#i put you under my microscope please respond

[phantom-tastic]

I am shooting you with my evil science ray? Pkew pkew???

[softguarnere]

I've never participated in the lovely @blind-dates-fest before, so we're actually trying two new things this weekend: a new writing challenge, and writing for The Pacific for the first time. This OC has been banging around in my head for months now, so this seemed like a good time to introduce her - especially since she'll be making a cameo or two in one of my ongoing BOB fics. Without further ado, I hope y'all will enjoy Samantha "Mandy" Majors ♥️

The Deception of Appearances

Realistically, Mandy is aware that these are the men who are fighting for their country. The heroes of Guadalcanal can do as they please. But as MacDonald pushes his way through the bar’s crowd of wild, drinking men and boisterous women, dragging her along behind him, only one thought runs through her mind: What the hell am I doing here?

She knows, of course. She’s making money. She’s carving out a little space in journalism because, as her publisher always so kindly reminds her, the market is always changing, and fantasy stories will not be in fashion forever.

With that pleasant reminder, she lifts her chin and continues her walk into the unknown.

MacDonald struts ahead of her, openly ogling the men as if they’re an attraction at the zoo. There’s something distinctly unprofessional about the wide-eyed look that he’s always giving his subjects, like he’s got them trapped under a microscope and is poking around in their thoughts. He doesn’t seem to realize that he has a habit of making other people feel utterly invaded. Which, if Mandy had to guess, is probably why the Metropolitan Express has had her acting as his assistant for so many months. Well, that and, if she’s being honest, the fact that Duncan MacDonald cannot write to save his life.

As if reading her mind, MacDonald grabs her arm and hisses loudly in her ear to be heard over the celebrations, “Look at them! We’re bound to get a good story out of them.” Then, quietly, more urgently, “And quickly, too, because I don’t like the looks of this place.”

For once, Mandy finds herself agreeing with him. But, as is the way of the world, these things are easier said than done.

They manage to find a small table that’s miraculously unoccupied to set up shop at. Despite the look that MacDonald gives her when she orders a drink, Mandy settles in. Her boss might not want to spend any longer in this place than he has to, but that’s only because he’s not a real writer, and he doesn’t understand that the best stories come to those who are patient. These things can’t be forced, no matter how intent he seems on bending them to his will.

Besides his writing – or lack thereof – there’s the small matter of MacDonald himself. He’s too forthright, strutting up to the men and asking them bold questions with no sense of boundaries. Most respond by giving him a blank stare instead of a quote, and those who are willing to share any thoughts only give them the kind that cannot be put into print.

“Well I never,” MacDonald splutters as dark haired man with a wide smile answers his question – a completely tone deaf What’s been your favorite part of the war so far? – with a curt Wouldn’t you like to know, jackass? and a wink thrown at Mandy. MacDonald uselessly swabs his face with his handkerchief before sighing, “I don’t think this place agrees with me.” He mutters, perhaps thinking Mandy can’t hear him over the noise of the bar. “I should have stuck to vaudeville.”

I’ll drink to that, she thinks to herself as she surveys the man who’s supposed to be a war correspondent.

“He seemed to like you, though,” MacDonald says. He gives Mandy a curious look that she’s all too familiar with – one that suggests that she do all the work while he rests his delicate little mind. “Maybe you should try talking to them, without me.”

He’s throwing her to the wolves – or, more accurately, the Marines. But strangely, she finds that she doesn’t mind this time. After all, she came here to write about the war. Write about it accurately, honestly. People back home need to know what’s being fought for. And if she can lend her pen, her camera, and her typewriter to the cause, then by golly, she will. 

She nods. “Not such a bad idea.” And then she leaves him there, alone at the table, before he can change his mind.

Looking for a good story is not so different from hunting, if you think about it. At the edge of the room, Mandy surveys the scene before her. The Marines may be wild, but most of them are also intoxicated, which means their lips will be loose. She can use that to her advantage. Especially now that she’s free of MacDonald.

There. From across the bar, her eyes land on the dark-haired man who winked at her earlier. He’s one of the few men not entertaining one of the bar’s local Australian girls. An easy target.

As if to prove her point about patience, someone taps her on the shoulder just as she’s about to march through the fray to reach her intended target.

A different man, this one with blond hair, blushes slightly when she turns to him. “Um, excuse me, Miss,” he says, his thick accent taking her by surprise. For just a second, she mistakes him for one of the locals before she realizes that he’s wearing an American uniform with the name Phillips on his chest.

Maybe getting a quote will be easier than she thought it would be. “Yes?” 

Phillips nods across the bar to the man that was her original target. “My friend over there said you were a reporter, looking for quotes?”

Mandy nods, smiles, trying to make herself as bright and warm and trustworthy as possible. “That I am.” She holds up her notepad and taps it with a red fingernail. “You don’t happen to have one for me, do you Phillips?”

He’s not blushing anymore. He only smiles and shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. I don’t think I’m good enough with words for that kind of thing. But my friend is,” he adds before she can lose interest.

“Oh?” Mandy raises an eyebrow. “Do you think he would give me an interview?”

“I’m sure he would,” Phillips replies. “In fact, he was writing the entire time we were on Guadalcanal. He’ll probably give you some of his original notes.”

Mandy has to take a breath, remind herself not to get her hopes up. This could all be a rouse, after all, by some stranger.

But then again, even though she doesn’t know this Phillips, he doesn’t give off the energy of someone trying to pull a fast one on her. Maybe it’s just his southern charm, but she’s tempted to trust him right away.

“That would be great. Mind taking me to him?”

“Sure thing.” Phillips starts to weave through the crowd, leading her through the bar. He looks back and extends a hand part of the way through their walk. “I’m Sid Phillips, by the way.”

She accepts his hand. He’s got a firm shake. More of that southern charm, perhaps. “Samantha Majors. But my friends call me Mandy.”

As they push deeper into the bar, several men call out greetings to Phillips, slapping him on the back and palling around as they pass. Phillips returns their handshakes and smiles, only stopping to ask if anyone has seen the Professor. Most men shrug off the question, but one man finally points toward the farthest part of the bar and announces over all the noise, “Lucky is over there! Guess he needed a place to think.”

Lucky. The Professor. She’ll have to remember to ask about these nicknames during their interview. No doubt there’s a good story behind them both.

She slips her notebook out of her pocket as they walk, readies her pen as she turns to Phillips, ideas already churning in her head. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“There he is!” Phillips nods to a table in the bar’s far corner, where a small group of men sit drinking, partly obscured by shadow. “That’s him in the middle, with the curly hair. Robert Leckie.”

At the same moment that Phillips says his name, the man in question leans forward, throwing his face into light so that Mandy catches a glimpse of him for the first time. The sight makes her heart drop, and she freezes as if she’s just been caught red-handed.

“No,” she whispers. Then, in her head. It can’t be.

For a split second, she thinks that maybe her luck will be good, that she’s changed so much since their school days that he won’t recognize her. They’re not kids anymore. Maybe he’s forgotten her.

But the second that his eyes land on her, she knows that it’s no good. His expression changes quickly as he drops the thread of conversation with his friends to stare at her in confusion, then recognition. A small smile crosses his face and he stands, not frozen the way that she is.

“Sammy Majors?!” He calls, voice slightly too loud with the excitement of someone who has been drinking.

Phillips’ brow furrows as he glances between them. “You two know each other?”

“Yes,” Mandy whispers at the same time that Leckie announces, “We grew up down the street from each other!”

“Well, that’s good, right?” Phillips turns to her when he asks. “No awkward introductions to hold back your interview.”

Mandy has to force the words out of her mouth; they feel like they’re stuck to her tongue with paste. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Leckie, as usual, seems undaunted by everything before him. He shoves the man sitting next to him over and uses a grand gesture to indicate the vacated seat to Mandy. “Come join us!”

The confident demeanor that she’s worked so hard to build up all these years is slipping. With every step she takes towards him, Mandy feels like she’s clinging to it for dear life. She has to remind herself that she’s no longer Sammy Majors, the little girl who sits by the window writing fairytales because she couldn’t go out to play. She’s no longer Sammy Majors, who entered every writing competition their school hosted in vain, always losing out to lucky Robert Leckie, whose stories and poems were always so much better than hers. Robert Leckie, who had a job at the local newspaper before they had even finished high school.

As she takes the seat he offers her, one of the other men at the table laughs when he asks, “Hey, Lucky, does Vera know about this?”

Robert Leckie, who always so obviously had a crush on Vera Keller from across the street. Robert Leckie, who never seemed to realize that she existed . . . but who recognized her at first sight after all these years, and on the other side of the world, to boot.

Leckie smiles at her, so warm and open, as if his success in writing didn’t come so easily to him that it always crushed Mandy’s heart, her hopes, and her dreams. “What are you doing here?”

In response, Mandy raises her notepad and purses her lips, resetting her usual, casual demeanor that she has spent so many years working on. “I’m with the Metro Express, and my source tells me that you might be good for a quote.”

Several of his friends ooh and aah like a Greek chorus, jostling him as they laugh.

“He’s got more than just a quote for you!” One of them hoots.

“Yeah,” another man adds. “Try a whole novel!”

Mandy raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?” When Leckie shrugs in response, she allows herself to smile, to be friendly, even though it goes against her better instincts. “Robert Leckie, ever the writer.”

“Fight by day, write by night.”

She makes a small scribble on her notepad to make sure her pen still works. “Well, Private Leckie. Do you have time for a quick interview?”

Leckie leans back in his seat and takes a drag off his cigarette. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth as he exhales the smoke, nods. “Fire when ready, Miss Majors.”

[bumblebeerror]

jesse what the fuck are you talking about...

i know you said you won't respond, but i don't care. you don't have to. i'm replying because i feel the need to reply. i'm not looking for a response anymore.

"i'm aggressively kind, and not nice" what. i want to study your brain under a microscope. the entire paragraph about what you do with your friends is alien to me. it just does not compute. i don't understand. what the fuck even was that? i've never done that or seen anyone do any of that. what the fuck?

kidness isn't a human right.

education, food, water, shelter, family, medicine... those are human rights. you are not entitled to kindness simply because you were born into this world. you have to earn it.

the fact that you believe bad people like the ones i mentioned deserve kindness tells me you have clearly had a very good, safe life and have never been truly hurt or come face-to-face with evil. if you did, you'd quickly change your philosophy. let me guess, you also oppose the death penalty? figures.

i am not about to fotce myself to disobey my instinct/intuition. when my gut tells me something, it's for a reason. when i get the creeps around a registered sex offender, i can't just ignore that. not just for moral reasons, but because it's a self-preservation instinct too.

"kindness isn't empathy, kindness is compassion" EMPATHY AND COMPASSION ARE SYNONYMS?????????????????????? they mean the same thing. literally what's the difference???????? what.

i've been bullied extensively, please don't fucking lecture me on what bullying does. i can honestly say bullying had a positive effect on me. it helped me build thicker skin and now i'm no longer so hypersensitive. it builds character for many people.

"there's a reason you have trouble making friends" it's not my fault i was born this way. i've tried making and maintaining friends since i was a little child. but fuck it is impossible. making and maintaining enemies is very easy for me, however.

i'm sorry, but i don't think i can remember 20 people, let alone make 20 friends??? that sounds exhausting. i don't even truly know 20 people. i only truly know my mom, dad, sister, grandfather and (dead) grandmother. i think of the people i used to go to school with a lot, but i only knew them superficially. we never truly knew each other.

there are many reasons i have no friends. i think i know myself a little better than you know me. my problems are much deeper than just "not willing to be kind". i've always been distant and uncomfortable with intimacy. and i have a disneyland of problems and difficulties, so even if i did learn to be "kind", i would still have no friends.

it's better to be friendless and tough, than friendless and a pushover.

Yeah, alright. Since we’re off the idea that bullying teens as adults is remotely acceptable, I’ll play ball. You can take this answer or leave it - I don’t care.

1) I explained the difference between kindness and niceness already.

2) kindness is realizing the inherent value of another human and taking actions to that end, whether directly or in politics/raising awareness.

3) I am fat, disabled, poor, mentally ill, have lost several very close family members including my father, and I’m queer; if you think my life has been easy, I want whatever you’re smoking.

It is because my life has not been easy that I know that people deserve to be treated as people, even if they suck.

I don’t put myself in danger either. But it’s not hard to realize that prisons are new slavery or that sexual assault and torture via other inmates and guards isn’t a morally correct way to deal with anyone who breaks a law. I’d hope you’d also realize that being a bigot doesn’t exactly warrant the death penalty.

4) Empathy is the ability to put yourself in one’s shoes and understand where they’re coming from.

Compassion is actually helping someone in need.

Which is why autistic folks have been trying to make it clear for years that being low empathy doesn’t make you evil.

5) I’m sorry you’ve been bullied. Personally, the only thing bullying taught me was to hate who I was and mask extensively.

Have you considered that you struggle to make friends because you don’t reach out to people for fear of them bullying you? Have you thought of the possibility that being bullied in fact changed you for the worse and made you less able to be yourself and be open with friends?

There are loads of studies on what bullying does to developing minds. I’m sure you do feel as if it’s helped you. Check back in on that in 2 years eh?

6) You were not “born this way”. Humans are, whether you like it or not, social creatures. You have unfortunately been taught by your bullies that people are unpleasant and out to get you. This isn’t true, and it’s fairly easy to root out those who are when you’re an adult in control of who you talk to or see.

Because imma be straight up with you king. I’ve got ADHD and autism, and even with those difficulties making friends those disorders represent, I still make friends exclusively because I treat others how I want to be treated and try to be the friend I’d want to have. I have such a wide circle of friends because I treat them well without the expectation that they’ll always be able to match that. I’ve not had a problem since I started doing so.

You have trouble making friends because you are an unpleasant person who does not think of others, and because you have convinced yourself that you were not made to have friends. Have you ever planned an event for your friends? Do you ever reach out to talk to them? Have you ever tried being the friend you want to have?

Because until *I* started doing that, I was a lot like you. I even believed it was other people’s fault nobody wanted to be friends with me. And if that wasn’t the case, I just wasn’t suited to having friends. Sound familiar?

I am also viscerally uncomfortable with intimacy. I also have trouble expressing emotions. I have a flat affect. I have multiple health issues and neurological issues related to them. I do not understand how to comfort others. I still have friends and I still get on well. Don’t put up your own barriers, mate. There are plenty of folks who have similar issues. Unfortunately this is a case where you aren’t special, and that’s a good thing.

7) I’m sure being tough will get you far when you have nobody to rely on for help.

I’m not a pushover for recognizing that other people have needs and inherent value.

[jdetan]

An Overwhelmingly Important Mission

Link finds himself on his most daunting mission ever... finding a hearty durian for his pregnant wife's cravings.

Link looked out over Hyrule Field– the land that was bright, beautiful… and utterly doomed.

The Calamity couldn’t kill me… permanently. The Demon King couldn’t stop me. But this? He sighed deeply. This is a task I don’t think I’ll be able to accomplish. Hearty Durians have been all but extinct since… Well, since I blew up the trees rather than climb them, ate every known durian in Hyrule, and then lit the ground on fire in an ill-conceived plan to boost up a mountain with the updraft. WHY did you do that to me, past Link?

Link shook his head. Regretting his foolish actions would have to wait. He had a mission, and this mission he could not fail.

*** One day ago

“Anything I can get for you, Zelda? Footrub? Heated blanket? Something for your back?” Link ran around like a cucco in a frenzy, tending to his extremely pregnant wife. “Well, I’ve been having a weird craving for the last month…” Zelda said, slowly sitting up. “But I don’t think it’s going to be possible, so… don't worry, forget it!” “Zelda, you know I’ll do anything for you. Just name it, and I’ll scour all of Hyrule for it!” Link snapped to attention. Zelda was seven months pregnant, and to Link’s mind, this meant two things– One: she was not to strain herself under any circumstances and was, instead, to be waited on hand and foot. Two: Only one craving was too extreme– Link refused to let her eat any Secret Stones. Everything else was fair game. Zelda put a finger to her chin. “Alright, fine. I’ve been craving Hearty Durian… but well, they seem to have mysteriously vanished at some point during the Calamity, so…” She sighed lightly. “If you can find one, I’d really appreciate it, but I don’t think any exist anymore.” “Zelda.” Link said, already pulling on his traveling gear. “I will find you a Hearty Durian. Please, wait for me, my sweet! I shall return soon.” He grabbed his Purah Pad and dashed outside, mounting Epona and riding away with a “HYAH!”. Zelda waved from the door as she watched Link ride off, then let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in. “FINALLY, some time to myself! I love Link, but my WORD… I’m not an INVALID!” She walked over to her study, happy to finally have a chance to run some experiments on residual Light Dragon parts. “Alright, let’s see what I can find out about my old form’s secrets…” She chuckled as she pulled out her favorite microscope.

*** Today

Link rode Epona from the Faron Jungle, glum and unsuccessful. “Hmm… so, as I expected, Faron’s a bust. The old places are all empty plains, except for that one that’s an empty plain with ‘Link Wuz Here’ written in bare soil that I made sure to salt so nothing would ever grow again… Goddesses DAMN me, I was stupid and feral back then! Not like now. Isn’t that right, little forest creature only I can see?” “Ya-ha-ha! You should start more fires!” The Korok replied, appearing in a poof of colorful smoke. “Sometimes I wonder if I took too many blows to the head…” Link muttered. “But that gives me an idea!” “Is it to start more fires, mister hero?” The Korok asked, climbing on his shoulder. “I like watching fires! I want to watch the world burn…” “Makar, did you eat malice during the Calamity?” Link asked, raising an eyebrow. “You seem slightly more… wicked than other Koroks.” “It tasted like licorice and hate!” Makar responded cheerfully. “So… it tasted like licorice.” Link muttered, poking at the Purah Pad. “Come along, I’m gonna visit your dad.” “Nooo! Not the Great Deku Tree! He sounds like Teba and that scares me!” Makar screamed as he and Link vanished in a series of blue lights.

*** The Lost Woods

“Thank you for bringing Makar back, Link. And thank you for not listening to his whispers… this time.” The Great Deku Tree said, as several Koroks put Makar in ‘naughty baby jail’ (a small pit with sticks planted in the ground making up a cage). “How can I help you today?” Y’know, Makar’s right. He kinda does sound like Teba. And Revali. And the ancient Rito Sage. Weird. Link cleared his throat, focusing his mind. “I’m looking for Hearty Durians. Zelda wants one, and I’d really like to undo the harm I caused when I… kinda obliterated the entirety of the species during my first adventure.” He blushed slightly. “Do you happen to know where any may be?” “Hmmm…” The Great Deku Tree paused, thinking. “As luck might have it, I have a collection of seeds from all species in Hyrule. I’ll happily provide you some seeds, but as for the fruit itself…” The face of the tree tightened, seemingly searching all of Hyrule. “Ah. I’ve found them. There is but one man in all of Hyrule that maintains a collection of Hearty Durians. His name is…”

*** Kakariko Village

“DORIAN!” Link shouted, kicking the door open. “You said that I could call upon you at ANY TIME to repay that ‘favor’ you owe me, right?” Dorian nodded, trying to comfort his terrified children. “Today is that day!” “Of course, Link… but what has you so agitated?” Dorian asked. “Is there any danger?” He gave Link a quick once-over. “You look like you’ve been beaten up a little.” “What? No, I just killed a few Lynels on my way here– I was bored.” Link shrugged. “I was looking for Hearty Durians– Zelda’s got a craving for them, and the Great Deku Tree said you have some.” “That’s all? Don’t they grow in Faron Jungle?” Dorian asked as he went out to harvest a durian. “You should be able to find them there in high quantities.” “It was… um… the… uh… the Upheaval! Yeah, the Upheaval! They started dying off and now they’re extinct in the wild! Anyway, one durian, please!” Link cheerfully accepted the fruit. “Thanks, man!” Link grinned, tossing Dorian a silver rupee. “See you later!” Dorian looked over at his Hearty Durian grove. “Kids… we’re about to be very rich.” He said, quietly. “Yaaaaay!” The children yelled, happily.

*** Just outside Tarrey Town

“Oh, wow… the scales and shards serve as natural batteries AND amplifiers for light energy…” Zelda jotted down some notes. “I wonder if it would be possible to replicate these artificially…” She jumped as the door swung open. “Zelda! I’m back, and I found a Hearty Durian!” Link yelled, plopping the gigantic, odoriferous fruit down on the table. “Are you doing ok? Do you need a backrub? A heated blanket? Some juice?” Damn it! There goes my thought process… shouldn’t this have taken him more than a day? I thought they were extinct in the wild after I found the last seedlings and sent them to Dorian for safekeeping! Could he have… no, that guy loves them– he eats them for every meal. He’d NEVER give one to Link unless… oh, of COURSE he’d owe Link a favor! Well, I really have been craving them… Zelda smiled and walked over to Link. “Thank you so much, Link! It’s just a shame they’re so rare…” “Not anymore! I recalled the soil outside back five years and planted some seeds! We’ve got a grove of our own now!” Link grinned. “Wait, you still have the power of recall? I thought that was tied to Rauru’s arm!” Zelda blinked in surprise. “Turns out that was one Sage’s vow I kept!” Link grinned. “Probably due to the power of love– it’s a mysterious thing.” “You heard the Stable Trotter’s new song too, huh?” Zelda laughed. “Well, as luck would have it, I’ve just made food, and the durian should go great with it!” Zelda produced a pizza and happily set about slicing the durian open. “Mmm… it’s not pineapple, but it’s so good!” Link stared in horror. Pregnancy led to strange cravings– she’d wanted pickles and fruitcake, honey-glazed curry, and worst of all, LICORICE, but durian on pizza? He shook his head. Our kid’s gonna have an even more impenetrable digestive system than I do… he thought, loading his pizza slice with a sensible topping of bacon, fish, crushed diamonds, fire fruit, and a scale from Farosh. I’ll never understand how Zelda can stand to eat that weird stuff…

[anakinskywalkerog]

Thank You to everyone who likes my breaks down of Astrology. As I have informed before I'm not a full on Astrologer, nor do I read full on birth charts. I look at a birth chart and can just summarize what may go on with a person. But it doesn't take into affect their house, chart rulers, or all the other things in a full chart reading. So please do not think I'm an expert or know a whole a lot. I'm like at a super beginner level.

Now as far as Hayden, He is an Aries sun, Mercury and Mars with a Scorpio moon. A very Mars heavy chart, meaning he was ruled a lot by impulsive thoughts, with deep emotional depth with a lot of death and rebirth(more on that later). When he was younger more than likely Hayden gave into more of that Aries energy. He probably had a lot of energy and did not know where to channel it until he took up acting. This is where we can see, in his early days of his career doing characters that were always in someone's business or had to move a lot. His Scorpio moon definitely helped him in his career where he needed to play characters with more emotion (that Aries sun helps with the drive but his moon helps with emotion). His Aries sun gave him the drive to move forward with his acting career. Then came the not so great.

When he started to get bashed for the SW movies, the very quickly raise to fame, the factor girl incident. He emotionally was going through a lot, and was not getting enough time to process it all. He went from a young guy fresh out of High School, doing small indie movies, to a guy shot to super stardom, getting unnecessary hate, having Hollywood try to tell him to be cool with a lot of mistreatment he wasn't cool with, and any movie he worked on getting put under a microscope. He had to play emotional caught up, then get into a serious relationship, become a parent. He goes through a lot in short spans.

So definitely more Aries when he was younger, but as he got more into fame and becoming a parent. He leaned more towards his Scorpio moon and his emotional needs. And with his Taurus venus he wanted a home life. I can see he thought fame was going to be one way and it turned another way for him.

Onto the death and rebirth, with him starting out in small indie movies once he was an adult. Him doing SW was both a rebirth and death for him. Rebirth because it took his career from child actor to adult actor. Sadly however due to the backlash 😒. It literally killed his career and the potential it could have had. It's why he was getting picky or just doing random movies. He didn't want to face that backlash. And his career by Hollywood standards was dead. However thanks to Kenobi, he is currently in a rebirth. That's why I advised, that if I was him. I would be extremely picky with the roles offered to him. He is definitely choosing what he wants more so on his emotional needs being met. He secured a home (which his Taurus venus is happy) but now he is looking for that emotional fulfillment in his acting.

To answer the anon, depending on the person and stage of life. Sometimes you start out being ruled by your sun sign since sun rules ego and as you get older transition into more moon or venus. Just depends really.

Astrology Anon 💜😈

thank you for responding to your fans! 😂🙏

I can tell Hayden has a Scorpio Moon. As a Scorpio Sun, I am drawn to Scorpio Moons ❤️🥲

and totally agreed, that his Aries was sort of overshadowed by his life experience. but very glad he’s in a good place with work and the Hollywood environment now!! so so so happy us SW fans can finally proclaim our love

[okay-j-hannah]

Your Hidden Strength

BBC Sherlock : Oneshot

Sherlock x Reader

Word Count: 5999

Warnings: Kidnapping/held hostage... a reigniting love for Benedict Cumberbatch. I’m obsessed with keeping writing true to character, hopefully this is accurate

DID YOU KNOW THEY TOOK SHERLOCK OFF NETFLIX - those bastards

Request: This is just from my own head 😊

A/N: Sherlock seems indifferent to the hired housekeeper, but when she goes missing his life is thrown upside down

She straightened out the chaos. She was very good at that. Making whatever disaster was in the flat a controlled chaos.

She placed a bulletin above the couch, pinning Sherlock’s papers in some kind of order. The table was decluttered, placed in dated files and hidden in a small organizer. His laptop was plugged in to charge, as he always forgot, and she tucked away yesterday’s newspaper. She had a library of boxes downstairs to hold all the newspapers as Sherlock normally required them at some point or another.

She dusted the bookshelves and vacuumed the rug so no one would trip over the bunches Sherlock normally made running around the apartment. She washed and returned the pillows he’d toss out the window in a rage. She would also treat the coffee stains and cigarette burns he’d leave behind.

She polished the skull and swept out the chimney. She replaced his old toothbrush and refilled the toilet paper under the sink. She put the bills on the counter and bought groceries. The violin was returned to its case before he could snap the bow like he did the last time a case struggled to make developments.

She convinced Sherlock to purchase a second fridge to home all of his strange experiments. She gifted him a thermometer and ph gauge for it when he did. Currently she was in the kitchen, brewing some tea and disinfecting all of his scientific equipment.

Goggles and gloves on, she sanitized beakers and petri dishes. A drying rack already held glass stirring sticks and pipets.

“Hoo hoo.” Mrs. Hudson walked in with a tin of biscuits, “These are fresh from the shop, dear.”

(Y/N) pointed towards a cookie jar, “Just place them in there, thanks.” She continued scrubbing at a bottle that previously held a handful of cow tongue.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this week, (Y/N),” Mrs. Hudson said, moving to see the coat rack adorning Sherlock’s collection of scarves and gloves. “Did you iron these?”

“Of course,” (Y/N) said, shrugging her shoulders, “It’s my job after all.”

“But they’re scarves, (Y/N),” she said with a creased brow, “You know you don’t have to do everything up here. John can help.”

(Y/N) took her gloves off and went to wipe down the microscope, “In their line of work, it’s easier to have all these mundane things taken cared of. Even John – when he’s not chasing Sherlock he’s up late at the hospital.”

“I know dear, but you’re working yourself to death.”

“I’ve given myself a certain caliber that the boys are now used to, so I must maintain that upkeep.”

There was another swing of the door, “I honestly don’t know what we’d do without you, (Y/N).”

“John!” (Y/N) said in greeting, “Sorry, covered in bleach.” She ran over and kissed his cheek in passing, “Sherlock was keeping a rather unpleasant bacteria in the fridge.”

John gave her a slightly disgusted look, “Please tell me it was in his fridge.”

She nodded, holding in a laugh, “I’ll tell you one thing – being your housekeeper has never been boring.”

“I’m just glad it isn’t me anymore. I mean, I was never their housekeeper,” Mrs. Hudson said, crossing her arms and sighing, “It’s a miracle Sherlock hasn’t scared you off yet. He can be a bit of a handful though a real sweetheart.”

John rolled his eyes, falling into his armchair, “I’ve yet to see that side of him.” He looked around, “(Y/N), where is…”

She suddenly appeared and handed him the days newspaper.

“Ah, thank you.”

“And you’ve gotten a few emails about the blog – I flagged the ones you’ll need to respond to but the others I sent information on updates and comments.”

John shook his head, “You really are remarkable, (Y/N). How do you manage it?”

(Y/N) shrugged, returning to the kitchen to finish the tea. “I enjoy it. I get to see all the amazing things you do without the danger.”

“You know we couldn’t do all those amazing things without you,” John said, ever the conscientious one. He knew she wasn’t thanked enough for all she did, especially by his flat mate.

She shook her head, pouring a cuppa, “You did long before I came along.”

Mrs. Hudson gratefully took a saucer and sipped, “I’m going to have to give you a discount on this months rent. I haven’t had to deal with a single mishap from this flat since you’ve arrived. You remember when Sherlock put those holes in my wall?”

(Y/N) smiled to herself, knowing those holes were still there behind the bulletin she put up.

“We’ll give you a big Christmas tip this year,” John turned a page of his paper.

“That’s very kind of you,” (Y/N) said sweetly, placing a cup of tea on John’s side table. Made just the way he liked it.

“I should get back to the telly, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, placing her own tea down. “My show should be on.” She walked out the door and ran into someone, “Good afternoon, Sherlock.”

The tall man came stalking into the flat, throwing his suit jacket onto the couch. He went straight for the window and stared out onto the street. He reached with his left hand and found his laptop exactly where it was always placed.

He held it in one hand and typed with the other. John wiggled his nose disconcertingly at Sherlock’s silent entry. (Y/N) made her way to move Sherlock’s jacket from the couch and to the back of his chair.

“Afternoon,” John muttered behind his paper.

Sherlock remained silent, scrolling through his laptop. (Y/N) placed a cuppa on the desk, as well as a mug of black coffee, two sugars. She sometimes couldn’t tell what he was exactly in the mood for.

He slammed the computer shut, tossing it onto the table and reaching for the coffee.

(Y/N) made a mental note – he was thinking, strained, and in need of some adrenaline from the caffeine.

“Hand me my phone, John.”

(Y/N) came behind his shoulder and slipped him the phone she kept in her pocket from cleaning his room. She removed the teacup and began to drink it herself.

Sherlock barely acknowledged her as she finally took a seat in the kitchen.

“You’ve made your move,” he muttered.

She turned towards him and smiled, sipping her drink. Sherlock was looking at the chess set that was resting behind his armchair. He pondered for a mere five seconds before replying in boredom.

“Checkmate in six.” He repositioned one of his knights as he glanced her way.

She trailed her eyes up and raised her tea to him, “We’ll see.”

“You cleaned?” He was quickly entering the kitchen, grabbing the drying beakers.

“Disinfected and ready for use,” she said confidently.

He didn’t seem to have anything to prove wrong about the work. He simply nodded and glanced at his experiment fridge.

“You’ve taken the eyes from the microwave.”

“And wrote down the observations, times, and discoloration,” she lifted a clipboard near the teapot. “Biopsies are on glass slides and next to the microscope.”

If he was impressed he didn’t say so. Though when Sherlock remained silent it was normally a good thing; as soon as he opened his mouth it was normally an insult or something to make him seem better than everyone else.

“I figured you were up all night. You take too many nicotine patches, you know.”

“It’s a four patch problem.” His hands were behind his back, voice monotoned.

She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, “Must be serious then.”

“String of murders along west end, actors on stage taking their last bow. Each death different and strange. One strangled with blue curtains, another stabbed with a peacock feather quill, another crushed by a falling sandbag, and the last falling from the set and breaking their neck.”

“I’ve always loved going to the theatre.”

Sherlock ignored her silly retort, and it made her smile. “The connection is of course obvious.”

John piped up from the living room, “That they’re all actors?”

“That those deaths are related to theatre myths.” (Y/N) smirked but did nothing more than drink her tea.

Sherlock gave her a muted look, “Yes. They’re all related to some kind of bad luck brought about by myth and legend. Wearing blue is traditionally unlucky on stage, unless you pair it with silver. Peacock feathers were seen as possessing the evil eye and seeing them while performing would doom the production. Sandbags came from the catwalks, and they’re normally released by signal of a whistle, so whistling while performing is bad luck and could result in a fatal accident. And finally the broken neck. The theatre was performing the Shakespeare play Macbeth, which is a notoriously unlucky show – if you say the name while in rehearsal you jinx it.”

“Did someone say, ‘good luck’ instead of ‘break a leg’? Because that’s very unlucky as well.”

Sherlock looked at her with mild annoyance, “Regardless I’ve been attempting to find another connection in the past three days.” He pulled at his curly head, “And all I’ve seen is completely separate stories and separate lives. No same director, chorus, or choreographer. There weren’t any secret love affairs or major relationships between members of the cast. Even the technicians are singular and separate. The audience has to be the key but so far I haven’t found a single ticket purchased by the same person for all four shows.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out – you always do,” she said, rising from the kitchen table. “Be sure to update me. I don’t want to be unlucky going to see a show this weekend.”

“But… but it’s the performers that are being murdered.”

“Joke, Sherlock,” she mused, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget to swab John’s mouth for that phone bacteria experiment.”

John choked, “What?”

“Kidding,” she laughed, “Twice in one day. I’m on a roll.” And she left the flat to spend time in her own room for a change. She shared the main floor with Mrs. Hudson, helping her with shop things from time to time.

Sherlock took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes hard. He went back for his armchair, planting himself and downing the rest of his coffee.

“You don’t give her the time of day.”

“Sorry?”

“(Y/N),” John said, “She does quite literally everything around here and you don’t so much as acknowledge it.”

Sherlock appeared genuinely confused, “What does she do again?”

“For God’s sake, Sherlock,” John folded his newspaper and put a hand to his temple. “She’s been housekeeping here for over six months.”

“Then isn’t it a sign of a good housekeeper for me not to notice change in the flat?”

John pursed his lips, “But she’s also acting as a secretary, scientist, and therapist. The least you could do is say she’s doing a good job.”

“She knows she’s doing a good job,” Sherlock retorted, “I don’t complain about it, do I?” He began to twiddle his fingers along his chair.

John noticed and attempted to remain inconspicuous, “Case running slow?”

Sherlock jutted his jaw and clacked his tongue. “It’s running fine.”

“Sure,” John put a finger to his lips, “You want to consult the police?”

“Idiots.”

He hopped up and started pacing, reaching for the mantlepiece and finding his torch right where it always was. He fiddled with the trigger, a small blue flame emitting from the tip.

“Let’s not set the curtains on fire,” John said cautiously. He tried to sit still, thinking about what Sherlock would be itching for next.

The detective paced, playing with the torch, “It doesn’t make any sense. The people… the actors… the audiences. What connects them? The profession? Not theatres or shows. Theatres. Where are they? West End. What is it about West End? It’s not that difficult to sneak into the back of a playhouse – many performers and technicians are running in and out. Someone off the street? Security cameras? Mycroft.”

“Your brother? You’re not roping him into a routine serial like this?”

“I need to see everything from the outside just as much as the inside. The first two victims smoked – perhaps in the back alleyway? Lured the killer in by accident? Who else wanders West End? Homeless network. I need something. Something… something,” Sherlock flared his torch, “Get me something!”

John sighed, “I’ve got another shift at the hospital; I can’t go with you to…”

“No, I need some and you have some. Give it to me.” He was dangerously close to setting his own hair on fire.

“Not having a breakthrough isn’t enough cause to give up, Sherlock. You’ve been doing really well.” He probably shouldn’t have mentioned that Sherlock was struggling with the case – damaging his ego. “Don’t stop now.”

Sherlock dropped his torch with a clunk to the ground. He observed John’s demeanor for a few seconds before rolling his eyes. “Perfect. You’ve given my secret stash to (Y/N).”

“What?” John scoffed, slightly unnerved, “Why would I do that?”

Sherlock went for the stairs, “Last thing you haven’t tried.”

The lanky man tromped towards the main floor, pushing into Mrs. Hudson’s apartment. The old woman was washing dishes in the sink, startled by his appearance and splashing bubbles all down her front.

Sherlock ignored her cries of accusation to rap on (Y/N)’s bedroom door. When she didn’t answer within three seconds, he yelled for her.

“(Y/N)! I know you’re in there. Flats by the door, crisps on the countertop, and your purse is open with your emergency feminine hygiene products stuffed inside, meaning you have no intention of going out tonight with…”

Her door flew open. She looked exasperated, “What is it Sherlock?”

He took a short, aggravated breath, “I need some. Get me my stash.”

She folded her arms, “No.”

Sherlock scratched the back of his head in a twitchy act of frustration. “Please.”

“If that was genuine, maybe.”

He clenched his teeth, “You know where everything is in the apartment. You then must also know that I have a complete arsenal at my disposal, most in that second fridge you forced me to buy…”

“I cleaned out that bacteria this morning.”

Sherlock paused, an almost tangible fury building in him, “I have other weapons other than biological.”

“Harpoon tucked away, scalpel kit locked up, and gun unloaded and somewhere John deems safe.”

He was almost shaking uncontrollably.

“Are you really threatening me just to get a high?” She folded her arms. “I always figured you thought higher of me.”

“Sentiment,” his voice was poisoned. “Was always your greatest weakness.”

She frowned, nodding her head. She jabbed a finger into his chest, pushing him away slightly. “Cold and calculating. Always been your greatest weakness.”

Sherlock turned away, cheek twitching from containing his next insult. (Y/N) almost sneaked a smile, seeing the restraint. He was holding back for her benefit – so he did think higher of her than he let on.

“Come on,” she pulled on his arm, urging him into her room and onto the bed. He practically flopped onto it, “Explain.”

He looked at her with a stone gaze.

“You like to talk, and I am willingly giving you the floor. Speak.”

“I’m going to the theatre – would you like to come?”

She took a deep sigh, eyeing him with barely contained disappointment. “Why me?”

“John is upset with me for some reason and won’t leave his position at the hospital. Nobody at Scotland Yard is competent enough to keep up with me. I know you are always willing to help a friend…”

“I don’t do cases, Sherlock – you know that.”

“And I know one of your premenstrual symptoms is seeking out comfort and something to feign off the loneliness…”

“Oi!”

“If you’re not going to surrender the stash, the least you can do is indulge me in some distraction.”

She watched as he slowly tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. His eyes seemed to lighten in a pleading look.

It made her sigh heavily through her nose, “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Is it working?”

“You think we’ll run across the killer?”

He stood straight, hands behind his back, “There’s always a possibility. It is the scene of the crime. We are looking for more evidence.” It was like he already knew her answer – the subtle smile on his face was very telling.

She tapped her foot, chewing the inside of her cheek. “If I’m adding detective to the list I’m going to need a pay raise.”

“I’ll buy you lunch.” He was already out her door and jogging to get his coat off the back of his armchair.

(Y/N) was in the hall, wrapping a long striped scarf around her neck, letting it taper down her front. A knitted hat with a bauble on top fit snug on her head, making her look incredibly cheerful and innocent.

Sherlock made these observations, seeing her cheeks tinted pink without them having gone out in the cold yet. Embarrassed? Flushed? Overheating?

Why would she be blushing?

“You’re sure we won’t get into any trouble?”

Sherlock led the way out to hail a cab. “All the murders took place during performance hours and seeing as it’s still daylight, I wouldn’t expect to run into anyone planning to kill at the moment. They’re well-thought crimes that don’t require the need to stick around the scene. This killer waits until the opening number.”

She sighed, feeling the notebook and pen she stashed into her pocket. “I’ve got to be back to do the wash and prep the roast.”

“What must it be like to work with such mundane things like laundry and dinner?”

He didn’t look at her as he said it, but she felt a little hitch in her chest. No matter how resilient she became to Sherlock’s jabs and infuriating habits, there were still times he could hurt her feelings.

“It’s worth it to know it helps you save people and solve all those cases.”

“Helps me?” Sherlock scoffed. “What about household chores helps me do my job?”

She refrained from lashing out, “If what I do is so utterly useless in helping you solve cases, then why am I with you now?”

“Because John can’t be.”

(Y/N), the two of them now sitting in a cab, looked out the window and remained silent. She could barely feel Sherlock eyeing her and making deductions about her shift of mood.

“I think better when I talk out loud. It attracts less attention when I have someone to speak to.”

She knew he was trying to figure out why she was suddenly upset. He was oblivious to things such as that.

“I’m glad I’m just a substitute John.”

They rode on in relative silence until Sherlock decided it was boring to try and deduce her feelings. He then rambled on about the logistics of the case, attempting to bring about some sudden revelation. (Y/N) went along with it, merely nodding and apologizing to passersby that Sherlock harassed.

They arrived at West End, (Y/N) following Sherlock as he led the scavenge for more evidence.

And, you know… that’s about all that she could remember happening.  

~~~

Sherlock awoke with a mingling sense of something being wrong. He did not believe in gut feelings without proper evidence, so he chose to ignore it. He went about his usual routine and found a few socks short in his drawer index. It made his forehead crease as he also noticed the minimal number of dress shirts in his closet.

They must all be in the wash.

He went to the bathroom, finding his shampoo almost empty and not a refill in sight. He almost slipped on the soap scum as he trudged his way out, even more upset by the fact he had to go searching for a towel as there were none hanging on the rack.

A half hour later he walked into the living room and felt something even more off-putting. An old mug of coffee sat on his side table, leaving a brown ring on the wood. His laptop was open and upon hitting a few keys he found it dead. His coat was not on the back of his armchair, and he had to actually look for it.

Clutter was obscuring the desk and piling on the bookshelves, the last two newspapers thrown onto the ground. The kitchen was a proper sight, a broken beaker shattered in the sink and dirty dishes on the table. The kettle needed cleaning and smelled of cold, sitting tea.

He couldn’t find his phone, he had to actually go to the street to get the newspaper, there wasn’t a readymade breakfast waiting for him, he couldn’t scroll on his computer, even his skull was found in John’s chair and not on the mantlepiece.

It even took him ten minutes to find his violin which he had shoved under his bed the night before for some reason.

He played it with agitated fingers. Why did it feel as though everything was hindering him that morning?

Then he looked sideways and saw the chess set below the window. He recalled the last move he made on it, the positions of the other pieces not making a countermove in response. He put his instrument down, attempting to deduce.

His foot nudged something on the ground, and he saw his torch. The one he had thrown to the floor two days previous. One and one made two. Sherlock stood straight.

(Y/N)?

It made sense; the last they spoke she mentioned doing the wash and cooking dinner. That explained his lack of clothing. The clutter and all around mess of the flat meant she hadn’t been there to clean in at least a day. She hadn’t made her next move on the chess board.

Footsteps on the stairs had him unexpectedly hopeful, but the heaviness of the step and the uneven footing told him it was John. The doctor came in tiredly, holding his lower back and blinking blearily.

Sherlock frowned, “You came upstairs.”

“Yes, I did,” John said mockingly, “You never cease to amaze me with those deductions, Sherlock.”

The detective didn’t move an inch, “I mean, you came from outside.”

“Yeah, I just took a cab over.”

“You spent the night somewhere else.” Sherlock said it like a question, but it was merely him thinking aloud. “By the state of the bags under your eyes and the stiff back, it was a couch and not a bed.”

John hobbled towards his chair, rolling the skull off and giving it a peculiar look. “Had a few too many drinks with Stanford yesterday. He offered the couch and I just passed out.” He gave a slight laugh, “Did you not notice I was gone all day again?”

Sherlock swallowed hard but he tried not to show his struggle. “Did you see (Y/N) at all?”

“No,” John said, looking around for his newspaper, “The last I saw her was Saturday when she made tea and cleaned out your fridge.”

Sherlock bowed his head in a curt nod.

John suddenly had a realization, observing the general uncleanliness around him. “And now it’s Monday and you haven’t seen her at all?”

“I’ve just noticed right before you walked in.”

“Christ, Sherlock,” John muttered, rising again, “(Y/N) is one of the most organized and pleasant people I know. She wouldn’t just skip a day of work and not let us know. It took you over a day to notice that she wasn’t around?”

Sherlock knew he ought to feel ashamed of himself and he was close to forcing himself to feel it. (Y/N) had been nothing but helpful since he first met her. He never found any sort of disappointment or qualms with her.

And he was starting to recognize the impact of having her around.

His eyes began to wander, mind working on a theory. The last they spoke was when they ventured to West End. She had been fidgety and nervous on the scene, and he did nothing to reassure her like he should have.

He didn’t buy her that lunch like he should have. He didn’t thank her for spending her afternoon with him like he should have. And he didn’t walk her home afterwards like he should have.

When did he last see her? They wandered backstage with the props and costumes and that’s when he noticed a clue. A clue that led him all the way down to Scotland Yard to solve the case in front of the detective inspector.

He didn’t remember her being there.

“I left her at the theatre,” he mumbled.

John tilted his head, listening with a growing sense of worry. “You left her?”

“The case…” Sherlock muttered, “There was a development in the case, and I had to get to Lestraude.”

“I see,” John sighed, “You know you did something similar to me when we first met. Left me at that pink woman crime scene.”

But Sherlock was suddenly running down the stairs and towards the main flat. He barged into the shop, startling Mrs. Hudson as he always did.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” He marched to her bedroom, throwing it open and pinpointing any signs that she returned to the flat after the theatre. The bed was unslept in.

“(Y/N), dear?” Mrs. Hudson said, a hand to her chest, “I haven’t seen her in a few days.” She came to the bedroom doorway. “She told me she’d take the tube up to see her family this weekend. I figured she left while I was out.”

Sherlock frowned, stalking the flat for any other evidence, “Are you absolutely sure that’s where she is?”

“I don’t know,” the landlady said, confused. “Sherlock, what’s this about? Is (Y/N) all right?”

“That’s something I’d like to know as well,” John made it down, “I’d like to know whether or not I have to knock some common sense into that blockhead of yours.”

Sherlock tried to ignore him, a familiar pang of loneliness eating at him. Common sense. Sometimes being a calculated genius was quite lonely. If he allowed himself, he could wallow in his solitude – normally he chose to shut that part of himself off.

John was trying to get his friend to feel something – feel guilty – and Sherlock knew it.

“Where else could she be?” Mrs. Hudson said with added worry.

“You were at West End,” John said accusingly.

But Sherlock held up a hand, “I caught the killer; he’s been arrested. There’s no way she fell victim.”

“Then why else would she go missing at West End?”

Sherlock recalled their last conversation again. ‘I’ve got to be back to do the wash and prep the roast.’

He eyes widened and he darted for the fridge, yanking the door open to find a raw roast sitting upon a platter on the shelf.

“Oh, she was going to make a lovely Sunday dinner with that,” Mrs. Hudson remembered, “She wanted all of us to have a sit down together.”

“Why would she visit family over the weekend when she planned to make dinner for Sunday?” Sherlock crouched so he was eyelevel with the roast.

John shifted his weight, fisting his hands at his sides, “And why has Sunday come and gone with that roast still uncooked? She’s missing, isn’t she?”

Sherlock kept his face placid, though his teeth clenched. He reached for the platter, turning it around slowly.

And on the back of the raw meat was the blank side of a polaroid stuck to the roast by means of a knife. The picture read in all caps.

“MISS ME?”

Something extinguished within Sherlock. John muttered something like “Oh, God,” behind him. Mrs. Hudson gasped.

Sherlock – Sherlock was furious. Livid. Positively feral.

He leapt to his feet, taking the polaroid with him. The frontside held the picture. One with (Y/N) tied to a post, looking terrified and tearstained. He kept the picture from Mrs. Hudson, throwing it at John as he walked out.

Yes, Sherlock was furious. Furious with himself.

But he was going to project that onto Moriarty.

“Where is she?” John called out, stumbling from the apartment after Sherlock. “God, alone with Moriarty for two days,” he whispered, “I hope she’s… she must be…”

Sherlock heard a slight ringing in his ears, frustrated at the feeling of panic that was happening quite out of his own control. His poorly contained fury was slipping through in the way his hands shook and his voice came out in a menacing growl.

“Tied to a wooden post that is obviously a beam giving support to the ceiling. In the right corner you see a window positioned at the top of the wall, so she must be in a sort of basement. In the background you can see a washer and dryer, so the basement of a house then.” He was trying to talk as quickly as his mind was going. “AH! Why are cabs deciding to be sparse now of all times?”

John was hearing the edge of Sherlock’s tone, triumphant in having him feel some kind of repercussion of his fault. But John also took pity on his friend – this was not Sherlock’s air of expertise – he couldn’t fully grasp the magnitude of what (Y/N) must be going through.

But Sherlock understood the logistics. Kidnapping, statistics, trauma – he understood the research. (Y/N) was hurt and in danger because of his negligence.

Why did he feel so strongly about her safety? Because (Y/N) was a piece of his life that he couldn’t let escape. She was one of his friends. And he had very few of those. Perhaps he should tell her that sometime.

“Behind the laundry hamper is a collection of photographs and though it’s hard to make out details, they’re obviously pictures of a family. So a family house. In the hamper on the counter you can see (Y/N)’s scarf and hat, as if she were to do the washing, that suggests possession of the machines. And finally above the cabinetry you can see a decal on the wall that says est. in 1987. The kind of decal people put in their house to remind them of meaningful dates – so what’s so meaningful of 1987? (Y/N) once told me her parents waited three years to have kids after they were married, and (Y/N) being the oldest and born in the year 1990 would mean that her parents married in 1987 – their family was established in 1987.”

Sherlock gave up finding a cab and began at a run to find the nearest underground. They’ll need the tube. John attempted to match the pace, simultaneously listening to Sherlock’s speedy explanation.

“(Y/N) did in fact visit family this weekend. Just not of her own volition.”

“When did you discuss the waiting period of her parents having kids?”

“We were discussing Anderson and his failing marriage.”

~~~

It was all a cruel joke. She was left alone in that basement as a warning. Minimal physical harm was done to her. Moriarty dangled her like a worm on a hook just for his own amusement.

He wanted to see Sherlock squirm.

And Sherlock hated that his nemesis was figuring out his attachment to (Y/N). It seemed like only a few hours before Sherlock had come to the realization himself.

They had barged into the basement, (Y/N) sobbing and choking on a gag. John ran for her while Sherlock seethed, searching for anything he could deduce.

(Y/N) stood shakily, grappling for John, who held her tightly, “I’ve got you. You’re all right. You’re safe now.”

Sherlock refrained from spitting how much of a lie that was. He rounded the entire floor, mind reeling as he growled in frustration. He stalked back and grabbed (Y/N)’s shoulders.

“Sherlock,” John reprimanded. “Leave the poor girl alone.”

The detective shook her slightly, “Where is he? When was the last you saw him? Did he tell you anything?”

“Sherlock,” John repeated, “She’s been through an ordeal…” his voice raised, “the least you can do is show some common courtesy and leave her be!”

“Get out.”

“Sorry?”

Sherlock pointed at the stone stairs, “Phone Lestraude and we’ll meet you up there.”

John was hesitant, looking towards (Y/N) for some kind of confirmation it was all right. But she was shivering, teary eyed, and silent. Another scathing look from Sherlock sent him away.

After a pause, Sherlock swallowed, sighing heavily. His grip on her shoulders never wavered, “(Y/N).” His voice had fallen incredibly gentle, and there was something about his flat expression that hinted at emotion.

“Sh-Sherlock…”

He pursed his lips at the tremble of her voice. He knew what he should do next. He’d seen plenty of similar interactions in colleagues and mass media. But he couldn’t help but feel awkward as he tried to pursue a comforting action.

It was not his first instinct. But another instinct ruled over that now. The health and protection of (Y/N).

He moved to pull her closer to him and he found that she was immediately grateful. She practically fell into his chest, holding onto the lapels of his coat. She quivered in his hold, doing her best to staunch the tears.

Bless her, he thought, she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“It’s all right,” he whispered deep. “I’ve got you.” He said the words because he knew they were the right things to say. But he quickly realized that he believed it too. She was safe with him.

She took a shuddering breath, sinking further as he experimentally wrapped his arms around her tightly. His brow creased as he examined the peculiar comfort he was experiencing himself.

“It was horrible, Sherlock,” she said thickly, “I was so scared.”

He closed his eyes, hushing her with a hand to her head. “It’s over now – I’m not going to let anything like that happen to you again.” He could feel his curious mind itching to begin the search for Moriarty.

But he reigned it in as (Y/N) needed him.

She strangely smiled a watery smile, pulling away. “Who knew you’d be good at hugs.”

He contorted his brow, “I’m familiar with the act of hugging. It’s easy to perform. Arms around the waist – child’s play.”

“It was nice, thank you.” She had a knowing smile on her blotchy face, as if she knew he couldn’t fake the comfort they both felt from the hug.

Now that made him feel awkward and vulnerable. “Well, then – enough of that. You ready to go home?”

“You sure you’re not going to leave me behind again?”

Sherlock clenched his gloved hands; his shoulders tensed. “I… I should apologize for that.”

She nodded slowly, still shaking but relatively rosier than before. “Make it good.”

“(Y/N)… I honestly and wholeheartedly apologize for my abhorrent behavior in abandoning you on that street. Had I known you were in any real danger I would have never… I – well, please will you come home? John is utter rubbish at cleaning up after himself and I can’t concentrate on my work without you there.”

“Without me there?” she whispered, red eyes clearly brighter.

“To housekeep.”

She snickered, her voice hoarse, “Is it me or did you just confess that I – the simple housekeeper – am a key element to you solving your cases?”

Sherlock gave her a willing smile, “Don’t go around saying that to John – he’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

“I won’t… for a pay raise.”

He let out a short laugh, “I’ll buy you lunch.”

“You better this time,” she stumbled backward in her shared laughter and found herself weak at the knees. Sherlock grasped her arm and placed it firmly through his.

“Best you stay near me until you’re sorted.”

She leaned into him as they made their way towards the increasingly louder police sirens. He may or may not have put his free hand over hers.

“Sentiment,” she said mockingly, “Was always your hidden strength.”

He sighed heavily, “You tend to bring it out in me.”

~~~

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[onlylovingstrangers]

slow dancing in the dark

chapter one

wc: 2.5k

He is everywhere.

You look into a familiar pair of golden eyes. They stare back demurely for several suspended moments until someone bumps into you, breaking the spell.

“Watch where you’re going!” the man barks over his shoulder.

This is Shibuya. Around you, masses of pedestrians weave in and out of hordes, moving with purpose.

You are the outlier. The one person who doesn’t know where to next. You have no destination.

Turning your eyes away, you find your way down a familiar route. Behind you, the billboard watches you disappear into thin air, becoming just another one in the crowd.

ONE MORE WEEK — NEW SINGLE FROM KDZKN — BREATHE

#

“Say hi to the vlog,” is the first thing Yukie says, before she shoves her camera in your face.

“Hello, vlog, hello Yukie. Thank you for getting my best angle,” you respond obediently. In the distance, the sound of cutlery clattering is distinct. “You guys better not be using my Hello Kitty pan.”

“I’m innocent,” your roommate says. “I’m not the one cooking. But let's see if Kaori’s been taking advantage of your absence.” She follows you into the kitchen, where a very guilty looking Kaori awaits.

“Oh my god!” you shriek.

“I’m sorry! It fries the best!” the culprit blurts immediately. “I sprayed it with non-stick oil though!”

“This is a special edition product,” your beloved Hello Kitty’s face has been scraped and sullied. “I left for two days. I specifically said this pan is off limits.”

“The drama of a Wednesday afternoon,” Yukie intones. “Unmatched.”

“How are your parents?” Kaori asks as you eye her petulantly. But there are more pressing grievances to air.

“It was the usual,” you say, hopping onto the countertop. “They asked me how work was. I said boring. They asked me how my love life was. I said non-existent. They got mad at me for not having direction. I apologized. Then they got mad at me for apologizing.”

“That was expected,” Yukie says. “Did you bring any snacks ho— ow!”

“Deserved,” Kaori says pointedly. “And you do have direction,” she reassures you.

“They said I didn’t have enough drive. I’m supposedly at the height of my youth and wasting it by being passive.” You open your mouth as your friend feeds you a spoonful of fried rice. “Ironic. I don’t know what they want.”

“Obviously for you to do something crazy,” Yukie says from where she is sprawled on the floor.

“Like what though? This needs more soy sauce.”

“We ran out. No doing anything crazy, please.”

“Like stripping for the vlog.”

“No.”

“Absolutely not! Why are you still entertaining her?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “Recently I’ve been feeling so… neutral about everything. My life is boring, I’m boring, and worst of all I don’t even care. How did that happen?”

Yukie shuts off the camera and sits up. Kaori puts her spatula down in the stir-fry. The three of you exchange an uneasy glance, unsure where to proceed.

“Is this the so-called quarter-life crisis?”

“Am I boring, too?”

“We’re broken,” Yukie says, flipping dramatically back onto the floor and turning on her camera. “It’s official. We need to do something crazy, now, to cure us.”

#

Another weekend spent with your parents, another overwhelmingly spiritual journey on the way back home. You regret not making more out of everyday experiences. You regret arguing with your mother whenever you visit. You even regret not studying harder in high school.

I regret a lot of things, you silently tell your reflection in the train window.

I know, it responds.

Outside the station, the previous billboard has been replaced with a newer one.

BREATHE BY KDZKN OUT NOW!

This one doesn’t feature a picture of the singer’s face, which is a relief. KDZKN is a popular artist, enough so that his PR doesn't need to bring in his visuals to appeal to the public. In fact, his music shouldn’t need to be publicized to this extent at all. He’s already achieved international acclaim, already lives under microscopic scrutiny by millions of fans. But that’s a good team for you, doing more than they need to.

He sure knows how to pick them, you think.

#

Before you finish inserting the PIN onto the touchpad, the door swings open. “SURPRISE!” Kaori and Yukie shout in unison, the former wearing a lopsided party hat, and the latter throwing streamers into the air.

“Oh, Jesus,” you gasp, swallowing back a slew of bad words. “What? What’s the occasion? You scared the hell out of me!”

“We’re going to do something crazy,” Yukie sings. “It’s going on the vlog. My camera’s charging right now.”

“Your channel evolution — from mukbang to whatever it is now — is potent material for behavioral specialists to analyze,” you declare, taking your boots off with gusto. “These were so painful to stand on. The tops were digging into my calf.”

“Well, change into something comfy,” Kaori says. “Because yes, we’re going to do something crazy. Right now.”

“You too, Kaori? What has the strange lady fed you?”

“I’m right here!”

“I thought of it myself,” she says proudly. “I know. It’s crazy.”

“How are these?” You hold up Hello Kitty slippers.

“Perfect,” Yukie enthuses. “Those are the slippers that Nicki Minaj wore in that interview.”

“I’ll be channeling her energy for whatever crazy shit we’re doing.”

“Perfect. That’s the spirit. Now all we need our props.”

“Props?” you ask, startled.

“Me and Yukie got it covered. You just need to be your beautiful self.”

“Okay,” you laugh. If this is your friends’ idea of a pick me up, it’s working.

“I need you to go out and stall the taxi!” Kaori calls from her room.

“On it!”

You are infinitely lighter than an hour before. No more regrets; now you’re made of helium, laughter, and sweet things.

#

“Shibuya?” you ask.

Yukie ignores you in the passenger seat, so you turn frantically to Kaori. “Why there? It’s so crowded.”

“That’s exactly why,” she says grimly. You note that her face has taken on a shade of green usually reserved for inanimate objects and feel an ominous shadow pass over.

“What exactly are we doing?”

“We’re… busking.”

“What?”

“On Shibuya Crossing! This will be great to film,” Yukie chirps from the front seat. “I’m on guitar, Kaori on keyboard, and we gave you the honor of lead vocalist.”

“Sole vocalist. Guys, this isn’t my rodeo. Not remotely.”

The happiness that you felt only five minutes worth of driving ago is quickly fading, replaced by a dull sense of panic.

“It’s the same thing. Hey, listen,” your friend says your name. “I’ve been doing some serious reflection, and it’s true that you haven’t been living recently. Okay? You just go to work, and come back, and banter with me, and clean the house with Kaori, and then you go to sleep. You even do overtime work willingly, that’s what your life has come to. This is not you. This is not who you are.”

“As opposed to singing love songs in front of a million people? Is that who I am?” you demand, frustrated. “This is crazy.”

“That’s why we’re doing it, babe,” Yukie says. You look at her and her face is filled with fondness. “Who knows if it’s you or not? We won’t know till we try. The thing is, we need a change in our lives. Just something spontaneous. This isn’t going to be scheduled.”

“Fine,” you croak.

It’s hard to hold onto any self righteousness in the face of her sincerity, but still! This intersection is associated with only dreary feelings, and now you suppose public humiliation will be added to the list.

“We’ll wear those fancy masquerade masks,” Kaori adds. “We’ll be unrecognizable.”

“Oh, thank God,” you exhale. “Okay. Okay, that’s better to hear. You know what, we can do this. I can do this.”

“We also don’t have to sing love songs.”

“But I want to play at least one.”

“This is embarrassing though. I haven’t really sung since the last time we went to karoake…”

“Ooh, she’s a diva now.”

“Getting into character. Character training.”

“Yukie, do you even know how to play the guitar?”

“Yes! Well, ukelele, but they’re the same.”

“They’re not, though?”

“Stop focusing on semantics,” Yukie dictates as she sets up speakers underneath the same billboard you were looking at this afternoon. “Help me carry all this stuff.”

“Look how pretty the masks are. This pink matches your slippers.”

“They do. And I love yours, too,” you admire, raising the microphone to a comfortable level. “The yellow against your hair. You look like Belle.”

People have begun to stop and look on, and you’re trying to ignore them to the best of your ability. You focus instead on manageable tasks — making faces for Yukie’s viewers, helping Kaori set up the rented (and in very poor condition) keyboard. Eventually, even a semblance of a set list falls into place.

“Ready?” Yukie asks.

“Kaori, you look like you’re going to pass out,” you hiss.

“It’s the excitement!”

“Just remember, we’re living! We’re anonymous! We’re wearing Hello Kitty slippers and feathery masks! We’re invincible!”

“I think I’m ready,” a nod.

“Love you guys.”

“Always.”

“Of course.”

A crowd has begun to accumulate by the time the first chords of an old karaoke favorite start up. You can’t help but grin. Maybe this is what you’re made for.

“It’s not a silly little moment, it’s not the calm before the storm…”

#

It’s Saturday.

You’ll always remember it as the day a new world opened up. Whether you chose to enter it remained up to you. Whether you regret anything still is at your hands.

The day before, you had been working until early hours, filing paperwork long after your team leader and most of your coworkers had gone to bed. You’d been thinking about last week’s impromptu performance, wondering when and if you’d get to chase another high. Little did you know, you’ll reflect later. But at present, you’re peacefully ignorant, only knowing the warm cocoon of your blankets and somebody’s muted screeching.

The muted screeches that are taking the form of your name, and becoming less and less muted by the second.

“What is it!” you yell, just as your best friends thunder into your room. “Wait, what’s going on?”

“You—”

“I’m —”

“Just look!”

Your eyesight still blurry with a good night’s sleep, it takes a while to make out the words: Entertainment… cordially… invitation. “I don’t get it,” you finally admit.

“You idiot!”

“Ow!”

“You owe this to me, by the way,” Yukie proclaims. Then she explains: “I posted the video of our performance on Tuesday, and it’s been doing really well. Really really well. So well that a BIG NAME agency noticed you and reached out. Do you know how often this happens? Never. But they are ‘intrigued’ by your ‘unique voice’ and want to set up a meeting.”

“It’s a scam, darlings,” you groan. “Now leave me alone.”

“NO!” Kaori cries. “That’s the thing! It’s real! We triple-crossed-checked! They want you!”

You frown, taking the phone from her outstretched hand. The mail address and logo do look legitimate. “But it’s not like I want to be an idol or anything, guys. I have a job.”

“This girl.”

“‘I have a job’ headass. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! Do you understand? This doesn’t happen even in fanfiction!”

“Nobody said they were going to make you an idol,” reasons Kaori. “What’s the harm in going? Just to check things out. You have the final say in everything.”

“Let me live vicariously through you,” begs Yukie. “This is crazy. They actually took the initiative of contacting me.”

“Think of it as another adventure.”

It’s true. Something to make meaning in your monotonous days, a voice in your head whispers.

“Yeah, but this time I won’t have you guys with me,” you say. Still, the gears in your mind are turning. “When’s the meeting?”

“In two days at noon.”

What are you doing with yourself? your mom had asked. You act like your life is just another burden.

“I’ll take the day off.”

“YES!” Yukie bellows. “YES! YES!”

“Remember, you’re in control,” Kaori reminds you.

“Oh my god, this is so exciting,” Yukie enthuses. “You’re going to need to be dressed, and be dolled up, and you’re going to need moral support. Okay! I’ll take the day off too!”

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“Yukie, you take too many days off.”

“You guys,” she sulks, “always spoil my fun.”

#

“It’s not just a career,” Kita-shachou says. “It’s a way of living.”

Sitting across from you in an expansive white room with generous floor to ceiling windows, the president of INARZKI ENT. takes an elegant sip of coffee from his mug.

Your large feet hurt in the fancy shoes that belong to Yukie, and your eyelashes are probably falling off with the weight of the expensive mascara Kaori applied liberally. But no discomfort compares with the thought of this clean, precise man sitting at the center of such a messy, shady industry. And not just carving a career out of it, but “a lifestyle”.

You shudder. He blinks.

“Well, I’ll get to the point. We’re interested in your potential as an artist. If you’re interested, and willing to make the commitment to change the world as you know it, I think you’re going to go a long way.

What we’re looking at right now, schedule-wise, is you becoming a trainee. Because of your age and ability, let’s aim for training for 9 months. Then we can talk about your debut and which creative route you want to go down. Does that sound alright?”

“If I may ask a question,” you pose timidly. With his assent, you continue: “I’m feeling a little blindsided. I’ve never pursued singing professionally, and I definitely wouldn’t call myself creative. And on top of that, I’ve been told this method of scouting is highly unconventional, and is atypical for a company that has achieved the heights that INARZKI has. I guess what I’m getting at is… why me? You mentioned potential, but… where is it?”

The man considers you impassively, as if wondering the same thing himself. Then he sets down his mug and says your name. “Do you want to know the secret to being happy?”

“…Yes?”

“It’s finding things to be happy about.” Kita-shachou leans back in his seat. “We would love to have you with us. But I understand if you wouldn’t. Like I said,” he gestures gently, “it’s a lifestyle. Is it alright if I ask you to make your decision within a week from now?”

No, you think.

“Yes,” you say.

“Alright. I’m looking forward to hearing from you.”

As you leave the office, you sneak a glance backwards. The president is looking at you, as if he can’t figure you out.

[actias-android]

Lately I've been seeing a lot of spiritual nonhuman posts complaining that they're feeling like a minority lately and being talked down to by psychological nonhumans, and the opposite, psychological nonhumans saying they're done being talked over and treated as less-than by spiritual nonhumans.

We can do better than this for each other, y'all. Whatever the cause, we're still in this blue hellsite blogosphere together, and we have so much more in common than we do differences. And moreover the differences are enlightening and exactly what we need for outside perspective that we couldn't otherwise get.

I mean this as gently as possible: there's nothing good that can ever come from feeling like it's Your Turn To Be The Bully Now. Doesn't matter whether that's because you feel like you're in the smaller group now but used to be the larger group, or because you feel like you were in the smaller group but now your group is the big one. Either way, the perspective we have to regain as a whole is that these two groups are not only tiny as hell actually, but essentially one group, incompletely divided. And for what? We only stand to lose each other's perspectives, and loss of perspective is already a huge problem our discussions face.

If you want to respond to a post that isn't about or for you, I would suggest making a separate post of your own. And not to vague about it either! You can even say something like, "@[Tumblr User] raised a topic I wanted to discuss, but I didn't want to derail, so I'm making a post specifically from the [type of nonhuman that you are] point of view." That's a respectful and constructive way of continuing the conversation on your terms without taking the main branch of it for yourself.

Or, if you don't want to do that, don't land on the OP for not having the same viewpoint as you. There's a huge difference in respect between, "So everything OP said in this post is wrong because for me it's actually like this..." and, "Of course, I'm not OP, and so I've obviously had different experiences, but in my experience it's been like this..." The first immediately tries to discredit the original poster and is a rude and disrespectful approach. The second leaves room for conversation and also room for the fact that we're all discussing something that's ultimately the most subjective topic you can possibly discuss: our capital-S Selves.

And when in doubt, try to read people's tone in good faith. Very, very few nonhumans actually believe that they have All The Answers. Unless someone is explicitly making that claim, don't jump to the conclusion that disagreement is an attempt at invalidation.

(Also, maybe work on not worrying about if someone on the internet is invalidating you, because you validate you, and however it may feel, that can't be taken from you.)

Be cool to each other. I'm not saying to never disagree. Please do! Echo chambers also don't do anyone any good! But disagree politely and constructively; remember that we can't prove anything, only seek to understand ourselves and others better; and don't give in to feelings of wanting revenge for past treatment from other people.

In case it matters to anyone, I describe myself as magical, but under a fine enough microscope I'm a spiritual nonhuman AND a psychological nonhuman via hearttype(s?) and some ADHD/autism/other overlap that I've decided doesn't bear further sorting into categories. I'm speaking to both sides equally, and asking both sides equally to put down the grudges and feelings of invalidation. We will gain so much more from good-faith interdialogue than we will from standing on opposing lines pointing fingers.

[asexual-abomination]

Plat!Yan!Chrollo x Autistic!Reader x Plat!Yan!PT - Soulmate AU Part 1

This is largely self indulgent writing, as I know that very little of this niche exists, if any. The reader here is largely based on myself and my own thoughts of the world, but I hope others enjoy my writing. I have no formal education in writing, so if you have any advice for my writing style, please feel free to send it in.

This idea was largely inspired by the lovely @kiame-sama, who wrote this concept with a romantically yandere Chrollo, though I am aro-ace and changed it just slightly for my own writing. I hope to continue this series with more parts, but they may not all follow the same story thread.

This part just includes the body swap.

-----

You were never going to make the best impression on your soulmate. Or at least, you could never make the best impression on their friends, and that was what mattered largely to you. Talking to people would never be your strong suit, but at least on your end you had many months and other friends to keep your soulmate entertained. Waking up in a stranger's body, talking to other strangers about all details of their life? Horrible.

It should have been a comfort that there was a small yellow flower tattooed just below the date on your back, indicative of a platonic soulmate, but the idea that you would likely be expected to spend time not just with your soulmate, but with their friends as well threw you off so incredibly. Your soulmate would surely need the patience of a saint to deal with you, at least according to most people you speak with about your soulmate.

Your preparations for the switch were over now, all things embarrassing put away for now, some good food prepped, and a letter you had written taped to the inside of your bedroom door. For now, you were going over the final rules for your friends who were under strict instructions of exactly what they could and could not speak about with your soulmate. Even though they chuckled under their breath about your extreme caution, at this point you had to trust that they would follow what you said, since your switch was just minutes away.

Your closest friend, Jo, assured you that they would keep the rest in line. Knowing their authoritative personality and intimidating aura, you were much more reassured that things would go well. Even as you got up to leave, they were giving everyone their famous evil eye to keep them quiet.

Heading into the bedroom, you laid down, only to realize that your breathing was coming short and there seemed to be not enough air getting in your lungs. Were you seriously having a panic attack just before your switch? You tried to calm yourself with the breathing exercises you had been taught, but there was little you could do, which only made your panic grow faster.

You had only seconds to spare, and the reality of the situation hit you with the force of a freight train. Keeping your eyes open, you took one deep breath to hope you wouldn't ruin everything on the spot.

Everything changed in an instant, the position of your body, the tension of your muscles, the temperature and smell of the room. And the last thing to hit you, the fact that your soulmate decided to switch while driving on a highway.

Internally, you felt a massive surge of panic, outweighing the mild anxiety you had been feeling by a landslide. Until you realized that the body you were in appeared to be functioning on its own.

It was common knowledge that during the switch, there was no change to the body's ability to understand and speak languages, though you wondered if you were among the first to find the same thing applied to driving skills.

Slowly, you brought your breathing back to a calm, knowing that a meltdown right now could spell things much worse than humiliation. Once you felt ready enough that you wouldn't cry the second anything moved a moment to fast, you looked up to the rearview mirror to take in the inhabitants of the car.

Seeing the body you were in -- your soulmate -- was jarring, but he didn't appear immediately scary in the mirror. He had slicked black hair, wide eyes the color of granite, and wore a black trench coat with white fur that was open to show his bare chest underneath. But your attention was quickly drawn from his reflection to the fact that there were others accompanying you in this car.

Sat next to you in the passenger's seat was a woman with bright pink hair and a stony face, staring straight ahead at the road, who didn't appear to have noticed that there was any difference in her driver's behavior. Taking up the back seats were three men, one blond with a babyish smile, another blonde much taller than the first with a toughened look about himself, and a man with long black hair tied back looking grumpily out of his side window. All of them gave off intimidating vibes, almost putting you off of speaking at all.

After a few moments of quiet driving, it became apparent to you that these people weren't going to notice you until you spoke up. You were grateful for the time to prepare your first words, but with the menacing energy all these people gave off, you had to put your minimal understanding of conversation to its maximum.

"Ah... This wasn't quite what I was expecting..." Not the best opening line, but at least you had begun to announce your presence.

It was the pink-haired woman next to you who first responded with a questioning hum.

"I'm not sure who this is, but whoever they are, I'm their soulmate." That seemed to incite a reaction from the entire car.

"Soulmate!?" The black haired man jumped from his position, his grumpy mood dissipated and replaced with confusion mixed with excitement. The two other men were looking between themselves, while the woman's face somehow got even tougher, glaring towards you with something that you assumed was suspicion.

"Hah... I'm about as surprised as you are!" You tried to add some joy to your tone, hoping that matching their excitement would somehow dispel the situation faster. However, they continued to glare at you, and you began to wish that you could sink away into the seat, though there was very little that would help with at this point.

It's almost deathly quiet in the car for just a few moments, before all hell breaks loose. The others in the car were yelling questions at you, and yelling in general at each other.

"Would you lot calm down!?" The woman seemed to be your ally here, "If you keep this act up, we're gonna scare his soulmate off before the switch is even over!"

"Why wouldn't the boss have told us about his switch? This isn't like him in the slightest!" The black-haired man was clearly upset, though you weren't sure if he was angry at 'the boss' or at you.

The woman hushed him by saying that 'the boss' likely meant this as a test, which only served to confuse your perception of these people further. After a few moments of whispering between themselves, they finally turned back to you.

"So, who are you?" The rougher looking blond asked, not exactly setting a good tone.

It took you a few moments to even notice that he had even spoken to you, as the realization that your soulmate made seemingly no preparations for your switch hit you hard. Even though the day he would switch with you was embedded on his body, he had let you wake up in some random moment of his life, while you had spent months working around this day to get the best outcome possible.

"My name is (Y/N)," you introduced yourself carefully, not quite sure if you wanted to give your full name away to these people, "And who might you be?"

The four looked between themselves, completely ignoring your question. "No-one we know by that name."

They went further into their suspicious act, but were kind enough to also give their own first names before continuing their own interrogation. It was the baby-faced boy in the backseat, Shalnark, who asked the majority of the questions, he seemed to be very pushy and tricked you into giving answers multiple times.

The conversation was very one-sided, as you tried every trick you had ever been taught for keeping interactions equal, only to eventually realize that all four of them were working against you, using tactics for talking that you had never thought of before.

You were quick to become frustrated with their incessant questions. There were no spaces for the others to talk, leaving you feel like bug under a microscope as they stared at you. Eventually, it seemed that they were happy with the information they had gotten from you, which was a lot, including the full name you hadn't wanted to give them earlier, your home nation and your line of work.

Whoever these people were, they were good at interrogation, Shalnark especially good at tricking you with simple questions that he insinuated much greater answers from, which worried you for what these people could do for a living. If your soulmate was their boss, could he be even better at this type of talk? You didn't think you could handle conversations with a man that potentially intelligent.

Now that they were being less interrogating, you tried to take the opportunity to add your own questions, but you could only glean a few things from the way they answered. For one thing, the highway that you were currently on was on the same continent that you lived on, but a few countries over. For another, there were many more members of this group that worked for your soulmate.

Asking questions about your soulmate got a strange reaction each time, all of the passengers of the car taking a moment to look between themselves before giving you vague answers. His name was Chrollo, and as their boss, they didn't feel it was right to tell you too much about him, or so they said. You found that he was well-read, though they still refused to tell you much about precisely what he read.

It felt useless to try and pursue the conversation further, as you were nowhere near their level of smarts in conversation. To try and alleviate some of the tension you were feeling, you attempted to bring up lighter topics, asking them for funny stories, which they somewhat complied with. Although their style of telling stories seemed odd to you, as they left out a lot of details without prompting, but you were at least happy that the focus was off of you.

They told you stories of traveling around the world, and how they saw some of the worlds most gorgeous sights and expensive luxuries nearly everyday. You had to assume that they were embellishing most of it, but they made their lives sound rather fun, and you wondered if your own friends were giving Chrollo anywhere near as good an impression back home.

It had to have been at least an hour before another fear hit you, one that plagued you nearly everyday. From your perspective, everything was going well, they were laughing and telling stories not just to you but with each other, which indicated that they were happy with how how you acted. However, the fear that plagued you from inside told you that they weren't happy, that you had done something wrong and now they were laughing at you. Looking back on every word you had spoken, you felt almost physically sick, seeing every flaw in your word choice and tone in hindsight.

The passengers were looking and laughing between themselves and talking, so they didn't notice right away that there were tears gathering in your eyes, for which you were grateful. Just as suddenly as you were sat there, surrounded by happy voices with tears in your eyes, you were back home, sat amongst your own friends, who laughed perhaps even louder.

Once you came to and realized that you were no longer driving, and in fact were sitting on your own couch with your own friends, the tears really started to run. The letter that you had spent so much time carefully writing was clutched hard in your hand, but not so much that it would crumple or bend.

You quickly stood while mumbling an excuse, rushing to your room as your friends called after you. It felt odd to be back in your own body, the smells and sounds of everything hitting you horribly clearly. There was very little you could do to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed.

Your friends had already been prepared for what to do if you were overwhelmed coming back from your switch, but that didn't stop their concern for the way you were acting.

"Hey, (Y/N)? You okay in there?" Jo's voice came through the door, and you were grateful that your closest friend was here for you. "The others are all gonna start heading home now, but I'm gonna stick around. I don't want you to feel alone at the moment."

With a quick confirmation from you from behind the door, Jo headed to get some rest in the living room. Practically falling into your bed, you pulled the weighted blanket you had gotten as a gift over yourself, staring up at the ceiling as all of the feelings of excitement and fear finally crashed down on you.

-----

Thanks for reading!

[shoutobabes]

An excerpt from an OCxShouto fic I’ve been working on:

———————————————

Todoroki Shouto hated formal events.

He had attended enough Hero Awards Galas as a young child with his father to soil his opinion of them nearly two decades later, a pro hero in his own right. But tonight was not about his father.

Still.

He drummed his fingers on the fine linen tablecloth and watched as the drink in his glass vibrated slightly with each tiny impact. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Shouto allowed a small trail of frost to travel up the table inching toward the glass. The bottom began to dust with frost. The water at the bottom began to freeze. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Taptap--

“Will you stop fucking doing that?”

Shuoto whipped his head up to see a pair of angry red eyes glaring at him. Bakugo drove an accusatory finger toward Shoto’s glass.

“You’re like an antsy kid,” Bakugo huffed. “I don’t wanna be at this shit-parade any more than you do, icy hot, but you don’t see me blowing up the fucking finger cakes, do you?”

“I’m not taking Kacchan’s side, Todoroki,” Midoriya spoke up from his seat between the two feuding heroes. “But you do certainly seem on edge and, well,” Midoriya gulped and glanced toward the stage. “Our category is two away and I’m nervous enough as it is.”

Shouto blinked. “I can stop tapping the table.”

“Yeah, and then you’re gonna start shaking your leg like you were half an hour ago before you started tapping the goddamn table,” Bakugo crossed his arms and faced back toward the stage. “Take a fuckin’ walk. Do a guided meditation in the men’s room, for all I care, but if you stay here you’re gonna piss me off.”

Shoto turned to face Midoriya, often the peacekeeper in these altercations.

Midoriya seemed to be very interested in his napkin.

“Alright, then,” Shouto stood and fixed his tuxedo jacket. “I can take a hint.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Midoriya waved his hands while shaking his head. “It’s just--”

“He gets it, Deku,” Bakugo rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” Midoriya said, sheepishly.

“I’ll be back in time for the award announcement,” Shouto said as he walked away.

A walk was probably for the best.

Shouto wove his way through tables and chairs full of politely clapping patrons and pro heroes who were practically unrecognizable in their finery outside of their suits and gear. He recalled his father complaining about being forced into a tuxedo for these types of events. His mother would always wave them off wistfully, recounting times when she had been the No. 2 hero’s plus one while Fuyumi cried at being left behind and Natsuo would mope and pretend he didn’t care. Touya would just sit and stare. Until he didn't.

So lost in thought was Shouto, that he didn’t notice the girl in front of him until it was too late. Suddenly, he was staring at the empty glass in his hand trying to make his brain connect it to the growing wet spot on the front of the girl's dress.

Their eyes locked for a moment of shocked silence; silver and turquoise meeting violet eyes widened. A beat passed. Shouto regained his composure.

“My humblest apologies,” he finally said with a small bow. “I have no excuse. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I—“

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” the girl shook her head with a small smile. She had long, silver-white hair parted cleanly down the middle. “Not to brag or anything, but I’m kind of a dry cleaning expert.”

She lifted an arm and made a grabbing motion over her chest with one hand and Shoto watched as the spilled champagne drew itself out into a bubble of liquid. It hovered for a moment, then with a flick of the girl’s wrist, it flew into the pot of a nearby plant.

“Looked a little thirsty,” the girl said with a conspiratorial wink. “No harm no foul. Looks like you could use another drink, though.”

“Isn’t that my line?” Shouto raised a slight brow, elemental quirks were always fascinating and he met so few others with quirks like his. “I’m the offender in the situation, I feel as though it’s only right I’m the one buying you a drink.”

“Well then, it seems we’re in agreement,” the girl gestured to the corner of the room where the bar was set up. “We’re heading to the bar.”

Shouto nodded as the pair made their way over. He gave the girl a once-over; she seemed familiar but he didn’t recognize her as a hero in the Musutafu region or anywhere in Japan for that matter. She wore a simple, pale lavender gown.

“Gin and tonic,” Shouto told the bartender before nodding to his companion. “And for you?”

“Could I get a lemonade?” She asked, with a tilt of her head. “Oh, and if you have some sort of strawberry syrup could you mix that in, too? Thanks.” She grinned at the bartender as he nodded before walking away. She turned to Shouto who admittedly, realized he looked surprised.

“You don’t drink?” He asked.

“Can’t stand the taste,” she replied.

“I see.”

She studied him for a moment. Shouto felt as if he were under a microscope, being picked apart like a bacteria. Normally being analyzed like this would make his skin crawl, yet there was no malicious intent behind the girl’s eyes. Merely a curiosity, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve. The bartender brought over their drinks and the girl took a sip before suddenly breaking the silence.

“Why do you look like a turkey come late November?”

“I’m sorry?” Shouto squinted in confusion.

“My bad, I forget I’m not in the States anymore,” she self-consciously tucked hair behind her ear. “I meant to say, why do you look like this is the last place in the world you want to be?”

“The states?” Shouto asked. “Is that where you’re from?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose, technically.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well to be fair, you never answered my question.”

“And what was your question?”

“Why do you look so miserable to be here?”

Shoto grimaced delicately and took a gulp of his drink. “Ask any other question and I’ll answer that instead.

“Ah, so this is off limits, then,” the girl waggled her eyebrows. “Fine. How about...what brings you here tonight?”

Shoto sighed. That, at least, he could answer.

“My agency is up for an award tonight,” he said. “My partners and I are here in the hopes we receive it.”

“An award! How exciting,” the girl gave Shoto a funny look, as if she knew something he didn’t. “I’m sure you’ll win.”

“It would be an honor,” Shoto said slowly, feeling as if he were being left out of some joke. “To know that the people we are striving to serve believe in us so much.”

“Of course,” the girl nodded. “Your turn. For questions, that is.”

Shoto hummed in response as he took another sip. “I’m assuming that inquiring about the reason you’re drinking lemonade is...off limits?”

The girl sipped her own drink through the small straw that had come with it. “You learn quick! Beauty and brains, the ladies must love you.”

Shouto’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I wasn’t aware that having one precluded the occurrence of the other. Brains and beauty are two separate elements, their probability of occurring are in no way reliant upon the occurrence of the other.”

“Absolutely true, shame on me for assuming,” she nodded seriously. “But I didn’t hear a question there. Do you forfeit your turn?”

“No,” Shouto protested. “Fine. What do you mean you’re ‘technically’ from the States?”

“Oh, that,” she waved her hand absentmindedly. “I was born there, and I did spend my high school years there, but I spent most of my childhood here and this is where all my fondest memories are from.”

“I see,” Shouto replied.

“I think of myself as being from Kanagawa,” she clarified. “Coastal. I was always fond of the ocean.”

“Did that have to do with your quirk?” Shouto asked, recalling the way she had manipulated the liquid from her dress.

The girl opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by sudden loud cheering from the other side of the ballroom.

“That’s right folks— the award for Best Upcoming Agency goes to Plus Ultra! The hero agency run by graduates of our very own U.A. High School! Please give a hand to the heroes Deku, Dynamight, and Shouto as they come up to collect their award.”

“Shit,” Shouto cursed. He had promised Midoriya he would be back in time. “My apologies again, but I need to go immediately.”

“More apologies,” the girl joked, finishing off her drink. She set it on the bar next to Shouto’s half finished one. “Run along and don’t miss your big award!”

Shouto was already halfway across the ballroom. As he joined his partners on stage, Midoriya was at the microphone holding the award and delivering a speech of gratitude. Bakugo elbowed Shouto as discreetly as he was capable of doing anything discreetly and shot him a dirty look for being late.

“I deserve that,” Shouto whispered.

“Damn right,” Bakugo hissed.

“—in conclusion, we would just like to thank you all from the heart of the Plus Ultra Agency. We could not do this without your continued support and we will continue to go above and beyond to keep you safe! Plus Ultra!” Midoriya smiled brightly as he finished his speech.

The three posed on stage for a few quick photos, then stepped down.

“Todoroki, is everything all right?” Midoriya asked immediately. “It’s unlike you to be late.”

“My apologies,” Shouto cringed inwardly, he had apologized too many times tonight. The words were starting to ring hollow to even his own ears. “I was taking a walk when I accidentally bumped into—“

“Me, actually,” the girl from earlier materialized from the crowd behind Shouto as she stepped forward. “Literally, in fact.”

“Ms. Kagawa!” Midoriya gasped. “I had no idea you would be here tonight, I’m so sorry! I would have said hello earlier.”

Shouto blinked. How did Midoriya know her?

“Please, no formalities,” Kagawa shook her head. “Call me whatever you prefer, it’s just nice to finally meet you all.”

That’s when it clicked. Shouto recalled a team meeting from the month before.

———————

“Why are we bringing in some random chick, again?” Bakugo groaned, putting his feet up on the table from where he was sitting in the conference room. “We don’t need any extra help, hell, I could run this place alone if I wanted to!”

“Well, it’s like I said,” Midoriya replied patiently. “We did great for it being our first year as full heroes running our own agency together. But if we want to keep growing and getting better, we’ll need more than a few sidekicks and interns. We’re going to need another pro to help carry the weight and round out patrols. I thought we all agreed?”

“We did,” Shouto didn’t look up from his paperwork. “Bakugo conveniently chose to forget.”

“Fuck off, icy hot,” Bakugo said. “Whatever. At least this chick seems like she could give some of these thugs a run for their money. Wasn't she like, some big deal in America?”

“She was,” Midoriya clicked his pen nervously. “She’s had a, uh, difficult road. I’m hoping we’ll be able to help her as much as she’ll help us. Or at least that’s the plan. She won’t be here for another couple months, she’s wrapping up her personal business I think.”

“Mm,” Shouto intoned, absentmindedly.

—————————-

Shouto cursed himself for not paying more attention to important meetings. Yet, none of them had expected her so early.

“We weren’t expecting you so soon,” Midoriya said nervously, voicing Shouto’s thoughts. “You weren’t due for ah, another month?”

“You’re right,” Kagawa said sheepishly. “I closed in on an apartment here sooner than expected and, well, wanted to just get on with it.”

“Of course,” Midoriya nodded. “Ah, but we should do formal introductions!”

“Yes, right,” Kagawa nodded with a smile. “Well I already know you from our correspondence! Midoriya Izuku, hero name Deku, a pleasure.”

Midoriya smiled and they shook hands.

“Bakugo Katsuki, hero name Dynamight,” she cracked a lopsided grin. “I’ve heard...explosive things.”

“Shitty joke,” Bakugo shook her hand. “People only say the best shit about me.”

“Obviously,” Kagawa nodded before turning to Shouto. “And of course, we’ve already been acquainted. Todoroki Shouto, hero name Shouto, a pleasure.”

Shouto shook her hand. She had a firm grip. “I’ve made...better first impressions.”

“No, I enjoyed it,” Kagawa said. “It was genuine. You had no cause to act unnaturally to make a good first impression. It was...refreshing.

“That’s a polite way of saying he fucked up,” Bakugo chuckled.

She smiled. “Now for me, I suppose. Kagawa Ren, hero name Kaguya. But you’re hiring me, I’m sure you know.”

“We’re really excited to have you!” Midoriya said, beaming. “My, uh, my friend Uraraka--”

Bakugo barked out a laugh and Shouto suppressed a small smile.

Midoriya began to sweat. “Anyways, um, she- she couldn’t make it tonight because she had to go visit her parents but she’s been excited to have another female hero around. She says our agency is too filled with testosterone.”

“Sounds like me and Uraraka will get along swimmingly.” Kagawa assured.

“Are we still getting drinks to celebrate?” Bakugo said impatiently. “I told Kirishima he could meet us at that shitty bar we always go to.”

Midoriya ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah, yeah we are, just, I wanted to talk with Kagawa about some details really quick.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “And we can’t do that at the bar? She can come, it’s her celebration now too, or whatever.”

“Just tell Kirishima he can meet us there in thirty,” Midoriya pleaded. “I’ll make it quick. Here, Kagawa, why don’t you walk with me back to our table? I’ll grab everyone’s things and we’ll meet Bakugo and Shouto by the front.”

Kagawa nodded and raised two fingers in a peace sign as means of saying goodbye to the other two heroes as she and Midoriya headed back to the table in conversation.

Shouto looked back at Bakugo who was busy texting.

“I suppose we should head toward the front,” Shouto said uncertainly.

“Yeah, whatever,” Bakugo clicked his phone off and shoved it in his pocket. “So, you talked to her.”

“I did.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Talking to you is like pulling teeth. What did you think of her?”

“I thought she was smart,” Shouto replied simply. “It seems like she’ll make a strong addition to our team.”

“That’s boring shit,” Bakugo huffed. “If Midoriya hired her then I’m sure she’s professional as fuck but don’t wanna spend my time around some shitty boring suit. So, is she gonna be annoying or not?

Shouto sideyed Bakugo as they turned and began walking toward the front. Social interaction had never been his strongest suit. Most interactions he felt like he was a step behind, or focused on the wrong thing, or someone would say something and he would think they were serious only to realize there was a second, different meaning attached. Mostly, he thought conversations were a bit of a minefield, especially with the wrong kind of person.

He thought back to the way Kagawa had studied him. No judgement, just-- curiosity. The good kind. Not like reporters who were always hungry for photos, desperate to know about his love life, dying to hear what restaurant he best liked to dine at so they could stalk him there later as well. No, her curiosity reminded him of when he and his siblings used to go play by the creek near their house as children, before Endeavor began isolating Shouto for training. They would freeze the water in the middle of summer and slide around, pulling frogs and turtles out from frost-covered hidey holes. One day in particular, they had found a small family of deer. They all sat very still by the edge of the water and waited patiently as the fawns ambled down for a drink under the watchful eye of their mother. One fawn had gotten so close to Shouto that their noses nearly touched, and he could smell the breath of the little thing, sweet and springy. He’d looked in its eyes and saw them searching his face. What it found, he did not know.

That had been the last summer of freedom.

“I don’t think she’ll be boring,” Shouto finally said.

“Another stunning review from half and half,” Bakugo rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as the boys came to a halt in front of the entrance to the hall. “She better come to get drinks with us or I’ll think she’s a stiff.”

Shouto slid his eyes back over to the ballroom where Midoriya and Kagawa stood, gathering jackets and talking.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” he said.

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH. 8

TW

Mentions of SELF HARM. Please be aware before reading.

“Yeah, in the end Jenna Rosencali decided that she didn't want to invite Meghhan Levei to her birthday party. And that's what started the water balloon war at eight in the morning.” Little Jo said as she scrunched her curls trying to get them to dry somewhat uniformly.

The poor eleven year old had walked into the shop soaked down to the bone. Her cousin had rushed her straight into the break room to have her get dry and change clothes. Even running across the street to Dunkin' and get her favorite breakfast sandwich and donut. Then Jo had come out not even a minute after he left and proceeded to tell you what happened, knowing her cousin probably thought she'd been bullied.

But you were different, you didn't see her as a target at all. She likes to think you see her as a little sister, one who enjoys hanging out with you. As much as she likes to think that she understands you probably just see her as the boss' kid that you have to be nice to. You don't immediately jump to her aid when things look a certain way, like just right now. You waited to hear what she had to say rather than assuming someone was mean to her because she was different. Jo knows her family just wants to protect her but sometimes she just wants them to listen to her like you do.

“It's always Megans. Lemme guess name spelt weird.” like right now, you heard her.

“Yea she's got two 'h's in the middle. Meghhan.” she laughs as you roll your eyes. She tics and yanks on her hair as she's scrunching.

“Ouch” stupid tics.

“I've got some shea moisture in my locker in the break room, want me to grab it for you? It'd help with frizz.” another reason she likes you, it took a few days before you stopped checking on her tics, so long as she didn't have scissors.

Even her family haven't mastered that and they've been dealing with her Tourettes for six years.

“Please.”

She follows you to the back for the hair masque. Letting her take what she needed you place the jar back in your locker. Letting her know she's free to it in emergencies like this or rainy days. It's not like your locker was ever locked with just you and Nate being here. And you're pretty sure Nate dipped into this emergency hair saver as well. You didn't have an extreme need for it here it was just a habit you've kept from living in muggy humidity most your life.

“How's your week been?” Jo asked as she finally settled her hair how she liked it, with help from the masque.

She startles at the frustrated noise you make as you both leave the break room.

“Bad?” she questions.

“Sort of...there's...this..it's...”

Shit, you hadn't thought about your response. With all the stress this week you just reacted naturally to the question. Who can blame you, what with your stalker being on your mind all week, minimal amount of sleep, plus the weird interaction you'd had with Brian at the start of it. Then yesterday you topped off your stress with a healthy portion of more frustration driving up to the lodge after work to see if Barclay would like some help with cooking or even shopping for the picnic. Stubborn man sent you off with a hearty laugh after getting you opinion on the vegetarian/vegan main course, eggplant teriyaki or tofu and pineapple chipotle skewers.

“Oooooooh a boy.~” she might not be your actual sister...but you're starting to understand the Cain Instinct.

“Half right I guess.” Jo starts bouncing waiting to hear more, she's probably expecting some juicy relationship drama. Sucks for her that you are probably the world's most boring twenty-four year old, and you're content with that.

“Barclay's just frustrating sometimes.”

“Wait! You and Barcl-”

“Nope.” you interrupt, “I asked him if he needed help with any cooking for the picnic and he brushed me off.” You know he didn't mean anything by it and from what everyone said he could more than handle cooking for the amount of people just fine on his own. You'd just thought it'd be a nice gesture to offer, though you did hope he'd accept. He'd been pretty quick to turn you down, had you been any one else you may have even been insulted by the speed of the rejection.

“That's what's bothering you?” Jo's face held a very confused expression on it. It was understandable since not a lot actually bothered you, especially something as small as this. However, it's not like you could tell an eleven year old 'Yea I'm kinda being stalked right now and this week has me looking at every shadow and movement differently but fortunately or...unfortunately no one seems to notice and just brush it off as my hallucinations.'

Yup, totally not the thing you confide to an eleven year old about. Especially now that you have your plan all figured out. You've planned to let the stalker continue stalking you, picking up clues where ever they may leave them. They're bound to slip up at least once after a month of following you through your routines. Should be able to find evidence to have Big Jo help you in no time.

“Well no...I've just had a lot on my mind...”

“We can talk about it.” kid's got a kind heart, but this isn't her problem and you won't put it on her.

“Nah, it's fine.”

There's a pause as silence settles over the shop front. Jeez how long does it take to get an order from Dunkin'? Jo is staring at you as if she can see every part of your being. Breaking open your soul so all your secrets are laid out on display for her. You really don't like it, it feels like being under the microscope and it's making your skin get that familiar itch under it.

“Stop staring.” thankfully she does as you ask.

“...you said it's fine...are you going to be ok though?” Damn Montessori schools, actually allowing children to pick up on emotions and meanings behind linguistics.

You have to pause when you go to respond with the polite 'Yea I'll be good'...because you hadn't given it any real thought. You've made up this best case scenario plan. A plan that requires time and a lot of it. But you never gave thought to the fact that you might not have much time at all. What if the situation was more dire than you thought...what if this wasn't simply a stalker but a serial killer and you happen to fit his MO. A cult who was looking for the perfect sacrifice for their god. And while those thoughts could also be far fetched so is the scenario that you've built up for this past week.

Even if this was a simple stalking case, who's to say it wouldn't escalate? You have an old steel baseball bat in the hall closet and you could use it in case things got dicey. But that would require it being on your person a lot more than it actually is. Maybe you could make it look like you took up going to batting cages...are there even any batting cages in Kepler?

'Fucking focus...stop the rambling. Am I going to be ok?' you think to yourself despite the roaring chaos of your mind. Even with all the possibilities being thrown around you don't have an answer. Maybe that's really the answer after all if you can't get even one 'yes' from any of the possibilities...maybe you wouldn't be ok after all. Maybe you weren't ok.

“I don't want to talk anymore.” It's said so plainly, in such a dull monotone that it throws Jo off.

Jo's not quite used to this but she understands from the two times she's seen it that sometimes you just shut down under pressure like this. This topic, whatever it is, must really bother you. She wishes there was something she could do to make you feel better, but you can be really volatile in this state. Easily going from shutdown mode to meltdown at the simplest action.

With a jolt joined by a 'yip-yup' she remembers something that might put you in a better mood. And if it doesn't she still needs to give it to you so you have it. Rushing off to the back as fast as her legs will take her, having the agility only years of dance can provide.

Nate comes back into the shop as she disappears to the back.

“Did you know the Dunkin' across the street does parties?” What? To the man's credit he had no reaction to your blank stare and lack of response. He clocked the eye contact aversion right away.

You've gone into shutdown mode. Sometimes you just go quiet and that's fine, you're like a robot in this state and if he sets you up with a task that should take all day you have it finished in a few hours.

Once when he asked you just said you needed to not talk at time and that the tasks were good ways to process thoughts. Nate was reasonably creeped out by this but you aren't hurting anyone so c'est la vie.

“Nate?” Jo's calls out from down the hall.

“Yea, I'm back. Brought food.” he set the bag on the counter and handed you the shitty hash rounds you like for some reason.

'It's only cuz they're bad, if they were good they wouldn't be worth eating.' you think as you pop one into your mouth.

Jo comes twirling back into the room. In a broad sweep of motion kicks her foot off the floor to do one final dramatic twirl that ends in a bow with the same leg pointed toward the ceiling. All to present to you and Nate two tickets. Tickets to what?

“Another dance rehearsal?”

“Nope actual thing this time.” she supplies passing you each a ticket.

It's such a formal looking ticket for a recital that only goes up to age twelve max. Most dancers will still be in elementary school. But they want you to treat this like the Russian Ballet. Oh it even says it's a black tie event, completely different from the rehearsals you've been too.

You aren't sure if you have anything black tie status. You'll have to make a trip further out of your normal bounds and go thrifting for an outfit. Luckily it won't be happening for another month, that gives you plenty of time to try finding something in your size that you also like. It also gets you out of Kepler and away from your stalker for a few hours. Hopefully. But there's a chance your stalker will follow you on your outings away from Kepler so you'd need to keep an eye out for familiar faces on the trip.

“YN...will you come?” Jo's looking up at you with her big puppy eyes. Unfair, even if you wanted to decline she pulled puppy eyes. What heartless monster would refuse puppy eyes.

You give a slow nod along with a smile that doesn't reach your cheeks let alone your eyes. And while Jo's a little disappointed with the lack of enthusiasm she's still excited for you to come to her recital. Nate nudges her into her personal reading nook making up a lie that you hadn't finished your task sheet today so he'd watch over her while you finished working. You'd only had vacuuming and organizing the shelves that got mussed up the previous day, needless to say you were done nearly as soon as you started. When he came back to you he had a whole stack of papers for books that would need to be input into the system. You got to spend the rest of the day on the dinosaur computer in the backroom.

The quiet was nice.

After you'd gotten off work you still weren't out of your funk. Frustrated with the idea of going home and not actually being alone with a stalker prowling around. You decided to go to the one place that can calm even your worst of moods. The stream.

There's a reason why you've never been able to do longer than a thirty minute hike through the Monongahela and that's the stream. Every time you've said you'd go further into the forest you're always drawn back into that spot along the bank right under the red spruce. It has the best smell of all the trees, you think.

Just thinking about it has you having a better outlook on the day. You hardly spare the RV a glance as you go along your usual route.

You've said it once you'll say it again for emphasis. You could walk the same path every time you came through and always find something different. Like that cool rock right there. Picking it up to inspect it closer you note the color is a deep dark brown that it almost looks black even obsidian, it reminds you of something but you can't quite place it. It's very smooth and oddly enough fits perfectly in your hand given it's larger size.

You think you'll keep it, this is a good rock. Idly rubbing the smooth surface of the stone as you trek through your trail, you can feel the tension start to ease off of you. You found a very nice worry stone, it works amazingly well. Hopefully no one lost it and it is just a naturally occurring stone that you happened on by chance. As much as you like it you'd hate to think of the chance of someone loosing something they need.

All thoughts cease once you hear the babble of the stream. As if on auto pilot you move with a fluidity through the brush and low hanging tree branches to your spot. Right under the spruce. Just as you did the last week and every other trip before you remove your shoes and socks placing them further behind you, so you can dip your feet into the cool stream. It's very refreshing on this hot summer's day.

Lying down with your feet still in the stream you close your eyes and just loose yourself to nature. All your cares and worries getting washed away by the steady moving stream. It's strange to be here without the buzzing in the back of your head. Oh great speak of the devil and he shall appear. It's fine, after all you're used to this, it's easy to ignore.

However, what isn't easy to ignore is the snapping of a branch, from in front of you just across the stream, how cliche. Cliches aside the sound rockets you back into a sitting position as you look for the source. And you find it...find him standing just on the other side of the stream emerging from the brush on that side. Toby. And he's mask less, not a weird choice considering he probably wouldn't have run into anyone had you not decided to come out for a hike.

Great you can feel your chances at friendship slipping through your grasp just like the water slips down the bend. He's gonna think you're weird when you don't respond to him verbally. Or worse he'll think you were rude for not wanting to talk to him and then never want to talk to you again in retaliation. Whatever relaxation had once been over you quickly dissipates and you are left anxious and with a tickle at the base of your skull.

Toby hasn't said anything yet. Not even a raised hand in a half wave. You also don't see Connor anywhere. Is Toby okay right now? Fuck even with that kind of thought you can't manage to move your lips let alone actually utter a sound, even ones that wouldn't ever be counted as words by anyone who was currently living. So you take the first move, literally.

Raising the hand without the stone in a mock form of a greeting. Toby doesn't seem to quite register it or you but he copies the movement. Oh he must be dissociating either that or in a catatonic state similar to the one you'd been in last weekend. That's probably how he knew he just needed to sit you down and keep and eye on you. You could do that for him...if that's what he needed.

You wave your hand beckoning Toby to come over to your side of the stream. Toby tilts his head to the side before his arms jolt up, going across his body. You assume it was a tic because he didn't keep the pose long. Tilting your head back at him, as if to say 'You coming over?', you pat the spot next to you.

Seems he registered that because he backed up a few steps before taking a running leap to cross the stream. He lands with more grace than you'd given the lanky guy credit for, normally someone with such long limbs would be a lot more clumsy. Not to mention that was a pretty wide jump, and Toby only has a few inches on you, you could probably barely cover the width of the stream. But he not only cleared it but he gave himself a good six inches of coverage away from the edge. You just hope he didn't roll or over exert anything by doing that. With his insensitivity to pain he wouldn't feel it and if he wasn't here mentally right now it's likely he wouldn't even remember he made a jump like that in the first place.

When he just stands in place staring at you, you get a bit uneasy. What's up with everyone staring at you today? You get really uncomfortable with people's stares normally, and now you're overstimulated and stressed it's not a great combination. But you can rationalize Toby is having a moment of his own. And since he helped you the best that he could you'll do the same for him, pushing aside your own issues for the moment. After all what are friends for.

He's standing within arms reach. You don't even have to get up as you gently grab his hand and give a few light tugs. Trying your best to get across that he should sit down with you. This would probably be a lot easier if you could speak right now. Did he speak to you when you were like this?

Toby thankfully gets the message and drops into a criss-cross position next to you. You start to retract your hand, now that the need for contact is over, when Toby's rough hand closes around it suddenly. Looking to Toby he's just staring straight ahead and not at you. His eyes aren't frantic or moving in any way, like yours sometimes do when you're following a hallucination. Physical closeness must help him through this kind of thing.

As gross as the feeling normally would be for you it isn't so bad right now. It seems Toby's CIPA also affects his body's temperature and his ability to sweat. Where there's usually the feeling of burning and clammy moisture coming off of another person, Toby is just tepid and dry. If anything it feels as if you're being held by a leather baseball glove.

Toby's hands are very rough, especially his palms, maybe you should let him burrow some of the goat milk lotion Dia gave you a few weeks ago. It smells pretty good and it only takes a little bit to soften your skin back up. But as you look closer at his hands you can see the spots roughest are around his nail beds. Someone has a biting problem, maybe he needs an oral stim toy. That would keep his flesh out of his mouth, and stop him from injuring himself...hopefully. There's still a chance he'd bite through his tongue without realizing, honestly you're a little surprised that hasn't happened yet.

You had completely forgotten about the stone in your hand until you went to grab at Toby's hand that still held yours in a firm grip. Seeing the dark brown rock again you remembered what it reminded you of, Toby's eyes. They were the same shade as the rock, that's funny...anecdotally at least. This rock helped you maybe it would help calm him down some. Worth a shot.

Since your hand closest to him is preoccupied you have to reach across his body to nudge the rock to his hand. He spares it a single glance before covering it with his other hand. Mission partially accomplished you guess. Now you're just sitting here, with Toby catatonic, by the edge of the water bank. Pulling your feet from the stream you mirror Toby's pose, you'll likely be here a while.

While normally you'd love to just loose your self to the sounds surrounding the stream, in the presence of another person you're too jittery to enjoy that. If only you had something to fidget with... You wonder what Toby's reaction would be if you just... Toby turns his head to watch you when he feels a gentle smaller hand on his own. Dark eyes watching intensely as you pull his hand into your lap. Turning it over so his palm is facing up, before you start tracing patterns into his palm lines and flexing his fingers individually. He watches for a moment before turning back to his original point.

Playing with his hand you noticed a few more things about Toby. From his chipped black nail polish, a look you personally think not enough guys go for even though it makes them look more attractive and approachable. To the single string paracord medical bracelet he's wearing, metal tag simply stating 'TOURETTE'S SYNDROME'. And a little further down you see scars, a few are crescent shapes easily identified as Toby's own nails. But most are straight lines, even a few jagged cuts, that run up and along his forearm.

'Tobais...what on Earth happened to you?' just as the thought rings through your mind you feel a sudden weight on your shoulder.

Toby is resting on your shoulder with his eyes close. You can tell he's just resting them by the lack of movement behind the eyelids.  With his head being on your shoulder you can smell him, not in a creepy way but he's just so close that his scent waifs your way. He smells like fresh dirt...it isn't a bad smell. It reminds you of gardening but on an overcast day. It hadn't rained today so how does he smell like it?

Moving your attention back to his hands, and away from how nice Toby smells, you catch sight of the scars again and bite your lip. Not wanting to dwell on the scars and their implications any longer. You curl and uncurl his fingers and start a rhythmic motion of curling them individually.

'You poor sweet boy.' is the only thought you can focus on. Even though the scars may be old and those wounds long healed. Toby at one point made them and it's very apparent that he is still not in the best way mentally. Once the two of you are friends, you'll do your best to be there for him. Like you are right now...you really hope it helps.

Toby didn't make even the slightest movement until the sky had begun to bleed its deep oranges across the horizon. He pulls his hand out of your grasp. And when you try to retrieve it to keep up you activity he softly pushes your hands back to you. Guess he's done for now.

With as late as it is, you'd like to go home. And Toby seems more aware of the things going on. But it isn't until you hear a call for him behind you two and he reacts looking in the direction of the call, that you decide he's safe enough for you to leave here.

Without much hesitancy you push off of the ground and stand. Toby isn't looking at you. Taking that as a cue you head back towards the entrance of the forest. Before you leave the clearing however, you look back to Toby and notice a dark colored stone resting nicely in his palm as he idly brushes a finger across it's surface.

Yea he's going to be fine.

[the-sound-of-her-wings]

I Don't Know How to Love Him, Pt. 2

Bruce Banner x GenderNeutral!Reader, Set during the entirety of The Avengers. Part I of Unknown- will likely span all of Avengers, Age of Ultron, and Infinity War.

You are a former shield agent who gets dragged back into the business after Loki steals the tesseract. You meet a cast of fun characters along the way, and maybe even fall in love.

Part 1

Word Count: 2,050

Contains: Mistrust/Angst?, Research, Discussions of Norse Mythology, Sleipnir

Inspiration: I Don't Know How to Love Him

Facial recognition technology detects Loki in Stuttgart, Germany. Instead of flying down to confront Loki in the quinjet, you are held back as a last resort in case something goes terribly wrong with the mission. Fury doesn’t want to blow his best assets on a capture mission.

After taking a shower and checking out your new, temporary bedroom, you head back to the lab to check in on what Bruce is up to. Turns out, nothing that interesting.

“Hey Bruce”

“y/n? I thought they’d send you out with the others.” He is startled by your entrance.

“I’m just the backup, Bruce. Only needed if things go south out there. Which, hopefully, they won’t” You respond.

“Or you're here to babysit me” He retorts, still not trusting you.

You roll your eyes. “Bruce. Do you really think I would have left you alone for almost 5 hours if I was really just here to make sure you didn’t turn into the Hulk?”

“Maybe that was just to make me feel comfortable. There are at least 5 surveillance cameras in this lab alone. I counted 10 in my room.”

“If it makes you any better, I have 20 in my room.”

His facial expression tells you that he doesn’t believe you. Still, his blood pressure is remaining even, a significant improvement from a few hours earlier. Not really concerned for any of Shield’s property and wanting to gain his trust, you systematically destroy every camera in the room by flinging an ice spike through them one by one.

“Better?”

“Why are you so desperate for me to trust you?”

Ouch. “I didn’t realize one of your several doctorate degrees was in psychology”

“It’s not. I’m sorry, that was rude.” He nervously fidgets with his hands.

“It’s fine. And you're right- I want you to trust me because I want to help you gain control over the Hulk.”

“Why?” He’s still searching for reasons not to trust you. You won’t give him any.

“I would’ve wanted someone to help me.”

“Your powers seem a little easier to control”

You scoff. “Yeah, now. Not when I first got them. Do you know how many people I almost boiled alive back then?”

“A non-zero number.”

“I once was so angry that I accidentally evaporated my high school’s swimming pool. Thankfully, no one was in it- but if they had been- I would’ve made people soup.”

“That’s not a pleasant thought.” He shakes his head, having unfortunately imagined the worst outcome.

“Exactly. Look, even if you don’t trust me, I think I can still help you get things under control with the Hulk. And in return, you can try to figure out my powers.”

“What makes you think I’m interested?” At least he’s stopped doubting that you are there out of genuine interest in helping him, and not for some nefarious reason.

“I have yet to meet a scientist who hasn’t been.”

“Okay. Deal.” He holds out his hand, and you shake on it.

“Deal. Now. Where would you like to start?” You say, having a ball of water in your right hand and ice in the other.

“Farther back than that. Are you spontaneously creating water or are you using the water in the air around you?”

“The latter. I’ve been in zero humidity climates before and the only water I was able to control was my own bodily fluids and those of the people around me.” You respond, evaporating the balls.

“And as far as you're aware, your ability to change the state of water is unlimited?” He has brought up a notepad on one of the computers and is typing away.

“As far as I know. I’ve never tried anything extreme, like evaporating the ocean or pulling all of the water out of the atmosphere. So there might be a limit- but I’ll probably never have to discover it.”

“You mentioned the ocean. Did you ever try controlling it or pushing part of it aside while in the Coast Guard?”

“Oh, all the time,” You begin to explain, “I couldn’t be too obvious about it or the other members of my team would’ve found out about my powers- but I would hold back a few waves to make rescue operations go smoother, or make the area around the person who needed to be rescued oddly calm. Those sorts of things. I think I probably could have created a dry spot in the center of the ocean if I wanted to, but that was never necessary, and probably would’ve led to a couple broken bones”

You can see him thinking of various possibilities as he continues jotting down notes.

“So, it sounds like you change the states of water in your immediate surroundings, and are then able to manipulate that water in whichever way you choose.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Can you make an ice ball encircling your hand, please?” He asks you, looking up from his notes.

You comply, and he begins to make his way closer to you. “Do you mind?” He asks.

“Go for it” You respond, having been poked and prodded by scientists before. He gives you a slight smile before gently touching the iceball currently encircling your fist.

“And you're not feeling that, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Either my touch or the iceball surrounding your fist” He responds, still running his fingers across the top of it.

“Nope, It’s not even cold.” You respond.

This seems to set off a lightbulb, as he walks over to another part of the lab, grabbing a portable microscope. He puts it directly on the iceball, even with the top of your hand.

“I’m going to need to hold onto your arm to make sure it doesn’t move. Is that okay?” He asks for consent again, which you appreciate. The Shield scientists took one yes to mean you were okay with everything.

“Absolutely.”

His left arm steadies your right, as he keeps his right arm where it was previously positioned on the iceball, holding the microscope. He peers through it and smiles to himself, letting go of your arm and removing the microscope from the iceball.

“You’ve got a barrier between your skin and the ice.”

“I do?” You ask, melting away the iceball. “I didn’t know that.”

“You’ve tried to manipulate your own internal fluids before, right?” He asks.

You think back to times where you’ve tried to stop yourself from choking on a glass of water with your powers- it’s never worked.

“Unsuccessfully, yes.”

“That’s because of the barrier. It must have been part of the mutation- preventing you from injuring yourself with your powers.” He explains to you, just as Fury walks into the room.

You eye him suspiciously as he announces, “We’ve captured Loki. Dr. Banner, this is for you.” Behind him, a few shield agents roll a cart in holding the scepter, which they’ve placed in some sort of holder. They take it off the cart and place it on the table, closest to the windows facing outside the ship.

“Colonel Y/n, with me.” Fury directs.

“Dr. Banner,” You say, giving him a polite wave goodbye, before following Director Fury out of the room. Bruce watches as you leave until you are no longer in his line of vision.

“So you’ve caught him?”

“With some help.” Fury admits, begrudgingly. He hands you an earpiece, which you promptly put in your ear.

“Let me guess. Stark?” You weren’t sure Fury had ever been directly involved with Stark before this, as news of him being Iron Man made it to you through regular news media. But you were sure he was now, even if he hadn’t been before.

“Yup. Another Asgardian, too.”

You raise your eyebrow, but don’t say anything. You arrive at the empty containment cell, waiting for the Shield escort team to follow behind you. You can feel his eyes on you before you see him- they’re piercing. You look eyes with him as he is shoved into the glass cell, right after a shield agent uncuffs him. He doesn’t seem to react to this treatment- in fact, he seems to be thriving. His blood pressure is also suspiciously even for someone who just got captured.

You stand by as Fury and Loki exchange words, Fury trying to emphasize that he’s lost and Loki hinting at the fact he hasn’t. After insulting Bruce, Loki turns his attention towards you.

“And who’s this supposed to be? Your personal bodyguard?” Loki attempts to insult him.

“This is Colonel y/n. They’re going to keep you company for a little while.” Fury responds, walking away from him.

“You expect this agent of yours to withstand me?” Loki calls after him.

“Yes,” You begin, stepping into Loki’s field of view, “And I have a lot of questions.”

“Do you, now? Tell me, do you expect me to reveal my plan to you?” He asks, pacing around his cell.

You chuckle, “Of course not. My questions have nothing to do with your plans.”

Loki is slightly puzzled, but his facial expression remains even. He gives no hints about what he’s thinking. “Only if I can ask you questions.”

“That sounds like a fair deal. But since I’m the one outside of the cage, I’ll ask my question first. I admit it’s been burning in my mind since I first heard it was you trying to invade the Earth. Did you or did you not give birth to a horse?” You are dead serious when asking this question.

“What?” He is so surprised that his facade has dropped, giving way to genuine confusion.

“You know, Sleipnir. You transformed into a horse to distract a giant’s horse so he wouldn’t complete the fortification of Asgard in time. Your distraction caused you to become pregnant with Sleipnir, which you later gifted to Odin.” You say, pacing in a large circle around his cell.

“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about. Sleipnir is my father’s horse, yes, but that’s the only part of the story that’s true.” He responds, now intrigued by your odd tale.

“That’s. Admittedly a little disappointing, as I’m not sure how I’m supposed to make fun of you for that now.”

“Why did Fury send you to guard me?” He asks you his first question.

“That’s a loaded question with many different answers. I don’t know exactly, but if I had to guess, it was because of my interest in Norse mythology. Fury probably thought I would be an annoying distraction because of the many questions I want to ask.” You are technically telling the truth, although without your powers, Fury probably would’ve been way more hesitant to put you in this situation.

“I see.”

“Wait. Did you say Odin is your father?” You ask, having just realized the implications of his earlier response.

“Yes. I believe my brother is on this ship as well.”

You turn away from him and ask the name of the other Asgardian over your earpiece. The name that is given back to you is not one that makes sense.

“Hold on. Thor’s your brother? What? That’s not-”

Loki cuts you off, “I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Yes. Go ahead” You are trying to figure out how the myths could have been so wrong, and are scratching your head about what happened to Helblindi and Býleistr.

“A lot of the other members of the team sent to capture me are enhanced somehow. Do you have powers?”

“Yes.” You do not elaborate before asking your question. “You are still married to Sigyn, though, right?”

“Your mythology says I have a wife?” His entire demeanor changes in a way you find hard to describe.

“Yes. She’s sometimes described as the Goddess of Victory, sometimes the Goddess of Fidelity. Mostly she pictured trying to ease the burden of your various punishments.”

“Wrap it up, Aqua Marine.” You hear in your earpiece. You roll your eyes- Stark.

“While I’d love to stick around and continue asking questions- I’m needed elsewhere. Enjoy contemplating your existence.”

“One last question-”

You cut him off. “It’s not your turn, Loki.” You announce, before walking out of the chamber holding his cell. You begin the trek back towards the lab, to figure out whatever Stark wanted.

[periminkle]

Orphic | 03

After moving into your own place, it seems life is finally going your way; the path to independence leading you to a quaint suburban town where even the grass seems to grow a little greener. Although a shocking encounter leads you to believe that perhaps appearances can be quite deceiving.

pairing: hybrid!jk x reader (first person)

genre: hybrid au, angst, fluff

word count: 8.0k

rating: pg-15

warnings: swearing, people throwing up, death, mentions of harming test subjects, ANIMAL ABUSE

author’s note: hahaha no it hasn’t been almost a month since i uploaded the last chapter, what are you talking about ?? this was also supposed to be the second half of chapter two before i got carried away and added an extra 8k to it,,, anyway eNJOY

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A few days had passed since word broke of Taemin’s death. With his absence, there was a substantial lack of cells to study, thus granting loads of free time to brood over said jaguar cub.

Knowing he would eventually leave prepared me for a mild episode of dejection, but nothing could compare to the aching gap left from his passing. Despite having known the little guy for only a short month or so, he was my stress reliever, coaxing a tender smiles after a day’s worth of drudgery with his endearing behaviour. He was the spark that fuelled my growing bond with the only decent people I could find here.

Moreover, he spent the last couple months of his life caged, muzzled and treated atrociously, as if he was the beast. I pushed back tears for the umpteenth time.

My head jerked backwards as a tissue was abruptly shoved in my face. “Do you want me to get another box?” Yoongi’s rough voice permeated the sniffles I tried to hold back and I buried my face deep into my arms, closing my eyes and trying to even out my staggered breath.

In my grief I pushed everyone away, disgusted with even my own lack of ability to protect the one faultless being that was ripped out of my grasp much too soon. Bereavement blinded me, leaving me unable to distinguish friend from foe and as a result, I cast them all out.

Unknowingly, I reverted to the mindset that I had hoped to leave behind in the city, where there was no one to turn to when everything spiralled out of control. Blaming others for my own shortcomings opened my eyes to just how cowardly I was, losing myself in a labyrinth of my own self-loathing.

It was lonesome, to say the least.

But they’d never left my side, much to my initial displeasure. Either Namjoon or Yoongi constantly shadowed my inhospitable self, from the office to the lab tables, going as far as waiting outside the bathrooms for me. I angrily confronted each one about the evident stalking on numerous occasions, yet Namjoon would insist that he was worried about my well-being and Yoongi claimed he was simply headed the same way.

By the second day, I caught on to their schedule of routinely swapping babysitting duties at around the second and third hour mark. I attempted to find some respite and solace by escaping to the break room once, when I knew both assistants had already taken their respective time off for the day. Foolishly, I believed that I’d finally evaded the duo’s clingy tactics. 

However, before I could bask in my newfound solitude, Jin’s lethargic form made an appearance. True to his overbearing, fatherly instincts, he placed a homemade sandwich on the coffee table in front of me and lectured me on skipping meals.

Even without acknowledging my mistreatment towards them lately, I knew the three of them were empathetic enough to chalk it up to my process of mourning. Nonetheless, the immeasurable guilt I felt had accumulated over the abundance of time I had to reflect on my actions. Enough hours had been allotted to sulking and after a full day’s worth of encouraging, internal pep talks, I mustered up the courage to put effort towards amending my wrongdoings.

The screech of wheels rolling against the smooth tiles of the floor elicited the roll of his name off my lips. “Yoongs.” Intrigued by the lack of a hostile tone present in my voice, I felt his gaze flit to my hunched frame. The fact that I didn’t even have to lift my head to feel his eyes softening at the vexing nickname stuck a fresh layer of shame to my skin. “’M sorry.”

With my face practically burrowed into the sleeve of my lab coat, the apology came out muffled and barely audible, though I was met with the thoughtful, low timbre of Yoongi’s hum. “And, I know it’s no excuse, but everything has just been a lot lately.”

Regardless of my verbal atonement, the blonde man continued on his path out of the office, evident by the creak of his weight shifting off the chair and the following footsteps that drifted farther away.

I belatedly lifted the heavy weight of my head off of my arms, vacantly staring at the doorway that Yoongi had just passed through. Before I knew it, his unusually lively form lumbered back inside, two brightly patterned tissue boxes in hand. “What a crybaby.”

The corners of my lips tugged upwards for the first time in the past few days. It was a welcome development.

One down, two more to go.

With a single reconciliation under my belt, repeating the same process with Namjoon went a lot smoother than expected. I sought him out after my healthy banter with Yoongi ceased, eager to successively rectify all the relationships I’d bruised. “Don’t stress about it; honestly we deserve a cold shoulder for the trouble we’ve caused you. Yoongi probably depleted over half your stash of beer all on his own.”

The drinking tolerance of those boys was well beyond my comprehension. Although my house was completely out of the way home for all of them, I could only assume that it was sheer obstinacy impelling them to commonly stop by my house to wind down after a typically harsh day.

Lifting my head from the microscope that held samples of Doshik’s DNA, the resident blue tang speedily running laps in the tank, I peeked over at Namjoon’s dark hair, ruffled from the strap of his goggles. “I don’t mind. All I’m saying is that if I ever run out of stock, you guys are going to have to bring your own drinks.”

“C’mon Y/N, don’t be like that. Restocking your liquor every once in a while is nothing compared to our company right?” The appearance of his endearing dimples brought me back to the times I magically woke up in my bed after drinking my problems away with them the night before, the days they sent me home early because I yawned one too many times or all the snacks I strangely picked out of my bag ever so often.

I raised one teasing brow, crossing my arms and leaning back in the incommodious, metal chair. “Once in a while? With the rate that you guys are going, I would have to go to the store every other day.”

“Like I said, mainly Yoongi’s fault.” His deft fingers switched to a higher lens before continuing, “But really, you’ve got to confide in us, alright? I think we’re past the stage of ‘I want nothing to do with you when my shift is over.’”

It seemed like another weight had been lifted off my shoulders from the unexpected, forgiving nature of both men despite having every reason to be peeved at my churlish attitude as of late. Before I could formulate a response, Namjoon added, “Are you feeling better?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to his question when I was just as clueless about my own welfare. But, I disregarded the notion of lying or concealing anything from them, as they’d relentlessly proven their loyalty and concern for me on more than one occasion.

“I’m not sure yet, Joon. I think I need some more time.” I covertly swapped out my microscope slide for the one sitting next to the unsuspecting man, intent on decreasing his workload, even if only by the slightest bit. “I’m glad that I have you guys, though. Thanks for dealing with my grumpy ass.”

I couldn’t help the curve in my lips when his impish gaze finally met mine, evidently content with my candour. “To be honest with you, Yoongi told me about your apology, so I was kind of expecting it.”

My jaw dropped in betrayal. “He told you?”

“Mhm, said that you could practically refill Doshik’s tank with the amount of tears you shed.”

“Wha—how could he, this guy!” Contrary to the clear exasperation in my tone, a wide grin revealed my true feelings. “Then he says that Jin exaggerates all his stories.”

A hearty chuckle escaped him. “Well, at least we know where Yeri got it from. Do you remember the last time she came to the lab?” I couldn’t repress my own chortle at the memory, the onslaught of laughter provoking a sudden cramp in my stomach that I uselessly pressed my palm against, attempting to quell the overactive muscles. “She swindled me out of twenty bucks by crying about Jin throwing out all of her toys!”  

With a flaming red flush to my cheeks, I struggled to get a sentence past my quivering lips. “You can’t even blame the kid,” I temporarily regained my breath and continued, “you’re just too gullible.”

“Hey!” He pouted at the remark, jabbing a gloved digit into my side as a form of retaliation. The blow to my ribs induced a high-pitched squeak out of me and my hand darted to the sore spot in an attempt to block any further attacks. “Have you ever been on the end of those puppy dog eyes? You can’t just do nothing, it’s basically witchcraft.”

“Yes, yes, Jin taught her too well.” I attempted to placate the threatening fingers that hung in the air, poised for another stab if need be.

Namjoon bobbed his head in agreement, seemingly pleased with my answer as brought his attention back to the chromosomes in front of him. “Have you had time to go see him?”

“Ah, no, not yet. He’s the last one I have to pour my soul out to.”

In the comfortable silence that ensued, I found myself recalling the vile confrontation from a few days back. Truth be told, my mind regularly drifted to Hyunho’s harsh words whenever an empty lull emerged within my headspace, which was the exact reason I enjoyed keeping myself occupied as of late. The echo of the wretched man declaring Taemin’s passing was the predominant focus of my flashbacks, but a particular fragment of the rest of his spiel stuck out to me as well—the mention of a tiger cub. “Hey, Joon?”

No doubt noticing the change in my tone, Namjoon fixed his stare on my fragile countenance once more, holding my gaze. Only then did I realize that I was unconsciously craving the sincere reassurance locked away beneath those brown specks, similar to a wailing newborn falling silent at being held in its mother’s embrace.

“Did you know?” The question spilled from my lips before I could process it.

Even with the lack of context, the adept assistant instantly shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t.” My gut twisted as he redirected his stare, trapping his lower lip between his unforgiving teeth in thought. “I still don’t really know. I’ve heard bits and pieces from some gossiping researchers that talk too loud, but I haven’t gotten enough to piece everything together. Hoseok said that they recently found the test subject they’d lost a while ago.”

Sincerity undoubtedly rang within each syllable of Namjoon’s voice. After a speedy internal debate, I unloaded all the horrendous secrets that I’d uncovered, from the initial suspicion I harboured to the folder in Jin’s office, and finally to the mutated PDE6C gene. The hardly intelligible speech all raged past my lips much like word vomit and my knee began to briskly bounce up and down from the massive influx of emotions.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Namjoon said softly, stretching one lengthy limb out to rub soothing circles onto my back. “Let’s go slow, hm?”

I concentrated on the gentle touch that now rested on my shoulder, schooling my breath before continuing, “I need to help them. I can’t stand around, watching Hyunho and Minzi do whatever they want with no repercussions. These are lives they’re ruining.” Feeling myself getting heated again, I twiddled the tips of my fingers to keep my head level and busy. “It’s not just about Taemin anymore, think about it. This can’t be the first time a lab animal has been ‘tested on’ and died of ‘natural causes’ or whatever excuses they’ve been using.”

I didn’t catch the recognition flashing in Namjoon’s eyes, but his silence drove me to release the thoughts that had been stewing around my conscience for a while now. “Hyunho said that they’re bringing in a new cub right? We can’t let the same thing happen to him. We have to protect the animals in this lab, Joon.”

“I know how you feel, but there isn’t much we can do when they take the animals away to perform their tests.” As he saw me open my mouth to butt in, he interjected, “Trust me, we’ve tried. I’m pretty sure that the only reason we’re still around is because Jin keeps vying for us despite all the ruckus we’ve made.”

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing though! Have you been in the break room lately? Have you heard their screams? Joon, there’s something in there. Even now, they’re probably torturing some poor, undeserving animal.” In my determination, I grabbed the lapels of Namjoon’s pristine, white lab coat. “We have to save it.”

“We don’t even have a key card, Y/N,” Namjoon protested, his tone of voice still low and gentle, imploring me to understand the more rational side of the nonsense I was spewing. “And even if we did, the second we barge in there the cameras will spot us and we’ll be fired immediately. No matter how persuasive Jin can be, he won’t be able to save us from that. Then there’s really going to be nothing we can do to help them.” He hung his head in resignation. “At least we can make their last days somewhat enjoyable. At least from here we can wait for an opening, a chance for us to catch them in the act when they inevitably slip up one day.”

My brows pulled upwards in my distress, bringing my head closer in an attempt for Namjoon to see my desperation. “And how long is that going to take? Weeks? Months? Years? When do we put our foot down?”

His features softened and I already knew that I wouldn’t like whatever he was going to say next. “If we don’t act logically, we won’t be able to save anything.”

My jaw clenched, but I knew he had a point. 

A sigh escaped his distraught form. “Go eat something and cool your head. We’ll talk more when you get back.”

In my defence, I had made my way to the break room like Namjoon suggested, nearly settling down with one of the many homemade sandwiches Jin left in the fridge—but not even five minutes passed before torturous whimpers of pain filled my ears. The pile of carbohydrates in front of me suddenly didn’t seem quite as appetizing.

In order to restrain my impulsive self from further digging my own grave, I mercilessly gnawed away at my lip, repeating Namjoon’s warnings like a sacred mantra in my head. When the dull taste of metal hit my tongue, I quickly placed the meal back where I found it and scurried out of the agonizing space as fast as my legs would carry me.

Rather than providing relief though, I found that every step weighed heavier than the next. I felt the toll both physically and emotionally. No matter how much distance I put between myself and the tormented creature, I wasn’t able to escape the distressed cries that echoed throughout my skull, perpetually bounding from one end to another. 

My plan was to drown out any nonsensical thoughts with the lengthy sequence to Doshik’s yellow tail.

However, it was foolish to believe that I would be able to concentrate on the chromosomes in the petri dish. I couldn’t focus on properly setting up the gel electrophoresis, forgetting to dig out small wells in the agarose gel and even incorrectly attaching each end of the power source, mixing up the spots for the cathode and anode. At this point, I had to restart the whole project.

My annoyance was made vocal by the groan of frustration slipping past my mouth, though there wasn’t anyone around to witness my theoretical fall into insanity. After a few beats, attributable to the pads of my gloved fingers drumming against the lab bench, I gave in to my curiosity and concern.

I wish I hadn’t.

A quick search on the computer in Namjoon and Yoongi’s office brought up the history of the animals that had been kept at this laboratory at one point in time or another. I was revolted at the sheer number of predators who had spent their last breath here.

Dread filled my gut at the upcoming arrival of the tiger cub. I knew I could no longer heed Namjoon’s words, no matter how sensible and pragmatic they were in comparison to my own faulty logic. But to tune it all out, live in ignorance and deal with countless other innocent mammals meeting the same tragic fate as Taemin—no, I would protect anything within my reach, no matter the cost.

Although I could never fight off all the monsters of this world, I hoped to have enough power to at least change one innocent being’s life.

And that would start with whatever they’d hidden away upstairs.

With this new mission in mind, my once empty days became filled to the brim with organizing a brilliant plot, often sacrificing hours of my sleep to continue planning and ensuring every aspect was foolproof. It took self-restraint that I wasn’t aware I was capable of in order to not burst in behind Minzi whenever she threw that smug smile at me before entering with her keycard; though I knew that plan wasn’t beneficial to the animal inside. Hence, I clenched my fists and dug the soles of my runners deeper into the ground whenever I thought of it’s tortured wails.

Just a little longer.

Despite familiarizing myself with the tone of the screeches that constantly resonated in my mind, I still couldn’t place the species the groans belonged to. It didn’t necessarily matter, but I was starting to run on the blind hope that they would be similar in size to Taemin, who I could easily carry in my grasp. In case, I also hid one of the carts used around the lab to transport loads of spot plates and test tubes, emptying it of all equipment and sanitizing the sides in case of any lingering, harmful chemicals.

After many long, strenuous hours of devising strategies and avoiding suspicious eyes, the day of the crime was finally upon me. Throughout the day, I used my precise notes to shift the angle of each camera slightly when I found myself alone, just so I could sneak past without showing up in frame. 

I even headed upstairs to finally visit Jin, not having found the chance to properly apologize to him yet. The opportunity wasn’t wasted though, as I scoped out the cameras in the dim hall and nudged them over to the side as well. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be able to deal with those inside the torture chamber itself, but I would cross that hurdle when it came down to it.

Hopefully, the all-black guise I prepared would cover any distinguishable features amidst the shadows of the night.

I was nearing the end of my extensive plan, the only step remaining being the act of acquiring a key card, grimacing as I thought about resorting to the horrible decision of swiping that which belonged to Jin. Ironic, really, considering that the whole reason I was going to see him was to atone for my previous behaviour, yet I was planning to nab his keycard within the same breath. 

That aspect of my plot was at a standstill, as I’d never gotten a glimpse of said object in Jin’s office or on his person. I was stumped, beginning to believe that he didn’t have access to the lab upstairs. But his position as assistant director must surely give him such privileges, right?

As I was about to enter Jin’s office, prepared to snoop around a bit with the excuse of looking for Doshik’s file for concerns about his unusual allergy to something within the tank’s water, I spotted Eunmi, the snotty receptionist, striding past my frozen form. 

She plucked the notorious keycard out from an inside pocket near her chest, holding it against the reader as my eyes practically bulged out of their sockets. Unperturbed by my blatant shock, she adjusted the pile of folders squeezed within her hold and strolled in.

A huge grin split across my face as I formulated my next steps. Instead of carrying on to my original destination, I changed my route to head off to the front entrance, patiently waiting for Eunmi’s return. I could push off Jin’s apology for a little later.

After about half an hour had passed, I spotted Eunmi gracefully slide back behind the towering desk, which concealed everything but the crown of her head. The loud clicking of the keyboard filled the silence.

Typical.

“Ah, Eunmi!” I briskly walked towards her, meeting those sharp eyes for a fraction of a second before they flickered back to the monitor in front of her. “I don’t see you around very often, how have you been lately?”

“Cut the small talk newbie, I’ve got work to do,” she sneered.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to allow her words to affect my deceptive, cheery disposition as I asked, “I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink with me tonight? Y’know, since I’ve been here a couple weeks and we haven’t gotten a chance to know each other yet!”

“Sorry, too busy,” Eunmi asserted, flicking a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her shoulder. It seemed to be one of her many annoying habits that ticked me off.

Slapping my flattened palm against the shiny surface of the desk, I leaned back slightly and threw out my bait. “Ah, that’s too bad. I wanted to treat you out tonight, but I guess you’ve got too much work, huh...”

Hook.

She hummed in thought. “Time and place?”

Line.

“Bar two blocks away, eight-thirty?”

Eunmi raised a single, defined brow. “Nine. Your treat?”

I confirmed with a nod as her lips curled, displaying a pink lipstick mark on her front tooth.

Sinker.

Precisely a quarter before nine, the gentle creak of wood followed the twist of the doorknob to the assistant researchers’ lab. Jin’s drooping countenance peeked through the crack he created, fixating a mock glare on my busy hands. “That’s enough, Y/N. You can pick it up tomorrow.”

Despite the multitude of gel electrophoresis equipment scattered around me from the past few hours spent slaving away, most of that time was allocated to finalizing the nitty-gritty details for tonight. Honestly, analyzing DNA became second nature to me by now, creating space within my mind to freely cogitate due to the lack of deliberation the task required.

I swivelled around in Yoongi’s chair, facing the evidently fatigued man. “I’m almost done with this sequence though, give me ten?”

He let loose an excessive groan of frustration at being unable to retire for the day, tousling his unkempt locks before collapsing on the worn down bench in front of Namjoon’s desk. I hummed a catchy melody as I continued to scribble down the results from each experiment.

“Now that I have you all to myself,” I gingerly began, stealing a glance at Jin’s unmoving form, “I wanted to properly apologize for everything.”

He raised his arms to cushion his skull against the tough surface, which I took as a sign to continue. “Yoongi might have already told you about my poor attempts to make amends with everyone and I haven’t had the opportunity to sit down with you yet so,” I paused, taking a second to inhale and gather my thoughts, “better late than never, right?

“I shouldn’t have turned my back on you guys when all you do is look out for me,” I sincerely confessed. “I guess I took advantage of how comfortable I felt around you, but I realize that it was unacceptable to treat you as my friend when we’re at work and you’re acting as my boss. I crossed a line and I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to conduct myself accordingly at work.”

A few minutes of devastating silence trickled by. My mind was whirring with all the possibilities of Jin’s next actions; whether he would flip out and rage, simply march back out the door or if he’d fallen asleep and hadn’t heard a word I said. Unsurprisingly, when I turned around I was met with the tranquil sight of Jin’s relaxed frame, soft snores circulating in the office.

I swerved over to him, the squeak of the old chair screeching horribly against the tiles of the floor. “Hey, Jin. How about you go home and I’ll make sure to lock up, hm?”

His eyes fluttered open into slits and I could see the gears whirring in his half-conscious state. To seal the deal, I threw out a cheeky smile; one that I knew he couldn’t resist. “Alright, fine. You just,” he was interrupted by a hefty yawn overtaking his speech, “you just need to lock this door and the main entrance. Everything else is already taken care of.”

My eyes lit up at the sight of his keys and I let out a hum in acknowledgement at his instructions, attempting to curb any suspicion.

Jin’s tall stature towered over me when he pushed off on the balls of his feet, standing up to his full height. “And you didn’t need to apologize, Y/N.” My jaw went slack at his confession of having heard my whole spiel and I had to strain my ears in order to pick up the quiet mumble of, “I should be the one begging for forgiveness anyway.”

Before I had the chance to process his words, much less time to compose a well-thought-out response, he brushed past me and discarded the shiny metal on top of my pad of paper. The revving of a car engine came to life, headlights beaming through the window to the left as he sped away.

Although I could have spent much too long trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind Jin’s bewildering statement, the clock was ticking. Ten minutes remained to clean everything up, change outfits, lock both the office and the front door, then book it to the bar.

Prancing through the flashy entrance with mere seconds to spare, I registered the reality that I might have missed a minute detail in my intricate scheme. Whereas the individuals loitering around appeared as though they’d just come from a fashion show, I felt severely underdressed in the tight jeans and oversized sweater I’d worn to work that morning. 

The place was relatively empty, seeing as the night had yet to begin. Nevertheless, I made my way over to the bar stools where I saw Eunmi with a glass in her hand. 

“Eunmi!” After a closer look, I took in the wine coloured body-con she slipped on, complimenting her dyed hair well. But from the forced smile she plastered on, I could tell she hadn’t discovered that lipstick mark from earlier.

“You didn’t go home and change?” She pointed out once I was within earshot, her awkward grin morphing into her mundane scowl. Oddly, I felt more at ease with her evident displeasure than her amiable facade. 

I glanced down at my attire with a slight shrug and pretended to dust off non-existent wrinkles. 

“Tonight’s on you, so let’s start off strong, hm?” If the stench wafting off from her breath was anything to go by, I presumed that she commenced her own pregame at home before arriving. She waved the bartender over, “Two shots.”

He flashed a greasy smile and a nod our way before beginning on our drinks.

“So,” I tried to initiate conversation that hopefully didn’t come off as awkward as I felt, “how’s the pro—”

“Nope, we’re not talking about work here.” Eunmi turned her chin up, rolling her eyes at my apparent nonsense. “I don’t wanna think about that shit hole more than I already have to.”

It was difficult to remain civil in the face of the obvious contempt she harboured in her voice, although I bobbed my head to convey my consent anyway. While racking my brain for any other topics to touch on, I came to the realization that I’d never properly interacted with the surly woman seated beside me; other than asking for directions on the first week and extending a greeting that was rarely reciprocated, I only knew her name and that she enjoyed clicking away on her noisy keyboard for the majority of her days.

Swooping in to the save the definite lull in the discourse, the round-eyed bartender slid over the shots. Eunmi, shockingly, downed the drink as soon as it came into her grasp. In an effort to appear as amiable as possible for the sake of the overarching strategy, I rushed to follow. The abrupt grip on my forearm halted any movement though.

“But, I will say,” Eunmi confidently boomed, puffing her chest and slapping one outstretched palm on the table. If the irked stares the other patrons were giving us right now were enough to kill, I was certain that we’d be ash by now with her outrageous volume overpowering the dull beat of the music. “I am way overworked considering what my job description actually entails. The place wouldn’t even be able to run without me!”

My brow creased as I toned down my own voice in the hopes that she would get the hint. “Oh, uh, of course! And, uh... just as a refresher, how have you been helping out lately again?” Honestly, with the lack of visitors to the lab, assistants having to prepare samples and write reports, Eunmi’s role within the lab puzzled me greatly.

“What haven’t I been doing is probably the better question to ask!” She haughtily spat out, swiping my glass and chugging the liquid down her—most likely burning—throat. Even the narrow glare courtesy of the bartender himself couldn’t stop her from slamming the empty glass on the counter. I smiled apologetically. “I mean, from delivering J3’s documents to manning all the receptionist duties, I wonder what miss Minzi is doing exactly!”

Naturally, my head tilted in curiosity at the unfamiliar name. “J3?”

“I keep telling them; ‘he’s too dangerous’, ‘if he gets out again we’re really in for it’, but who’s about to listen to the too-brilliant-for-her-own-good receptionist? This is exactly how those stupid characters in the horror movies die; they don’t listen to the smart one!” With each argument, her unstable torso swayed back and forth, threatening to completely topple off the barstool a number of times. I placed a hand at her waist in an attempt to keep her upright, although she, very dramatically, slapped it away.

Undeterred by the aggression, I leaned in closer with widened eyes. “Mhm, but I would listen to you, Eunmi. What exactly is J3 though?” I prayed to any higher power that she was too intoxicated to pick up on how desperate I came off in prodding her for information.

She scoffed, “You don’t actually think I’m that dumb, do you?” Her face reared closer to my own, merely centimetres apart at this point, eyes burning holes into my soul and the stench of tequila thick on her breath. “I know what you’re trying to do here, inviting me out to get wasted, even going as far as to pay for it all.”

Panic rose as I nervously chuckled, eyes darting. “I don’t know what you’re getting at?” To relieve some of the perspiration building in my palms, I nabbed the freezing water that remained untouched in front of Eunmi—not so subtly placed there by the bartender.

Licking her lips, she arrogantly leaned back with a cocky smirk plastered across her countenance, “You want to get in my pants.”

Any remaining liquid in my mouth grotesquely flew into the air.

“It’s okay, no need to be embarrassed that I connected the dots. I mean, a lot of people have been in your shoes.” Eunmi expressed, flicking a stray strand away from her forehead. “But I just don’t see you that way.” The look of sympathy she attempted to exude didn’t sit well with me, although I didn’t know whether it was because I could trace where her eyes were drifting to—another drunk guy who’d ripped his shirt off and began spinning the fabric around as if he was some kind of helicopter—or that anything less than hostile was strange look on her.

I was still pondering on whether it was a blessing or a curse that she misinterpreted my intentions so horridly because after downing a couple more shots and a cocktail to top it all off, Eunmi was thoroughly convinced that I was harbouring some intense feelings.

The second time she swiped her pink tongue across her lips, she gracelessly clambered off the barstool. “Don’t worry about it too much; it’s not you, it’s me,” Eunmi drawled out, pointing a well manicured finger to her chest. “It just wouldn’t be fair to you, having to stand next to me all the time when everyone knows there’s absolutely no competition.”

I didn’t realize how many people had entered the club since we’d arrived and I reached out to grab Eunmi’s wrist again, worried at the way she was stumbling away from me. Even though she was a bit of a lousy woman, I wasn’t heartless enough to have Eunmi fend for herself in a pool of sharks, especially when she was heavily intoxicated.

My attempts to restrain her were futile though, as she squirmed away while eyeing the man from before, who had scrambled onto the top of a table and sensually moved his hips to the beat.

“Ooh, I do see something worth banging toni—”

And down she fell.

As I reached over to aid the inebriated receptionist, lifting by her exposed upper arms while wondering just how much alcohol she consumed prior to her arrival. Coming in contact with the unexpectedly damp, sweaty skin impelled me to cringe away from the unpleasant sensation, but I resisted temptation to turn tail and duck out of there for the sake of my goal. 

Eunmi’s whines complaining that she was fine and endeavours to wriggle out of my loose hold only served to further thin my nearly non-existent patience. At this point, I had to conserve as much energy as I could for later on, not expend it all to take care of a toddler that couldn’t seem to stand on her on two feet.

When Eunmi’s visage faded into sickly green shade, I hurriedly yanked her limp body over to the unusually vacant washrooms. Out of seemingly nowhere, another sobbing, disheveled girl wriggled out from beneath the sink, evidently having thrown up there as well. As my nose scrunched up at the fishy odor, the stranger crawled over to Eunmi’s side by the toilet, gently patting her back and cooing at the similar, dreadful state the two were in.

While her focus was on aiming her regurgitation into the toilet, all her efforts in vain with the sheer amount of vomit surrounding her, I took the opportunity to file through her shimmering purse that I held in my clutch. I rummaged around to quickly find the key card, slipping it into the back pocket of my jeans, thankful that despite the change in outfit, she brought along the same bag that she had left work with. 

“Eunmi, I think we should head home now,” I suggested, mildly concerned about her ability to breathe due to her continuous retching. Without waiting for a response, I began dialling the number for a cab.

After she finished emptying all the contents of her stomach and my wallet felt noticeably lighter than when I came in, I detached the weeping girls from one another and took hold of Eunmi’s underarms, dragging her past the dancing masses and plopping her down at the entrance.

“I get that you had a rough day,” I huffed out, taking a seat on a misplaced block of cement, “but did you really have to get so wasted?”

Streaks of her dark mascara decorated her cheeks from her bawling session, swollen eyes staring off into the distance. “Might as well enjoy myself before J3 finally rips my throat out.”

My brows knitted together at the repeated mention of the name, although I wasn’t able to dwell on it for long because I was soon blinded by a pair of bright headlights beaming from a vehicle painted in a distasteful mustard shade. The cab pulled up to the curb and I somehow managed to shove Eunmi into the backseat, forking over another wad of cash as I encouraged her to mumble out an address.

The car sped away and the lingering breeze grounded me, steeling my resolve despite the wet drops spattering onto the sidewalk. It seemed as though even the weather was attempting to foil my immaculate plans and I silently cursed my past self for failing to check the forecast ahead of time.

Deep down, even the possibility of having to endure another day acting clueless to the torment transpiring within my own workplace terrified me. Not even hard-headed Namjoon could deter my unwavering will at this point.

I jogged back to the lab as quickly as my fatigued legs allowed, predictably drained from hauling another person. The adrenaline pumping through my veins was the only tangible factor keeping me going and luckily, powering through the skittish apprehension gripping my mind.

Once the spotless exterior of the lab came into view, I began scouring through the bulky tote bag I lugged around everywhere. My hand ran across a smooth length that I failed to recognize, pulling it out to identify the unknown object. A miniature fishing rod decorated in vibrant red accents emerged.

The toy I bought for Taemin.

Clenching my fist around the rod, determined to save them this time.

Driven now more than ever, I located the keys that Jin entrusted me with earlier, twisting the lock open and slinking inside. The door creaked eerily behind me as I scanned the tenebrous entrance. 

Refraining from switching on the lights, I relied on my muscle memory to sneak off to the changing room and donned the black guise in my locker. I secured a cap on top of my head before creeping up the stairs.

With the staircase enshrouded in darkness, I was forced onto my hands and knees to carefully navigate myself; I tried not to think about how pathetic I looked at the moment.

My hands trembled in the face of the obstacle I had envisioned barging through countless times—and now, I was presented with that very opportunity on a golden platter. Well, with more lying, drunken antics and conniving than intended, but none of that was important in the grand scheme of things.

Taking hold of the key card and pressing it firmly against the reader, the ruby glow blinked green. Success.

I took a tenuous inhale and an even shakier exhale before heading in. Considering the lack of windows, the complete darkness that enveloped the room was expected; hence the downwards tilt of my head and slight adjustment of my cap as I begrudgingly flicked the light switch beside the doorway. Immediately, I covertly surveyed the ceiling for any cameras that could be covered or nudged out of sight.

Oddly enough, none were fixed up there nor were they scattered along the walls. I wearily stepped deeper inside, elated yet distrustful all the same. The number of cameras I passed on the way here was more than I could count on both hands, so I couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t want a single, watchful eye in here.

Just what kind of experiment were they performing here?

Relenting in my inspection, my attention wandered to the middle of the rectangular room. There, on what looked to be a decrepit operating table, laid a human body.

Well, sort of human.

The lack of movement on the other end prompted me to draw in closer, examining the man. I was bewildered at the jet black ears that stood atop the crown of his head, poking out through his dark locks. Hesitantly, I stretched a hand out and tugged on one, watching his face for any sign of cognizance. My heart rate sped up at the confirmation that they were indeed attached to his skull and were undeniably soft to boot.

Examining the rest of his body, which was clad in simply a pair of boxers, I spotted a similar pitch black coloured tail resting beside his left leg. Although I resisted the urge to check if that was real as well, since I was sure that if he was anything like his animal counterpart he wouldn’t take well to the idea of a sudden jerk on his tail. 

I couldn’t help but run my digits along the length of the fur, pleased to find that it was just as fluffy as his ear. The longer I stared, the more confusion swarmed my head. The pads of my index and middle finger came up to rub at my temple, unsure of what I was observing.

Were they trying to fuse the DNA of a human and—

A sudden, horrifying connection fired off in my head, making my heart drop to my gut as I examined the rest of the room. I pleaded for my assumption to be incorrect, just a figment of my bereaved brain.

Resting on the floor in one corner of the room was a sheet, draped upon an indistinguishable object. With bated breath, I staggered over to the lump and pinched the fabric, lifting the sheet off and uncovering what lay beneath.

Taemin.

My chest tightened and I felt claustrophobic in the spacious room, as if the walls were closing in and I could no longer afford the luxury of a breath. Salty tears welled up, slipping down my cheeks as I quietly wailed, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Through the blurry haze, my gaze travelled along his tiny body that was missing patches of fur, making parts of his pale, bruised skin visible. Another sob wracked through my body as I looked to his face and met a pair of dull, emerald green eyes; they were devoid of life, staring aimlessly at the wall. They didn’t even have the decency to lower his eyelids.

Instead of shock, a sort of numbness filled me—which was a thousand times more terrifying. I longed for the rich emotion that blazed through every orifice of my body, anything other than the apathetic desolation that halted my waterworks.

With one last glance, I shut his eyes and allowed the muscles to remain in their relaxed position. My heart yearned to give him some semblance of a proper burial, although I reminded myself that his young, playful spirit no longer occupied this empty carcass. After smoothing my palm over the side of his head and giving my final goodbyes, I covered his unmoving form once again.

I used the corner of my sleeve to wipe away any evidence of my anguish and turned my attention back to the man on the table. At the very least, I would save one life tonight.

Upon further inspection, I noted the chains cuffing his limbs to the table, which made me wonder about the threat he might pose if released—something I hadn’t taken into account. A quick scan of the room gave no clues as to anything that could free him, prompting me to forage through the few lab benches scattered around.

The mess of papers, test tubes and syringes made it difficult to locate anything, I doubted if even the head researchers could rifle through this mess to uncover something of use. A common theme among all the stacks I came across was the name, J3, scrawled across each of them; the familiar name that Eunmi brought up earlier that night piqued my interest. But, I stuck to the mission at hand, stressed from being on borrowed time.

Irritation settled into my features with each tick of the clock, coming up empty at the bottom of each bench I scoured. Through pure coincidence, I made out the gentle skitter of metal bouncing across the floor after making contact with the front of my sneaker. I grinned and scooped up a key

After stumbling back over to the table, I scrutinized his distinct features, defined brows resting above his closed eyes, enhanced by thick lashes. Travelling over his high cheekbones and down the slope of his nose, I inspected his thin lips complimented by the tiny mole underneath and framed by a strong jawline. I found his countenance oddly familiar, as though I’d seen him somewhere befo—

A hollow chuckle escaped my lips.

It was the burglar.

Of course, perks of moving into a small town right? You’d get to know everyone, even the criminals!

My eyes roamed over to his side where an atrocious attempt at first aid was located, the torn skin peeking through slivers of the bandages. Bright pops of colour laid in a few different spots, courtesy of the Hello Kitty band-aids he’d stolen from my drawer back home. The sight of the white cat on the well-built man almost made me burst into a round of giggles, but the dried, crusted blood reminded me of the gravity of the situation.

Any remaining resentment I harboured fled with my next exhale, leaving pity in its exchange.

In reality, I didn’t sustain any injuries from the scuffle and all I’d lost were a couple of first aid supplies. While in this rare compassionate state, I also reluctantly forgave him for the hassle brought about from my broken lock.

Even if he probably snipped a few years off my life with the stress from the encounter—resulting in the growth of a couple white hairs, no one deserved to be screeching out their lungs in pain every day.

I deftly unlocked each lock confining his wrists and ankles and stepped back to admire my handiwork when I processed just how ripped the guy was, strength bulging out every crevice of his body. All I could think about was how the hell I was going to transport this hulking mass of pure muscle out of here. 

The idea of plunking him onto the cart I prepared earlier and wheeling him all the way home was tempting, but other than all the little kinks in that plan, most of all, I didn’t think it would be too comfortable with his current state adorning his body.

Then came the crippling realization that I couldn’t handle this on my own.

Thus, I retrieved some clean bandages from one of the benches, deciding that it would be best to snatch a few tranquilizers for my own safety as well and returned to his side.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my short list of contacts before locating his name. As the device began to ring, I reached across the stranger’s lithe body to unravel the old dressing, nearly consumed in reddish-brown dye at this point, to replace them with new ones.

The chime ended, indicating that the receiver had been picked up, before he asked, “Y/N? Why’re you calling so late?”

I began to place the gauze on some of his superficial wounds. “Hey, so, um... long story?”

[frozenprocedural]

Take Charge

I REGRET NOTHING. I blame my enablers.

Thanks, as always, to @patricia-von-arundel for Alarik.

This is very much an E story below the cut.

Take Charge

Rating: E

As she did on so many nights, Elsa found Alarik in the lab. Head bent over a notebook, furiously writing, occasionally glancing into the nearby microscope. Then back to his work, muttering and pushing his hair back from his head.

Elsa shook her head as she watched, the familiar warm feeling of fondness blossoming as she watched Alarik. She could appreciate his habit of getting lost in work- she certainly did it enough. But it was getting late.

And she wanted her husband.

"Alarik." She strode over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"Darling," He paused long enough to give her a smile, then went back to his work, scribbling something in his notebook. “Just a few more minutes, I want to get this down…”

Elsa worked the muscles of his shoulders, pressing against the tension in them. He gave a soft groan, the hand holding the pencil wavering. Elsa leaned close, breathing in his scent- coffee, lavender and hair oil.

“Alarik.” Firmer this time- a low, commanding note entering her tone. She slid one hand to the base of his neck, tracing a finger over the knobs of his spine, letting the slightest chill seep out. "Come to bed with me."

But he waited. He must have sensed a change in her demeanor- certainly the chill at the tip of her finger had cued him- for he remained completely still, save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Waiting for her.

She stepped up to him, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. He leaned down, bringing their lips together. The kiss was desperate, their tongues playing against one another, broken only by the need for breath. They rested their foreheads together, breathing heavily.

Alarik broke away first, bending so he could hoist her into his arms, holding her close. She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, nuzzled the skin there, and then they were moving, a rapid pace just under a run. Elsa could feel his elevated pulse against her cheek- she knew it wasn't from the walking.

He put her down when they reached their door, and she stepped inside with him following, closing the door behind them, sliding the lock into place with a definitive click. Elsa didn't bother lighting any lamps. The moonlight was stronger here, plenty enough light to see by, casting an ethereal glow over everything and over them.

She pressed against him for another kiss, feeling his desire against her belly. He traced her lip with his tongue, nipped it gently, and then she pulled away, grabbing his lapels and tugging them until he followed her to the bed. She pressed against his chest and he sat back, watching her with a quirked smile

Elsa brought her hands to the first button of his shirt, opening it slowly. Then the next, and the next, each movement slow and purposeful, making sure to brush against his skin with each movement. Goosebumps followed the path of her fingers, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. Eventually she reached the last button and pulled the shirt open. Alarik pulled his arms free of the sleeves, discarding the shirt on the floor. He went to start on her nightgown, but she caught his wrists, turning it and pressing a kiss to each pulse point.

"Elsa…?" Alarik's voice was a harsh whisper, and Elsa took a deep breath, gathering her courage.

"Not yet." She set his hands on either side of him, pressing his hands into the mattress. "Keep them here. Please."

He nodded, his fingers curling into the sheets. Elsa traced up his forearms, circling aimlessly, watching for places that made him shudder. Further up, to his shoulders, following the path of his collarbone and down. She splayed her hands over his pectorals and pressed gently, her thumbs brushing over his nipples. Alarik made a high-pitched noise, and she pulled away instantly.

"I'm sorry, was that…?"

But he was shaking his head. "No! No, it was good! Very good. Please, don't stop."

He started to reach for her face, then dropped his hand back to the sheets with a grin. Elsa smiled in return, then placed her hands back on his chest, pinching his nipples gently. She set her lips and tongue to them- first one, then the other- and he moaned, head falling back.

"Elsa, oh, Elsa…"

Keeping her mouth on his pectorals, Elsa danced her fingers down to Alarik's ribs, tracing each one, following a back-and-forth pattern. He shuddered, his knuckles white, a whine escaping from his throat. Her fingers continued their progress, trailing to cross over his navel before separating and following his hip bones before grasping the hem of his pants. She stopped then, pulling away to look at his face.

"May I?" Elsa could hear the tremor in her own voice. The teasing had her own body buzzing with desire, sparking along every nerve, growing with each centimeter her fingers slid down.

"Yes..." Alarik let go of the sheets, reaching to help, but Elsa stopped him, catching his wrists yet again, placing them once more on the bed.

"Don't touch."

He whimpered, but nodded, fingers grasping fistfuls of bedding. His irises had all but disappeared, little more than a thin green ring circling pitch-black pupils. When her hands returned to his pants, he twitched, but a quick nod begged her to continue. She smiled, pressed a soft kiss to his navel, and worked his pants down until they were off.

He was erect, his length bobbing with each pulse. She took it in her hand, stroking the soft, heated skin, circling her thumb over the weeping tip. Alarik groaned, his head falling back, her name falling from his lips in a fervent prayer.

"Elsa, Elsa please…"

She kissed him, stroking once more before splaying her free hand on his chest and pressing gently. "Lie back, please?"

He fell back, and Elsa released his shaft to pull her nightgown over her head. His gaze was heated, eyes roaming over her nude form as she straddled him. She settled on her knees, and this time, when his hands came up to steady her, she didn't stop him. They gripped her hips, almost painful in their need, but it only added to her desire. Once more she took him in hand, guiding him to her folds, shivering when his tip met her entrance.

She sank onto him, eyes fluttering closed as he filled her bit by bit, pushing the magic away, concentrating on the sparking pleasure that came with each centimeter he entered. He murmured reassurances, rubbing her hips until she was fully seated on him, the cold creeping away until she was left with the pleasure of being filled, his length hot and throbbing against her walls.

With that, Elsa began to move, rising on her knees, almost fully off him, before sliding back down, hissing when he hit the sensitive patch within. Alarik thrust up as she fell, his eyes raking over her form, her name leaving his lips in a harsh tone. Each thrust brushed against the spot, making her moan with pleasure.

Eventually she realized Alarik was shaking and panting, his fingers digging into her skin. "Elsa… I can't…I can't hold on much more."

She pressed against him, still rocking her hips, her lips against his ear. "It's okay, let go." How many times had he told her the same? But now his pleasure was hers to hold, to call forth. She thrust down and nipped his ear, and he was done.

She shuddered when he released in hot spurts, his back arching, her name echoing in the room. Eventually he eased back against the mattress, eyes closed and breathing rapid. Elsa eased off of him, whining when he slid free of her, missing the connection. Alarik's eyes snapped open, and he reached over to draw her closer.

"You didn't finish." It wasn't phrased as a question, but she nodded nonetheless, feeling a blush color her cheeks. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"May I fix that?"

"Please." She could hear the high, desperate note in her voice. He heard it too- his pupils widened once more, and his breath caught. Without warning, he rolled them so she was on her back, pinned beneath him.

"My turn." His voice, low and husky, sent goosebumps racing across her flesh. Alarik brought his lips to hers, the kiss rougher than usual- but she responded with the same fervor, moaning when his tongue swept across her mouth. He pulled away, only to start along her jaw, laying a row of kisses up to the point behind her ear. There he suckled and nipped, and Elsa's hands flew to her back as she gasped and arched. He switched sides, giving the other ear the same treatment. Oh it was good, so very good…

His lips travelled down, ghosting across her jaw, pausing at her mouth, the kiss on the edge of rough, but she rose to it, met his fervor. Then he pulled away, nipping and kissing the skin of her throat, down her sternum and between the valley of her breasts. Her hands trailed upwards, curling into his hair, tugging gently. He chuckled against her skin, but continued up the curve of one breast, capturing the nipple in his mouth. He traced it with his tongue, sucked on it, and she gasped, guiding his hand to pinch its twin. He switched to her other breast, giving it the same treatment.

With one final nip, Alarik continued his journey down her body. His fingers rubbed the sensitive points at her hipbones, making her shudder, as his tongue swirled in her navel. Then lower, to the pale patch of curls between her legs, where he stopped, locking eyes with her, silently seeking permission.

Elsa could only nod, her voice failing her. Her hands clutched the sheets, much as his had before, in anticipation of what was to come.

The first swipe of his tongue had her keening, fighting the urge to buck her hips. Thankfully Alarik secured them, his arms locking them into place, opening her up further to him. He was slow, tracing her folds and nub, switching patterns, until she whimpered his name, one hand lowering to rest in his hair.

He nuzzled her bud as his tongue entered her.

Elsa keened, her head falling back, heedless of the noise, of anything beyond the electric pleasure coursing through her veins. Alarik lapped and sucked, eventually adding his fingers, slipping two within her and stroking gently. Building her higher and higher with each steady, practiced movement until she hit her peak, chanting his name as she contracted around his fingers and tongue.

Alarik drew it out, licking her clean before withdrawing his fingers and kissing his way back up her trembling body. When he reached her lips, she moaned at the taste of herself on him. Elsa cuddled close, pulling the sheets over him, leaving herself bare. He kissed the crown of her head.

"Thank you. For all of it."

She looked up at him, feeling a twinge of nervousness. "You… you didn't mind? When I… took charge?"

Alarik wheezed out a laugh. "No! Not at all! That was wonderful, min älskling. Absolutely wonderful."

She could see it in his eyes, in the wide grin spread across his face. He had enjoyed it. Satisfied, she rested her head against his chest, yawning as exhaustion settled over her. Alarik pressed one more kiss to the top of her head.

"Goodnight, darling."

[snkpolls]

SnK Episode 71 Poll Results (for Manga Readers)

The poll closed with 176 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Manga Readers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll, click here.

--

RATE THE EPISODE 172 responses

This week’s episode keeps up the high mark of the previous episodes, with 98.8% of respondents giving the episode a score of 3 or higher (overwhelmingly 4s and 5s). Nice!

It was aight. 

It's cool

8.5/10 

great!

Very rocky imo in terms of animation, as the cracks are beginning to show but overall look like the backgrounds and music choices were top tier.

Really good episode, I was disappointed in the jacket scene but it’s not the end of the world

loved it

It was overall a great episode I loved it. 

🔥🔥🔥

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING MOMENTS WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 174 responses

46.6% of respondents overall were most excited to see Eren meeting up with Floch and the others, with 23.6% of those respondents favoring the scene of Eren putting on his jacket specifically. 12.1% most enjoyed seeing the angry citizens shouting out the Survey Corps motto. 9.8% were thrilled to see Zackley’s death animated. 8% were psyched to see Pieck in disguise at the end, and 6.9% most enjoyed the moment where Hitch caught Armin red-handed trying to touch Annie’s crystal.

YOUR REACTION TO EREN PUTTING ON HIS JACKET? 171 responses

Eren putting on his jacket was a scene many obsessed over when it first appeared on page and many looked forward to seeing it animated. Most of the response choices were focused on various forms of swooning over Eren and his abs. Some (13.5%) stated that they didn’t really understand the dramatism and some others (another 13.5%) simply stated that they did not see much in Eren outright. We’ve gotten a lot of write-ins about comparisons to the pre-animated trailer shot of said scene. More on that in a later question. 

i mean i understand the thirst, but eh

Prefer manga :/

The trailer did it better 

Meh. Better in the trailer and the manga.

TF was that? Well it's still good in its own way. 

YES! YES! YES! YES! Y E S! 

both "HOOOOOLYYYYYY 😳" and "so dramatic and for what?"

Trailer/Manga shot was way better

Manga shot/trailer version are way better. Dissapointed

Trailer looked better :(

Mappa only made Reiner thicc, why Eren is so frain he has 1,85! He is so strong in the manga

I don't care

Manbun.........👀

He can have my babies anytime 😌💅🏻

Not as sexy as advertised; that’s okay, though.

That scene looked weird af ngl. It looked better in the trailer 😔

Me after THAT eren scene: 🤰🏻🤰🏻🤰🏻

Eren makes my dick rise

ON A SCALE OF 1-5, HOW HAPPY ARE YOU NOW THAT WE APPEAR TO BE GOING BACK TO LEVI AND ZEKE’S PERSPECTIVE NEXT WEEK FOR A BIT? 171 responses

Levi and Zeke’s chemistry has been the subject of praise for many, so it’s no wonder that 87.1% of respondents are rather excited to get back to seeing Levi and Zeke again. Wow!

ARE ARMIN’S FEELINGS FOR ANNIE GENUINELY HIS OWN? 173 responses

Armin’s feelings for Annie have been looked at under a microscope for a variety of reasons, which is why we’re asking if you believe that his feelings for her are genuine. A plurality, 49.1% think that they’re a mixture of his feelings for her, as well Bertolt’s. Slightly less (30.6%) believe that Armin’s feelings for her existed since before any of the recent developments. Only a select few believe that he either became interested in her post-timeskip or that his feelings are solely influenced by Bertolt. One person doesn’t think Armin has any feelings for Annie at all. And a few others just don’t care.

Bertmin simping for Annie and that apparently being enough for her to start considering him as boyfriend material is the fucking worst. I hate this shit. It's made me like both characters considerably less.

Uhh Armin where ya reaching?! 

He was interested with her even before it was revealed she was the Female Titan and now that he has Bertholdt's memories, he sympathizes with her too and wants to understand her more so maybe Bert's memories intensified his feelings

His feelings for Annie are mostly his own. Bert's feelings might be in there a little, but the feelings are still Armin's.

CONTINUITY ALERT! EREN HAS HIS HAIR UP IN A BUN IN YELENA’S FLASHBACK. THOUGHTS? 173 responses

Uh-oh, Eren’s hairstyle moment. It would appear that there might be a continuity error with Yelena’s flashback and whatever that means for the timeline. A slight plurality (37%) didn’t seem to care about this, actually. But 33.5% appeared to believe that it was a mistake on MAPPA’s part that might get fixed in the BluRay version of the episode. 16.8% also believe that it was a mistake, but don’t believe it’ll get fixed. 9.8% think that it’s actually a retcon and that Eren’ll have the man bun when Chapter 123 gets adapted in Final Season Part 2.  

I hope it gets fixed because it's bugging me.

I really wish it was like how it was in the manga. Eren looks good with his hair down in his 16-17-year-old phase. Despite the error, it wasn't a deal breaker for the episode.

He looks totally gorgeous with his hair up in a bun, please let this mistake be

Honestly I don’t mind it. It looks great either way.

Eren in a manbun is a total win for me!

WHICH PIECES OF INFORMATION MISSING FROM YELENA’S ADMISSION IN THE MANGA DO YOU WISH WOULD HAVE BEEN INCLUDED IN THE ADAPTATION? 163 responses

As with almost all dialogue-heavy chapters in this series, there are cuts. In this episode, these cuts mostly affected the conversation between Yelena and Pixis. The most yearned for cut material was Yelena never telling Eren to go along with the plan and Yelena saying that she used Floch as a “go-between” between her and Eren. Others also noted missing lines about Yelena wanting Eren to stand up for himself, Yelena stating that Zeke gave the volunteers a hopeful future and the idea that her and Eren came to quick agreement. The plurality (31.9%) however, didn’t seem to mind any cuts. 

WHAT ARE YOU OVERALL FEELINGS ABOUT SOME OR ALL OF THE AFOREMENTIONED DETAILS BEING CUT? 161 responses

There is often a sort of expectation to have everything (or almost every) line from the manga adapted in the anime, so it’s interesting to see how people react to that sort of stuff. An almost 50% of respondents stated that they didn’t really care about the cuts, whereas smaller handfuls of respondents stated that the cuts either took away from the characterization of the conversation, or from the context and timeline-building purposes. 

I'm not thrilled about the cuts, but I understand MAPPA can only fit so much in on each episode, so I'm okay with it

the yelena/volunteers plot has always been wonky and hard to follow

I don’t think it’s a problem, they need to cut certain things. 

i literally never notice but i agree that it makes it harder to piece things together 

Meh

It might seem for anime watchers that Yelena didnt do much, and Floch and Zeke that did the most part, in their own plans. Floch to betray and Zeke in predicting Eren wouldnt be on his side in some way. Yelena helped Zeke a lot to where he arrived in the rumbling 

All of the above

ZACKLEY WALKS OVER TO HIS TORTURE MACHINE IN THE ANIME BEFORE MIKASA ASKS WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO EREN, RATHER THAN GLANCE OVER AT IT AFTER HER QUESTION. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THE CHANGE? 170 responses

There was a partially comedic insinuation in the manga that Zackley thought about strapping Eren to his “art piece”. The insinuation is possibly still there in the anime, but in a different form. So we asked how you felt about it. Slightly below a half (48.8%) stated that they thought the subtlety was still there. 18.8% thought the subtlety was lost with the small change and 8.8% believed the change made Zackley seem less unhinged. 21.8% really didn’t care at all. 

Why is this a question?

The glance was funny as fuck in the manga, but might have been awkward to pull of in the animation

They're blown up tho, does it even matter?

DID EREN KNOW ABOUT THE BOMB? 170 responses

Whether Eren truly knew about the bomb is a bit unclear to this day and with how it endangered Armin and Mikasa. A plurality (40%) believe he knew about the bomb, but did not know about his childhood friends meeting Zackley. Slightly less (30.6%) think that Eren did not know about either the bomb or AM meeting the Artist. A minority (7.1%) does believe that Eren knew about both the bomb and meeting and 21.8% simply aren’t sure!

Even if he didn’t know, he obviously doesn’t care either way.

THERE IS SOME DEBATE ABOUT WHETHER EREN’S JACKET SCENE WAS BETTER ANIMATED IN THE PROMOTIONAL VIDEO OR IN THE EPISODE ITSELF. WHICH DO YOU CHOOSE? 170 responses

Here we go… The elephant in the room… Which Eren abs scene did you prefer? The Promotional video or the actual episode? A somewhat slight majority (57.1%) seemed to like the version seen in the promotional video more than the episode itself versus the ones who preferred the episode’s style (42.9%).

THE EPISODE MARKS THE BEGINNING OF FLOCH’S ACTIONS AS THE VOICE OF THE YEAGERISTS. HOW ARE YOU FEELING ABOUT IT? 170 responses

Floch has always been a controversial character and the developments seen post-time skip have not been any less debatable. You may floching love him or floching hate, but he’s here and he’s staying for a while. A plurality (48.8%) notes that although they may not personally be a fan of the character, they truly do appreciate the nuance his appearance gives to the story. Just over a quarter (25.3%) stated that as big fans of the character, they’re looking forward to all the screentime the Flochster will receive. In contrast, 20.6% despise the man and his questionable haircut and are also dreading the showcase he’ll soon receive.  

I hate Floch and will cheer again when he dies, but I enjoy his character.

I detest Floch but I'm not dreading all the screen time he'll take up.

Since he died in the manga, my hatred for him has cooled down somewhat now that I'm watching the anime.

I am once again asking for you to shut the fuck up, Floch.

WE KNOW NOW THAT EREN DID CONSPIRE WITH FLOCH TO BETRAY ZEKE TO ENACT THE RUMBLING. STILL, DO YOU BELIEVE HE DID IT BECAUSE HE HAS THE SAME BELIEFS AS FLOCH, OR WAS HE JUST USING FLOCH AND THE YEAGERISTS AS A MEANS TO AN END? 161 responses

An overwhelming amount of respondents (87.6%) stated that they believe Eren never truly saw eye to eye with Floch and his ideology and that Eren was simply using Floch as a means to an end. In contrast, 9.3% truly do think that Eren was ideologically similar to Floch and the “New Eldian Empire”. A select few thought you couldn’t just say one way or another. 

They both wanted to protect Paradis

DO YOU THINK IF THE YEAGERISTS, BESIDES FLOCH, KNEW ABOUT THE FULL SCALE RUMBLING BEFOREHAND THAT THEY WOULD WILLINGLY FOLLOW EREN? 167 responses

The majority (53.3%) feel that the Yeagerists would see a divide if they knew beforehand that Eren wanted to initiate the rumbling, with some sticking around for the cause and others possibly leaving because it’s too extreme. 25.1% believe that they all would have fully supported the rumbling in the name of their own survival. 15% believe that every Yeagerist already knew about the plan to commence the rumbling, and only 6% feel that they would most certainly have betrayed the Yeager brothers (and Floch) if they had known. 

I don’t know, this is a loaded question and I’m tired.

DO YOU THINK THAT, IF THE STORY ENDS PEACEFULLY, MIKASA WILL HAVE A ROLE TO PLAY IN HIZURU? 170 responses

While this plotline may not be going anywhere in the manga (or so it seems), the reminder of its existence is brought to light again as we revisit these older moments from the manga. 32.4% feel that Mikasa wouldn’t leave Paradis behind to start a life on Hizuru. 23.5% think that she wouldn’t leave Paradis behind, necessarily, but will still have a role to play in Hizuru. 21.2% think it doesn’t matter because Isayama has completely discarded (or forgotten) about this plotline. 12.4% don’t know what to predict (if anything) and only 8.2% believe that her future lies in Hizuru beyond the main storyline.

The last two options plus me not caring. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

hizuru is already rumbled, gone, but she will continue the azumabito clan in paradis

Is no one else gonna question Kiyomi's hair being sucked into her skull??? HELLO MA'AM???

Hizuru is likely flattened

WHICH SCENE FROM THE PREVIEW ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 171 responses

Episode 72 has already broadcasted as of the completion of this poll. For scenes that were most anticipated, 35.7% were most looking forward to seeing Levi and Zeke’s interaction in the forest. 33.3% most looked forward to Niccolo leaning straight from Gabi’s mouth that she is Sasha’s killer. 18.7% highly anticipated the Blouses learning about Gabi killing Sasha, and 9.4% were looking forward to Gabi/Falco and the Blouses gathering at Niccolo’s restaurant. Only a small amount were looking forward to Niccolo protecting Jean and Connie from drinking the wine.

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

Man the animation was gonky 

no levi </3

So many faces of Niles are weirds !

Let hange aloneeeeeeee and happy, please

I have no word for this, but I feeling good

Shit is getting really real now! 

Everyone talking about Eren’s abs and I just wanna say the music in that scene was amazing!

I loved how it was all neatly put together and fast moving

Armin looked so good. Homie walked from point A to B and i SCREAMED. Thank you. 

i wish they included eren's warhammer escape from the prison, besides that solid episode all around, the people chanting 'dedicate your hearts' gave me chills 

I can't stand Hitch at all but MAPPA made her really pretty. Re: The jacket scene The trailer version was pretty much identical to the manga panel. But I liked the version that made it into the final episode too. People have been so ridiculous about MAPPA ""ruining everything"" this season, they should stop watching if that's how they feel. I thought Eren looked great and found the sun shining on his abs funny. The scenery was better in the episode, imo. I hope they don't cut Jean's line about booze not caring about what race you are. Lmao

Meh. It's not bad of course, I just find the rythm weird and I don't really feel many emotions watching the episodes. And I was so thirsty for the jacket scene, and it turned out weird too.

Mappa pls stop drawing eren like shit he is gorgeous in the manga

MMGH SOON!! LET'S GOOOOOOO

You friccin moron, you just got zooked!

i miss eremin </3

Wish they had shown how eren used his titan powers to escape.

I'm so not looking forward to the controversy that's gonna be reignited during the EMA talk scene. I'm actually dreading it, but we'll finally get the Levi vs Beast Titan scene so I'll be fine

112 will destroy ships 

I felt the animation was flawless as usual but the script was kinda boring, I expected more of these aspects: -Yelena, it was bland with the cuts -Hange, they cut something I cant figure what in this Yeagerists coup act that turned her scenes a little bit lacking? Idk something -Again the soundtrack in the episodes is so silent. The only episode so far I liked the ost beyond the Opening and Closing themes is Reiner episode. I miss the melodrama of Witstudio osts

Eren putting his jacket on in slow-speed whilst talking at regular speed is fucking trippy

Just happy to see Hitch!

It was slow and mainly plot driven. I enjoyed it despite the changes.

goddamn is that a hella well-animated explosion

more abs please

Great episode. Really ridiculous how many people overreacted about the jacket scene. It's ok to perfer the way the trailer did it but to those who say Mappa is ruining the adaptation because of minor things like this, calm down. 

I wish the jacket scene was better But over all the ep is pretty good

Boring, but then again so was this phase in the manga.

I really like the VA they chose for Onyankopon! His voice is very warm and genuine, which suits his character well

The sunset was so aesthetically pleasing 

yoooo just read ch. 138 and im crying in da club :(

These MAPPA episodes have been a low point for me. I’m trying to enjoy them because I love this story but it feels like a chore.

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 161 responses

Thanks again to everyone who participated!

[coppercatwrites]

Save Me - Sherlock x Reader

Chapter 8: Talk to Me

Pairing: Sherlock x reader synop: some relax time for the rest of the night Taglist:  @reveluvspecial​ @ravencatart​ @germansarechill​  @sassy-potato-yall​ @melanoms​ @middleearthmama​ @fullmoonshadowwrites​ 

A/N: this took a little longer to write! woopsies!

With a heavy sigh, you lay Henry onto the couch with a blanket. “You should get some rest, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much today.” 

Silence. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” 

He rolls over, head facing the back of the couch. 

Sherlock walks out of the kitchen with a glass of water and gingerly sets it on the table. With hands on his hips, he turns to go sit at one of his experiments in the kitchen.

You run your fingers through your hair as you look for a laptop. You feel his eyes follow you around the flat until you give up looking. When you make eye contact, he looks to the left of you.

“Thanks.” 

The ghost of a smirk forms your lips when you see it sticking out of his chair cushions. When you open it, the blinking cursor for the password halts your tracks. 

Looking up from the laptop you see the corner of Sherlock’s lips twitch. From a good distance, you get lost searching his eyes for the magic words. 

“Letmein”

His eyebrows raise as the screen to his computer lights up your face exposing your sad, amused smile. 

“Henry, Would you like to watch something?” 

“No.” 

You snap the lid shut and set it onto the table. “Okay. well, at least let me know if you need anything…” 

Silence

Shaking your head, you quietly make your way to the door. “I’ll be back.” 

At the bottom of the stairs, you hesitate with your hand on the door. With a sigh, you take off your coat and hang it on the rack. Your shoes follow underneath. Sitting on the stairs, you rest your elbows on your knees and your head on the railing. Your eyes practically burn holes through the door locks. 

The sound of footsteps do nothing to bring you back to the present. Although when the figure sits beside you, your eyebrows furrow.  

“Hey.” 

Sherlock hums and glances at his phone. 

You pull out a bullet from your pocket and toss it in your hands. Your thumb rubbing across the engravement on the side. 

“A bullet? You don’t even own a gun.” 

You pause and press the tip into your middle finger. “It’s my father's ashes. When he died, I had him made into a live round.”

Silence

“Oh come on, not you too. John told me you never stop talking.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs. “What is the point of carrying around a dead person's ashes?” 

You clench your jaw and turn your gaze to the ground. “If he passed away normally it would be one thing, but he was murdered. Sentiment, Sherlock.” 

He sits quietly for what felt like minutes before he takes an audible breath.

“He was murdered by a gun, I presume. what kind?” 

“Sniper round. I looked around the outside of the house but I didn't see anybody.” 

He hums. “You wouldn't have seen anyone. What was the scenery like there? I’m assuming somewhere with a tree and some brush, did you look near those?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I found a smeared footprint but even when the police took evidence, it got them nowhere.” 

“You’re… American. I presumed it happened there? No wonder why they didn’t solve anything. You said they were smeared, were there any broken branches nearby?”

You close your eyes and lie back onto the stairs. “I think… there were a few, yes.” 

  “You think or you know? They could have fallen from the tree and broke their leg or they could have tried to cover tr—”

You cover your face with your elbow. “I didn't ask for you to solve his murder, I asked for you to help me get rid of the hit men's clients that have been tailing me.” 

Before Sherlock can reply, John walks through the door carrying a few bags that looked to be carrying food. He paused after the door closed and quizzically looked at you on the stairs. 

"What are you- never mind." 

He reaches into one of the bags and digs inside for a second. After he finds what he's looking for, he tosses the brown paper tube at you. “I told Sherlock to ask you what you wanted to eat but he never got back to me.” 

You smirk as you look at the package. “Well, he never asked me.”

“You never stopped talking.” 

“You were asking me questions.” 

“And none of them were about supper.” John cuts in. 

Sherlock sighs as you chuckle to yourself. John calmly squeezes past you both up the stairs to 221b. 

Sherlock stands and turns around. “where’s my food?” 

John smirks. “You didn't answer my message.”

Sherlock’s mouth hangs open in offense. Before he can respond however, John has already welcomed himself home. 

You look up to see his eyes burning holes through the door. Laughing, you break your sandwich in half and toss it at him. 

“I can't eat that much. I’m too used to light meals. Please, have it.” 

He turns it over in his hands and nods at you. Halfway up the stairs, you get up to follow after him. Once inside, your attention is drawn to the sound of a kids tv show. Looking from the Scooby Doo episode to the couch, you find John and Henry involved in the show. With eyebrows raised, you glance to sherlock. 

Sandwich between his hands, he brings his fingertips up to his chin. “It’s actually impossible for them to deduce that outcome with the evidence provided. It’s entirely by chance.” 

Henry sits up. “Actually, Mr. Holmes, it’s not impossible. You just have to search for the right clues.” 

John hides his smile as he looks to the wide eyed Sherlock. “Yeah, what he said.” 

You shake your head as you make your way to the kitchen to eat. “You blog almost every day and your only additional comment is, ‘what he said’?” 

John lets loose his smile as he turns his focus back to the telly. “Yep.” 

Sherlock follows you into the kitchen. “Don't touch any of my experiments.” 

You chuckle. “Calm down tiger, just looking for some paper towels” 

“No, you’re not. What is it that you really need?” 

You cross your arms and lean into the counter, your eyes fixed onto the blood filled slide under the microscope. “Why did you block me from Nick at the warehouse?”

“The kitchen roll is in the cabinet on your left.” 

You smirk “Oh no you don’t. You are not avoiding this. You asked what I needed, and I’m telling you.” 

“Some things are best left unsaid.” 

Your eyes snap to his. “You wouldn’t have done that if… if he was going to…”

“You and your son wouldn’t have been harmed in any of the scenarios that I planned out.” 

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Your body shifts as you lean onto the counter. With arms crossed, you study his notepad on the table. 

He clears his throat. “I know. You’re welcome.” 

After a bite of your sandwich, Sherlock leans on the counter next to you and starts to eat his. The corners of his lips tug into a smile as he watches Henry and John discuss their favorite characters from the children's cartoon. 

“We are putting you both in danger by being here.” 

Sherlock scoffs. “Nonsense. I’m in my own danger by living here.” 

Rolling your eyes you laugh. “I think the only dangerous person here is John.” 

He shakes his head. Before he can reply, you turn to him. “You know, you’re pretty cute when you think you're a badass. I mean, you are. But when you’re being showy, it's cute.” 

He coughs on the bite of his sandwich. “Pardon?”

Smirking, you push away from the counter. “I think it's about time for bed. Goodnight, Sherlock Holmes.” 

As Sherlock retreats to his bed, you smirk at John, Henry, and the cartoon on the telly. “Alright, kids. I think it's time we go to bed.” 

Henry wines and falls back onto the couch, his eyes on the ceiling. “But mom, just one more?” 

John stands up and stretches. “I think she’s right. It’s getting late.” 

Henry sighs and marches away to the bathroom. While he’s gone, John and yourself start to make the couch look like a bed. 

“You know,” you sigh. “How did you change his attitude?” 

When John straightens up, he sets his hands on his hips. “All I did was talk to him.” 

Your eyebrows furrow. “What did you say to him?” 

He smiles and shakes his head. “That's something you need to find out on your own.” 

You tilt your head back and groan. “Another relationship I need to sort out. How fun.” 

“Another?” 

Glancing from Sherlock's door to John, you shrug. “Did I say another?” 

He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ve been watching you both. He’s quite satisfied around you. I’ve seen the way you look at him when he’s not looking. I may not be as intelligent when it comes to deductions and such, but I do have a better understanding of human feelings than he does.” 

As you open your mouth to respond, Henry walks past you and gives John a hug. “Night.” 

Henry briefly hugs you before he takes up the couch. After a few moments, the flat falls quiet. Sitting on the floor leaning onto the couch, you sigh and lean your head back. 

Maybe you could get some real sleep. Even if you could only get a few solid hours.

Next chapter: coming soon!