#because i was in a really good mood but beyond mentally/physically exhausted

[rnelophobia]

Let Him Apologize

Quoth the Raven “Let him apologize and eat it in a Bentley”

Content: •Oral •Cunnilingus •Vaginal Fingering •Fingerfucking •Smut •Semi-Public •Car sex •Eating out

word count: 1,899

Nanami loathed working overtime for many reasons. The demanding nature of his job made for emotional, mental, and physical exhaustion on a different level than his old office job. Another, more personal reason, was that he wanted any excuse to pick you up after you were finished working. The Jujutsu lifestyle was unpredictable, so spending any chance he could get in your presence was something he’d never take for granted. The uncertainty also led him to be more generous in your relationship, as a result he gave you whatever you desired, for the most part.

“Angel, we can't eat out so often, and you know we have food at home.” Nanami says, eliciting a huff out your mouth; what a parental thing to say. He isn’t wrong, of course, but after a long day at the office you want something quick and easy. It also doesn’t help that you have a nasty habit of hyper focusing on work and neglecting to eat anything of substance. The overall combination of work, along with a lack of solid meals left you in a sour mood at times afterwards.

Today had drawn out even more due to Nanami being held up at work longer than he’d like. He was also your ride back to the apartment you lived in together. So with the lack of knowing the proper time he’d come and the buses running later and later made for a bit of a frustrating wait. While Nanami was good at keeping time, Jujutsu work could be constraining at being able to keep you updated on the fly. It also gave you anxiety on whether he would respond back or if you’d never hear from him again.

Safe to say by the time he arrived you were ready to eat soon, not to say you hated Nanami’s cooking, he was a fantastic cook. Finding a man capable of doing the bare minimum seemed rare nowadays, finding one who excelled and went above and beyond like Nanami, near impossible. Sometimes it felt like you were inadequate in the relationship based on how much Nanami tended to you. Despite what appeared like a stand-offish, unapproachable exterior of a man, was actually one who’s incredibly devoted. Some would say you were spoiled, rightfully assumed. Perhaps that, the late hour, the hunger, and being tired from work would explain why you were currently not engaging with Nanami.

After rejecting the proposal to eat out, you swiftly turned your head away from him to stare out the window. The rational side of you knew it was immature, the stubborn side just wanted a fast meal. Another part of you hated the dread that came along with his line of work, the uncertainty of his life.

Almost immediately after disengaging you feel his firm hand lay on your thigh. It starts with a slow caress from his thumb going up and down the side. After a pat and a slight squeeze you shoot a glance at him as he concentrates on the road ahead. When there’s a red light he finally turns his attention back to you.

“Don’t be like this, I came as soon as I could.” He sighs. There are only so many hours left in the day and he doesn’t want to spend those hours with tension.

“It’s not really the waiting, I just hate worrying and it’s the second time this week.” You confess. The light turns green to turn into the lower parking lot of your apartment. Once Nanami finds a spot he finally shifts his attention back towards you. “I know it’s a joke when you say Jujutsu work is shit but is it worth risking your life for?” You already knew the answer, because Nanami always cherished the lives of his coworkers and students. He slowly brings his palm up to caress your cheek with his thumb.

“I value everyone as if it were you,” He brings your face closer to kiss your forehead, “There is no life beneath my own and death is above no one if I can help it.” Nanami speaks quietly as a kiss to your cheek leads to a peck on the lips. “If I could slow down the days in your presence I would; I’d treasure every second.” The hand on your cheek lowers to the back of your neck to bring you in for a proper kiss. You whimper a bit causing him to deepen it, as if you’d disappear at any moment. The two of you break apart for a second to take a breath as he gently presses his forehead to yours.

“I’ll never be able to get back our lost time but I’ll always make up for it.” He says, the words ghosting over your lips.

How Nanami can sell you on the prospect of his death and turn you on at the same time, you’ll never know. Forgotten is the appetite for anything other than the man in front of you right now. You place your hand on his chest, slowly moving it up his body until you get to his neck where you take hold of his tie. A firm tug on the fabric brings your lips back together with a new urgency. You start to shift the tie around, undoing the knot and move on to unbutton his shirt before he stops your hands.

“I appreciate the love Angel but let’s focus on you first.” He says while leaning over your side to recline and push back the car seat. Once it’s set, he leaves his own seat and moves over to your side to kneel before you on the floor. You prop yourself on your elbows to watch him as he starts peppering kisses from your knee into your inner thighs, alternating between each one. You lift your hips, allowing him to hike up your skirt as he continues on with his show of devotion. Once he gets to your underwear he lazily runs his thumb up and down the clothed part of your slit. It was a pale pink color that started to darken in the middle the deeper he started to massage up and down the length of it.

“A little teasing and I get rewarded like this? Now how will you spoil me?” He smirks as he gives a firm press over where your clit is, causing your hips to arch up into the pressure. He tells you to keep yourself there for a second longer so he can slide your underwear down for you. Once they’re off he places your legs on his shoulders bringing you closer to him. Nanami goes back to lavishing your inner thighs with kisses, giving them a squeeze with his hands. When he gets back to the center he brings his thumb to your slit, slowly parting your lips as he licks his own at the tempting view.

He lowers his head to finally get a taste, his tongue sweeping up lightly to tease you first. You let out a groan of frustration when you note he doesn’t follow through to your clit. Normally you’d go with the flow with anything he does to you sexually but the physical hunger was manifesting into another.

Lowering your hand down into his perfectly styled blonde hair, you grip onto the length as you bring him exactly where you want him. This is one of many things Nanami loves about you, your forwardness turning him on. Your eagerness comes with the reward of having your clit on his tongue and being sucked into his mouth firmly. The action elicits a gasp from your mouth at the sudden spark of pleasure, in doing so he brings his hand to ease in a finger and feels the delicious squeeze of your pussy. Working the finger in time with the pull of his mouth and tongue on your clit causes your thighs to clamp down on the sides of his head. He stops his administration to give you a breathy laugh that brings a full body shiver from the cool air.

“Don’t.” You plead.

“Don’t what? Stop fucking you? I wouldn’t dream of it, you’ve got more to give Angel. Now hold on to your legs for me”. He instructs as he leans back in, giving your slit a kiss before parting your lips with his tongue again. He immediately goes back to giving your clit its rightful attention, lapping at your wetness. Nanami’s tongue trails down towards your hole, dipping in just to tease and taking it back out to play with your clit. After alternating a bit he goes back to slurping at the mess he’s made of your cunt bringing it up once again to suck you into his mouth. This time when he brings his hand back he guides another finger inside, crossing them so he can twist as they thrust inside your pussy. The maneuver draws out a vigorous moan from your mouth, as the grip on your legs tighten.

He picks up the pace, loving the desperate noises falling out your mouth along with the sound of his fingers plunging inside your drenched cunt. He slows down until he’s fully out, which causes a whine to leave your lips at the sudden loss of stimulation. You peer down at him, finding his lustful gaze searing back at you. He brings the fingers he was using up to his lips, sucking them clean, not breaking eye contact.

Before you can plead again, Nanami gives them a swipe of his tongue before thrusting them back into your pussy, causing your mouth to fall open in a gasp. Your head falls back onto the seat as his fingers curve in a bit, stroking your sensitive walls with each push. He picks up the pace, making you clench harder at the force while your mouth chokes out an incomprehensible sound, the feeling overwhelming your senses.

The speed and length of his fingers is sinful as they keep heightening your pleasure, the familiar tightening of your orgasm approaching. Sensing this he brings his mouth back down over your clit, circling his tongue around it before sucking on it again. This shatters you as you feel your orgasm pulse around his ever moving fingers as they keep up the rhythm while pleasure washes through your body. A breath shutters through your mouth as you finally lower your legs, the weight of them feeling heavy after the act. There are aftershocks as he laps up your cum, the overstimulation making you whimper as he finishes. Nanami slips his hand out to suck off again before he begins kneading at your thighs, massaging the life back into them after being propped up for so long.

“Alright my love, let’s fix you up and head inside okay?” Nanami gives your thighs one last squeeze before bringing your skirt back down, not bothering with putting back your underwear on and instead opting to just pocket them for time’s sake. He opens the passenger side door so he can step out before you and presents his hand for you to take. With your hand in his you step out into the parking lot, the night breeze making you more aware of the lack of underwear. You shuffle closer into Nanami causing him to wrap an arm around your shoulder to accommodate.

“Now what would you like to eat, Angel?”

[blucifer08]

rambling about my personal life (positive)

I moved in with my boyfriend in December and every single day I am reminded why I am incredibly lucky to have him. He makes every moment of my life better. He is the most patient and kind person on this planet and I consider myself so lucky to get to be his partner.

I've been going through some mental health issus and lots of really bad mood swings, which isn't uncommon for me, but things at work have been ramping my anxiety and when my anxiety gets bad it seems like the rest of my mental health comes falling like a bunch of dominos knocking into each other. And yet his patience is damn near unending.

I couldn't figure out what I wanted to eat the other day, I just laid in bed and cried and clung to him. We were having a 'fend for yourself' kind of dinner night and for some reason I just had a bit of a mental block and couldn't actually get up and prepare the food, everytime I thought about it I just started freaking out. Couldn't figure out what to eat, despite having plenty of food. And so he hugged me and he kissed me and he got up and he made me something to eat and made sure I ate dessert as well

I am not an easy person to handle emotionally. I have meltdowns often, especially because i have sound sensory issues. Sometimes I get stuck in my brain and relive really traumatic memories from my childhood, and I get stuck for hours paralyzed in fear from things from long ago. And no matter what it is, no matter what's bothering me, he responds with the most pure and gentle kindness I've seen from another human being.

I really just hope I can be somewhat like that for him. I want to make his life as good as possible. I love him so much.

I really, genuinely thought myself incapable of this kind of love. We've known each for many years and we played FFXIV together, and it took until last year for me to become okay with the idea of being romantic with him. What a shame, because i love nothing more in this world than loving him and being loved by him.

I've often found myself repulsed by the idea of love, repulsed by being physically close to other people. It's so strange now, to be filled with such an overwhelming love for someone. And I'm beyond happy that it is him with whom I share love. I adore his curly hair, his stupid shit-eating grin when he's said something dumb as fuck, his eyes, his eyelashes, his eyebrows, his jaw, his hands, the way his voice sounds when he's sleepy, the way he needs to watch youtube when he cooks dinner, the way he bags groceries very specificaly and CLEARLY doesn't like the way i do it lol

I love when we're out and about and he knows the moment I'm starting to get overstimulated. He knows me so well. Last week he came to me and said, "Hey, I hope this is okay but I was offered for us to go to [place that is very nice!] but I figured since we were there last week and you're pretty exhausted, you wouldn't wanna go, so i said no." And he was 100 percent absolutely fucking right. "I figured you'd wanna spend the weekend relaxing around the house." DING DING DING! He knows me so well.

It's so beautiful to love someone like this. I've never felt this way about another person.

He is just so, so, so kind. And understanding. He loves Naru and Erasmia and he encourages me to write and draw whatever I'd like to my heart's content, he encourages me to gpose, even though none of that is anything he's ever done or generally has interest in. He loves my art. He loves me for me. He loves my flaws. He loves me for my flaws, not in spite of them.

He loves me, even when I'm suffering from sensory issues and just curled into a ball covering my face and wishing all sound and light would disappear. He loves me when I'm sobbing and can't tell why. He loves me when I've sunken into old memories and can't find my way out. He loves me when I'm paralyzed in anxiety over something that I should be able to do easily.

I have no clue what it is I did to deserve this man's love but I thank my lucky stars I have him every day when I wake up and see him beside me

[mirrorimage003]

it ends with laughter (chapter 1)

i--uh--don’t know where this came from, but mostly, i really needed to answer the question of “what does law think of nami,” which quickly morphed into “what does law think of the straw hats,” and now i have this lmao. 

Summary: law spends a gratuitous amount of time with the straw hats and no, they are not friends--what would even give you that idea? [post-punk hazard and on]

Rating: K+ (so far)

Pairing: Law/Nami

Genre: Family / Hurt&Comfort / Romance (and just because i know myself so well, there will probably be angst at some point)

Also posted to AO3

It ends with laughter—as things tend to when the Straw Hats are involved.

A party is thrown, rich ale is shared, and countless bodies scatter across the space with cathartic ease. Even the marines find themselves cracking jokes and swaying lightly to the sound of a lively guitar, habitual animosity sliding farther and farther out of their reach in the face of such unexpected camaraderie.

Trafalgar D. Water Law is one exception to the joyous atmosphere. He is, however, not the only exception.

Vice Admiral Smoker sips begrudgingly at the steaming puddle of broth in his bowl, his permanent scowl etching deep lines into his forehead. After their brief conversation—ending in a silent truce neither care to outline—a resigned sort of silence fills the air between them. The two men seem determined to distance themselves from the rambunctious activity around them, eyes narrowed in judgment and twin frowns marring their expressions to ward off any drunken bystander.

Their combined hostility almost works. Most of the pirates and marines catch one glimpse of their foul moods and give them a wide berth, with the giant girl and the Straw Hat’s tiny doctor being the only ones to approach them so far. But even they beat a hasty retreat after Law had reluctantly accepted their peace offering of food.

And yet, Law can’t bring himself to care about the anxiety he gives them when his own crew is miles away and Doflamingo continues to rule from his bloody throne.

Just the thought of the man’s heinous smile is enough to make his blood boil. The churning bitterness is a good reminder that he’s not here to make friends.

“Smo—” As if summoned by his line of thinking, a hand comes flying in from his peripheral, rocketing past the tip of Law’s nose and burying itself in the collar of the older man sitting beside him, “—key!”

There’s a split second where Law locks eyes with Smoker, a mirror image of his own shock, before the rest of Luffy’s body comes sailing after his fist. The marine seems to gather his senses seconds before impact, his form erupting in a thick cloud of smoke that sends the young captain barreling straight through into a pile of snow.

Unfortunately, this does nothing to dampen the boy’s cheerful mood, and he merely bounces back to his feet to beg Smoker to ‘please please please join them for a song—it’s a really good one, I promise—have you heard of Bink’s Brew?’

Physically exhausted and mentally at the end of his rope, Law takes this as his cue to find a new hiding spot. Preferably somewhere far, far away from the Straw Hat’s captain. He quietly crunches his way through the fresh snow, swerving several times to avoid being splashed with beer from careless soldiers or elbowed in the face by dancing partygoers. How any of them have the energy to celebrate after the events of the last few days is beyond him.

He finds a semi-peaceful spot close to the fire but away from the drunken adults and settles down with his back against a crate full of supplies. Fully intending to drift off and sleep to pass the time, he crosses his arms and closes his eyes, attempting to tune out the sounds of revelry before him.

“I found her! I found her!”

“No, this one’s her!”

“Ah, over here!”

His eyebrow ticks at the sound of childish giggles and the pattering of feet. Someone stumbles over his long legs in their haste, not even bothering to apologize. Irritated, he finally cracks one eye open to see what all the fuss is about, only to furrow his brow in confusion.

There are copies of the Straw Hat’s navigator everywhere.

Some are clearly warped—her figure altered to be shorter, rounder, straighter—but others are nearly identical to the woman herself, and Law scrutinizes them closely from under the brim of his hat. How…how is that possible?

The children they’d rescued from Caesar’s clutches run around gleefully, their hands outstretched to chase after the various doubles and catch the real one. But over and over, their grubby little paws pass completely through her body, disrupting the copy until it fizzles into nothing.

The long-nosed sniper stands amidst the chaos, a wide grin stretched across his face as he purposefully misleads the children with an ‘aha! that’s her real hair, i’m sure of it!’ or a ‘hurry, she’s hijacking Franky Tank!’

He hears a melodic laugh to his right and startles a bit, though he tries to play it off. When he looks up, she’s there (the real her, he’s pretty sure), half-hiding behind the crate he’s leaned against with a knowing look in her eye.

He expects her to say something, to attempt conversation with him the way she would with her own crew. However, she only gives him a wink and then returns her attention to the silly game she’s engaged all the children in. After a moment, Law follows suit, content to sit by her as long as she’s quiet.

When he looks back, Usopp has successfully wrangled Franky into the fray, the two of them chasing the children while a Nami-clone stands atop the robot’s tank and orders them around with gestures befitting a dictator.

“YOW. Lord Nami has overtaken my super brain! Prepare for total annihilation!” The large man rolls around the fire, scooping wayward children up into his arms two at a time and holding them captive in his lap. They belly laugh as he twirls them around, tossing them into the air only to catch them once again.

Usopp skids to a halt and puffs out his chest, his goggles tightly in place as he points a thumb at his chest and declares, “Have no fear—Pirate King Usopp is here to save you!”

He quickly loads a snowball into his slingshot and pelts it straight at the robot’s face. Franky freezes, wheels coming to a hard stop as the clump of snow sticks to the cold metal of his nose. His round eyes narrow into slivers and he raises his massive hand to point directly at the sniper.

“My minions—charge!”

And then, suddenly, the space is filled with snowballs being flung left and right. The initial game of hide and seek is quickly forgotten as a snowball flies straight through the remaining clone, dispersing it into the atmosphere.

Law moves his head sharply to the side as one smacks straight into the side of the crate where his face had been. He clicks his tongue in annoyance and moves to brush off the debris on his shoulder when a second projectile hits him square on the chest.

Determined to find some peace amidst the idiocy of it all, he stands to begin the search for a new place of refuge. The sound of a suppressed giggle stops him in his tracks, and he turns to give her a dark glare.

She only laughs louder, undaunted by his moodiness, and pushes off the crate to join the rowdy group.

As she passes by, she waves a hand and says, “Luffy’s finishing the leftovers from Sanji-kun’s dinner.”

He blinks for a moment, confused, then relaxes as he realizes what she’s really saying. The other captain will be too preoccupied with gorging himself on food to bother him for the time being. He debates thanking her, but she’s already walked off to join Usopp and Franky, one hand spinning her baton over and over.

For whatever reason, Law hesitates, observing the odd trio as they continue to humor the children. While being far from the wildest thing he’s seen pirates do, it certainly isn’t normal behavior for a group of high-seas criminals.

Despite what the Straw Hats had originally accused him of, Law never approved of Caesar’s schemes for the kids—but he also hadn’t planned on ever addressing the issue himself. It was simply an unfortunate circumstance, a moral blip on his radar.

He studies the three crew members. He notices their gentle hands and soft smiles—their attentive eyes watching carefully for any sign of tears or pain—the way they shake off their own exhaustion for the sole purpose of bringing thirty-minutes of joy to a few dozen children.

Law has a quick mind—one that rarely rests—and before he can even attempt to stop it, the correlation is made and a picture of Corazon flashes across his mind’s eye.

A familiar sensation stings the corners of his eyes, but he only blinks hard once, twice, and resolutely turns away from the merry scene.

He thinks that—just maybe—he’s in way over his head.

____________________

[miguenhasthoughts]

07/07

How long has it been? Emotional turmoil has been a stranger recently and I have been more lost in familiar motions. The summer heat has been most opposed to my good mood. It surprises me when people want to go out in this blistering heat if they don’t have to. Though I say that about the storms in the winter… maybe I am projecting my preferred hermit lifestyle onto others.

I have been more active in this summer than those of years past. I’ve been going out to get drinks, dressing up, going out to the water, roller skating of all things. So maybe I’m not the hermit I aspire to be. I’m trying to challenge myself this year to be more proactive in things in my life. Financially it has been hard. And I feel winded at times by that aspect. This year I’m trying to focus on my mental health, despite the looming threats by the powers that be. God I hate this country. I just want a roof over my head with AC, to love who I love and to be who I am out in public. To get the healthcare I deserve and just live a fulfilling life. The world is so cruel. I guess saying the heat is my only enemy currently is another contradiction when this year is burdening everyone in this country with a fucked up choice. I just want to wear a sundress and feel the wind on my skin.

Despite the awful start to this year we have upsides. I have a girlfriend! I should say partner but she views me as her girlfriend and it is so validating to be in a lesbian relationship. She so sweet with a big heart and is really crafty and creative. I’ve never met such a reliable problem solver. She is also really emotionally intelligent that I respect the hell of.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t aware of the damage my last break up did to me. I still get insecure that I’m missing something and they will leave me without a word. All of my abandonment issues came rushing back when Micah ghosted me. Whenever I get the feeling of insecurity I have been addressing in by talking my anxiety down and trying to rationalize every assumption. It is exhausting and it tears me up. If May and I do break up I just want to make sure they are better than when we found each other. That we built each other up and if we ever found ourselves on separate paths that it was amicable.

Maybe it is because Micah has a birthday coming up and that is why they happen to be on my mind. They haven’t been for weeks. Yet I still feel a form of guilt that our relationship probably took a toll on their health and the cost of seeing me was grander than the enjoyment of the relationship. I never wanted them to be burdened by the relationship and I still wish there was closure.

Navigating my relationship with Sam has been complex. With my low libido and low amounts of time, it is hard to show physical affection and I worry that emotional and social affection isn’t enough for them. Or at least it activates their insecurities where they think I am disinterested. Which I admit is fair, without the intimacy it does feel like we are just going through the motions as roommates that sleep in the same bed and share a car and pets. We have our own activities and even spending time 1 on 1 isn’t always viable each week. I have been putting in effort to appease those needs that I know they have but I am sure it is noticeably forced. Beyond that we are good tho. We don’t argue or fight, we are just in a rut with each other.

On the other side of the coin Sam has been spending more time with their partner Barry. And I think his age and maturity is becoming more apparent for Sam. He comes from a neglectful home and hasn’t had a healthy social life growing up. These situations happen and he shouldn’t have to feel insecure about but Sam has been getting increasingly frustrated when they are showing Barry the give and pull of relationships require Barry would rather bury his head in the sand and hide behind his trauma then working on himself if it’d help the relationship. Which to me sounds about right for a young white man who is barely in his twenties. Not saying he won’t grow out of it or even that it’s the issue but it is part of growing pains that I am too sure if Sam has the patience for. It’s been interesting trying to play defense for Barry while also validating Sam’s emotions to make sure they both have a healthy outcome from their current spats.

[sunflowerthiefsunny]

I have never been happier to wake up in excruciating pain. I thought I was having a depression episode but turns out it's just a pain flare, which sucks so bad but is so much more manageable for me right now.

[bratdykebarbie]

I know I post about sex with my girlfriend pretty regularly

but I wanna give y’all this post too, just in case anyone thinks it’s always like that 😅

yesterday we were messing around, she was using the magic wand on me and like it felt good but I just couldn’t get past that point

mentally I kept drifting and physically neither of us could get the right spot or rhythm or anything

and finally I was exhausted and sore and said “I can’t”

which sucks, because not only is it frustrating for me, I know it’s a little disappointing for her—not that she expects anything of that nature from me, ever, but obviously it’s disappointing to A) not be able to help your partner finish and B) not get to finish yourself

and I tend to have a big mood crash when I get that worked up but can’t finish

but the really important thing is—she never pressures me beyond what I can handle, she never guilts me or makes me feel obligated to continue, she never makes me feel like I owe her or I’ve let her down

so we stopped, and she grabbed a towel and gave me my underwear to put back on, and she laid down in bed next to me and wrapped her arm around me and pulled me close to her

the whole time just saying softly “you’re okay, I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’m here”

and I was able to just lie there and feel safe and secure and not have a full-on freak out 😭

I love her so goddamn much it’s unreal y’all, almost an entire year that she’s put up with my shenanigans 🥰

but yeah I just wanted to share that with y’all and let you all know that it’s okay if these things happen. It’s okay if you can’t finish, it’s okay if you get worn out, it’s okay if you need to stop for ANY REASON and a decent person will respect that, especially if the person is your partner. but no matter who you’re having sex with or what the dynamic is between you two, they need to respect and honor your boundaries and limits, just as you would respect theirs.

be safe, y’all, and don’t fuck with anyone who doesn’t respect you! (unless you have consensually agreed to be disrespected 😘)

[thegracelessfaceless]

Heya, how are you? Do you have any Hcs for Ticci Toby that you won't mind sharing? Thank you and hope your day is going well

I'm doing good, @anonymousstinkkat001 , looking to get back on the writing horse again. I hope these are good. I wasn't sure exactly what kind of hc's you wanted, so I have general, then as an SO 🧡

Tobias Andrew Adams Headcanons

(I write for Tobias Adams over Tobias Rogers because of all of the controversy involving Tobes. In my mind, they are the same, and my idea of Toby is a bit different.)

Tobias Andrew Adams was born April 27, 1990. He is 31 years old.

In light of recent fan art I've seen, Toby has a small man bun (If anyone saved that picture or you drew it, could you tag me in it?) (Edit: I found the pic but still don't know who made it. Help?)

He's about 6'0" tall, 6'1" in shoes.

I hate to tell you guys this, but he hates waffles. Waffles remind him of all the times his mother tried to pretend everything was okay, when it wasn't.

If Toby even bothers eating breakfast, it's probably going to be bacon or sausage and eggs with toast and apple juice, no less, no more.

Toby is a pretty quiet guy. He's got a lot going on in his head. Missions for Slenderman, his schizophrenia, post traumatic stress disorder from all the years of abuse and mental terror at the hands of his stepfather... Yeah, there's just a lot going on up there.

Toby's a pretty dualistic person. If you're a close friend, his SO, part of his found family, Toby is a healthy mix of serious and his own personal mix of goofy but dry humor. Expect dad jokes.

"The best advice I was ever given is: 'In life, there are three things you should never turn down. Candy. A woman. And bacon.' Two out of three ain't bad."

"I like my coffee like I like my metal. Black."

If you're not part of "Toby's world" (his inner circle) expect him to be kind of a jerk. He's an asshole, but he's our asshole.

His relationship with Masky and Hoodie is like watching a dad and a big brother deal with a younger sibling

A mix of love and patience, and tired-beyond-their-wits-end annoyance.

Toby says that Jane is like a sister to him. They spent a few years keeping each other alive when Zalgo took over the town where Jane was from, which coincidentally is where proxies safely live and interact

He used to be like brothers with Jeff, and Slenderman offered Jeff a proxy position, but Jeff turned it down. No one tells Jeff what to do, not even Jeff.

Works really hard to suppress his tics while on missions. Unfortunately, this exhausts him so he's a little short while working.

As a SO:

Toby's love language is physical touch, so if you don't like being touched a lot, Toby isn't the one for you.

He's not overwhelming with it. Just a thigh squeeze here, brushing his scarred fingers across your knuckles when he hands you something, forehead kisses, etc.

Something special between the two of you are your daily sparring practices. He always goes easy on you, likes teaching you things, and it makes him feel good knowing that he's taught you to defend yourself well.

He also really enjoys taking you on nature walks. None of the other proxies know, but the two of you have taken up bird watching after discovering that there was a pair of owls that live in the surrounding 10 mile radius.

Can't go on missions with you. He gets too concerned for your safety and accidentally leaves himself vulnerable trying to protect you. After it almost got him killed one time, Slenderman finally stepped in and sends you and him on separate missions now.

He misses you pretty badly when you're gone and lets it effect his mood in the worst way.

He's moody, snarky, standoffish and his kills are exponentially more brutal.

The only person who can deal with him when you're gone is Jane. She gives him a good shaking every once in a while to snap him out of it, but it never lasts long. The only thing that can make it better is you being back.

Once you're home, he's not gonna want to leave you alone for a while. He'll go wherever you go, within limits, until he feels he's spent enough time with you to make up for when you two were apart.

He gives you little gifts; things he's found while in town, a cool rock he found while monitoring a target, the first rose he sees in the summer time, a leaf that had turned really pretty colors during autumn

Is trying to talk Slenderman into letting the two of you have a pet, maybe a stray he finds (cat or dog), or a lizard he caught. He's not been successful so far, but he thinks he'll crack Slendy any day now

[missmentelle]

How do I know if I'm burnt out and what are signs of being burnt out? In relation to both university and work?

Unfortunately, burnout is a very common problem among both university students and people in high-stress jobs. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, “burnout” is effectively where people reach a breaking point after being in a high-stress occupation (like a demanding academic program or a high-pressure career) for too long. Being “burnt out” is not an official diagnosis, and you won’t find it in the ICD-11 or the DSM-V. But it’s something that an increasing number of people are experiencing every year.

Not everyone is at equal risk of experiencing burnout - many students and workers never really deal with this. Factors that put you at high risk of burnout include:

Having poor work-life balance. If you spend huge portions of your time working - working through weekends, doing tons of overtime, working late, not taking vacation, working through lunch - you are at high risk of burnout. Humans need rest, relaxation, hobbies and time with friends, and when you sacrifice those things for work, it will eventually take a toll.

Having very little control over your day-to-day tasks. No one has perfect control over their daily work tasks - not even the self-employed - but having some element of control is important. If you have a say in things like when to schedule meetings, when to book client appointments and which task you are going to work on when, you have a lower risk of burnout than someone whose tasks tend to just be dictated to them. 

Having perfectionist traits or holding yourself to very high standards. People who experience burnout tend to be overachievers. They constantly try to go above and beyond because they put immense pressure on themselves to do their best work at all times. If you’re the kind of person who beats yourself up over getting an A- instead of an A and makes a point to be the last one out of the office every day, you are at risk of burnout. 

Having a dysfunctional work or school environment. Is your workplace plagued with bullies and office gossip? Do your lab members take pleasure in ripping each other’s research and writing to shreds, without really being constructive about it? Does your boss take their bad moods out on the rest of the office, even when you haven’t done anything wrong? A dysfunctional workplace creates burned-out employees.

Having unclear instructions or directions. It is extremely difficult to be in a work environment where you are expected to do be productive, but you aren’t given clear expectations, a clear list of tasks or instructions for how those tasks should actually be performed. It leaves you constantly feeling like your work isn’t good enough and isn’t done properly, without actually giving you a route to improve; you often end up working twice as hard to get half as much done, which is a recipe for burnout. 

Working in a helping profession. Nurses, social workers, therapists, paramedics, psychologists, caregivers and caseworkers have some of the highest burnout rates of any profession. These jobs often combine long hours and low pay with incredibly stressful work environments, and burnout is a huge problem. 

Burnout is more than just feeling tired or bored of what you do. It’s a state of complete and total exhaustion. Putting more energy into your job isn’t possible when you reach that point - you have nothing left to give. “Burnout” isn’t an official diagnosis, but it is a fitting description - trying to push through burnout is like trying to re-light a candle that has already burned all the way down to the bottom. It’s just not going to happen. 

Some signs that you’ve reached the point of burnout include:

Your performance is suffering. You can’t keep going full steam ahead when you’re running on fumes. When you’re burnt out, your work performance will one of the first things that starts to slip - you may find that you are missing deadlines, forgetting things, half-assing tasks and making careless mistakes.  

You constantly feel drained. Burnout is a perpetual state of exhaustion. You’ll start to feel like you just don’t have the energy to do everything that you’re supposed to do. You’ll find that you feel tired all the time, regardless of your sleeping habits, and that just forcing yourself to do the bare minimum leaves you feeling totally depleted and unable to do much else. 

You feel disconnected and cynical toward your work. Even if you once enjoyed your work or felt passionate about it, when you’re burnt out, you become disillusioned with what you do. You may find that you’re cynical about your work, or just so apathetic that you can’t bring yourself to care about it anymore, even when you accomplish things that once mattered to you. 

You can’t concentrate. Burnout can make it difficult - if not impossible - for even the most dedicated person to focus on their tasks. You might find that you spend a lot of time just sitting in front of your computer, unable to even start tasks because you can’t focus well enough to begin something. 

You have become irritable and short-tempered. People who are burnt out have a tendency to become impatient with the people around them. When you’re running on empty, you have no energy left for social interactions. You might find that you’re snapping at coworkers or getting visibly frustrated with clients if you work in a helping profession. 

You feel anxious. Burnout is often accompanied by feelings of indistinct dread that you just can’t seem to shake. The fear and anxiety is often tied to work, and can be completely overwhelming. 

You can’t sleep. Ironically, people with burnout often have a hard time sleeping. Their minds race all night, and they find that they cannot settle down or get comfortable enough to drift off. If you can sleep, you may find that you are only able to sleep in short bursts and cannot sleep through a full night. 

Your eating habits have changed. Some people experiencing burnout find that they lose their appetites. Others find that they begin to comfort themselves with food. Significant changes in appetite and food intake can signal a serious problem. 

You feel physically ill. Being under high amounts of stress for long periods of time can destroy your health - you might find that you have a lot of symptoms with no direct physical cause, like headaches, stomach pain, nausea and body aches. You might also find that you get sick more often and get more infections as the stress wears down your immune system. 

You feel like you have to drag yourself through the day. Even if you once enjoyed your job or your school, you might start to feel like even showing up is a huge chore, and dread having to go in. You might find that it takes all of your energy to even make it through the front door each day. 

The good news is that burnout is not a permanent state; there are things you can do to recover. However, recovering from burnout is not necessarily easy - this is not something you can quick-fix with a self-help book, and you may need to make significant lifestyle changes. Some things you can do to fix or prevent burnout include:

Set firm boundaries. If possible, stop taking work home. Stop signing up for extra shifts and overtime every time it’s available. Don’t volunteer to organize every single office party and baby shower. Stop answering work emails after 5pm. Don’t check your email on the weekends. Don’t respond to emails on vacation. Set firm boundaries between “work time” and “me time” - especially if you work from home, where it’s easier for work and life to bleed together. 

Use every minute of your paid time off. A lot of people just don’t use up all their PTO every year because they’re worried they’re letting the company down by taking vacation. Stop that. If you have vacation days, use them. Use your sick time too - if you don’t get sick that often, use them as mental health days. If you’re a student, ask professors for extensions when you’re sick - more and more professors are getting on board with cutting students some slack for life events. 

Unplug from productivity culture. Our culture has a pathological obsession with productivity, and it’s killing us. We consume books and blogs and podcasts about how to squeeze as much productivity out of ourselves as possible. It has to stop. Unsubscribe from this kind of content. You don’t need to put more pressure on yourself to optimize and monetize every second of your day - it’s not healthy. 

Seek support. Talk to a therapist, a doctor or a friend. Get professional help or just find people you can vent to. Try to form friendships with some of your coworkers or fellow students, especially if you work in the helping professions - they know better than anyone what you are going through. 

Prioritize your physical health. When you neglect your physical health, you are more likely to burn out - you run out of fuel faster when you have less in the tank to begin with. Prioritize eating healthy meals and getting all the nutrients you need. Make a habit of exercising. Practice good sleep hygiene and try to improve your sleep. 

Talk to your supervisor, advisor or boss. Are there things about your specific work or school environment that could be improved for you? Could you be transferred to a new team? Do your roles and responsibilities need to be clarified so you know exactly what is expected of you? Do you need additional training to do your job well? Are you dealing with harassment that could be reported to HR? See what can be fixed. 

Consider a change. Sometimes you just need a change of pace after a while. Many social workers, for instance, eventually leave the profession - a lot of people simply have a lifetime limit on how long they can do that kind of work before they need to switch to something that doesn’t involve human horror every day. If burnout is a consistent problem, it might be time to think about taking a leave of absence, changing to a different role, or switching careers altogether. 

Hope this answers your question! MM

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH59

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 59: Purgatory Reunion (XI)

Burst brains mixed with dirty blood and flowed across the floor, filling the air with the disgusting scent of blood.

Ning Zhou was standing in the pool of blood, his dull expression unchanging.

He hadn’t actually done anything. What he did was to tear Mrs Kathleen’s enchantment with the Sword of Judgment, and then stand in the same place and shock this group of lower demons with his influence. However, under the oppressive feeling of terror, the demonic power in this group of lower demons became disordered, and the lower demons who couldn't control their demonic power had their heads blow up one after another like inflated balloons.

Bodies with destroyed heads fell to the ground, and blood was still streaming from the incomplete skulls. The brains and blood splashed everywhere on the ground, on the walls, and on the sofa, making this originally neat reception room like a slaughterhouse.

Mrs Kathleen was still kneeling on the ground, shivering and afraid to look up at all. Now she only hoped to save her life.

This bloody scene shocked Qi Leren.

Although he had confidence before and he felt that Ning Zhou should be able to handle this barrier, he had not expected...

Standing in the pool of blood, Ning Zhou was like a Devil King who had just come into this world. His eyes emptily looked ahead, but his sight seemed to have penetrated the wall and looked toward an unknown place. He never said a word, and remained as silent as ever. This bloody silence left a trace of gloom on his handsome face, which also made Qi Leren keenly capture his emotion—Ning Zhou was not happy.

Even his heart was in pain.

This kind of power was a kind of torture for him.

Even if he was delivering justice with the evil power, he was not happy. Because this kind of power perpetually lured him into the abyss of sin.

"Let's go and hand her over to the people from the Courthouse," Qi Leren whispered, stepping forward and touching Ning Zhou’s arm.

Ning Zhou recovered from his long silence and nodded his head.

Their entire journey back was silent. Qi Leren contacted Celia, the Trial Court’s contact person in Ant City. Celia brought people to take away Mrs Kathleen and her companions, and asked about the informant who had come to investigate before. Fortunately, this informant was still alive, but he was locked in a private prison and had suffered a lot of injustices.

The gambler who had claimed to have seen the Illusionist was dead, and died because of his high gambling debts. As Qi Leren and Ning Zhou had seen in this underground casino, it was even worse than that. All the useful parts of his body were removed, and even the blood was drained clean.

So for the time being, they couldn't figure out why the Illusionist had come here.

After returning to the Court’s stronghold in the Underground Ant City, Qi Leren talked with the contact Celia about the current situation, intending to take Ning Zhou back to the Village of Dusk after confirming the Illusionist’s safety.

Under the working conditions, the contact Celia was a very capable woman, who worked in perfect order and could handle the subsequent troubles of this underground casino despite having a shortage in manpower. Although she was obviously curious about the relationship between Qi Leren and Ning Zhou, she didn't ask a word about the things she shouldn't ask, and turned a blind eye to the two people holding hands all the time.

"This underground casino is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the Underground Ant City’s filth. Gambling, prostitution, and drugs in the lower city form a huge interest chain, and there are some higher demons standing behind them. For them, the humans and lower demons here are just slaves without brands." Celia frowned in disgust. "This Dragon Ant Queen is too careless in managing this place."

"What are these people thinking when they’re gambling?" Qi Leren couldn't understand it at all.

"They’re dominated by greedy desires and... greedy witches." Celia said, "As far as I know, the behind-the-scenes owners of most underground casinos here are Witches of Greed, just as the owners of brothels are mostly Witches of Lust, and this is also the arena where they compete for power."

Qi Leren seems to understand, but his understanding of "forces" had not jumped out of the concept that ordinary human beings could grasp. Even though he had broken his shell and even touched a higher level, he had not condensed a half-field after all, and he still had little knowledge of his "rebirth" force. When things here were over, he would have to ask Chen Baiqi and the Prophet when he returned to the Village of Dusk.

Celia added, "The letter of request has been sent, but I'm afraid it will be another week until the Court replies."

"All right, let's wait another week." Qi Leren thought about the Illusionist’s safety and decided to stay for one more week. Anyway, now that Ning Zhou had been found, he wasn’t in a hurry.

It was settled. Celia skillfully commanded the staff to interrogate Mrs Kathleen. Sitting on the sofa, Qi Leren suddenly thought of something: "Remember to ask her where the subordinate who came to the Underground Ant City with her is now."

Qi Leren had a subtle intuition that he couldn’t speak of; it was always right to be vigilant.

Celia looked through Mrs Kathleen's information. "Okay, I'll have this added to the interrogation. Take a rest first. I’ve prepared the room for you."

The room was a private suite with two bedrooms separated by a wall. The shared living room also had a beautiful small terrace where you can see the Underground Ant City’s underground river. Judging from the arrangement of the room, the Ant City’s contact person was a very careful and cautious person, and has a smooth integrity.

Qi Leren's spirit had been overloaded recently, but the compulsory monthly task had been put off until it couldn't be put off any longer. So after dinner, he greeted Ning Zhou and went to do this month's compulsory task—for a person who has already glimpsed his original force, the compulsory task of a novice was really too simple to mention.

It was only ten o'clock in the evening after completing this month's compulsory task. Qi Leren, who was exhausted physically and mentally, thought he could have a good night's sleep. However, he was haunted by nightmares, and various death scenes appeared in his dreams over and over again, forcing him to relive the tragic deaths again and again. After experiencing the Star Death Reality Show copy, he had experienced some new ways of dying. The horrible laser net was really a psychological shadow, and finally there was the fall into the deep glacier when he had fought Leviathan, which worsened how horrifying his nightmares were.

Amidst the weightlessness of the fall and the severe pain of his nerves, Qi Leren suddenly sat up from the bed and gasped. When he came to, his back was soaked with cold sweat, and his temples were still throbbing with the same frequency as his heartbeat, bringing a spasm of pain each time.

Qi Leren took the water cup at the head of the bed and drank half a cup of cold water, which made him calm down from his extreme panic.

It's no use. I'm going to lose sleep again.

Qi Leren took out the sleeping pills he had brought with him, but the pills stopped before they reached his mouth.

It wasn’t a good thing to sleep by taking medicine, so he shouldn't do it unless he had to. Qi Leren swallowed the temptation of taking medicine and getting a good night's sleep, got out of bed in exhaustion, and prepared to go to the balcony to smoke, relieve his mood, and slowly adjust himself to sleep.

Opening the bedroom door, ahead of him was the living room with no lights on, and beyond the living room was the open terrace. There was a figure standing behind the curtains blown by the night wind, standing on the terrace with his back to him.

Hearing the sound of the door opening, Ning Zhou looked back and met Qi Leren's eyes.

Both of them didn't speak. In this gentle evening breeze, the unexpected encounter in the middle of the night was as beautiful as an otherworldly dream.

Qi Leren trotted over and stood beside Ning Zhou, watching the underground river in the distance. There were several boats with lights floating on the river’s calm waves, and the surrounding streets were lit with streetlights. Sparse pedestrians walked along them, humans and demons alike. They walked silently on their own roads and were indifferent to everything around them.

But Qi Leren cared. He thought of the silent man beside him, and he could feel his inner unrest.

"Let’s talk," Qi Leren said to him.

"Talk about what?" Ning Zhou asked him.

"Anything will do." After Qi Leren finished saying this, he felt that he had not fulfilled his responsibility to guide the conversation, and started a temporary topic. "After I was resurrected, I saw your mother, Ms. Maria."

Seeing Ning Zhou's eyes focus, Qi Leren considered his words and said: "Later, I happened to learn some things about her and the Devil of Destruction... Speaking of which, had she never mentioned it to you before?"

Ning Zhou shook his head: "She chose to send me to Neverland, so that I wouldn’t find out."

Perhaps the Holy Nun had already foreseen such a cruel possibility, that one day she and the Destroyer’s child would follow the same path as his father, so she cut off this path from the beginning and guided him to condense a half-field that would incompatible with his original force by way of the Holy See. If there hadn’t been the accident of meeting Qi Leren, Ning Zhou would have walked on the clouds all his life, and he would have fought with demons and finished his life with inner peace and contentment.

"She didn't really hate him," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren could vaguely feel it.

"She said that he was a lost man." Ning Zhou watched the distant lights, which were reflected in his eyes. The ethereal flickering lights became spirited in his beautiful eyes. The light generated from pain and despair lit up his soul.

Qi Leren was almost stunned. He suddenly wanted to kiss his beautiful blue eyes.

"Maybe one day, I will become lost like him, and step by step go down the path of destruction. If that day comes... it will be enough for me alone to be in Hell," Ning Zhou said quietly. At this moment, he suddenly felt something called "fate", which was once cruel, and would only become even crueler.

Qi Leren, who was in a daze, asked him, "What about me?"

Ning Zhou looked at him and whispered, "I hope you can always stand in the sun."

Qi Leren's throat tightened, and the lights in front of him suddenly blurred. Always, this person always tried every means to protect him and the world. He was too gentle and kind. The world treated him so cruelly, but he didn't know what resentment was and didn't want to lash out. Even if one day he fell into Hell, he didn't want to take anyone with him, even the one he loved.

He would rather bear the pain and loneliness alone, and go to ruin silently.

"Then I’ll tell you, I don't want to," Qi Leren choked up and said.

As Ning Zhou was stunned, Qi Leren hugged him.

"You listen up: I don't care if you are a human being or a demon, or if your force is destruction or something else. I don't care if I stand in the sun. Only you, Ning Zhou, only you are something I must not lose, do you understand?"

Ning Zhou didn't answer. He hesitated, wrapped his arms around Qi Leren gently and carefully, and felt the people in his arms embrace him harder, so he hugged him too.

It was like holding the only salvation in the world.

-----

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[kookicat]

Consequences That He Renders

He's shaking hard enough for her to feel, fine tremors running through his hands, his arms and it's freaking her out because as a rule, Eliot Spencer isn't a man who shakes. The last time she'd seen it was after a job went majorly, horribly bad, when he'd been so battered and bruised and bloody they'd actually managed to get him to visit a hospital. It's too dark in the car to get a proper look at his face, but the streetlights offer glimpses and she'd swear on a stack of hundred dollar bills that he's pale, eyes shadowed, gaze fixed at some point miles past the glass. 

The car hits a pothole, hard, and he grunts, lip curling, one hand creeping up to cup his left shoulder. It's the one he favours first, some nagging remains of an old injury, and it makes the tension in her stomach curl a bit tighter, like a snake burrowing into the sand for the night. She's a thief; she's trained to notice the smallest detail because it can be a matter of life and death if she misses something. Another piece of the mental jigsaw she's building clicks into place when he shifts, jaw tightening as some sore spot somewhere presses against the seat. 

"Eliot," she starts, resisting the urge to poke him, to see how badly he's hurt this time in favour of leaning over a little. 

"Parker," he says, voice hoarse with exhaustion, and turns towards her. He can't quite meet her eyes. Another piece. Something bad happened. She's not great with emotions but she's learning. It's not shame on his face, but sorrow. 

"Are you okay?" She gives into the urge and presses her hand against his arm, half expecting him to move away. 

He doesn't, just blinks tiredly at her and dredges up a weak smile. "I'm fine," he says and she lets the lie slide because she knows he's not fine at all. 

"What happened, at the warehouse?" She keeps her eyes on his face, seeing a flicker of something before he shoves it down deep. 

"I did my job. Got Nate and his Italian friend out of there." As he says the words, voice flat, the smell of cordite floods his nose, thick and bitter and choking. He can feel the weight of the guns in his hands, feel the shock of the recoil burning up his wrists as he takes the next target out. As he kills the next man, the voice in the back of his head mocks. 

It had felt clear and clean in the moment, the kind of clarity only found at the right end of a gun but he's reeling, because he stepped into the kill box and didn't expect to walk back out. His life for his team's, a fair and more than even trade. He'd do it again in a heartbeat, but after the fact, he's not quite sure how he managed to survive. 

"Oh," she says, voice so small, it makes him really look at her. There's a pensive frown between her eyebrows that he longs to wipe away but his hands aren't clean and he doesn't want to stain her. She needs a distraction, and he inadvertently gives her one when the car hits another bump, forcing another soft grunt out of him. 

He's wrenched his back and bad shoulder all to hell and he's pretty sure that both knees are skinned raw from his slide. There's a low grade throb in both hands that he knows will evolve into a full on ache before too much longer. He knows guns, but he rarely uses them and he's paying the price. 

"I thought you said you were okay!" She reaches for him, and he wards her off with one arm, biting the inside of his lip when she grabs his arm right over a growing bruise. 

"I've had worse," he says, and it's true. He's pretty sure nothing is broken. He's just sore all over, abused muscles aching but it's not life threatening, just enough to make him miserable. 

Something in her eyes shifts and she blinks, hard, hand tightening a little on his arm. He expects her to speak, but she just presses her lips together and leans against him gently, staying there until the car stops.

Hardison looks up from his laptop, taking in the scene with a sweep of his eyes, and gets out, coming round to open the door. Parker slides out of the other side and Eliot realises with a jolt they're all waiting for him, even Sophie and Nate.

It's going to take him a moment to get out and he'd really rather not have an audience for the performance. 

"I'll catch up," he says and holds his hand out for the keys. 

Parker snatches them from Nate. "We'll catch up," she says, giving Hardison a meaningful glance. 

Sophie catches on and takes Nate's arm, tugging him towards the hotel entrance, casting a worried glance back at the car as she goes. 

Eliot gets a good look at his friends’ faces and chokes back a sigh. They're going nowhere at least not without an argument, and he just doesn't have the energy for it right now. He swings his legs out of the car, pausing for a moment when his back spasms, then forces himself to stand. Being upright hurts, the long muscles in his abs tight and sore, back aching. The shootout ran him through the wringer and the aftereffects are starting to kick in. 

"Come on, man," Hardison says and leans past Eliot to slam the car door. One hand lifts like he wants to offer assistance, but the older man shoots him down with a quick look. 

They flank him, Parker on one side, Hardison on the other as he limps towards the entrance, feeling the denim peel away from his knees in a way that makes him want to hurl. His shirt is sticking to his back in a similar way and he rolls his shoulders in annoyance. It sends a bolt of pain down his spine and he stops, eyes closing until it eases. 

"You're freaking me out, man," Hardison says, running his gaze over the other man, checking for blood. There's a few spots - his left shoulder is sporting a nasty blood stain, as are both of his knees, but nothing major jumps out. They've seen him hurt worse and walk it off but this time is different and Hardison just can't put his finger on why. 

Eliot starts walking again, eyes fixed on the doors, but he's distant, pensive and Hardison realises with a jolt that's the problem. There's a level of quiet they only see from the older man when he's really hurt but that doesn't tally with the visible injuries and it's ringing alarm bells in Hardison's mind. 

He glances at Parker, getting a nod in return. Something dreadful went down in that warehouse, bad enough that Eliot doesn't want to talk about it, bad enough that he's pulled back into his shell. The thought of what it could be sends a chill down Hardison's spine. Part of him wants to push, to needle a confession from the other man but a bigger part of him doesn't want to know. Their hitter had done his job and got everyone back safe and beyond that the details don't really matter. They won't judge him no matter what he did. 

There's an elevator waiting in the lobby and they shuffle into it. The mirrored walls show Eliot just how bad he looks, and he suddenly understands why his friends are so concerned. He's pasty, dirt streaked and vaguely clammy in the air conditioning. He wants a shower, a change of clothes and a time machine, so he can go way back before this whole mess started and stop Nate from throwing them at Moreau. He knows which of those he's likely to get and leans against the wall with a sigh. 

He's lucked out on this stay, managed to get a room to himself and he fishes in his pocket for the key, vaguely surprised it's still there. 

Parker and Hardison are looking at him and he licks his lips, tries to dredge up some sort of response and settles for a quick, tired smile that he knows doesn't come close to reaching his eyes. "Thanks," he says and unlocks the door, "I'm going to go clean up. See you in a few." 

He ducks inside, closing the door on them, knowing it's a shitty thing to do. He's pretty sure they'll forgive him, pretty sure they'd already figured out this wasn't a normal job and he's not in the mood for twenty questions. He pauses, slides the chain into place like it'll stall Parker for more than a couple of seconds if she decides she wants in. 

Pain runs through his fingers as he grabs a change of clothes and carries them to the bathroom, starting the shower. His clothes stink, a bitter mix of smoke and cordite and sweat and he struggles out of them, throwing them in the corner for now. The water engulfs him, washing away the physical traces of what he did and it suddenly hits him, hard enough to unlock his knees so he ends up sitting with his back to the shower wall. 

The tears are a surprise, because he thought he'd forgotten how to cry, used them all up. He pulls his knees up and rests his forehead on them, gulping in breaths when black spots swirl through his eyes. He's not weeping for the men he killed - their own choices put them in that warehouse, and none of them was an innocent - but for the man he was becoming, someone closer to the kid he searches for everyday in the mirror. They leave him aching and empty and hollow and it's going to take a while to soothe the new raw spots inside his soul. 

He's chilled from sitting in the cold tile and the water is starting to run cold so he forces himself to his feet, reaching for soap and a washcloth, scrubbing any last trace of the battle from his body. It stings in places, highlighting minor cuts and knicks he didn't know he had until the lather found them, painting a map of damage to his body. He can't quite lift his left arm high enough to wash his hair and settles for doing his best one handed. He rinses, shivering, under the now cold water and steps out, wrapping a towel around his hips, leaning towards the mirror to find out why his shoulder hurts so much. 

There's a splinter longer than his hand in the back of his shoulder. He can see it in the mirror but he just can't get the angle to dig it out. It hurts, a nasty throbbing ache that makes him want to tear his arm off and he tries again, flinching when his fingers just brush the wood. He's going to need help and stoops to find his phone in the pile of filthy clothes, sending a quick message. 

He drys himself, slipping into soft sweatpants, draping a towel carefully around his neck to catch the water trickling from his hair. Somehow he's not surprised to find Parker and Sophie are already in the bedroom when he opens the bathroom door and steps out. There's the big medical bag between them on the couch and he pauses, steeling himself because the damn thing has to come out but it's not going to be a fun process. 

"Hi," Parker says, voice just a tiny bit unsure, like she's not sure how he's going to react. 

"Hey, Parker," he says, voice so rough that he winces, tries to swallow. "Sophie." 

He's not sure which one of them is more surprised when she stands, wrapping her arms around him carefully. 

"Thank you for bringing him home," she whispers in his ear and he nods, having to swallow hard before he can answer. 

"I'd do the same thing for any of you," he says simply and lets himself lean into the hug for a second. 

The towel slips and she gasps when she sees the sliver of wood lodged in his flesh. "Jesus Christ, Eliot!" she says, ducking out of his arms for a closer look. "This is not a little problem!" 

He flinches, a little at her raised voice, knows they both notice. "Still needs to come out." 

The room has a small table and he turns one of the chairs, sitting down slowly and resting his good arm on the back. His left shoulder doesn't want to bend and he gives in, tucking his arm in in front of him. 

"Eliot, are you sure about this?" Sophie asks. "I'm sure we can find an actual trained medical professional to remove this from you."

He scoffs at that. "It's a splinter. If it was somewhere I could reach, I'd be digging it out myself right now." 

"It's going to hurt," she says and if his head wasn't already throbbing, he'd roll his eyes at that. It already hurts, and getting it out before an infection sets in is his main concern. 

"Just do it," he says, and put his chin down on his good arm, watching Parker as she lays out various medical supplies on the table in front of him. There's tweezers, squares of gauze, dressings, tape and wound ointment. He bites the inside of his lip, lifting his head to speak. "Grab the scalpel and stitch kit too," he says simply and she nods, one sharp bob of her head and reaches back into the bag. 

Sophie presses an ice pack over the wound and he shivers under the chill, but it helps, takes some of the throbbing away and he's damn grateful for that. 

Parker slips a pair of gloves on and moves behind him, reaching over him to grab some gauze and the tweezers. The closeness makes him feel twitchy and his hand tightens on the chair. 

He grits his teeth as she lifts the ice pack off and probes the sliver with the tweezers, the plastic catching on the wood. It makes him flinch, muscles twitching and he feels her freeze behind him. 

"I'm okay. It's okay," he says quietly. "Keep going." 

"Tell me, if you need me to stop," she says, one hand brushing his bare back before she gets to work with the tweezers again. 

It's a nasty sliver, maybe four inches long, jammed in the muscle just under his shoulder blade. The end is ragged and friable and every time she thinks she's got a good grip, the wood breaks off. The muscles in his back are tense under her hands, breathing deliberately steady and she knows all the poking must be agony. 

"Parker," Eliot says, voice slightly hoarse, and she stops instantly. "Just cut it," he adds and blows out a ragged breath. 

"Cut you, you mean?" She glances at the scalpel and shudders. 

"Yeah," he says, and turns as much as he can to look at her. "That's where the damn thing is, after all." He's pale again, eyes shadowed, and there's a fine sheen of sweat on his face. 

She licks her lips and nods. "Tell me what to do." 

He does, in more detail than she ever wanted and her hand only shakes a little when she picks the scalpel up, trying not to think as she follows his instructions, swabbing his back with antiseptic first. Shaky doesn't seem an acceptable trait for performing minor surgery and she presses the ice pack against his shoulder until she has the shake under control. She places the blade against his skin and makes one swift cut. It frees some of the splinter and she reaches for the tweezers again but the wood still stubbornly refuses to come free. 

It rips a pained grunt out of him and he swallows so hard she can hear it. 

"Eliot…" Parker says, free hand on his good shoulder, thumb rubbing absent circles on his skin. She looks up, meeting Sophie's horrified gaze. It's not the first time they've had to do stuff like this and given their jobs, if probably won't be last but that doesn't make it any easier. 

"Just get it done," he rasps, tacking on please as an afterthought to soften his tone. 

"Okay," Parker says and makes the cut bigger, swiping away blood and letting the gauze drop to the floor. 

His back is still under her hands, but she can hear the strain of it in his breathing when she goes in with the tweezers again. His good hand is gripping the chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white, head tipped forward so his hair falls past his face, hiding his expression. 

Blood wells again as she gets a good grip on the wood and tugs. It moves this time, sliding out maybe half and inch and Eliot makes a noise halfway between a hiss and a grunt. 

His whole world has distilled down to the throb in his shoulder, the sharp but cleaner pain from the incision, the ache down his back as he fights his instincts to stay still so he doesn't scare Parker half to death. 

"Nearly done," Parker says, and he can hear the wobble in her voice that means she's crying and trying to hide it. 

Must be the day for it, he thinks. "You're doing great," he tells her, because she is. It's a damn brave thing she's doing, and he's not sure how to make her understand how grateful he is for the help. 

She changes her grip on the tweezers and takes another hold on the sliver, pulling slowly, easing it out from under his skin. The entire thing slides free suddenly and she feels like cheering. "It's out," she says and drops it on the table in front of him. 

He swipes his hair back from his face, blinking at the damn thing in surprise. It had felt huge in his back, like a stone in a shoe, but it's actually bigger than he'd expected. 

"Well, fuck," he says simply, and takes a deep breath that doesn't pull obscenely at his shoulder. 

Sophie hands over a dish of antiseptic and more gauze. "It says it doesn't sting," she says and takes a minor risk, resting her hand on his arm. His muscles tense under her touch at first before he blows out a long breath and lets himself relax. 

She's right, it doesn't sting at all as Parker cleans the wounds, adding wound ointment for good measure before taping a dressing securely over the top. He's glad she's being so thorough because pallet wood tends to be coated in all kinds of dirty stuff and the last thing he wants is an infection. 

He's exhausted and all he wants to do is give into the pull of the bed and sack out for a couple of hours, give his brain and body chance to rest a bit but he's painfully aware of Parker standing next to him, face pale. 

"Thank you," he says. "Feels better already," he adds, and it's not quite a lie. 

She nods, sharply and he forces himself to his feet, accepting a t-shirt from Sophie who tips her head towards the door and slips out quietly. 

"You were shaking in the car," Parker says and he sinks back into the seat. "Why were you shaking in the car, Eliot?" she asks, like it's something she can't quite square in her mind. 

He licks his lips, knowing he's too exhausted and mentally fried to have this conversation right now. He also knows that he owes her. "It was a rough fight," he says simply, after a long pause, thankful there's enough cuts and bruises on his skin to sell the story. 

"Did you kill someone?" She can't look at him and he feels a stab of self hatred rip through him, more painful and cutting by far than the wound on his back. 

He hesitates, again, because he doesn't want her to think badly of him, but she's been brave enough to ask the question and he needs to be brave enough to answer. "Yes," he says and doesn't try to explain or excuse it. He did his job and he'll take the consequences, no matter how much they hurt. 

"Okay," she says and looks at him. "You should rest," she says and a rush of gratitude races through him for the way her brain works. She's got the answers that she wanted and she's not going to press him for more. 

He stands, body aching, and brushes past her, dropping a featherlight kiss on her temple on the way to the bed. "Stay?" he asks, in the same tone she'd once used on him, and she nods, curling up one one side of the big bed, one socked foot resting against his calf. 

It takes him a while to get comfortable and he watches as the tension slowly drains from her face before he lets his own eyes close. 

Thank you, he thinks. Thank you for not hating me. Thank you for giving me another chance when I don't deserve it. 

He's not sure how or why or which God is setting up a long joke at his expense, but he's found a family and he's going to do everything he can to keep them whole. 

Even if it costs him more of his already tattered soul. 

That's a consequence he can live with. 

Losing them isn't. 

[judediangelo75]

Bath Time

A/N: This is gonna be based on the years after Hogwarts, just a few months after graduation.

It’s also going to be based on the “Physical One-Liners”. I feel like in the privacy of their own space, Talbott turns a bit more... mischievous, which both surprises and flusters Judith to no ends.

If that’s not your cup of tea, don’t read. Just that simple. Anywho...

Enjoy!

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

Judith never felt more happy to leave St. Mungos. While she did enjoy her job, and spending time with her long time friend Chiara, she was beyond exhausted. Not in the mood to walk home, the young woman decided to fly home instead.

Quickly ducking into a dark alley, she transformed into her Black Sparrowhawk and flew off. Flying has always been one of her small joys in life. It reminded her of the times with her father, where he would teach her the basics of flying. It also reminded her of her time at Hogwarts. Attending Flying Class with Madam Hooch and playing on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

Most of all, it reminded her of her long time boyfriend, Talbott Winger. He was the one who helped her become an Animagus and teach her how to fly in this form. It was one of the ways the two bonded.

After they graduated, they got a small apartment together. After Judith graduated, her mother promptly kicked her out. Talbott was boiling on his girlfriend’s behalf, but she urged him to let it go. Judith always knew she wasn’t wanted by her mother, so he spoke to Dumbledore about ways to support herself after. He offered to pay her during her last year, which helped out a lot.

Now she was free to live her life the way she saw fit. And be with the love of her life.

It wasn’t long until Judith landed in front of her home and she transformed back. Pulling out the key from her purse, she opened the door and walked in.

She was minorly surprised to find Talbott inside as well, who was just taking off his shoes and placing them near the front door.

“Hello, little bird,” he greeted with a small smile. Judith blushed and smiled back.

“Hello, my love,” she said back, walking up to him. She carefully got on her toes to give the young man a peck on the lips.

Well, it was suppose to be a peck on the lips.

Talbott ended up wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s waist, pulling her to his chest. Craning his head a bit lower, he pressed his lips against hers more firmly. Judith let out small giggle and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Talbott groaned softly, gently pushing Judith against the door. A shudder wracked Judith’s body as she felt Talbott’s teeth softly sink into the plump flesh of her bottom lip. Her eyes shoot open when she felt his larger hands press into her lower back. Talbott released her lips, red eyes half lidded and a lazy smirk on his full lips.

“You seem a little tense darling,” Talbott drawled, running a hand up and down the length of Judith’s back. A blush blossomed on her face, causing his smirk to grew a fraction wider.

“It’s... uh, it’s been a long day,” she mumbled, finding Talbott’s chest suddenly interesting. A chuckle rumbled from the back of his throat.

“You don’t say? Come on, darling. Let’s take a nice bath together.” Judith’s breath hitched as her blush worsen. 

Talbott tried his best not to laugh at his little bird’s expression. Ever since they left Hogwarts and all the stressors behind, he’s been seeing a different side of Judith.

She was more free. Happier. Carefree.

He’s seen bits and pieces of this side of her at Hogwarts but not often. He found this side of her to be so beautiful...

And if he was being brutally honest... it was sexy as well.

The girl would be more free with what she wears and would sometimes sing and dance to the music she has playing as she cleans.

He has walked in a few times where Judith was slowly swaying her hips slowly to the beat of a song as she cleaned, wearing nothing but a tube top and some short shorts. It never fails to put him in a trance as he watched how Judith seems to become one with the music. Especially when she tranced the length of her body and curves with her hands. His body temperature never failed to spike at the sight she created. 

The only way he’s forced to snap out of his daze is when Judith finally acknowledges his presence with an embarrassed squeal.

However, last time was particularly bad. Talbott didn’t know what kind of magic Judith casted on herself for her to move her waist the way she did, but Talbott was sure it had to be from the Dark Arts. What she did should’ve been illegal. Talbott never stared harder at something in his life.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdOFz0Lsfbo

Even after Judith after squealed out of surprise, it didn’t arouse him from his stupor. The only thing he could think of was how his pants was tighter in an area that where it shouldn’t be.

The fact that Judith starts blushing and acts shy is what baffles him the most. She was extremely witty, sharp tongued, sarcastic, sassy, and petty. Rarely anything can render her mute.

Yet Talbott staring at her with a glimmer of desire in his eyes does the job just fine.

Talbott found this to be amusing, sometimes going out his way to tease her on purpose.

Lingering touches on her neck, shoulders, waist, and hips.

Spending extra time around her neck. Kissing, gently biting, and licking the sensitive skin.

Whispering in her ear in his sleepy voice.

Picking her up so she’ll be forced to wrap her legs around his waist.

Heated snogging sessions.

Hell, sometimes he would pinch her ass when she least expects it. Her scandalized blush never fails to make him laugh.

Being in the privacy of their own space made he feel a bit more open to be a bit more intimate with his little bird.

And Talbott knew she secretly liked this side of him. Judith could easily tell him to stop anytime and Talbott would do so immediately. But she hasn’t. 

Talbott wanted to see what she would say to taking a bath together...

“A-A bath? T-t-together,” Judith stuttered. She wasn’t sure why this was sending her heart into a frenzy.

‘Of course you do. You’ll in a bathtub with your boyfriend. No clothes, just soap and water.’ Judith really hated it when her own thoughts sass her...

“Of course, little bird... is that okay, darling,” Talbott asked, kissing her cheek. Judith bit her lip.

“Yeah... it’s fine...”

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

Judith was already in the tub. She was quick set up the bath and pick a body wash (vanilla which is her favorite). Not wanting Talbott to surprise her by silently watching her, she quickly stripped and hopped right in. 

She purposely added a lot of the body wash so the bubbles can hide her body.

‘Why the hell am I so bloody nervous? It not like he hasn’t seen what I looked like half naked...’

‘Because you sitting in this tub bare ass, woman. Plus you know this tub was made to fit two people, you’ll be literally pressed against him. And you know good and damn well you’re sensitive to his touch.’

‘You know, when I asked this, I didn’t need the sassy answer. I didn’t ask for an answer at all.’

‘Cry me a river.’

“Well aren’t you eager to take a bath?” Judith snapped out of the mental argument with her subconscious to find Talbott towering over her in just towel.

Judith blushed, forcing her eyes on her boyfriend’s face and not his lean muscular body-

“I didn’t want the warm water to go to waste by waiting on you, bird boy,” she retorted. Talbott raised a brow, a teasing smirk on his.

“You know, you’re right. Scoot over for me, darling...” Judith did what she told, averting her gaze when she noticed Talbott’s hand moving to undo the knot of his towel.

She didn’t look back at him until he was submerged. She regretted doing so, seeing how his smirk widen.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” he teased, kissing her cheek. She crossed her arms over her chest, doing her absolute best not to pout.

“I’m not flustered,” she mumbled under her breath. The devious spark flashed in Talbott’s eyes.

“Oh really?” Judith didn’t have time to respond as she pulled to sit on Talbott’s lap, facing him.

“How about now,” he asked innocently. Part of Judith was cursing Talbott seven ways til Sunday, the other part of her headed straight down the gutter.

“You are truly something, Winger,” she answered instead, glaring at him.

“I know, but you love me regardless,” he chuckled. 

“Shut up,” she mumbled, kissing him to do just that. Talbott accepted the kiss wholeheartedly, nipping his girlfriend’s lower lip. Despite the warm water lapping against her skin, Judith could still feel goosebumps breaking out on her skin.

Damn her sensitivity.

Judith quickly broke the kiss before it could turn into something more.

“Where are you going, little bird,” Talbott asked quietly, his voice low and husky. 

“We’re suppose to be taking a bath! Not fooling around in the tub,” she retorted, cheeks rosy. Talbott nuzzled her neck, leaving a feather light kiss. Judith was quick to grip his shoulders to steady herself.

“Mmmm... of course, darling. Don’t worry I’ll take care of you...” Judith felt her heartbeat pounding in her eardrums as Talbott reached for the wash cloth.

‘He’s gonna kill me,’ she thought when he could feel his smirk on her neck.

Let’s just say by the time they finished, the bath water was cold and Judith was sporting quite a few love bites on her neck, shoulders and chest... 

[echo-of-sounds]

it’s my choice

-Present Mix x reader-

your dream upsets you more than you want to admit and he can clearly tell something’s wrong

He felt up her sides, absolutely flawless skin, caressing her perfect curves. Her breasts conformed to his pinching and massaging fingers. Praise after praise dripped from his mouth. His eyes consumed her. Moans deepened to groans as she lifted, slowing lowering onto him.

Heart splintering, your body jerked awake. The dream haunted you for yet another night. But it harassed your mind throughout the day, leaving you touchy and twitchy. The plague sapped any confidence.

Carefully pushing the blankets aside, you stood. Hizashi groaned from his side of the bed, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Go back to sleep, honey.”

You hurried through your morning routine and left early before he even got up for a shower.

---- Scrolling through the news showed pictures upon pictures of Heroes. They were all strong in a way you could never be. Pride held their shoulders high. Bravery cloaked their smiles. Confidence built their bodies, burst from their mouths, and dominated their competition. Those were all things you could only reach in your imagination.

You clicked out of the page and rubbed your eyes. It was beyond ridiculous. The dream was exactly that- a dream. It shouldn’t be chasing and hounding you like this. But the same question kept coming back: why was Hizashi with you?

A receptionist. You worked as a fucking hospital receptionist. No big fights. No drama or interviews or posters. The last time you really looked in a mirror, all you saw were pores, the wrong hair, and the exact opposite of the ideal body. You were just the wrong person for him.

It made you feel like a hormonal teenager, hopelessly, helplessly, stranded apart from what the focus of your affection wanted. Self-doubts should have departed once you graduated high-school. But they clung, exhausting, sucking, spoiling the euphoria of your relationship. You only wanted to be happy. And they wouldn’t let you.

A coworker called your name, snapping you from the lamenting and back into work.

---- The bedroom door opened. Footsteps approached. Arms circled your waist, accompanied by coconut shampoo. Hizashi chimed, “That smells great.”

“It’s just soup.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s still great. When’s it gonna be ready?”

“Ten minutes.” You set the spoon down. Kisses lined your neck. You shirked from the embrace, pushing his chest a little too roughly for your liking. But you still told him, “Not now, Hizashi.”

“Okay.” He gave you space by stepping back. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve said that for the last three days. Call it a hunch or something but I’m starting to think it isn’t true.”

“I’m fine.” You eased your voice, hoping it didn’t sound like the anger was directed towards him.

No response came, so you focused on cutting the carrots. A few chops later, a quiet mutter barely reached your ears, “Am I not good enough for you anymore?”

“What?” You dropped the knife and spun. The shine of his eyes dulled. No wit nor cheer remained. It hurt to see: mental uncertainness fumed to physical aches. It wavered your throat as you asked, “Why would you ever think that?”

His arms lamely flopped. “I don’t know what to think. You barely touched me over the weekend. No kisses, no hugs or hand holds. You shrug me off. You aren’t talking to me. If it’s not that, what is it then?”

He would never be anything less than perfect. Music, laughter, joy, and passion were all magnificent. It brought life into your life. He was worth every day, every hug, every celebration, everything. You couldn’t dream of vocalizing his importance in any clear way.

It was you who would never match. It just wasn’t possible. And that wasn’t the insecurities talking or the false truths anxiety told you to believe. It was a fact. Your body, abilities, and strength just could not hold up to his or anyone else’s. The number of worthier people in the world was immeasurable. You just weren’t good enough.

The doubts weighed your shoulders. Hands gently held them. “Baby, please talk to me. I hate seeing you like this.”

You shook your head.

“I miss you.”

You crossed your arms, shrugging, “It’s nothing. It’s dumb. I’m sorry, I’ll just forget about it.”

“Don’t. It’s not dumb if it’s making you feel this bad.” His hands smoothed along your upper arms. Lips brushed your forehead, repeating, whispering, “Talk to me-”

“It’s really dumb.”

“-I’m right here for you.” He kissed your temple before drawing you to him, safely securing your body against his. His chest, thin but strong, vibrated with deep breaths, enhanced by his quirk.

They were breaths that didn’t care about your moods drops; A chest that rebounded from your uncomfortable shoving; Arms that ensured you were stable and desired; Kisses that cherished your skin, your imperfections, your stiff and withdrawn lips.

You didn’t deserve him. Yet your name was so sweet whenever it sprung from his mouth- more so when he lulled it in your ear. “What’s going through your head? Talk to me, baby.”

The melodic pet name caved your hold. You mumbled into his shirt, “I had a dream…”

“About?” he hummed, stroking your back.

“You cheating on me.”

“I would never do that.”

“I know. I trust you… but I keep thinking about how… plain I am. I want to think it's just doubts and insecurities talking but I can’t get them to go away, Hizashi. I love you but I also feel like you deserve someone… better than me.”

He pulled back, cupping your face. Water wet his eyes as he sighed, “I love you so much. You know that right?”

You nodded.

“There are thousands of people in this world and I’m not with them because I don’t want to be. I want to be with you.” He kissed your forehead. “You’re my baby and everything I want.” He kissed your nose. "You're perfect for me.” He kissed your lips. “And you’re far from plain. Just last month you tried to convince me to go skydiving.”

You dryly laughed, “No one wants to go with me.”

“Before that, you dragged me to the zoo so you could spend two hours gawking at the tigers.”

“They’re pretty.”

“So aren’t you,” he assured, kissing you again. “You’re stunning. I mean it when I say I want to be with you. You don’t get to decide you’re not enough for me. It’s my choice and I love you. Besides, you’re one of the few who’s willing to deal with me all the time.”

You wiped your eyes with a smile. “I am.”

"You are," he laughed. “Please don’t hide from me. I’m here to fight that small, little voice in the back of your head.”

The squeeze that’s throttled your heart finally loosened. Confidence seeped back into the empty spaces. It was warm and sweet and perfect. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for loving you.” He lightly tugged the bottom of your shirt, grinning wide. “Can I show you just how much I love you?”

“The soup’s almost done,” you denied his offer. His bottom lip stuck out so you promised, “After you can.”

“Good.” He smooched your cheek loudly.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 32

💖 first time reader click here 💖

Summary: Stephen Strange being a grown-up. Reader being a grown-up. Kind of. Revenge plot starts now - don't be like the mercenary, don't threaten reader's family. Avengers being good.. bros? Good found family idk. More smut + plot coming soon.

The silence hung awkwardly over us. Stephen wasn't the one to wax poetics, usually, and I wasn't in the mood to do anything but curl up somewhere warm, chug a bottle of liquor and fall asleep. Sleep is like death without the committment and after my little outburst, I inwardly prayed and begged for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Instead, I was directed to sit and drink my tea by the sorcerer, who, by the way, was beginning to look like a kicked puppy.

It was starting to become unbearable. "I'm listening," I finally croaked out, shocked at how raspy my voice sounded. As if someone had forced me to choke on some nails - and I felt like it, too. My hands were shaking, all but spilling the hot tea onto them.

"Princess..." His mouth did the thing when he was worried, lips pursed, their corners upturned. "What we did was not... Right, you were drugged without your consent. I am sure Tony feels the same way."

My eyebrows rose, words bubbling up to the surface as I fought the urge to simply start calling Stephen some strong names. Had he been blind the whole time I flirted with him, had he not seen both me and Tony ogling him when we thought nobody could see? Every time I joked about the sexual tension between them - you know what they say, every joke has a little bit of truth in it.

Or maybe the sorcerer had used the incident as a convenient excuse for our little fuck-fest to be a one-time thing? I expected more, I won't lie, but I wouldn't put it above him. I knew all too well that some men tended to simply... Avoid.

I was angry, probably rightfully so, but it was not the time for me to comfort an adult man. My own life was going to shit, I had no mental energy to unburden his baseless guilt. It was selfish and it made me feel even more like shit, but it was as if someone had flipped a switch inside of me. I just didn't care about someone's heartbreak. I needed to solve another problem, a much bigger than a man that couldn't make up his mind.

I had to find that damn mercenary. It was the only real threat hanging over our heads; unlike any mission that I've seen the team go on before, they had thrown all the forces into catching the man that had gotten into their safe space, their home. That threatened to take what they thought as theirs. Long gone were the days of comfortable domesticity.

"Okay," I replied, nodding curtly. "I wanted it, if it helps any. I thought you were attractive the first day I saw you." I spoke bluntly, beginning to feel like myself more and more with each word that I spoke. "And again, no strings have to be attached. I'm sure Tony will understand it too, it's not his first rodeo."

Stephen's head shot up from where he was examining his clasped hands, to study me with furrowed brows. Cloaky moved where it was wrapped around me, attracting the sorcerer's attention - I, unfortunately, did not understand the Cloak's sign language and what it told Stephen remained a mystery to me. I was just delighted to be out of the cold and and wet clothes.

"I think you misunderstood me," Stephen eyed me with surprise. "I want more, but..." He trailed off, unsure. "I don't know. I'm surprised Banner hasn't gone green on me yet. I'm a doctor, I should have known..."

So, he was pulling a me and wallowing in pity. Is this really how pathetic I looked when I used to mope around the house earlier? No wonder my mother thinks I'm a baby. "Stephen, I'm really not in the mood to listen to bullshit. I wanted it, you wanted it, great, we can move on. Because with everything that has happened to me, I really have no energy to convince you I like you even while sober when you're sabotaging yourself." Sure, I might have ripped off the motivational speech from a self-help book my mother used to have laying around. My patience was wearing thinner with each second. "There, I said it. I like you, my boyfriends like you, you're welcome to the club if you decide to believe the fact that I am telling the truth." And if he wouldn't, well, I could get over it. I was planning to never act upon my feelings for both Tony and Bruce, it hadn't been as hard as I thought it would be. Especially with me being busy enough to just ignore the feelings.

At some point, I had grown attached to Stephen. Perhaps, if I and Tony hadn't decided to mess around with the sorcerer at the party, my feelings wouldn't have bloomed into anything more than physical attraction. Murphy's law had a particularly strong affinity on me, I noticed, because over and over I found myself falling head over heels for emotionally unavailable men. It worked out with Tony, which wasn't as surprising as one might expect, considering we're two halves of a whole idiot, but then Bruce also decided to pucker up - Stephen was bound to be the rock that I trip on.

Or not? Soft lips pressed against my forehead, beard hair softly tickling the tip of my nose. I was pressed against a solid chest, surrounded by warmth and comfort. "I'm sorry, I'm an idiot," Steph whispered, voice quivering.

"Well, it's not like this... Relationship... I've got going on is something commonplace," My arms wrapped around him, a deep sigh relaxing my body into his. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. It wasn't right."

Stephen chuckled, all but pulling me bodily into his lap. "Don't worry, Princess. I deserved it." As he spoke, the Cloak carefully unwrapped itself from me, drifting away with a parting pat on my back. "Now what happened with your parents?" Large palms pushed the hair out of my face, stormy blue eyes looking at me with worry.

"I should probably assemble all my significant others for this conversation," There was little enthusiasm in discussing the incident. I was an adult and had enough money to get by for a few months, at least until I could patent one of my inventions. I had plenty of knick-knacks that should be able to interest buyers, that much I knew, and while the legal side of the process was a blank slate to me, I knew I could be charismatic enough to have someone work it out for me.

"I don't think I'll be able to take Steve seriously when he says 'assemble', now," My third boyfriend chuckled, which - wow, I didn't have boyfriends and now I had three? Should I be considering opening a factory or something? Stephen adjusted his hold on me. "Let's go, I'll portal us in."

"My car's out there with all my stuff. I'll have to drive," I protested but made no move to get out of his lap.

"Tony is a billionaire, he can pay someone to retrieve it," Shrugging carelessly, he produced a golden circle of magic, the common room couch in plain sight at the other side of it. I heard voices and then Clint's head peaked through, a curiously tilted eyebrow morphing into full fledged face of confusion upon seeing the two of us.

Yikes. I had forgotten about the state of my dress and the bruise on my cheek. "Hey, bird. I need a drink," I said the first thing that popped into my mind, causing both Clint and Steph to laugh as the sorcerer carried me into the tower through the portal.

"I'm starting to think you go out there and look for trouble on purpose," The archer sighed, pulling out his phone and texting rapidly. Mine vibrated, too, once he was done, which meant he'd called for a family meeting. Blergh.

In no time, Tony appeared, dark circles under his eyes and yesterday's shirt on, towing a worried Bruce behind him. One after the other, the Avengers tickled in, looking restless and exhausted. Loki's frown was well on its way to becoming a full sneer.

"Talk, please," He requested, eyeing me with concern.

"Good news is I got our rogue wizard back," I poked Stephen in the chest. He was blushing. "Bad news is my mother threw me out and my father didn't pick up the phone, so technically I'm homeless and parent-less," I decided that spitting out straight facts was the easiest way to go about it. I mean, there was no good way to tell what I just told them.

The storm that I anticipated didn't appear. Just a lot of disappointed sighs all around, especially from Tony, who looked twenty years older after I'd confessed to the current state of my affairs. "You're not homeless, you live here," He pointed out, rubbing his face and muttering some very strong words under his nose. Particularly, the expressions involved my mother and various methods of fornication.

"We got your back, doll," Bucky nodded, coming over to wrap me in a gentle hug. He was like a brother from another mother to me at this point, kind and goofy and sensible. "I would propose to teaching that harpy a lesson but I think she's beyond it."

"Perhaps it's for the best," Loki mused suddenly. "If I recall correctly, your mother was against your career of choice, which is idiotic. Science is a noble and prospective path." The Asgardian, too, gave me a hug.

I wasn't crying! There were ninjas, in the vents, cutting onions! "Stop it guys, I'm gonna cry. I already look like shit!" The protest was silenced by Bruce's lips on mine, his tiny smile briefly covering my mouth with tenderness. After that, everybody somehow decided it was their job to try and make me cry; like a bad bitch, I resisted, but eventually broke and started sniffling when Tony began rambling about building me my own lab and Wanda offered to help me decorate my new apartment.

No matter how much my mind screamed at me to refuse, I forced that noise down. Fighting against myself, accepting help despite feeling unworthy of it - it was probably the hardest thing I've done in my whole life.

Bruce volunteered to carry my prone body to Tony's bedroom which was quickly becoming the master bedroom for the three of us - ever since the incident, both of my scientists stuck close to me whenever possible, aggressively cuddling me whenever they decided it was time to get some sleep. Which wasn't much these days, if I was being honest. Persuading Bruce to stay with me was a novelty - usually he didn't resist, but that time, I had to repeat myself multiple times that the team could handle business even without him being present.

I had my ulterior motives, of course. Tony and Stephen needed to talk. I only hoped their egos wouldn't clash without me to mediate - having two boyfriends start a fight wasn't something I wanted to experience. I had zero experience in those matters and had no idea how to manage all that. Are there handbooks for polyamorous relationships? I stuck a mental post-it note inside my brain to check it out.

I fell asleep with Bruce wrapped around me and woke up in the same position, having been too exhausted to move even in my sleep. Voices, rough and quiet, were the first thing I heard upon syncing my brain into a resemblance of a working order, instantly recognizing Stephen's deep baritone and Tony's teasing drawl.

"Expect either Reindeer Games or Kim Possible to come and terrify you," My engineer didn't sound particularly ecstatic. His voice came from somewhere around my feet; the hand wrapped around my ankle, thumb gently stroking the skin, must've been his.

"Duly noted," Stephen's reply was equally sarcastic, sounding a little closer. The warmth coming from my side was him. I could smell the faint spices that surrounded him, smell that I'd come to associate with the Sanctum.

Bruce snored away, not a care in the world.

My body, on the other hand, felt rested for what felt the first time in years. A pleasant ache in my muscles had me begrudgingly squirm out of Banner'd grasp, shamelessly pushing up into Stephen as I stretched with a juicy yawn. "What's poppin'?" I rubbed my eyes, finding the men awake looking at me with fond amusement.

"Just watching," Tony smiled, causing me to giggle at his accidental meme-ing. Was it even accidental? I refused to believe that a man well versed in IT was oblivious to meme culture.

Stephen, on the other hand... "We've discussed some things, wanted to talk to you too." His hand stroked my hair, face expression soft unlike anything I'd ever seen him have. "But you were sleeping. So cute."

Me, cute? There was a puddle of drool the size of a dollar bill on my pillow, I was pretty sure some of it had even gotten in Bruce's hair. Banner's sleep was quiet except for every five minutes when he'd let out a snore with a force somewhere between a Mack truck and a whale in mating season.

Cute, sure.

Bruce groaned, a tell-tale sign of him waking up. I met his eyes, brown, shiny, a narrow edge of green around his irises. Huh. Do I have three boyfriends or four?

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​@sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95 @gladiosamicitias

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 10)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~8100 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9 Read on AO3!   Disclaimer below the cut! again, used for updates too. sue me

DISCLAIMER! PART ONE of the finale! READ THE WARNINGS... especially the last one... Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________ The next few days became a blur. Tobirama cycled between the laboratory, your room, and the interrogation and information headquarters - just like he had been the last few days. Sleep was scarce, if he allowed himself any at all. 

The pace was dictated by your condition pretty much, which did not fare any better. Quite the opposite. 

Every passing turn, the interval by which they could stretch the administration of what remained of the leash diminished. You, on the other hand were paying a price that was nothing less than your sheer life force, it seemed. The amount of support they had to provide via the seals increased constantly. As time passed, they couldn’t lessen it anymore during your lucid phases, even - rather, only increase it further, step by step. A couple of seals were added when your chakra overload allowed it - as they had not been tending to your injuries from the torture anymore, they gained a little manuverability in that regard. It was not much, but you dearly needed any edge you could get. Both of your legs, arms, your abdomen, your chest were painted with medical seals that each supported your cardiovascular system, retained organs' functions, everything. There was little of your skin left unused. 

It was painful to see. 

“I surmise this is why the Stone did not use the withdrawal as an accessory means to put a victim under more duress,” Tobirama stated utterly caustic tone once. You’d been sedated after they had administered they leash again and both he and his brother were monitoring you while the war inside your body came to a well-known break. “Putting someone under the physical and mental strain of torture while also dealing with the effects of the withdrawal could easily kill a prisoner.” His bluntness hurt him - thinking about how you might be the one dying - but what was the point in sugar-coating anything?

Tobirama's mood was dismal, though his resolve still zealous.

“Indeed,” Hashirama agreed, slightly strained by the focus he’d been keeping up. “Frankly I’m wondering how they managed to not overload the amount of what foreign chakra Y/n could take with how they… injured her and the poor quality at which they kept healing her.” In the end, there was sorrow in his voice.

Tobirama instead felt anger overshadowing his ache. “I don’t think that ever was a concern of theirs, anjia.” In fact, Tobirama could hazard a guess as to what fate would've awaited you had they finished torturing you - had he not found you in time.

They shouldn't call it the Leash - the Noose seemed to be a better fit.

Still, chakra overload was unpleasant - uncomfortable, and to a point medically concerning, too, but lethal? Hardly. That is, if a patient was not in such a grievous state you found yourself in.

Yet the worst was your loss of vitality overall. It manifested in more agonising ways - it wasn’t as though you were becoming more haggard than you had been since the rescue - it was the way your hair lost its shine, the paleness of your skin, the tired gaze of sunken in eyes, the rasp of your voice as wheezing coughs wrecked you. 

Numerous of your organs had begun to show signs of failure more and more rapidly as soon as the withdrawal settled in. Soon, they barely had enough time to recover during the times you weren’t under the effects of the withdrawal - a vicious circle Hashirama monitored closely and one Tobirama dreaded like little else in life. If the balance tilted - if your body couldn’t recuperate enough any more - then your life was all the more on the line. 

Those hours - they felt the longest. He’d pace anxiously in your room, demand updates until Hashirama allowed him to join in his efforts. Or until he did politely tell him to wait. Politely.

Tobirama couldn’t remember when last he had felt so miserable in his life. He was watching you wither away in his hands, in the safest place he could think of in the entire world, due to a decision he had ultimately agreed to. Whenever he was with you the pain in his heart froze his entire being, his breathing was felt as laboured as yours and all of the world was numb besides the plight you were suffering. And he - he had allowed it. And if he hadn’t - if he hadn't… he didn't want to finish the thought, ever.

Worse yet, your consciousness began to wither more and more during the precious phases of lucidity, when the leash spared you from the hellish withdrawal. You simply were too weak to stay awake for long. But you tried. How you tried - and he knew why. For him. Your fierce spirit would keep fighting.

“How… is it going, Tobi?” you’d ask him always, your voice no more but a broken whisper.

He nearly collapsed by your side, the guilt corroding him inside out for not having accomplished his task yet. Every time his hand was under your head to stabilise it some as you looked at him; wanted to look at him - while the other held yours to his chest, stroking it tenderly. “I’m getting there, Y/n. Rest, please,” he implored you brokenly, each time, “I’m here, Y/n. I’m here.”

His heart broke when you didn’t find the strength to quip back at him like you usually would. 

You just smiled bravely.

For all the agony this put him in - all the torment you went through - it only fuelled his resolve to recreate the leash. The extra time you were giving at such great expense he put to good use - and there barely was a time there weren’t some shadow clones working on refining his copy of the leash. The price he paid for this was staggering. Each time he released them, the exhaustion almost floored him. Their experience and memories were invaluable for speeding up the process infinitely - to even give him a sliver of hope to make it in time - but a few days in and Tobirama was forced to sit down before he let go of the very jutsu he devised. Practical, it was. But the toll it took on one’s body was hellish - his vision would blacken, his knees shake and he was sure he fainted a couple of times, too, for the sheer amount of concentration each of his clones had poured into the task at hand. 

Yet every time Tobirama felt he was teetering on the brink of a collapse, he simply reminded himself of what was at stake here.

Hellish became a relative term, then. He paid the small price, he figured. 

And there were ways and means to keep going beyond any physical signs of exhaustion. Tobirama turned to them quickly when the usage of his shadow clone technique became too taxing - various medications starting with simple caffeine to more sinister substances if taken for too long a time. He didn’t care for that risk. Sleep simply was lost time. Needed, surely. He’d catch up, eventually. Because ultimately - ultimately, this whole game would be over very soon, way too soon. Cynically he did wonder sometimes when he’d start to see white mice running up the walls, hear voices whisper or other hallucinations - but his thoughts never strayed from either creating the leash or your current condition. There was no room for anything else. And he was nothing if not focused on his task.

Kimi’s blood samples had been valuable leads in the whole process of making this damned drug. They demonstrated how his alternative had affected her - which wasn’t far off the shot when it came to the muting component of the leash. The disruption only rudimentarily resembled the real leash. Nonetheless, he felt confident with enough shadow clones - he’d continue down this path and start to weave his chakra in better and better to get where it had to be. After all, the result had been promising. Lucky for him, because it did strongly suggest no jutsu was involved in creating the leash as such. It really boiled down to the weaving process and its complexity. He wondered how long it had taken Zenji to master creating the leash.

Weaving - as such it seemed to be a process that couldn’t just create a leash but any other kind of chakra infused drug.

Interesting.

His experiments on the prisoners supported his theory about the weaving further. Progress was exponentially accelerated due to his shadow clones, and as such the intricacy of his own weaving pattern made for better results. More and more, the immediate effects of the leash were becoming comparable to the actual leash - with no small amount of satisfaction, he observed how their chakra became just as muted and sluggish as yours, longer and longer. And with the same satisfaction he meticulously examined every second of their quite painful withdrawal to compare it to your symptoms and sufferings to ensure it’d be exactly the same - the fact the prisoners didn’t just harbor the same dislike for him they did for everyone at the headquarters but rather flat out hated him was entirely beyond him. He didn’t care. They were means to achieving a goal, nothing more. 

Especially Zenji used every opportunity to count down the time to what he believed would be your demise. His perception of such must be entirely broken, as he missed the mark he prophesied would be your end - much to Tobirama’s smug glee. Though he knew better than to let anything on. Bickering with this man - with any of them - was just more waste of time. He simply went in with Ikuro, sometimes one of his subordinates, to brutally administer the leash and start to observe the prisoners and take blood samples. If any of them acted up in whatever ways they could - which wasn’t much, given their restraints - they were punished, harshly. He couldn’t risk spilling these experimental drugs, either. As Tobirama’s patience wore down alongside the remaining supply of the leash - and ultimately, your life force - more jaws were broken.

Naturally, his cold, almost brutal demeanour wasn’t noticed by the prisoners only. More than once Ikuro had to call him off for pushing the limit on what a subject could take - or disagree on continuing interrogation. Things Tobirama mentally rolled his eyes at but never spoke up against save for curt affirmations past his clenched teeth. Ikuro would be well within his rights to stop his proceedings altogether - or worse, report to Hashirama. It was a silent understanding that if the experiments became too dangerous, Tobirama had to stop and provide medical aid to the stone shinobi. As much as he hated it. He had to make better progress. You were paying the worst price.

Unfortunately the leash’s creation proved to be about the best guarded secret of Zenji’s mind - and with how he was biding his time, he was extremely determined to last longer than Tobirama, or rather, you. They gleaned all kinds of information not just from him, but also the other prisoners - the better Tobirama became at replicating the leash, the more effective the interrogation was. He surmised there may be even more complex machinations at work in how this drug worked in a person’s mind, but he had no proof of this, only theories. Not that he cared - it didn’t matter right now. Still, Zenji remained the toughest fortress; he’d die before cracking. Although Ikuro did appear to be more lax when it came to torturing and experimenting on him; Tobirama was not. 

Just like Zenji, Kimi was refusing to surrender what little she knew of the leash, no matter how extreme the pressure. Two of their compatriots had cracked while under the effects of Tobirama’s leash-copy, a victory he did not celebrate at all. It was useless unless Zenji broke or he perfected the recreation of the leash. Anything else would result in your death. Still, it was one of the rare occasions he allowed himself a moment of smugness in front of Zenji.

No more than a sneer did Tobirama give him.

Zenji was fuming. “You think you’re so fucking clever-” he spat.

Tobirama raised an eyebrow and cut him off coolly. “I am. Despite your assertions, I am getting closer to recreating this precious leash of yours every day. And after that, you will be useless, given how your fellow shinobi keep cracking.” The last bit was spoken as darkly as he meant it to be.

Zenji bared his teeth - but not out of anger. He was grinning. “I’m sticking to my word, Senju - I will relish telling you the secret once Y/n died one of the most painful deaths imaginable while you sat by.”

Tobirama knew better than to let the ire that was flooding him show. Zenji’s jaw was barely healing. 

Well, there were other bones to break, though.

“You might get closer to creating the leash, but you won’t succeed, and I’d give my damn life to see the helpless look on your face when Y/n takes her last, tormented breath, whispering your name in sheer agony as life-”

Tobirama’s arm shot forward before he could think. But he knew better than to punch the prisoner again. His vice grip had seized the broken jaw, nails digging into his cheeks to prevent so much as a scream coming out. Only a slow moan of pain. His scarlet gaze was murderous. “Actually, your pathetic life hangs on Y/n’s survival, Zenji. Do you realise that, you very, very clever man?”, Tobirama explained, frightfully calm.

Zenji stilled completely. 

“I care not for something petty like revenge or your fate ultimately,” he continued icily, “but Konoha does not need to feed mouths that are useless to us nor send them back to the enemy to use them against us again. I think you can figure the rest out.” He released him as brutally as he could, turning on his heel. He had to leave before he did more to this man.

Zenji stopped shouting at Tobirama after this.

Even so, Zenji’s words had not rung hollow. As much progress he made when it came to the weaving process, permanence of the effects would not be attained. The more time - really, each passing hour - pressed him, the more desperate he became to solve this riddle - this seemingly last riddle stopping him from creating the perfect copy of the leash.

It was after yet another quite fruitful session of experimentation that he -

“Damn it!”, he shouted, smashing his balled fist on the lab bench after analysing the yield of the day thoroughly. The woven pattern was swirling brightly like it would in the leash, the complexity well fit the real drug and the experiments were showing promising results.

However… “It’s not a damn leash yet-” he breathed through his clenched teeth, swaying back, vision tunneling. He gripped the edge of the table just in time before he lost his foothold. The exhaustion from releasing his clones before had struck viciously again. 

Hitting inanimate objects out of frustration was one thing. Talking to himself another. He dragged both palms over his face. By his current calculations, they had about sixty hours left.

Sixty hours, then they’d be out of leash and your time was cut very short.

Ice flooded his veins and his vision blackened completely briefly.

It couldn’t be helped. He needed a jutsu - or a seal - to perfect the leash. At this point - with this little time left - his previous evaluation of such a technique being an obstacle he'd scale easily compared to what he had done so far seemed quite daring. In fact, how could he have thought anything about this was going to be easy? Even when he had already guessed he’d need this, sooner or later.

Ultimately he started to divide his shadow clone force between perfecting the weaving process and starting to figure a seal out to make the effects last - rather, the disruption. Since the muting component did wear off at a comparable time in his own creations now, it was a fair assumption no technique sealed this effect in. And the way the disruption almost branded itself into a victim’s blood - that was all the more telltale. But how to create a seal that worked in a liquid? Back when he initially assumed such a seal to be of inferior quality due to a lack of external evidence, he automatically assumed it should be simple to create one himself. Now, it almost felt like starting over again - like when he was weaving the second component in. A seal that did not just ensure permanence of the effects but rather only concern a single effect - ridiculous. Somberly he realised actually back then, he simply had not grasped the complexity of all this fully to make such an assumption in the first place. 

More guilt to burden him, ultimately. 

Just as he feared, initial tests proved to be difficult in the way a seal damaged the delicate weave of his chakra in the base liquid. He quickly discarded the approach in favour of starting from scratch - if only the disruption stuck, then it was quite possible a seal was applied before the second component got woven in. That worked better - slightly, if just for the fact the substance was less intricate like this and a seal was simpler to apply like this. Even so, Tobirama could think of a handful of seals to preserve chakra in some capacity. He’d have to take a logical approach: given there had been no outward sign of a seal being used, it must be a simpler one. Furthermore, he knew from your blood samples the way the drug didn’t just cling but nearly branded itself to you; therefore there must be a way for the seal to interact with the victim’s organism as well. That seemed doable; seals followed the rules the user created. Like a string of orders. He felt confident in his skill to pull it off - if it wasn’t for the fact he was trying to place a seal in a liquid substance right now. A seal on a parchment, sure. Medical jutsu that required seals, absolutely. Seals in combat, too - but in a liquid? 

He had no time to dwell on whether or how that was possible. Once more his shadow clones would aid him in trying out different approaches: applying seals to the vial first, weaving the disrupting component in and then trying to seal it off, or even trying to weave in a seal alongside the disruption. The last of the approaches appeared to be more fruitful than the others truth be told, but the more effort he gave it, the less the tender fabric of the drug tore apart for it in either one. The leash really was about patience, a knack for handling very fragile threads of chakra and a lot of concentration. None of which Tobirama could claim he had in great quantity right now. By the end of this session releasing his clones resulted in him losing consciousness for a solid thirty minutes. When he woke, he had a headache as though someone drilled a hole into his skull.

Naturally that didn’t stop him. All three of his experiments were tested right away and despite Ikuro’s concerns to not divide Tobirama’s attention between three prisoners, the man enforced his will by ultimately reminding everyone of the ticking clock. Each passing second made him more desperate and the life of a Stone shinobi less valuable. Even if he lost all three. He still had three more.

“They still hold information we have not yet cracked,” Ikuro warned sternly.

“Testing each of these one after the other is going to cost hours that Y/n doesn’t have,” Tobirama spat back, unfazed. “I’m here, I can use a shadow clone to divide my attention if need be,” he elaborately nonchalantly.

Ikuro crossed his arms. “That’s not the same.”

Tobirama growled exasperatedly. He wasn’t about to explain his own damn jutsu to Ikuro now. “I assure you, it is. Let’s use the broken prisoners, they’ve lost value, if that eases your concern.” The coldness of his tone made clear what he was implying.

Unsurprisingly, Ikuro wasn’t taken aback by his lack of regard for human life. His job demanded a certain detachment from just that, Tobirama figured. “Alright.” Even though Ikuro still didn’t seem quite sold on Tobirama’s plan. The life of a Konoha shinobi still bore greater weight than that of Stone prisoners.

At the end of that day, Tobirama realised his intuition had been right: the test subject with the third method showed a prolonged phase of withdrawal, serious symptoms - serious enough to warrant medical observation that Tobirama left to the unit with clear instructions. He didn’t have time now. Sadly the seal’s permanence was not on par with the leash’s yet - the withdrawal had been fading, too. 

But this - all this, it was the right direction. He knew it. If he gave his all into his and worked with the time he had left, he felt he could reach this insane goal of recreating this drug. 

Following the experiments, he sat by your side that evening while you were allowed a short moment of simple sleep. No withdrawal, no terrors under the effects of the leash. He dared to feel a sliver of hope. No more. Gently, his hand stroked your forearm as his heart ached from watching you. You’d open your eyes briefly and recognition flashed in your gaze - he simply let his chakra coat your network in a warm embrace. Stiffness eased out from his shoulders as his eyes prickled again.

“I’m getting there, Y/n,” he simply whispered, tenderly. 

You gave no reply or notion of having gotten the message. His heart hurt more for it.

Of course he already had a handful of clones working on the approach before he left for your side to join them in the endeavour. 

The final race began after that. Using as many clones as he possibly could, he started to create the leash - really create it, not just parts of it, practicing weaving or trying seals out. This was it - he would need to perfect this procedure until an immaculate result in a prisoner was achieved. Once he tethered one of them to the leash, he knew he had succeeded and could make more for you. The proverbial light at the end of this hellish tunnel kicked his system more into overdrive than any substance he could take to keep himself on track. It was a real high, almost.

Hashirama tried to get him to rest once he caught wind of the fervor with which he worked.

“You’re doing what?!”, his brother near shouted, horrified. 

Tobirama rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. “Get out of here and back to Y/n,” he ordered sternly, not even looking back at his brother, standing in the door of the makeshift laboratory.

Hashirama’s footsteps drew closer, a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder had him whip around with unconcealed fury. “What.” Tobirama’s voice was an infuriated growl through clenched teeth. A warning everyone heeded. Except his brother, of course.

Hashirama didn’t pull his figurative punches now. “You’re using way too many shadow clones, you’re not sleeping and is-” he pointed on the lab bench, eyes wide now as he recognized the substances Tobirama had been taking, “-is that-”

“You worry about your work, and leave me to mine, anija!” Tobirama shouted back with unbridled ire, seizing his brother by the shoulders to start shoving him out. 

Sadly, he was determined to stand his ground, swatting the hands away. “Sure, destroy yourself so the first thing Y/n can do after recovering is mourn you!” His dark eyes were ablaze now. Even for a non-sensor shinobi, the magnificent aura of his riled up chakra was easy to pick up on. For Tobirama’s senses, it was suffocating, like staring into the sun. The overload just fueled his anger more.

“Get. Out.” The heat was gone from his voice. It was a threat now.

Hashirama held Tobirama’s scarlet gaze for far longer than anyone else did. Wordlessly, he summoned a wood clone. “I’ll watch you. You’re not going to kill yourself, brother.” Then, he turned on his heels to leave the laboratory.

Tobirama was floored for a moment. How dare he. Then, he proverbially exploded as the fury burned so bright inside of him, it was painful. “You will do no such thing!” He yelled after his brother, following with swift stomps. “Take your damn babysitter with you, I don’t need one!”

Hashirama all but ignored him and simply kept on walking down the corridor. Tobirama rushed back to the laboratory where his clones were still at work to eye his brother’s wood clone with sheer antipathy. Briefly, he contemplated destroying it - but ultimately decided against that just for the fact that might break anything precious in the laboratory.

That meant he just had to conceal his exhaustion better now. And no more help from additional medication. 

The rush to the finish line of the gruelling race was just as Tobirama had expected it. He didn’t measure time in days anymore but hours you had left. Your condition kept on worsening and ultimately, Hashirama decided they no longer could risk you going into withdrawal at all. That cut back the time slightly, but not much. Enough for Tobirama to not even feel the slightest bit of exhaustion anymore. Frankly during his work he was nothing but sharply focused. It was when he was by your side the emotions boiled up - the ache that teared at his heart, the suffocating sensation of sorrow, guilt. Overburdening protection paired with crushing worry. Your sheer will had bought them necessary time, he’d just make it work now. It was all he could do.

But now, even in what should be your rest - the precious hours in which you may wake - you barely opened your eyes anymore. They were forced to amp the seals up to a maximum of support to deal with the backlash of all the times you had suffered from the withdrawal, and either Hashirama or Tobirama constantly found themselves at your side to ensure your condition didn’t worsen. Every bit of additional chakra your strained system could take went into stabilizing you further from the inside. It was an extremely fragile balance they upheld - but the truth was, in the Stone shinobi’s hands your body had suffered grievous, outward wounds and now your inside was just as impacted by everything it had gone through. 

Your path to recovery would be an arduous one. One Tobirama did not doubt one second you’d walk strongly and gracefully, one on which he’d not leave your side, at all. He still felt tremendous guilt for everything they - he - had been forced to do to you, everything you went through under his watch. Even now, what little time he spent monitoring you, examining your condition, he never let the warm connection fade - hoping you might at least feel that.

That you weren't alone.

Progress on the leash was as exponential as expected. His shadow clones and his own vigour ensured as much. Over and over he perfected the results he produced. Time would not allow for lengthier tests anymore as the better his craft became, the longer a test subject suffered from the effects of his leash. He had to cycle through the prisoners who barely caught a break now, not that he cared, of course. But every experiment needed to start from a fresh slate, otherwise the result might be muddled. What he could do in the laboratory was to compare his own substance with the actual leash - which he did with unmatched diligence. Once a confusing swirl of chakra, intricate and impossible to pick apart easily, he now saw structure in it. With the experience of not just himself but many copies of himself, he now was sure: learning to create the leash might take months, if not years. 

When your hours were down to a single digit, he was unable to find a difference between his version of the leash and the actual drug.

An eerie kind of excitement gripped him. His head spun dizzily from it. Had he done it? Was this it?

Only one way to find out. And no time to waste. They had just a single dose of the leash left to give to you. 

Tobirama turned to what he sarcastically dubbed his babysitter. “Tell my brother with luck, I’m off to the interrogation headquarters for the last time.”

The last time he slept was forty-one hours ago. Involuntarily, at that. Overwhelmed by releasing the shadow clone jutsu, as it was.

The wood clone nodded and turned to leave.

Tobirama used his hiraishin seal to teleport to the interrogation headquarters after slipping the vial into his pocket - he had placed a branded piece of parchment there days ago. Another way to save time.

He headed straight for Ikuro’s office. By now the members of the interrogation unit knew when not to stand in his way - it was the kind of thoughtfulness he appreciated, even though he never uttered a word to that regard. Given the time of the day, early morning, Ikuro was behind the desk. Tobirama didn’t even knock but tore the door open. 

“We need to start another test now.” 

Ikuro glanced up from the document he was reading. By now he knew not to expect ‘good morning’ from him anymore or other pleasantries. Still, this was quite straightforward even for Tobirama’s standards. “You’ve been here last night,” he replied evenly, raising an eyebrow.

“And I’ve made progress since then. I have reason to believe I’ve done it.” Finally.

That elicited a whistle of surprise even from Ikuro, who seldom did more than smile slightly at whatever was tossed in his direction. But a frown followed. “I don’t need to tell you that-”

Tobirama slammed his palm on the table a huffed through clenched teeth. “I know and we don’t have any time left,” he hissed, borderline desperate now. The fact this would be his last shot before you - he refused to finish the thought.

Ikuro’s mien was stony, but he rose to his feet. “Kimi should be most recovered.”

He followed silently down into the holding block. Whatever gazes he might have felt upon him he either was accustomed to or forgotten. Except for Zenji’s stare. The damn, knowing stare. He never looked more than a spare second into his eyes.

Upon unlocking Kimi’s door, the woman’s head raised up slowly to muster her new company with contempt. The last days had left traces on all the prisoners. Like her compatriots, even the mental bulwark of seeming sheer insanity was showing cracks. Kimi had dark rings under her eyes and the proverbial paint was flaking off. “Is Y/n not fucking dead yet?”, she commented lazily, gaze settling on the vial in Tobirama’s grasp. They had long passed the stage of feigned pleasantries, inquiries about your wellbeing, or even Ikuro behaving like a friend towards her.

All of this had become a well practiced ritual the prisoners knew better than to resist. In a way, they had broken them all in that regard.

Ikuro seized the back of her head already and gave Tobirama a nod.

Kimi’s nostrils flared. “Can’t be much longer now. Y’still gonna keep trying to make the leash after she’s dead, by the way?”, she spat, fighting against the vice hold of the interrogation master.

Tobirama walked closer slowly, expression steely. As cold as he felt inside. He always did when he was down here - these people were barely human to him, anymore. Threats like Kimi’s were their favourite to make. He knew better than to react. His hand shot forward to grasp her jaw - her resistance was notably weaker than it had been a few days ago. 

Good.

Easily, his hand could coax her jaw forward to open her mouth and pour only a small portion of the vial in. Ikuro shot him a questioning glance. “I’ll explain later.” Tobirama answered gruffly as he secured her throat to prevent her from spitting anything back at them. She gagged briefly, prompting Tobirama to up the pressure until she swallowed.

“Fuck you,” she spat, but her pupils dilated already. 

Ikuro closed his eyes to get to work. Tobirama monitored the effect of his leash unfolding briefly and with no small amount of satisfaction. The muting component hammered Kimi’s chakra network just like yours had been. His heart beat faster. Swiftly he withdrew to take a first blood sample of the initial effect and continued to monitor Kimi, who had surrendered to the torture silently by now. Unusual. Most of the time, she found ways to spew colorful insults at either him or Ikuro.

Interesting.

The rest of the experiment proceeded just as perfectly. Tobirama felt near dizzy from the nervousness that gripped him and he was surprised to find he wasn’t shaking from excitement when the withdrawal began to hit the stone shinobi as the muting component wore off - sooner than usual, thanks to the smaller dosage, but it still took quite a while. Ikuro wasn’t finished with the mental interrogation yet, but a frown wrinkled his forehead.

“She’s becoming weaker,” he noted.

“I know. Keep on going.” Hell, they might even crack her now with the added pressure. After all, Tobirama was painfully well-versed in dealing with withdrawal effects, and Kimi’s body was not suffering from chakra overloading at all. 

The shift in the dynamic hadn’t escaped Kimi, either. Restlessness was gripping her. “This doesn’t change anything,” she pressed out, breathing laboured. Her forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat. It wouldn’t be long now until the withdrawal will become painful.

Tobirama ignored her and gripped her throat tighter as he examined more closely. If the disruption didn’t fade he -

“It doesn’t change-,” Kimi choked out again, against the vice grip he held her in. “-fucking anything!” Her voice had become a fine sneer in the end.

Tobirama opened his eyes to find the prisoner grinning, staring at the ceiling with a hollow glance. That didn’t sit well with him. Kimi knew more about the leash - knowledge they hadn’t yet gotten out of her. 

They’d still proceed now. No turning back.

More time passed. She shouted out again a couple times, more slurred than the other before a tremor gripped her body and the words became gargled moans of pain. Inflammation began to kindle inside of her in an awfully familiar way. The disruption was starting to wreak havoc inside of her. Time for the next blood sample, which Tobirama took swiftly.

“Her mind is becoming fragmented, Tobirama,” Ikuro warned, pale eyes opening. That wasn’t good. He wouldn’t continue like this.

“I’ll stabilise her. I need to know if this fades or not,” he answered tersely, blood rushing in his ears. If it didn’t fade - then he’d -

One step after the other. Carefully he let his chakra strengthen each of Kimi’s organs somewhat, only enough to keep her going. The tormented groans subsided if just slightly, and Ikuro closed his eyes again as the haze that surrounded Kimi’s mind became thicker again. So close. They were so close.

Relief did not last long for her. Very soon, the prisoner was deteriorating again.

Tobirama almost shouted from the utter relief he felt. It could only mean one thing. His heart beat so frantically it might as well jump out of his chest at this point.

Ikuro gave him a stern reminder to watch for Kimi again, but Tobirama’s hand had seized the spasming jaw of the prisoner already. Silently, Ikuro watched as he poured the rest of the vial in only to directly continue monitoring her again.

The disruption subsided swiftly as her chakra network became near mute again. Kimi stilled completely, raising her head slowly to let out a drawn-out groan. Her gaze fixated Tobirama, pupils blown wide. There was recognition in it, but in a deranged, wild way - akin to an animal rather than a human person.

Tobirama's scarlet gaze was ablaze, his eyes widened. A low, utterly satisfied growl resounded through the cell - "Yes," he muttered, entirely absorbed in his examination.

Her reply hit like a kick to the gut.

“The leash is tied to a person… and the hand that holds it.”

Right after, her body went limp again as she surrendered to the psychotropic effects of the drug.

Tobirama took a step back, reeling. The blood still rushed in his ears and the elation had cracked like glass that had been put under too much strain. What the hell was that supposed to mean? What was it now? What else did he possibly have to think of? The experiment's result was perfect. 

By all means, this woman was tied to the leash now, the leash Tobirama had created.

He just had to make more of it now - you’d be safe and he could work on a cure. But why was he feeling like his breath had been stolen from him? As though he had run the mile, won the race and yet still had to keep running, or else? His hands trembled slightly as he kept staring down the limp prisoner.

Ikuro cleared his throat. “That’s enough for today. Follow me, Tobirama.” His voice sounded urgent. Startled, Tobirama’s eyes widened slightly, he nodded only.

As they passed Zenji’s cell, the man stirred. “So,” he called out, chains clinking as he threw his body against them. “You made it? Tied Kimi to the leash?” His tone was about as icy as one might get.

Tobirama stopped in front of the cell to give him a lethal glare, all nervousness subsiding in favour of sheer fury. Ikuro stopped as well, giving Tobirama a warning glance.

“I won,” he sneered back, eyes narrow. “As I said, I recreated that little tool of yours.” His voice was dripping with caustic arrogance.

Zenji attempted a grin that looked crooked by how swollen his face still was. “I wonder about that.”

Icy dread was pooling inside of Tobirama faster than he could control it. His mien turned stony as he tried to just not rush in and break Zenji’s jaw again for his insolence. And yet the words were haunting him. Just like Kimi’s had. “You had better start thinking about another way to appear useful to us.”

Without allowing another word from the prisoner, he walked towards Ikuro, heading for the office. Surprisingly, Ikuro shut the door as soon as they were inside.

The burly man cut straight to the chase. “Kimi’s mental defenses were extremely low today,” he began. Tobirama’s heartbeat picked up again. Ikuro frowned. “I was able to glance at her knowledge about the leash. Perhaps she wanted me to, I don’t know.”

“What did you learn?”, Tobirama snapped back before he even realised what words his brain had chosen. His tone wasn’t just stern - it was commanding.

“The Stone’s interrogators use the leash frequently.” Nothing new there, Tobirama figured. With how much effort that went into this drug. He was ready to ask for more information, but Ikuro beat him to it. “However, it seems once the leash is administered to a prisoner, they always receive it from the same creator, or one of his students.” Ikuro’s frown deepened.

The realisation hit Tobirama before he could coherently process the words. The dread that had formed earlier spiralled out into every vein of his body, an ice cold shiver ran down his spine. No, he had not come this far to learn this - all this-

“What does that mean?”, Ikuro inquired when Tobirama gave no answer.

He turned around slowly to put his hands against the doorframe, taking deep breaths now. His head was swimming. This information - all he knew about the leash - it was already pooling into his mind to form a muddied mess that wouldn’t produce a coherent thought.

His breaths were raspy and short. Finally, he swallowed against the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to speak about this. He had to return to the lab. Now.

“It means Zenji might be the only one able to create the leash for Y/n,” he answered, voice dead.

 _______

 He had precious little time left until you needed the last dose of the leash. After that, your lifespan was down to a mere few hours. Tobirama’s heartbeat never slowed down as he arrived in the laboratory, his shaking hands placing Kimi’s recent blood samples in the rack containing a great variety of vials now. His vision was tunneling. 

Only one shot.

Kimi’s statement - Zenji’s following it - and Ikuro’s information pointed towards one thing: the creation of the leash and the following interaction with the victim’s body was such a complex reaction that it didn’t allow for a different torturer’s leash to be administered to the same victim. Why was that? Tobirama could easily guess. With how much time he had spent weaving this damned drug all the little intricacies, the finicky process, it was easy to think there might be different ways to create it. Different patterns. The leash demanded repeated doses of the same drug for the disruption to be muted by the muting component - they were woven together like threads of fabric. A different pattern would not fit. That much his experiments had ascertained, too. 

Lucky for him - for you - he had stuck closely to Zenji’s sample and while primarily trying to imitate the effects of the drug, he had unintentionally copied the weaving pattern of the man himself. That much he was sure of - he had analysed his version and Zenji’s, finding no difference.

Did that mean Kimi and Zenji just thought Tobirama had - somehow - found out how to weave the leash differently? It was a possibility.

He grabbed the blood sample that contained Kimi’s blood right after administration of Tobirama’s leash. Closing his eyes, he began to examine it in great detail. The drug had spread through it hazily, coating it thickly - clogging and fuzzy. Just like it had been in you. No, exactly like it had been in you.

A first wave of relief washed through him. There was no doubt about it - had someone placed a vial of your blood under the initial effect of the leash in front of him and that of a prisoner under his own, he could only tell the difference by the innate chakra signature every body part carried, available to his fine sensor skills only. Otherwise, this was the same.

His body vibrated with tense energy, teetering on the fine edge between nervousness and sheer panic. Things he’d never show to anyone. But in the privacy of this lab - his hand shook, his heart was jumping out of his chest.

Now to the second sample.

He clasped Kimi’s blood sample tightly and shut his eyes again. Examining closer and closer, the disruptive component became obvious - the sharp edges of the chakra that had coated the blood’s cells, scathing as they went, damaging, scratching. Just like in Zenji’s leash. That, also was to be expected - after all, he had tailored the effect as per the example he had been given. 

Then why did he feel on edge? Why was time still running out? Something - something -

He took an even closer look.

And almost dropped the vial when it struck him.

“It’s the seal,” he muttered, shock and frustration fighting inside him as he felt as though he was bursting inside. The way his leash had near branded itself to Kimi’s blood - it was different, in such insignificant and tiny ways, Tobirama would’ve overlooked it. Were it not for the damned comment the lunatic witch had made, the information Ikuro had gleaned - there was no question about it. Zenji must use a slightly different sealing technique in his own version of the leash. 

What would happen if he administered his own leash to you now?

Tobirama groaned painfully, rubbing a palm over his face.

This is a nightmare. It can’t be. You only had little time left until the next - the last dose of the leash. And he had no idea how to even figure out how Zenji sealed the disrupting component of his leash.

His breaths were coming faster now and the tightness in his chest became painful - so painful he clutched the black fabric of his shirt, wheezing. Closing his eyes, his other hand reached for the edge of the laboratory bench for support as his knees shook. Distantly, he realised what the panic attack for what it was, now. Logically, he recognized it. While all the same he figured he did not have time for this.

He had to work now. He had to try - to try and do - do something-

“Damn it,” he panted. His breaths were coming in abruptly, rashly.

His vision tunneled.

He had no time- He had to work- This wasn’t-

Darkness crept from his peripheral reception into the center and Tobirama closed his eyes to force his breaths to slow down. Weakness. This was nothing but temporary weakness he had to overcome swiftly. 

By sheer willforce only quite possibly, he was riding the anguishing sensations out slowly before his body would obey him again.

Then, he grabbed the precious tiny sample of Zenji’s leash and did the only thing that came to mind: to try and dissect it for any clues. Anything at all that might tell him how Zenji sealed off his leash - anything for Tobirama to guess at the process to copy it. He began the procedure much like he’d perform an autopsy on a cadaver: from the outside to the inside. Peeling off layer after layer, removing bits and then cutting them apart into tinier pieces to examine them more closely. Systematically - thanks to his extended knowledge about the leash, there was some of that to his approach here. Of course the leash didn’t have organs like a body did, however since he knew how it was woven, he was able to trace it back this way, sort of.

Zenji’s seal was woven into the disruptive component like Tobirama’s was, intertwined in an intricate fashion he frantically sought to unravel. 

But try as he might - it was impossible. Since there was no ink work - no physical trace of the seal left save for the chakra threads alongside the disruptive component - there just was no telling just how his sealing technique might be working. Tobirama knew this.

He knew - he knew it simply was not possible.

Yet he kept on looking, searching for any clue - until the last bit of the tiny sample was entirely dissected.

And he was left empty handed.

His heart stopped for a moment and ice-cold shock burst in his chest.

Was this it, now? Had he come this far to surrender to this damn detail? He closed his eyes slowly as breaths came in faster and faster again, more ragged each time. The world was frozen. Time stood still for a moment as his mind raced faster into nowhere, while his heart, his heart knew well enough there was nothing left.

Crushing sorrow followed the shock, his lip quivered. Wetness formed under his lids and quelled down his cheeks.

“Fuck!”, he shouted - no, roared as he smashed the vial containing the useless sample of the leash against the wall.

“Fuck, fuck, -” he kept yelling the profanity over and over as if that brought any relief, his hands in his white hair, pulling. He didn’t feel any physical pain - he felt nothing except for overwhelming despair that filled every crack of his mind and emotional pain too great to put into words yet his heart was being torn into two.

He’d lose you - you, the only person he’d ever entrust that silly organ to. 

He had promised you -

After all he’d done -

Limply, he sunk down with his back against a wall of the laboratory, having no idea how he had gotten there. Tears were streaming down his face freely now, he didn’t even make any effort to wipe them off or reign in any feeling anymore. It was all too much. Wheezing and sobbing he sat there for who knows how long - letting desperation and grief crush him like metal between hammer and anvil. Jaw taut as he clenched his teeth, eyes hidden under his palm - he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to.

He had failed you.

And now you’d die. ______ the story isn’t over yet! but i reckon I should be hanged for this cliffhanger. STAY WITH ME THOUGH OKAY!!

[chickenmcfly1]

Marty with superpowers headcannons?

(Again, I have no idea how the science behind any of this would work so just bear with me)

So the exposure to plutonium without cell rejuvenation gives him superpowers. Marty can briefly manipulate time by freezing and speeding up time around him, and he can manipulate space by phasing in and out through solid material

basically since his powers came from the DeLorean and interaction between radiation and the flux capacitor, Marty basically becomes a weak human flux capacitor and can manipulate space and time(sketchy science is sketchy)

He discovers them about a week after part three ends because his body finally transitions out of survival mode.

Through the trilogy, Marty is running on like 12 total hours of sleep, 1 meal, no water, 4 head injuries, 3 of which are traumatic brain injuries he doesn’t really accidentally draw on said powers. He’s weak, pretty injured, and exhausted, and his body’s probably focused on healing and staying upright, not manipulating space and time (also I always forget that by definition and time spend unconscious, Marty sustained three traumatic brain injuries in the span of 18 days? That’s gonna be fun for his family doctor to deal with at his next wellness checkup)

After he returns to lone pine 1885, Marty hasn’t really been sleeping bc he’s plagued by near constant nightmares and he’s been super on edge and anxious so he hasn’t really been eating and he’s overwhelmed and exhausted and just crashes in bed one day. And his body is like “oh we’re finally resting! we feel better! Let’s check out these new body functions!” (Again, This is not how bodies work but just humor me)

Then, the next morning, Marty wakes up under the bed? And Marty knows he’s a weird sleeper and he kinda just assumes he thrashed and moved around in his sleep and fell off of the bed, but that’s not possible bc he’s in the exact position he was on top of the bed. There’s also this heavy plastic keyboard case next to him, blocking the only side of the bed he could’ve rolled under from. Otherwise he would’ve had to roll over his guitar, fallen off of the bed, and rolled back under?

But Marty is 100% not in the mood to deal with any more strangeness and weird situations. He’s already overwhelmed and confused, he misses Doc so much it physically hurts, and he’s got real gigs lined up through the holidays and he really doesn’t have the mental energy for this so he just kinda ignores it and goes to school

But strange things keep happening? In math, when he knocks his calculator off of his desk during a test, panicking about how embarrassing it’s going to be when it hits the ground and makes and noise, making everyone turn around and look at him, the calculator just slows down, almost ceasing it’s free fall until Marty grabs it? And the few people who were turning around to look at Marty also have stopped, heads turned halfway to Marty before jerking back to their tests?

The worst one is when he’s on his way home, about to get on his skateboard. Instead for getting on, though, his foot goes through his skateboard. And just when Marty thinks that ordeal is over, his hand goes through the bumper of a car he tries to grab, sending Marty spiraling into the street. As cars zip past him and Marty’s in the middle of an intersection, thinking about how Doc was right and this little car surfing habit of his is gonna end him up in the hospital, the cars around him suddenly stop and seem to freeze then move in slow motion, just long enough for Marty to get to safety before continuing to speed down the streets as if nothing ever happened

Marty continues his commute home, feeling absolutely sick to his stomach, because there’s really one reason he could be passing through solid objects. He’s fading from existence. And that doesn’t explain the other weird stuff, but Marty’s way too worked up to consider the little details. The only thought running through is head is that there’s absolutely no way this can be happening again because this was supposed to be done it was all supposed to be better now

He goes home to get his truck, barely concealing his near-hyperventilating from Biff who always seems to be waxing one of their cars, and his dad who’s sitting on the porch, and drives to Doc’s. The lab is obviously empty, but being here makes him feel a little safer, and a little more clear headed.

He doesn’t eat or sleep that night and that puts his body back into survival mode, so his powers calm down again and Marty is beyond confused but just chalks all that up to exhaustion induced hallucinations? Which is a little scary because Marty is absolutely sure that all of that happen, and he’s really hoping he’s not going insane, but he’d rather be insane than fading from existence because option b means he messed up the time stream and that means that a bunch of other people potentially in danger and Marty’s already bucking under the guilt of 1985 A, he doesn’t need this too.

Obviously Marty has not been the same since time travel, but Jennifer notices he seems extra off as of late, so after school that day, she drags him to her house and asks her to tell her everything. And he knows he shouldn’t, but Doc’s not here and desperately needs to talk to someone and Jennifer is always so grounded and level headed and he needs that right now.

After 18 days of trauma chaos and Marty’s new affliction is described, Jennifer, who is a huge comic book and science fiction nerd, tells him in the most cheerful but matter of fact voice that he obviously has superpowers!

Marty just gives her his signature look of wide eyed, panicked confusion

Jennifer reassures him and tells him to leave a note for Doc where Doc left the DeLorean for him and ‘55 Doc. Marty likes that idea, but he’s still not entirely sure about the whole superpowers thing. So Jennifer tells him to attempt doing those things on purpose, and sure enough, all the things Jennifer makes fall off of her desk chair, including herself (which is the scariest trust fall of Marty’s life) slow just long enough for Marty to right them. Similarly his hands and legs pass through objects. Jennifer suggests he try to phase through the wall to see how strong his powers are, but Marty has a horrifying image of him stuck between Jennifer’s bedroom and closet wall forever, and he decides he’s not trying that own without Doc.

After a few trial runs, a very excited Jennifer’s going on about all the good things he could do the community with these powers and all the cool things he could do, but Marty’s anxious and overwhelmed and just wants to lay low. So he has powers, doesn’t mean he has to use them. Besides, Marty doesn’t know how to explain to Jennifer that after all the ‘good’ he did in 1985A and other timelines, the best way for Marty to serve the community is to probably stay far far far away from where he can mess anything up. Jennifer is, of course very understanding and she accompanies him to leave a letter for Doc

That night, Marty’s scared awake by a sudden rap on his window and wakes up to see Doc? And after Marty’s fight of flight response calms and his heartbeats slows enough for him to function, he just kind of sits there, convinced this is a dream and any second now, Doc will open up his lab coat, revealing bullet wounds and collapse and Marty will have to watch again. But then Doc calls his name and tells him he got his letter. And Marty is overwhelmed with joy and after flinging open the window and tackling Doc with a hug and then giving Clara and the boys another one, they go to the lab and figure everything out

Marty does, indeed, have superpowers. He’s basically a mini flux capacitor and Doc is over the moon thrilled, then panics and checks Marty over to make sure he’s still fine and healthy and that there are no negative side effects, then goes back to being thrilled

Idk what direction I wanna take this in? Whether Marty is just a normal person doing normal person things who just happens to have superpowers or if he and Doc get another crazy adventure, this time, involving superpowers, but yeah. If anyone wants to add on and take this in a direction, pls do bc I have no idea what comes next, lol.

[chroniccombustion]

Caught in The Grey (ch 6)

Genre: Trans!AU, hurt/comfort, romance, angst with a happy ending Rated: T Characters: Souji Seta (Yu Narukami), Yosuke Hanamura, Naoto Shirogane, Kanji Tatsumi, Investigation Team, Izanagi/Shadow!Souji Warnings: depression, dysphoria, disassociation, self-hatred, implied suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, mentions of homophobia, implied past child abuse and transphobia, canon-typical violence, mild sexual content Status: multi-chapter, incomplete

Playlist: Spotify | Youtube <- previous chapter | next chapter -> (unavailable)

Souji is talking to Kanji.

Souji is walking with Kanji.

Yosuke feels something inside of him twist sharply. He feels… sick.

Chapter 6: On the Outside, Waiting

“I was only in my mind, You were on the outside waiting. I could feel you all the time. Your voice could save me...”

- (“Echo”, Starset)

Thursday absolutely creeps into existence.

Yosuke wakes with a vicious headache. It doesn’t start off slowly, either; from his first moment of consciousness, even before opening his eyes, his head feels like something has been trying to claw its way out from inside his skull while he slept. It thrums just behind his eyeballs, leaving everything tinted ever-so-slightly yellow around the edges with each pulse. He digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets in an attempt to lesson the pressure, but all he gets for his troubles is a stinging, lingering starburst behind his lids – not even ten minutes into the day and Yosuke’s mood is already beyond all hope of saving. So, bleary and exhausted, he forces himself to ooze out of bed like melted wax. He gets up, frowning against the sickening dizziness, the weird sallow hue, and drags himself through the house to get ready for the day.

Going about his morning routine feels like he’s wading through wet concrete. The constant pain keeps his stomach just barely at the point right before nausea, and as he sidesteps around Teddie in their new “brotherly tradition” of communal teeth-brushing, Yosuke has to actively fight the urge to just go back to bed and stay there until Monday. Maybe if he hits a hard reset he can write off the Endless Week from Hell as just another nightmare; fuck knows he’s had enough weird dreams lately that one more wouldn’t mean much at this point.

He doesn’t though. He powers through the motions on pure muscle memory and diverts what little willpower he does manage to scrape together towards putting on a mask of normalcy. It sticks in place precariously, like dried, cracking glue that’s flaking off under too much heat and wear. He keeps the façade going as best he can, however, because despite wishing he could just evaporate into nothingness, Yosuke doesn’t want Teddie to think he’s pissed off at him. (Because he isn’t, not specifically, even if the bear’s enthusiasm for everything is a dozen kinds of irritating this morning.) So Yosuke does his best to try and keep his mental and physical discomfort as close to secret as possible.

More than being worried that Teddie will take it personally, though, Yosuke just doesn’t want his little brother to ask at all. The reserves of energy Yosuke normally has tucked away have not yet been replenished after days of continuous draining. Even the overflow of nervous, anxious energy that comes from his brain and not his body and makes it impossible for him to sit still half the time; he just… doesn’t have it. There’s simply nothing left that he can spare, not even for Teddie.

So Yosuke swallows down the pressure in the back of his throat that threatens to choke him and pretends that nothing is wrong, that his head isn’t pounding like it’s about to explode and he’s two steps away from giving up for the day. He speaks when Teddie prompts him to, answering questions or responding as needed and staying quiet with it’s not. He lets the chatty blond fill the silence for him, instead, and uses Teddie’s unnatural lack of a need for air to his advantage. For the most part, it seems to work in his favor.

Teddie doesn’t notice – or at least, Yosuke doesn’t think he notices – and by the time Yosuke has to leave for school he’s almost convinced that his act has been bought. It’s only at the last minute, when he glances up for no real reason while slipping on his shoes and spots Teddie in the entryway next to him, that he catches the odd sideways look his brother is pinning him with. Yosuke gives him an overly sunny smile as he opens the door, pretending to both his brother and himself that he doesn’t see the frown on Teddie’s face, and finally slumps out into the chilly morning air.

He tries not to think about it for long.

The sky outside is drearier than it has any right to be as he begins trudging along the path to school. He’s actually a little glad for it – the diluted sunlight is just low enough that it doesn’t hurt his eyes and make his still-present headache worse the way a brighter, bluer morning might. Sadly, with his proverbial battery as drained as it is he can’t take much comfort from the lack of extra pain, and it does nothing to lift his mood from the murky depths of his own self-pity. So, even though the sun doesn’t bother him directly, Yosuke keeps his eyes trained on the concrete beneath his shoes as he walks and distributes his weight onto the balls of his feet to keep his own footsteps from jostling his brain.

He makes his way carefully down the familiar first part of the trek. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t pay attention to anything except the quiet music from his headphones – cranked down today so as not to exacerbate what he’s starting to think might be a migraine. Nothing happens; he’s never been so glad for uneventful monotony. He counts the cracks in the sidewalk as he crosses them and lets himself get lost in the repetition.

He doesn’t want to think – not about Souji, not about the dreams, not about the squirmy, guilty feelings low in his gut leftover from last night’s shitty texts. None of it.

He doesn’t want to think at all.

(He feels his knees start to buckle mid-step and has to forcibly blank out his mind to stop himself from remembering everything that’s made him question his own reality over the past few days, lest he turn right the fuck around and lock himself in his bedroom for a year.)

Surprisingly it seems to work; the awful, mocking voice isn’t there this morning, chewing at his memories and bringing them all into sharp relief. There is no harsh whispering in his ears, telling him all the ways he’s fucked up or how worthless and forgettable he is, how much Souji must secretly hate him or how disgusting Yosuke really is down inside. Instead there’s an eerie quiet, only broken by Yosuke’s own mind when he slips and lets his caged thoughts out for a moment. He can’t tell if he’s glad or unnerved.

He tries not to think about that, either.

(The yellow hue hasn’t gone away – he doesn’t know what that means but he’s pretty sure it’s nothing good.)

The mental silence feels like a cool breeze against a scalding sunburn for the short amount of time it lasts. It follows Yosuke the first third or so of the journey, numbing him to the streets and background highway noise within the couple-block radius around his house. But as much as he wishes it could last the entire day, Yosuke has long-since learned that nothing good or decent lingers around him for very long before vanishing and leaving him desperate for steady ground. All too soon, in little visual bits and pieces, he starts to habitually recognize his surroundings once more.

Just past the point where the sounds from the highway he lives by start to fade entirely, Yosuke’s eyes catch on minor landmarks, reminding him of just where he is and where he’s heading. He slows his already-sluggish pace even further and lifts his head to properly align himself with the rest of reality. Up ahead, about a block away, lies the little stretch of road where he and Souji’s paths usually intersect; he’d avoided it yesterday, and looking at it now, even from a distance, Yosuke can feel his nerve endings beginning to spark and crackle, even as his mind stays unnaturally silent. His muscles tense slightly, like his body is getting ready to break into a sprint at any moment before his head can even fully catch up and register the bitter unease that’s steadily taking hold. He hates this. He hates the way his stomach drops out at the sight of he and Souji’s meeting place. There isn’t even anyone there that he can see – though he’s ashamed to admit the teensy flash of disappointment – because... well, because – and, even worse, how afraid he is to stick around and find out if that’s going to change any time soon.

(The whole world turns sickly bile-yellow for a second; the color disappears when Yosuke blinks and swallows with a dry throat, but for a single instant it’s there.)

I can’t do this.

Just like yesterday, just like the coward he is, all talk and no spine, Yosuke lets his feet turn away from his typical route and down a nearby side street. It’ll take him a little extra time to go around like this, to wind through a different part of town and come out at another spot along the river before heading practically a back way up to Yasogami. He’ll still have to take the path to the front gates – there isn’t really another way he can go – but if he can do enough meandering and time it right then he can (probably, hopefully) avoid Souji until he’s actually in the classroom. He’ll have to figure out the rest of the day as it comes.

He stalls and stalls and wanders and picks his way carefully along a zig-zagging line in the general direction of the high school. He’s familiar enough with where he’s going that the roundabout way itself doesn’t bother him; he’s already spent a lot of time mindlessly exploring the streets of Inaba.

When his family first moved from the city, out to this tiny little hole in the middle of nowhere, Yosuke had found himself with too much free time and too few distractions to keep his mind from dwelling on his own misery. Being new meant he had no friends, and being the person everyone seemed to blame for Junes’ existence meant he wasn’t really welcome anywhere either. When he wasn’t at school he was working, and when he wasn’t working he was home alone because his parents were working, and when he was home alone his options were either homework or unpacking boxes. Eventually he ran out of both.

Video games were only fun for a little while before they grew frustrating and boring without someone else to play with. Movies and tv were alright but sooner or later he’d already seen everything twice over. Books where never really his thing because his attention span was always just too short to let him enjoy them; manga was better, but had the same problem as movies. In the end, Yosuke’s only choice for something to do besides sit and stare at the wall had been to go walking – if only to try and familiarize himself with the place he was inevitably going to be stuck in for the rest of his natural life.

So he walked. From the school district down towards his house, looping and doubling back to kill time, or from Junes after an earlier shift and across to the other side of town just to see how far this tiny pocket of rural bullshit extended before he hit the wilderness. He might not have gotten the whole place memorized, but after those first couple of months in Inaba, when his entire experience with the town outside of school, work, or the pile of moving boxes at home had been made up of long walks and lonely hours, Yosuke’s mental map had soon become, at the very least, decent.

He calls on that mental map now as he rounds another corner, pulling at a few staler memories to see if he’s going the way he thinks he is. The house at the end of the street with the blue shutters, the rickety doghouse in the front yard across the road – yep, all still there. He’s probably going to be late again, or very, very close to it, but as long as he keeps moving, as long as he twists and winds and pretends he doesn’t eventually have to join the rest of the student population on the same road to the school entrance, he can keep himself from succumbing to his anxiety. Souji is punctual, Souji likes routine. If Yosuke takes his time getting to school and avoids the usual path, then he theoretically doesn’t have to worry about accidentally running into Souji on the way.

But even as the thought helps to keep the jitters at bay, there is just something so… inherently wrong about it that Yosuke has to bite down hard on the inside of his own cheek to keep himself from choking. This is a violation of his own routine, of everything that has made his world anything considering normal up to this point. Never in a million years would he have ever thought himself capable of outright hiding from his best friend, going out of his way to purposefully avoid him – it feels like a betrayal, like he’s adding just one more slight against Souji to his ever-growing pile of mistakes. A faint echo of loneliness washes over him and clings to his skin like a humid breeze – the morning feels far too much like the walks he used to take before he even knew that Souji existed, all those months ago.

He never wants to go back to that.

He thinks he may have forgotten how to breathe.

Digging his shoes a little more roughly into the sidewalk, Yosuke powers his way up the street – headache be damned – and past the house with the blue shutters, counting his footsteps in his head loud enough to eclipse the lyrics of the song in his headphones. He keeps his head down and his shoulders hunched, only letting his eyes lift from the sidewalk to keep himself from tripping over as he walks like the entire world is clawing at his heels.

He almost doesn’t notice when he’s reached the path that leads through the school district.

He almost doesn’t notice the achingly familiar sound of Souji’s voice further up along the road.

He almost doesn’t notice the figure striding along at his partner’s side.

But then he does.  

Yosuke looks up instinctively as his friend’s voice reaches his ears, startling violently for a moment when he sees just how close he got to Souji without even realizing it. His heart stutters, trembles like the wings of a frightened moth at the flash of silver not even twenty feet in front of where Yosuke has been disassociating as he walks. (And how funny is it that even when Yosuke forgets where he is, his feet always seem to lead him right back to the one thing that’s ever made his life make any sort of sense?) He nearly trips on the next footfall as he overrides his own autopilot and manually slows his pace, falling a little further back from the ethereal swath of black-and-moonlight ahead of him just enough to not be noticed. He makes sure to stay close enough that he can still hear his partner speaking, though – not even the words themselves, just the sound of Souji is all he really needs.

(Just how needy can he get?)

Souji’s voice carries on the slight breeze that blows through and ruffles his hair, moving it enough to catch the muted morning light and make it shine like sunbeams across the Samegawa. Souji's volume is as quiet as ever but unmistakable in its steady timbre, its velvet-softness, and even with his headphones still on Yosuke can hear it. He’s trained himself to pick up on Souji’s commands through his music while in battle. By now it’s almost second nature to him to react every time his friend speaks.

But Souji isn’t speaking to Yosuke. No, Yosuke is still a ways behind him and from the looks of it Souji hasn’t noticed Yosuke at all. Instead, walking side-by-side, so close that their arms nearly brush every time one of them gestures, Souji is talking to someone else. Someone tall, with broader shoulders and a louder voice, bleach-blond hair slicked back to show off the glint of several earrings, a uniform jacket worn like a cape instead of over the arms.

Souji is talking to Kanji.

Souji is walking with Kanji.

Something inside of Yosuke twists sharply. He feels… sick.

It sits like concrete in the pit of his stomach, growing rapidly in its weight until he can barely breathe, can barely see, the edges of his vision almost pulsing with that same ominous yellow. He can't think for a moment, can't focus on anything but the way his best friend – his best friend, goddamnit! - walks just a little too close to Kanji, smiles just a little too widely at Kanji. It's wrong, it's wrong, it's so wrong, and Yosuke can't even begin to peel back his own thoughts from the slow crescendo of screaming now building inside his mind to parse just why he's suddenly so angry. The yellow becomes tinged with something almost like an acidic green, the color of jealousy and vomit and everything Yosuke can feel at the back of his throat like a wad of wet paper. He feels shaky in a new way, no longer afraid but something closer to how he tenses before a strike in battle. Defensive. A snarl curls at his lips before he can stop himself, and it's only because he's still rooted to the spot in a kind of shock that doesn't even feel human anymore that he doesn't go launching himself across the way and yanking Souji back to himself by the arm.

Somewhere, deeper than the anger and the horrible heat trickling down his spine, Yosuke knows he's being unreasonable; after all, Kanji is Souji's friend, too, and it's not like Yosuke has exactly been available for Souji to interact with recently, so there's nothing in the world wrong with the other boy walking to school with another member of their team. He wishes he could pinpoint where this is even coming from, why he's suddenly flipped like a switch from wanting to avoid Souji at all costs to violently wanting to hoard him all to himself. It doesn't make any sense, and Yosuke's actually starting to get a little bit frightened of his own reaction.

It's just too bad he can't feel it properly below everything sinking into his heart, poisoning him from the inside out; maybe it would be enough to snap him out of whatever this is.

He stands stock still, only vaguely aware of the other people around him, some shooting looks at him no doubt, and watches as his Souji (his, something in him hisses,) passes through the gate with someone other than Yosuke. He watches, body frozen and eyes burning, refusing to blink as Souji, his friend, his leader, his partner approaches the school together with Kanji, the same way he used to (used to, should be,) with Yosuke.

It shouldn’t knock the wind from Yosuke’s lungs like he’s taken a Zio straight to the chest; it shouldn’t, because when all is said and done it's almost guaranteed all this is completely innocent – Souji is a friendly guy, and it's never been like him to say no to anyone asking for his time. (Except for when he did, Yosuke thinks bitterly, because wow, that wound is just not closing.)

But that's the thing, isn't it? Because no matter how much it is absolutely Yosuke's fault for putting this newest distance between him and his partner, even if Souji's refusal to talk to him had set everything in motion, no matter who or what is truly to blame for this, it does little to change the very real fact that Yosuke is not the one by Souji's side right now.

That Souji has picked someone else.

The scene is so similar that it’s almost as if Yosuke is looking at a displaced echo, a badly done juxtaposition of two different images made to look like one. Like someone stripped the negative of a photograph and pasted in a poor substitute. Like someone replaced the original and, and...

Told you, the voice inside his brain sneers. For the first time that morning, Yosuke feels that formless smirk stretching wider, curling into his fingers and toes like something settling into its frame after being wadded up, stuffed into a space it didn't fit. It feels simultaneously right and wrong – wrong because he doesn't think it's supposed to be there, hiding just behind his limbs, adhering to his bones and pricking at his nerve endings; right because the thing now wearing his skin alongside him disagrees.

It was only a matter of time before he got tired of your shit.

It was only a matter of time before he got tired of you.

He takes a few steps after them as they start to get just a little bit too far away, hyper -focusing on the way Souji acts, the sound of his voice and the way it lilts and flows, comfortable in a way Yosuke's rattling memories can't recall if he's ever been before. Yosuke zeros in on the lack of distance between the pair ahead of him, scanning them like Rise does in the TV and storing away all the minute details he can suddenly see, focus now sharp as his kunai. He sees the way Kaji's face reddens. He sees Souji looking over at Kanji with a bright expression, with a smile that shows teeth and pulls the corners of his mouth wider than Yosuke has ever seen when Souji is talking to him. He feels a growl rumbling deep in his throat.

Souji tilts his head in Kanji’s direction as the punk says something, swinging a large hand out in front of himself with obvious excitement and nearly smacking into Souji’s side with his elbow. He catches himself before the hit lands and sheepishly pulls his arm away, face going redder. Souji lightly, deliberately, bumps Kanji's elbow with the back of his own hand, no doubt reassuring the blond that his exuberance has caused no harm. Kanji rubs at the spot awkwardly. He says something. He blushes harder.

And Souji laughs.

It not a real laugh, it never really is with Souji, nothing louder than a very quiet chuckle or a huff or a breath, but Yosuke has heard it before, has been the one to bring it out before, so he would know that sound anywhere, will always recognize that silent shudder of his partner's shoulders as the other boy uses his body to communicate instead of his voice. Yosuke doesn't have to hear it – his mind supplies the sound.

That's mine! he snarls.

Not anymore, something mockingly singsongs in reply.

The yellow-green in his eyes grows darker and Yosuke can see the corners start to creep inward with solid color, until all he can see is the fondness on Souji's face that isn't meant for him.

He has to claw his way back to the forefront of his mind in order to get to class on time, just barely slinking into the room with the teacher coming up the hallway behind him. His eyes bore into the soft grey hair at the back of Souji's neck and – for the briefest of moments – he has to quell the urge to lean forward and sink his teeth into his partner's flesh, leave his imprint for all the world to see and claim what's his.

He doesn't even notice the way the thing inside him that before would have been copper and sick now seems to purr at the thought.

---

He doesn't remember the rest of the day.

Yosuke is aware that he somehow makes it through the school day, bounding out of the room at lunchtime to go and... well, he doesn't even know, really. He thinks he may have gone up to the roof but he isn't sure. He knows that he did eventually go back to the classroom – presumably after lunch – but beyond that there's nothing. The end-of-day bell sounds and he's immediately on his feet, out the door, down the hall, head foggy and vision tinted yellow; if anyone says anything to him then he doesn't even notice.

Something ugly is happening to him inside. He knows it, doesn't know how to fight it. Right now, after that morning, after everything swirling around in his chest and his head for most of the week now, Yosuke feels a disconnect between himself and reality. He's spent so much time trying not to think, then over-thinking, the repeating, and repeating, and repeating, that it's like something has finally snapped. He's so tired and wrung out that he can't tell how he even feels right now, whether he's mad at Souji or Kanji or himself. Or all three. Or just fucking everything. It's as if there's a block of ice holding him separate from the dark things twisting like vines behind his heart; he can't look at them, can't pull them apart with his hands and study them, he can only feel them coiling tighter and tighter until his body goes numb.

His phone goes off in his pocket as he stalks his way down the hill away from school, thighs burning despite months of combat toning his muscles inside the TV. He checks it on instinct, feels the vines in his ribs twist in another direction as he reads the “I miss you, Partner,” that Souji had texted him.

Guilt or anger or self-disgust or something climbs its way to the back of his throat and threatens to spill from his lips onto the sidewalk and it's such a mess, such a god-fucking-awful mess that the only thing Yosuke can do is type a quick, dismissive, “sorry @ work” and back out of the text before he chokes on molten, raw emotion. Without even looking he scrolls and clicks on a random chat log further down the list and pulls it up so he doesn't have to look at Souji's name anymore, doesn't have to try and figure out if he's upset or happy or just sick to his stomach. Chie's nickname screams at him from the phone screen, her words from last night still justifiably pissed.

Yosuke takes a second to think of the dirtiest pick-up line he can and sends it off, not even caring anymore. It doesn't feel like anything, he gets no satisfaction from it, doesn't even bother harboring the idea that maybe she'd find it funny like he used to do ages ago. It doesn't mean anything. Nothing means anything anymore. He's just hollow.

His phone 'ping!'s and he barely glances at the response. She's mad again. Whatever. Let her be. Yosuke deserves it – the frigid rush he gets from her anger coats his skin and, in a horrible, disgusting way, it makes him feel better. Good. At least someone feels something in his direction. He sends her another message, pretending it was all a joke, that he wasn't punching at the walls of his tiny world just to feel anything anymore. He's gone so far from the constant buzz of anxiety and fear that he's grown immune to it now. Everything is so loud and at the same time it's all too brutally quiet. It's like he's rigged for self-destruction, caught in a loop of feeling betrayed and wanting to betray in return out of spite, folding back around to hating himself for it, wishing everything was back to normal, that he and Souji were back to normal, and then wanting to rip his own skin off when he realizes they aren't and can't. It tilts him side to side and he can't balance. He can't regulate his emotions, can't sort out his feelings, has no outlet – all he can do is take a swipe at everything around him and hope he finds a handhold, something to pull him back to the surface. Maybe if he causes enough damage outside himself then it will make up for all the damage already caused inside.

He wants to scream.

Instead, Yosuke types out another dirty text and hits send with shaking, vindictive hands.

Nothing changes as the afternoon stretches on. Chie spits more fire at him through the phone, apparently borrowing Yukiko's element for a while as she tells Yosuke in loving detail just how many ways she intends to break his knees. He hates that it's almost comforting in its normalcy – albeit in a dark and over-exaggerated way. The ice block sits comfortably in his chest, hindering him from properly feeling the fallout of his actions as the vines dig their thorns in deeper; he knows that if he tries to look behind it then he'll be disgusted with himself all over again, (Chie really doesn't deserve this kind of treatment, for one thing) and so he just. Doesn't. He holds back the part of him still consciously rallying against everything he's doing, yelling at him to stop, throwing itself against the frozen wall to try and make him feel all the remorse and guilt he knows is there behind the ice. It's building, drop by drop, bucket by bucket, action by action, but Yosuke can't make himself stop.

You really are a worthless piece of shit, aren't you?

It's to the point where Yosuke can no longer tell the mocking, hissing, whispering voice inside his head from his own. He thinks there might not be a difference at all anymore.

He wanders through the streets and between the buildings in the same weaving, winding pattern he did that morning, letting the music in his ears and the faint ache in his legs from his ceaseless power walking distract him from all the things he wants to pretend aren't happening. Eventually he reaches the bottom of another hill and doubles back to kill more time before his shift at Junes – because, unlike the night before, he really does have one this time. He debates on calling in as he takes the long way around to the shopping district. Right now he barely feels human, let alone like he's capable of interacting with other people; donning the mask of artificial pep needed to deal with shoppers is draining even on the good days, despite the fact that he's used to being on autopilot while at work with too many years of involuntary customer service making it almost muscle memory by now. In the end, though, he decides against it. Calling in will mean having to make up a good excuse for his dad, which might lead to a far longer and more complicate conversation than Yosuke has any desire to have. There's no way he has the energy to play verbal minesweeper with his parents, whether it be now or later once they get home.

He checks his phone to see how much time he has left to fortify himself, to keep his brain and his heart blissfully, chaotically numb, and sees a trio of new texts from Chie that must have come through while he wasn't looking. He taps her name to bring the chat back up and expects to see more of the usual fair. He doesn't.

Meat-Fu: What's going on Hanamura? This isn't normal.

Meat-Fu: U know u can talk 2 me right?

Meat-Fu: Ur my friend & I'm worried.

Yosuke feels like he's been stabbed.

Nonononono,this isn't right! With all the shit he's pulled to get attention, validation, to force the world to prove he's a bastard, none of it was supposed to result in this. He's sick, he's worthless, why can't everyone just hate him as much as he hates himself?!

Yosuke nearly throws the phone away from him, his body suddenly shaking as the ice cracks and the vines squeeze and he comes dangerously close to feeling something. This wasn't – he doesn't' know how to deal with this. Everything is off-kilter; Souji has gone and replaced him with Kanji and Kanji is stealing his best friend and it's all Yosuke's fault because he's disgusting, of course Souji isn't going to want anything to do with you anymore – and Kanji probably has the same kind of dreams that Yosuke's been having because that's what gay people do, right? And now Chie, of all people is picking up on the stuff Yosuke is trying so hard to shove down because how does he even begin to deal with all of this and he can't let her know, he can't! Not after everything he's done and said and everything he's turning into, oh god.

Blinking through the sudden blur in his vision, (when did he start tearing up, what the hell?) Yosuke grips his phone in both hands and sucks in breath after breath of too-thick air. He's so tired of borderline breakdowns. Typing as best he can with his limited sight, he fumbles out a reply, just something, anything to grind the conversation to a screeching halt before it can even begin.

Yosuke: wth r u talking about? lol ur crazy Chie

He sends it. It's not enough, it's too casual, too easy to brush off, but he can't see the screen anymore and his fingers won't move right. So he sends it and he stands there in the middle of the sidewalk near the bus stop in the shopping district, staring unseeing down at his phone and forcing himself not to blink. The tears stay in his eyes, dry up, fade away. He takes a shaky breath in and lowers his phone.

“Yosuke-kun?”

Oh no.

It's like a nightmare. An actual nightmare. He looks up and sees Yukiko standing a few feet away from him, likely waiting for the stupid bus (why did he have to stop here? Why?) with what looks like a couple of Junes bags draped over the crook of her elbow. She must have just finished shopping and come straight to the bus stop, ready to head home.

Which means Yosuke would have been damned either way – if he'd gone straight to work he would have run into her there, and because he'd stalled for so long he'd run into her here. He shouldn't have answered Chie's text, should have kept moving, should have taken another route or hidden in the stock room at work. He should have--

Yukiko takes a step closer, concern sweeping over her delicate brows. “Are you alright, Yosuke-kun?” She takes another step. Her lips pull into a frown as she looks at him and Yosuke can't even begin to imagine what's she's seeing.

“H-huh?” he squeaks out. His knees don't want to hold him up.

Yukiko's frown deepens. “You look troubled, did something happen?”

Yosuke shakes his head. “No! No, I'm perfectly fine, I'm just uh...” He flounders for a second, staring at her like she's an approaching Shadow four times his size – even if she hasn't moved since that second step in his direction. He knows his eyes are wider than a cat's, he can feel it. Finally he manages to blurt out, “stalling? Cuz I really don't wanna go to work.” (Well it's not... exactly a lie.)

From the way Yukiko is looking at him, he knows she isn't convinced, can already tell she's thinking of saying something. She's quiet and polite most of the time, yes, but she's been getting better at speaking her mind, and that scares him right now. He can barely keep himself together over a text conversation; there's no way in hell Yosuke will be able to make it out of a face-to-face one alive.

So he defaults. He defaults and it leaves him feeling gross and slimy even before it's finished leaving his tongue; “You know, if you're worried about me, you could always come cheer me up.”

(Oh god does he wish he could put the words back in his mouth and swallow them down.)

Yukiko leans back slightly, her expression turning uncomfortable, and it just serves to make Yosuke feel even worse about what he's doing. She opens her mouth to speak. Yosuke cuts her off.

“You never did send me that picture.” He tries to wink. He doesn't like how it feels.

This time, Yukiko recoils as if something foul has been splashed at her. “That's--”

But Yosuke is already turning on his jelly-kneed legs and willing them to carry him just around the corner, just out of sight. “See you tomorrow!” he calls, trying to keep himself from retching as the words come out. Behind him, he hears the sound of the bus' breaks squealing and pushes his legs faster. Yukiko won't follow him, he knows (he hopes,) lest she miss her ride home and have to wait for the next one. Yosuke has been spared for now.

(Except he hasn't really, now has he?)

He's almost makes it up to the top of the shopping district, almost makes it to (possible) safety at Junes where he can hide between the aisles, go and find things to do and redo in the stock room, keep himself busy without actually doing anything. It'll be a welcome distraction at this point, despite how vehemently he doesn't actually feel like dealing with customers, coworkers, hell, he'd even probably dodge Teddie because Yosuke just genuinely can't today. (And on the chance he spots one of his friends walking into whatever area he happens to be in, well... then he'll just have to find something to hide behind and stay there until they go away.)

He's almost to his goal when the universe decides he's not done suffering quite yet. There, coming around the corner, Nanako perched happily on his shoulders, is Souji.

Yosuke stops dead in his track, so abruptly that it's only by some tiny speck of luck that he doesn't fall face-first onto the pavement and break his nose. Panic erupts in his blood like he's been doused in gasoline and set on fire and suddenly his lungs are collapsing in his chest. He doesn't know how he manages to do it, but he dives to the side into an alleyway and tears out the other end as if his life depends on it.

Souji can't see him, Souji can't know he's there, because Yukiko and Chie both talk to Souji and Yosuke hasn't even managed to deal with all the stuff that's already happened this week, hasn't dealt with this morning even! So if Yukiko and Chie talk to Souji and tell Souji about all the horrible shit that's Yosuke's been doing...

Yosuke is doomed. Yosuke will absolutely be doomed. He hasn't spoken to Souji in days and he can't let their next interaction be Souji looking at him with disappointment, with anger, with disgust.

Yosuke runs through back streets and down alleyways until his legs betray him and he collapses against a wall just outside the Shiroku Store. He wasn't even aware he'd managed to book it that far – no wonder his chest feels like it's about to explode. He waits until he can manage to catch his breath, leaning into the bricks so he doesn't sink to the ground. When he thinks he can move again, (ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour later, he has no idea how long he's there,) he pulls himself around the corner and looks first to the left, up towards Junes, and then to the right down the shopping district. No Souji. Good. Hopefully the other boy is still up shopping with his sister and will be for a good long while, (especially if Teddie has anything to say about it.) Tentatively confident that he's not about to be ambushed by his former partner, Yosuke slips shakily out onto the sidewalk.

First thing's first, he shoves his hand into his pocket and digs around until he finds every bit of loose change he's got and shoves it gracelessly into the receiver of the vending machine. He hits a random button, doesn't even care what he gets so long as it's liquid and cold. He chugs the can without even tasting anything and he stifles a wince as the drink hits his burning throat, before the raspy dry feeling finally goes away. He tosses the can away in the nearby trashcan and slinks back into the alley to hide while he calls his dad and tells him he can't make it in for his shift.

(Chie texts him again because of course she does. He doesn't even look at it this time; he just fires off a quick, “@ work can't talk” and puts his phone on airplane mode.)

---

Yosuke makes a quick stop inside Shiroku Store before chancing the trip back home. He grabs a couple of instant ramens for himself, knowing full well no one will be home for a while to make dinner and that his own appetite is questionable after his stomach has been tied up in knots for so long. It'll also give him an excuse not to have to sneak back downstairs later and risk running into his parents. Again, not a conversational minefield he's willing to navigate right now. (He also grabs a pack of mochi to placate his little brother when Teddie inevitably whines about Yosuke not coming in to work.) Once he's out he heads straight home – straight, because the sun has started going down and it's freezing outside, so he feels confident enough in the low temperature to take the gamble on none of his friends being out where he can stumble into them.

He makes it to his house without incident, makes it inside and up to his room, even manages to take a bath without a fuss since Teddie isn't home yet to knock insistently on the bathroom door. For now, he's safe. But even knowing he's at home, alone, with his phone far away from him in the other room, Yosuke finds that he still can't relax. He soaks in the warm water, (he'd washed as quickly as fucking possible because even days later the shower makes his stomach squirm,) and tries to will the anxiety to bleed out through his pores. It doesn't.

Something is keeping his shoulders tense, his nerves frayed and spiked. Even when he gets out of the bathtub after Teddie comes bounding into the house, loud even from downstairs, Yosuke feels like he could jog all the way back to school and have energy left over.

He gives Teddie the mochi, which effectively shuts up any line of questioning that might have been incoming, and Teddie babbles excitedly as he eats. He tells Yosuke all about how “Sensei and Nana-chan” had come by to do some grocery shopping, how he and Nanako had run off to find the groceries together while Souji had wandered off. How they'd found him later after they were all done, around the side of the building, crouched low to pet the stray cats. Yosuke listens to all of this with far more attentiveness than normal; he only breathes once Ted is finished and there has been no mention made of Yosuke whatsoever.

It's... weirdly easier to relax his body after that, though understandably not his mind. His little brother is a small sliver of something normal, oblivious and innocent and forever just happy to be there. It lets Yosuke pretend that nothing bad is waiting for him just outside the house's front door.

Normally he'd play a few rounds of a video game with his brother until one of them felt tired enough to go to bed; tonight, though, Yosuke can't keep his attention on the game, and so gives up after only two failed races. He moves to sit on the bed and picks half-heartedly at his cold instant ramen, only partially watching as Ted plays against the game's AI until the bear starts getting bored. Teddie decides that they're going to have a movie night together after that, and Yosuke lets the blond boy put in some brightly-colored Ghibli thing for them to watch. Yosuke inevitably zones out.

It isn't until the credits end and the dvd menu comes back with a loop of the movie's main theme that he finally looks up, blinking at the red numbers on his alarm clock that read far later into the night than he'd thought, and then down to find his brother passed out cold on the floor. Yosuke sighs and gets up, throwing his unfinished noodles away before awkwardly – albeit carefully – dragging Teddie's slumbering form over to the closet and plopping him onto his futon.

It's as Yosuke is getting ready to turn off the light that he sees Teddie's phone lying on the carpet.

He doesn't know why he thinks it, what makes him link the sight of his little brother's cell phone to the flicker of memory that bubbles up to the surface. He doesn't know where the idea comes from. But he has it.

Rise had taken pictures of everyone and everything at the pageant. Rise had taken pictures of Souji.

Teddie had been begging Rise to send the pictures to his phone.

Yosuke has no idea whether or not Rise had ever actually did, but with how proud of herself she'd been for taking them, he'd bet money on there now being a whole folder of pageant photos residing in the bear boy's phone.

I shouldn't, he thinks, and not just because it'd be incredibly invasive to go poking around in his brother's phone –  if he does, and he finds what he's looking for, then what? He knows neither the girls nor Naoto took any photos of the second pageant, but despite what he let Yukiko believe (and what he's been trying to convince himself of for days,) Yosuke doesn't need those; he'd snapped a few of his own when the event was happening. There aren't many - he'd been a bit preoccupied worrying over Souji's disappearance at the time, and he'd purposefully avoided taking any pictures of Naoto because they'd looked so miserable that it felt almost cruel, but he has some. (And thinking about it now, he realizes he hasn't so much as opened the photo gallery on his phone even once to look at any of them since he took them.)

So no, it's not photos of the beauty pageant he's looking for.

Slowly, as if terrified Teddie will somehow wake up and throw open the closet door to catch Yosuke in the act, he reaches down and picks his brother's phone up off the ground. He's just picking it up, he tells himself; he's just getting it off the floor so no one steps on it. He's doing Ted a favor. He's not going to look, he's not.

(Liar.)

It's not hard to get into Ted's phone – the bear doesn't have any sort of lock on the screen – and because it's a cheap Junes model, Yosuke already knows exactly how to work it. It takes him less than half a minute to find Rise's nickname in the text logs and pull up their last conversation.

There, staring up at him, is the bottom part of a photo, with what looks like the stage in the school auditorium.

Yosuke immediately feels his palms start to sweat. He crosses the room in two quick, silent strides over to the light switch, turning it off with fumbling fingers and plunging the room into darkness save for the faint glow of his alarm clock and the glare from the phone in his hand. He pads back over to the outline of his bed and throws the covers back, then climbs in, throws the blankets over his head like a child avoiding bedtime, and curls up into a ball on his side with his prize held tight in his nervous hands.

His stomach swoops as he holds his thumb over the up button, ready to scroll past Ted's enthusiastic words of thanks to Rise and see--- but hesitates.

He could stop right now, he thinks; it would be so easy just to shut the phone off, put it on the charger, go to sleep. He could roll over with his face in the pillow and pretend none of this happened. It would be so easy.

Okay, he thinks, momentarily closing the phone. Okay. Okay...

This isn't creepy, it's not; he's just... making sure. Right. Yes. That's all. The dreams started after Yosuke had seen Souji dressed up as a girl – after Yosuke had thought things about Souji dressed as a girl. That had to be the reason, right? He couldn't be gay if he was only attracted to his best friend when Souji was in a skirt, when he looked a little too convincing as a chick. That's where the wires had gotten crossed in Yosuke's head, when his teenage hormones had been confused at the sight of his already-pretty partner making an even-prettier lady. That's all it was, it had to be, and Yosuke was holding the proof, the means to his mental salvation, in his hands. All he had to do was look.

Yosuke closes his eyes and takes a second to brace himself, scared for reasons he doesn't particularly want to explore. He pulls in a deep, unsteady breath. Another. A third. On the final exhale, he opens his eyes and taps a key to wake the screen back up. He stares at the bottom of the photo for just a few moments more and then finally sucks in one more breath, pressing the 'up' as his lungs fill to the brim.

The first few pictures aren't what he needs: a crowded group shot, Teddie flouncing around the stage, Kanji looking ready to break an ankle in his ill-fitting heels, Yosuke hating everything while holding the mic. He keeps scrolling up, growing irritated and more anxious with every photo revealed not to be the one he wants. Eventually he just holds the button down and lets everything scroll by until all the images start to blur together; it's because of this that he very nearly misses a flash of grey and silver as the photo streaks by.

Yosuke immediately takes his thumb off the 'up' and jabs at the 'down' until the picture comes back into view. There, bathed in the harsh spotlight of center stage, stands Souji, expression tightly neutral and face pale. It sucks the breath from Yosuke's lungs.

This. This is what Yosuke has been trying so desperately to find, simultaneously to avoid. It feels wrong, somehow, like an invasion of more than just Teddie's privacy, but the whole school had seen Souji in a skirt so it's not like it's a secret that anyone's trying to keep. Still, as Yosuke stares at the familiar shape of his partner's face, his hips, his hands, Yosuke feels, not the wave of relief he'd been expecting, but sour. He can't even put his finger on it, why his face seems to curl up in frustration without him even consciously bidding it to; Souji's body is just as lean and graceful as he remembers it looking, with the long silver wig framing his face and softening his features and the line of the skirt hugging his waist to give him just the faintest of hourglass figures. It should be beautiful, in a way it is, but the more that Yosuke stares at the photo the less and less attracted he finds himself being.

This isn't right.

(Oh, but isn't it?)

Yosuke scrolls up to look for another photo, finding a better one, a closer one, on the very next try. This time the camera is zoomed in, giving Yosuke a much clearer view of Souji from the waist up. Whatever bra the girls had stuffed him into makes his chest look natural, a petite curve to his body that fits stunningly along with the slender way his figure normally seems to taper slightly at his waist. Objectively, Souji looks great, hot, even in the pageant clothes he'd been forced to wear; Yosuke had thought as much when seeing his partner in person on that nightmare of a day. He squints at the phone in his hands and tries to recall just what specifically he'd found attractive when he'd been staring at Souji backstage in the dim, shitty lighting. His hips, definitely – he remembers thinking how perfect they would be for him to rest his hands on. Souji's waist, his chest, yes, but also his hands. Yosuke remembers how ethereal Souji had looked, too, with his eyes and the wig (an uncannily perfect match for Souji's actual hair color,) shining dull silver in the dark. The curve of his jaw, the hint of skin just above his collar bones, the line of his thighs barely there below the straightness of the skirt.

Looking at the photo now, Yosuke can see all the the things that he found so alluring before – and feels, strangely, next to nothing.

He can't understand it, why is he not swooning over the image of his best friend making the most amazingly convincing girl Yosuke has ever had filthy dreams about? (Something turns over in his mind, and suddenly, sickeningly, Yosuke feels like he's on the highest peak of a roller coaster, staring down at the hundred-foot drop below him just as the cart begins to move.)

The sex dreams hadn't featured a skirt.

They hadn't featured long hair or perky boobs.

In his dreams, Souji had just been... Souji. A flat, smooth chest, all toned muscle and softly masculine edges. The silver had been shorter, the cheekbones sharper, all of it had been Souji as he always is – a guy. No matter how gorgeous Yosuke thinks (or thought) Souji looked in his pageant outfit, the blinding fact remains that the boy in his dreams had stayed a boy.

Slowly, stomach twisting into nausea, Yosuke reaches out from the safety of his blanket shield and picks his own phone up off the night stand beside the bed. Like some kind of gremlin, he snatches his hand – phone and all – back into the darkness beneath the covers, clutching it to him with fingers so clammy it threatens to hinder his grip. His heart flutters in his chest, hard enough that he can feel his own pulse; he swallows and his throat is dry. Trembling, Yosuke holds a phone in each hand, holds them up next to one another. He opens his, and fumbles his way to his photo gallery, clicking through until he comes to a picture of himself and Souji, standing close and smiling as Yosuke snaps the selfie.

Oh god.

It's all still there. The photo is, again, a waist-up shot, but even still Yosuke can see the gentle line of Souji's jaw, the hint of his collarbones just past the open top button of his shirt, the long, delicate fingers on strong and calloused hands. Souji's hair is shorter, of course, and doesn't frame his face the way the wig did, so his cheekbones are more visible, his chin slightly sharper, but his eyes. Souji's eyes are still that same summer-storm hue, round and kind, and full of far more life than any of the photos of him in pageant garb. Pageant Souji looks like a marionette; real Souji looks like rainclouds incarnate.

Yosuke's gaze travels down to the very bottom of the picture, where the image cuts off right below Souji's belt buckle, leaving the dip of his waist, the jut of the top of his hip, all still visible. He's wearing his uniform shirt and jacket, but even with the layers of straight-cut clothing Yosuke can see that same faint, curving line of his partner's body that almost looks like the start of an hourglass. Yosuke can't see the other boy's thighs in this one, but the line of Souji's hip fills outward slightly, instead of carving a path straight down like Yosuke is so used to seeing on most other guys – himself included.  Souji, for all that he's built like an athlete, is only sharp in certain places, soft in others; a graceful blade of curving steel, handle wrapped in velvety leather.

Yosuke tears his eyes away from the photo of him and Souji together and back over to the one of Souji at the pageant. The features are the same but different, radiant in one and hollow in the other – both have the same shape, the same color, the same lines and vivid angles. But even without the false femininity, Souji is still gorgeous. Souji is still ethereal. And Yosuke can feel that swooping in his stomach turn to something warm.

A terrible realization comes dawning over Yosuke's mind like a cold and wretched sun. The people in the photos – excluding Yosuke – though differing in dress, are the same. The things that Yosuke had noticed on the day of the pageant, when he'd stared and stared and stared at his friend like Souji was the most beautiful ghost he'd ever seen, every single one of them was still there. Even without the wig and the makeup and the clothing meant for women, every tiny detail that Yosuke had poured over was unmistakably present; they'd all been there the entire time, never not.  

Which means that Yosuke just hadn't noticed them until he'd stopped and stared. And stared. And stared.

Oh my fucking god.

---

There is a certain kind of quiet mania that comes from not having slept at all; a distant sort of grinding at the threads keeping a person from breaking down, from cracking like a gunshot. It's a mental time bomb, one that can lead to either exhaustion and collapse, or the utter shattering of all rational behavior and thought.

Yosuke sits on the living room couch, already fully dressed for school, watching the sun come up through the window as his body and mind are eerily calm. That internal timer is already running low.

He hasn't slept. After his brain-breaking revelation the night before, Yosuke had lain there, pulling out every memory he had of Souji and turning it over and over in his mind. Each interaction, each time he'd thrown his arm casually across the other boy's shoulders, the way it felt when they sat close enough that Souji's body heat warmed his side. So many times Yosuke had felt his breath hitch, his heart beat just a little bit quicker, but every time he just brushed it off. Adrenaline from talking over the murder case, the heat in the summer air, his now-absent crush on Rise kicking in when she did anything cute. (Because he'd noticed that, too; that his cheeks no longer flushed while thinking about her – not since she went from The Idol Risette to his friend Rise.)

Memory by memory, it felt like Yosuke's self-dug grave had gotten that much deeper, and as he pulled on that first thread of realization, more and more had come. Like untangling a spider web piece by fragile piece. It had left his brain in a jumble, keeping him awake for hours until he'd just given up on sleep altogether.

He hadn't been restless, per se, but there had been enough static in his head that it had eventually threatened to spill out into the dark of the bedroom, and, resigned to being awake forever, Yosuke had peeled back the covers and crawled silently out of bed. Grabbing his wrinkled uniform from the day before and slipping it on, he'd gone to grab his toothbrush and a comb out of the bathroom (fervently not looking at either the mirror or the shower,) and headed downstairs to use the bathroom there instead. Slowly, with all the time in the world, he finished getting ready for school on autopilot, even bothering to make – and eat – a bowl of cereal. From an outside perspective he might have looked relatively normal; internally, however, there was nothing but empty, dissociated quiet. Still waters, deceptive with their glassy surface, poised and ready to drop into the churning rapids below.

Yosuke checks the time on his phone, still on airplane mode.

He stands from the couch without a sound, collects his coat and school bag, and slips out the door into the frigid November morning.

(His reflection in the entryway mirror turns to watch him as he leaves.)

---

He cuts through the back way to school again, though this time he doesn't drag his feet; instead, he stalks down the side streets with his hands shoved in his coat pockets and his shoulders hunched. The lack of sleep and the cold feeling now lingering just at the base of his skull both serve to sharpen the knife's edge of emotional instability he's currently teetering on. He feels... nothing. And everything. All at once. He feels like he could run full-throttle straight at somebody and deck them square in the jaw; he also feels like he could break into hysterical laughter at any moment, or maybe tears. It's hard to regulate what's going on in his everything, because his head is both empty and far too full from all the thinking he'd done the night before, but it's also quiet, which is never a good sign. Normally his brain is too loud, but today...

Today is different.

Today is bad.

If he had to try and put words to it, Yosuke would have probably described his mood (if only to himself) as fragile. It's like the wall of ice that had been blocking him from his thoughts and emotions before has turned to tiny, thin splinters. Sharp and cold and so delicate that one wrong move will shatter them – but they'll also slice everything in their path to ribbons.

The slow, methodical trudge to Yasogami High actually takes far less time than he means for it to, leaving him ample time to loiter unseen around the side of the gate, just out of view of any students passing through it. Somehow, (and he's not sure just which god to thank for this,) he hasn't seen Souji yet, either in flashes on the way as Yosuke ducked away from the normal path, or up already near the entrance. It means that Souji is either already inside or he's still en route. (And Yosuke hopes it's the former, because he's not sure just how well that wafer-thin pane of frost is going to hold. Or, for how long.)

It's just his luck, then, that he catches a glimpse of starlight silver and bleached blond coming up the crest of the hill. Yosuke digs his teeth so hard into his cheeks he can taste the coppery tang of splitting skin – Souji and Kanji are walking together. Again.

So easily replaced.

Yosuke bites viciously into the flesh inside mouth and turns to stalk into the school before either of the other boys – so close together they almost touch – can see him.

---

“Hanamura!”

Yosuke twitches, jerked from the ominous quiet inside his own achingly-empty head. Turning, (slowly, stiffly, with the faintest spark of mania waiting to be fueled,) he turns to see the bearer of the voice that had shouted at him from the stairwell behind. Chie stands on the second floor landing with her hands on her hips, glaring up at him with a look so cold it could rival her Bufu. Yukiko appears just two steps below and finishes the climb to stop beside her, a stern expression locked on her face as if made of iron resolve. Neither one of them looks to be in a forgiving mood.

Yosuke wants to just turn back around and ignore them, wants to say 'fuck it,' and just throw away what's left of his friendships so he can go back to the blissful emptiness of rock-fucking-bottom. It'd be easier that way, and he has neither the time nor the energy to even begin to untangle the knot of mistakes he's made this week.

But the looks on his friends' faces (Chie, especially,) tell him they aren't going to let this go, even for now, so, begrudgingly, Yosuke stands and waits for one of them to speak. They don't disappoint.

Chie, upon seeing him pause, marches up to him with Yukiko hot on her heels and together the pair of them back him up until he's nearly hit the wall. “Alright, you dick, we need to talk.” From around her, Yukiko steps into position and stays at Chie's side, looking for all the world like a disappointed mother as she silently lets Chie do the talking.

Somehow, Yosuke finds his voice. Somehow, despite that momentary fight-or-flight-or freeze instinct when the girls had stormed towards him, Yosuke is calm. (It isn't the normal kind, either, it's the kind of calm that can only be found when someone has reached the threshold of just how much adrenaline their body can handle and they loop back around to apathy.) “Can it wait till we don't have class?” he asks, and the voice that leaves him is so devoid of life and emotion that it actually makes Chie balk. She and Yukiko share a disquieted look, like they aren't sure whether to be startled or mad and Yosuke takes their moment of distraction to try and slip to the side where there's still space to move away.

This snaps the pair out of their hesitation. Chie blocks his path with an outstretched arm, open palm smacking the wall hard enough – though not violently, to his mild surprise – to make a soft 'thwap.' Yukiko, still silent, moves to block Yosuke's remaining escape route on the other side.

“No,” Chie hisses, “it can't. Because the moment we let you out of our sight you're just going to run off into nowhere and go back to avoiding everyone, just like you've been doing for days. We're tired of it, Yosuke.”

Yukiko nods. “I know we're not as close as you and Souji-kun, but you're our friend, too, and this behavior needs to stop.” She strengthens her stance - and it is frightening.

Yosuke can't meet either of their eyes. “...I don't know what you're talking about.”

Chie makes a sound low in her throat. “Like hell you don't; you've been totally MIA with barely a word to anyone, you've been acting shady as hell whenever someone tries to talk to you, and on top of that you've been straight up avoiding Souji – which is insane, considering you two're normally joined at the freaking hip!”

Yosuke must be doing something with his face, because Chie squints at him and says, “Yeeaaaah, don't think we haven't noticed.”

Something sniggers inside Yosuke's head and it makes his vision pulse a faint, sickly yellow. His lip curls in a barely-there sneer. “Look,” he says, a little more life in his words this time. He smacks at Chie's arm with the back of his hand. “It's nothing, will you get off my back? I'm just having a bad week.”

“Bullshit,” Chie growls in response.

From the corner of his eye, Yosuke can see Yukiko take in a long, carefully-controlled breath, as if she's silently counting down from ten to keep herself collected. “This is more than just a 'bad week,' Yosuke-kun,” she says, and the evenness of her tone belies the fire he knows she can conjure during battle. “You've been rude, crass, evasive, and downright belligerent...”

(Yosuke isn't sure he knows what all those words mean but he's pretty sure she's right on every one.)

“Even on your worst days you've never been this bad.”

Yosuke is so, so tired. He's tired of feeling like he's being buffeted by the wind that's supposed to be on his side, unable to find his footing and ready to fall at any given moment. He's tired of the wildly swinging pendulum of his emotions sending him back and forth from feeling everything to feeling nothing. (And deeper, deeper down, he's tired of people leaving him behind, even more so of driving people away; it's a skill he's never asked for but has somehow mastered nonetheless.)

He doesn't answer Yukiko's spot-on accusations. He doesn't answer Chie's too-observant glower. He doesn't look at either of them, he instead stares off to the side, unseeing, just past the arm that blocks his escape.

Chie lets out another sound of frustration and leans further into his space, craning her neck to somehow stare him down despite their height difference. “Well?” she demands, “Anything you wanna say?”

Yosuke takes a long, deep breath through his nose, letting it out so slowly that the yellow creeping into the edges of his eyes dots with black. With the exhale, he feels the last of his energy – physical, emotional, mental – drain away. It hollows him out with each passing second, until he's nothing more than a husk resigned to his fate of forever being the King of Fucking Up; he's already pushed everything this far towards the edge, he might as well take that last step over.

“...Yeah, actually,” he says, and it's a lifeless drawl, almost entirely devoid of anything. (He sees Yukiko stiffen and Chie flinch in his peripherals.) Exhausted, he lolls his head forward and finally turns his eyes to Chie's face, fixing them just above her eyebrows because he can't focus them any lower. False eye contact, something he's picked up in his time working at Junes.

He takes another deep breath, feeling that disconnecting wall of ice closing over his heart, and says, “You should probably lay off the meat, Chie, cuz you're not doing your thick thighs any favors.”

Yukiko gasps.

Beside her, Chie looks stunned, jaw dropped and mouth open like it's trying to form words her head can't find.

(Yosuke tastes bile in the back of his throat.)

Disgusted with himself and just wanting to not be here, Yosuke tries to use the girls' frozen reactions to his advantage. He isn't sure he can move or duck under Chie's arm, so he makes a break for it the opposite direction and attempts to slide past Yukiko – only for her to snap back to attention just as he's almost free.

“Yo--!”

But Yosuke is too far gone. Instead of letting himself be forced back against the wall, he doubles down, gives in to the fatalistic inevitability that he's going to be losing more than just Souji at this point. (Good, he thinks sadly; I don't deserve any of them, anyway.)

Swerving, scraping the wall with his shoulder to try and get as much space between himself and Yukiko as he can, Yosuke reaches out a hand (desperately hoping he misses,) and makes a pinching gesture at her skirt, causing her to jerk back and away. “See? Here's a perfect set right he--”

His face erupts in red-hot pain.

Yosuke staggers backwards, hitting the back of his head against the cold concrete of the wall with an audible 'thump.' Thoroughly bewildered, he blinks over at the space he had just been and sees Yukiko, hand raised, stance wide, and completely, utterly livid.

Oh, he thinks, slowly reaching up to touch his scalded cheek. I've been slapped.

“You!” Chie snaps, just as Yukiko whispers, “How dare you,” in the most bone-chillingly quiet voice he's ever heard.

He... may have gone too far this time.

Chie stalks forward, so close he has to shallow his breathing to keep his chest from touching hers when he inhales. She turns her face up at him and for a moment, through the exhaustion and the resignation and the apathy, he truly believes her to be capable of tearing his throat out with her bare hands.

It's almost impressive.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snarls, “You've been acting like a jackass all week!”

Yosuke focuses on Chie's cheekbones as best he can with her so close; he practically has to go crosseyed to do so, even without meeting her murderous glare. It's strange, how he's aware that his cheek is in pain, (and rightfully so, he deserved that slap,) just as he's aware that on any other day before this week he'd be terrified for his safety in a situation like this. He remembers just how hard Chie can kick, having felt it firsthand in delicate places. But his energy is spent at this point, and all the awareness in the world can't conjure up the ability to be anything other than drained.

So he doesn't react, just looks back at his (probably former) friend and huffs, “Chill out, Chie, it was just a joke.”

Both girls visibly tense, shoulders squared and backs straight. Yukiko brings her hand up like she's going to slap him again, rearing it back as she hisses, “It wasn't funny!”

Chie, simultaneously, bares her teeth in vicious rage. “Like hell it was!” she barks, her own voice layering over Yukiko's outburst.

Yosuke just lolls his head to the side slightly and focuses on empty air. “Yeah, well,” he drawls, unable to find the right emotion to put into his voice. “You're girls, of course you wouldn't get it; it's guy humor.”

Chie leans impossibly closer. “You think you're such hot shit,” she seethes, and her tone has gone icy, blisteringly cold. She jabs a finger into his chest hard enough for him to feel it bruise. “We put up with your nasty 'jokes' and your weird staring because you're our friend, but there's a limit, Hanamura!” Her lips curl, the finger digging into his sternum like a silent threat. “And you're freaking pushing it.”

Yukiko leans in as well, her hand still raised and ready, a bow string held taut. “Girls don't like it when you say things like that,” she says, so dark and even that it raises the hairs on the back of Yosuke's neck – but even though his body physically, instinctively reacts, the hollow pit in his chest where the ice now sits keeps his heart and mind numb. He doesn't look at her as she says, “If your brand of humor makes other people uncomfortable, then it isn't really humor at all, it's gross.”

There are people starting to collect around them; Yosuke can see them moving closer just past the haze of his unfocused vision. He can't tell if he cares of not, doesn't think he does anymore. Everything Chie and Yukiko are saying is too right, too justified for him to fight back or defend himself. I deserve this, he thinks, hears his own voice echoing like there's another nearly identical one layering beneath it.

A few other students, faces unrecognizable, gather just a bit too close to the direction he's been staring in. He doesn't feel like letting them think he's acknowledged them, so he rolls his head lazily back so he can pretend to face to the two girls in front of him. He's just going back to fixing his eyes on Yukiko's shoulder when a swath of silver catches in his vision – just barely, just enough to make him look up before he can consciously think about it. He refocuses, and feels his heart come to a painful halt inside his ribs.

Souji is standing there, looking at Yosuke as if he's never seen him before. His eyes are wide and confused, thin brows pulled so low that they're actually visible below his hair; his lips are slightly parted as if he's been caught mid-gasp.

Yosuke stares back at him for a long, panicked moment. A slow, frigid kind of adrenaline begins to seep into this veins, making his hands and knees shake even though he can't feel it. It kick-starts his heart back to life and suddenly it's pounding as he looks into Souji's eyes for the first time in he can't even remember how long, seeing no trace of recognition in the other boy's face. Only pain. Only confusion and betrayal. Souji looks at him like Yosuke is a stranger now, gaze boring into his own like he's looking for someone familiar but just can't find them, can't figure out who Yosuke is.

He saw, the voice that had layered his own whispers, hissing though laughing, jagged glee.

Souji saw.

The floor drops out from under Yosuke's feet and he switches to autopilot to keep from falling, somehow managing to stay upright through sheer force of unconscious will. Chie and Yukiko must notice the change, because he can peripherally see them pause, turning their heads to see what he's looking at. It's enough.

Moving feels like he's underwater, drowning, but Yosuke sees his chance and snatches at it with trembling fingers; as the girls are distracted by Souji, Yosuke pushes himself sideways along the wall until he's no longer pinned by Chie's proximity. Once there's space to do so, he shoves his way forward, sticking out an arm and breaking through the line that Yukiko and Chie's bodies have made. They part in their shock, and he's able to slip between them at last.

“Whatever,” he hears himself say. A verbal barrier, a wall to keep them all at bay while he books it to something resembling safety. He reaches up and palms the headphones resting around his neck. “You guys throw your hissy fit, I'm goin' to class.” He tugs the headphones up as he takes a couple long, quick strides out of their stationary reach, shoving them over his ears without actually turning on any music – using the comforting weight at the sides of his head as a shield. If they try and call out after him, he can just pretend he can't hear them and keep walking.

He makes it all the way to the classroom without being caught; he doesn't dare look at Yukiko, Chie, or Souji (especially not Souji,) as the three of them enter the room. Yukiko first, then the others, and Yosuke busies himself with his school bag until the sound of the door opening signals the arrival of the teacher and the start of class just moments later.

Yosuke keeps his head ducked down the entire morning, just in case of the the girls decides to risk a glance back in his direction. He can't tell with his eyes glued to his desk, but he thinks that none of them do.

(He doesn't know whether he should be relieved or not.)

---

Yosuke is up and moving almost before the lunch bell even rings. Like he's done for the past week, he grabs his stuff and hightails it out the back of the room, pointedly not looking and any of the friends he's managed to alienate in only a handful of days. Headphones snug over his ears and player in his hand, he takes the steps up to the third floor, then the roof, two at a time. It's only once he's up in the cold air and alone that he feels like he can breathe.

Picking a spot as far away from the door as possible, Yosuke drops to the ground and leans his back against the frigid metal links of the fence, barely even feeling the chill through his clothes. The breath he's finally caught starts to pick up – only for a moment – and he has to bring his knees up to the his chest, hands over his eyes and fingers twisting in his hair as he ducks his head and pulls in lungful after lungful of air. It passes just as quickly as it came.

What do I do now?

Despite the hollow feeling encompassing his heart, Yosuke still feels the twinge of anxiety that had brought about the thirty-second panic attack; it sticks to his blood cells, causing his palms to sweat and go clammy in the nippy November breeze. He brings them to his mouth and cups them over his lips, breathing into them to try and warm them back up. It doesn't work.

He sighs and drops his hands back into his lap, tucking them between the bend of his knees. He didn't bother bringing lunch with him again today, though between the rare breakfast that morning and the churning in his stomach he isn't so sure he'd be able to eat anything anyway. Still, even a snack would have provided him something to do with his hands, and so Yosuke is left with nothing but his music and his surroundings to occupy his time. He frowns – being alone with his thoughts recently has been anything but good, and today having gone the way that it has so far, he can feel the incoming uphill battle against his brain. He cranks the volume up on his player in hopes of drowning it all out before it begins, but turns the whole thing off and tugs the headphones from his ears a minute or so later, not wanting to associate any of his favorite songs with the maelstrom already brewing inside his mind.

It starts with a replay. Every single thing he'd said and done that morning in the hallway with Chie and Yukiko. It twists at his gut with each image, each remembered word he'd vomited out like a bio-weapon; he barely recognizes himself in his own memories, and honestly that is the part that scares him the most. No wonder Souji had looked at him that way.

And oh, if that hadn't been the worst part of it all. Yukiko and Chie he already hated himself for, already felt sick over how he'd treated them both since even before this all began, starting with the festival. He wishes he could go back in time and stop himself from ever putting their names down – all of them – because not only was it just a shitty, immature thing to do, but it also violated their trust. He sees that now, and it feels like a hammer to the head, because with everything that he's turned into in the days since, he knows it all started with that one first terrible decision. Most of the low points in his life have started with terrible decisions, he just hadn't been aware enough to put the pieces together until now. Had things been different, Yosuke wonders if Souji would have been proud of him.

That, however, is the thing that brings Yosuke's already-simmering self hatred to a rolling boil. Of all the people he's hurt so far, Souji is the one that makes Yosuke feel like he's beyond all hope of redemption. Souji had been his partner, his best friend, and Yosuke, stupid, stupid Yosuke had taken that bond and thrown it right in the garbage. They were supposed to be equals, but Yosuke had been too busy sinking into his own head, too mired in self pity and selfishly wanting things to go back to a normal that likely didn't even exist anymore. Not after all of this. For all the maturing Yosuke feels he may have done – the only silver lining in the storm that he himself created – focusing only on his own hurt and blaming Souji for it is by far the most childish thing he's done.

(Inside his skull, stretched out as though sliding into Yosuke's skin like a glove, he can almost feel something like a head being tilted, an eyebrow raised. There is a quiet, contemplative, 'hmmm,' as if his mind is thinking thoughts without him. He doesn't know how to interpret the sensation, so he tucks it away on the back burner for now.)

Somewhere past the door leading back into the school, Yosuke faintly hears the warning bell sounding, signaling the end of lunch and the resumption of classes for the day.

Yosuke doesn't move.

He sits there and leans his head back against the fence in utter exhaustion; he doesn't have the energy or will power to get up and go back inside. He doesn't want to feel the others' eyes on him when he walks in the door, or, equally painful, being entirely unacknowledged instead. Having done the same to Souji for days,Yosuke will admit his hypocrisy in that he doesn't know if he'd survive having his former partner do the same to him - even if Souji had scared the shit out of him, neglected to communicate with him, left him to wonder and worry and want after the pageant.

Then again, some part of Yosuke quietly relents, Souji... really isn't obligated to tell Yosuke anything. And while their leader should have at least been courteous enough to let someone know he was still alive, he'd eventually told Naoto. Which had hurt Yosuke – pretty badly, in fact – to not be the one Souji had talked to first, but at least he'd talked to someone. (Even though Yosuke is still adamantly sure the “food poisoning” excuse had been complete bullshit.) But... it wouldn't be fair to expect Souji to never have secrets; after all, Yosuke still has secrets of his own, even after confronting his shadow.

Some are just far, far more shameful than others.

Thoughts swirling, Yosuke can feel a headache beginning to build behind his eyes. He keeps going around and around; he's mad at Souji, he's not mad at Souji, he's mad at himself, he's not mad at himself for being hurt – on and on and on. It's a loop that doesn't seem to have an end, and it's making Yosuke dizzy.

He sighs again, and there's an echoing sigh inside his skull, albeit one that sounds far more frustrated than his own audible one. He's too tired to suss it out, though, and because all this thinking is starting to spiral, he digs his player back out and tries one more time to drown out the thoughts with music. He's relived when his attention stays on the lyrics and doesn't go careening off again; he closes his eyes and lets himself go blank for a little while, almost-but-not-quite dozing, tucked away in his little patch of rooftop in the brisk November air.

Sometime later – he doesn't know how long – Yosuke is pulled from his trance by the sound of a far-off school bell. His player apparently ran out of battery long ago, because the screen is dark and his headphones silent. Yosuke feels like shit.

He's chilly to the point where his skin doesn't really have much feeling anymore; his neck is stiff from the cold and the position it'd been kept in while he was out of it. His ears ache a little, too, and it's probably more from the headphones than the weather. Groaning, Yosuke sits up and peels the headphones off, setting them in his lap and rolling his neck to try and get his full range of motion back. He feels something pop. With another groan, he makes it slowly to his feet and stretches, every muscle in his body protesting as he does.

Fully aware that he hadn't gone back in after lunch, Yosuke has absolutely no idea what time it could possibly be; judging by the position of the sun over the treetops, however, and the sound of the bell from earlier, he can guess that it's probably well into the afternoon. “Fuck,” he mutters to the empty rooftop. He's more than likely missed most of the rest of the school day, though if that's the case then he can't bring himself to care. There was nothing waiting for him back in the classroom anymore, anyway.

Reluctant still to make his way inside lest someone catch him, Yosuke takes his time gathering his bag, tucking his player away, setting his headphones carefully on top because, well, they aren't any use to him right now, are they? It's only once he's run out of stuff to do that he finally fishes his pone out of his pocket to check the time.

Weirdly enough, there are no new messages – which, he isn't surprised at but also is? If no one had wanted to talk to him after that morning, he would have understood. However, with as rightfully angry as they both had been, he would have expected there to be something from Chie at the very least – even if not from today, then something else from last night, surely. Curious and a little uneasy, Yosuke stares at his phone until the screen goes dark. Oh, he realizes finally; he'd forgotten he'd put it on airplane mode the night before.

(He'd wondered why his phone had been so blissfully, ominously quiet all night.)

He taps the keys lightly to get the screen to wake back up and goes to take it off airplane at last – only to hesitate just before pressing the button, thumb hovering as Yosuke chews on his lip. His gut curdles. Whether there are a slew of missed texts or none at all, Yosuke knows that whatever is waiting for him once he hits confirm isn't going to be good. He has to brace himself; he just isn't sure what for.

With a deep breath in and a quick breath out, Yosuke takes the plunge and hits the button, not looking at the screen as his thumb presses down. He doesn't want to see just yet. At first there is nothing – no belated notification sound, no vibrations, nothing. He thinks maybe he's safe for the moment, simultaneously unsettled by the lack of any apparent messages...

...Until his phone vibrates, just once, in his hand.

Yosuke's breathing sticks in his throat for half a breath, head instinctively tilting to look down at the notification that just jostled his anxiety. It isn't from Chie, which is not what he expected, nor is it from Yukiko, which also would not have surprised him. It isn't even from Teddie, whining that Yosuke had left without partaking in their new morning ritual of communal teeth-brushing. No, the sender, devastatingly, is Souji.

Prtnr: I'm sorry. I won't bother you anymore.

Everything stops.