#She heard bits and pieces but otherwise cannot or will not speak of it to most people

[oculusxcaro]

The facility responsible for kidnapping Khare and forcibly experimenting on her didn't start with her. They've done it to many people and are behind a significant number of missing person cases each and every year. Thousands disappear never to be seen again, mostly young runaways and vagrants who won't be missed by anyone meaning they are the perfect test subjects in which to conduct their research.

Prometheus is the face of this organization, a little known corporation who funds both legitimate and illegal businesses on the side in order to gain access to what they're really after - fresh subjects for their project in researching the human genome and how to alter it. Metahumans are the next stage of human evolution whether humanity likes it or not, but natural born metahumans are too far and few in between to conduct research on safely, and are often too high profile to snatch up anyway. Ordinary humans? There's plenty of those running around, so what's a few thousand lives in the hopes of unlocking human potential? Mutants are still not fondly regarded by most of humanity but enterprising minds see their value and more importantly, the value of the future, how much the wealthy would be willing to pay in order to gain powers of their own. The money poured into the cosmetics industry on a yearly basis would be nothing compared to how much the elite are willing to pay to gain eternal youth or as close to it as possible, forever looking young without invasive procedures such as plastic surgery. With Prometheus at the helm, anybody could become a metahuman in the near future with a few easy injections. There's just a few kinks in the system to work out first in order to make it a safe process for those matter, and who better than to start with the chaff?

[over--heaven]

oc (s/i) x canon week day 3

prompt: "i am nothing without them"

canon characters: dio brando (jojo's bizarre adventure), hol horse (mentioned), enyaba (mentioned)

word count: 753

notes: hmmm may have gotten a bit serious with this one.

taglist: @cinnbar-bun | @violetsareblue-selfships | @iceicewifey | @tidekissed | @dmclr | @newdaybreak | click here to be on the list

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it was rare to see dio so utterly unraveled. hol horse had always seen the man with a collected demeanor, an aura of sophisticated grandeur that he upheld at all times. it was an image of his greatness, a symbol of the control he held over his subordinates and his own self. an image that had now shattered into pieces along with the statues that the vampire shoved to the floor in anger.

his rampage had not extended to the other parts of the mansion yet, luckily, hol horse thought to himself. and it would be wiser for him to quietly slink away into the night rather than become dio’s new victim. a fine idea, but pretty much impossible now that dio had begun to develop his stand power and, whatever his ability was, nothing could sneak past him unknown.

the cowboy was yanked back to reality by the vase hurtling past his head. the cigarette between his lips fell onto the concrete as he heard the ceramic smash into the wall. he regretted being the one to tell dio that eloise had eluded him once again, this time deciding to join the joestar group in their quest to eliminate him.

“this was not supposed to happen!” dio growled, curling his hand into a fist. another shattered wineglass. enya the hag stood solemnly at his side, only narrowly avoiding the shards that ended up strewn about the parlour floor.

in the mirror he saw upon his body the head of jonathan, staring disapprovingly back at him. he felt sick. jonathan was the one who first ‘destroyed’ him, and though dio had managed to steal away his body as a new vessel, it was inevitable that now his descendants were taking things from him one by one. defeating his stand users, foiling his plans, turning his beloved away from him. it drove him mad.

“lord dio, i had envisioned her defection since the start.” the elderly woman’s words fueled his rage even more, and he whipped his head around to glare daggers at both hol horse and enya. after a few seconds, his gaze fell now to his hands, bleeding from all the broken glass but just as quickly beginning to recover.

enya frowned, speaking again as if she were a mother nagging her son. “she was only a liability. she cannot even begin to equal you in any way.” she paused. the sound of dio’s breathing filled the otherwise silent room. “without a stand, she is virtually useless to the joestars.” 

dio went quiet. he had toyed with the thought of shooting eloise with the stand arrow in the past, finally giving in to the idea one night while the rest of the mansion was asleep. she was far too curious. if he hadn’t done it himself, he wouldn’t have put it past her to go off and do it on her own. as he had expected, her spirit accepted the arrow with ease and the bluish humanoid that manifested as a result was a truly satisfying sight. he recalled her awe-struck smile with bittersweet melancholy, a deep frown etched upon his features.

the silence was telling enough of what had happened. dio’s action was a risky gamble. eloise would have been able to fight for him, god knew she could hold her own in that regard. and now, the worst case scenario he had envisioned had become a reality. he had lost her loyalty, and nothing could fix that. if it had been anyone else, maybe he would not have been so enraged. but she was meant to be much, much more than a simple pawn. she was irreplaceable.

“i believe neither of you have a true understanding of the situation.” his voice dropped to a gravelly whisper that sent shivers running up both his subordinates’ spines. “gravity has brought her back to me after an entire century. she knows as well as i that her place is with me,” he spoke louder now, his tone showing hints of desperation mixed with his anger. “i am nothing without her.”

enya reiterated that dio was all-powerful and should fear nothing. but eloise alone managed to revive this part of him -- the tiny section of his mind that made him panicked and neurotic, something he was sure he had grown out of after all his years of self-reflection. in this way, she was infinitely dangerous. and what use was all his power if he could not conquer the one person he so selfishly desired?

[dungeon-strugglers]

✨New item!✨ Severed Medusa Head Wondrous item, legendary

This severed medusa head still writhes and squirms with life, snake hair snapping at nearby hands and blood oozing from the open stump. The medusa who donated their head is still fully aware of their torturous situation, but is unable to speak due to their severed vocal cords. Using this head requires a free hand, with which you can grasp by the hair to hold. Each time you use the head, the snakes attack your hand, and you take 3d6 poison damage. 

As an action, you can aim the medusa’s petrifying gaze in a 30-foot cone. A creature within this area that can see the medusa's eyes must make a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. If the saving throw fails by 5 or more, the creature is instantly petrified. Otherwise, a creature that fails the save begins to turn to stone and is restrained. The restrained creature must repeat the saving throw at the end of its next turn, becoming petrified on a failure or ending the effect on a success. A creature is immune to this effect if it does not have a body made of flesh, or has legendary actions. The petrification lasts until the creature is freed by the greater restoration spell or other magic. Once this property is used, it cannot be used again until the next dawn.

If there is a Small or larger reflective surface within the area of the petrifying gaze, the severed medusa head instantly turns to stone, and cannot be used again until freed from its own curse. Additionally, if you can see the reflection, you are forced to make saves against petrification as well.

Content Warning: violence, captivity.

Stheno awoke with a start. Was that whispering in the dark, or the remnant of a dream? She lay perfectly still, taking shallow breaths and listening intently for what seemed like ages. Just as she was drifting off again, there was an almost imperceptible rustle, and a hiss. She went rigid in terror, someone or something was just outside of her bedroom.

Carefully, Stheno raised herself from her bed and crept across the stone floor, wide-eyed and catlike. Her heart was pounding furiously as she listened at the door. Nothing. Then, as she slowly turned the bronze handle, the door burst inwards, throwing her to the floor. 

Stheno screamed as she scrambled away but, before she could turn around to see the intruder, a sudden terrible pain shot through her neck. Her scream became a choked gurgle and she felt numbness, nothingness, and then darkness... 

When Stheno regained consciousness, there was the strong smell of blood and burlap. Throbbing, burning pain and strange weightlessness drowned her senses. Rough cloth and darkness pressed in against her face. An acrid liquid stung her right eye, but she was unable to blink it away. Merry banter in an unknown language, and horse hooves on gravel sounded all around her. What was going on? Why couldn’t she move her body?

As Stheno jostled in the saddlebags, her confusion clarified into a seething rage. She began to tirelessly unravel her cloth enclosure. It would take time, but she had all the time in the world. Soon, Stheno hissed at herself, I will see the look in your eyes as I claim my revenge...

Evil version:

Euryale lounged in her sculpture garden, lazily tracing a finger along the jawline of one of her admirers. She was an accomplished artist, with hundreds of pieces to show for her many lifetimes of work. The bench she lounged on was one of her favorites, pieced together from loose bits of torso atop mismatched arms and legs. 

It had been some time since her last visitor, and Euryale had grown awfully lonely over the years. She was eager to share her newest compositions to a fresh audience, before they joined the collection of course. Some of the poses she had evoked from her subjects were truly stunning, especially in the elaborate scenes that their bodies were arranged in now. 

Just as the thought crossed her mind, Euryale heard footfalls echoing from the cavern entrance. She quickly hid herself among her sculptures, giggling wickedly like a child playing hide-and-seek. Euryale watched the man enter her garden and appreciate her work. He seemed like an admirer of the arts, taking his time to wander in her direction. As he finally rounded a statue of a horse riding atop a knight, she pounced. What she had failed to notice until the last second, was the hand mirror dangling from his neck by a length of twine. Euryale screamed and shut her eyes tight, narrowly avoiding the fate she had gifted to so many. In that moment, a sudden terrible pain shot through her neck. Her scream became a choked gurgle and she felt numbness, nothingness, and then darkness... 

When Euryale regained consciousness, there was the strong smell of blood and burlap. Throbbing, burning pain and strange weightlessness drowned her senses. Rough cloth and darkness pressed in against her face. An acrid liquid stung her right eye, but she was unable to blink it away. Merry banter in an unknown language, and horse hooves on gravel sounded all around her. What was going on? Why couldn’t she move her body?

As Euryale jostled in the saddlebags, her confusion clarified into a seething rage. She began to tirelessly unravel her cloth enclosure. It would take time, but she had all the time in the world. Soon, Euryale hissed at herself, I will see the look in your eyes as I claim my revenge... - 🖌🎨 Like our work? Consider supporting us on Patreon and gain access to the hi-resolution art for over 180 magic items, item cards and card packs, beautiful creature art and stat blocks, and setting pdfs with narrative hooks and unique lore!🧙‍♂️

📜 Credit. Art and design by us: the Dungeon Strugglers. Please credit us if you repost elsewhere.

[spirithunts]

"it's ahri, right?"

in reality, it's moot point to even ask; evelynn knows. oh what a somber soul, one that she's grown close to far too many times to count now. even now as her gaze settles on the perfectly brushed hair, the demon can taste the anguish that lingers in the air. cruel like herself, is history to repeat itself, to grant such an unforgiving upbringing.

and yet she forces a smile, not quite picture perfect yet. enough to mask certain agony that lingers behind her sunglasses.

it was easy enough to sneak past producers, body guards -- a simple smirk here, a charm there. not like they'd ever really mind. least, if anything else, she didn't kill them. they're not her focus, anyways.

"i've been wanting to meet you," her voice is smooth yet holds a bit of tension. her head tilts, brows furrowing for a moment, there's no rhyme or reason why the demon should be here. while her own records and labels have been... 'successful' -- it was all a ploy for what's to come. "i'm evelynn," and the silent 'an old friend'.

and the revelation feels so empty. because it is.

there's no sparkle of hope granted her way, life that shines in eyes she's held gazes with. her chest aches with it all, repetition of the same pains, time and time again, all coming back to haunt her. while remembrance occurs, eventually --being forgotten is always first. nothing shakes away such agony; the thought of being a nobody to a somebody.

she's unsure now, how long she's been standing there staring. painfully hopeful for something. "i was passing by," ( ' wanting you back ' ) she pauses, corners of her lips twitching. emotions daring coming forth to which she presses back with a sigh. "and simply wished to grant you a good luck for your performance. and," ( ' i wanted to make sure this life is fairing well for you ' ) this time, she clears her throat before handing a small piece of paper, with only her number written on one side. "if you happen to need an ear, don't be afraid, darling."

she lingers for a moment, longing for some spark, before nodding her head ( solemnly ) and turning to exit. not now, it seems.

» — ⌜A FIRST (?) MEETING⌟ , 

— @agonizedembrace

She turns around at the sound of her name, curiosity shining in golden eyes once initial startlement passes. She knows who is talking to her, of course — Evelynn is a big name, the kind that requires no introductions. Perhaps that's how she got here, passing through producers and bodyguards as if it was nothing, influential enough they might even forego the habitual notice to her manager, used as he is to deciding who Ahri should or shouldn't speak to. 

But Evelynn is not a woman who asks for permission, or so that is what the blonde had always heard about her. They have barely exchanged a word or two, and yet Ahri feels there is truth to that idea. There is something deceptively dangerous in the way she carries herself; an unassuming blade, poised to make use of the best moment to time an attack perfectly.

Something familiar, too. They never met, as the other popstar makes clear in her greeting; but had she said otherwise, Ahri would have believed her. It's infuriating, the itch of something on the tip of her tongue she cannot remember clearly enough to name. Whoever it was Evelynn reminded her of, the association was a positive one; a presence familiar and welcoming, like that of an old friend.

Ahri didn't really have any old friends for the other woman to remind her of them.

The feeling shaken off, she meets the greeting with a warm smile. The is a melancholy covering Evelynn like a shroud; it only makes Ahri more sympathetic to her, uncertain though she may be as to how to even approach the matter. "I'm Ahri, yes," A slight tilt of head; she almost thinks she sees something hopeful in the singer's expression, but rids herself of the notion soon enough. A light giggle, and she adds: "But you didn't have to say who you were. Anyone would know, Evelynn. It's nice to meet you, anyway."

The smile wavers at the commentary about her performance. She's in costume already, missing only the trademark hat — a prison, if clothing could ever be one (or the shackles, she ponders bitterly; the display bold and obvious of how they made her into what suited them best). Maybe she's overthinking; no one ever seems to notice her discomfort. Ahri certainly hopes Evelynn will not. What a terrible first impression that would be.

So she keeps the smile in place, regardless of the effort it demands, and the only sign of discontentment makes itself manifest in the swishing of her tails. To one who knew her, it would have been an obvious sign; most people didn't even know the tails were real, however.

Good luck cannot change her discontentment in having to perform at all, singing songs she didn't write, with empty lyrics that meant nothing at all. She tries to remember there are people who love her for it — that last time, when she threatened to leave, Roy promised she would get to record some of her original songs for the next album. The reminders no longer help like they once did.

Bitterness is shaken off by surprise, eyes slightly wider as she receives the small piece of paper. Her number. Evelynn was no irrelevant name in the music industry; to have her take an interest like this...

It almost makes Ahri hopeful there could be more to all this than suffering through the hateful parts for whatever good (was there any good?) might yet come.

"Thank you," The words are simple, but entirely genuine; more deeply felt than even she would expect. Dim as the smile does, the shadow of it that lingers is also more sincere. Maybe in some way Evelynn understands; maybe that's what brought her here. "I have a feeling we'll speak again soon."

Even as she watches the other woman leave, that same hint of melancholy strong as Evelynn departs, Ahri knows her words to be truthful. What an odd thing, really. Someone she just met shouldn't seem so very familiar.

(She would understand the why soon enough.)

[sansxfuckyou]

You're a fucking masterpiece, even without ink, and I'm sorry no one else can see that

Summary: Sapnaps a tattooist, George just wants to get the humiliation of losing a bet to Dream of all people over with, and well, everything kind of goes south from there, all because George gives Sapnap free range for a coverup and the latter simply falls in love with notion of a man whose okay with having 'fuck' tattooed on his neck.

Warnings: Implied abusive relationships, blood, piercings, swearing, check tags for additional warnings.

Authors Note: I physically cannot explain, I assure you, @sobredunia can confirm this, considering she got a play by play of the process, anyways, they r gay and theres qpr between Sapnap and Karl, Quackity and Wilbur make fun of Sapnap, and a bunch of other stuff happens in this fic, reblogs are worth more than likes, hope you enjoy.

The sound of the bell ringing caused him to perk up from his magazine, being greeted with someone who clearly doesn't belong here.

Sapnap couldn't help but smirk as he chewed away at the bubblegum in his mouth, resting his magazine down as the customer walked in. They looked skittish, like they didn't actually want to be here, the followup in all green explained the 'not wanting to be here' part. The artist simply waited for them to speak up, he kept his elbows propped on the front desk; he could practically smell the fear from the small one, distant buzz of his coworkers job probably not helping.

"Hello, welcome to The Techno Tattoo Parlor, what can I do ya for?" Sapnap asked, making sure to wait until the one green opened his mouth to speak, he rarely did this with customers, but, he could get away with it most times, he was far too valuable to fire.

"A chest piece, I was wondering if you would do this one I sketched out," the smaller one said, sliding over a piece of paper sketched out in pen and color, the way he enunciated the 'I's said a bit, Sapnap looked over it, his eyes widening as he scanned the piece.

"And who might this 'Dream' be, baby blue?" Sapnap asked as he gestured to the phrase on it, he got no immediate response.

"That would be me," the taller, presumably Dream, stated confidently

"I expected as much, and, I'll presume your his partner?" Sapnap asked, he got a nod before continuing, "cool, and is this a lost bet or something, because your, ahem, 'good boy' looks rather nervous?" There it was, a slight expressional twitch, a lost bet, bribery or otherwise- he smirked.

"Yeah, I lost a bet, now I have to get a tat," the smaller said, clearly uncomfortable at the idea of getting one at all, or maybe it was just having that statement permanently on him that made him look so squirmy, "my name is George by the way."

"I don't do names for lost bets boys, but, if you can do something else, I'd love to ink up another virgin," Sapnap said, both of them had visceral reactions, he was quick to reaffirm his statement, "virgins of ink, you're clearly inkless George, you look like a baby deer, shaking in your boots."

"Oh, you're not exactly wrong," George said, somewhat ashamed of himself, he had read the reviews, he had seen clips, he knew he would be in safe hands with this guy, so why was he so scared?

"It's a shame that you don't do names over bets, we'll return with a new design in a week or so, maybe a month at that," Dream said, he sounded extremely disappointed, his grip was on Georges wrist now, maybe Sapnap was reading this wrong, but their entire dynamic felt uncomfy.

"Okay, I'll book you in for the fifth of next month, 2 PM, be there or be square," Sapnap said, pulling out a small booklet and writing it down, then he slid off his stool and handed a pen to both, their eyes were transfixed on his snow white, pleated skirt, "boys, eyes up here, I need signatures."

"No you don't," Dream stated boldly, never having heard of such conduct

"You want your George to get a tattoo, don't you?" Sapnap asked, he got a nod and pushed the notebook a little closer, "then sign it, I get the skirts distracting, but trust me, when theres no AC, skirts are better."

"Fine," was what Dream spat as he signed it, so did George, they turned and left, leaving Sapnap with another appointment.

He grinned and scoffed at them, he could tell he was going to simply love marking that boy up, and given the detail, he had a gut feeling it may take more than one appointment. The notion made his heart flutter, even just thinking of the brunette, he was falling in love all over again, although, he usually gets the jitters in the first day of anticipation. Something about doing something so permanent, and so intimate to someone he may never see again got his heart racing, it just felt so amazing and he couldn't begin to explain it.

He propped himself back up on his stool, flipping open to a random page in his magazine, having read it many times before (he doesn't know why he keeps rereading it). Then an extremely familiar face walks in, his roommate, his coworker and a man of many colors, Karl, they both grin before conversation starts. Compared to most of his coworkers, Karl is the only one Sapnaps done work on, and vice versa, and they've been doing so since the beta days of this skill they've honed.

But today, Karl was simply his client.

"You're never going to believe what just happened," Sapnap said, grinning as he stepped down from his stool and pulled his friend into a hug.

"Tell me all about it," Karl simply said, always loving to hear Sapnaps stories, even the mundane ones.

"Two guys walk in right, lost bet, the usual stuff," Sapnap begins as he retrieves his necessary tools and sits Karl down at one of the two tables for waiting, he hooks the power supply to where customers normally plug in their phones, "what're we working on today?"

"I was thinking we finish up this one," Karl said, pointing to the vines running along his arm, they struck down from his elbow like lightning and blossomed into roses at his wrist, one of Sapnaps finer pieces, "please, go on."

"Right, sorry, anyways, small dudes shaking in his boots and I'm just agitating the ever living shit out of the green dude," Sapnap said, smiling as he did so, lining the needle to place and almost starting up before pausing, "and just look at what they want on the small guy." He passed over the design, Karl snickered.

"Greenies got a god complex, or they're hella into BDSM," Karl said, Sapnap agreed heavily with the statement as he pressed the needle to skin.

"I sent 'em off, obviously, they're coming back with another design sometime later, fun pissing off the green guy," Sapnap said, adding shading to thorns as Karl nodded along, "small dude was definitely an ink virgin."

"Seriously?" Karl asked, lifting his eyes from the details, Sapnap lifting the needle and looking up before nodding.

"Seriously," Sapnap said, already thinking of him again, George, excitement usually wore off by now, even without a distraction like Karl, was he actually falling in love? He couldn't be, they barely knew each other.

---

A month passed a lot faster than Sapnap thought it would, and the temperature decided to go from a predictable scalding hot to switching between wear a jacket or I'll freeze balls off and wear a skirt or I'll melt your face off. And he hated when the weather did that, working with a canvas that was shivering was garbage, and so was a sweaty canvas- yet he still shook with anticipation at the thought of seeing George again. He knew his work was being affected by it in ways so subtle only he would notice, but, he didn't really care right now.

He merely cared about getting through it until he got to ink up a chest piece, he hasn't gotten one in so long, its like hes forgotten how people react. He knows that everyone hes done a torso piece on has had sensitive ribs, and if it dips low enough, an extremely sensitive V line. He wonders if his clients are noticing he's been more absentminded lately, he knows his boss has, and he knows Karl has as well, but, everyone knows he won't be fired despite that. And in that month he even got a septum piercing, it bugs him a little bit more than he'll ever admit, but the aesthetic appeal is more than enough to keep him going.

Sapnap gives a recap of the new tattoo regimen to one of his and Karls older clients, Wilbur, who just nods along and smirks because they both know he knows it by heart. They give a prompt fist bump before Wilbur is on his way with a fresh ankle tattoo, a set of stitches to make him look frankensteined, he's getting color in two weeks to make it look bloody. He's usually one of Karls customers, but for simpler stuff he goes to Sapnap who can get it done extremely fast, they could've done color as well today if they were feeling ballsy around the time limit.

So there Sapnap sat, perched atop his stool, crossing his ankles to prevent himself from kicking against the desk out of boredom as he flipped through his magazine. The bell jingles and he's greeted with George, whose wearing a scarf in what feels like a hundred degrees heat, but windchills are a bitch which would explain that- it still perplexes Sapnap. He smiles as he steps down from his stool as George walks in, meeting him halfway to the desk, booklet out with a pen.

"Well then, George, whats the verdict? What design will I get the pleasure of inking?" Sapnap asked, his giddiness was barely contained, came as a shock even to him.

"I just need you to cover something up, any design," George said, glancing to the ground.

"A cover up? I coulda sworn you were inkless," Sapnap said, George shook his head as his fingers wandered to his scarf, it clicked in Sapnaps head, "oh, this is a fresh piece isn't it?"

"Yeah, I uh, I lost another bet," George lied, the tattooist could see right through it.

"Sure you did, wheres greenie anyways?" Sapnap said as he led George to the chair, the latter reluctant to pull off his scarf before he sat down.

"I up with him, it just, didn't work out," George said, pulling off his scarf, Sapnap winced, it was still a bit scabby on the very edges that could be avoided, and the lines were shaky, it all looked so, broken, an amateurs work, but one where he could see there was struggle.

"Oh baby," was all Sapnap could barely muster at the sight, so much pain was held there; he pushed the thought aside as he hooked up his pen.

"Will it hurt?" George asked, his tone was shaky as Sapnaps spare hand ran over the tattoo, it felt more like a wound, a scar, from Georges end.

"You already know the answer," Sapnap said, forcing his tone calm, George nods, taking a shaky breath, "is there anything you don't want me to do."

"Just get rid of it, I don't care how," George said, his breath was staggering as Sapnap drew his nail across the skin in the vague shape of a heart, then a ghost, a flower, many designs until he came to the conclusion.

"You okay if I put 'fuck' in all caps over it?" Sapnap asked, he's wanted to do so for a long time, he got a nod.

The pre-emp to actually putting the needle to skin as mere moments and the reaction was visceral, he pulled it back instantly, refusing to do any more. George gave him a questioning look, but didn't speak up at all as he simply waited.

"Who hurt you?" was what Sapnap asked, his voice quiet and full of worry, he hasn't seen reactions of such a caliber in a long time.

"He did, convinced me to let him do this, said he'd do a great job, turns out he didn't," George explained, "that's why he isn't here."

"We can take as many breaks as you need, we'll get through it, I promise you," Sapnap said, hoping his words were the reaffirmation George needed to power through this.

"Won't it go into your next appointment though?" George asked.

"Naw, Quackitys covering for me," Sapnap said, "ready to continue?"

"Yeah," George said, tone shaky, but he held still, gripping the armrests of the chair tightly.

And the pen was lowered down once again, the reaction was much less this time as the needle was delicately guided across his skin, it stung and vibrated but he held on. He merely hoped that whatever pleather the chair was made of wouldn't give under his grip, his eyes were clenched shut and his teeth gritted, just power through. He eventually gave a whine and twitched a bit on a certain spot, Sapnap pulled away and George released a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

They didn't do anything for a while and just sat there silently until George nodded, his grip on the chair easing, Sapnap offered a hand and George gratefully took it. The squeeze was almost distracting as Sapnap curled the letters along the artery, almost every time he crossed over it he had to pause for George. Tears were gathering in Georges eyes and Sapnap gently wiped them away occasionally, lots of emotions were locked into the green he was covering up. He didn't mind it though, he just paused with George until it was done, still forty five minutes left though, so he went back and made it look nicer. Then he was actually finished, still, time was left, he added a small star here and there, one or two other details, extremely small hearts and flowers until time was up.

"I hope you don't mind the other details I added, there was time to fill and it looked, well, you could still a bunch of what was underneath without them," Sapnap said as he released Georges hand and reached for a polaroid camera, a newer one, he took a picture and handed it to George, the physical copy.

"It looks amazing, thank you," George said, refraining from touching the actual tattoo until after Sapnap added the second skin, it felt weird.

"Glad to hear it, so, ground rules are, don't pull off the second skin for at least three days, fluid might gather, totally normal, when you take it off just wash it twice a day, don't tear it up though, make sure not to scratch it or take a soak in a body of water, showers are good though," Sapnap said, rattling off protocol as George nodded along to the list, "and you can always come back for another if you ever want a chest piece."

"Right, could you like, email me that list?" George asked as he sat up, tilting his head from side to side, felt weird, although, he did enjoy the way the white ink laid over top the green below.

"Obviously, just send one over and I'll give you the list," Sapnap said, rifling through his belt pockets for a business card, handing it to George.

"I don't know if I'll return but, I'll be sure to recommend The Techno Tattoo Parlor to my friends," George said, standing up and reaching for his scarf, carrying it under his arm instead, he wiped his tears away one last time.

"Ha, yeah man, hope to see you again," Sapnap said, offering a fist-bump, instead he was caught in a hug, not the first time its happened, but this was the first time its made his heart skip a bit.

"Thank you so much," George said quietly before breaking away and making his way out the door, the bell jingling on his way out, leaving Sapnap speechless.

He simply took a seat, quelling the red on his face as he sat in the silence, Karl is never gonna let him live this one down if he learns about it.

"Some Brits really got you down that bad Sap?" one of Sapnaps coworkers asked, Quackity, although only a business name, everyone called him that, he was working the counter at the moment.

"Shut the fuck up," Sapnap spat back in response, gaze never leaving the floor.

"I'm telling Karl," Quackity said bluntly, smirking as he did so.

"You wouldn't dare!" Sapnap exclaimed, snapping up to meet his friends knowing gaze, an eyebrow quirked.

"I would dare, I will dare, and I'm going to dare," Quackity said, already pulling out his phone, Sapnap only groaned.

---

"Karl!" Sapnap practically shouted as he slammed open the door, it banged against the wall, his roommate jumped and something shattered, followed by a quiet 'fuck!' before Karl walked out.

"You're in love," Karl simply said, leaving Sapnap speechless as his throat dried, "Quackity told me."

"That gossipy bitch," Sapnap muttered under his breath, Karl nodded.

"You're cleaning up the broken dishes bro," Karl said, his tone was an order not a suggestion and Sapnap went to speak, "yes I'll listen to your lovesick ramblings."

"Good, because I have a lot to say," Sapnap said as he dropped off his bag at the door, walking over to the kitchen to find a broken plate on the floor, he went to speak, "actually, maybe I don't."

"Fine by me, just get it done quick, Wilburs dropping by for a piercing," Karl said, Sapnap nodded as he picked up the chunks and placed them on the counter, leaving to search for a broom.

"Doesn't he hate piercings?" Sapnap asked.

"Despises 'em, but he says it couldn't hurt that bad," Karl said, before Sapnap could ask he answered, "yes I'm charging him only half price."

"Good, he's been one of our best clients, literally doesn't move a fucking inch," Sapnap as he swept the porcelain debris into the dustpan, pouring them into a garbage can.

"I know right? For real, he is by far the best person I've worked on," Karl said, gesturing a bit as he leaned against the counter, Sapnap nudged him aside.

"Same here, you think Quackity will ever get a tat?" Sapnap asked before yanking the faucet over, their sink having a retractable and extendable one, he had to hold his head at an awkward angle to get a decent flow without choking.

"Who knows, he's a weird one," Karl said, he shrugged his shoulders a bit as he did so, "anyways, tell me about this Brit that's got you down bad?"

"Karl he's perfect, sure, a little messed up, but I can fix him, poor boy got coerced into getting tatted by his ex," Sapnap explained, Karl smirked at the 'I can fix him' because he knew better than anyone that there was no Sapnap could fix anyone.

"Do go on, how was he under your gun?" Karl asked, Sapnap gave him a blank look.

"We call it a pen in the industry Karl, lets be professional," Sapnap said, his tone almost mocking, "but he was perfect, a little skittish, but otherwise, he was just great, we didn't do ribs today though, only a coverup."

"Think he'll come back for a rib job?" Karl asked, Sapnap shrugged his shoulders.

"No way to tell, he seemed pleased about it though, I hope so," Sapnap said, Karl placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, either way I'll be here to make sure you can never live it down no matter what happens," Karl said in a comforting manner with a smile.

"I know, no need to remind me," Sapnap said, doorbell, both of them were to to rush to answer, they weren't fast enough though, as Wilbur simply let himself in, dropping his bag by Sapnaps.

"You guys should start locking the fucking door," Wilbur said as he walked past them straight to Karls makeshift piercing shop, both Sapnap and Karl were swift to follow, the latter taking an extra moment to wash his hands.

Wilbur sat on the ground, legs crossed, Sapnap sat across from him leaned against a wall, and Karl walked in, flicking his hands dry of soapy water. He hummed to himself as he grabbed needles and a bit of everything, unsure of what Wilbur was gonna ask for, he sat down directly in front of Wilbur. Sapnap simply watched, unsure of the piercing art, it looked simply enough, but at the same time, there was a larger chance of messing it up.

"So, what'll it be, my first real customer," Karl asked as he held up the various needles, Wilbur visibly tensed.

"Just go right through the this part," Wilbur said, gesturing vaguely to the edges of his ear, a cartilage piercing right along the side.

"Perfect, now, hold still," Karl said, dotting the spot with a pen of some type, he brought up the needle, "Sapnap go get a towel in case theres excessive bleeding."

"Bleeding...?" Wilbur meekly asked as Sapnap turned to leave with a prompt 'got it' but he was out before the needle went through.

He did distantly hear a meek yelp followed by muffled sounds of agony and comforting words as he grabbed a towel. He made sure to dampen it, he grabbed a cup of water as well, just in case, his return greeted him with a sight that made him smirk. He never expected to see Wilbur nearly fainting and practically crying as Karl of all people threaded an earring through the bloody hole.

"Sapnap," Karl said, Sapnap wordlessly handing over the towel before the blood was dabbed away, then he handed over the cup of water,

"Fuck, why does it hurt?" Wilbur asked keeping his tone steady despite the desire to just sob, he's used to tattoo pains, but this? This is different and he hates it, never again.

"Because I shoved a needle through your ear, that's why," Karl said, patting Wilbur on the shoulder, keeping the damp towel pressed to his ear, "and don't worry, you're doing much better than Sapnap when he got his septum pierced."

"Woah now, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Sapnap began to try and defend himself.

"He was crying like a bitch," Karl said, Wilbur snickered a bit at that notion.

"I was not crying like a bitch! I was crying like a dignified dude who just got a needle shoved through his nose," Sapnap said, although, it did little to help his case, it drew another moment of laughter from Wilbur though.

"Sure you were," Wilbur said, glancing up at Sapnap with a smug look on his face, the latter looked away.

"I fucking wasn't," Sapnap said.

"Then how about you sit down and get a needle through the ear too, piercing bros or some shit like that," Wilbur challenged, Sapnap quirked a brow, "any piercing."

"Fine then, be that way," Sapnap said as he sat down beside Wilbur, casting a side eyed glare to him, "Karl you know how to do tongue piercings right?"

"Of course I do, but uh, I highly doubt you want a tongue piercing, it gets really bloody, really fast," Karl said as he stood up and grabbed the supplies, Sapnap didn't say anything, only stuck his tongue out, "okay then."

Karl was there was a lot of blood, a lot of pain too, and even some sobbing and screaming garbled cusses at him. Wilbur was practically laughing the entire time, because he's never seen Sapnap so temperamental before. It took nearly an hour of agony for him to calm down and just rest his head on Karls shoulder, blood still oozing a bit, and the permanent taste of metal was something he wasn't looking forward too.

"How could you do this to me Karl?" Sapnap groaned, eyes closed and mouth hurting.

"Cause you can be an over competitive bitch and took Wilburs challenge," Karl answered, running his hand through Sapnaps hair.

"Idiot, see you in a month or two though, one of you at least," Wilbur said as he stood up, Karl nudged off Sapnap before standing up as well, leaving Sapnap on the cold, carpeted ground.

"First, you'll need these," Karl said, handing two bottles to Wilbur who seemed perplexed, "read the instructions, if you have further questions, just gimme a ring."

"Oh don't worry, I have lots of questions," Wilbur said before turning to leave.

"Karl, you're making dinner," Sapnap groaned, face pressed into the ground, it didn't hurt so much as be extremely numb now, it bothered him deeply, the sensations.

"I figured as much, and we're having soup tonight," Karl said as he lifted up Sapnap and helped ferry him off to the couch.

"What? But we literally have a steak in the fridge, waiting to be cooked," Sapnap whined as he slumped himself on the back of the couch, able to see enough of the kitchen to watch Karl cook.

"Do you really want to be chewing steak with a fresh tongue piercing Sap?" Karl asked, glancing over his shoulder as he reached for a carton of chicken broth.

"No," Sapnap said.

"Exactly, so we're having soup for a couple days," Karl said as he put on a pot, tying his jacket around his waist promptly afterwards.

"Do you think George'll like it?" Sapnap asked, piquing Karls interest.

"And who might this 'George' be?" Karl asked, Sapnaps face heated up.

"That guy I was talking about earlier, the one Quackity told you about," Sapnap said, the realizing he hadn't mentioned Georges name once dawning upon him.

"Oh! That guy, I see," Karl said, his smirk was hidden by the fact he was turned towards the stove, "I'm sure he'll love it, if you ever see him again that is."

"Don't even joke about not seeing him again," Sapnap said, groaning as he did so, was he really stuck in a spiderweb of emotions for a client he may never see again? Yeah, yeah he fucking was, and he's not going to deny that truth from himself, try not to at least.

"Eh, at least we'll have guys like Wilbur, he's reliable," Karl said, trying to get a rise out of Sapnap with his phrasing.

"No, that's not what I mean, I just want to see him again, he's so pretty, he let me put a capitalized 'fuck' in calligraphy on his neck for all to see Karl," Sapnap said, "and not to cliche, but I'm in love Karl and I cannot stress that fact enough."

"He'll send you an email eventually, then you'll basically have todays variant of 'getting a girls number,' except its a guys number, because you are queer as the ever living fuck my guy," Karl said, pausing between his statements to correct himself, trying his hardest not to stumble over his words, "ask him out if he comes back for a rib job."

"Ask him out? Karl you're insane," Sapnap said, his tone was genuine and dramatized.

"You'll have already laid your hands all over him at that point, why not, worst case scenario he rejects you," Karl said nonchalantly.

"I know," Sapnap groaned, he started on the meander over to Karl.

"So just ask him out, do it, no balls," Karl said, Sapnap only gave a dissatisfied sound in response, "do you really want Quackity making fun of you for this until you die?"

"No," Sapnap whined, slouching on Karls shoulders again.

"Then do it," Karl said, "I don't like seeing you in a funk man, and you'll be having a month long depression fest if you miss your chance, or if you get rejected, this is a challenge by the way, if you don't I get free range on all of your equipment."

"A challenge, with my equipment on the line?" Sapnap asked, Karl nodded.

"Yes, if you don't ask him out, I win, if you do, I lose," Karl said, Sapnaps mood lightening a little bit at the notion of a challenge.

"Alright then, challenge accepted," Sapnap said as he pushed himself off of Karl who smirked to himself.

"Good, and no being an emo cringefail leading up to Georges rib job, brings down the entire shop man," Karl said, laying down the final term in their little bet.

"Of course not, never know when it'll be someones first," Sapnap said, he flinched back a bit when the piercing hit his teeth, no one noticed, his dignity remains.

---

The bell jingles as Wilbur walks in, Quackity looks up and chuckles a bit, Wilbur can only roll his eyes.

"Yes, Quackity?" Wilbur asked as he meandered over to the chair he always sat at when waiting.

"Nice piercing, makes you look cringe as fuck," Quackity said, eyes trained on Wilbur.

"Yeah, what about it, I may be cringe but I'm free," Wilbur stated in his defense, "how long is it until Karl is done with his client?"

"Thirty minutes, just raring to get your first tattoo by none other than moi?" Quackity asked, getting a bit of a glare, he chuckled to himself.

"The only reason I'm settling for your inks is because Sapnap is booked up to the tits with that stupid Brit," Wilbur stated boldly even though he's been admiring Quackitys work for a while now, unable to get a single time slot until just now.

"Tell me about it, the poor boy is just obsessed, one time his client passed out and he just started going off about that guy, George, I think thats his name," Quackity said, aware that Sapnap could most likely hear them, he was currently doing work on some kid named Ranboo, just barely old enough to get one, the ID even looked a little bit false, he was passed though, "for real though, Sapnap needs to ask him out."

"Please, Sapnaps only asked someone out once and the rejection never left him, he's gonna bail last second, even if this George ends up a masochistic fuck and starts moaning like a bitch in heat," Wilbur said, drumming his fingers on his thighs.

"You're absolutely correct, and no one can deny that fact," Quackity said, nodding a bit, "but seriously though, who did that piercing man?"

"Karl," Wilbur answered.

"No, really?" Quackity asked, leaning over his desk in a way that somehow added extra emphasis to the way he quirked his brow.

"Seriously, Sap even got his tongue piercing from Karl, he cried like a bitch," Wilbur said smirking at the memory.

"I'll take your word for it," Quackity said, promptly before the bell jingled again, in walked a guy in blue, with 'fuck' tattooed on his neck, that had Wilbur invested in whatever was up with this guy.

"I'm here for the guy who wears skirts," he simply said, Wilbur and Quackity exchanged glances before the latter of the two actually did his job again.

"That would be Sapnap, and you must be George," Quackity said.

"Yeah, that would be me," George answered.

"He talks about you nonstop you know?" Quackity asked, he noticed George tense.

"Really?" George asked, Quackity nodded, even though he was not nearly half as valuable to the place as Sapnap, he could still toy with the clients sometimes.

"Nonstop, all we hear about is you," Wilbur chimed in, George turned to see a different brunette sitting by the window.

"He loves you dude," Quackity said, pointing the eraser end of a pencil in Georges direction.

"I highly doubt that," George said, clearly flustered at the notion.

"Oh, he would say otherwise if he wasn't a pussy, you can hang out with Wilbur if you want too," Quackity said, smirking as he did so, proceeding to use the same pencil to gesture to where Wilbur was patiently seated, waiting for Karl to be ready.

George reluctantly meandered over to sit across from Wilbur, hand absently reaching for the tattoo on his neck, he loved it he did, but it got him a lot of questions. He could practically feel Wilburs eyes searing his skin as they trained themselves on Sapnaps inking; a prompt sigh. He lowered his hand entirely and gave a gesture to speak which Wilbur was very, very attentive to, responding almost right away.

"So, whats the story behind the uh, the fuck on your neck?" Wilbur asked, trying to find words to phrase the question professionally, but he really couldn't.

"Coverup, bad blood, needed to forget," George explained, using as little words as possible to do so.

"Shit man, that's a mood," Wilbur said, stretching his arms a bit before pulling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a similar origin on his wrist, George stared at it, a skull, "still though, keep pushing, you made it this far didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I did make it this far," George said, not expecting life advice from a guy looking like Wilbur.

"Exactly, whatevers coming at you, just remember, give 'em a fuck you and watch 'em turn tail and run," Wilbur said, he perked up a bit when he heard footsteps Karl stepped out first before a guy in green walked out second, Georges eyes instantly snapped themselves into staring at the table, at Wilburs hands, at anything but the guy in green.

Of course, the idea that if he acted like he wasn't there he wouldn't been seen didn't work in a mostly empty tattoo parlor.

"Hi George," Dream stated quietly once he was standing at the table where George was sitting, the Brit looking up and forcing eye contact before speaking.

"Dream, fuck you man, I'm not having a conversation with you and risking ruining a perfectly good day on a gaslighter like you," George said everything falling out of his mouth at once, Wilbur looked more shocked than Dream did, "please, just, don't talk to me."

"I just wanted to say the coverup looks better than my own work," Dream said, pivoting on his heels to leave, letting George, Wilbur, Quackity, and now Karl stand in silence.

"Was that the guy?" Wilbur asked, George nodded, "nice one dude."

"What the fuck do you mean by that, he could've jumped me, I don't know what hes like now," George explained, unaware of the fact this conversation was digging into Wilburs time slot.

"I woulda punched him if he hurt you, you're kind of whats keeping Sapnap going right now," Karl said bluntly, "and Sapnap is the last thing keeping this place afloat, also, you seem like a nice dude."

"I'm with Karl, that guy looked very, very punchable," Quackity said, completing forgetting to mention the whole 'doing it to defend you part' and mainly focusing on the 'getting to punch an asshole' part.

"Everyone in this parlor would punch that guy for you, for anyone in this parlor really," Wilbur said, that statement almost made Georges blood run cold, "we're a community, and we've been meaning to get an uptight Brit in the gang, although, how uptight of a flighty broad can you be when you have 'fuck' tattooed on your neck?"

"I'm not sure whether or not I should be scared, or comforted," was all George could say.

"I don't see any reason we should hurt a guy like you, to repeat, your the one keeping Sapnap afloat," Karl said, and as if on cue, Sapnap walked out, followed by one of his clients, he could barely see the small crown etched between his neck artery and the collarbone.

"What he said, good luck, he won't treat you wrong," Wilbur said before standing up.

"C'mon Wilbur, that conversation dug into our time slot," Quackity said as he hopped off of the stool which Karl swiftly took residence of.

"Well sorry for wanting to comfort the guy," Wilbur said in an overly dramatic tone, he finished with a smirk as he followed Quackity.

George listened as Sapnap gave the routine to his client before wishing them farewell with a fist-bump, then he noticed George and trotted over. He sat parallel to George, propping one leg over the other as he rested his elbows on the table.

"So, baby blue, what can I do ya for?" Sapnap asked as George pulled out a piece of paper, the design consisted of thorny vines and tentacles, wrapped around ribs, and somewhere behind it, a heart- Sapnaps eyes widened.

"I don't know if its too much, if it was we don't need the heart," George said, gesturing to the hyper realistic heart behind the ribs.

"No, it's fucking awesome, I just, I'm not sure if we'll be able to get color or shading done in this appointment, probably only the line art if anything more," Sapnap said before bringing his eyes back up to Georges, "and I kind of want to know the story behind it to, because this is a banger tat."

"You'll hear the story once you have me under your gun, nice piercing by the way," George said, sticking out his tongue after mentioning the piercing instead of just saying it was a tongue piercing.

"Thanks, Karl did it for me," Sapnap said before standing up, he brushed down his skirt, pleated and white as always, today's heat was sweltering to the point he even dropped his usual short cut hoodie for a sleeveless shirt instead- those contributing factors gave George an impeccable view of the ink that curled around Sapnaps arms and rested on his shoulder like a sign of regalia, a crest royalty; each design intricate and unique but all syncing up.

George couldn't help but stare at the tattoos as he followed Sapnap, eyes trained across the delicate black swirls and acute edges of reds and blues, it was intense. He could never imagine himself enduring so much pain, but here he was, coming to Sapnap with a multi appointment design. He gave a shuddering sigh, that is going to be a lot of pain, he still pulls of his shirt and takes a seat either way, leaning back relaxing as he lines up the design to give Sapnap an idea of where to put it.

Normally Sapnap free hands his art and hopes it comes out looking accurate, it almost always does, but this time he pulls out a marker and starts to etch the shapes out so he'll have something to follow. The felt tip brushes over skin with ease, one hand pressed upon on Georges chest so he has a constant sizing scale for comparison, he just hopes George doesn't notice his shaking. Sure, he's done intricate back pieces before, but this is different and he doesn't how exactly its different, his breathing is deep and slow as he tries to stay steady- that all goes to shit when he pulls back and grabs his pen, the shaking returning tenfold.

He places it upon one of the outer tentacles, outlining the sucker cups before curving the edges until they collide with thorny vines, he makes sure to add extra lines to the vines, details. He repeats the simple process with each tentacle and each vine, curving and curling, pulling away from time to time just to make sure he hasn't made any noticeable mistakes, and too his delight, he hasn't. But, it still takes much longer than he would've liked, and he still hasn't even touched the ribs or the heart below them; George asks a question, pulling his attention from the time.

"Hey Sapnap," George began, Sapnap pulled away from his canvas.

"Yeah," Sapnap said, he had to wipe the sweat from his brow and try to halt the shaking of his hands.

"Whats the story behind the heart?" George asked, tilting his head in the vague direction of said heart before Sapnap pointed to one, then another, until coming across the one.

"The half heart, I was bored, didn't have the patience to do both halves," Sapnap said, shrugging his shoulders a bit before leaning back down, he ghosted what was already engraved with his pointer finger before placing his finger atop the sketch, trying to get an accurate read on where to line up the ribs.

"Oh, that makes sense," George said, his breath caught when Sapnap hit one of his ribs, the latter didn't notice.

Sapnap continued in that fashion, running his fingers along Georges ribs one or two more times before placing down the pen and running it along the outer edges, not quite laying atop the bone. The line was harder to get straight than he'd admit due to the nature of going beside a bone, the muscle and skin acted different, pulling and pushing in different ways. But once he was working on the extremely small cracking patterns throughout the ribs themselves George tensed up entirely, sharply sucking in a breath and not moving an inch.

"Good boy..." Sapnap murmured quietly as he pulled his pen along the cracks, they were thin and intricate, but not coating the entire thing- he couldn't've ignored Geores reaction to the words if he tried, he kept talking, "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime or something."

"Like what?" George asked, his voice came out swiftly and tense, nails nearly tearing the pleather because it was just a bit to much sensation.

"Me and Karl usually watch movies on Saturdays, you could tag along if you wanted too," Sapnap offered, he lifted his pen after finishing the cracks and waited for George to breath again, all that was left was the heart, then he could call it a day and schedule for a later date, if there was extra time, he could do more.

"Sounds great, I'll uh, I'll send you an email about the address later," George said, he felt like his throat was in knots, he wasn't even gonna look at his new ink until it was done.

"Sounds like a plan then, now hold still," Sapnap said before pressing down the pen again.

The heart was a bit easier than expected as most of it was obscured by the ribs, but he was still extremely careful as too not mess it up this late into the process. To say he was proud of his work would be an understatement, this was by far the best things he's ever done, although, he would have to hand it to George for the design. He didn't expect the Brit to come to him with something so intense, but, he didn't expect to get a tongue piercing either, the world is full of surprises he supposed. But when he finally lifts the pen for the last time, George heaves a breath and speaks.

"It's symbolic of my struggles, even when things seem ugly, something beautiful is still underneath," George explained abruptly, almost catching Sapnap off guard.

"Huh, that's beautiful man, you know that right?" Sapnap asked, George shook his head.

"You're the first person whose seen the design, let alone know what it means," George said as Sapnap applied the second skin, once he was done George spoke again, "I don't know if we'll have enough time, but, could you also give me a half heart?" Sapnap glanced up at the clock.

"Barely," Sapnap said before grasping Georges upper arm, "I don't usually do spontaneous shit, so considering yourself lucky."

"Please, I do everytime I'm in your grasp," George stated causing Sapnap to nearly choke on his own spit as he engraved half a heart into Georges arm, a matching design to his own.

"You really do?" Sapnap asked, keeping his eyes trained on his work, he could feel the blood pulse under his grip.

"I mean, aside from the fact you're one of thee best tattooists in the city, you're like, a fun guy to be around," George said, Sapnap was beyond flattered at the compliment coming from George of all people.

"Thanks for the compliments, and you," Sapnap said as he lifted his pen before going back down to add the other half of the arrow, "well, you're a fucking masterpiece, even without my ink."

"I know many people who would disagree with that statement," George said, Sapnap shrugged his shoulders as he finished the tattoo up, he added second skin.

"It's a shame no one else can see that then," Sapnap said as he helped up George, "try not to wear tight shirts until the healing process is over."

"Okay, I'll try," George said as he made his way to leave, halted by Sapnap.

"Wait, I just wanna say that you are by far, one of the coolest people I've worked on," Sapnap said, he was kicking the ground with one foot, "and you didn't give me a fist-bump."

"Right, almost forgot," George said before bringing Sapnap in for a hug, this was just going to be a thing now wasn't it?

"See you on Saturday I guess, or sooner if you want a piercing," Sapnap said, George gave a nod before leaving.

"See you on Saturday," George said before closing the door, the bell jingled.

Silence once again as Sapnap sat down beside the window, that quaint silence was impossibly short lived as Karl simply had to say something.

"Well I'll be damned, you asked him out," Karl said in disbelief, he got a glare from Sapnap, "I have to tell this to Quackity."

"Don't you fucking dare," Sapnap threatened, Karl shrugged his shoulders before doing it anyways.

"I'm telling Wilbur too," Karl said, his smirk was evident, Sapnap groaned.

"Fine then, be that way, but I have an adorable date and you don't, suck on that," Sapnap said, somewhat proud of himself for arranging one date with George, hoping it would become a more than one time occasion.

[angstyaches]

Raincheck

a.k.a. Asher’s just generally not having a good time.

CW: mentions of toxic relationship, general tension and drama and awkwardness, flashback mention of a breakup, gender dysphoria, bad self-talk and mental health. Unsatisfying ending.

But also doggo and cute/cringey fluff. And a bit of Asher/Connie backstory.

_______

Dear Asher,

 Happy Valentine’s Day, handsome. 

 Love,

X X X X X X

 P.S. Give Sparks a big ol’ hug from me.

 Asher’s heart came crashing down through his ribs as he read the card in the front hallway. His eyes skated over the inky words without reading them the first time; the second time, they seared themselves into his brain like each letter was a zap of electricity.

“Shhhhhiiiiiittttttt,” he hissed under his breath during the third read. He wasn’t sure he’d ever drawn out a swear word like that before, and it still wasn’t strong enough to convey his horror.

Six kisses. Six letters of a name. For one single, ridiculous second, he let himself enjoy the possibility that it was from Jayden. In the next second, he felt physically sick with guilt. He knew exactly who it was from, and it was a disgusting disservice to them to even consider otherwise.

He imagined viewing himself from above; a silly, selfish boy who’d been so busy feeling sorry for himself that he had forgotten to maintain a yearly tradition that spanned more than a decade. It was mildly hilarious. Asher would watch that movie and laugh at himself.

On another level, though, the sick pang of uneasiness in his gut was developing into a much more serious ache, unravelling the appetite he had worked up during the second half of his shift.

“Oooh-woo!” Alice’s voice made him jump out of his stupor. He wouldn’t have just cursed if he’d known she was about to walk out of the kitchen; Alice hated swearing, and had no filter around chiding him for it, as though he was her own child.

She had clearly not heard him, but she had spied the red envelope and very obvious-looking card in his hand.

“Lucky you! Huh?”

He should have known better than to open his post in the front hallway. Alice had eyes like a hawk. Having recently lost her son to ‘emigration’ (he was doing remote work and travelling in New Zealand for a year; but Alice had a flair for the dramatic), Asher had the horrible feeling that she was using him to fill a gap in her life. She was always far too eager to insert herself into Asher’s life and wring any potential ‘gossip’ out of him.

Alice raised her eyebrows and gave an open-mouth smile, like she was feigning excitement for a toddler. Asher got the feeling she assumed this was the first time he’d ever gotten a Valentine… or maybe the first time he’d ever gotten a piece of post.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot as his stomach ache deepened. His despair and self-pity felt sharper by contrast with Alice’s patronising cheerfulness.

“Let me see the front?”

Asher swallowed. He lifted the card up for her, though he couldn’t think of a single person who actually cared what the outside of a card looked like.

“I love hanging with you. And it’s a sloth hanging from a branch. Lovely,” Alice gushed. “God, to be young! I cannot remember the last time I got a card from an admirer. Sure, I’m grateful if himself even remembers it’s Valentine’s Day to begin with.”

Asher smiled awkwardly at her, not quite sure what kind of reaction she’d been expecting.

“Speaking of which, he’s playing darts tonight.” Alice rolled her eyes. “So I’m going out with some of my friends – we’re doing Galentine’s. Nice dinner and a cocktail bar.”

“Cool.”

“So, you’re on your own for dinner tonight…” Alice eyed Asher’s card again. “Oh, unless your special someone is taking you out?”

At this, she winked and poked the card with one finger.

Asher cleared his throat and tried not to flinch at her persistence. If she ever got hold of the information that he was casually seeing someone – someone totally separate from the person who’d sent the card – he’d never hear the end of it. Therefore, Jayden’s name was never to be mentioned under this roof.

“This was just from a friend.” Asher swallowed again. “A good friend. We send each other anonymous cards every year…”

Except you forgot about her this year, didn’t you?

“They’re not – they’re not serious,” he added.

Oh, but they’re deadly serious. More serious than you and Jayden, for sure…

Asher’s stomach churned heavily, bringing the taste of the cheese sandwich he’d had for lunch back towards his mouth. He wanted to glower at himself, but didn’t want to seem like he was making a nasty face at his landlady.

He gestured towards the kitchen – specifically, the back door. “I-I should… go and let Sparks in.”

“Yes, you should! And I should go get ready.”

“Mmm. Have a nice night,” Asher half-heartedly smiled at Alice and squeezed past her. It didn’t feel in his nature to be so… performative, or fake, but this sickeningly guilt was draining him of any desire to keep up appearances.

___

“I-I-I just…”

Asher felt like he was going to throw up.

Part of him was still wondering if he could backtrack on this whole plan. He’d lived a lie for the first seventeen years of his life, denying who he really was just to make things easier for the people around him; would it really be so hard to keep up one little lie in order to keep from breaking someone’s heart?

She was sitting quietly, her face uncharacteristically stony beneath her new haircut. It was strange – wrong, even – to still be thinking of it as ‘new’, when her fringe was overgrown and invading her eyelids, and the ends were starting to split from rough-handed brushing.

Asher took a deep breath. And tried again.

___

He had expected to spend Valentine’s Day alone and feeling miserable, but not like this.

Jayden being too busy to make plans with him had been a cosy kind of disappointment. Maybe Asher had been expecting it. Or maybe after the disaster that was Halloween, he was actually a little relieved that they wouldn’t be spending Valentine’s Day together. Jayden was too noncommittal, and Asher had unrealistic expectations. It was far better for them to keep Valentine’s Day at arm’s length.

Either way, he had slipped into sadness and self-pity like it was an old, familiar hoodie whose sleeves were too long and whose hood obscured his vision.

But this guilt? This splash of reality that told him he was a terrible friend? This was a different beast. It was not like a hoodie at all. It was like a white-hot rock that he’d swallowed, and now it was burning a hole inside of him.

He was splayed on his bed while Sparks munched away at her dinner on the plastic sheets in the corner of his room. His fingers absently pressed against the soreness in the pit of his stomach while he studied the too-white whiteness of the ceiling.

Asher sat forward, picking up the card and envelope from the bed. He sat at the very edge of the mattress and studied them both again, as though they would somehow reveal what his next move should be.

Her attention snagged by Asher’s sudden movement, Sparks wandered over, licking around her mouth. She sniffed the edges of the card, like she thought there might be snacks hidden inside. She always had room for snacks.

Asher groaned under his breath. “What do I do, Sparks? You think she’s gonna be mad at me?”

Asher had to have been imagining the sad glisten in Sparks’ eyes as she turned her gaze up towards him; given that she was a dog and a) couldn’t read and b) had no understanding of the human concept of tradition, there was no way she knew what was going on.

She was probably just sad that there were no snacks inside the card.

Asher glanced at the last line again; P.S. Give Sparks a big ol’ hug from me.

“Oh,” Asher muttered, sliding own onto the floor. He put the card aside. “This is from her.”

Sparks sat still as Asher looped his arms around her, tucking his head against hers. He couldn’t help but feel he didn’t deserve the warmth of her fur, or the flicker of joy in his chest when her tail began to beat against the floor.

Why were human friendships so hard to maintain? He would have done so much better as a dog. Did Sparks even realise how easy she had it with the other dogs? The occasional chase in the park when their walks synced up, plus some good-natured sniffing, and bam. You had a friendship.

Asher sighed. “I fucked up.”

And sure, he could go out now, buy a card from the shitty selection that was still on the shelves at this hour on Valentine’s Day, send it, and blame the post office for processing it too slowly, but… Nah.

She would see through that. She’d pretend not to, but she would.

He could buy a card and hand-deliver it, but a last-second ditch felt cheap. And Connie’s love and nostalgia for snail-mail was half the fun, anyway.

Sparks thumped her tail a little harder against the ground. The house was old, built in a hurry, and the walls and floors had a distinctly hollow quality to them. The slapping of Sparks’ tail sent vibrations through the carpet, and made Asher’s guitar sing softly in its stand.

___

“I… see you,” he said.

She nodded. Her eyes were filling up with tears. She knew what was coming. She shifted on the couch, as though bracing herself for a physical blow.

___

Asher’s heart was thumping sporadically in his chest. He could feel it beating in the pit of his belly. He barely breathed while he waited for the video call to be answered on the other end. His phone was propped against his pillow and he was sitting halfway down his bed, hugging his guitar and willing it to give him emotional support.

Sparks had gotten distracted by the remains of her dinner, so she wasn’t any help.

The screen flickered into an image of a girl sitting on a bed, back resting against a wall of chipped blue paint. She had a curly bob of raspberry-red hair, damp as though she’d just come out of the shower. The look on her face was one of slight concern; as a fellow millennial, she was thrown by the arrival of a video call that hadn’t been preceded by a message reading, Are you free for a video call?

“Hey, is everything o–?”

“You’re beautiful,” Asher sang heartily, strumming his fingers over the strings of the guitar.

Though her expression didn’t shift, she snorted with laughter and covered the lower half of her face with her hand.

“You’re beautiful! You’re beautiful, it’s true.” Asher’s voice trembled as he veered towards a giggling fit.

Both hands were on her face now. “Oh, god, is this actually happening?”

“I saw your face… in a crowded place.”

“Asher O’Shaughnessy, I swear to God.”

“And I don’t know what to do.”

Connie slowly shook her head, resigned to her fate.

“Cause I forgot to send a card to… you.” It was too many syllables to fit the tune of the last line, but it was the best Asher could pull out of the bag at the last minute. He flashed a nervous smile and hoped that would make up for it.

Connie raised an eyebrow. “Okay, are you finished?”

Asher brushed the strings with a little flourish. “Yes. I’m finished. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“You are too embarrassing for this earth.”

“I had to do something instead of…” Asher almost choked. At this point, maybe she’d just thought his card was delayed and would arrive tomorrow instead. “… A card. I kind of forgot to send you one.”

One side of her mouth twisted up into a dull smile. “But James Blunt? Really?”

“Some cliches are cliches for a reason. And you really are! Beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes at that, but put up a peace sign next to her face as though posing for a photograph.

“I am... so sorry, Connie. I completely forgot. When I got home and I saw –”

“Hey, shut up,” Connie complained defensively. She gave a little shrug. “I send you those cards because I wanted you to have them. Not because I expect anything back.”

“Well, I appreciated it, so...” Asher picked at the bedspread. The sick feeling in his stomach had ebbed while Connie had been teasing him and everything had felt light-hearted. Now he just felt silly for stressing so much about something that she was entirely chilled out about. “Um.”

“Wait, why are you talking to me tonight, anyway?” she asked. “Thought you had that… that guy, Jacob? Is he not taking you out?”

“Jayden.” Asher’s tongue went dry. Talking about Jayden with Connie felt like letting two entirely separate sides of his life overlap for a second. Sides that shouldn’t – couldn’t interact; though, for what reason, he couldn’t immediately pin down. His brain lagged, as though unsure of what language he was supposed to be speaking. “H-He’s just... he’s working on something for college tonight. I think…”

“Seriously? He didn’t account for hanging out with his boyfriend on V. Day?” Connie had propped her phone against something too, to free up her hands. She was unscrewing the cap from a pot of moisturiser. “Does that not piss you off?”

“Well, that’s the thing, he’s not... he’s not exactly my boyfriend.”

“Okay, well, that ridiculous bullcrap aside...” Connie waved her hand dismissively before rubbing moisturiser onto her face. “You’re friends who boink. It’s international boinking night, and you’re not hanging out with the person who’s guaranteed to boink you, Asher. Don’t you think you deserve a boinking?”

“Can you stop saying ‘boink’?”

“Sure. What do you prefer? Getting jiggy?” Connie raised her eyebrows. “The dance with no pants?”

“None of those,” Asher laughed.

“Alright, alright. You know, I’m… I’m not rattling any headboards with anyone tonight either.”

“Ah.” Asher once again found himself not knowing what sort of reaction he should be having to someone else’s love life. He knew Connie had been reluctant to start dating since she’d come out, but she’d always been pretty private about that kind of thing.

“So I can… probably bribe my flatmate into driving me to the train station.”

Oh. Asher’s heart lifted.

“Is there anything good in the cinema right now? No, wait – bowling.” Connie inhaled dramatically, and Asher knew from the look on her face that she wasn’t asking. This was now a set-in-stone plan. “Oh, I am so in the mood to wipe the floor with you at bowling.”

Asher broke into a grin. He was looking down at his body from above again, shaking his head in disbelief at just how wrong he’d been. His and Connie’s friendship wasn’t dependent on routine and tit-for-tat. Those things were nice, sure, but at the end of the day, they were two humans stumbling through life and occasionally stumbling together. 

Like dogs initiating a game of chase when their owners happened to be at the park at the same time.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Bowling. Let’s do it.”

“And wear something nice,” Connie murmured. “I still can’t believe you wore your work clothes to my birthday. My friends all thought you were in a costume.”

“I - wait, they did? You never told me that.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll change before I leave,” Asher reassured her.

Connie’s lips twisted into a crooked pout. “Don’t you dare change, Asher O’Shaughnessy. You’re brilliant as you are.”

His grin deepened.

“Your clothes, though. Change your clothes.”

“Yeah. Got it.”

“I’ll be off the train at… Hmm, I need to blow-dry my hair.” Connie peered at her phone screen, clearly swiping through numerous tabs. “I’ll probably be off the train at 7:35. I’ll message you if I’m delayed.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you at the station.”

“Cool beans. See you soon!” Connie put up another peace sign before reaching over to hang up.

Asher lugged himself from the bed and positioned his guitar on its stand again.

He put on one of his favourite t-shirts – it had a tie-dye effect; pastel pink on top, fading into mint-green on the bottom – and a pair of black jeans. He stood in front of his mirror and combed his hair; he’d only dyed it a week ago, so it was still a fairly vibrant shade of cobalt. He looked at his bare face for a good, solid minute, before turning towards his nightstand and fishing out his eyeliner pencil. He hadn’t worn makeup in months, or maybe longer. There were a lot of things he’d stopped doing since he’d started seeing Jayden.

For some reason, this train of thought made Asher’s stomach start to knot up again. He shook out his shoulders to try to relieve the tension.

A lot of things that were typically considered feminine had been triggering his dysphoria lately, but putting on makeup to meet Connie felt safe. No, not just safe; it felt exciting. It felt like reaching back in time and giving his poor, confused, sixteen-year-old self a big hug.

Connie deserved a hug like that, too, and god damn it, Asher was going to give her such a good one.

When he was ready, he gave Sparks a really long cuddle to say sorry for the few extra hours he’d be gone tonight. Brushing dog fur from his jeans, Asher headed downstairs.

___

“I see you, Connie.”

“I know you do.”

“B-but I also see… me.” Asher’s voice was shaking now. “I’m a guy. And I like guys. And you’re…”

As soon as he started to form that last sentence, Asher stopped himself, reeling with horror at his own arrogance. How dare he make her think it was her fault, just for existing as herself?

But she reached over and squeezed his hand, as though he were the one who needed support. As though he were the one being dumped.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, Asher.”

___

“Shit,” he whispered to himself as he jogged into the train station. The bus had let him off too far down the road, and he’d gotten soaked in the rain. Water dripped down through his hair and onto the back of his neck. He very much hoped that unlike him, Connie had remembered to bring an umbrella.

He stood against a wall, trying not to be in anybody’s way, before he slipped his glasses off and attempted to wipe away rain droplets with his t-shirt.

His belly grumbled quietly under the din of passengers and announcements. The heavy, sloshy feeling was completely gone now, leaving behind a cavernous ache. All of the hunger that he’d pushed aside came slamming into him full-force. Connie would find him dripping-wet and starving, like a lost pup. No doubt she would notice the weight he’d lost since he’d last met up with her, but whether or not she would say anything about it was a fifty-fifty toss-up.

The diner at the bowling alley had the trashiest, greasiest cheesy fries ever, and Asher was finding it hard not to keep thinking about them. This was going to be an expensive evening, considering his original plan had consisted of frozen waffles and a can of off-brand cola, but this would still be cheaper than a date with Jayden would have been.

He was hit with the realisation that Jayden would have rather drop dead than go bowling, wear shoes that a stranger had worn previously, and eat cheap, greasy food. Asher started to doubt that he would take any pictures of himself and Connie for social media tonight.

He hated himself.

Enough time passed that he began to wonder if he’d missed her. Maybe her train had gotten in early, and she’d headed over to the bowling alley by herself. She could have already gotten them a lane and shoes. She knew his size.

He shivered from the damp in his clothes as he pulled out his phone.

Asher’s stomach dropped, twisting as it went down.

 Connie:

Flatmate’s crying and throwing up. Gonna need a raincheck x

Through the haze of his disappointment, a panicked feeling rose in his throat. Was she lying? Had she tricked him? Had she made him come out here in the rain, with no intention of ever meeting him, to get back at him for the card thing? 

Did he deserve the hollow stab of disappointment in his gut?

Heart pounding in his ears, Asher noticed he had one more new message. He flicked it open without really thinking about, his brain subconsciously seeking validation or comfort or serotonin in some form.

Jayden:

Got finished a little early. Come over for a bit?

[unsleepingtales]

Ravening War Reactions Ep. 2!

Here we goooooo (said like Peter Pan)

Every time I remember that Colin has 6 charisma I giggle a little bit

Lou mentioned something to do with Scottish history and Brennan immediately went to Thinking Face (tm) and this is part of why I’m so excited that they’re in the same camera shot this season

Commendable 🥲

Anjali has Strong lettuce opinions and honestly? I respect it.

“Trust is bad” seems to be the motto of the season so far

BRENNAN

No one wants to trust that sneaky little radish. Unfortunately the dice deem they must.

Raphaniel has major dirt on Allium, noted.

God the name being the FDA is so fucking good.

Raphaniel has a cork board covered in red yarn and you cannot convince me otherwise

I know he’s being sneaky and suspicious etc but I’m happy that the bishop is taking care of Karna

Come on provolone! Little cheese knight!

Ooh my girl’s got demons!

“A chess piece… or at least the head of one” TERRIFYING THANKS BABE

He’s a hero. Vegetania doesn’t need heroes.

I wanna know where he goes when he thinks too tbh

Bulbian religion is fascinating to me

Colin who are you I desperately want to know

Oh she’s just murdering them okie dokie

OH that’s straight up self mutilation. Ok. Okokok.

He sneakyyyy

Raphaniel shut up they are onto you I don’t care how well Brennan rolls

Colin Provolone: big abstinence guy?

Boy what are you t a l k i n g a b o u t

“I feel bonded” “Well good luck with that” babe WHAT

Ohohohoh I do not like that language. That is fucking creepy. Nope.

A language we haven’t heard her speak before but very carefully not specifying what language it is

Child????

Amangeaux child???

Oh god that’s gonna kill me

Colin is good at his job. He IS.

Tiny chili pepper crush aaaaaaaaa

Colin <3

Making enemies: one way to know you’re on the right path!

Brennan is too good at bullshitting proverbs

A QUICHE????

Is he actually cool or is he another Johnny Spells

Raphaniel you are talking about this too knowledgeably for a man of your station. Take it down a notch.

He has Plans. He’s good at his Job.

Gross

Bishop kinda wingmanning for Karna?

Bishop stay away from the cheese man I need him to be ok

The DOME

Ooooh board games :D

NoT mUcH oF a SeCrEtS gUy yeah right ok sure bb

Karna dreamily asking about Deli’s murderous past & Raphaniel getting overwhelmed by the horny energy

Amangeaux surrogate mothering for Karna is giving me emotions

Karna! My love my light! Whatcha doin honey!

Mans kicked off a world war but he’s the guy with the hat.

Something they had in common 🥲

She can do magic but everyone needs to be so chill about it. No one say anything ok. She’s fine.

This feels like a little more than baseline trust tbh

What does a frazzled tomato look like

Oh Matt’s gory description skills are on point

Karnaaaaaa I know it’s your job but that is a child.

On the one hand I am very happy for her and glad she’s doing well for herself. On the other. Tiny child has been found out and reported.

Dome!!

Preview reactions:

*chanting* BATTLE SET! BATTLE SET!

Miniiiiiiiis

God Aabria’s makeup fucks so hard

[all-the-fun-of-the-cirkus]

listened to white light/white heat by the velvet underground for the first time. been a while since i listened to a record that actively wants to kill me

i can't decide if this album's aged brilliantly or terribly. obviously it's legendarily unlistenable and abrasive, and when it was released there was pretty much nothing that sounded anything like it. but the velvets are mega famous now, and whole genres have been invented based off their vibe. so, this album isn't anywhere near as shocking and difficult as it was back in the day, because so many artists since have copied it or deliberately exceeded it, and i can't tell if that's a good or a bad thing

because, being realistic, there's very little in the way of actual songs here. the title track is a blatant rewrite of i'm waiting for the man (although i think i actually like the rewrite more purely because it's a little more complex, i.e. it has more than two chords), here she comes now is a pleasant (if horny) breather. the rest is... otherwise, and i can't help but wonder if divorcing it of all that shock factor mutes some of its power

it certainly doesn't mute all of it, though. side 2 is where it gets real interesting, with i heard her call my name basically just being a vehicle for some wild, feedbacky guitar soloing, and i don't mind that one bit (it's a mystery to me why lou reed plays so little guitar on his records, he's really rather good at it), and sister ray...

i mean, if you're reading this i'm going to assume you're at least vaguely familiar with the band (if not, i'm amazed you got this far but hi!), but depending on your tastes a seventeen minute one chord jam with no production to speak of, featuring someone yelling semi-improvised (at least it feels like it to me, there's no way he wrote that fuckin ding-dong line so many times) poetry about an orgy and two guys just wailing madly at their instruments, for (cannot stress this enough) seventeen minutes might well be your nightmare, or your idea of heaven. as usual, i'm in between, but i did very much like it; i was flagging around nine minutes on but it gets real ferocious from that point on, and i kind of really dig the vibe. it feels like the musical equivalent of a drugged up, chaotic party careening out of control, particularly when reed begins shaking up his delivery, stuttering, slowing down, speeding up, and his and cale's soloing, as well as the ever-increasing tempo, paints the same picture

there's two other pieces, one of which is blackly hilarious and one terrifying. i couldn't tell you a thing about the music of the gift, given it's slammed right into one channel and behind the spoken monologue, but the monologue makes up for it. honestly i think most of that comes down to cale's dry delivery (with a very lovely welsh brogue, i might add), with one bit in particular not, uh, ageing too well, but there's a nice subtle wit to the prose as well, with a few choice double entendres (reed 100% knew what he was doing with "rough hands gripped his package," c'mon). not sure how much relisten factor there is to it though

lady godiva's operation, on the other hand, uh, fucking hell. if you've not heard it before, a) again, i'm a little confused why you're reading this far but cool and b) go listen to it now before i spoil it. anyway, i was expecting it to be a relative oasis of pleasantness, and the first half is alright, i guess. nice melody, nice singing from cale, but it's very repetitive. then reed comes in, like he's forcing cale out the way. then it just starts building, the instruments desyncing, the heart monitor sound effect, the vocals sliding up and down in the mix, and the song disintegrates around you, and it's legitimately frightening. again, it's the aural equivalent of a surgery going wrong and dissolving into chaos, only experienced through a fog of drugs and anaesthethic, and it's supremely unpleasant in a fashion that's impressive, but which i haven't decided if it's actually enjoyable or not. thank fuck for here she comes now, which is nothing special but you need to hear just to recover

this is certainly an experience, and i think it's an experience anyone interested in rock music should have. i'd put it comfortably third in their canon (behind the two self-titled-ish albums and ahead of loaded, ftr), and i'm glad i've filled in that gap in my collection

[queenharumiura]

[ Dream + that scene of tsuna vs byakuran at the very end of future arc. i am so curious ]

Taken from meme: [x] ||Accepting|| ((OOC: //loud groaning noise of ‘ohhh—this is gonna SUCK- forgive me, I’m absolutely cutting some corners here bc otherwise RIP fingers.’ A rare POV because I felt like it.)) @parallelroutes

Word count: 2,026 (yes, even with me cutting corners)

“… no other choice than to defeat Byakuran.” Maybe if we were a bit faster, we would’ve heard everything that Reborn-chan said in that moment. I know what happens next. A lil snort of a laugh, really.

Tensions are high and I can feel my heartbeat racing in my ear drums. This was a dre-no, a nightmare that was very familiar to me. Though- it was a bit different this time around.

“Hahaha! What a surprise! Your last resort at a time like this is to try and slap some fighting spirit into him!?”

Reborn-chan, ever the calm one: “This is my method. Listen Tsuna. You’re not the only one who’s fighting a battle of dying will. Uni’s sacrificing her life in order to return you all to a peaceful past!”

The way my heart drops to the pit of my stomach is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I know what happens, I was there for it, and yet, the sheer panic and grief remains, like a perfect echo of what I felt in that moment. In the back of my mind, I know there isn’t much for me to worry about, but that’s the fun thing about nightmares, your emotions aren’t so easy to control.

“Eh? Is that so?”

How he could still smile in a situation like that, it was beyond me.

“Uncle… why do you know…?” I remember this being such a huge shock. This girl, near my age, had to accept the fact that she was going to die. It’s easy enough to say that she knew it was for the better good, but no one can really know what that feels like until they’re put in the same spot.

It wasn’t just shock on her face, then. You could see the bit of fear, the sadness, and many other complex emotions.

“Of course, I know. I guessed as much. You and your grandmother Luce are two peas in a pod.”

Perhaps, Luce-san had done something similar, sacrificing herself for others. If Uni-chan is really that much like her grandmother, then Luce-san must’ve been a wonderful person.

“Hm then I must stop you form doing such a foolish thing. After all, Uni-chan’s life exists for my sake?”

The absolute nerve. A real piece of work, this one is. Uni-chan’s life exists for herself and those that she cares for. Her life cannot and will not ever exist just for one singular person. That’s how life is, you build relationships, and you exist for a multitude of reasons, and not simply for some grandiose, misguided goal of some punk of a world-dominator.

As expected, Tsuna-san couldn’t hear such a thing laying down (ignoring the fact that he was in fact laying down in that time, you know what I mean). He starts struggling to get up. Everyone starts calling for him.

A truly emotional scene. Even if things looked bad, I remember having faith in Tsuna-san. No matter what, he’d always end up pulling through for everyone and save the day. That was something I really admired about him, the fact that though he had his many faults, he had a good sense of timing. He knew what was important and when to really exert all your effort—sorry, dying will, for something.

“Haha, I can’t believe Tsuanyoshi-kun really woke up form your reproachful encouragement, Reborn-kun. You two really make an astounding team.”

“I wont… hand Uni… over to you…” Tsuna-san seems to have finally come to, regaining his ability to start speaking.

Kyoko and I didn’t see what happened as we were still far away, so we don’t know what led up to the point of Tsuna-san laying on the ground like that. Quite frankly, we were focused on Uni-chan who was floating away towards the danger-zone. Whatever it was, hopefully it wasn’t anything too bad? I don’t understand why everyone else was outside of the mysterious sphere either.

It was something I still haven’t gotten any answers to, and it was hard to bring it up.

Time, is linear, but it isn’t quite so in dreams. Sometimes, it’s for the better, and other times—it’s not.

Like clock-work, as I always feel relieved that his injuries must not have been so bad if he were able to get up, the scene flashes ahead.

It… it really is something of nightmares.

The scene of a miniature white dragon piercing through Tsuna-san’s chest, supposedly through his heart is something I can’t ever forget. This scene alone has made so many cameo appearances in my dreams that I can’t help but feel afraid when Tsuna-san and the others go on dangerous missions.

I see this overlapping the other’s at times and I wake up in a cold sweat, not quite able to fall back asleep as I glare at my phone, as if I’m warning it to not ring and be the bearer of bad news.

Again, even if my memories of the event would allow me to know that a ring had saved his life, I can’t calm the torrential wave of emotions coursing through my veins. Death is a scary concept for most, but witnessing it is another level.

It was an infinite time worse when it involved someone you love. Now, it’s paste tense, but at the time, you know?

The dissonance if quite funny, actually. In this nightmare, I’m not watching like I’m some third party observer, but I’m back in that moment. The emotions are raw and real, but at the same time, they rage and despair. Sometimes, they’re calm and relaxed in times of high tension.

I really disliked having this nightmare because it drove my emotions every which way. Now, there was an extra bit of—awkwardness? That seemed right to say.

I can’t help but wonder in the deep recesses of my mind that I’m having this nightmare not because someone’s going on a dangerous mission, but because I started hanging out with Byakuran-san recently. There is a big disconnect between the one I see in this nightmare and the one I sometimes talk to on occasion in recent events.

Now, I have the added feeling of feeling confused and unfamiliarity.

Normally, I’d continue to see the series of events leading up to Uni-chan sacrificing her life. I’d have to watch as she dies alongside Gamma-san again, but I don’t this time around.

Time skips ahead again.

“The arcobaleno aren’t reviving!”

“No, the flames should have been properly absorbed. It’ll take a little more time.”

Ah—this time.

I want to look away. I want to shut my eyes, but the me of that time didn’t. I hear some people can perfectly control their actions in dreams, but maybe it’s because this is a memory that I can’t have that liberty. I’m forced to look on as I did back then.

I have to watch as Byakuran-san snaps upon Uni-chan’s death.

He’s really unrecognizable compared to the person he is today in present day. My mind can’t help but conjure up some kind of mental overlay of the two, and it’s… scary. It was amazing to see just how starkly different they were from each other.

Yes, I acknowledge that they’re different people, but at the same time, they’re not. It’s probably more accurate to say that this is one outcome of who he could be if circumstances led up to that.

I try to move back, to turn away from what I know is to come next, but. I. Just. Won’t. Budge! It’s so surreal to be stuck in your own body and not be able to move as you’d like. To feel emotions that you know don’t make sense—or to think things that are out of place.

It’s possible this is just a smidge of how he feels to be stuck with this history permanently etched over you like a looming cloud, even if you yourself know you are different. If so, it’s incredibly stifling. It’s frustrating. It’s SO unfair. Try as I might, I can’t move nor look away.

Emotions that were felt in that moment are felt in tandem with the panic and dread that the me of today feels. It’s a new kind of torment, I’m coming to find out. The betrayal and hatred that overcomes you as you feel ashamed of feeling what you did in the past, though you know in that moment- it was acceptable.

Who wouldn’t feel relief in the wake of a horrible person dying?

Yet- as I’m trying to get him to open up to me and help him walk on an unsteady path, I feel ashamed for how I’m feeling. The anticipation, of what was to happen. It’s deplorable, but I can’t fault myself for it either.

How was I to know at the time that a younger Byakuran-san isn’t so… well… that? In retrospect, she wasn’t in the wrong, but I feel she is.

“Who do you think it was that killed Uni?”

No. Stop it.

“Because you made this world the way it is…”

Please, I don’t want to see it.

“Uni…”

Stop!!!

I’m stuck in his hell trap (otherwise known as my own body) unable to break free. The absolutely ironic thing is that the me of that time was crying as I can feel myself mentally doing—but the feelings behind it are different.

The Haru of that time cried from grief over having watched Uni sacrifice herself for everyone. My mentality is different, I’m beyond frustrated. I want out of here. I don’t want to see another person die in front of me. I felt so guilty. It felt wrong. I shouldn’t be here.

I don’t want to be here.

“Died!! I won’t forgive you, Byakuran!”

I can’t really explain it, but it’s like I’m conscious of there being two of me. The me of that time, and the me of today who is like some parasite observer who can witness this scene by possessing another. I’m aware of my own feelings and the movements I wish to make, but I’m also hyper-aware of what the ‘host’ is doing and feeling.

I’m aware of two existences, in essence. The inner turmoil I’m going through as I’m desperately trying to not have to see what comes next has me crying- even though I’m not—actually crying. Soul or mental images of yourself can’t really cry, but I feel as if I am.

You know? True betrayal is in the form of my brain going, ‘you keep thinking about this scene a lot. You must really want to see it. I’ll skip forward for you.’

If I had a habit of cussing, I would. I could promise you that, but alas, I’m a lady.

Despite it being against my wishes, I watch that Byakuran’s final moments. Engulfed in flames. The sound is nonpleasant. The me of the time felt part relieved to know it was all over, but she still felt sorrowful at the fact someone else had died. She’d witnessed two deaths in the span of what…30 minutes?

Tink! That was the sound of a ring falling.

The me of now? What is it that I feel? It’s so much. Sadness? Guilt? Embarrassment? Fear, anger, disappointment, and so much more. So… so much more.

Maybe so much that it was enough that I jolt awake. Sitting up in my bed, covered in cold sweat. Ah- also tears.

Curling my knees into my chest, my forehead rests against my knees as I heave a heavy sigh. “Do I have the right to support him, or try to help?”

There’s a chance that my presence would ultimately be a hindrance to him.

Maybe because I’d known about him and witnessed his death, there was some wariness and uncomfortable feelings that only cause bad memories or feelings to surface, setting him back.

There’s that frustrated feeling again.

“Hah… I’m not going to get much sleep tonight, am I?” I quietly climb out of bed, wiping the tears out of the corners of my eyes to sit on the ground and start stretching, relieving some of the tension in my body.

[rax-writes]

More

Fandom:  MCU Pairing:  Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader Warnings:  Sexual intercourse with a female-identifying person with a vagina + a bit of sugar daddy Zemo vibes at the end Notes:  Y’all... don’t judge me. I have a power kink, and Marvel did me dirty by randomly deciding that Zemo is fifthly rich royalty. And my girl @henrysmorgan​ did me even dirtier by actively encouraging my attraction to this fucker. So, blame Marvel, and blame her. // This is kind of really fucking long, and I didn’t edit it much, because I wanted to get it posted before episode 4, in case that episode flips the script. So, potentially some editing issues, and slightly rushed writing. Hopefully it’s alright, but please let me know if I screwed up anywhere. // Lots and lots of TFAWS ep. 3 spoilers

When Bucky texted you to ask that you meet him in some dusty, old, abandoned-looking car garage, you certainly didn’t know what to expect. All you knew was that an old friend needed your help, so you intended to be there.

It had been a few months since you’d last seen him, and even longer since you’d participated in any sort of mission, but you suspected that was what you were walking into. Being exposed to the Mind Stone had granted you the power of telepathy, which meant that SHIELD was quite keen on persuading you to work for them. They trained you in martial arts and hand-to-hand combat, and you went on miscellaneous missions a handful of times. They put in a lot of effort to convince you that it was your moral obligation as an “enhanced individual” to help them with these missions, but you ultimately decided that that simply wasn’t the kind of life you wanted. Instead, after the Blip, you began working a desk job for SHIELD, which is when you crossed paths with Bucky, helping him with paperwork associated with his pardon, and the two of you formed a friendship. But SHIELD kept trying to coerce you to get back into the field, constantly badgering you about it and making it clear that you weren’t wanted if all you were doing was paperwork.

The truth is, you weren’t cut out to be a superhero, and you had no desire to be. It didn’t help that your entire country had been reduced to rubble several years prior, leaving you with a bottomless pit of homelessness in your heart. So, you left SHIELD, and started a life in Berlin, where you were content to live out your days as the owner of a small bakery, residing in the small apartment above your shop.

That is, until Bucky Barnes dragged you into a particularly sticky situation, with a certain Baron Helmut Zemo.

You knew that helping Bucky and Sam would throw a colossal wrench in the life you’d created for yourself in Berlin, but after they explained the situation with the super soldiers, coupled with Bucky’s puppy dog eyes, you found yourself refraining from storming out of the building the second you saw Helmut fucking Zemo.

“We need you to keep an eye on him. You don’t have to tap into his mind 24/7, we just want a heads up if he’s going to screw us over,” Bucky explained.

"Look, we really need him. We’re obviously scraping the bottom of the barrel here, otherwise he'd still be in that cell. And neither of us want to be packing a criminal around like a rich bitch's chihuahua, so we need you here to make sure we're not gonna get bit," Sam explained.

"Fine. But you both owe me," you relented, and they both took sighs of relief. You glanced at Zemo, locking eyes with him for several tense moments. He gave you a polite smile, giving off the impression that he had nothing to hide – which he didn't, as his thoughts showed his intentions were pure at the moment. "We're good for now. He just genuinely wants the opportunity to take down these new super soldiers."

Sam and Bucky nodded, visibly releasing tension from their shoulders as they moved to head out, now reassured that Zemo was truly on their side. Meanwhile, Zemo eyed you with curiosity and awe, murmuring, "Fascinating."

The four of you walked on the landing strip toward a private jet, owned by Zemo.

"So all this time you've been rich?"

"I was a Baron, Sam. My family was royalty before your friends destroyed my country," Zemo explained, before glancing at you with a small smile. "But you knew that already."

"Wait, how did she know that?" Sam asked, then turned to you. "How did you know that?"

"I am Sokovian myself. I was certainly not royalty, but I lived there for my entire life, until it was destroyed," you explained, stopping outside the jet as Zemo greeted the elderly butler, Oeznik, in your native language. It made you smile to yourself; it had been years since you'd heard it spoken. Zemo shot you a grin when he noticed, and when you took a peek into his mind, you saw that he understood exactly how you felt.

As the butler handed Zemo a flute of champagne after you all boarded the jet, the Baron smiled politely as Oeznik stated, “Apologies if that's a little warm. The fridge is out, but I will see if there is some good food in the galley.”

Zemo glanced as you sat across from him, then in Sokovian, Zemo told Oeznik, "Another flute for the lady, please. And if the food does not pass the smell test, give it to the gentlemen."

"It's good to have you back, sir!"

As the man retreated to the cockpit, also in Sokovian, you noted, "You are a mischievous man, even more so than in your infamously criminal ways."

"You will find that there is more to me than meets the eye, angel," he responded coolly, the Sokovian language rolling off his tongue like honey. Before you could respond, admittedly enjoying speaking Sokovian, Sam grew tired of everyone speaking a language he couldn't understand.

"Why don't you tell us about where we're going?"

After a tense exchange between Bucky and Zemo, followed by a discussion about Marvin Gaye, Zemo finally got to the point: Madripoor. You exhaled slowly, resting your forehead in your palm in exasperation.

“You couldn’t have invited me on a mission to Cancun? Or Paris? Why must it be Madripoor?” you asked Bucky, who shot you a tight-lipped, pitying smile, silently apologizing for what he was dragging you into.

“What’s up with Madripoor? You guys talk about it like it’s Skull Island.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary back in the 1800s,” Bucky explained.

“And upon seeing it, you would see that times there haven’t changed one bit since then,” you added.

“It’s kept its lawless ways. But we cannot exactly walk in as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone,” Zemo said.

You frowned as you caught a glimpse of Bucky’s thoughts as he went silent. Fear. Anxiety. Disdain. Apprehension. You reached across to rest your hand on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. He shot you a small smile, then looked out the window.

Upon landing in Madripoor, one of Zemo’s contacts met you on the landing strip with a new wardrobe for you, Bucky, and Sam, and Zemo explained that each outfit was per his instruction, carefully chosen to fit the role each of you would be playing in Madripoor. One by one, you took the covered clothes hanger to the bathroom of the jet and changed. Bucky was first, stepping out in some sort of leather number, looking eerily similar to the Winter Soldier you’d seen in photos. Sam was next, donning a three-piece suit of burgundy and gold. He looked sharp, although he was immediately complaining about how ostentatious it was. And finally, you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, unzipping the covering on the hanger and revealing your “carefully chosen” outfit.

“Ich werde dir im Schlaf die Eier abreißen, Zemo!”

Bucky choked on his water and Zemo chuckled under his breath, while Sam looked between the two in confusion.

“I don’t know what she said, but she sounded pissed,” he observed, eyeing Zemo suspiciously.

“She informed me that she intends to remove my testicles in my sleep.”

“And why is that?”

“Perhaps because he’s chosen to parade me around Madripoor like a cheap whore,” you said angrily, stepping out of the bathroom with your hands on your hips, glaring at Zemo.

“That dress is by Armani Prive, and your shoes are Louboutins – far from ‘cheap.’ And you do not look like a whore, the dress is merely more revealing than what you are used to,” Zemo argued, standing and walking over to survey your outfit. He seemed to be enjoying what he saw, judging from the way his eyes raked up and down your body, but you didn’t dare check his thoughts to confirm or deny it.

If you were honest with yourself, he was right. It was a very nice dress; plum purple, matching the color of Zemo’s turtleneck, with long, fitted sleeves, all of it made of the softest silk you had ever touched. It was fitted at the top but flowy from the hips down, with a low balconette-style neckline, showing more of your chest than you were accustomed to, although you pulled it off quite nicely. It ended just above your knees, which was fine, as you sometimes wore skirts of that length. Overall, the luxury of it and the low-cut neckline ensured that you were out of your comfort zone, but you looked stunning – and expensive, despite your spite-fueled initial claim.

“I thought the color would look nice on you, and I was right. And I knew that the flow of the fabric at the bottom would allow for this,” Zemo said, his hand gingerly trailing from your waist to your thigh, where he pulled up the hem of your dress slightly to reveal the edge of the Glock strapped into your thigh holster. He smirked as his suspicion was confirmed. He knew you’d find a way to arm yourself, regardless of what you wore.

In hindsight, the way Zemo touched your side and lifted your skirt was all far more intimate than you should have allowed, and yet… you couldn’t deny the way your breath caught in your throat when he touched you, or how his close proximity made your body temperature rise, as he gazed down at you with those intense brown eyes.

Christ, you needed to get laid. Soon. Before you further entertained the idea of jumping the bones of a highly wanted criminal.

“Touch me like that again, and I will kill you where you stand,” you informed him sternly, and Zemo immediately took a step backwards, looking apologetic. From the corner of your eye, you saw both Sam and Bucky visibly relax, tension leaving their shoulders. You had read their thoughts briefly, and they were both wondering why the hell you were so calm about getting cozy with Zemo. The absolute last thing you wanted was for them to know that you were, in fact, inexplicably drawn to being that close to the Baron.

As the four of you walked along a bridge in Madripoor, Sam was quick to resume his complaining.

“We have to do something about this. I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward Black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“He even has a bad nickname,” Sam grumbled, then looked at the phone Zemo handed him. “Hell, he does look like me, though.”

“And who am I supposed to be?” you inquired, glancing down at your clothing to see if you could guess who you were meant to be portraying. An heiress or socialite, perhaps.

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered simply, the faintest smile on his lips.

You barked out a crude laugh, “Oh, I think not.”

“There is no one involved with Madripoor who looks like you. And it is rare that there are newcomers to the island, especially not in the place we’re going. Pretending you are someone random would raise concerns about the intentions of your presence; you would be perceived as a potential threat, which would jeopardize our mission. It is far easier to simply pretend we are engaged, I assure you.”

You hesitated a moment, before arguing, “No one will believe that we are engaged.”

Zemo pulled something from the inside pocket of his jacket, took your left hand, and slipped it onto your ring finger. It was a solitaire diamond ring; not large enough to be gaudy, but enough to catch anyone’s eye.

“They will if you play your part well,” he told you, then addressed the rest of your party when he added, “No matter what happens, we have to stay in character. Our lives depend on it. There is no margin for error.”

The four of you reached a sleek black car, and climbed in, you in the back between Sam and Bucky. The ride to Low Town was tense and silent, as each of you mentally prepared for what lay ahead. When you arrived, Zemo offered you his hand as you exited the car, and the pointed look in his eyes told you that it was time to begin playing your part. You took his hand, and as you began walking into the heart of Low Town, he laced his fingers with yours. As the crowd drew near, Zemo wrapped his arm around your shoulders, gloved fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your shoulder. After reading his mind, you realized that it was both for the sake of protecting you, and showing possessiveness to make it believable that you were his girl – and because he simply enjoyed having your body close, although you suspected that he’d rather you have not known that.

Despite the fact that you had been on a few missions for SHIELD, you were not exactly incapable of fear; you did not possess nerves of steel. All of the missions you’d been on were low-profile, and you were mostly just there for the sake of gathering information from those reluctant to share it. Sure, you’d been in danger before, you’d had to fight your way out of several sticky situations, but this… this was different. You were in the crime capital of the world, a lawless place filled to the brim with crooks, thieves, and murderers. More than likely, any given person around could slit your throat and never bat an eye or give you a second thought. Swallowing your own pride in the face of fear prompted you to return Zemo’s gesture, wrapping your arm around his waist and sticking close to him, which earned a smile from the man.

When you arrived at your destination, Zemo approached the bar and leaned against it confidently on one arm, the other still wrapped firmly around your shoulders.

“Hello, gentleman,” the bartender greeted, before his eyes fell on you. “Who’s your new lady friend, Baron?”

“My fiancée,” Zemo answered, then turned to you and ran his finger along your jawline, as you looked at him in adoration. “Isn’t she lovely?”

“Very,” the bartender acknowledged, then turned to Sam. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby,” Zemo responded.

The bartender made ‘Smiling Tiger’ his usual drink, which apparently consisted of… something he cut out of a snake, and dropped in a shot glass with a bit of liquor. You shared a look with Bucky before he turned away to survey the room, and when you read his thoughts, you found that you both desperately wanted to laugh out loud at Sam’s ‘short end of the stick’ situation, but didn’t want to risk everyone’s lives for the sake of a chuckle. You returned your attention to Zemo, opting to sell the whole “fiancée” thing a bit more by turning into him and tracing patterns on his chest as you gazed at him affectionately, while the bartender handed you and Zemo each a shot glass of your own – sans snake organs, thankfully. You both downed yours, while Sam understandably struggled a bit more with his, but still managed it.

A random man approached Zemo then, and as Zemo turned to face him, he protectively moved you behind him a bit.

“I got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…” Zemo countered, gesturing toward Bucky, who looked menacing as he pretended to be the Winter Soldier. “Or bring Selby for a chat.”

After a weary look in Bucky’s direction, the man walked away, and Zemo turned back around to face the bar, this time keeping you in between him in the bar, in case someone were to come up behind him – which they did a few moments later.

“Winter Soldier… attack,” Zemo commanded in Russian, as a different man came up and laid a hand on Zemo’s shoulder. With a pained look in his eye that quickly shifted to cold determination, Bucky grabbed the man’s hand with his vibranium arm, twisting it as he removed it from Zemo’s shoulder. Zemo took a step away from the bar to allow you room to turn and observe as Bucky beat the absolute shit out of various challengers. Zemo wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him as he noted, “Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.”

The unmistakable sound of numerous guns cocking drew your attention away from the altercation, and Zemo gently pushed you behind him as he surveyed the room to note all the weapons drawn. Sam grabbed Bucky’s bionic arm to stop him, but Zemo whispered, “Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us.”

“Well done, soldier,” Zemo then said to Bucky in Russian, signaling for the ‘Winter Soldier’ to stop.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender interjected, and Bucky released his grip on the random man’s throat.

“Thank you,” Zemo responded, walking off to find Selby, grabbing your hand to guide you, but not before you spared a sorrowful glance at Bucky as your friends followed closely behind.

As Zemo took a seat on a couch across from Selby, you sat close to him, crossing your legs gracefully as you leaned into him, your arm wrapped around his as he clasped his hands in his lap authoritatively. You watched his exchange with Selby in silence, as did Sam – and Bucky, of course, considering he was pretending to be the Winter Soldier.

“By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison,” Selby told Zemo, then smiled as she looked you up and down, before her eyes found the diamond ring. “And not engaged – to a woman far out of your league, I might add.”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo answered calmly, then looked over at you, staring into your eyes with warmth and adoration, and you smiled lovingly at him. “My beautiful fiancée was a guard at the prison. We fell in love over the years, and she helped me escape. Anyway, I’m sure you have already figured out what I’m here for.”

The conversation went relatively smoothly after that, until Sam’s goddamn phone rang and screwed the entire operation. In the blink of an eye, Selby was shot dead, you had shot two of the guards with the gun strapped to your thigh, and Sam and Bucky had each knocked out one, before Zemo suggested sneaking out of the bar as best you could, without any weapons. You secured your gun back in its holster, not missing the way Zemo watched as you hiked your dress up to do so, before making a break for it with the three of them.

Once you were on the streets of Madripoor, bounty hunters began to come out of the woodwork, and when they began shooting at you, Zemo abruptly grabbed your hand and ran down a nearby alleyway. As you were running, the heel of your stiletto caught on a grate, and you’d have fallen flat on your face if Zemo hadn’t caught you.

“Are you alright?” he asked hurriedly, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he supported you, before standing you back onto your feet. You nodded, and he glanced over your shoulder as he noticed a few men looking down the alley. “Forgive me.”

You were about to ask what he was talking about, but then Zemo abruptly grabbed you by the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, pinned you against the wall behind you, and kissed you.

The men at the end of the alleyway muttered something about “freaks who do it in public,” then their footsteps faded as they walked off, clearly thinking the two of you were some overly horny couple, not two of the people with an insane bounty on their heads. But you were barely paying them any attention, a bit preoccupied with the fact that Zemo was fucking kissing you, and much to your chagrin, you really fucking liked it.

Once there were no more voices and no more footsteps, Zemo broke the kiss and sat you down. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, before you heard more gunshots, and you broke into a run in the direction Bucky and Sam had gone, desperate to find your friends, and no time to process what the hell just happened.

As soon as you caught up with them, the two bounty hunters nearby were shot dead, and the four of you turned to see Sharon Carter emerging from the shadows.

An hour later, you found yourself in her swanky home in High Town, in a change of clothes, since the brick wall Zemo had held you up against ripped the back of your silk dress. You lied to Sam and Bucky, saying that it happened because you fell while running in your heels, and thankfully, they believed you. Sharon commanded the four of you to lay low and enjoy the party, which Sam and Bucky left her living room to go do, entrusting you with ‘Zemo watch.’

It seemed as though he was merely nursing his brandy in lieu of abandoning it for the party prior to finishing it off, but his eyes were on you most of the time. You didn't necessarily believe he could be plotting to overpower you and run off, but there is always that possibility, so you delved into his mind to check.

Expecting to find thoughts of strategy about how to defeat the super soldiers or travel plans, or even plots to escape you, Bucky, and Sam, you were astounded to find nothing but thoughts of you.

The way it felt to kiss you in that alleyway, and how he had monetarily debated just staying there, having his way with you against the brick wall before Sam and Bucky could locate you. The dress from the bar, and how it rested on your thighs, revealing just enough to have his mouth watering without being revealing to the point of immodesty. The way your necklace currently rested against your bare collarbone, and how desperately he craved to litter the area with love bites. The delicate skin of your throat, thinking of how it would look with his hand wrapped around it, just enough to cut off a bit of air but not enough harm you. How alluring your voice is, and how much he'd like to know what it would sound like to hear you scream his name. The softness and warmness of your skin when he had his arm around you in the bar, and when he held your hand as you fled the scene, and he wondered how soft and warm you were elsewhere.

"Your thoughts are filthy."

He bristled immediately, sitting straighter in his seat and eyes going slightly wide, either forgetting you can read minds or not realizing you'd be doing it right then. It only took a moment for him to regain his composure, before he took one long, last drink of his brandy and set the glass on the table in front of him. He turned his whole body to the side to face you, as you sat on the opposite end of the couch, wearing a small, somewhat mischievous smile.

"I suppose there is no sense in denying it, is there?"

"What game are you playing, Zemo?" you snapped. He was rattling you. As much as you hated to admit it, he was. For the entirety of the time you'd been around him, this wanted criminal had been flustering you, and goddammit it, you wanted to know if it was accidental, or for nefarious purposes. He could be using it as a tactic to throw you off your game, so that he could get away when it was just the two of you – like right now.

"There is no game, Liebling," he stated softly and sincerely, sensing your discomfort. Slowly, he scooted closer to you on the couch, so that the arm he had laid across the back of it was now behind you, as he stared intently into your eyes. "Merely the natural response of a man who has been widowed and then locked in a prison cell, and therefore has not known the touch of a woman in many years, sitting next to a woman of absolute ethereal beauty."

You said nothing, merely stared at him, sizing him up to see if he was toying with you or telling the truth. Zemo sensed your lack of belief in his words.

"If you doubt my true intentions, you are welcome to delve as deep into my mind as you'd like to find the truth."

In all honesty, you'd have done that already if you weren't trying to avoid being even more flustered by his thoughts about you – but you couldn't tell him that. So, you did as he bade you, and searched his mind to find any shred of malevolence towards you, but you came out empty-handed. Zemo genuinely just wanted you, craved you, like a starved man sitting in front of an endless buffet. He watched you carefully as you came to this conclusion, and although you said nothing further, he knew that you had found what you needed to know.

"Just say the word, and I will never approach the topic again, as well as attempt to quiet my thoughts about you. But if there is any part of you... deep inside you," Zemo paused, eyes grazing you up and down purposefully, before continuing, "that has any interest in being with me... I will do anything to bring that to fruition."

The ball was in your court now. You could tell him to get bent and never speak to you like this again… or you could get your rocks off, and maybe even get something more in return.

"Such as?"

"Name it, Schätzchen. Anything you want. A car, a mansion, jewels – say it and it's yours, if you will be mine," Zemo proposed earnestly, licking his lips quickly as he looked at you, visibly thrilled that he was getting somewhere with you.

You weren't the type to accept gifts from men you barely know, but… this was Zemo. A man who had done a great many terrible things, which soothed your guilty conscience. So, you said the first thing that came to mind.

"A car," you blurted out, then explained, "Mine broke down a week ago, and it's beyond repair, so… a car."

"Tell me the make and model of your preference and I'll have it delivered to your home within a week's time," Zemo said calmly, then brushed a lock of hair away from your face, before allowing his fingers to trail delicately along your cheek and jawline. "Is that all, Kätzchen?"

"No. One more thing," you replied, then looked at him sternly. "You must agree to never speak of this to Bucky or Sam."

"You have my word," he assured you, smiling in amusement.

"Then I'm yours."

Zemo's smile faded slowly, and he merely stared at you for a split second, before cupping your face in his hands and pulled you into a searing kiss, full of ferocity and sheer desperation. It shouldn't have been this easy, to kiss a man who's done such terrible things – yet here you were, melting into his embrace, allowing him to pull you into his lap and straddle him, your hands resting on his shoulders and gripping the black fabric of his turtleneck. His hands laid flat against your back as he kissed you in this new position, slowly gliding down, down your sides and to your hips. He kissed you in a way that was feverish and fast and hungry, as his fingers dug into your skin, holding you firmly against him as if he were fearful that this was all a dream and you'd disappear at any moment. Upon taking a peek into his mind, you realized that was actually exactly what he was thinking. Additionally, he mentally spoke to you directly, somehow knowing you were reading his thoughts at that moment.

"Tell me if I do anything that you do not like, and know that you have absolute freedom to end this at any given moment."

You pulled away slightly to nod in confirmation that you received his message, before resuming the kiss. Mind hazy and instincts taking over, you found yourself tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, earning a low groan from Zemo. One of his hands darted upwards to grab a fistful of your hair, right against your scalp at the base of your neck, and he pulled on it harshly, causing you to let out a wonton moan. He then laid that hand flat against the back of your neck, holding your lips firmly against his as he kissed you with even more fervor, and the other vacated its position on your hip to slide slowly up your torso, until he began palming your beast through your shirt. You moaned softly against his lips, but not as loudly as a moment ago.

Zemo wanted more, needed more; he longed to hear you loud and desperate. So he delved that hand at your neck back into your hair, gripping it tightly once more, and used it to pull your head backwards a bit, so that he could have better access to your neck. The action itself, and the tightness of his grip, earned an embarrassingly loud moan to escape your lips, and you felt him smile against your skin. He moved his hand to the middle of your back, supporting you as you leaned back a bit to grant him better access. As he littered your neck and décolletage with kisses, you felt him pull the neckline of your blouse down a little, then felt the sharp pain of a bite on your chest, above your breast. When you looked at him with narrowed eyes, he wore a cocky little grin.

"You should not be surprised, Liebling. I know you saw that I've been wanting to do that all day when you read my mind," he noted. "Wear a high neckline tomorrow, it will be fine."

Before you could respond, Zemo pulled you flush against his chest with that hand behind your back, and into another heated kiss. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and without thinking, you ground your hips down on the bulge resting against your core beneath your skirt. He groaned, both hands flying to your hips to push them down again, guiding them as you repeated the action. It only took a minute or two of this before Zemo had enough, abruptly grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the couch beside him. He then loomed over you, one hand propping himself up and the other applying slight pressure to your throat, gazing at you with admiration in those searing eyes, pupils blown wide from lust. You looked right back at him, pupils undoubtedly dilated as well, eyes half-lidded, panting a little, and hair a bit of a mess.

"You are an absolute vision," Zemo praised softly, to which you smiled, then he released his grip on your neck to lean down and kiss you again. That only lasted a moment, before he broke the kiss to pull your blouse up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. Your bra joined it shortly after, then he moved to your skirt, fussing with the zipper for a moment, but it seemed to be caught on something, as it wouldn't budge. Before you could interject and state that you'd get the zipper yourself, Zemo ripped the seam apart with his hands, before tearing the article from your body and tossing it like he had with the blouse. A gasp escaped you, but you had no time to think much about his actions, before he was pulling off your panties and bra as well, dropping them somewhere beside the couch.

He was then looming over you again, kissing you breathless as he rested on one elbow while the other hand toyed with your nipple, his knee coming up to rest between your legs as he laid between your body and the back of the couch. You tangled your fingers in Zemo's hair, moaning against his lips as you sought friction against his leg. He smiled softly against your lips, before your hands wandered, finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it off of him. You had just managed to get his belt off before his hand left your breast, trailing downwards across your torso as he moved his knee further away from you, before delving between your hips and expertly locating your clit.

No longer capable of focusing on ridding Zemo of his clothes, your hands gripped his shoulders, and he hissed deliciously as your nails dug into his skin when he began rubbing small, methodical circles on your clit. Small moans fell from your lips as he watched the way your mouth hung open slightly, face relaxed and eyes closed as you enjoyed his work. But again, he wanted more, needed more. Still observing you, he delved his middle and ring fingers into your core, causing you to let out a loud gasp that faded into a long, low moan. Zemo smiled to himself. That was the reaction he was dying for.

He kissed you senseless, drinking in your moans and gasps of pleasure like wine, his free hand cradling the back of your head as your arms wrapped around his neck. It didn't take Zemo long to find that sweet spot, deep inside you – as he'd subtly alluded to earlier – that longed for his attention the most.

You couldn't help but moan loudly and cry out, "Fuck! Baron!" Zemo growled low in your ear, clearly a fan of your usage of his title as he picked up the pace, fucking you with his fingers with expert precision and speed, sending you hurtling over the edge with a string of curses in both Sokovian and English. By the time he removed his fingers from you and stood, you were seeing stars, breathing heavily as you laid flat against the couch. When your dazed gaze found him, he was naked from the waist down, and was just finishing rolling a condom over his length. You had no idea where he got it from, but you were way beyond giving a shit at this point. Zemo then rejoined you on the couch, roughly spreading your legs apart as he kneeled between them, looking at you with a primal, deep hunger in his eyes.

"You are certain that you want this?"

"Yes, please – fuck," you cut yourself off as he began rubbing your clit again.

"Yes please, what?" His voice was low, teasing, as he continued his work below. "I want to hear you say it again, Kätzchen."

"Yes, please, Baron."

"Good girl."

Zemo took your leg and rested your calf on his shoulder, before easing himself into you, agonizingly slow. You watched through half-lidded eyes as his brows furrowed together, his jaw went slack, and his eyes squeezed shut as he bottomed out. He was silent, but you very much preferred it when he was a bit vocal. So, you flexed your muscles down there, and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against your shoulder.

"Do not do that if you want this to last long," Zemo suggested through clenched teeth. You smiled to yourself, then said the magic word that you knew would get him going.

"Yes, Baron."

He growled again, right in your ear, then sat more upright to begin a harsh, quick pace of thrusting. His hips collided with your body each time, causing a delicious sort of pain, and he leaned down to lock you in a messy, deep kiss.

A few minutes later, Zemo moved your other calf to his shoulder as well, and the new position enabled him to get delectably deep inside you. You raked your nails down his chest, watching as a shudder ran down his spine, all the while releasing small, breathless moans and whimpers. When he opened his eyes again to gaze down at you, he licked his lips before delving both hands under your head and into your hair, and forcefully gripped two fitfuls of it at the base of your skull. The moan that tore its way from your throat was animalistic, as your nails dug into his forearms as you desperately gripped them from their positions on either side of your head. Just then, he hit a spot deep inside of you, and that familiar, tight coil in your lower belly began to form.

"Fuck! Right there, Baron, please, right there!"

"As you wish, Schätzchen."

Zemo began to thrust even faster, careful to maintain the same angle as he released his grip on your hair and leaned up a bit, so that he could resume rubbing your clit. Moans began to fall from your lips practically endlessly, and somehow, you still needed more. More, more, more. You took his free hand and laid it on your neck, and he instinctively wrapped his fingers around your throat, careful to apply pressure on the sides but not the front, as to avoid harming you. When he opened his eyes once again and looked down at you, he couldn't stop the moan that escaped him.

"You will be the death of me, mein Engel," Zemo whispered, seemingly more to himself. All you could do was moan in response.

"Baron, I'm going to – fuck – I'm —"

"Yes, come for me, Kätzchen. I want to feel you."

That was all the encouragement it took. Well, that plus how perfectly he was rubbing your bundle of nerves, and how his pace nor angle had faltered once since you had requested exactly that. You came undone again, legs shaking as your nails clawed at his shoulder blades, earning a series of groans from him. As you came down from your high, Zemo's hips began to falter, enthralled by the waterfall you had become, soaking the base of his cock as your walls squeezed around him. His hand at your wet heat abruptly moved to grip your hip, at the same moment his hand around your throat clutched at your hair again, and he met his end with a loud, gruff moan as he spoke a mantra of nonsensical praises and your name.

Zemo rested on his arms on either side of your head, and he let your legs fall to the sides of him, breathing hard against your neck as he occasionally peppered kisses there. He remained inside you for a few moments, savoring the feeling, before you chose to have a bit of extra fun by flexing your lower muscles and squeezing yourself around him again. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled out of you, shooting you a glare.

In Sokovian, he murmured, "You are a naughty little thing."

"You adore it."

"That I do," Zemo conceded, then stood and walked off to the restroom. You heard the tap run, and a few moments later, he returned with a glass of water for you, sitting beside your feet on the couch and resting his heels on the coffee table. He was exceptionally handsome like this; still catching his breath, sweat glistening on his forehead and chest, a content look upon his face. You spent a minute or two admiring him, before he looked over to you, and a smile blossomed on his lips.

"I cannot thank you enough for that. I must admit, I spent countless nights alone in my cell, dreaming about getting to touch a woman like that again. Especially considering the fall of our country, I never could have imagined I would be lucky enough to lay with a stunning, intelligent Sokovian woman."

"In the spirit of confessions, it's been a while for me, too. My last boyfriend was about two years ago. And I'm not the one-night-stand type. So, do with that what you will," you stated, earning a small chuckle from Zemo. You sat up so that you were sitting beside him, instead of laying down, as you continued. "I fantasized about it a lot myself, but I never even dared to think my next time would be as good as this was."

Zemo smiled, a mix of pride and joy, then his smile softened as he leaned toward you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. "This doesn't have to be our last time, you know. I would be honored to have you as often as you'd allow me to. And I assure you, I would make it worth your while. I will give you whichever vehicles your heart desires, more jewelry than you know what to do with, take you to the most beautiful places in the world, dine at only the finest restaurants – and above all, treat you like my queen. Take care of me, and I will take care of you, Liebling."

You allowed your curiosity to get the better of you, as usual when you feared that someone was lying to you. You searched his mind for any fraction of false pretenses, but there were none. The man simply found you intoxicating, and would do whatever it takes to keep drinking you in.

The arrangement wouldn't exactly be an easy one, nor would it be all that wise – nor morally correct, in all honesty. But he was undeniably sexy, and the danger and reprehensibility of it all made it that much more alluring. And besides all that – the way his power and wealth turned you on, how good he was capable of making you feel – most Sokovians were dead, and you missed home. Getting to speak your native tongue with him, chat about your country – it made you feel at home with him.

But you wouldn't give Zemo the satisfaction of agreeing to him that quickly.

“We'll see.”

—————

Part Two

[mimicofmodes]

“The Ladies Waldegrave” by Joshua Reynolds, 1780 (NGS NG2171)

I’ve complained before about two very big pet peeves of mine - corset stuff and Regency women being dressed in 1770s-1780s clothes - but one that may dwarf them because of how frequently it comes up in historical and fantasy fiction is the oppression of embroidery.

That’s probably putting it a bit too strongly. It’s more like ... the annoyance of embroidery. Every character worth reading about knows instinctively that sewing is a) boring, b) difficult, c) mindless, and d) pointless. The author doesn’t have to say anything more than “Belinda threw down her needlework and looked out the window, sighing,” to signal that this is an independent woman whose values align with the modern reader, who’s probably not really understood by her mother or mother figure, and who probably will find an extraordinary man to “match” her rather than settling for someone ordinary. To look at an example from fantasy, GRRM uses embroidery in the very beginning of A Game of Thrones to show that the Stark sister who dislikes it is sympathetic and interesting, while the Stark sister who is competent at it is boring and conventional and obviously not deserving of a PoV (until later books, when her attention gets turned to higher matters); further into the book, of course, the pro-needlework sister proves to be weak-willed and naïve.

Rozsika Parker, in the groundbreaking 1996 work The Subversive Stitch, noted that “embroidery has become indelibly associated with stereotypes of femininity,” which is the core of the issue. "Instead embroidery and a stereotype of femininity have become collapsed into one another, characterised as mindless, decorative and delicate; like the icing on the cake, good to look at, adding taste and status, but devoid of significant content.” 

Parker also points out that the stereotype isn’t just one that was invented in the present day by feminists who hated the idea of being forced to do a certain craft. “The association between women and embroidery, craft and femininity, has meant that writers concerned with the status of women have often turned their attention towards this tangled, puzzling relationship. Feminists who have scorned embroidery tend to blame it for whatever constraint on women's lives they are committed to combat. Thus, for example, eighteenth-century critical commentators held embroidery responsible for the ill health which was claimed as evidence of women's natural weakness and inferiority.”

There are two basic problems I have with the trope, beyond the issue of it being incredibly cliché:

First: needlework was not just busywork

A big part of what drives the stereotype is the impression that what women were embroidering was either a sampler:

sampler embroidered by Jane Wilson, 14, in 1791 (MMA 2010.47)

or a picture:

unfinished embroidery of David and Abigail, British, 1640s-50s (MMA 64.101.1325)

That is, something meant to hang on the wall for no real purpose.

These are forms of schoolwork, basically. Samplers were made by young girls up to their early teens, and needlework pictures were usually something done while at school or under a governess as a showpiece of what was being learned - not just the stitching itself, but also often watercolors (which could be worked into the design), artistic sensibility, and the literature, history, or art that might be alluded to. And many needlework pictures made in schools were also done as mourning pieces, sometimes blank, for future use, and sometimes to commemorate a recent death in the family. A lot of them are awkward, clearly just done to pass the class, but others are really artwork.

Many schools for middle- and upper-class girls taught the making of these objects (and other “ornamental” subjects) alongside a more rigorous curriculum - geography, Latin, chemistry, etc. At some, sewing was also always accompanied by serious reading and discussion. (And it would often be done while someone read aloud or made conversation later in life, too.)

Once done with their education, women generally didn’t bother with purely decorative work. Some things that fabric could be embroidered for included:

Jackets 

Bed coverings and bedcurtains

Collars and undersleeves 

Pelerines 

Neck handkerchiefs and sleeve ruffles 

Screens

Upholstery

Handkerchiefs

Purses, wallets, and reticules

Boxes

Book covers

Plus other articles of clothing like waistcoats, caps, slippers, gown hems, chemises, etc. Women’s magazines of the nineteenth century often gave patterns and alphabets for personal use.

(Not to mention late nineteenth century female artists who worked in embroidery, but that’s something else.)

You could purchase all of these pre-embroidered, but many, many women chose to do it themselves. There are a number of reasons why: maybe they wanted something to do, maybe they felt like they should be doing needlework for moral/gender reasons, maybe they couldn’t afford to buy anything - and maybe they enjoyed it or wanted to give something they made to a person they loved. That firescreen above was embroidered by Marie Antoinette, someone who had any number of other activities to choose from. It’s no different than people today who like to knit their own hats and gloves or bake their own bread, except that it was way more mainstream.

embroidery patterns from Ackermann’s Repository in 1827 - they could be used on dresses, collars, handkerchiefs, etc.

Second: needlework wasn’t the only “useless” thing women were expected to do

Ignoring the bulk of point one for now and the value of embroidery - I mentioned “ornamental subjects” above. As many people know, young women of the upper and middle classes were expected to be “accomplished” in order to be seen as marriageable. This could include skills like embroidery, drawing, painting, singing, playing the piano (as well as other instruments, like the harp or the mandolin), speaking French (if not also Italian and/or German), as well as broader knowledge and abilities like being well-versed in music, literature, and poetry, dancing and walking gracefully, writing good letters in an elegant hand, and being able to read out loud expressively and smoothly.

This wasn’t a checklist. As the famous discussion in Pride and Prejudice shows, individuals could have different views on what actually made a woman accomplished:

“How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”

“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Oh! certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

Mr. Bingley feels that a woman is accomplished if she has the ability to do a number of different arts and crafts. Miss Bingley feels (or says she feels) that it goes beyond specific skills and into branches of artistic attainment, plus broader personal qualities that could be imparted by well-bred governesses or mothers. And Mr. Darcy, of course, agrees with that but adds an academic angle as well.

But what ties all of these accomplishments together is their lack of value on the labor market. A woman could earn a living with any one accomplishment, if she worked hard enough at it to become a professional, but young ladies weren’t supposed to be professional-level good because they by definition weren’t going to earn a living. All together, they trained a woman for the social and domestic role of a married woman of the upper middle or upper class, or, if she couldn’t get married, a governess or teacher who would share her accomplishments with the next generation.

(To be fair, almost none of the trappings of an upper-middle/upper class male education had anything to do with the kind of career training that college frequently is today, either. Men were educated to know the cultural touchpoints of their class and fit in with their peers.)

There are reasons that an individual person/character might specifically object to embroidery, but it was far from the only “useless” thing that an unconventional heroine would be required to do against her inclination by her conventional mother/grandmother/aunt/chaperone. Embroidery stands out to modern audiences because most of the other accomplishments are now valued as gender-neutral arts and skills.

“The Embroidery Frame”, by Mathilde Weil, ca. 1900 (LOC 98501309)

So, some thoughts for writers of historical fiction (or fantasy that’s supposed to be just like the 19th/18th/17th/etc century):

- If your heroine doesn’t like embroidery, she probably doesn’t like a number of other things she’s expected to do. Don’t pull out embroidery as either more expected or more onerous than them. Does she hate to sit still? I’d imagine she also dislikes drawing and practicing the piano. Would she prefer to do academic subjects? She probably also resents learning French instead of Latin, and music and dancing. Does she hate enforced femininity? Then she’d most likely have a problem with all of the accomplishments.

- If your heroine just and specifically doesn’t like embroidery, try to show in the narrative that that’s not because it’s objectively bad, and only able to be liked by the boring. Have another sympathetic character do it while talking to the heroine. Note that the hero carries a flame-stitched wallet that’s his sister’s work. Emphasize the heroine’s emotional connection to her deceased or absent mother through her affection for clothing or upholstery that her mother embroidered - or through a mourning picture commemorating her. There are all kinds of things you can do to show that it’s a personal preference rather than a stupid craft that doesn’t take talent and skill!

mourning picture for Daniel Goodman, probably embroidered by a Miss Goodman, 1803 (MMA 56.66)

[glowingbadger]

Hi it’s me, crawling through the window. Would it be possible to get a crumb of arranged marriage w/ Hubert? His line w/ Dorothea about being willing to get married for politics sake has fueled my brain rot for him.

Good God I need to secure my windows-

I mean HELLO FRIEND ANON YES IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE

Lol actually though, I have been thinking about this for Hubie since we all started chatting about that arranged marriage stuff! I think it's a perfect concept for him~

This like... got weird while I was writing it though?? Idk man hahaha it ended up on the less-spicy side of what I usually write, and with some very weird dialogue in places... Idk, I hope y'all like it. Maybe if there's interest, I'll follow this up eventually with a more smut-focused piece?

I've been traveling and working so much lately that I just don't even know what writing is anymore or how it works hahaha

TW: A brief mention of non-con

Hubert (FE3H) x Reader ("wife," neutral pronouns)

Arranged Marriage - semi spicy i guess?

"Frankly, he's a pain," Linhardt must be able to see your surprise and confusion written across your face. He goes on, "He's reliable and capable, of course, but also the most persistent nag you'll ever meet. Actually, no-" he glances upward as though to cross reference his own thoughts, "No, her Majesty is worse. But Hubert is a close second to be sure. Always on and on about sleep schedules and proper nutrition and etiquette..." He sighs and closes the massive tome on his lap, as though to close the conversation with it, "frankly, he's an insufferable mother hen. Does that help?"

"Well, it's... Not what I expected," you admit with a shrug, "but thank you all the same."

~

It's been several weeks since the papers binding you in marriage to Hubert Von Vestra had been signed- and this alone had sufficed. No ceremony, no grand ball, just paperwork and a handshake with your father. A handshake that ensured that, even under the Empire's unification, he would maintain nominal control over his considerable portion of land, and in return, would swear absolute loyalty to her Majesty. It was a beneficial arrangement for all parties, and you were not ignorant to the part you played. You were hardly even a bargaining chip- moreso, a hostage.

Your new husband had made no secret of what manner of harm may befall you if your family were to renege on their deal. Fortunately, you know your father to be a reliable coward, so you have no reason to believe he would be bold enough to step out of line.

Hubert Von Vestra is a terrifying man. A zealously loyal man of storied cruelty and a frigid disposition. His frame looms over you whenever he's near, and though he's hardly placed a finger on you since you'd been given over to him, his mere presence is... arresting. There's a sort of charisma to him that's equal parts frightening and fascinating. Perhaps it's madness brought on by your circumstances, but you can't help wanting to glimpse just the slightest bit into that brilliant, ever churning mind.

Unsurprisingly, he has been resistant to your attempts to understand him. He hardly indulges you in small talk, and if you were the paranoid sort, you'd think he intentionally makes himself busy when you're around. Eventually, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, you'd settled on a routine of bringing coffee to his study adjoined to your bedroom in the evenings. He'd been visibly surprised the first time. It wasn't until the fourth night that he'd given a curt "thank you." About two weeks in, he'd actually sat back in his chair and laid down his quill pen to receive the cup from your hands. After a month, he'd leveled his narrow gaze at you and said,

"I cannot begin to fathom what satisfaction you glean from playing 'maid' to me."

"Well, I, uhm," you hadn't expected him to address you so directly, but you managed to say, "You... work so hard, I wanted to do something for you, I suppose."

His expression is inscrutable as he replies,

"You are aware that my work was much the same before you arrived."

"I am," you say softly, "But- all the same..." you trail off, and Hubert seems content to let the matter rest. And so you leave him be amidst his reports and correspondence, coffee at his side on the desk. Yet for as unproductive as your exchange might have seemed, it does leave you with an idea. The thought to learn about the man from those who knew him long before your arrival at the capitol.

~

Your investigation into the true character of your husband does not stop with Linhardt. In fact, his testimony only leaves you with further questions. But perhaps the others would say otherwise; perhaps the United Empire's most up and coming crest scholar simply inspires maternal behavior. This has to be the case- you simply can't imagine that the notoriously ruthless heir of the even more notorious Vestra lineage would be so... Doting.

And yet the more you learn of him, the more contradictory he seems.

Caspar's take is much like Linhardt's- a picture of a man far closer to a school marm than any assassin or master of torture. Ferdinand seems both smitten and incensed by him, oscillating wildly between the two. Then eventually, to your shock, Bernadetta takes the initiative to speak to you about Hubert of her own accord.

"I'm, uh, really so-sorry to bother you!" she approaches with arms drawn close to her chest and eyes resolutely avoiding yours, "I- I just heard that you were... asking about Hubert, so, I, uh..."

It takes some time to prompt her further. You assure her again and again- no, this isn't intrusive at all- yes, you'd very much like to hear her perspective- no, you're not mad at her. In truth, you're endlessly intrigued about what a gentle soul like Bernadetta would have to say about a man feared across the continent. Finally, she manages,

"He's... actually really kind!" she blurts out, as though the words would abandon her if she gave them the window of opportunity. Your eyebrows raise slightly.

"You think so..?"

"Yes, completely-!" she stammers, "I know he's super, super scary, and powerful and spooky and cold and, uh, all of that. But still," her voice falters as she continues, "He only scolds people when they do something dangerous. And he only hurts people to protect others. I... I know he's done some te-terrible things. But... he's always been nice to Bernie," finally, she meets your eyes with an imploring look in hers, "So, uh, I'm really grateful to him. And I think it would be really nice for someone to reach out to him. If... if that's not too weird or anything. For you."

You smile warmly and nod,

"Thank you, Bernadetta. I know it can't be easy for you to come to me with all of this, but... I'd like to try, if I can."

The opportunity doesn't come in the way you expect.

At first, it seems the night will proceed like many others before. You bring a cup of coffee to your husband's desk, setting it down quietly so as to not disturb him. He's silent, but this is common enough, so you head back to the bedroom to undress for the evening. All nights prior, he would lay beside you long after you'd settled in, then rise to resume work in the morning before you woke up- all the while never allowing your bodies to interact in any way.

Tonight, just as you're about to close the door to Hubert's study behind you, long fingers catch around your wrist, visibly startling you.

It's the most physical contact you've had to-date, but he only says,

"One moment."

You whip around to face him, a touch of anxiety evident in your eyes. It's clear in his own that he notices, but if anything, he only seems amused. He steps forward, his taller frame menacing you as he speaks,

"I understand that you have been busying yourself with some manner of investigation as of late."

It takes a moment for his meaning to reach you. When it does, your face burns and you can't bring yourself to meet his scrutinizing gaze,

"Oh, uhm..."

"I assure you, my dearest wife," he says with barely concealed venom, "anything that I do not wish for you to know will be kept from you. Aside from which, your efforts thus far have proven amateurish at best."

Something seems off about his tone. You could understand if he felt uncomfortable or hesitant about your efforts to learn about him, but this seems far more grave, more... business-like. He steps towards you once more, and you step back in turn. Yet before long, you feel your legs bump the edge of the bed. A gloved hand trails a fingertip down your jawline to your chin, then urges you to look up at him.

"Whatever you are planning, my dear, I promise it will be fruitless. You had best rethink how you spend your days before your actions bring you to harm."

"No, I-" your brow creases deeply, your face burns, your body burns hotter and you don't want to consider why, "I've just been trying to learn about you as a person, nothing else. We're- we're married, after all, so..."

He gives an abrupt, dry laugh.

"Ah, so I am to believe that you've been interrogating my allies out of some misguided affection, is that it?"

"Hubert, just listen to me!" for a moment, you feel bolstered, defiant, and you straighten your posture, "You won't tell me the first thing about you- the only way to learn so much as your favorite color is to ask someone who's known you for a decade!"

Briefly, he does seem to consider your words. But his eventual reply is as aloof as any prior,

"If you're no spy or politician, then you're worse- a fool." he says, and before you can respond, he's seized both of your wrists and pushed you back onto the bed. For a moment, the room spins and your voice leaves you. A shrewd eye watches you with cruel condescension as he pins you against the sheets.

"I should think that you'd be well aware what I'm capable of," he nearly whispers, "I personally ensured that the rumors spread through your father's territory and further still. Do you think that anyone would even dare lift a finger to help you if I chose to seek retribution for this recent behavior?" He draws nearer, his grip tighter at your wrists, "Perhaps as punishment, I'll simply take my pleasure from you by force."

Your lips tighten, you take a breath. Then, meeting his gaze directly, you reply,

"You won't."

His visible eye narrows.

"And what evidence do you have to prompt such unfounded confidence? Perhaps you have crafted a flattering falsehood of me in your mind," a mocking smirk curls his lips, "Am I a misunderstood sentimental sort to you, then? A sad, lonely man for you to save?"

You scowl, though you suspect it looks more like a pout to him.

"I don't know what I think of you yet- not completely. But I don't pity you like that, and I don't think you're sad or lonely. I know you're not."

For the first time, it seems that you've caught him off guard. That frigid mask falters for just a moment, and you go on before he can replace it,

"You're surrounded by people who care about you. I've seen it for myself. Whatever you've had to do in the service of your ideals- it hasn't kept the people around you from wanting to know and understand you, even if it's despite you."

Hubert is silent for a moment. His gaze bores into you like he thinks he'll discover some hidden layer if he can just keep digging. Then, he sighs,

"How did I ever become bound to such a troublesome spouse..."

When you wrest your arms from his grasp, his hands fall away with little resistance, and you think that perhaps he had never truly intended to keep you in place by force to begin with. He moves to leave the bed, but your fists find the front of his clothing and tug him back down to you.

You press your lips to his without hesitation, and you can feel him inhale sharply, his entire body rigid above you. His lips are surprisingly soft, his scent like coffee and old parchment, and though your heart threatens to burst from your chest, you hold firmly to him by his clothes. Near imperceptibly, he leans down against you, and your fear, along with any remaining doubts, begin to dissolve. Knowing he won't pull away, you let your hands relax against him, running up his chest where you can feel his own pulse pounding. It's so human, so entirely reasonable and normal. Now, at last, Hubert Von Vestra is merely a man of flesh and bone.

Your tongue meets his naturally, your lips parting in time with his as your kiss deepens to a fevered pace. One hand reaches that sharp, handsome jawline, reveling in the erotic sensation of his mouth moving against yours. And yet, all the while, his hands remain staunchly on the bed beside you. He doesn't touch you- doesn't even let his body meet yours.

It's impossible to tell whether passion or madness drives you to bring your teeth to his lower lip, a single insistent bite communicating desire mounting faster than you can contain. And for a moment, you sense something new; a sound catches in Hubert's throat, a reaction he fights to stifle. Then, he pulls away. His pale skin is tinted a rare shade of pink, and his hair is ruffled out of place enough to reveal both narrowed eyes. His cloak has spilled around his frame to surround you both, and somewhere in your frazzled mind, you imagine that you're caught in some beautiful, velvet-lined trap.

"I- must... return to my work." Hubert says stiffly. He pushes up from you and turns away, leaving you still flustered on the bed behind him. You sit upright, holding your arms tight around your body as you watch him straighten his hair and clothes.

"You, uhm..." your face reddens still as you search for the right words, "you could... join me in bed, if you liked."

Hubert turns to the door of his study, speaking without daring to even glance your way,

"Anything that you offer to me now will be born from the impulse to survive. I have been bargained with before." His shoulders slack just slightly, his voice low and sober, "The proudest nobleman will even sell off his own child to a monster if he feels it will spare him its teeth."

You open your mouth to protest, then shut it without a word. You feel that you know your mind and heart, even in this moment, but you lack the words to convince a man like this. In a feeble attempt, you murmur,

"You don't frighten me, Hubert. Not anymore."

He half turns toward you, though his hand remains on the handle of his study door.

"You yourself said that you do not know what you think of me," he says, "As such, I will not lay a hand on you until the day that you do."

You stare down at your hands in your lap, barely registering the sound of the door clicking shut as he leaves you in the bedroom. No matter how you try to sort out your tangled thoughts, the memory of his lips on yours won't leave them. If anything, it eclipses any sense of reason, standing resolutely in the way of your path to clarity. Letting out a groaning sigh, you fall onto your back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it could offer you any advice.

What do I think about my own husband? You wonder, the thought nearly enough to make you laugh. Well for one, he's a pain.

[anime-grimmy-art]

Told you guys I’d ramble in due time.

I absolutely adore Bravely Default 2. It came at a really bad time cos I can’t waste 70 hours on a jrpg, but well, it’s too late to be concerned about that now. And as is tradition with me obsessing over a new game / show / whatever, you’ll basically find a fullblown review disguised as ramblings right under the cut. Be aware that I’m gonna talk about EVERYTHING, so spoilers are a given. Some maybe even for the previous Bravely Default games.

Also, if you wanna talk about this game in any capacity, hit me up, I’m DESPERATE to talk more about it.

Just for reference on how long this is gonna be, I made a voice recording while driving to remember all the points I wanna make, and that recording is almost 2 hours long. I did cut it down but still, this is gonna be a lot.

I’ll start off with the things that actually bugged me about the game, since there are only 3 things that really bothered me. First of, I really don’t like that you can name Seth. He has too much personality to be a self insert and player integration is not that big of a part in the game that this decision can be justified. It wouldn’t bother me that much if it didn’t leave a bad mark on the ending. First of all, we were robbed of Gloria desperately shouting for Seth, which makes the impact work less, and it’s just so prevalent that the name can’t be said because you have all the normal sound design going. If they’d just let the credits still play I wouldn’t have batted an eye, but because every other sound comes in it’s so obvious they’re just silently shouting in this scene, which makes it look silly. Like I said, this decision is more a detriment than an addition, and it’s a shame it casts a shadow on an otherwise heartfelt ending.

Speaking about lost potential, the other thing that really bothers me is the lost potential in certain plot points and character conclusions. I mainly mean Adam and Edna here. Both of them have been built up to be these formidable foes but they just, die. If it was just Adam I’d be fine with it, since you expect Edna to backstab him and be the actual big bad of the story, but I cannot fathom why they dropped Edna this HARD. If not Edna herself, I don’t understand why we don’t get more of a reaction from the Fairies and especially Adelle. I mean, Edna was her sole reason she left for her journey in the first place, then Edna dies and that’s it? No part where she grieves for a second? No concern from the others about Adelle? Mind you, I haven’t finished all the Sidequests, so maybe there actually is one in which this is addressed, but I think even just a Party Chat after Bad End 1 would have been sufficient to show how Adelle suddenly feels about the loss of Edna. It would have made Bad End 2 / The Secret Ending even more impactful, because, yeah, of course, you kinda know Adelle isn’t going to turn her back on fairy kind, but one of the reasons she doesn’t leave is because if Enda didn’t get a happy ending, then she shouldn’t either. It would have been amazing foreshadowing if she showed this sentiment before this scene happened. Other than that, it’s a shame that we know so little about Edna, or rather, how she became “bad”. I get she’s supposed to be corrupted by the Night’s Nexus, but how did it even come to this? It can’t have been a gradual thing, after all, Adelle says Edna was always good natured and then just disappeared one day. Really would have loved seeing more of that plot point.

Ok, last gripe I have, some choices in the soundtrack and sound design. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the OST, and I will get to that, but damn, whatever Revo used for the lead instrument in Wiswald hurts my ears. It’s a really good track, but I always have to turn down my volume because these high pitched sounds physically hurt. And for sound design. Dude, the Night’s Nexus is the least threatening, nightmare fueled abomination that ever existed. I get that its growl is kinda supposed to be layered with Edna’s or sth, but it, it just sounds silly. If they went the route of just swinging between different voices or began distorting it from phase to phase, it would have been fine. But the choice they made really made an otherwise creepy design just absolutely silly.

Ok, enough jammering, on to the good stuff. Like I said, there’s going to be a lot, so I’ll try to be brief in each aspect.

Gameplay

I honestly like the new battle mechanics more than the old ones. This individual, turn based system feels way more dynamic and it’s easier to strategies in battles. Because nothing made me more angry than setting up for a heal and the enemy suddenly being faster than me and killing my healer. Now it’s easier to plan ahead a bit.

I also found myself experimenting more with the jobs. Not sure what it really is, but none of the party members leaning more towards certain types of jobs and the job leveling being way faster probably helped.

And I know some people get up in arms because the boss sometimes can be a real pain in the ass (looking at you pope dude), I still found it very interesting getting around counters or even using these counters as a benefit. As an example, I made Adelle my main physical fighter and gave her lots of counter abilities to help her profit from being countered by enemies themselves. Now, she can attack enemies, get countered, automatically evade that counter and earn a BP at the same time. Made a lot of boss fights way easier and fun to exploit.

Music

Ok, I will try my best to be really, really brief, because in my recording this part takes up almost 40 minutes. Anyways, Revo might have just become one of my absolute favorite composers ever. I don’t know what kind of magic he used, but I initially wasn’t that impressed with the OST, but every time I listened to it, I just fell in love harder and harder. Before getting into specifics, I wanna highlight the two things that made me love this OST overall. First of all, this soundtrack almost seems like a refinement of BD’s. While losing some of that fairytale vibe, it sounds even more fantasy now. And in contrast to the original, this almost sounds more balanced? Like, BD’s OST felt high energy throughout, BD2’s on the other hand manages to find a good balance between high and low energy pieces. Like, the character themes or battle themes are absolute hype, but the overworld themes are a lot calmer and easier to listen to while exploring. Second big point that makes this soundtrack amazing is that Revo is an absolute god at using emotional progression/storytelling and leitmotifs in his songs. And heck, do I love myself my leitmotifs. You’ve got some obvious ones, like the final battle theme in which all the character themes and other leitmotifs are integrated. Then you got some maybe more subtle once, just like how the overworld themes are just the main theme, just a lot calmer and using the lead instruments of the towns of the areas.

But my absolute favourites gotta be the character themes and the main theme. I love how fitting the themes for the characters are and in general, each of them is such a bop. At first I prefered Elvis’, because I sure am a sucker for jazzy vibes, but over time Adelle’s became my fav. It’s just something about the trumpets, and how the theme almost sounds a bit melancholic and bittersweet, that drew me in. And considering her story, mostly her bad end, that the bittersweet tone really fits.

Then there’s the main theme. Just like BD’s it shouts “triumphant anthem” and it definitely gives you a very familiar vibe, but I’d argue it has even better emotional progression. Heck, the first time I heard the music start up in the reveal trailer, I didn’t have to look at the screen to know this is gonna be a BD game. Also, the credit song version had me weeping at the true end. I’m someone who’s very easily affected by music (if me shouting about soundtracks on this blog wasn’t proof enough) and just hearing that ending song, getting the after credits scene, just for the second credits to start as a freaking duet. Dude, at that point I just started sobbing, I’m not gonna lie. Just this little part showed how much Revo knows how to put emotion in a song and also write it in such a way that he can elicit strong, emotional reactions from you too. 

Story

People have been complaining how the story is too boring and kinda disappointing in comparison to the last one, but I just think the games tried to accomplish different things here. Since the BD series is a celebration of old, classic jrpgs, “cliche” storytelling is a given. Though, BD did throw a lot of meta stuff in there too. BD2 in contrast just feels like a direct execution of that initial idea. It feels familiar, it feels comfy and it feels safe. Except for the little things with the endings and then overwriting the Nexus’ “save file”, BD2 doesn’t really get that meta, which is totally fine. It doesn’t try to reinvent or innovate anything, it just wants to be a fantasy story, that might be cliche, but still fun and enjoyable in its own right.

I’d also argue that the pacing is a lot better than the old game, because with BD I sometimes found myself skipping through scenes to get on with the story. Not that this game didn’t have me rushing through stuff as well, but I found it kept my intrigue way better than the original.

Characters

Next to the music, this is the part that I absolutely love the most. While, yes, they did lose a lot of potential with some characters, mostly with the villains, the main cast is just so much fun. I love these 4 dorks so, so much.

I honestly can’t stand how much people compare them to the original cast. Yes, ofc, I’ve been doing my fair share of comparisons too, but calling these four a more boring version of BD’s party physically hurts me. Because except for some initial impressions, the Heroes of Light are completely different from our beloved Warriors of Light.

While yes, Seth and Gloria give off strong Tiz and Agnes vibes at first, they both grow into such different characters that they’re not really comparable. I think this shows with Adelle and Elvis even more. I do understand how people could compare Adelle and Edea, since they’re both the feisty girl type, but I can’t understand how people can see Ringabel and Elvis as the same character type. While those two are the “suave” party members, they act so differently from another. And that’s honestly apparent the first time you meet them. 

Anyways, I love these 4 so much.

We technically don’t know a lot about Seth at all, but they manage to pull so much out of just the fact that he’s a sailor, that it makes him really endearing, really fast.

I was kinda disinterested with Gloria at first, because again, the initial impression was Agnés2.0, but she grew on me a lot. Gloria is way more hard headed and honestly sassy in comparison to Agnés and I absolutely adore it.

Elvis. Elvis, my man. I love this fantasy scottosh wizard so, so much. He’s such a ridiculous character but so endearing at the same time. You got all this dorkiness, with him setting himself on fire as a student, him doing god knows what for a good drink or just laughing danger and prejudice in the face. But then you got his super empathetic and caring side. Mind you, most of his wise moments come from quoting Lady Emma, but still, as much as he’s hopeless with certain social situations, he’s actually still really good at reading the room and playing things smart. He’s a smart and powerful idiot, which makes him a danger to everyone and himself, and I love him for it. (I also can’t believe they called him Lesley I MEAN COME ON)

And then there’s Adelle. I liked her from the start, but I didn’t think she would stick out to me. I think now she’s my favourite character. Not even talking about all the stuff that happens in chapter 3 and onward, because these story threads are awesome in their own right, but there’s just something about her personality that’s interesting and appealing to me. Like I said, I’m not surprised people compare her to Edea, I did too at first, but while Edea walks very close to the line of a Tsundere, I was really surprised that Adelle is, well, not a Tsundere at all. Yeah, of course she’s putting Elvis down a lot, but that stems more from her preventing his ego from going to his head than her being all embarrassed. No, Adelle is actually really well adjusted when it comes to communication. While it’s hilarious that she and Elvis met with her chucking her shoes at him, the two just got along well right from the start. Adelle in general has this really open and helpful personality, but also doesn’t shy away from putting her foot down, even if that sometimes comes out as an embarrassed sputter. She’s also the mother hen of the group. She looks out for the other three and gets concerned about them real fast. 

I dunno, Adelle just really grew on me over the course of this game, and then her kinda being paired with Elvis too, as partners and as partners, makes me like her even more. Because as much as I like their personalities individually, I like their character dynamic even more. I honestly love the relationships between all four of them a lot. You really feel them grow closer as friends and all the little character sidequests just always made me really happy.

Conclusion

You might not believe me, but I really held back there. This could probably have been 3 times its length. As much as I love this game, it’s of course not perfect. It struggles and flails in some parts a lot and it certainly has some aspects that might turn people off. But for me, it was just a very familiar and comfy game that didn’t necessarily deliver anything new, but that told its story in such a way that it still got me excited to keep going. The soundtrack is absolutely amazing and the conclusion of the story actually got me to cry. While not groundbreaking, this game is highly enjoyable and leaves you absolutely satisfied at the end.

Also, I would like to iterate that I am desperate to get more content about this game, so if you wanna chat about it, hit me up.

Anyways, anyone else felt like having a fever dream when everybody in chapter 2 started talking fantasy scottish? Cos I sure did.

[voiceless-terror]

More than Enough

For @tma-mspec-week Day Three: Polycule

Characters: Jonathan Sims/Sasha James/Tim Stoker/Martin Blackwood

Rating: Teen

Summary:

“But what if-” Once again, Jon struggles to find the right words. He knows their situation is unorthodox to most people, and the thought of Martin looking at him differently is too much to bear. “What if he doesn’t understand?”

“Then explain it to him,” Sasha relays patiently, her hand never leaving his. Things are always so clear to her, Jon envies that. “You’re my partners, you’re dating Tim, sometimes me and Tim have-”

Or: How One Became Four.

It starts with Sasha and Jon.

She’s fresh off six months in Artefact Storage, shell-shocked and stand-offish. Jon starts a few months later and they learn the ropes together. She warms up, divulges little tidbits of her time in the other department that Jon devours. He’s young, hungry for answers and Sasha’s already jaded by her few years in academia. This is just a transitional job, she assures him. It pays better than most research gigs and allows her to keep up a certain lifestyle. 

“I’m looking at other places, putting out feelers,” she confides in him one day over coffee. It’s become their daily ritual, a mid-morning break where they can commiserate on the staid academics that ask too much of them and the fanciful statements that end up on their desk. “Whatever you do, don’t get stuck here.” She leans back in her chair, gives a cynical little smile. “Or maybe you should. It’ll be different for you, you’re a man.” He starts a protest but she cuts him off. “It’s an old boys club and you know it. Besides, I know all about your extra meetings with Bouchard. He’s never done that with anyone else. Who knows - in a few years you might be my boss!”

He scoffs at that. Jon feels like he’s treading water. He’s a great researcher, sure, but he hasn’t exactly made himself popular among the others. He’s quick to bite, dismissive, blunt. It’s why he and Sasha get along so well, tucked away in their own little world. Of course she would notice the attention from Elias; Jon’s flattered by it, even if he stammers his way through every interaction. Elias seems to find this amusing, but Jon wants to impress him. 

Though not at the cost of his friendship with Sasha. “I always mention your work to him. I’m rubbish with technology, but you-” She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t, he’ll see right through that. Manipulation’s not your strong suit.” Jon stares down at his rapidly cooling drink, an embarrassed flush spreading across his features. But her hand reaches out to grasp his and a fond smile lights her features. “Thank you, though. It’s sweet of you.”

Jon likes Sasha. Their personalities occasionally clash, but never for too long. Jon’s quick to forgive and Sasha’s too fond to hold a grudge, though she’s loath to admit it. So when her roommate suddenly moves out and she’s left in a bind, it’s only natural for Jon to take her place. He’s been rent-poor, living paycheck to paycheck in a shitty studio that’s still an hour’s commute. Sasha’s closer and her flat’s substantially nicer; she offers and he accepts, easy as that. It’s a practical move, and Jon has to admit his lonely little flat is starting to feel suffocating. 

They fit together easily, like pieces of puzzle slotting in place. Sasha’s brutally efficient in her personal matters; bills and maintenance that Jon finds overwhelming and confounding she takes care of with ease. He’s heard her on the phone in that light, practiced tone of hers as she casually threatens the landlord for necessary repairs. Jon finds himself relaxing bit by bit, feeling comfortable in his own skin as she snarks at the dinner table over a dish he’s made. He used to cook for Georgie like this. Now he cooks for Sasha.

“You’re good at this,” she comments one night over chana masala. “Loads better than the frozen meals I’m used to.”

“It’s nice, having someone to cook for. Harder to do it for one.” He feels a bit uncomfortable with the admission, though he knows he shouldn’t - this is what it’s like, when you love someone.

He’s never said that to her, of course. He gets attached too easily but never knows quite how to show it. And it’s not his usual sort of love, he doesn’t want to date her. She’s more than a friend, and Jon’s never had many of those; he has no metric to measure this against. He thinks he could stay in this flat with her forever, so long as he could see her smile every morning and yawn every night. 

On a Saturday morning she stumbles out of bed and makes her way over to the kitchen. “Morning,” she grumbles, as she reaches for the coffee pot and kisses his forehead. Jon doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

On a Wednesday night Jon drinks too much. 

“Sasha,” he slurs, her arm the only thing keeping him from falling off his stool. “I want you t’ know…”

She smiles indulgently, takes a sip of her drink. “Yes, dear?”

“I-I love you.” She pauses and Jon’s heart drops. “N-Not like that, but like friends. Good friends. Very good friends. But m-maybe not.” She’s still smiling, that’s got to be a good sign, right? “I-I just love you, okay?”

And then she laughs, puts an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close. “I love you too. Stay with me forever, okay?”

He takes her hand between his and promises, with all the solemnity a drunken man can muster, that he’ll stay with her forever and then some. The next morning, while they’re both nursing massive hangovers, Jon broaches the subject again.

“Did you mean it?” he asks tentatively, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. “What you said last night. Do- do you want me to stay forever?” She turns to look at him, bleary eyes suddenly alert.

“Yes.” There’s no tease in her words as she leans into his side, a warm weight on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant anything more.”

Jon stays.

______

Two years later, Tim joins the Institute.

He’s handsome; charming, but subdued. He’s been assigned a desk near theirs, invading the quiet little corner that had become their world. Tim greets them both with a smile and a perfunctory handshake before settling down at his desk and powering up his laptop. He doesn’t speak to them again.

Jon watches as he goes back and forth between circulation and his desk, building an impressive stack of books- The Pantomime Life of Joseph Grimaldi, The Congress of Clowns and Other Russian Circus Acts. Sasha told him he worked in publishing, Jon knows she got that information through her usual nefarious means. Perhaps he’s writing a book, Jon says. Sasha thinks otherwise.

“He’s one of those,” she says over sandwiches and tea. She invited Tim, but had been turned down with an apologetic smile. 

“Hmm?”

“Like you.” She sets her drink down, eyes him with her steady gaze. “He’s got a reason.”

Mr. Spider doesn’t like it.

Jon shivers at the reminder. Sasha never brought it up after he initially confided in her one vulnerable night last year; she just held him through the shaking and the tears. He’s only told the story twice; once at eight, again at twenty five. It never got easier.

“No one believed me,” he whispered, tucking his face into her shoulder as his body itched from phantom legs skittering across skin. She squeezed him back.

“I do.”

They’re friendly enough to Tim, giving him his distance while still trying to be helpful. Jon points him in the direction of texts and scholars who might be useful, Sasha teaches him a few of her more invasive tricks that Jon refused to learn. Slowly, bit by bit, he opens up. Never shares his story, no- but he smiles, jokes around with them, accompanies them on their lunch breaks and eventually entices them to after work drinks. 

He’s handsome when he smiles, Jon thinks to himself as Tim regales them with stories of dates gone wrong. Sasha catches his eye and winks. He wonders if she’ll tire of Jon now that Tim’s around. He’s everything Jon’s not; good-looking, confident, secure in his intelligence. Sasha laughs so freely around him. He could ground her where Jon cannot- they can be a chaotic force, the two of them. It’s why they keep to themselves.

But at the end of the night it’s Jon’s hand she takes, swinging it gently with hers. “Stay with me forever?”

He smiles. “Forever.”

They invite him over to their flat one night in spring, when the trees are blossoming and Jon’s allergies are acting up. He’s sniffling miserably on the couch, Tim sprawled next to him as Sasha pours some wine. Despite his misery, Jon’s content.

Tim nudges him with his foot. “So what’s your deal?” he asks in a wheedling tone, though his smirk betrays an almost imperceptible anxiety. It’s strange. “You and Sash. Dating, roomies…?”

It’s Sasha who answers, handing Jon a glass of wine and standing before Tim, tall and proud. “Jon’s my partner.” It’s matter of fact, and Jon can’t help the warmth that floods him. “We’re not dating. I’m not interested in that.” She hands him his glass with a smirk. “But if you want to romance Jon, feel free.”

Jon sputters as she laughs- he’s transparent, as usual. They’d talked about it briefly- Sasha’s fine with him dating other people, but Jon’s never felt the need to. Sasha’s enough. She still is, but he can’t deny the way his heart swoops whenever Tim aims that smile in his direction. Sasha likes him too, in her own way.

Tim’s still gaping at them and Jon can’t help but join in on the laughter, as embarrassed as he feels. “Is the great Timothy Stoker nervous?” Sasha says in between giggles. “Guess we know how to shut him up now.”

“L-Look, can you blame me?” Tim says, a smile growing on his face. “You two can be very intimidating, not to mention gorgeous-”

Jon kicks at his leg. “Don’t joke.”

“No, we are.” Sasha interrupts, daring him to disagree. She turns that deadly smile back on Tim, delighting in his falter. “So what’ll it be, Stoker?”

There’s silence, Jon can feel his heart racing. They’ve got this all wrong, Tim doesn’t want him, Tim’s going to leave, Tim doesn’t understand-

“Can I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?”

Jon blinks. “Uh, yes?”

“He likes Thai!” Sasha calls as she walks over to her bedroom, leaving the two of them on the couch, laughing nervously. 

“So you’re bi, then?” Tim asks, scooting closer to Jon and throwing a blanket over their legs and an arm around his shoulder. It’s warm in all the right ways and Jon leans closer, the awkwardness dissipating at the touch of his hand. 

“I prefer pan,” he replies. It’s the first term that felt right to him. Georgie used to make some stupid joke about a ‘gender buffet’ and him ‘having one of everything.’ It still makes him smile. “And- and you should know I’m also ace. So there’s some things I won’t be able to do for you.” He looks for disappointment in Tim’s eyes and finds none. “I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course.” Tim smiles like he means the words and Jon feels light, almost dizzy. “Are kisses alright?”

He nods shyly, and Tim takes this as his cue to pepper him in obnoxiously loud smooches- one in his hair, another on his nose. Jon manages to bat him away after Tim almost gets him in the eye. 

So Tim and Jon are dating. Tim takes him out to dinner, the movies, one memorable night of karaoke. Sasha joins in when she wants; they go to museums and lectures. One night she laces her fingers through Tim’s, smiling at his wide eyes.

“What?” she says innocently, doing the same with Jon. “I’ve got two hands.”

On Wednesday nights Tim goes to the gym. Jon sits at the table, passes Sasha a bowl of reheated spaghetti before settling down in his chair. He fidgets, not touching his fork.

“What is it?” Sasha asks, setting her own fork down. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“I-” he stutters, sighing as the words won’t come. Just tell her like you practiced. “I’m not trying to, well- hmm. I don’t want to insinuate anything-”

“You would never.”

“But, I’ve noticed- I’m not- Tim is very handsome.”

Sasha smiles indulgently. “Mhm. Go on.”

“And I’ve noticed. I don’t- if you wanted to-” Goddamnit. Pull yourself together. “I wouldn’t mind it, if you were to - that is, if you’d like to engage in-” He closes his eyes, purses his lips in frustration. “Please stop me.”

“Why Jon,” she replies, her voice coy and teasing. “Are you giving me your blessing?”

Jon sighs, his face warming as he opens one eye- she’s grinning, just as he expected. “...Yes?”

Six months later, Tim moves in.

_______

“Jon wants to bring a boy home!”

Jon smacks him in the arm and scowls. “Tim, don’t-”

“What, it’s true!” He leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Jon wants to knock the smile off his face and maybe onto the floor, if he can get a good kick in. “I don’t blame you and in fact, I encourage it. Martin’s a catch-”

“Martin?” Sasha perks up. “Finally!”

“Not you too-”

“Jon, he’s a very sweet boy-”

“-good-looking, too!”

“And if you want to bring him over, please do.” She reaches across the table to give his hand an encouraging, if condescending, squeeze. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other.”

“But what if-” Once again, Jon struggles to find the right words. He knows their situation is unorthodox to most people, and the thought of Martin looking at him differently is too much to bear. “What if he doesn’t understand?”

“Then explain it to him,” Sasha relays patiently, her hand never leaving his. Things are always so clear to her, Jon envies that. “You’re my partners, you’re dating Tim, sometimes me and Tim have-”

“I don’t think I’ll need to go into that much detail just yet,” Jon cuts her off, ignoring Tim’s snicker. “It’s just...what if he thinks it's weird?”

“Weird can be good. And if he doesn’t agree, well - he’s not worth your time.”

If only it were that simple.

It’s been about three months since he first ran into Martin in the break room. He’d seen him around plenty of times, but despite his hulking form, the man can make himself very, very small. It wasn’t until he quite literally ran into him, causing him to drop his newly organized files, that Jon got a good look at his face.

It was a nice face. Soft, kind, with big blue eyes and curly red hair that fell across his forehead. He wanted to touch it, tuck it behind Martin’s ear and he almost did, despite the man’s rambling apologies and meek demeanor. He stood there, frozen, even as Martin handed back the file with a bashful smile.

“Sorry, I’m pretty clumsy. Are you alright?”

Jon was fine. He should probably say that.

“Y-Yes. I’m Jon.” Wow. Smooth.

“I know.” Martin put a hand behind his neck, nervously chuckling. “You’re quite known around these parts.” His eyes widened and his face turned red. A nice red. “N-Not in a bad way, of course! You’re- you’re just very smart and- and direct- and oh Lord, that’s not a compliment, is it-”

“Thank you for my file,” Jon replied robotically, his eyes trained somewhere over Martin’s shoulder and not on his very, very blue eyes. “I have to take my leave now.” Why are you talking like this?

Their next few encounters were similarly stunted and awkward. Martin made tea at ten every morning, coincidentally when Jon got his yogurt from the fridge. He started making Jon a cup as well; he wasn’t sure if Martin was particularly excellent at making tea, or if it just mattered that he was the one making it. Jon tried not to dwell on the sentimentality of it all. 

He shouldn’t want another partner. He’s got Sasha, who he loves, and Tim, who he also loves, albeit in a different way. They should be enough for him. They are enough. But Martin makes him tea and asks him how his day is going and smiles at him and people don’t do that. He tells himself he just wants a friend, but he finds his mind wandering- Martin’s hand in his while they walk down the street, Jon nestled into his side on a movie night and Tim’s there too, because Martin is very comfy and handsome and warm. Sasha’s in her armchair reading a book because tonight they’re watching a romantic comedy and she hates those. Jon hates them too but Martin likes them, of course Martin likes them-

No. He’s getting distracted. And he’s standing in front of Martin like an idiot, saying nothing. This is going terribly. Why did he ever think this would not go terribly-

“Jon? Are you alright? You look like you’re about to have a stroke.”

“I’m not having a stroke,” Jon responds on auto-pilot. “I’m trying to think of a clever way to ask you out but you are very distracting.”

Shit. Martin stares at him, mouth open in shock. He’s got nice teeth. Very straight.

“Um- I-I thought you were with Tim?” Martin squeaks out. Oh God, I’ve scared him. Do I keep going? “Or- or Sasha, oh! I’m not accusing you of -”

“No, you’re correct,” Jon grinds out, willing himself to be calm. He doesn’t want Martin to think his frustration is aimed at him. “Sasha’s my partner and I’m dating Tim, and sometimes Sasha and Tim-” No! Abort! “-sorry. We’re together. But, um, I-I also like you, and I think Tim likes you but he hasn’t said- I’m sorry, this is going all wrong.” He looks down at the floor, clenching his jaw. “I understand if you say no.”

“I’m not saying no,” Martin’s voice is lower now and Jon feels a hope rise in his chest. He’s not? “So it’s, it’s like an open thing? You’re accepting applications?” Jon would laugh at the joke if he weren’t so paralyzed with fear.

“Not really? It’s, we aren’t dating around or anything, but I suppose it is open, in a way.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “Open for you.”

Martin’s smiling like he can’t believe his luck, and it confuses Jon because who wouldn’t want him? Kind, handsome Martin who makes him tea and doesn’t laugh at his stupid jokes but rolls his eyes affectionately and tells his own in turn. Jon doesn’t think he’ll ever understand his humor but it makes him smile and that’s important. And now Martin’s taking his hand and he- oh fuck Martin’s taking his hand Martin’s got his hand and it’s warm, just like he knew it would be-

“I-I think I’d like that.” A squeeze. Jon dies but only a little. “Wow, this is sort of crazy for me, y’know? You’re all so, so intimidating and good-looking-”

“Yes, we are,” Jon agrees, squeezing his hand back. “But we’d like to buy you dinner, if you’re amenable.” Martin laughs and says yes, he’s very, very amenable. It feels right holding Martin’s hand. It feels right to see him with Tim and Sasha, smiling and joking. It feels right to lean into him at the end of the day, to nudge his side in the night and apologize in the morning.

Martin’s lease expires in seven months. They start looking for a new apartment after three.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29032062

[hercleverboy]

Congrats!!! I love your writing!! I’d like to request a blurb with #36 from the general list and #41 from fluf 💕💕💕

thank you so much! enjoy! 

I don’t really like this piece too much, so please let me know what you think! 

wc ↠ 1.7k

General #36 ↠ “Do you trust me?” “No.”

Fluff #41 ↠ “You say you hate him but your red face is telling me otherwise.”

Spencer Reid had hated her from the moment he met her.

Y/N was absolutely sure of it. When they met for the first time when she joined the BAU, he seemed polite enough. Though he just never let her in the same way he let in the other team members. She understood at first, Spencer had known the rest of the team for years at that point. She even found herself incredibly attracted to the young genius, developing somewhat of a crush on him. His reputation certainly proceeded him, particularly when it came to his issues with germs, so she kept to herself. She understood it would take him time to get used to her, but where the rest of the team warmed to Y/N and accepted her as a part of their family; Spencer never did. 

During paperwork days when Y/N would get up to make coffee in the corner of the bullpen, Spencer would already be in the kitchenette, stirring his sugar in with intent. She’d always offer him a polite smile and some light conversation. However, it seemed that as soon as she started to speak, Spencer would pick up his coffee and head back to his desk. She let that go, thinking perhaps she was getting too much in his personal space, though it hung around in the back of her mind for weeks afterwards. 

 After cases when they’d get on the jet to go back home, she would take a seat opposite him, offer him a kind smile and then pull out a book to read, wholly intent on minding her own business. But Spencer, without even looking up at her, would simply get up and move to an empty seat at the other end of the jet.

Y/N exchanged a look with JJ, who had just shrugged in response. She couldn’t understand Spencer’s dislike for the woman who’d been nothing but kind, and who the team were all already incredibly fond of. She had good initiative, was brilliant in the field and had a capability to pick up on patterns earlier than the rest of them, sometimes even before the resident genius himself. The team suspected that Spencer’s supposed hatred for her was actually his poor attempt at disguising the fact that he was madly in love with her, but he never confirmed nor denied it. 

Then somehow, as if she didn’t already think Spencer hated her enough, it got worse. Any time she made contributions to their group conversations, Spencer would cut her off. It was belittling, honestly. It made her second guess her intelligence whenever she’d pose a theory. Every time, without fail, Spencer would pipe up and say, ‘You’re wrong. It’s actually more plausible that—‘ 

One day, they were sat around the roundtable, having finished debriefing after a long case. The team exchanged murmurs of plans to head down to the bar, with Garcia smiling enthusiastically and insisting that the first round was on her. Y/N had felt pretty awful for the majority of the case, and to top it off she was sure she was coming down with a cold too. 

“How about you, Y/L/N? You coming?” Morgan piped up, his usual smirk on his lips. 

She forced a smile, scoffing. “No, I think I’m just gonna head home, but thank you.” 

Morgan shook his head, determined. “Come on. Even Reid’s coming!” 

Y/N looked over at Spencer then, who busied himself with packing away items in his satchel, although she didn’t miss the scowl that seemed to plant itself on his face. She looked back to Morgan. “Sorry Morgan, I’m just not feeling it.” 

Morgan sighed, but still tried one last time, raising his eyebrows suggestively.  “You sure? It’ll be fun, maybe you and Reid will finally start getting along after a few drinks.” 

“Y/N bit her lip, shaking her head. “I’m sure there’s at least a hundred other people that Reid would rather spend the evening with.”

At that comment, Spencer threw his satchel strap over his shoulder and left the room in a hurry, a look on his face that seemingly resembled hurt. 

Y/N swatted Morgan’s shoulder playfully. “Look what you’ve done now! You know how much Reid hates me.” She whined. 

Morgan chuckled. “Please, Pretty Boy doesn’t hate you.” 

“Uh-huh, sure.” 

“It’s true! Don’t tell anyone I told you, but the team has an ongoing bet on when you two will finally admit your feelings for one another.” He leaned in closer to her. “And I’ve got $20 riding on it being in the summer, if you could help a guy out?” 

Y/N groaned at that. “Well be prepared to lose your money, it’s never going to happen. Spencer Reid hates me, and do you know what? I hate him too.” She said defiantly, although it was all too obvious that she was lying through her teeth. 

Morgan smiled, holding his hands up in surrender. “You say you hate him, but your red face is telling me otherwise.” 

Y/N just waved him off, ignoring how he chuckled at how flustered she’d gotten, and that was that. 

Reid’s quite frankly petty behaviour was really winding down on Y/N mentally, and although Hotch often told him off for his snarky comments or gave him the third degree for constantly trying to one-up her, Spencer persisted.

They’d been working on a new case for a week, and Garcia had just sent the team the location of where the unsub was holding his fourth victim hostage. Hopping out of the SUV’s, the team regrouped in front of the house as Hotch ran over the plan with them. 

“JJ, Morgan and Rossi, you’re with me. Y/L/N and Reid will take the back. We take the unsub in alive if possible, understand?” He instructed, everyone nodding as they reached for their guns. 

“Can’t you switch Morgan and Y/L/N over?” Spencer began to whine but was quickly shut down by Hotch shooting him a warning look. He scoffed, rolling his eyes in defeat. “Great.”

After entering through the back of the house, the two began checking each room they passed by. As they rounded a corner, stalking towards a closed door, Spencer moved so he was in front of Y/N, in what she noticed was an almost protective manner. He leaned closer to the door, listening intently for any sign that the unsub was inside. 

“Is he in there?” She whispered, and Spencer looked back at her, nodding. 

“I think so.” 

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment in thought, running over the important details of the profile in her head. “Do you trust me?” 

Spencer scoffed quietly. “No.”

“Well, you’re not going to have a choice.” She mumbled, and before Spencer realised what was happening, Y/N had burst open the door, her gun drawn. 

*

Y/N was stood in the local police station’s conference room, collecting together files and taking down crime scene photos from the evidence board. The case had ended well. Based off of the profile, Y/N had decided that the best course of action was to confront the unsub head on- and it worked, too. Hotch had already told her that she’d done well that day, and that made her heart swell with pride. But Spencer? He hadn’t said anything on the ride back to the police station, busying himself with other things as they prepared to head back home. 

Y/N sighed at the thought, looking up from the evidence board just as Spencer entered the room. He immediately turned around, heading back out the door when she called out for him. 

“Reid!” 

He stopped, turning back around. “What, Y/L/N?” 

“What is your problem with me?” She asked, exasperated. She was so tired of just accepting his mistreatment, and she refused to do it any longer. 

“I don’t have time for this.” He shook his head, turning to leave again. 

“Spencer Reid! You’ve made my life hell since I first joined the Bureau and god help me, you are going to tell me what your problem is!”

“My problem?” He countered, his jaw clenched. “My problem is you! Putting yourself in danger like that without a second thought for the consequences.” 

“The consequences? It turned out fine! My plan worked!” She bit back, voice rising. 

“It was stupid and reckless, you know better than that.” He spat, making Y/N scoff. 

“Why do you care?” She shouted frustratedly. “You can barely stand to be in the same room as me, and for the life of me Spencer I cannot figure out what it is that I did to make you hate me so much!”

Spencer’s defensive stance dropped, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find appropriate words. “Y/N, I know you think I do, but I don’t hate you.” 

She gave a humourless chuckle. “Yeah, well you could’ve fooled me.” She sighed, hands running over her face as she attempted to calm herself down. “I don’t understand why me putting myself in danger bothers you so much-”

“Maybe because I love you!”

The silence that fell between them only lasted a handful of seconds. Spencer, prompted by the look of shock on Y/N’s face, scrambled to explain himself. 

“I don’t hate you. I-I don’t really think I could if I tried.” He reiterated, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his. “I’ve loved you since the day I first met you.”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly so dry. “I don’t understand-“

“I’m so sorry, I know how poorly I’ve treated you. The only explanation I can offer is that I was so sure you wouldn’t feel the same that I thought it would be better to push you away than face rejection.” He whispered, moving closer to her, shame in his tone. 

“You love me?” She murmured in disbelief. The words barely left her lips, so faint and shaky that Spencer nearly hadn’t heard her. 

He laughed quietly, as though he was laughing at the absurdity of the situation. “Yes, yes I do. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.” 

He’d moved to stand before her, the two of them looking at one another in absolute awe that they both felt the same way. Spencer’s eyes trailed down to her lips, moving back up to meet her eyes. 

Y/N didn’t know how to respond, looking up at him incredulously. “Spencer..”

He bit down his lip, the words leaving his lips in a whisper. “Would it- would it be alright if I kissed you?” 

She was nodding before she’d even processed his words, and when his lips met hers- it was euphoric. Like they were simply meant to be. 

Perhaps Spencer Reid wasn’t that bad after all.

[rosiehunterwolf]

let me down gently

Prompts: Anger and Fight

Word Count: 6,465

Characters: Lloyd and Kai

Timeline: During episodes 96 (Into the Breach) and 97 (The Fall)

Trigger Warnings: Strained Parental Relationships, Suffocation, Major Character Death (kind of, u all know Cole didn't really die in this episode)

Summary: The thing about spending nearly every waking moment of the last several years of your life with a group of friends is that you really get to know them, inside and out, so much so that sometimes you know what they’re thinking before they do.

And, sometimes that means it’s easy to overlook what they’re actually trying to say.

(wooo! got my first bingo! what happens now lol)

Read on FFN.net

Read on Ao3

Tumblr work under the cut

The thing about spending nearly every waking moment of the last several years of your life with a group of friends is that you really get to know them, inside and out, so much so that sometimes you know what they’re thinking before they do.

Kai had learned that it was all about being observant. The littlest things could hint him off at what was going on in their minds.

For example, whenever Nya was frustrated with a piece of machinery she was repairing, Kai could tell by the sound of her hammer against the metal. It was more of a dull, clunking sound than the lighter, ringing tone that could usually be heard. Or when Zane was faced with a problem that he was struggling to solve, he would always walk with a slightly stiffer posture. How Jay’s leg would bounce slightly when he was impatient, or how Cole bit his lip when he was focused.

And now, as the ninja stood around Garmadon on the deck of the Bounty, Kai could tell from the look in Lloyd’s bright green eyes that his youngest brother was planning something- something that Kai wasn’t going to like.

“I’m done with your foolishness,” Garmadon growled at the ninja. “You do not have a choice. I will say it once more- I am the only one who can enter the Oni Cloud. Give me a weapon, and let me go, or the Darkness will consume us all.”

“It’s not going to happen,” Lloyd snapped back. “You’re not going anywhere- not without me.”

Kai balked at him. What?!

Lloyd began to walk up to Garmadon, until he was glaring him right in the face. “I’m your son, remember. I’m Oni, too.”

No. The blood was roaring in Kai’s ears, now. Lloyd had come up with plenty of dumb, impulsive plans in his life, but this was on another level entirely. If Lloyd thought Kai was letting him go into the Darkness alone with Garmadon, he was sorely mistaken.

“You are part Oni.” The man reached out, shoving Lloyd, and the green ninja stumbled backwards. Nya quickly caught him by the arm, steadying him, and the others lunged towards Garmadon. Kai barely managed to stop himself from punching the man in the face, dropping into a defensive stance instead when Lloyd pulled away from Nya, evidently unharmed.

“That means you might survive,” Garmadon told Lloyd, ignoring the others glaring at him.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out.”

Oh, you’ll find out all right, Kai fumed as he glared at the green ninja. You’ll find out that this is not happening, as soon as I knock some sense into you.

---

“Lloyd Montgomery Garmadon, have you lost your tiny mind?” Kai grabbed Lloyd’s arm, yanking him into an empty room below deck on the Bounty.

Lloyd stared at him. “Did you just call my mind tiny?”

“Yes, I did, and you deserve it, because you’re being the absolute worst idiot I have seen right now. And I’m friends with Jay, so that’s saying something.”

“Excuse me for trying to help,” Lloyd spat back. “I didn’t see anyone else coming up with a plan.”

“So the only thing you could come up with was chucking your own life into danger? Typical Lloyd move.”

His friend's eyes widened. “You’re one to talk! Do you really need me to go over every risky decision you’ve made? We’ll be here all day!”

“Half of those ‘risky decisions’ have just been trying to get you out of situations that your risky decisions got you into!”

Lloyd’s eyes darkened, and he turned away, beginning to rummage through the cabinets for a suitable weapon. “No one asked you to do that.”

Kai couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He marched forward, put a hand on Lloyd’s shoulder, and forced him around. “You expected me to just leave you. To die?”

“No!” The green ninja answered hastily, although he wouldn’t meet Kai’s eyes. “… I just could’ve taken care of it myself, that’s all.”

Kai snorted. “Right.”

Lloyd shoved his hand away. “I’m serious! I’m not a kid anymore, I don’t need you babysitting me.”

Kai felt like his heart had been impaled as he watched Lloyd turn away from him, back towards the shelves. He felt stinging in his eyes, and quickly pushed the hurt down, letting it give way to anger instead. How dare Lloyd speak to him that way. Kai had spent years caring for him, looking out for him. He had been the one to save him from the Fire Temple, from Morro, had been the one to carry him to Mystaké’s shop when he had foolishly run off to fight Garmadon alone and nearly died-

Sure, Kai had… he had failed him, sometimes. He knew he wasn’t always good enough to protect him, as hard as he tried. But in his defence, Lloyd wasn’t exactly making it easy for him! It was almost as if the boy wanted to die! He was getting an odd sense of déjà vu, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Have you forgotten what happened the last time you left us to fight the villain by yourself? I’m still having nightmares about that night, Lloyd! You nearly died.”

“That was different.”

“Different how?”

“I know what I’m doing,” he insisted. “And I won’t be alone. My dad will be with me.”

Kai’s eyes narrowed. “Oh great, now I’m so reassured.”

Lloyd shot him a look so venomous that Kai nearly faltered. What was that about?

“Look, Lloyd, I’m just trying to watch out for you! Can’t you see that the Cloud is dangerous? Cole was only in it for a second, and we nearly lost him. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Lloyd sighed. “I know. But someone’s gotta do it, and my father said that my Oni blood will protect me.”

“He also said your human blood would make you weaker. He never guaranteed you would survive, and, frankly, even if he did, I wouldn’t trust him.”

Lloyd’s gaze went hard again. “Of course you wouldn’t. You’ve never trusted him. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve had a vendetta against him, and that’s no different now.”

“Lloyd, don’t be ridiculous, you know that’s not true. He was our sensei at one point, remember? I accepted him then! It’s only the Devourer venom I don’t trust. He said it himself- he couldn’t be trusted with the venom flowing through his veins.”

“Yeah, well the venom’s gone now, isn’t it? And I don’t see you acting any different than those first days.”

“Lloyd, he’s different now, and you know it. He’s not Sensei Garmadon anymore.”

“So that automatically means we can’t trust him?”

“No! But I can list a hundred other reasons why we can’t!” Kai began counting off on his fingers, “He tried to kill you, he tried to kill us, he tried to kill Wu, he destroyed the Bounty, he destroyed the city, he imprisoned our friends, he created a giant stone Colossus to try and destroy us, he’s Oni-”

“I’m Oni, too,” Lloyd snapped. “Does that mean you don’t trust me?”

“Lloyd, stop being stupid-”

“Oh, so now I’m stupid!”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“So what did you mean?”

Kai sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re only part Oni. Things are different.”

“But what if I wasn’t? What if I was full Oni? You wouldn’t trust me then?”

“I never said that.” “You literally just did.”

Kai glowered at him. “Look, it doesn’t matter- Lloyd, you’re my friend. I’ve known you for years, I know you’re trustworthy because you’ve never done anything to prove me otherwise.”

“If you trust me so much, then why aren’t you acting like it now?”

“I do trust you! I still do, and I always will. But I also know your judgement tends to get clouded when it comes to people you care about. And, I’m sorry Lloyd, but your father does not deserve to be on that list. Not anymore. Ever since he’s come back, he’s done nothing but prove to me that he doesn’t care about you. At all.”

Lloyd froze, a shadow falling over his face. Kai reached for his hand, but he jerked back, gritting his teeth.

“Oh, come on, Lloyd, I know you’re trusting, but this is ridiculous! Have you forgotten what he’s done to you?”

“You don’t get to talk,” Lloyd choked, his voice suddenly sounding wet. “You don’t know what it’s like. What I’ve been through.”

Kai stopped, blinking at him. “What?”

“You don’t know! You never had to watch your dad be an evil warlord for your whole life, never had people telling you that your entire destiny was to defeat him!”

Kai felt his anger dissipate. “Lloyd-”

But the green ninja wasn’t done. “You never had to fight the one person who came back for you when everyone else turned their backs on you, only to get him back as someone completely different than the person you remembered! You never had to suffer through those long weeks, those long months, struggling to reconnect with him after the rift that had been torn between the two of you. You never had to deal with only having your father back for a couple years before losing him again, just when you had finally been getting to know him again! You never had to suffer through that loss, thinking about him every day for the next few years, just starting to get over him when suddenly you found out he was coming back again! You never had to fight so hard to keep him from coming back, even though a small part of you really wanted to see him again. You don’t know what it was like to get a chance to reunite with him, only to have him nearly kill you, and then be forced to recruit him to help you. You don’t know what it’s like to have half of your brain remembering him as this horrible, sadistic monster that absolutely cannot be trusted, but the other half remembering him as a good man, as your true father, and feeling like there’s still some of that in there, and maybe you can have that back!”

By this point, Lloyd was crying, hard, and Kai felt like his heart was going to shatter. “Lloyd. I’m sorry bud. I’m so sorry. But you’re going to have to trust us. Your team. We’ve always been here for you, even when your dad wasn’t.”

“You still don’t get it!” Lloyd was borderline yelling by this point. “I can’t! I can’t forget everything he’s done- both the good and the bad! You can’t possibly understand how angry I am at him but how much I love him! He left me! He hurt me! But he is the only person who loved me from the very beginning- even you thought I was some washed-up street rat when we first met!”

The pressure building in Kai’s chest suddenly snapped, and he found himself yelling right back at Lloyd. “I don’t know what it’s like? Have you forgotten what my father did? I lived the majority of my life thinking that he had abandoned me! For a five-year-old kid, that was the scariest thing of my life- I didn’t know what to do, and everything was resting on me. It took me years to get over that, to get over them and to move on, and then- then I figured out they were alive and now everyone was saying that they were good and that this wasn’t their fault- that everything was okay now. But it wasn’t okay- they had left me, burdened me, and as much as I knew they hadn’t done it on purpose, I couldn’t forget all those years of pain. Even Nya thought I was being crazy, tried to stop me from lashing out at them. She didn’t understand. She was the younger sibling, she wasn’t burdened with my responsibility. If anyone could understand me, I would’ve thought it would be you.”

“It’s not the same!” Lloyd’s voice was shrill. “You still have years ahead of you- years to talk and reconnect. You think I didn’t go through the same thing with my father after he was cleansed from the venom? I thought we would have all the time in the world! But now we’re back at square one again, but worse- square zero- and this time he won’t even listen to me! He doesn’t remember me, he doesn’t remember himself, he doesn’t remember anything except hatred.”

“Then why are you so eager to listen to him again?”

“I can’t let him go again! Not like last time!”

“This isn’t like last time, Lloyd! Why won’t you listen to us? Since when did you start trusting Garmadon’s judgement over mine?” “The moment you stopped listening to me and tried to make everything about yourself!”

Kai stared at him in disbelief. Lloyd was seriously calling him selfish right now? He had just poured out all his insecurities about his parents, ones that he didn’t want to share but did anyway to try to help Lloyd see he wasn’t alone- and the brat had the nerve to call him selfish?

“I can’t believe you! I’ve done nothing- nothing- but try to help you and care for you since you joined our team. And you have the audacity to pin this on me. You know what? Go! Go with your father into that dumb Cloud! Since you obviously care about him so much more than you do me!”

“I will,” Lloyd shot back, already storming out of the room.

“Don’t come crying to me when you suffocate in there! At least you’ll be with your dear old pops!”

Lloyd turned around when he reached the doorway, their shouting match quieting as he responded in a low voice.

“Trust me, I’m not going to be crying to anyone.”

There was a loud bang as Lloyd slammed the door shut, and Kai was alone.

---

Zane walked quietly down the hallway of the ship, stopping in front of Nya as she slowly backed out of a room, pulling the door shut softly behind her.

“Any luck?”

She shook her head. “He won’t even talk to me, not to mention tell me what happened.”

“Kai isn’t budging either. He asked me how close we were to the city, and what Garmadon was up to, but refused to even mention Lloyd.”

“I’ve never seen Lloyd like this, Zane, he was… he was upset. Angry. I think they fell out, but… I don’t know why, or how…”

“It has to be about the Cloud. Kai was pretty upset when Lloyd announced his plan.”

“I’m upset too!” she snapped. “It’s a horrible plan! He’s going to get himself killed! But you know how Lloyd gets when he sets his mind on something. And Kai can get… snappy when he’s worried about someone important to him. I’m worried things have been taken too far this time, though.”

Nya buried her face in her hands, and Zane put a hand on her shoulder. “Nya, it’s going to be alright. It’s not like they haven’t fought before. They’ll make up quickly, like they always do.”

“Yeah, but it’s never been this bad before! Lloyd was really upset, Zane! He always talks to me, comes to me, when he’s having a hard time, especially if it’s with Kai, but…” her voice dropped to a whisper. “This time is different.”

“Have you forgotten everything they’ve been through?” Zane reminded her. “Their friendship has survived the green ninja prophecy, Chen’s staff, a possession, many near-death experiences, and realm-hopping. I think they can handle one argument.”

Nya didn’t look so reassured, so Zane looped his arm around her. “They’re going to be fine. They always are.”

Nya wiped a sleeve across her eyes, sniffing. “I know. I just worry about them.”

“It’s great, how much you look out for them, but there are some things that Kai and Lloyd must resolve on their own.”

Nya nodded, slowly stepping back from the door of the room where Lloyd was.

A faint beeping sounded from above them, and Zane quickly checked his internal GPS. “Now, we should head back above deck. It won’t be long before we reach Ninjago City, and the outskirts of the Oni Cloud.”

“The time is nearly upon us,” Nya whispered. “Soon, the fate of Ninjago will rest in our hands.” Her nose wrinkled. “Again.”

---

Kai stared over the deck of the Bounty, his jaw slack as he surveyed the landscape below. The entirety of Ninjago City was covered in a thick, black smog, only the tips of some of the taller skyscrapers emerging from it.

A sickly black tentacle reached up below them, curling up towards the fins on the rear of the Bounty, lapping gently against the wood. Nya put on a burst of speed, and the Bounty pulled from its grasp, leaving the tentacle to lurk hungrily, before it slowly receded back down into the Cloud.

A shiver slipped down his spine, and he gritted his teeth. He couldn’t believe the others had agreed to send Lloyd down there.

“This will allow us to see what’s happening inside the Cloud.”

Kai turned to see Zane slipping what looked to be a GoPro over Lloyd’s head. “We can watch the camera feed from the monitor screens of the Bounty.”

Lloyd was shifting from foot to foot, looking nervous. As he should be. How long will it take for him to finally realize how dangerous this is?

Lloyd wasn’t the only one looking frightened. From where she stood up by the steering wheel, Nya was watching Lloyd apprehensively, nibbling on her lip. Jay stood at Lloyd’s side, double and triple checking to make sure the armor pieces fastened to his gi were strong and secured. Cole was leaning back against the mast, arms crossed over his chest as he surveyed them all with dark eyes.

“What’s our plan for extraction?” Cole asked gruffly. “If we’re doing this, we need a clear plan before you leave. There’ll be no room for mistakes down there.”

“We’ll wait here with the Bounty while he’s down there,” Zane explained. “When he’s made it back, we’ll drop the anchor so he can climb the chain.”

“I installed a tracking device in the camera,” Nya added, “so if something goes wrong, we can come pick you up elsewhere.”

“Hopefully nothing will go wrong,” Lloyd muttered.

Nya shook her head. “I’ll say.”

“Did you guys check the parachute? Does it feel alright, do you want me to-”

“Jay.” Lloyd said firmly. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Jay sighed, running a hand through his curly locks. “I’m just not sure about this, Lloyd.”

“Guys. I have to do this. I’m gonna get in, grab the Realm Crystal, get out. No problem.”

“No problem?” Kai growled. “Yeah, except for the freezing black tentacles, deathly fog, and swarms of Oni you’re forgetting about. Oh, and wait, your father.”

“Kai, can we not get into this now,” Lloyd grimaced.

“If we don’t get into it now, when will we get into it?” Kai pulled back from the railing, walking over to him. “Once you go, there’s no turning back.”

His eyes flashed. “I’m aware of the consequences. I’m doing it.”

Kai groaned. “You’re not even listening to me!”

“And you’re not listening to me. Do you have another plan?”

“I’m sure we could come up with something better than this.”

“Yeah? Well, you haven’t!” he snapped, loudly.

Kai said nothing, glaring at him.

“The people of Ninjago City are in danger. Many of them are already lost, and I only hope that we can save them. Someone has to help, sooner rather than later. And right now, me and my father are the only ones who can.”

“Well, maybe not you,” Jay squeaked, looking nervous to impede on their argument.

“Jay’s right, you’re taking a huge risk.”

“I’m a ninja!” Lloyd threw up his arms. “Risk is part of the job description.”

There was silence at that.

Really, what could they say? To deny it would be to put down every risk they had ever taken, every consequence they had ever faced.

But so many of them had ended in disaster- Zane’s death, Chen’s staff, Morro’s possession, Wu getting lost in time, and of course, Lloyd’s initial face-off with his resurrected father- and Kai was wondering when they would finally draw the line.

Sooner or later, their luck was going to run out. Sooner or later, they would get themselves into a mess they couldn’t get out of.

---

The ship slowed to a halt in front of Borg Tower. The tallest building in the city, it stretched far above the Cloud, but as Lloyd peered down, he saw that the bottom of it just seemed to disappear, getting swallowed by the blackness.

“This is the closest I can get,” Nya announced, descending the ladder as she hopped down to the deck with them. “You’re going to have to take it from here.”

Garmadon said nothing, stepping up to the edge of the rail to peer over the edge.

Pixal beckoned to him, and Lloyd walked over, standing patiently as she fiddled with his GoPro.

“Zane?” she called back to the nindroid, to where he had climbed back up towards the monitor. She waved at Lloyd’s camera, and Zane gave her a thumbs up.

“It’s working. For now. The reception might break up a little when he actually goes into the Darkness, but hopefully it will last us a while, at least.”

“And the GPS?”

“Signal is on point.”

“Voice feed? Can you hear me through the comms?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Good.” Pixal stepped back from him, nodding. She hesitated for a moment, her green eyes flashing. “Lloyd… just be careful, okay? Your life isn’t worth the Realm Crystal. We can always come up with another plan.”

Lloyd swallowed. Suddenly, this whole thing was beginning to feel a lot more real.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one thinking this, because Kai walked over to him. Lloyd flinched, expecting him to yell again, but his voice was soft.

“Lloyd. If you… if you really trust your dad so much, you should let him go. Alone.”

Lloyd bit back a sigh. “I don’t trust him.”

Kai blinked. “You literally just told me earlier that you-”

“No, I said it was complicated.” Lloyd breathed out slowly, running his fingers through his hair before his voice came out too sharp. “I trust him enough to not get me killed, but not enough to bring the Realm Crystal back on his own.”

“Look, Lloyd, you don’t have to do this.”

Lloyd glared at him. “Yeah, I do. I’m going, end of discussion.”

“Please don’t go. Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier, okay? I’ll make it up to you. Please don’t base this decision off of that.”

Kai’s eyes were looking suspiciously shiny now, and Lloyd bit his lip. He was still mad at Kai, but Lloyd hated fighting with him. Maybe he should-

No. Lloyd shut down that train of thought fiercely. He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him.

Sure, this was Kai he was talking about- not Harumi, or his father. He knew Kai would never try to take advantage of him, but- he was also biased. Lloyd wanted to listen to his own judgement, for once. The best decisions were always made with a clear head, anyways.

He forced his voice to be hard as he spoke. “I made this decision plenty of time before that conversation.”

Ignoring the look on Kai’s face, he turned and walked towards the edge of the deck, pulling his sword out of the rack. It was about time he finished this.

---

Kai hurried over to her looking half in tears.

“So I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’ on talking him out of it?”

Kai gripped her shoulders, tight. “He won’t listen to me Nya, I think he’s still angry with me. I can’t change his mind. Nothing I say will change his mind. You need to talk to him, please. Maybe he’ll listen to you.” “I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Kai. He may not be upset with me, but you know how stubborn he gets when he sets his mind on something.”

“Can you at least try?”

Nya looked at him, and after a moment, let out a sigh. “Fine.”

Her footsteps were quiet as she walked over to the green ninja, who was sheathing his sword. He didn’t look at her, but he knew she was there, that Nya was certain of.

“I have no idea what he said to you, earlier… but he’s just worried about you, y’know.”

Lloyd snorted. “Sure has a funny way of showing it.”

“I’m serious, Lloyd. This is dangerous. Perhaps one of the biggest risks we’ve taken yet. What you said earlier was true- taking risks is part of the job- but that doesn’t mean we can’t be careful. Can’t worry.”

Lloyd sighed. “I know- and I’m not expecting you not to. But sometimes, certain things have to be done, and… you just have to endure the worry for the sake of others.” He eyed her. “Kind of like you’re doing now.”

Nya side-eyed him, and he smiled slightly. “I can tell. You’ve been pacing.”

She breathed out slowly. “You’re right. But that’s not an easy thing to do. Especially for those who love you and care about you very much.”

Lloyd looked down. “Just get it over with.”

“What?”

“He sent you over here to talk me out of it, didn’t he?”

“Technically, yes… but he’s not my team leader. I don’t have to listen to anything he says.”

Lloyd looked up, his brilliant green eyes meeting her much tamer, softer brown ones.

“Why aren’t you going to try to change my mind?”

“Because I know what a stubborn brat you are,” she teased, cuffing him over the head. He shook her off, scowling as he straightened his hair.

“Seriously, though. I wouldn’t be sending you in if I wasn’t certain you were strong enough to handle yourself.”

Relief flooded his expression. “So you get it! Why doesn’t Kai? Why doesn’t he just trust me?”

“He trusts you,” she said firmly, and Lloyd blinked at her, surprised. “He trusts you more than you will ever know.”

“Then why is he so upset about me doing this?”

“Just because you know someone is capable doesn’t mean that you’re not going to worry or fear the worst when they have to do something dangerous. Kai’s a big brother. It’s his job to be overprotective! He’s just trying to look out for you.”

“I’m not a kid anymore. Sometimes I need to look after myself.”

“Kai’s afraid of losing you, Lloyd. He knows you’re strong. He knows you’re capable. He trusts you completely. But bad things can happen to even the best people. He doesn’t want a world without you in it. None of us do.”

Lloyd was silent at that, toeing at the ground with his foot. “I’ll be careful,” he said after a long while.

“You better be.” She reached forward, squeezing his hand. “Just know that he comes from a place of love, okay?”

“Are we going to just stand here all day?” Garmadon snapped, stalking over to him. “Or should I just go without you?”

“No,” Lloyd insisted, wiping at his face with his sleeve. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Garmadon shot a pointed glance at his sword. Lloyd sighed.

“Cole, give him a sword.”

The black ninja grabbed a katana, eyeing the Dark Lord with thinly veiled suspicion. “Are you sure about that?”

Lloyd nodded.

Cole tossed the sword at Garmadon’s feet, and he picked it up, surveying it slowly. The ninja and Pixal watched him apprehensively.

Suddenly, Garmadon was lunging at Cole, and before Nya could react, Kai was screaming at him to look out as he charged Garmadon, the sharp screech of metal sounding as his sword clashed with Garmadon’s. The man pushed past them, running towards Lloyd and Nya, and Lloyd quickly charged up his powers, hands glowing as he held up his fists protectively.

Garmadon darted to the side, wisely avoiding his son’s powers, and Nya blocked him with her spear, pinning him down as she caught him off guard.

Zane’s arrow flew past, and Garmadon rolled out of the way, causing her to lose her grip on him as he shot to his feet again, sending her flying with a sharply delivered kick to the gut.

Nya staggered to her feet, panting, just as Pixal was flung past her. Hurrying over, she helped her friend to her feet, and the two fell into battle stances behind the rest of the crew, who were now watching Garmadon through slitted eyes.

“Try that again!” Cole dared. “Now that I’m ready!”

Garmadon glared at them, raising a fist. Suddenly, it burst into purple flames, and the ninja recoiled, gasping.

His powers are back? How? “That’s better,” Garmadon rasped, grinning. Then, with a running leap, he launched himself off the side of the ship.

There was silence for a moment, before Cole burst out, “Okay, what the heck was that?”

“Conflict fuels him!” Lloyd said, walking forward.

“He was powering up!” Zane agreed.

“He did that just to get his powers back?” Jay cried.

Cole grimaced, marching up to Lloyd. “I. Do. Not. Trust. Him!”

Nya felt her stomach flip. She was starting to regret giving Lloyd that pep talk, now. Sure, she believed in his ability to take care of himself, but… Garmadon had his powers back, now? Lloyd’s powers were nothing to be scoffed at, but… they paled in comparison to Garmadon's. Those powers were what had nearly gotten him killed the last time. What would happen if Garmadon needed to “power up” again? Would he turn on Lloyd? And this time, he wouldn’t have his team to help him.

Seeing the look in her youngest brother’s eyes, Nya suddenly felt the urge to hold him back, and she grabbed his shoulder tightly. “Lloyd. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Lloyd hesitated, gazing at his teammates, who looked back at him with fearful gazes. He bit his lip.

Please say no, please say no, please say-

“No.”

Nya blinked. Well, that was easier than expected-

“But I don’t really have a choice,” he added, and before Nya could react, he was ripping away from her, running across the deck of the Bounty-

And jumping off the side of the ship.

---

“Lloyd!” Nya screamed, and Kai was suddenly pushing his way past her, running to the edge of the ship to peer over the side.

Lloyd was plummeting, down, down, down, until the green of his gi vanished and the Darkness swallowed him up. Kai swore, curling his fingers into the handrail.

The others had joined him, Nya leaning over so desperately that Cole had to pull her back. Unease crackled in the air as they blinked at each other.

“The camera feed!” Zane cried suddenly. “Come on!”

The nindroid hurried towards the monitors, the rest of them not far behind. Kai held his breath as Zane’s fingers flew across the keyboard, until a hazy purple image appeared. Dark, lurking outlines blurred past, as if in motion, until they suddenly slowed, Lloyd’s feet swinging into view.

“He opened his parachute,” Zane breathed.

Jay squinted at the screen, leaning forward. “I can’t see anything… except for that weird, purplish smoke.”

“Wait,” Cole pointed at the shadows, which came into better view as the fog began to thin slightly. “There’s some sort of building there.” He recoiled as something dark slithered across it. “What is that?”

“They look like…” Nya narrowed her eyes. “Tentacles, or something.”

“Eugh! Those are the things that tried to grab me, earlier!” Cole cried.

Kai bit down on his lip, only just stopping himself before he could draw blood. “Be careful, Lloyd.”

After a moment, the ground drifted into view, and Lloyd stumbled to a halt as his feet reached it, releasing his parachute.

As he looked around, the camera turned with his head, and Kai felt himself shudder at the creepy, desolate landscape that had once been their city. It was cruel, how much something could change in only a day.

Lloyd coughed, clearing his throat, and Kai’s attention was drawn back to him, frowning.

“Lloyd? Are you okay?”

There was no response, except for another, heaving cough, and Kai felt his heart drop, turning to Zane. “Can’t he hear us?”

Zane’s eyes flashed, hitting a few things on the control panel. “He should be able to, unless the reception has been blocked already, which frankly, I doubt-”

Lloyd’s hands flew to his mouth as he wheezed, a horrible, strangled sound. He gasped for air, and suddenly he was falling to his knees, the camera flickering.

Kai felt like he was having a heart attack.

“He’s suffocating!” he cried, reaching out and grabbing Nya’s arm, shaking her. “He can’t breathe, I told you this was a horrible idea, we have to get him out of there!”

Nya’s voice trembled. “Hurry, drop the anchor, he needs to get out now!”

“He can’t even stand, how is he going to climb the chain?”

“If he can't, I'll go down and get him.”

“You can’t do that, Kai, you’ll be dead within seconds!”

“What other choice do we-”

“Guys!” Zane cried, breaking over the clamor. “He’s okay now. His breathing has stabilized.”

Kai turned to the screen, seeing that Lloyd had pushed himself to his feet and was walking over to Garmadon. His breathing had stopped the horrible rasping, but it was still too heavy.

Nya slumped against him, rubbing her hands over her face. “This kid’s going to be the end of me.”

“Why is he going away from us?” Kai snapped. “Tell him to get back on the ship!”

Zane blinked at him. “The whole point of the mission is to get the Realm Crystal, is it not?”

“Not at the cost of his life!” “Of course not.” Zane reached forward, squeezing his arm gently. “But he is fine now. Trust me, I will be the first to inform you if his breathing becomes irregular again.”

Kai pulled his hands over his face, screaming into them. “Wake me up when this horrible nightmare is over!”

---

“There’s more to life than surviving!”

Lloyd’s scream made even Garmadon flinch back as the green ninja raced off, vanishing below deck. Kai watched him anxiously, and he felt Nya slip her arm out of his grasp.

“I’m okay, Kai. Go.”

Giving her hand one last squeeze, he ran after Lloyd, shooting Garmadon a fierce glare as he passed.

When he finally found Lloyd, he was in their bedroom, curled up on his bed, crying softly.

Kai sat down next to him, the mattress sagging slightly lower beneath his weight. After a moment of silence, he reached out a hand and began to rub Lloyd’s back gently.

“You were right,” he gasped suddenly. “I should never have left. The plan didn’t even work. It’s my fault, I should’ve been there, I could’ve- I could’ve-”

“Lloyd, you couldn’t have done anything,” Kai insisted, giving up with subtlety and pulling Lloyd against his side. “No one could’ve.”

Lloyd didn’t seem to hear him. “Why did I trust my father, you were right, I never should’ve done that, I was being stupid as always, I thought we could- I thought maybe things would go back, but- no, you tried to warn me, and I was horrible to you-”

“Lloyd, Lloyd stop, breathe,” Kai begged, grabbing his hands and desperately trying to pull them off of his head, where he was digging in his nails. “Stop, please, I don’t care about any of that, I forgave you ages ago.”

Lloyd took a shuddery breath, loosening his hands enough for Kai to move them, and letting his head rest in Kai’s lap. “Ages ago? We just had the argument earlier today.”

“Yeah, well, I’m quick at forgiving.”

Lloyd huffed softly. “No, you’re not.”

“For you I am. That’s what family’s for, right?”

Kai immediately regretted his choice of words as Lloyd flinched. “I mean, true family. The one you chose, not the one you’re related to by blood.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Kai let his breath out slowly, leaning back on the hand that wasn’t wrapped around Lloyd, and paused as it hit against something hard.

Looking back, he saw it was a photo frame. Sucking in his breath, he picked it up.

The glass was cracked, but the picture behind it was perfectly clear. In it, Sensei Garmadon was standing in front of the Monastery, an arm slung around Lloyd. Although their former sensei was standing stiff, as usual, a rare smile was playing on his lips. And Lloyd- Lloyd’s grin was all teeth, his eyes practically sparkling as he gazed at his father. He looked so happy it made Kai’s heart hurt.

“Did you…”

Lloyd looked up as Kai trailed off, pulling himself into more of a sitting position, and his gaze found the photo. His eyes darkened, but he took it from Kai’s hands, anyway. He stared at it for a moment, his face unreadable as he traced his fingers along the cracks, then, suddenly, he was throwing the frame across the room, where it shattered against the floor loudly. A sob caught in his throat, and he wiped at his eyes.

Kai wrapped his arms around him in a hug, noticing as Lloyd flinched, hard, when he squeezed his arm. He made a mental note to make him go to the medbay later, but for now, he didn’t push it.

“Kai?”

“Hm?” “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

“Bud, there’s nothing to be sorry about. We both made mistakes. But it’s over now. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“No,” Kai breathed out, running a hand through his hair as tears stung in his eyes. “You’re right. It’s not.”

Lloyd whimpered, curling closer. “He’s gone, Kai. How can anything ever be okay again?”

“I don’t know, bud. Maybe it won’t be. But you know what? We keep going. Wherever life takes us, we keep on going, and we don’t give up.”

“It’s hard to keep going.”

“Then we just hold on. As tight as we can.”

Lloyd sobbed into the side of his gi, and Kai buried his face in Lloyd’s hair as tears slipped down his cheeks. Never again, was he going to take this for granted. He had already made that mistake with Cole.

And for that, Kai made sure to grip on a little tighter.