been teaching you sus manna?”

Kirk heard Spock saying, “Suus Mahna” in his head, but he said aloud, “That’s right.”

“The Academy doesn’t teach as much hand-to-hand as they used to, ever since they rolled out the new phasers as standard, and I’m afraid these kids are lacking. They’re expert marksmen, great shots all of them, but when the blasted thing doesn’t work… I thought it might be valuable to ask Mr. Spock and yourself to teach them the basics, get them thinking about combat differently. Especially as we head back out of Federation space.” Giotto folded his hands in front of him, waiting. 

Immediately Kirk could feel the validity of the idea. He turned it over in his mind, considering the last few away missions he had been on. Proficiency in hand-to-hand combat wouldn’t have solved all of their problems, but it certainly would have helped. He had yet to find himself in a situation where more skills would be a detriment, especially defensive skills. 

“I like it, commander,” he said, and Giotto nodded firmly. “I think it’s a good idea.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“I’ll talk to Mr. Spock about a demonstration, maybe 1900 hours tonight, and then you and your team can figure out a schedule for training. Just talk to Rand about my schedule if you need to.” 

“Yes, sir. Right away.” Giotto saluted again, the consummate professional, and Kirk nodded before turning to go. At the door, though, he hesitated and turned back to his head of security. In the harsh fluorescent lights of his office, the broken line of Giotto’s nose and both the wrinkles and the scars on his skin were thrown into harsh relief. He had lost as much as Kirk had over the past few months, and probably more. The security they had lost had been Kirk’s crew, and his responsibility as captain, but they had been Giotto’s officers. 

“You’re a good chief, Sal,” Kirk said quietly. “You’re doing a great job. Thank you.” 

Giotto straightened. “Thank you, captain. But we can always be better.” 

Kirk nodded, and left. 

☆☆☆

Spock’s laboratories were ensconced deep in the belly of the Enterprise, with nearly an entire deck dedicated to the pursuit of science. He technically had an office down there, as was his right as science officer, but he was very rarely in it. He was more likely to be found with his hands in whatever experiment his little cadre of mad scientists had cooked up. That was precisely where Kirk found him after leaving Giotto’s office. 

Spock was bent over a computer console, reading something on the screen over the shoulder of one of his favorite scientists: a dark-haired human woman from the Indian subcontinent, whose brusque demeanor and passion for gravitational anomalies matched Spock’s own. Dr. Khan, no relation to the other Khan, was gesturing emphatically at the screen, and Spock’s eyes were following wherever she pointed. Kirk watched them through the clear panel in the turbodoor fondly for a moment. He liked Dr. Khan, enjoyed her dry sense of humor and straightforward conversation style, and he sometimes wondered if Spock ever thought the same. 

Well. If he did, Kirk was sure that they could come to some sort of marital agreement about it. He thought that Dr. Khan would understand the logic of the situation. He pressed the button that indicated his presence and watched with amusement as Khan startled and Spock straightened like he’d been jabbed with a hypo. Spock turned, eyes meeting his through the door, and Kirk entered at the incline of his head. 

“Good evening,” he said. “What have we got going on today?” 

“Shifting gravitational pull while at warp,” they said in unison, and Khan smirked. She continued, “I noticed unusual measurements coming from a few of the shield plates yesterday, and wrote an algorithm to look for a pattern over time. We were just reviewing what I’ve found.” 

“Anything of interest?” Kirk asked, and approached to peer at the screen. He recognized the report, having reviewed something similar with Scotty many times, but didn’t see anything that struck him as out of the ordinary. 

“Not yet,” Khan said. “But there’s always tomorrow.” She shut down the computer program and stood from the chair, twisting her back to stretch it. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Spock. Good night, captain.” 

“Good night,” Kirk said, and Khan smiled at them both as she left. “Spock, I just had an interesting conversation with Giotto.” He explained the crux of the matter as Spock listened, head cocked slightly to one side. 

“An eminently logical idea, captain,” Spock said, and cleared off the desk that he had been working at. “I admit that I too do not believe the Academy to be adequately preparing the security officers for all possible scenarios.” Spock ordered the lights off and closed the laboratory behind them as they walked back down the hallway to the turbolift. “I would return first to my cabin to change and meditate, but I will meet you at the gymnasium for this demonstration.” 

They passed a small pack of scientists chatting by the small replicator in the wall, including Dr. Khan, and Spock nodded at them as they broke off their conversation to greet their supervisor. Their easy banter floated down the hallway as Kirk and Spock continued to the turbolift. When they were a ways from the scientists but still well within their sight, Kirk rested his hand on Spock’s mid-back for a moment as they walked. 

“Did you plan a hand-to-hand demonstration solely to further our mission, captain?” Spock asked quietly. Kirk laughed. 

“No, but it does seem wonderfully convenient, doesn’t it?” 

“Quite useful, sir,” Spock said, and stepped away from Kirk’s hand as the turbolift arrived. 

☆☆☆

Kirk stood in his red workout pants in front of Giotto and a small group of security officers, listening as Spock explained the basic mechanics of Suus Mahna. “It is primarily a defensive art,” Spock started, and Kirk recognized the exact explanation that Spock had given him when he had started to learn. He tuned out the lecture in favor of reviewing what he knew of the sec team that Giotto had brought. 

A pair of young-ish human twins, ensign rank, who went by One and Two, though he had never seen them separately and therefore did not know which was which; an older Andorian man named Crovath who was closer to Giotto’s age than the ensigns and who had been serving on the Enterprise by the time Kirk himself transferred on; and one Orion woman named Laila, the first Orion that Kirk knew of in Starfleet. The reasoning behind Giotto’s choices were unclear; or, if he had simply asked for volunteers, Kirk wasn’t sure why these four were the ones who turned up. But better four random individuals than no one at all. 

“Captain Kirk and I will demonstrate how Suus Mahna can be used to protect oneself in an altercation, as well as provide opportunities for neutralization when necessary. Captain, if you would?” 

Kirk stepped forward and faced Spock. Spock wore the same red leggings he did, but with a Vulcan-style red tunic, tied at the waist, over them. He could see the dark curls of Spock’s chest hair and remembered again, in an abstract sort of way, that Spock was going to be married to him in the very near future. Did that make Spock, technically, his fiance? 

Spock raised an eyebrow and Kirk realized that was his cue. He bounced on the balls of his feet. He’d had the training, been through a thousand different combat courses, and had trained with Spock for years, but at heart, he was a barnyard brawler from Iowa and always would be. He swung. 

Spock stepped neatly out of his way, not even bothering to unclasp his hands from behind his back. He raised his eyebrow in a way that said that he was unimpressed. Kirk struck again, faster, with less of an arc. Spock dodged, unclasping his hands to bring them up in a defensive posture by his chest. Kirk swung again, towards Spock’s center of gravity, where it would be harder to dodge, but Spock was lightning on his feet and twisted entirely out of the way. He circled Kirk. It forced him to turn, putting him on the defensive. Spock struck a hand towards the back of his neck. Kirk ducked under it, spinning to face him, and got his feet under him enough to kick out towards him. Spock dodged forward. He struck the back of Kirk’s knee with the blade of his hand, forcing it to bend. As Kirk fought to rebalance, calf tingling unpleasantly with the force of Spock’s blow, Spock swept up behind him.

Kirk brought his hands up, but it was too late. Spock had him in a headlock. Kirk struggled against the unyielding iron cage of Spock’s arms to no avail. Spock said, to the assembled crew, “From this position, you could incapacitate your assailant however necessary.” He released his left arm from the lock, keeping one around Kirk’s neck, pressing his back to Spock’s chest. The bastard wasn’t even breathing hard. 

“I might use the pinch here,” he said, and tapped two fingers of his free hand against the crook of Kirk’s neck. “Or remove the ability to breath until he was no longer conscious,” he continued, and re-locked his arms. Kirk tried not to squirm. He didn’t mind losing to Spock, but there wasn’t usually an audience for it. He also didn’t frequently think about the height difference between him and Spock, but held like this he could feel the sharp edge of Spock’s jaw against the side of his head. 

Spock released him. “Again,” he said. Jim swung his arms, limbering up, and struck again. His mind slowed as his heartbeat increased, until his conscious brain had gotten out of his way. There was no longer a translation period between his impulses and his actions; he read Spock’s movements as Spock acted, written in fast-twitch muscle fiber, and forced him backwards. They traded blow for blow. After years of sparring together, Spock’s style was as familiar to Kirk as choreography. Though Spock’s strength and reach were superior, Kirk had one advantage: the capacity for illogical thinking, and therefore unpredictability. 

He faked a stumble, and Spock swept inward again to take advantage. His weight firmly on one foot, he hooked one leg around Spock’s as soon as he was close enough and used his momentum against him. They tumbled to the ground in a graceless pile. 

Kirk landed, by some luck, on top. For a second, he thought that he had won, as he scrambled to his knees. But Spock got one foot against his hip and shoved upward, flipping him onto his back. The air in his lungs exited hastily. He wheezed. Spock rolled over him, kneeling on one leg as he applied his considerable weight to Kirk’s sternum via the other. 

For a second, he flipped through different options for recovering his advantage. But his ribs hurt, and though he was a glutton for punishment this was intended to be an educational demonstration, not a cage match. He tapped Spock’s thigh twice.

Spock stood and, after a split-second’s hesitation, reached down. Kirk gratefully gripped his forearm and let Spock pull him to his feet. Giotto, and then the stunned security complement, and a handful of officers who had wandered over from the other areas of the gym, appreciatively applauded. Kirk took a theatrical bow as Spock turned to him and said, “Are you unharmed, captain?”

“Right as rain,” he said, and grinned at Spock before turning to talk to Giotto. “Did you get what you were looking for?”

“Definitely, captain,” Giotto said appreciatively. “I was right --- I think this might be an untapped resource for us. I’ll talk to Rand about setting something up regularly. Mr. Spock, would you care to participate?” 

Spock was silent for a moment, and Kirk turned to him. “Spock, don’t leave the poor security team to just my instruction. They could benefit from your expertise.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, captain,” Spock said, but his eyes were warm with disguised mirth when they met Kirk’s. With a jolt, Kirk realized he had been set up and baited like a fish, and he had walked right into publicly praising Spock. “I will assist. I will instruct the team in Suus Mahna and you can instruct in winning a bar fight.” 

“Hey,” Kirk complained, but he clapped his hands together. “Thanks, Giotto. We’ll look forward to it.” 

“Thank you, captain,” Giotto said. “And commander.” He nodded to them both, eyes flicking between them, and rejoined the security team. Kirk reclaimed his abandoned water bottle, sweat towel, and t-shirt, and walked with Spock back to their quarters. 

“See you in the morning for breakfast?” Kirk asked.

“Yes, captain,” Spock said, and turned to disengage his door lock. 

“What did you call me?” Kirk sing-songed as he backed away to his own door. Spock looked up at him and frowned slightly. 

“Cap…? Ah. Yes.” 

“Goodnight, Spock,” Kirk said. 

“Goodnight… Jim.” His name echoed down the hallway, and Kirk grinned before releasing his own door lock and stepping inside. He dropped his dirty clothes into the recycler and sat down at his desk to review his padd messages while Spock used the shared bathroom. Admiral April had simply sent a ‘received’ response to his earlier message about Spock, and he had some unread Starfleet-wide missives. All of it could wait. 

When he heard only silence from the bathroom, he performed his own ablutions and slid into bed. He was pleasantly tired from sparring, even after only going two rounds, and they had another uneventful day of feeding the gossip machine ahead of them tomorrow. 

He closed his eyes and slept.

[saturnine-saturneight]

Sliiiide.

🏁-Looking back at the first thing you've written/posted, how have you improved since then?

🌓- Show us a snippet of a before and an after between drafts! What did you change and why?

Haha hellooo, thank you for the ask!!!

🏁-Looking back at the first thing you've written/posted, how have you improved since then?

I think the best point of reference for this is when I started posting prose on the internet. I was part of a roleplaying community here on Tumblr, and had arcs going on for my OCs that influenced and were driven forward by roleplays with my friends.

To develop my characters beyond this, I would write the sort of... Connecting tissue, big events that were happening in the background and could drive my and other people's plots forward.

These were drabbles in the loose sense of that word, and the defining feature was that they were short! Easier to write, easier to consume, packing a lot into usually something around 500 words. Because I honestly, honestly had no idea how to write something longer than this. I would try and fail to connect one scene to the next and just do vignettes, I would lose confidence that anyone wanted to read on if I made them longer, and I especially had no idea how to continue after a dramatic moment or a cliff hanger and just post instead.

(This was partially a mental state thing - my life was pretty chaotic, and my thoughts matched that.)

The main thing I've learned since then is how to plot out something long that coheres and then actually write it, lmfao. I can do long term planning in my writing now and then get from A to B in a way that isn't filler and is (I think/hope) fun to read.

🌓- Show us a snippet of a before and an after between drafts! What did you change and why?

Gonna do the intro paragraph for this. First version:

The wind rushes past their ears as Natalie floors it through the forest. Ron whoops with joy every time the all terrain vehicle hits a bump. It's a clear, starlit night, and there's no one around but them.

This was a version where the characters needed no introduction because everyone in my audience (friends) was already familiar with them, and I just jumped straight into the action. This opening bit leads right into the deciding action of the first chapter in the span of a page or two, and then the whole thing devolves into The Horror.

Second version:

The smell of ozone builds slowly in the cold night air. It's still hard to notice over the metallic stench of their crowded ATV, until it suddenly isn't anymore and it hits Rain straight in the face.

I changed the setting from forest to desert, and put in a few chapters to introduce these characters, explain the stakes, and give The Horror some buildup. This was after a good bit of feedback! I showed the story to people outside of my friend group and they had no idea what was going on or why they should care. Also note Ron's name here - i was playing with worldbuilding, and he was from a coastal town where the majority of kids were named after something water, seafaring, or star related.

Current:

It's subtle at first, hard to notice, when the air thickens, and the clear blue sky slowly, slowly turns a sickly green. Like sticky dust, the sweet stench of flowers begins to cover every surface, every rock and every grain of sand. Only as it starts to seep through the AC does Ron startle awake, head jerking up from where it had fallen back against the headrest of his car seat.

I changed the genre from second world sci-fantasy to eco horror set in the future of this Earth, which is the rewrite I'm still currently on. The storm is not a green acid storm anymore, but a pollen storm instead, so I can link back to the central conceit of plant zombies. I was also able to make this a lot more descriptive, because even though I'm changing the paint on this story and cleaning up the worldbuilding, the bones are, for a large part, already there.

I've honestly fucked with this story so drastically that I don't even consider line edits actual edits right now, haha. Something is a new version when I've rewritten about 2/3rds of it by volume. What stays is the mood and the intention of the scene, but everything else is fair game for repurposing, scrapping, full rewriting etc.

[byuteablanc]

One Human and a Whole Lotta Bones! | Skeleharem x Gender Neutral Reader

—

I hope you enjoy this! If you need to find the beginning or any chapter, refer to the links at the bottom of the post!

And if you prefer to read on AO3, click on this!

Chapter Four: Strecrets

You woke up to your 3 AM alarm, groaning. You weren’t able to sleep all that much with work and your homework last night, at least you got a solid… three hours? You knew that wasn’t nearly enough, but it was better than nothing like most days.

You slid out of bed, akin to a slug. Your eyes felt heavy as you motioned toward your undergarment drawer. You opened it, noticing your abundance of socks and other clothing, but acute lack of underwear. You slowly blinked, your sleepy way of frowning without exhausting so much energy. Closing your drawer, you grab your blanket and wrap it around you, taking yourself downstairs to the laundry room.

Walking down the stairs and past the foyer, past the kitchen and the door to the basement, you get to the laundry room and attempt to open the door. But, it’s locked? You slow blink again. You don’t know why someone in their right mind would have a lock on the laundry room of all things, but pondering the necessity of that was beyond your tired consciousness. Weirdly, you heard shuffling in the room, someone was in there.

Sudden the door was opened to a nervous looking Stretch, he smiled down at you. “hey sweetie, what’s brings you to the laundry room at such an hour?” He uttered.

Becoming more awake, you furrow your brows. “I can ask you the same question. I was here to get my underwear, what were you doing here?” You raised a brow, becoming suspicious.

Stretch had a habit of staying up late longer than he should. On nights where you’d be up late or woke up in the middle of your sleep, he could be up and fumbling about in his room or around the house. It worried you a little, but when you’d ask he’d insist he was fine.

“oh nothing, just laying around and staying up like usual. you know me..!” He chuckled faintly, leaning more of himself against the door frame.

You tried to look into the laundry room, seeking your underwear. Considering you’re the only one who wore underwear, they wouldn’t be hard to find. Suddenly Stretch’s body shifted to shield the laundry room from being seen. “need something?” he inquired, trying to act like he wasn’t nervous.

“Yes, I already told you… Stretch let me come inside.” You frowned, your headache starting to form.

You two continued to do the this in-the-door-frame tango until you saw an opening in between his legs. You dived so fast to what seemed to be his crotch that the only thing he was able to react with was to hastily cover his area in defense. Unfortunate for him though, you were definitely not going for his non-existent junk.

You successfully went in between his legs and got into the laundry room. You felt triumphant. You quickly scanned the room for your underwear and—

Was that a sewing kit and one of Edge’s crop tops?

Before you could investigate any further Stretch grabbed your shoulders, turning you to him, away from what you just saw. “You’re the one that sews up everyone’s shirts?” You asked, smiling genuinely.

In your roommates’ mansion, every time someone would get a hole or a tear in their clothes, the next time they got them, the embellishment would be patched up. It was always suspected that Blue or Papyrus was the one who did it, considering they are the ones that take care of the laundry most often. But they had both confirmed that they didn’t do it. You had always suspected it was Cinnabar and he never owned up to it because he would find it embarrassing for the others to know he cared that much. But, you never suspected it could be Stretch!

Stretch is by far the laziest out of all your roommates, even in comparison to Sans, which is nothing to scoff at. To find out that he was the kind one doing the sewing was not only cute, but a surprise.

Stretch sighed, an orange-creamsicle-like color spreading across his cheekbones. “yes…” He looked down, not wanting to make eye contact with you.

“I didn’t know you knew how to sew!” You brought your hand up to your face, this was too cute.

He took his hands off your shoulders. “yeah, i do. just, please don’t tell the others.. let’s just keep it a secret between us, okay?” He smiled his usual smile, finally looking at you.

“Fine, but I want to know, how long have you known how to sew?” You raised a brow.

“since i was a babybones. i used to..” he took a pause, sighing, “i used to make clothes for blue when we were younger. clothes weren‘t always something we could readily afford, so i decided to make them myself. blue always wanted to look cool so when he would mention things to me, i’d make it for him. he would be so happy,” Stretch smiled in reminisce, becoming less tense.

You could burst into tears right there. You had no idea he was so noble! “Oh Stretch, that’s beautiful. I bet Blue was so grateful.”

He blushed again, and more this time. He rested a hand on his neck vertebrae, avoiding eye contact. “yeah, he was. he never knew i made them though, he always thought they were bought.”

“And you never told him?” You furrowed your brows.

“no.”

“Why?”

He deadpanned, looking uncomfortable. “please don’t pry.”

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t know!” Now it was your turn to blush a little. “Either way, you’re very sweet Stretch. We’re all fortunate to have a secret seamstress! And don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

He chuckled. “thanks, honey. and you said you were looking for your underwear, right?”

—

“What would you like to have today, sir?”

You and Cinnabar were at your somewhat routine lunch together in a coffee shop on campus. You both tried to commit to something relaxing after every school morning. It gave a way for you both to decompress and relax.

“I Would Like One Order Of Fries Please!” Cinnabar replied.

“Make that two,” You added, taking a sip of your water.

With a nod, your waiter left you and Cinnabar to your own devices.

You always appreciated these lunch sessions with Cinnabar. You got to sit in a little coffee shop and talk, or sometimes you both don’t talk at all. In past, you and Cinnabar could sit at the same table, and be focused on or do two different things at the same time. You both just enjoyed each other’s company. It was refreshing to have that relationship.

“So, how was your morning class?” You inquired, tilting your head slightly.

“It Went Well! I Didn’t Fall Asleep And I Think I Took Useful Notes?” He furrowed his brows in thought. “Fortunately For Me Though, We Get To Actually Model Cases Next Class. I’m Glad I Won’t Be Bored.”

“Cases?” You asked, confused.

Cinnabar rested his elbows on the table, folding his hands together. “Cases As In Like.. Lawsuits For Example. We’re Going To Model What A Court Proceeding Would Actually Look Like.”

“Oh no I got that part, I’m just not familiar with law terminology.” You shrugged, taking another sip of your water.

“That’s Fair, I Didn’t Know Any Terms At First Either.” He smiled, resting his weirdly malleable chin on his folded hands.

“What brought you to go into law anyway?”

“Money.”

“Oh!” That was fast.

“Well! Not Only That! I Also Wanted To Do It Because I’m Also Magnificent At Debate And Wont Stop Until I’m Right.” He smirked, very sure of himself.

You raised a brow. “Oh really? I’ve heard from the others and have seen sometimes that you’re pretty strong. If anything I could see you being a pilates instructor or something.”

He blushed a little, clearly flattered. “Well, Darling, I Do Have Legs Of Steel And Arms That Can Carry A Couple Tons. But Alas, My Beautiful Physique Can’t Make Up For How I Don’t Quite Like People Around People Very Much.”

“But you’re around me and I’m a people.” You folded your arms in skepticism, pointing a thumb to yourself in the process.

He gave you a half lidded look, smiling in seemingly pure bliss. “Oh Y/n, You Are A Completely Different Case.”

You blushed, quickly averting your gaze. Funnily enough, Cinnabar didn’t quite realize what he’d said. Usually, saying something like that wouldn’t be a problem but the way he said it was… He was looking into you dreamily, and you knew what that meant.

Realizing his actions, he recoiled, scrambling to find something else to say through his embarrassment.

“SOOoooo, Who Do You Think Is The Mystery Seamstress?” Cinnabar said quickly, avoiding eye contact.

You straightened up, recalling your recent discovery earlier in the morning.

“I have no idea.” You replied, trying to seem genuine.

“I Know Right! It’s Such A Mystery! At This Point I’m Suspecting Stretch, And I Most Certainly Don’t Want Stretch’s Dirty Hands On My Clothes.” He glared into the distance, arms crossed.

You grew slightly nervous. “Stretch isn’t dirty!” You frowned, reprimanding him.

Cinnabar eyed you skeptically. “Dearest, Don’t Defend That Pack Rat. Besides, You Know Yourself That Stretch Taking A Shower, Let Alone Brushing His Teeth, Is An Urban Myth.” He swatted his hands towards you in disgust, having an envious look in his eye lights.

You always assumed he was probably just going through something, even though every time he walked past you, you noticed that he seemed to have a literal green trail flowing behind him. “Even still, Cinnabar, I think that Stretch being our possible seamstress is super cute! It would show that he cared.”

Cinnabar sighed, conceding. “I Suppose,” he rolled his eye lights. “But, He Still Doesn’t Bathe. That’s Nasty.”

You exhale, chortling a little at the same time. “Can’t let anyone off the hook too easily hm?”

“Absolutely Not.” Cinnabar smirked.

—

With Stretch In the Skeleton Mansion..

An assortment of yarn was strewn about the room, along with a couple of crochet hooks and a few knitting needles. Stretch, making a crochet star out of boredom suddenly piqued up, then shrunk into himself.

”why do i feel judged?”

——

Previous | Current | Next Chapter