#this is probably the most detailed thing ive ever drawn

[idle-compy]

"Maybe one day we'll get to go to a real forest together."

click for better quality

[skitskatdacat63]

Orb...

+ process kinda

[bogusbyron]

You BETTER make a fucking LM fashion post. I need that.

note: im not a professional in the slightest . mens historical fashion is a major special interest of mine and all my info comes from my own research which might not be correct so feel free to add corrections but be nice about it or ill cry

ill do a more in-depth post about it at some point when i get the chance and i've actually thought about it in more detail but for now the most fun details ive been working on in my own design is specifically Madeleine .

while probably not brick-accurate (as ive not had the chance to read it and most of my information comes from posts i read and what my friends tell me) i just think its a fun little take on his character using fashion of the time which im autistic as hel about.

one thing about 1820s fashion that usually sticks out to me is the height of all of their collars. One key feature of collars in the early 1800s was that they were quite tall (though by the 1850s they were tall on opposite sides to how they were in the 1800s-1820s. they kind of changed from being high at the back of the neck to high at the front, pointed towards the cheeks.)

This works wonders for my Valjean as he has quite a distinguishing scar down the side of his face near his right eye that would be very easy to identify, as a result, he grew his hair out longer to allow his hair to drape rather lazily down the side of his face. while this was entirely unfashionable, it was better than being clocked as immediately suspicious by Javert.

where fashion comes into play is that all these high collars were also perfect for a character design detail of him looking a bit more mysterious. i'm yet to draw something to properly convey this (i'll probably do it in another post if i ever get round to it, if more people want to hear about my fashion choices for my designs?) i think this is the best i got .

this was drawn quickly and without reference so you'll have to excuse the inaccuracies but it gets the gist across, the high collar and cravat working to conceal a part of his face (and you can also see the draped hair in play). while not totally effective in concealing his identity, that's not wholly the point of course . but i think it still gives him both a cozy kind of look like hes trying to stay warm in his coats but also i hope it also gets across that he's hiding.. Something. he's a little suspicious. but hes nice about it

[gothhabiba]

do u have more details on your mourning veil(s)?? i am not in mourning but i have been wanting to wear veils in everyday life (probably not in black) and i also plan to dress in some kind of modified mourning when i next experience a death in my circles. im curious about whether u wear it over your face ever (im autistic and thats pretty much why ive been wanting to start wearing veils, apart from the aesthetics of it ofc lol), and also curious about the logistics, like what shapes they are & how opaque they are?

Mine is a 1930s (?) French veil; it's a large (34 x 60") rectangle of sheer material that seems to be black silk crepe. A short stretch of fabric in the center of one of the long ends (5") has two threads drawn through it to gather it together, producing a sort of half-circle of negative space where the veil may be attached to a bonnet; when worn, this causes the two corners of the rectangle nearest the head to fall down somewhat lower than the shoulders, while the two corners further away fall over the back and down to the knees: here's a link to a French mourning veil that looks similar.

1930s French veil laid out over a table; close-up on the ruching.

A bunch of writing from the 19th and early 20th centuries decries the expectation for widows to wear veils over their faces, claiming that the veils were heavy, stifling, and difficult to see and breathe through. I haven't found that to be the case with this one—even with my muscle disorder (like, my neck can only briefly and painfully support the weight of my head), the weight of the veil alone is negligible. It's very sheer and not too difficult to see and breathe through.

That being said, I wouldn't recommend wearing an antique veil (on the rare chance you find one—mourning clothes are harder than most antique clothing to come by, since the dye doesn't tend to wear very well, and crepe in particular had a tendency to shed and break down) over your face! You don't know for sure what kinds of dye or fixatives were used on it, and some of the more popular ones are things that you should not be breathing in.

Re-creation mourning veils intended for re-enactors can be purchased online—you may also have some luck looking into things marketed as Goth wedding veils. The only veil I occasionally wear over my face is a modern recreation. However, I found it difficult to come across one that didn't include satin trim or lace (both prohibited in English deep mourning). If you have some basic sewing skills, it shouldn't be hard to get a rectangle of sheer fabric (silk gauze or cotton voile might work; I have some 100gsm black linen on hand so I can tell you that it's a bit difficult to see through) and hem it on all sides.

You will need a hatpin or something similar to attach your veil to a bonnet or other headwear, or else it will blow right off. Headwear with a brim has the advantage of keeping the veil a few inches away from your face. The veil can be worn covering the entire bonnet and falling down over your face, or you can throw it back (so that it's folded over the back half of the bonnet, still held in place by the pin) to reveal your face. If you place the pin or pins about halfway back, you can make this adjustment on the fly. You could probably also just sew the veil to the bonnet if you're never going to wear them separately.

Short, modern veil worn over an 1860s-style bonnet to cover the face; the same veil worn over a bonnet to partly cover the face.

This veil makes everything look a bit darker and more grainy and gives a slight halo to light sources. It's not too noticable and I wouldn't say it impedes vision for the sake of any everyday task you would need to do.

When I'm forgoing the bonnet, I put my hair up into a bun, leaving some hair off to the side to make a braid; I pin the veil into my hair by putting bobby pins through my hair and then around the edge of, not through the fabric of, the veil (so that one half of the pin is between the veil and my head, and the other half is on top of the veil); then I take the braid and pull it over the area where the veil meets my hair, securing it with the halves of the bobby pins that are on top of the veil, and using another few pins to secure the bottom of the braid (the part closer to my forehead than the back of my head). There's no historical precedent for this, but it keeps the veil secure without damaging it, and keeps me from needing to wear a hat inside.

You can get a lot of variation in style by doing this:

1930s French veil worn directly in the hair with one large braid covering the join;

Ditto, with one large braid covering the join and one small decorative one across the head;

Ditto, with two twists of different sizes in stead of the braids;

Ditto, with the hair drawn into two buns at the side of the head under the veil, in stead of into one bun at the back;

Ditto, with one bun and one braid covering the join, with additional hair pinned into decorative swirling shapes on top of the head.

[ownerofthisaccount]

Hello again everyone! This was probably not the next part you hoped for but I hope I can explain well.

@raisans-art has made some really good AUs, such as the Human Illusion Au. One of them is the Chimera Emmet Au where Emmet is captured and experimented on, turning him into Agee after being fused with his Pokémon. Those who watched episode 4 of Fullmetal Alchemist are getting flashbacks

Well, they made a quick sketch of if Ingo was the one turned, called Chei, and I made a drawing for that afterwards because I have enjoyed both designs. As a child I loved transformations and stories of experiment or body horror, so that’s probably a factor. I later drew a mini comic for it detailing how the first night would go down, as well as a side comic of ghost Emmet. I made hints that a part two would come, and even released a WIP of one of the images. Well…I can’t say it won’t ever happen, perhaps months later, but I don’t think I will finish it right now(most of the betas were deleted anyway, either on purpose for space or by accident because of fat fingers). I have Aspergers, and I can hyperfixate on things. This can be for weeks, months, years, even forever in a couple cases. Chimera Emmet happened to be one of those(the twins are still an interest, but I got into several AUs based on them because of it) and I been seeing it since it’s early stages when Emmet was still himself in there. I just didn’t have the courage to fanart it till Chei came out as I love both but lean more to drawing Ingo. I have really enjoyed drawing the two and seeing their interactions, how this bad end line would go, and mentally thinking up things. It was also nice to see other people’s excitement over this and sees their asks created more drawings and pieces. Not recently I’ve been feeling the start of the interest drop. I hate when this happens because you love the thing but you can feel yourself slowly drift from it and it…sucks. I have the outlines ready to be draw but not the push or energy to complete it. I did managed to finish one, being a drawing of the remaining four Pokémon and Pels going to Juniper and Drayden, but unfortunately this was one of the ones that got accidentally deleted and I can’t recover it(which was possibly another push). On top of that I have actually started doing commissions, and being these and the two projects I’m working on(my graphic novel and my favorite list), Ive been a bit drained myself. I have betas for a couple though that were detailed enough to be salvageable, so I won’t put them to waste.

This was supposed to be Chei reading the floor apology made by Agee, anxiously waiting for a response.

This one was supposed to be Ingo’s spirit sensing something wrong, while Agee comforts a weakened Chei while they think of a way to escape.

And my personal favorite, Ingo’s spirit panicking while Emmet’s spirit starts trying to piece together what happened while wishing he was still alive because Chei and Agee would make for an interesting double battle duo(even in death he thinks of battle strategies)

It saddens me to not have full pictures to share, but I won’t leave you empty handed. I’ll share what I was thinking up if I made the final two parts: so after the first night, Chei wakes up to find a poorly drawn apology on the floor from Agee, who still feels guilty for hurting their friend(and shocked when they see Chei is healed) by accident. Though not fully forgiving yet, Chei accepts the apology and slowly starts being less cautious around Agee. Eventually this comes to head when Agee protects Chei from a threat(most likely the scientists) which fully gains the latter’s trust so the two begin to become friends. During this the remaining four mons meet up with Pels(given this Au has mostly the same beginning, Pels still tagged along and escaped the scientists during the chaos that was capturing Ingo) and reluctantly decide the best course of action is to try to tell others, as they feel with Pels with the they could possibly convince someone. Ingo and Emmet’s souls are in limbo, not having moved on due to the circumstances of their deaths(I headcanoned in my ghost Emmet comic that he couldn’t move on until he knew that Ingo was alright and moving forward, so here the two likely wouldn’t till they both pieced together what happened and got justice for the experiments) watch as time pass and the fusions truly become family. However Ingo senses something is amiss and sure enough Chei is growing weaker. Unlike Agee, Chei is an unstable fusion due to the damage before the experiment. Agee colors dull in these bad conditions but Chei’s body and especially souls struggle to handle it, and start to unravel. Agee refuses to let his buddy die and decide to work with Chei to try to escape. That would’ve been part two. The final part would’ve been Chei and Agee combining their moves(multi train style) to break through the glass and begin and escape. They start breaking out everyone and fighting back the scientists when Chei grows too weak to fight and Agee protects him. Before they can be detained, Rescue arrive with the remaining Pokémon, Pels, and the humans fighting to incapacitate the scientists. Chei is wary around them since trust issues, but Agee is grateful for their help and lifts Chei onto his back to carry him. Once the scientists are defeated. The others help Agee out getting everyone outside where the chimera lays Chei down. The fusion would’ve curled up under a tree with Agee and the others by, leaving it ambiguous if Chei was getting better and healing, or peacefully passing away in a nicer area that wasn’t a cell. The final frame would’ve been the twins, now satisfied the experiments were freed and given justice, walking off into the afterlife together. Not a perfect story but I had fun with it. Now…I did prepare something to give you a nugget anyway:

And here it is! Marshrill design was recently released and as someone who loves and theorize the twins becoming Pokémon, this was certainly up my alley and I had to draw at least a quick sketch. Hopefully it makes up for no huge comic update.

But anyway, final huge props to @raisans-art again and I hope you all still enjoyed this. Thank you all, and have a great rest of your day

[gyuville]

fr the otome questions thing…. 9? 14? 15? and 24?

9. romantic moment:

realized while answering this i have a very bad memory 😭😭 i only remember the parts that hurt me the most 💔 but the first thing that comes to mind is that one scene in yves from virche evermore's route. when mc accidentally sees his scar and hes crying thinking she'll leave him or be scared of him bc of it just like every person in his life. but she doesn't she stays with him she tells him that she thinks hes beautiful and she kisses his scar. i cried so much in that scene i love my yves so much 😭😭

14. exceeded expectations:

although i havent finished it yet, mystic messenger definitely exceeded my expectations. the other texting based dating sim i played "30 days to love" was good but pretty basic. i was expecting smth similar from mystic messenger at first. but now i realized its not like that at all so it really is way better than expected. ive only done 707's route so far and im actually head over heels for him. and thats without even going into the lore 😭

15. favourite trope:

honestly idek 😭 i probably have 2 different types considering my faves in otome games. one of which is

i) the LI that is in love w mc in every route/timeline/universe :-

asra alnazar from the arcana

rafayel (all 3 actually?) from love and deepspace

ankou from virche evermore

ukyo from amnesia memories

707 (saeyoung choi) from mystic messenger

but i love all of them for very different reasons and i loved them ever before finding out theyre in love w the mc in every universe. im just naturally drawn to mysterious characters i guess? because there are other characters who also fit in the same category. ((for example: lucas proust in virche evermore, toma in amnesia memories)) but its probably bc we're literally meant to be actually (im insane)

24. favourite otome:

i havent played that many otome games in my life actually. like ~8 of them?? although i love them all for their very own reasons... virche evermore is Really hard to top like they truly cooked with this one ‼️ gave me a reason to live. the love interests, the story, the routes, the despair endings, the salvation endings, everything. i have never cried as much for a game or any piece of media, as i did for virche evermore. although some routes were a little too much for even me to handle it kind of made me love it more. i literally stayed awake till 5 am every night for 2 weeks while playing virche. i enjoy emotional pain and suffering tbh. i could go into actual heavy detail on why and how much i love virche evermore but its 3 am and i have to wake up in 3 hours 💔💔

thank you so much for sending an ask i really really love you for this i love screaming abt my favourite otome games

[mageyalook]

masquerade!! i really wish it had gotten a full body sprite!!

[hurglewurm]

Assumption: you’d be willing to share your top graphic novel reads. Also do you read any written in French? I’d die for those titles too!

lmao i see what you're doing anon. prepare for a long post (no french unfortunately; i've mostly just read bd-style stuff, so asterix and tintin and schtroumpfs kinda vibe... not much else. my faves are franquin’s spirou et fantasio tho)

gonna have 3 categories in this list: 1. select favourites 2. other favourites that i shouldn't have to explain (better-known stuff) 3. haven't read but i already know

select favourites, in no particular order:

emily carroll, through the woods

through the woods probably doesn’t need me to wax poetic about it because you should hear the name emily carroll and already know it’s going to blow your socks off, make you insane, and be gorgeous. this one is an anthology of spooky stories set at various times in the past, and you’ve probably seen a slice or two from it on tumblr already. her use of values? of black and white? creative panelling? i’m insane 

brandon dayton, green monk

this is one i read a while ago and i’m still deeply upset that mr dayton hasn’t made volume 2. a gorgeously-drawn introduction to a Chosen One in fantasy russia, raised by monks and haunted by weird heroic dreams where he battles monsters. mr dayton where is volume 2. 

simon spurrier and matias bergara, coda

i have three words for you: post-apocalyptic fantasy. i have two more words: Big Wife. a few more words: this thing is gorgeous, with psychedelic colours and detailed linework, and i like it a whole lot. did i mention big wife. did i mention big warrior wife with a sword. yeah. 

molly mendoza, skip

again, don’t feel the need to say anything. molly mendoza’s art is some of the most breathtaking i’ve ever seen in a graphic novel and it made me insane. post-apocalyptic, but subtle. no one has a gender. a lot of dimension-skipping and you’d better believe the art absolutely goes off the shits every time but ultimately it’s about being true to yourself, and friendship

james tynion iv and michael dialynas, wynd

most recent read! it deceived me in the comic book store: the back said the main character was gay, and it looked like YA or K-12 so i was like aight cool some light reading. nope. it gets dark. the characters are young but the world they live in is fraught with war and genocide and it gets Dark. not overly dark but people die. love it tho. 2 of the main four are confirmed mlm in the book which is fun to see in a fantasy! 

more favourites that require no explanation

noelle stevenson, nimona, aka extremely fun fantasy, hilarious, but also hits in the feels. also noelle stevenson, so you already know it’s good 

alice oseman, heartstopper, aka the softest romance i’ve ever read. i screamed a lot.

kevin panetta and savanna ganucheau, bloom, aka messy gays on the cusp of adulthood, toxic friends, and a gorgeously-illustrated love letter to baking

future-favourites

tillie walden, on a sunbeam

trung le nguyen, the magic fish

[meruz]

once again i am answering asks in a big compilation post. included is... gotham, patrick stump, tips about drawing backgrounds, tips about drawing in general, links to my faq, and infinity train

like.... the tv series? No... I’ve drawn dc comics fanart before, though. But it’s been years since I’ve been really into it. I like jumped ship like 10 years ago when the New 52 happened LOL.

AFJHDSLKGH I’m sorry I (probably) won’t do it again??

Actually full disclosure I have a truly cringe amount of p stump drawings/photo studies in my sketchbook right now LOL. He’s just fun to draw... hats, glasses, guitar, a good shape... but I don’t think I’ll rly post those until I can hide them in another big sketchbook pdf.. probably Jan 2022. Stay tuned........ (ominous) 

(ominous preview)

These are all sort of related to backgrounds/painting so I grouped them together even though they’re pretty much entirely separate questions.... ANYWAYS

a) How is it working as a BG artist? Is it hard? What show are you drawing for?

I think you’re the first person to ever ask me about my job! Being a background artist is great. It’s definitely labor intensive but I think that could describe pretty much any art job (If something were rote or easy to automate, you wouldn’t hire an artist to do it) and I hesitate to say whether its harder or easier than any other role in the animation pipeline. Plus, so much of what truly makes a job difficult varies from one production to the next, schedule, working environment, co-workers etc. But I will say that I think while BGs are generally a lot of work on the upfront, I think they’re subject to less scrutiny/revisions than something like character/props/effects design and you don’t have to pitch them to a room like boards. So I guess it’s good if you don’t like to talk to people? LOL

A lot of my previous projects + the show I’ve worked on the longest aren’t public yet so I can’t talk about em (but I assure you if/when the news does break I won’t shut up about it). But I’m currently working on Archer Season 12 LOL. I’m like 90% sure I’m allowed to say that.

b) ~~~THANK YOU!! ~~~

c) What exactly do you like to draw most [in a background]?

@kaitomiury​ Lots of stuff! I really like to draw clutter! Because it’s a great opportunity for environmental storytelling and also you can be kind of messy with it because the sheer mass will supersede any details LOL. 

I like to draw clouds... I like to draw grass but not trees lol,,, I like to draw anything that sells perspective really easily like tiled floors and ceilings, shelves, lamp posts on a street etc.

d) Do you have any tips on how to paint (observational)?

god there’s so much to say. painting is really a whole ass discipline like someone can paint their whole life and still discover new things about it. I guess if you’re really just starting out my best advice is that habit is more important than product. especially with traditional plein air painting, I find that the procedure of going outside and setting up your paints is almost harder than the actual painting. There’s a lot of artists who say “I want to do plein air sometime!!” and then never actually get around to doing it. A lot of people just end up working from google streetview or photos on their computer.

But going outside to paint is a really good challenge because it forces you to make and commit to lighting and composition decisions really quickly. And to work through your mistakes instead of against them via undo button.

My last tip is to check out James Gurney’s youtube channel because hes probably the best and most consistent resource on observational painting out there rn. There’s lots other artists doing the same thing (off the top of my head I know a lot of the Warrior Painters group has people regularly posting plein air stuff and lightbox expo had a Jesse Schmidt lecture abt it last year) but Gurney’s probably the most prolific poster and one of the best at explaining the more technical stuff - his books are great too.

e) Do you have tips for drawing cleanly on heavypaint?

@marigoldfool​ UMM LOL I LIKE ONLY USE THE FILL TOOL so maybe use the fill tool? Fill and rectangle are good for edge control as opposed to the rest of the heavy paint tools which can get sort of muddles. And also I use a stylus so maybe if you’re using your finger, find a stylus that works with your device instead. That’s all I’ve got, frankly I don’t think my drawings are particularly clean lol.

f) Tips on improving backgrounds/scenes making them more dynamic practicing etc?

Ive given some tips about backgrounds/scenes before so I’m not gonna re-tread those but here’s another thing that might be helpful...

I think a good way to approach backgrounds is to think of the specific story or even mood you want to convey with the background first. Thinking “I just need to put something behind this character” is going to lead you to drawing like... a green screen tourist photo backdrop. But if you think “I need this bg to make the characters feel small” or “I need this bg to make the world feel colorful” then it gives you requirements and cues to work off of.

If I know a character needs to feel overwhelmed and small, then I know I need to create environment elements that will cage them in and corner them. If a character needs to feel triumphant/on top of the world then I know I need to let the environment open up around them. etc. If I know my focal point/ where I want to draw attention, I can build the background around that.

Also, backgrounds like figure compositions will have focal points of their own and you can draw attention to it/ the relationship the characters have with the bg element via scale or directionality or color, any number of cues. I think of it almost as a second/third character in a scene.

Not every composition is gonna have something so obvious like this but it helps me to think about these because then the characters feel connected and integrated with the environment.

Some more general art questions

a) Do you have any process/tips to start drawing character/bodies/heads?

I tried to kind of draw something to answer this but honestly this is difficult for me to answer because I don’t think I’m that great at drawing characters LOL. Ok, I think I have two tips.

1) flip your canvas often. A lot about what makes human bodies look correct and believable is symmetry and balance. Even if someone has asymmetrical features, the body will often pull and push in a way to counterbalance it. we often have inherent biases to one side or another like dominant hands dominant eyes etc. you know how right-handed artists will often favor drawing characters facing 45 degrees facing (the artist’s) left? that’s part of it. so viewing your drawing flipped even just to evaluate it helps compensate for that bias and makes you more aware of balance.

2) draw the whole figure often. I feel like a lot of beginner artists (myself included for a long time) defer to just drawing headshots or busts because it’s easier, you dont have to think about posing limbs etc. But drawing a full body allows you to better gauge proportion, perspective, body language, everything that makes a character look believable and grounded.

Like if you (me) have that issue where you draw the head too big and then have to resize it to fit the proportions of the rest of the body, it’s probably because you (I) drew the head first and are treating the body as an afterthought/attachment. Sketching out the whole figure first or even just quick drawing guides for it will help you think of it more holistically. I learned this figure drawing in charcoal at art school LOL.

oh. third mini tip - try to draw people from life often! its the best study. if you can get into a figure drawing/nude drawing class EVEN BETTER and if you have a local college/art space/museum that hosts those for free TREASURE IT AND TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT, that’s a huge boon that a lot of artists (me again) wish they had. though if youre not so lucky and youre sitting in a park trying to creeper draw people and they keep moving.. don’t let that stop you! that’s good practice because it’s forcing you to work fast to get the important stuff down LOL. its a challenge!

b) I’ve been pretty out of energy and have had no inspiration to draw but I have the desire to. Any advice?

Dude, take a walk or something.... Or a nap? Low energy is going to effect everything else so you gotta hit that problem at its source.

If you’re looking for inspiration though, I’d recommend stuff like watching a movie, reading a book, playing video games etc. Fill up your idea bank with content and then give yourself time/space to gestate it into new concepts. Sometimes looking at other art works but sometimes it can work against you because it’s too close. 

Also something that helps me is remembering that art doesn’t always have to be groundbreaking... like it’s okay to make something shitty and stupid that you don’t post online and only show to your friend. That’s all part of the process imo. If you want to hit a home run you gotta warm up first, right? Sports.

I should probably compile everytime i give tips on stuff like this but that’s getting dangerously close to being a social media artist who makes stupid boiled down art tutorials for clout which is the last thing i want to be... the thing I want to stress is that art is a whole visual language and there are widely agreed upon rules and customs but they exist in large part to be broken. Like there's an infinite number of ways to reach an infinite number of solutions and that’s actually what makes it really cool and personal for both the artist and the viewer. So when you make work you like or you find someone else’s work you like, take a step back and ask yourself what about it speaks for you, what about it works for you, what makes it effective, how to recreate that effect and how to break that effect completely, etc. And have a good time with it or else what’s the point.

for the first 2, I direct you to my FAQ

For the last one, I don’t actually believe I’ve ever addressed artwork as insp for stories/rp but I’ll say here and now yeah go ahead! As long as you’re not making profit or taking credit for my work then I’m normally ok with it. Especially anything thats private and purely recreational, that’s generally 100% green light go. I only ask that if you post it anywhere public that you please credit me.

(and I reserve the right to ask you to take it down if I see it and don’t approve of it’s use but I think that case is pretty rare.)

a) @lemuelzero101 Thank you!!! I haven’t played Life is Strange but actually  that series’ vis dev artist Edouard Caplain is one of my bigger art inspirations lately so that’s a really high compliment lol. And yeah I hope we get 5-8 too...!

b) Thank you for sticking around! I’ve been thinking about Digimon and Infinity Train in tandem lately, actually. They’re a little similar? Enter a dangerous alternate world and have wacky adventures with monsters/inanimate objects that have weird powers... there’s like weird engineers and mechanisms behind the scenes... also frontier literally starts with them getting on a train. Anyways if anyone else followed me for digimon... maybe you’d like Infinity Train? LOL

c) @king-wens-king I’M GLAD MY ART JUST HAS PINOY VIBES LOL I hope you are having a good day too :^)

a, b, c, d) yessss my Watch Infinity Train agenda is working....

e) aw thank you!! i think you should watch infinity train :)

[alrightberries]

glimpse of me and you

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff. ❈ word count: 2.6k

❈ summary: It’s your first day out of the Underground District and on the surface. Levi helps you get settled.

❈ trigger warnings: profanity.

a/n: i would like to confess that i was in A Mood.

mini sequel: truly, madly, deeply

i. morning

The first thing you noticed was that it was bright. Too bright.

Not the kind of brightness you saw in the warm glowing lamps that littered the Underground District, but the kind that made your eyes squint and feel sore- like they were going to pop out of your head any time soon. Your hand slips out of Levi’s to block out the light hurting your irises.

He stops walking up the staircase and turns to look at you.

“Here.” He murmurs. He places down the boxes he was holding and takes off his green Survey Corps cape, draping it around your shoulders and clasping it at the front before drawing the hood over your face. The sunlight is no longer as harsh.

“Better?” He asks, and you nod.

“Much. Thank you, Levi.”

He hums in acknowledgement, one hand picking up the boxes with your luggage and the other one slipping through yours to slowly lead you up the staircase once more. He could tell from how you squeezed his hand and kept taking deep breaths behind him that you were nervous. He couldn’t blame you, either. He remembers being the same with Isabel and Farlan two years ago.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since he was captured and taken to the surface. Since last saw your face and heard his name slip from your lips.

It took the better part of two years to barely scrape up enough money to buy you citizenship, but as he leads you through the stairway with your warm hand in his, he knows he wouldn’t hesitate do it all again.

For you.

“It’s going to be brighter once we reach the surface.” He says. The last step of the stairway was nearing. “I know you won’t, but close your eyes if you have to. You might get disoriented if you don’t.”

True to his words, you did end up getting disoriented because you refused to close your eyes. But really now, how could you? 26 years you’ve waited for this day to come. And you would be damned if you didn’t take everything in the second you set foot above ground for the first time.

As you reached the surface, Levi notices you flinching, turning your head away from the light and gritting your teeth once you set foot on the cobble stoned streets above. Despite your clear discomfort at the brightness, you made no move to close your eyes. In fact, you even braved to let them roam around.

“Stubborn dumbass.” He scolds quietly.

He leads you a little ways off from the exit of the stairway to put your stuff in the small wagon in front of you. The small wagon was drawn by a gorgeous black horse, and you realize that this was probably the beloved mare Levi spoke of in his letters.

“Is this Estreya?” You ask. Levi hums in agreement and takes the last box you were holding to place it with the rest of your luggage with a low grunt.

When he looks back at you he notices your eyes are still squinted, but your teeth were no longer gritted. The hood was still drawn over your face and one of your hands was still shielding your eyes from the burning light. You weren’t even going to lie, you were half terrified that your eyes were going to melt from how hot the sun was.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

You scoff. “Yeah, because horses are really common in the Underground.”

He doesn’t reply to your quip. Though the way his eyebrows relax and his lips twitch up in the slightest doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Ride the wagon. You’ll fall on your ass if you try to go on horseback.”

“If you say so, Captain Levi.” 

It was now his turn to grit his teeth. He knew he shouldn’t have told you about his promotion.

“Tch, just get on. Or I’ll leave you stranded in Wall Sina.”

ii. noon

The wagon ride to Wall Rose was something you could only describe as ethereal.

You hadn’t the faintest idea the sky was so big and blue, and how fluffy the clouds seemed to be. The sky seemed to stretch for miles and miles, and knowing that there wasn’t a ceiling above you almost made you want to cry.

Wall Sina was beautiful, as well. Especially the market. The market you passed by almost made you want to stop the wagon and drag Levi from stall to stall to see what they had. They housed probably the most vibrant colored fruits and vegetables you’ve ever seen, and the smell of freshly baked bread made your mouth water. Not to mention, the air didn’t smell like moisture or piss or shit. 

“Don’t get any ideas.” He says, noticing your longing stare at the colorful tents. “You look like you’re about to jump off the wagon.”

“Will you leave me stranded if I do?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

Undoubtedly, though, your favorite view from the ride would be what Levi called “the suburbs.”

The tallness of the trees. The freshness of the air. The sounds of ruffling leaves. Birds and critters running around the ground and flying through the sky. The beautiful greens and blues were the biggest contrast to the drab grays and blacks you typically saw in the Underground District, and now you understood why Levi was so hellbent on taking you to the surface and never looking back.

“We’re almost there.” You hear him call out from in front of you.

Your eyes stop wandering around what Levi called a “valley”. You look past his figure sitting on the horse, spotting a castle made of bricks. It looked small from this distance but the closer you got, the more you realized that distance could be deceiving.

“Is that the Survey Corps’ base?” 

“No, it’s a fucking circus.” He replies sarcastically.

“What’s a circus?”

“It’s— nevermind.”

iii. afternoon

When you got to Levi’s private quarters, you didn’t hesitate to ask for a spare towel so you could take a shower.

You didn’t even bother kissing him or unpacking your things or… making up for lost time, if you will. Instead you made a beeline for the private bathroom connected to his bedroom and spent a good hour inside, talking to him through the door about how you’ve been looking forward to taking a proper shower all week. Levi had to drag you out and stop you from wasting more of the Survey Corps’ water reservoir.

“So, let me get this straight.” You mutter. 

You were sitting on his bed and he was sitting on a chair across from you. Your hair was still damp and your upper half was clad in a spare Survey Corps button down, while your bottom half was clad in nothing but your underwear.

Levi had complained that your clothes from the Underground were too dirty and would have to be washed. You called him rude, only relenting when he offered to do your laundry. But he wasn’t about to complain about the extra chores when it gave him this view.

“You’ve been captain for an entire year and only bothered to tell last week?”

“Yes.” Came his stoic reply.

“But why?!”

“I’m not hearing the end of this any time soon, am I?”

Before you could respond, Levi hears loud banging from his office door (which you noticed was connected to his bedroom) and he sighs as he wordlessly covers your bare legs with a blanket. Confused eyes met his, and all he could do was shrug as he heard the office door breakdown. The loud banging was now being directed at the bedroom door, the only thing separating you from what you assumed was some rabid raccoon.

“Levi motherfucking Ackerman!” You hear someone shriek from the other side of the wood. Okay, so maybe it’s not a rabid raccoon. “Open this door right this instant!”

You hear the lock clicking and the knob turning rapidly. Despite knowing you should probably be scared, you can’t help but smile at Levi’s clear irritation. It wasn’t the genuine kind of irritation. It was the kind he showed to Isabel— the one where he pretends to be annoyed but secretly enjoys their company.

“It’s not locked, four-eyes.” He replies.

Ah, so this must be the Hange he’s been complaining about.

“Then why can’t I open it?!”

“It’s push, not pull.”

Immediately, the banging stops, and silence takes over the room. But the silence is short lived when Hange suddenly kicks the door open and you jump from surprise. 

“Don’t think that I wouldn’t find out about you bringing a civilian to the base, Ackerman!” Hange points an accusing finger at Levi’s bored face. 

“I’d be more surprised if you didn’t. Considering I asked you to sign the authorization letter.”

The soldier ignores Levi’s quip and quickly makes their way over to you, sitting down next to your side and extending a hand.

“The name’s Hange Zoe, Section Commander of the Survey Corps. And you are?”

You warily accept their offer of a handshake. Your eyes briefly flit over to where Levi was still sat, relaxing a bit when he nods to your silent question of whether or not it was safe.

“Y/N.” You give them a polite smile. 

“When Moblit told me Levi brought a civilian to the base, I was ecstatic!” 

What the fuck is a Moblit? You wonder.

Your hands were still joined, and you weren’t sure if prolonged and drawn out handshakes were a custom of the surface. Not wanting to be rude, you continued to shake Hange’s hand, nodding along as they continued on.

“I didn’t peg shorty as the type to play boyfriend.”

“Neither did I.” You chuckled. “But he’s been more than wonderful. He’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Levi bites back the smile teasing his lips.

“Stop shaking Hange's hand. You’ll catch rabies or some shit.”

iv. evening

It was nearing six o’clock when Levi finally convinced Hange to go away, but only with the promise that he would introduce you to his squadron later at dinner. Normally he’d detest the idea of sharing intimate details about his personal life, but as he listens to you ask question after question about the surface, he deems the small sacrifice was more than worth this small moment with you.

“You said the surface was going to be hot. Why is it so cold now?” You ask, settling into the bed. Levi lifts up the blanket and begins to lie down beside you.

“Because it’s almost night.” He says simply. “It’s hot in the day and cold in the night.”

“Is it always like that?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It depends on the season.”

He feels you shift closer to him, lifting his arm up and placing it around your waist as your head rests on his chest. He takes a deep breath, and the smell that was so uniquely you fills up his lungs. He almost hums in delight because it’s been two years; he hasn’t had this in two years, and no force on earth could ever take it away from him again.

“Season?” You murmur, sleepy eyes staring into his. 

Levi immediately knows that you’re a bedtime story away from snoozing, and he figures the fatigue is to be expected. You were, after all, being introduced to too many things at once. And judging by the bags under your eyes, you were probably too happy about going to the surface to get any sleep last night.

“Yeah. There are four seasons above ground: winter, summer, spring, and fall. Right now, it’s spring.”

“Will you tell me about the seasons?” 

He feels you shift, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

“You missed.”

You smile. A hand gently reaches out to grasp his chin, pulling his face towards yours to give him a gentle kiss. When you try to pull away, Levi pulls you back in.

“If you’re going to kiss me, do it properly.” He muses as your lips broke apart. The arm wrapped around your waist holds onto you a little tighter as you relax to his side once again, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck. His thumb rubs small, gentle circles into your arm.

“The flowers bloom in spring. Everything blooms.” He explains. “In fall, the temperature gets colder so the leaves start changing colors.”

“What colors do they become?”

“Mostly brown or orange.”

You nod.

“In winter, that’s when things start getting really cold. Colder than the Underground. Snow starts falling and everything gets covered in it. It’s annoying.”

“But don’t you use winter as an excuse to... y’know, convince your bosses to spend more money on tea leaves?”

It was now his turn to nod, and you merely let out a chuckle. He feels your breath fanning against his neck and he doesn’t stop his head from lulling into yours. He really did miss having you in his arms.

“Figures.” You yawn. “You’re obsessed with that stuff.”

He feels a sleepy kiss press against his collarbones, and he places a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Get some sleep.” He murmurs. “I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

“But you haven’t told me about summer yet.”

A small smile makes its way to his lips, and Levi was thankful that you couldn’t see. He’d never hear the end of your teasing if you did.

“If I tell you, will you stop annoying me?”

“Possibly.”

“Okay.”

v. midnight

The first thing Levi notices is that it was dark. Too dark. 

A brief glimpse out his open window confirms his suspicions that it was, indeed, night time. He probably slept through dinner.

The second thing Levi notices is that his entire right side was numb and there was a heavy weight on his body, some of it crushing his arm. He hears your sleepy voice mumble his name in your sleep, and he relaxes once he remembers the events of today.

He kept his promise.

You had an entire future ahead of you, and Levi’s heart warms at the thought. Sure, you were a civilian who couldn’t stay in the Survey Corps base forever; and he should probably start helping you job hunt so you could both start saving up for a new house. He’d fight you tooth and nail if you tried to join the military though, and something tells him you probably wouldn’t listen.

But he kept his promise. And that’s all that mattered for now.

He hears you shift in his arms before taking a sharp inhale, and your eyes sleepily open. They glance around the room, trying to remember where you were, before landing on him. A small smile teases your lips, adoration blossoming in your heart at the man in front of you.

“What time is it?” You softly ask. One of your hands reaches out to rub your eyes before he feels a warm palm come to rest on his stomach.

“Late.” He replies. His free hand lands on your soft cheek, and he tilts your head down so he can kiss your forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

You only nod, too tired to argue. You break free from his grasp and Levi is momentarily disappointed when you turn the other way. But then your hand reaches out behind you to sling his arm over your waist, and he shifts closer when he realizes you wanted to spoon.

“So I don’t kill your arm.” You explain quietly.

Levi presses his chest to your back and his leg wraps around yours. His nose is buried into the crown of your hair and he couldn’t help but take a deep inhale and close his eyes. Your hand intertwines with the one slung around your waist, and he feels you lift up your conjoined hands to place a kiss to his knuckles.

“I love you, Levi.”

This time, Levi doesn’t bother to hide his smile. It wasn’t the first time you’ve said I love you, and it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. But it would never cease to amaze Levi how just three short words could turn his stoic and uninterested demeanor into one of smiles that reached his eyes. 

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?”

“Marry me.”

mini sequel: truly, madly, deeply

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[aspecpplarebeautiful]

im aroace... or at least thats what ive been saying i am for the past few years. the ace part hasnt changed but now im trying to figure out if im actually aro... i cant tell if im ace and gay (i may like guys and nonbinary people but as an autistic trans masc enby ive been having a hard time distinguishing between forms of attraction vs both other forms of attraction as well as gender envy) or i am in fact aroace with just a really intense squish on one person. ive only ever been any form of attracted to one singular person in my life but now i cant tell if its just platonic and im having a comp-allo moment, its romantic and i was misinterpreting it this whole time, or if its just my neurodivergency/mental illness attaching themselves to this person and making me drawn to them for that.... god this is all so complicated....

Yeah it can be hard to tell. If you want, the faq for this blog goes into some detail about telling a squish from romantic attraction. Though two big things to keep in mind too:

A. Attraction isn't always neat and easy to define the way we define it. So some people can read the differences between a squish and a romantic crush and say which one it is. Sometimes attraction just isn't that simple though. It can be hard to tell, or it can be somewhere in between.

Quoiromantic can be a useful label for this, and it's often used by people who aren't sure what their attraction is or aren't sure if they're experiencing attraction or not. (Really great breakdown in the link)

There's also gray areas like

Idemromantic: categorizing relationships as romantic or platonic but experiencing no internal differences.

Platoniromantic: romantic and platonic attraction/feelings feel the same.

Alterous attraction: a type of attraction that may include romantic and platonic elements but won't be fully either. Someone experiencing it may be happy with either a romantic or platonic relationship or a relationship that defies labels, but will want a strong emotional bond.

B. Some people have a hard time interpreting their attraction. Some people can sit and analyse their feelings and think 'yeah that feels romantic' or 'that feels platonic' but not everyone can. And romantic is very vaguely defined, and platonic (in terms of romantic attraction) really just means not romantic.

Being neurodivergent can also make interpreting attraction harder. Which sounds like could be going on here too. There's also some labels for that may be useful for that too:

Arovague: aromanticism heavily influenced by neurodiversity.

Nebula-romantic: difficulty distinguishing romantic or platonic attraction due to neurodivergency.

You don't have to adopt any of these labels (though of course if something feels worth exploring or clicks, that's great). But hopefully it can help give you something to consider or a different way to look at things.

Definitely I recommend trying to look at this subjectively. I think a lot of people approach this type of thing as searching for a singular objective truth, but when it comes to labels and identities, things like personality, culture, experiences, play a huge role in what labels make the most sense and will be the most useful for someone.

Aro is also fine to use when you're not sure if it's romantic attraction or not. And all the labels listed here can be considered to be part of the aro-spec umbrella if someone finds that a useful way to identify.

So this is probably a lot, don't feel like you have to wrap your head around it all right away. Or that you have to have things figured out right away. Take your time with things and think about what makes the most sense for you.

All the best, Anon!

[whump-town]

The Blood That Haunts Me

post-scratch fic

no pairings

Hotch has a bad heart

word count 6k

In Savannah Hayes’ experience, Saturday’s are typically for parents with screaming toddlers looking for emergency medicine to soothe their fears about whatever toy their child has shoved up their nose or to ask an aged nurse what to do with this croup that just won’t go away. It’s scrapes and bruises from a fender bender with kids just learning to drive and roughly two to three broken arms from seven-year-olds learning to ride a bike without training wheels. With any luck, there will be only one underage kid in a banana bag and the college kids will be in and out for stitches and gone as quickly as they come. There’s always the regulars - older men and women that buzz with the opportunity to be out of their houses even if it’s to withstand the pain of stitches and staples on their thin skin.

Rarely has Savannah faced a Saturday where she knew someone being pulled into her emergency room. Virginia isn’t the biggest place but her friends are young and healthy and Saturdays are for squirmy children and stupid teenagers. When she sees him with his ankles stretched out over the end of the stretcher and a large hand weakly fighting with the paramedic to hold the oxygen mask over her face she’s certain of his identity. She’s good with faces and his is unmistakable.

“You shouldn’t be on break yet, baby.” Derek picks up on the first ring, the sound of Hank babbling loudly in the background making him chuckle deeply as he moves. The phone pinched between his shoulder and cheek, she can hear him pick up their son. Talking back to the baby.

Savannah is sitting in the emergency room, camped out behind the desk as she catalogs patient information. Despite it being a Saturday, the hospital is startlingly pretty timid (knock on wood). When there is a new patient the clatter is noticed. So when Hotch came in, supine but weakly fighting against the oxygen mask pulled down over his mouth, Savannah noticed. Even drugged and combative, he’s distinctly himself.

And as Savannah tells Derek, describes the man she’s quite fond of, he doesn’t believe her. Hotch doesn’t go to the hospital and no one’s heard from him in forever, he’s probably not even in Virginia. Garcia said Jack started high school last fall and if they were home and situated again with no contact then… Well, what are they supposed to do? “Derek--” Savannah can hear the pitch change in his voice. Derek goes from dismissive to genuinely worried and now pulling at strings because no one has talked to Hotch in months (nearly two years) and the idea of seeing him now is terrifying. “I am positive that it’s Hotch.” She leans around the monitor, frowning as she watches some nurses she knows buzz around him. Throwing out words she can’t make out entirely but she can see what they’re doing and it makes her heart jump a little to hear medications that they put orders out for.

Hotch makes a noise - it has to be loud for her to hear it from the distance she’s at. “Baby,” she stands and it makes her heart do a weird clenching thing when she catches a glimpse at his face. Sees that he’s crying and clearly upset. “Derek, he’s getting all kinds of agitated. I’m gonna call you back in a second, okay?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and tosses her phone down on her chair before calling out for one of the nurses she recognizes with a wave.

The nurse smiles when she sees Savannah - she’s got a particular gift with patients like Hotch.

“I know this one,” Savannah says, approaching the bed. “What have you got?”

Savannah doesn’t have all the details on the accident that occurred in 2009 with George Foyet. It’s not Derek’s story to tell and it’s not exactly the easiest one to bring into conversation. She’s aware of vague things like his collapse a few years later from scar tissue that caused him to bleed internally and that Hotch's ex-wife was killed by a serial killer. Mostly, she knows that Hotch is dependable and secure and that when he went into witness protection nearly two years ago his absence had crushed them all. Even if the likes of Emily Prentiss and her just as stubborn as hell husband would never admit it.

“Mild tachycardia and respiratory depression -” The nurse tells her about Hotch’s underactive thyroid, something he’s supposed to take medication for ever since the stabbing damaged the organs function. How it’s throwing his heart into tachycardia and it’s getting worse, not responding to medicine yet.

Savannah may not know what happened with George Foyet but she knows Derek regards Hotch as this infallible wall of a man. One she’s come to understand he thinks can’t ever fall down and one that, despite how fondly he’ll speak about him, annoys the hell out of him. Personally, Savannah thinks Aaron Hotchner is just a sweet man. She likes him and his little quirks. He’s quite the odd pairing when he gets together with Emily and Dave but they’re a funny crowd.

What she isn’t expecting is the mess of scars littering his chest. Experience allows her to date some of them by sight - their distinct shape and coloration clustering them into the same time frame and she can’t imagine how someone gets over half a dozen wounds like that at once. They don’t end there. On his right side, there’s a nearly faded out of existence scar from a chest tube. A puncture wound- something blunt she’d assumed by way of its roundness. Even a few rougher-looking, jagged scars that she assumes are shrapnel because Derek has nearly identical ones.

Savannah is a few moments too late to prevent Hotch from being pulled down by a sedative but he’s fighting it, blinking slowly to try and remain awake. “Hey,” she greets softly, turning his wrist over so she can see IV sight in his elbow. It’s secure and there’s nothing special to note but it’s going to bruise. “Long time no see Agent Hotchner.” She squeezes his fingers, smiling at the recognition behind his eyes even if his lips only form a silent mouthed version of her name.

With a smile - remembering the first time they met and how gently he’d taken her hand before shaking his head and admonishing “everyone calls me Hotch” - she reaches down and fixes his hair. He’s let it grow out since he left the BAU. Derek had been livid when he got word that Hotch wasn’t coming back despite the fact that he too left the unit. “How are you feeling, Hotch? Can I call someone?”

His eyes slide shut and for a moment she thinks he’s given in, sunk down low where his pain and his ailments can’t get him. He taps a finger against her palm and she understands he’s still here. “Morgan?” he rasps.

She nods, “Derek already knows you’re here. I imagine he’ll have the whole crew here in no time.” He grimaces, cracking an eye open to give her a look she understands entirely. She’s only ever faced their smothering worry once when Hank was born but she knows it’s a lot. It’s hard to imagine they’re going to somehow be less present and attuned with him than they with her. He’s not looking forward to that and it’s understandable. “Don’t worry,” she promises, “I’ll have your back when they get here.”

He nods, dull eyes sinking back under his eyelids. She holds his hand until she’s certain he’s fallen asleep.

“So,” the nurse asks softly. She moves and tubes and wires around so that they’re not laying against his bare skin. Folding the blankets over Hotch’s hips and leaving his chest bare. He’s still tachycardic, breathing laboriously through inflamed lungs. “How do you know this guy?”

Savannah sits down on the edge of the bed, taking Hotch’s hand into her own. Working her thumb in gentle, hypnotic motions between his knuckles and smiling sadly at the relieved rasping sigh that leaves his parted pale lips. “Family,” she answers because she’s not sure what the answer really is but in some way… yeah, family.

The nurse nods, going about what needs to be done while Savannah stays on the edge of the bed. She does what she can until she clears her throat. “Hey,” the nurse smiles, sympathetic to the soft faraway look in Savannah’s eyes. “Doctor Hamilton admitted him so I need to take him up to the--”

Savannah stands immediately, nodding. “Yeah,” she lays his hand back down on his chest. Stepping away from the bed, “sorry.” She shakes her head, stepping back as the brakes come up and he’s set into motion. “Second floor?” Savannah assumes.

The nurse nods, “he’ll be in room one seventeen. I’ll let the desk know he’s one of yours.”

Savannah watches him disappear down the hall, met at the mouth of the hall by other nurses and staff nodding as they take him to the right floor. She’d been there long enough to see his heart monitor and to identify the ventricular tachycardia plaguing him. He’ll likely need a pacemaker and she’s already racing to a solution. He’ll need to be monitored after surgery but can go home. Hank’s a little too small still but they have the guest room. If Derek cleans up the mess he lets Hank make in there--

Savannah’s heart sinks to the floor and she turns around. Hit with the sudden memory of the last event she saw Hotch at and remembers slowly that Hotch has a son and someone needs to find him.

All morning something had been off, Hotch didn’t have to say it for Jack to know. The oatmeal was made oddly, Hotch’s hands trembling so much he’d gotten the measurements wrong. Too much brown sugar but Jack hadn’t seemed to mind it being too sweet. He’d been distracted by his oatmeal and unalarmed by signs he hasn’t learned to be aware of. If Hotch had gotten up late or made breakfast and then laid down on the couch then Jack would have noticed. Bad days come frequently and like most storms look and sound distinct.

High anxiety days are an early rise, the sound of lights being turned on and off as Hotch fails to get comfortable in any room. Coming out of his room and finding his father curled up on the couch. His knees drawn up and a pillow pressed into his chest, a heated blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon. It’s lightly tiptoeing around the house so Hotch stays asleep and avoids him once he does move and allows his aching back to stretch out. Jack knows to keep his music down and to call Jessica if Hotch locks himself away.

Though time has dampened it’s severity it’s not impossible to find his father trying to work through untreated PTSD or ride out an intense wave of depression. Leaving him immobile or desperate for a distraction. Jack knows those things. He understands them and, like the blasting siren that screams out before a tornado, Jack knows when to duck for cover and ride out the storm.

But Jack had no idea what a heart attack would look like. What to expect or even if a heart attack had been what he’d seen.

Hands over his ears, Jack Hotchner sinks into the emotionless walls surrounding him. Trying to find the place past his body where everything ceases to exist. Insistently, against his will, he’s pulled back to a decade ago. To the sound of gunshots tearing through the only home he’d ever known. To Emily wiping his tears away with the palm of her hand, their backs to the carnage his father created in the fall. To a hospital not unlike this one where his father was patched up - open wounds covered and drugs numbing his rough edges - until Jack had finally been able to see him. The feeling of his father’s chest, broad and forever, solid as he’d curled his legs into his lap. His father cried softly as he explained what happened, what he’d done.

“Mommy isn’t coming home, buddy.”

Pinching his eyes shut, Jack rocks himself back and forth. He can’t go there. Not alone. He can’t go back to Foyet. He’s too old for those silly games. Too old for nightmares and monsters hiding under his bed. Unaware of the ones still crawling out of his father’s closet, wrapping their cold fingers around his ankle and threatening to pull him into the darkness with them.

You’re never too old for monsters.

Spencer had found the time to confide in Jack about being raised by a mentally ill single mother. His intent was to demonstrate to Jack that not only did he understand the pre-teens intense fury with his father but that the emotions would abate and Jack would have only a few moments to decide what to do next. How Spencer had turned eighteen and had to have his mother committed to an institution. A decision that haunted him but that he ultimately understood it was simply the only option. One day, Spencer clarified, Jack would understand the way his father worked.

Until that moment, Jack had been more or less paying attention. When it came to all things Uncle Spence, Jack typically has a longer attention span and all the patience in the world but the moment Jack realizes this was a one-on-one sort of deal he was done. He wanted out. But Reid stuttered. That one day, and the words had come out so quickly if he’d had a chance Reid would have stopped them, Jack would realize just what that meant. He’d look at his father and all the magic of his childish love would fall away and Jack would be left with his father’s bare bones. And it would be terrifying but, often, that’s all love is: all the bits bleached down to their true forms.

He gets it now, okay? The nutty academic parent with bouts of deep depression, an obsession with their jobs, and no idea how to say I love you like everyone else. He gets the comparison now. Can he be done? He wants to go home. He’s done learning this stupid lesson about love or whatever bullshit this is supposed to represent. When does it end? It’s going to end, right?

Derek Morgan falters in the doorway, stalled like an engine as he stands at the edge of the messy room. Hank hums in Derek’s left ear, bouncing his foot against Derek’s hip as he stands stationary and trying to wrap his head around everything happening. It’s overwhelming. Derek hasn’t seen Hotch in two years and if the sight of him alone - laid out right here - doesn’t bring its own intense wave of anger and longing then the sight of his uncovered chest is it’s own thing as well.

Hotch is on the bed, curled slightly to his right with the blankets leaving his pale chilled skin open. Even with his face turned into the pillow behind his head, he looks deathly pale in comparison to the white bedspread. Entirely too limp, too still as he lays there pulling in breaths audible over the hiss of the canal running under his nose. Nearly drowned out, consumed by the natural hums of the hospital and constant motion of the monitors to his left and the dissatisfied beep of the blood-pressure cuff around his right arm.

Savannah warned him of what he’d find once he got inside in case she got called away to a patient when he got there. She told him the buzz around the staff, what Hotch’s cardiologist thought and it stung to hear her warn him ahead of time what Hotch looked like, worse, she imagined, than what Derek was imaging. Weaker, she’d said as if the word was some sort of betrayal. He’s weak and Derek can’t push him and he’d wanted to advocate for himself but he couldn’t.

With tears in his eyes, he’d promised to be on his best behavior and Derek realized just how awful he and Hotch could be towards one another. How everyone sees it. He’d wondered if… Well, if Hotch hated him for it. They’d been close once. Partners. Haley used to joke she half expected he’d steal Aaron away from her. That old joke used to make Jason laugh so hard, the two of them together were the cause of all his worry and stress. Now…

Well, now Derek is standing in a room that can’t be more than a 120-foot space with far too much equipment in it feeling like he’s never been so far away from Hotch. So disconnected.

Hotch makes a soft sound from the bed, twitching his nose and flexing his fingers. There are more drugs than blood in him, keeping him weak and tired and unable to pick apart his surroundings. Hazy eyes blink open, peeled apart like they each weigh twenty pounds, and the simple act of keeping them open burns. He can’t make out the world around him very well but he sees the empty chairs on his left and the expanse of white all around. The hospital, he knows, and no one showed up.

Maybe they finally got wise and are leaving him to his own devices. Leaving him to rot where he won’t be missed. Sinking into the fibers of the bed and disappearing. They’ll stop pumping him so full of drugs and just let him wilt away. He wants it, craves the nothing he knows he’ll find. No masks or deception or this anger he feels burning and rearing its ugly head. Just nothing.

Derek steps into the room, sniffling to draw in some noise before he steps into Hotch’s line of sight. Hoping not to startle him, as he clears his throat, meeting Hotch’s gaze for only a moment looking down at his shoes. “Just me and Hank,” he offers. He tucks his hands into his pockets. He can feel Hotch still looking at him, hearing those painstakingly slow, labored breaths. He wishes he hadn’t come. To escape all this restless vulnerability.

Hotch’s eyes sink back shut, pale lips parting to mumbling, “Derek,” under his breath. Savannah told him Hotch wouldn’t even likely know he was there. The drugs are affecting his mental facilities, sedating him to keep him calm while they run tests. When he can remember what’s happening he’s scared and when he can’t… he has a baseline memory that hardly differentiates friend from foe. It’s the latter of which Savannah needs him to be aware of because Hotch’s heart can’t handle the stress. His mind is too clouded and his body too weak, he just needs someone to hold his hand. Someone to distract him.

Derek’s expecting a conversation. For Hotch to say something. To apologize for running off or to pay Hank some sort of mind. There’s not even a stiff silence, Hotch looks so weak, so pliant Derek isn’t sure he can even speak. He realizes that despite all the hefty warnings, despite everything that he was told he still walked into this room expecting Aaron Hotchner. He wanted, he needed the man in the suit, with that stern scowl, and gravelly voice. He’d needed the mask and instead he got the man. The man without the armor, just blood.

And it scares him.

It scares Derek that Hotch can’t put up his shields, that he can’t hide and play their cat and mouse game of anger and misunderstanding. They only have blind defeat.

Derek sits down in the visitor’s chair, shushing Hank when he squirms with agitation. Hank immediately starts touching everything in sight. Reaching and leaning dangerously out of Morgan’s lap, to touch the bed and smack his hand against the rail. A sound that makes Hotch’s eyes peel open to slivers before they shut again, unbothered. “Don’t touch that,” Derek pulls Hank into his lap, redirecting his attention.

He knows, from the low whine Hank lets out, that this isn’t going to work for very long. Mercifully, there’s a knock at the door and Savannah peeks her head in. Waving at Hank who fights his limbs out of Derek’s hold to be placed on the floor so he can propel his body in the direction of his mother.

“Hello baby,” Savannah scoops him right up. Grinning at that way he toddles, that quick toddler pace because he doesn’t know how to pump the brakes. How to set himself into motion that isn’t just guided by leaning forward and running.

Derek stands from his chair, clearing his throat and glancing down at Hotch before looking back to his wife and son.

Savannah can see his hesitation, his worry. “Why don’t we go to the cafeteria and get a snack? Hmm?” She jogs Hank up in her arms and he brightens at the offering - knowing pudding or a cookie is coming his way. “Derek?” She offers out her hand to him, “come on. I’ll explain everything to you downstairs.”

“Ugh--” all he can see is Hotch shivering. His skin slick with sweat from the strain on his body but the way he’s curled into the side. Trying to produce warmth where it isn’t. “Just give me a second.” Derek knows he can’t just throw the blanket over Hotch and he works himself up, gets upset just thinking about the mass of awful scars keeping his friend held together. All the old scars are bare for anyone and everyone to see. If Hotch had the presence of mind for it, he’d be upset.

With a gentleness born with great amounts of stress, Derek gently works the lower half of the blanket over Hotch’s leg. He folds the lower half over and hesitates, stares at Hotch, and wonders just how much he’s allowed. Hotch is cold and Derek knows that means his arms too but that crosses their line. They’re never spoken out loud, only shot through glances about trust and touch but Hotch is asleep or maybe lost to his haze of drugs (and Derek’s not really sure if there’s a difference between those two things). So, he picks up Hotch’s hand, swallowing against the uncomfortable swell of his throat when he feels just how cold the other man’s skin is. He tucks Hotch’s hand carefully against his chest.

Hotch’s face twitches, a grimace that makes him jerk his head but he doesn’t move his hand so Derek leaves it. Carefully, still watching and waiting for some explosive reaction but none come. Derek turns the heated blanket up to the highest setting, making sure even Hotch’s shoulders are covered. Tucking the blanket just under his chin.

Hotch groans from the back of his throat, a startling noise that comes with blinding panic. His eyes fly open, darting around the room and to Derek but not seeing. Derek can’t tell if it’s pain or fear but the machine over his shoulder picks up pace, reflecting Hotch’s distress. Hotch swallows thickly, mouth opening and eyes flicking around the room. Twisting, fighting his body in a futile battle where he loses no matter the outcome. Kicking out and dislodging blankets as he’s blinded by his pain.

“Step back Derek.” Derek just stands there, frozen. Savannah grabs him by the arm and pulls him back, allowing other people to come into the room. “He’s okay,” she mumbles, eyes glued to Hotch. He’s fighting blindly, anything and everything. His heart can’t take it, her eyes flick from his bare skin to the monitors. To the staff also taking note. “Derek, we can’t be in here.”

They pull the crash cart close, preparing vials of medicine before their eyes.

“What’re they--” Derek can’t move. He stands there watching them move blankets out of the way. Listening as they pull open a drawer and settle a machine on top and he knows what it is. Doesn’t need to be told what’s happening next. “Savannah.” He stumbles back, shaking his head. The machine wines, a high-pitched squeal that makes Derek’s heart pick up.

He doesn’t see, doesn’t watch.

He’s standing in the hall when the machine fires off. Can close his eyes but can’t unhear the sound of Hotch’s low groan, a punched-out sound but he’s alive. Still pulling in breaths.

“Morgan?”

He was still a baby the last time Morgan saw him. Quickly trying to climb to his father’s height but every bit as graceful as a colt, and angry. Angry with his father for falling into this same repeated history and questioning what he knew. How much of his father’s strength is something else? What does he really know about the man who raised him? Because he got himself a chunk of history, started to understand the man he’d always blindly turned to. His hero. Instead, he got glimpses, stories about the boy his mother knew and he could no longer recognize him.

But standing here now is a whole teenager. Blonde hair grown out and even taller, built unmistakably like his father with all height in his legs and pale.

“Jack.” Morgan stumbles back when Jack collides into him, long arms wrapping around him. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “When the hell did you get so big?” He’s standing there, a whole armful of the kid he used to give piggyback rides to.

Jack pulls away and wipes his eyes, furiously wipes his eyes so that Morgan can unsee the tears streaming down his face. “My-- My dad,” he asks. “Did you see him?” Jack looks at the room, alerted by the sounds coming from within, but Morgan steps in the way. “Morgan is he-- is he in there?” Jack worms his way out of Morgan’s arms, a whole tangle of long limbs.

Hotch would be proud to know Jack is exactly like him, real scrappy. A lot of fight for such a lanky person.

“Jack,” Morgan pulls him away from the door. Despite how much he wants to go to Hotch too, that’s not where Jack should be. That’s not what Jack should see. “Come on, kid. We can’t go in there. Come on.” The fight leaves him easily enough, he’s really just a kid standing there looking for someone to tell him what to do. Anyone to point him where he’s supposed to be.

Jack still wants to turn, as if pulled by strings.

“I called Rossi,” Morgan offers. Something to distract him, something good. “Everyone else? Reid and Garcia and Emily? They’re on their way, okay?” And even with loaded promises Jack can’t find the nerve to respond. Their names used to be a solace. Someone to call when he needs help with his math homework. To show up with books on whatever cool thing he’s into this week. His family.

People he hasn’t seen in forever.

They do come.

Hank’s ambling about, babbling to Morgan as he pulls his father around the waiting room. It’s his excited squeal that alerts them to the other’s arrival. To Reid holding the door open so the others can pass. The pile-up that happens, shocked inhales and silence as they stand there and look at the carnage. At Jack’s tear-stained face and Morgan going where Hank pulls but empty, fearful.

“Uncle Dave?” Jack stands up, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

Dave smiles, “hey kiddo.” He doesn’t argue against the armful of Jack he gets, just closes him up. “Christ,” Dave whispers. “You’re a giant.”

“What is he feeding you?” Jack turns around and finds Emily and all she can do is laugh as he hugs her too. Finds herself all wrapped up in his long arms. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” she whispers, “letting you get so big.” She squeezes him tight, cups the back of his head.

There’s not much more time for reunions, never much time for anything.

“Aaron Hotchner?”

Never get used to this part either. The sitting. The waiting. The calling.

Savannah was right about the tachycardia.

“With your permission - ” and it’s important that detail be added. That Hotch can’t make this decision for himself anymore and it’s resting entirely on the shoulders of Jessica or Dave and Emily alternatively. That doesn’t mean it’s not like a kick to the gut. A cruel taunt. “We would like to prepare him for the surgery now while he’s stable.” Stable? Is that what he is? Laying back there with defibrillator pads on his chest and sedated to the point that Morgan wasn’t sure Hotch could even recognize him.

Jack sniffles, ducking his head and whispering to Emily. Attached to her hip, clinging to her. She shakes her head and brushes his hair back, “it doesn’t work like that, Jack.” Jack’s lower lip trembles and it breaks Emily’s heart so she interrupts the doctors. Despite the voice at the back of her head telling her this isn’t a good idea. Despite the sour twist in her stomach. The way she knows Hotch wouldn’t want this. “I know there are strict rules,” and that alone should be enough to know they’re likely to be shot down. “Is there any chance he can go back before the surgery? This is his son, he’s fifteen. He’ll be sixteen soon. You’re hardly breaking the rules at all.”

Soon is a bit of a stretch. Jack’s an October baby.

The doctor looks at Jack and sighs like this is really putting him off but nods. “Yeah, quickly. Five minutes, do you understand? You can’t be back there long,”

And Jack thinks he’s won something grand. That he’ll be faced with the same mirage Morgan was expecting. His dad will be sitting back there tall and strong, probably just tired like he’s sick. But he takes one step into the room and wishes he hadn’t come. Hadn’t asked.

They haven’t removed the defibrillator pads on his chest just pulled a blanket over his stomach but that only minimally covers the damage. There are still visibly warped bullet wounds and jagged surgical scars to be seen. But Dave has seen all that. He’d been there to watch the blood spray out when the scar on Hotch’s shoulder took place. Shouted as the gunshot sprayed out and Hotch grunted, being sent back into the wall behind him. But that was… God, that was a lifetime ago when Hotch was just a kid.

Dave turns behind him and sees Jack frozen in the doorway, eyes wide. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Jack nods but he can hardly move, can’t force himself to move further into the room. He’s seen his father shirtless, not enough times to really gather anything but he’s seen the damage of years of this job has caused. But this is different. Jack isn’t six, isn’t watching him shave. He’s standing there watching him pull in laborious breaths, struggling to keep living.

“You know,” Rossi sits down in the visitor’s chair. “When you were born he cried so hard that Gideon had to call me.” He looks back at Jack, watching his face for some inclination that he’s going to either come into the room or run away. “Haley was exhausted but… She was beautiful, always was. No matter if she was showing up at the office to haul your father home by the ear in her pajamas or crying her make-up off in the waiting room waiting for your knucklehead father to get out of surgery.”

But he’s missed the point.

He chances a glance to Hotch, watching his pale face twist in discomfort. “You were born at eleven at night and by that point I was already in bed and done for the night by ten kind of guy.” He can still remember sighing and almost ignoring his phone when it had gone off. “I got to the hospital and your dad was sitting on the floor just outside the room, sobbing so hard I thought he’d pass out.” It’s still pretty surprising he didn’t pass out. “Didn’t think he could do it. You were so small, small, and pink and screaming your little head off.”

Jack huffs, smiling as he kicks at the ground. Looking everywhere but his father or Dave.

“But I picked him up,” grabbed him by his shirt and forced him to his feet. Managing the tough love Gideon couldn’t bring himself to enforce. “I don’t think he stopped crying until he fell asleep. Just sitting there with you in his arms crying.” Rossi sighs shakes his head. “Honestly, you were tiny. Had a-- Had a thing with your heart and…” Rossi had held Jack after Hotch and Haley finally managed to catch some sleep. A nurse had figured he or Gideon one had to be a grandfather, why else would they be there? They’d sat there with Jack for about an hour just gushing over how small and cute he was. Trying to keep the baby content so Haley could get some sleep.

Drowsily his voice cuts through the silence, nothing but a ghost of a whisper. “An atrial septal defect.” It’s all he can manage but it’s enough to get their attention. Jack had been born with an atrial septal defect and they knew about it in advance just after Haley’s pregnancy got tricky. It was just a tiny little hole in his atrium, closed before he was a whole year old. That doesn’t mean it didn’t scare the hell out of them first. Leave them to check his bassinet every few hours. To make sure he was okay, still breathing.

“The doctor said I shouldn’t play soccer because of it.” Jack manages a few steps and comes to the very end of the bed. His fingers just barely touching the bed frame. “But you let me play anyways.”

Hotch clears his throat, shakes his head. “I didn’t. Jessica did.” He grimaces, shifting uselessly to find a position that doesn’t hurt. “Said-- She said if you were anything like me you’d find a way.” He’s talked himself breathless, gasping and fighting to breathe. “Might as well-- Might as well make it easy on myself. Just let you do it.” So he had. He signed Jack up for soccer despite his own fears and went to every match he could. Every practice. Until he was the only parent paying attention.

He coughs softly, setting off a weight and ache in his lungs. “Jessica--” he cuts himself off, coughing until he holds his breath and fists the sheets in his hand to keep from still.

Jack looks away, fixes his eyes on the floor.

Dave calls it. Hotch won’t admit he’s not okay and Dave would venture Jack has that same stubborn-streak, doesn’t want to think that Hotch isn’t okay.

“Come on,” Dave motions for Jack to follow him. “Times up, better get out of here before they kick us out.” Five or so minutes, that’s all they had and that’s passed. “You’ll be fine,” Dave promises.

He struggles to get his breath, to say something coherent. “Wait,” he grabs Dave’s shirt. Hospitals are so cold, they’re scary and miserable and he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to go home. “I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’m sorry.”

Dave pulls Jack on, can’t leave him behind, and can’t stay any longer.

“What did he mean?” Jack asks. He keeps looking back, looking over his shoulder to the room. “Why’d he say that?” He has to run to keep up with Dave’s pace. “Dave, please. Why’d he say he was sorry?”

Dave stops and just stands for a moment, looking at the hall before them. “He’s scared,” Dave answers, finally. “He’s just scared, that’s all.”

He doesn't think he’s going to make it. That’s the horrible ugly truth. That’s why he apologized. Just in case.

“Come on,” Dave holds out his arm. Smiles a smile that doesn't even try to make it to his eyes and wraps an arm around Jack. “It’s going to be okay. You know that?”

Jack looks back over his shoulder once more, to the room. He doesn’t buy it for a second but he nods anyway. “Course,” he answers.

“Good. That’s good.”

[favoniuscodex]

lol yeah, new anon, this one is my third ask I've sent but i scrolled through your account for awhile and your writing is lovely, and the interactions tend to have immaculate vibes, so i figured I'd stick around lol-

but also- i just came up with the flower thing- and as with most things my head comes up with- it has spiraled- and i drove myself into brainrot as well- but also, feel free to delete this ask if you want cuz i can imagine having to respond to as many asks as you have could get easily overwhelming.

but the possibilities for this are so wonderful- (tho most of the ideas ive had are around Kaeya cuz while Diluc is soft af, Kaeya would probably be a lot more casual with it... also i realized Venti would probably know it too because y'kno- he was there)

. Kaeya just having the most insulting, passive aggressive flowers for whenever people try to hit on him at the tavern. Like someone thinking they actually have a chance with him a Kaeya just does that one coy look(he has many but- y'know) and hands the person a fucking butterfly weed and Diluc is just staring in second had embarrassment because the person doesn't even realize what it means and its just- sad to watch

. also imagine you're not yet dating Diluc so you make the mistake of going to Kaeya to ask for advise because 'hey, he knows flower stuff too' and then it'll have more meaning and stuff- but Kaeya just totally messes with it and in the end you're left with this arrangement that means just- the dumbest fucking shit . and you go to give it to Diluc and he just stares at it for a solid minute processing because 1) this is his crush 2) he's still processing the meaning 3) this has Kaeya written all over it and 4) he realizes how much thought you would have to have put into it to go this far- and he just doesn't know whether to explain to you what happened or just accept it and spare you any embarrassment or regret in the present

. OKAY BUT- my angst-loving ass can't-

. you know the "Mi muhe ye' means i love you in the language of the hilichurls" thing- there's no way it ended at that. And Venti probably can't talk outright about Khaenri'ah bc of Celestia stuff but just trying his best to apologize through his by now rusty knowledge of flowers only to receive further more (honestly probably justified) passive aggressive arrangements.

. also- can we take a moment to appreciate just how beautifully meaningful the arrangements by Crepus's grave would be.... not only because of the meanings of the flowers they placed for him, but also because there's no way these two would disturb Crepus's grave with brotherly quarrels and as a result it's one of the few, if not the only places, where they're able to communicate with each other without hostility- tho neither ever brings it up in person.

like please- there's literally so much stuff that could go down with these three possessing this knowledge and its wonderful

- Dad joke Diluc Anon

omg don’t apologize — brainrot asks are actually really easy 4 me to respond to! i don’t get a lot of them tbh and they’re my fave to interact w/ !!! also all of this is *chef’s kiss* mwah !!! amazing !!! ur brain is immaculate, nonnie ! i’m glad u wanna stick around, the blog is always open to new recurring anons haha.

additional response utc !

kaeya exchanging flowers for drinks at the tavern, but the flowers he gives out are all insults to the people annoying enough to want to try to buy his love with alcohol!

kaeya also giving you bad flower advice when you’re making a bouquet for diluc because 1. he sees it as an opportunity to mess with diluc and 2. jealousy perhaps?

if diluc gets the botched bouquet, he’d probably just plaster on his typical poker face and be like “this is great, thanks.” but then lecture kaeya about it later because you’re his crush and diluc doesn’t want kaeya messing that up by scaring you off by meddling

venti definitely knows the meaning of flowers. after all, he is the archon of a nation that pretty much has a spring holiday centered on flowers. his favorites are cecilias, but iirc he has ever native mondstadt flower somewhere on his outfit? or at least details reminiscent of them. however, if you expand past the realm of mondstadt’s flowers, he’s kind of at a loss.

kaeya doesn’t care for any of venti’s dumb apology flowers and just sends back the meanest flowers ever. even includes a little notecard with a >:( face drawn on it.

every year, diluc decides to smother his father’s grave in the most beautiful flower arrangements on the anniversary of his death. sure, he always ensures that a beautiful bouquet is there, but on the anniversary date, diluc ensures that there are even more flowers. he overlooks any flowers kaeya might have added as well, trying to ignore the subtle regret it instills within him. diluc tries his best to forget that he and kaeya were brothers, but the flowers make it hard. the flowers are a reminder that that day, they both lost their dad :(

[mothfishing]

5, 7, 8!

5. favorite little detail in a drawing you did

hmmmm definitely all the little patterns in this art! which were in fact the real reason i drew it at all - that sketch had been sitting around since january and might never have been completely, but i wanted to draw vvvvv this sort of thing and figured that sketch would be a good place to!

poor herrah and monomon got abstracted such that theyre unrecognizable (was too small lol) but my favorite patterns is probably the chains lined in dreamer masks

7. most popular drawing

LOL IT'S THIS RALSEI AND SUSIE DOODLE which is super funny to me cause it's literally a rushed doodle with a ton of mistakes that i just drew to show friends a funny idea i had. and i posted it cause why not and now it's literally in the top 3 of most notes art ive drawn has ever gotten (on tumblr anyway)

8. underrated drawing you did

hmmm i dunno! i don't really draw with the expectation that a lot of people will like it, and most of the time im pleasantly surprised by how many people liked a drawing i considered niche and done only for my own benefit =) especially because i kind of use my own art accounts as an archive, lol, as im fairly bad about saving art. so really, how much other people (who im not personal friends with, or recipients of a gift) like my art is rarely on my mind

[timextoxhajima]

HOSTIS, Chapter IV: Vetiti Fructus In, The Forbidden Fruit

Previous Chapter (III: Aemulatio)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz)

Genre (by chapter): angst, drama, comedy

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

“why am i always one step behind you?”

the black rim of the file glistens under the light hanging above the table on your left. translucent curtains were drawn behind and next the the oversized L-shaped couch you were laying on, legs stretched out and laptop sitting on a cushion on your lap. 

the white table was strewn about with freshly printed sheets of data and research you managed to collect in the last week. 

it was day seven of your ten days being mentored by doctor choi. the welcome-party was to be held at the end of the month, not the coming weekend. 

something about the team that was responsible for handling newcomers not being able to host it because everybody was busy... something along those lines.

you didn’t bother noting the reason for a delayed party when the more pressing issue was getting that research file out to doctor kim before lee hyunjae did, and with better content. 

throwing your head back against the pillows, your eyes naturally travel along the ceiling to the glass doors beyond the sofa, lining parallel to your position. the faint dots in the sky above takes you back to the first time you went stargazing with your father. 

you remember your mother didn’t go because she was too busy. 

the brain-juicing brightness off the laptop screen starts to yank on your attention, and you sigh at the sight of the word ‘oncology’. you already did the research online and whatever doctor kim had provided you, and it wasn’t too difficult a task to imagine that lucifer probably had the same type of content written down for that last section as well. 

the frustration empties itself from your chest in the form of a loud groan while your fingers travel to your forehead. 

the only thing left to do was this stupid oncology section, but how were you going to outdo lee hyunjae? sure, the rest of the research report would already be different; every pocket of free time you found in between your rounds with doctor choi, you were working on it. lee hyunjae was nowhere to be found either during those free periods, so what else would he be doing besides filling up the research report?

there was no more room for your own research and understanding of oncology to beat him. you were a neurologist after all, not an oncologist. 

why did doctor kim even include the oncology section when he knew it was going to be difficult for me to get the information?

“arghhhhhhh--” your vision flashes white for a split second at the sudden sitting up, and you place your laptop down off the cushion. the rug covering the living room floor brings comfort to your toes as you stood up and ran your fingers through your hair. 

the painful, but satisfying memory of what happened pre-med school starts to roll in your head like an old VHS tape. the look in lucifer’s eyes when you had him against the locker, the only thing stopping you from driving a test tube down his throat were the long arms of law. 

otherwise, it was sweet, almost diabetic, to watch him crumble and lose to you despite him being the fire starter. 

but then again, you lost the first boy you ever loved because of lee hyunjae. 

you couldn’t even convince yourself that you won.

the VHS tape in your head starts to burn and disintegrate into ashes while the nostalgic fire lights up in your chest, and the thought of losing to him four years ago made you want to get that oncology section done.

your inner ares picks up the file and flips to the last page where the word ‘oncology’ was printed in big, block letters at the top, followed by a bunch of details and information with hypothetical questions listed down. 

the left brow on your face twitches and the muscle movement felt so eerily detached from you, a surge of unstoppable desire erupting inside you like mount vesuvius in 79 AD. 

if you could possess a single power right now, it’ll be pyrokinesis. 

~

the light shining into your office was so bright and warm, it would’ve been a crime not to talk a walk outside. 

you would’ve, but not today. 

lucifer’s office door opens and closes and you notice him heading off in the direction of the washroom, and your peripheral vision captures the oncology page of the hospital website on the computer screen. 

after waiting it out for a safe period of time, you adjust the white coat to hide the color of your breast pocket (where the color differentiated which department you were in) and shoved the staff ID card down the back pocket of your jeans. you grab your file, phone in hand and the gears in your head start to churn out some smart excuse in case anybody were to question why you, a newcomer, looked like you were about to go for a meeting. 

you head for the lift, fingers dancing around while you searched for the floor that connected the east wing over to the north. 

you were already beginning to recite that excuse you built in your head in case doctor kim runs into you while you were walking through the north wing. 

but zeus must’ve decided that one half of his sons deserved some love today, for you run into zero staff who didn’t pay attention to the absence of your staff ID around your neck.

your eyes follow the signs to the west wing, and that was where you started to notice people you really haven’t seen before. 

the atmosphere changed once you got to the office level where all the oncology doctors would be, and most of the staff looked like they had been working without a wink of sleep. 

your vision and attention start to dart around the hallways and doors, trying to look for a name tag on a door that said ‘shin ga hyun’ or something along the lines of oncology research archi--

there we go.

the words ‘research facility’ printed in block letters on the door of the room looked like the word ‘victory’ in another language, and you could only thank zeus for being so kind to you today. 

the lab coat on you and the file case you were holding was enough to prove that you were a staff here, so even if shin ga hyun were to find out you were in her wing, there was nothing she could do about it besides get mad at you for “losing your way while searching for research content”.

the staff ID card slides out from your jeans so you could give yourself access to the dark room, and you notice the only view in was through the little window on the door itself. 

once the door was open, your first step was to get it closed, regardless of whether your eyes could adjust to the orientation of the room. 

relief floods through you, and you quickly wonder why you were so scared of something that wasn’t even illegal. 

a small snort runs through your nose at the thought that you were scared, because frankly, there wasn’t much that could scare you anymore. maybe sometimes, just sometimes, the only thing that could scare you was yourself.

the scent of old paper and files fill your nostrils with every drawer and cabinet you opened, and you start searching for documents with information to grant you access to the oncology database, but not one single sheet of paper satiates your thirst to win. 

your heart was already zipping back and forth in your chest, and the emptiness of the room only reminds you that anybody could come in anytime. your eyes look around the dimly lit room and you note the gap between the lockers behind the desk and the wall where you could run and hide in case someone came in--

“...yes, ga hyun, everything regarding the department’s database have been shifted to your office.”

the pupils on your eyeballs shrink in a second and something similar to a heart attack tears through your chest at the name. the footsteps halt right outside the door and you close the drawer with such calculated strength to prevent yourself from slamming it shut. your heels turn towards the corner and it takes you three incredibly large steps to get you there.

but everything happened so fast that you didn’t even register the fact that you got pulled into that little corner. 

you would’ve rammed your knee so high up this man’s groin if he wasn’t going to scream like a fucking baby if you did. 

“what the fuck are you doing here?!” he mouths angrily at you, ears red and cheeks flushed with fear when the door of the room clicks open. 

“are you sure everything related to the database has been cleared out this room?” shin ga hyun sounded like she’d slit your throat and show no signs of remorse.

“what do you think?!” this silent conversation was going to warrant you a reason to punch him in the face later.

“yes, doctor shin,” the second voice sounded so dead and unbothered, you imagine it had to be someone of a more senior position than shin ga hyun for her to talk to the department head like that. “there may be a few stray sheets here and there but if they weren’t filed properly in the first place, then it’s highly likely they weren’t too important.”

“don’t fucking touch me!” his arm brushes against your shoulder and if you could scream, it would’ve deafened him.

“if you hadn’t come in, we wouldn’t be stuck in this shitty little gap!” 

your eyes widen at his sudden stoppage of mouthing, and you could hear the little breaths coming out after every consonant. 

“will you shut the fuck up?!”

“so you mean to tell me that there is a slight possibility that an important sheet of paper regarding our database is sitting around somewhere inside this room?”

“how can i shut up when i’m stuck in this godforsaken space with you?! i don’t even want to fucking breathe the same air as you!”

oh my fucking god, will he fucking shut his trap-- we are going to get caught--

“oh, my god,” an exasperated sigh fills the room. “ga hyun, you really need to take a chill pill.”

“don’t tell me to ‘take a chill pill’--”

“if you didn’t walk in here like you owned the fucking place, i wouldn’t have touched you!”

your index finger flies up to your lips and you beg him to shut up with your eyes.

but this piece of dumbshit-doctor doesn’t fucking get it--

you had a victory to claim, and you were not going to let him take that away from you. 

the ares inside you wraps your fingers around his face and shoves your lips between his, but your eyes were still wide open, looking out at the glass on the cabinet on the other side of the room to see a taller female trying to drag a shorter female out of the office. 

“you need to take a chill pill. the entire hospital is scared of you, honey. don’t you want to amend that?”

the scanner beeps, and the door clicks open. 

“if nobody’s done anything wrong then there’s no reason for them to be scared of me.”

“fair, but you need to start wearing a smile on your face more often!” the door hisses shut, and the footsteps start to move away. “i’ll get someone to check the database stuff for you then...”

ares leaves your body and your soul gets sucked back into its rightful place, and you don’t think you’ve shoved anyone, or anything for that matter, faster than you shoved lucifer off your face.

wincing in disgust, the back of your hand wipes the corner of your lips as a frown hardens on your forehead, and lucifer was busy sticking out his tongue like he had just eaten something spicy.

“son of a bitch,” the hiss seethes through your teeth as you walk out from the gap, deliberately running your shoulder against his left arm. “don’t you ever assume that i would let the thinnest strand of hair on my body touch you.”

the wrath and rage drips off your tongue like saliva while you walked, turning your head and looking over your shoulder to glare at lee hyunjae. 

“and don’t you ever fucking kiss me again!”

your staff card was barely inches away from the scanner when the words start to eat at your ego. 

“for your fucking information, i did not want my lips to be on yours,” you take two big steps to him who was walking towards you in a fit. “someone just didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

his breath was hitting your cheek rapidly, and you jab your tongue against the inside of your cheek, trying to claw your way through his self-proclaimed glare that he probably thinks scares you off. 

your suck your lips between your teeth and scrunch up your nose with effort, your right hand instinctively deciding that it was a good idea to shove him backwards before you left the room. 

throwing yourself into your own leather seat in your office and the beads of sweat on your forehead coming off onto a tissue, your eyes plaster themselves to the ceiling. 

mission failed.

not only that,

i had to kiss this motherfucking son of a bitch to shut his fucking ass up.

the tissue gets crumpled in your grasp at the thought of underestimating him, and you hurl the lightweight ball barely a metre away from you. 

doctor choi brings you on his final round for the day, and happiness was as simple as finding out that lucifer had been called to handle some boring admin work by the hospital administration because he screwed up somewhere in the system. 

the round was longer than expected, with one of doctor choi’s alzheimer’s patients talking to you about his childhood. doctor choi tries to steer you clear of the patient, worried that you were uncomfortable. but the stories he was telling you brought you back to a time when your parents were still pretty prominent in your life. doctor choi just leaves you with him until the nurses bring around his medicine as a distraction, providing you with a chance to leave before the patient keeps you for the night.

the evening sun paints the floor a tangerine shade, through the glass doors of the offices. and in your hand was the black file with such reluctance and bitterness that you wish you didn’t agree to this whole research department thing in the first place.

most of the research department officers and doctors had evening duties to tend to before they left, so it was pretty quiet and desolate once you reached doctor kim’s desk with the idea of submitting the research report. 

yet the sight of the blue file strikes up a flame of confusion and suspicion. laying down your black file, your fingerpads brush over the cover of the blue one, and ares returns to whisper seductive motivations in your ear. 

you run through the pages, not surprised that most of the data was different from yours, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the five-thousand-word-long report behind the oncology cover sheet. 

motherfucker.

he must’ve found one of those ‘stray sheets’ for the database while he was snooping in the room. 

red bursts of revenge and hatred start to rush through your veins, and you pull apart the rings of the file to remove the ridiculously long report. 

the papers were messily stuffed into your work case and you return the file back to its original position, in time for doctor kim to return to his cubicle.

“ah, i was waiting to see if you were going to submit it today!” he gleams at you, and his warm, elderly aura comforts you, peeling you away from the horrible deed you just carried out. 

“well, yeah... but i have to confess, i didn’t do much for the oncology report at the back.”

“i was already expecting that after i warned you about doctor shin! but nevermind that, i look forward to reading your report.”

“oh but, uh...” you rub the back of your neck. “have you looked through doctor lee’s? it looks pretty thick.”

doctor kim’s palm finds the two files and he shakes his head. “oh, nope. he just gave me this wide smile and told me to read his file like i was reading a book. his confidence is really something else.”

oh, thank god.

“i see,” the sugary taste of satisfaction rubs itself into your taste buds. “i hope we didn’t let you down, doctor kim. we really worked hard on it.”

the smile doesn’t leave his face, and he only gives you a small pat on the shoulder. “i will look forward to reading both reports.” he nods, and you take your cue to bow and bid goodbye. 

~

your living room was barely lit up with the only source of light being the one from the kitchen, and the gentle chirps of crickets outside were muffled through the sliding doors of your living room.

the wine in your glass was practically frolicking about with your little dance of triumph of the day. though part of the reason why you were drinking wine was to force yourself to forget that you kissed lucifer -- ew --, you were also drinking to celebrate. 

“well,” you pout at the little cactus that sat in the middle of the table in your living room. “he should thank me for removing it. doctor kim could figure out that he only got the information from snooping into the oncology department and he could get trouble for it.”

talking to yourself wasn’t a daily routine, but you just couldn’t resist the temptation of convincing yourself that you did nothing wrong. 

which in fact, you did not. 

but the competitiveness seeps through your bones and makes your stomach churn with regret and displeasure again, when the realisation sinks into your head. 

why am i always one step behind you?

with a contorted look of discontentment staring back at you in the reflection of the wine glass, you lift the rim to your lips and down the rest of it like they were shots. 

“i should’ve known he was going to do it,” the wine bottle calls out to you like a siren, and your fingers wrap around the cool, glass surface. “if i did it sooner, i might’ve gotten the fucking database information--”

knock knock

you berate zeus for sending a visitor at such a shitty time, throwing your head backwards and squeezing your eyes shut. 

knock knock knock knock knock knock

“ugh, mom! i told you not to visit me on a weekday!” the release of the wine bottle only fills your stomach with disappointment as you trudged towards the door. 

with enough frustration to fuel your grip around the handle, you yank the heavy door open.

“mom, what are you-- oh.” 

shit.

flares of aching poison start to pierce their way into your eyes upon the eye contact, and your knuckles whiten with the tightening grip on the handle of your door. 

“you’re gonna wish it was your mom, alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter V: Monitum

[mistymark]

VIGILANTE/S IV

part four // 2.8k words // superpowered!au // (sort of) gang!au // series masterlist

summary; in which you consider yourself somewhat of a vigilante.

warnings; swearing, mentions of death, weapons and killing, gang shit really 

notes; this fic is now 10k words and that's a personal record so damn

“I hear training was a success,” Doyoung says when he returns from Jaehyun’s ‘errand’.

You roll your eyes, your jaw set. You don’t look at him, focusing instead on the camera footage Mark had given you to watch. A notepad sat in your lap as you sat cross-legged on your bed, the computer in front of you. The footage was over 12 hours long, showing only a large gate leading to an estate that looked to be the size of a museum. The leader of the Red Crown lived there, you knew, and you were supposed to watch and record who was entering and exiting through the gate during the 12-hour time period.

“I’m being serious.” You finally look over at Doyoung, standing in the doorway, and the expression on his face almost resembles pride. He’s never been anything but serious, but he seems more playful now. “You beat Johnny.”

“He beat me about fifty times,” you deadpan, giving him a pointed look before shifting your attention back to your notepad. Doyoung walks in and looks around the room, as if it’s his first time seeing it – like it would help him understand you.

“What was your time?” He asks, his back to you.

“Fifteen twenty?” The worst fifteen minutes and twenty seconds of your life, probably. He looks at you, and for a moment you can’t read the expression on his face.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, but doesn’t say anything. Briefly turning his attention away from you, he stops to look at the drawings and photos attached to the wall, his face stoic again. He’s looking at the detailed sketches of weapons  – disturbingly realistic, in your opinion – that adorn the wall by the door. The others were strangely anatomical – surprisingly accurate hand-drawn outlines of bodies were pinned against another bare wall. One had a skeleton, another vital organs, and one had the bloodstream mapped out beautifully. Hand-written notes were scribbled across the paper – you’d attempted to read them but the messy scrawl was illegible.

“What’s this?” When he turns around, you hold up one of the leather-bound journals you’d found on the bedside table. It was quite possibly the creepiest thing you’d ever read. One of the entries had just read, January 16th, tried knives again. Sixteen stab wounds. Mostly torso, though heart was avoided. Twelve hours exactly. Another, only two days later, was simply: January 18th, bullet between the eyes (removed). 6.4mm. Four hours.

You’d wondered if the owner was an interrogator like Doyoung – or just a torturer. Part of you was glad you hadn’t had the opportunity to meet him. From what it appeared, none of the others really missed him, either.

Doyoung furrows his eyebrows, “Don’t read that. It’s personal.”

“The guy’s dead.”

You’re unsure if Doyoung hears you, as he chooses to focus on the pictures on the walls once again. Your personal favourite was in the closet, attached to the inside of the door, otherwise hidden from sight. It was a mix of charcoal and red paint, barely resembling a face, but it felt more personal than the ones on the walls, tucked away in the closet where no one would see. It wasn’t nearly as detailed or clear as the other posters, and you had stared at it for almost two minutes before realising what it was.

“The first time Donghyuck fought Johnny, he didn’t even get a time.” Doyoung’s voice sounds far away as he recalls the memory. You wish he hadn’t blocked you from using his powers so that you could see whatever he was remembering.

“What about you?”

“About fifteen seconds.” He snorts at your expression. “Don’t be discouraged.” His attention suddenly moves to the door, and you follow his gaze, though nothing is there. With a nod, he leaves.

You’re left alone again, and you wonder what it is with these boys and never saying goodbye.

You’ve managed to speed up the footage just enough to make your task bearable but have to pause it when a familiar black van enters the shot. It’s identical to the one you’d seen at the Den on the night you met the team, but the number plate is different. This number plate is familiar in a different way. Unlike every other vehicle that had passed through the gates, the driver’s window does not slide down. No ID card is able to be captured.

You know exactly who it is – the only person who can enter the estate without having to show credentials. The Red Prince.

Even though the footage is far too grainy to make out anything in the mirrors, you swear you can see his reflection. Eyes that stare directly into the camera, as if he knows you’re watching. You wonder if he knows he’s being watched, that a group of Supers had managed to hack into his security system.

The gate slides open wide, and the eyes disappear. You shiver.

“Y/n?” You’re shaken from your thoughts when a voice calls you from the other side of your door.

“Come in!”

“Wow,” Mark offers you a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Donghyuck never lets me in his room.”

“Well-,” you shrug, then hesitate. You realise you have no idea what to say to him. At least, you don’t have anything to say that isn’t insensitive. Clearing your throat, you push your notepad to the side, “What’s up?”

“I, uh,” his eyes scan the walls, taking in the inside of the room, “Johnny needs the notes from the security footage by tonight. I thought I’d let you know.”

“Thanks, Mark.” You can feel how tight your smile is, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

He turns to leave, but just as the door’s about to close, he pops his head back inside the room, “Oh, by the way, don’t be worried about training today. Johnny was impressed.” He smiles. “Have a good night, y/n.”

It’s almost midnight by the time you get to the end of the footage. 14 vehicles entering, 10 leaving. And you know the licence plates and drivers of them all.

You feel uncomfortable watching the footage, being right at the gate but unable to enter. Your determination to get in there and take down the Red Crown is strong, frustration bubbling inside you. Everything they’re doing goes against what you believe in, and there’s something about your anger that makes you stand up and head to the kitchen. The walls of Jaehyun’s office are transparent again, and the light is on , even though you know he can’t see you, you freeze when his eyes snap up from his laptop.

It’s weird being unable to hear or see the other team members walking around, and the warehouse feels much emptier without them. Soft snoring makes you jump, and you smile at the sight of Jaemin passed out on a couch nearby, his breaths steady, though slightly too fast. Part of you was surprised by how fast he seemed to live his life, though he had told you he had to consciously slow himself down most of the time. “It’s like letting someone win in a race by running slower than them,” he’d explained. “You know you can go faster and beat them, but you don’t. Like constantly coming second place.”

“Does it get frustrating?” You’d asked.

“Almost unbelievably so,” he’d smiled at you, though you could see some inner turmoil behind his eyes.

When you’re filling a glass with water, Jaehyun steps out of his office, the door closing loudly, snapping you out of your thoughts. His feet are soft on the floor – you almost don’t hear him coming. “Can’t sleep?” He’s reaching for a mug on the shelf behind you, and you sidestep to move out of his way.

“I just needed to clear my head,” you swallow, and quickly take a drink of water as an excuse not to elaborate.

Jaehyun slides the mug under the coffee machine, and watches it whir to life. Only now can you read the words printed on the side, ‘World’s Greatest Boss’. You snort when you see it. He turns his head to look at you, and raises an eyebrow. There’s something different in the way he does it. Normally, when he does this, it’s questioning, analytical, intimidating. Now? You’d say it’s borderline flirtatious. It takes you a second to realise why it seems so different.

He’s standing in front of you, leaning over the counter top, waiting for his coffee – in sweatpants. He’s mindlessly biting the inside of his cheek, and you realise you’ve never noticed he has dimples. Probably because he never smiles.

“What?” He’s frowning slightly, but when he looks like this, it just looks cute. The furrow in his brow almost looks guarded, as if he’s worried you’re about to say something offensive.

“Uh,” you look down, collecting your thoughts, then a smile appears on your face. “Your mug, I-”

He looks down at it, and there’s the ghost of a smile on his face, “The first birthday present Johnny ever got me.”

“It’s…cute,” you say it more like a question than a compliment. A loud thud makes you both stand tall, staring into the darkness to make out any movement. There’s a quiet yawn, and the sound of retreating footsteps. You turn back to Jaehyun, and any emotion he’d displayed in the last two minutes was wiped from his face. His face is hard again, and he looks more like the man you’d seen earlier. He looks older, authoritative. “I’m gonna get some rest. I hear training tomorrow is going to be intense,” you offer him a smile.

His attention has moved from you again, staring into the darkness of the warehouse. He bids you goodnight without looking at you, carrying his coffee gently to his office, his mind somewhere else.

You leave your glass in the sink, promising yourself you’ll wash it in the morning, before making your way back to your room.

You can hear faint murmurs coming from another room, but the walls are so thick you can’t make out any of the words. Moving the laptop from your bed to the set of drawers next to the door, you prepare for bed.

The door suddenly bangs open, and a duffel bag is dropped onto the floor noisily. You gasp in shock and the person in the doorway looks just as surprised to see you. “Who are you?” He asks, frozen right there in the middle of the doorway.

“Y/n. Who-” His eyes are wide and calculating, searching the room.

“Well, what are you doing here, y/n?” He crosses his arms, looking at you skeptically.

“I’m part of the team. I-”

“I meant, what are you doing in my room?”

You’re struggling to keep up with the conversation at this point. You shake your head. “Your room – ? Wait, you’re Donghyuck? You’re dead.”

His gaze is fierce, “I was dead. I’m not anymore. Now, I’m tired. And I’d like to sleep in my own bed.” He walks into the room, rifling through the drawers of the dresser, looking for something.

Reaching out for his power, you can feel it thread through your body, though it’s more painful than invigorating, very different to most of the power you can feel in other Supers. “You’re immortal.”

“Obviously,” he doesn’t even turn around.

A lightbulb goes off in your head as the journals on the bedside table catch your attention, “So the journals – you… you were killing yourself?”

Donghyuck rounds on you, “You read my – ? Okay, you’re clearly new to the team. Rule number one; never read anyone’s journal.” At the confused look on your face, he rolls his eyes, “We all have them. You’ll get yours soon. To track your drawbacks; track your strength.”

You raise an eyebrow at him from where you’re sitting on your – his – bed. “Drawbacks?”

“Damn, okay. Rule number two; know your drawbacks. The limits of your power. We all have them. Jaemin’s is how much he has to eat and sleep. Chenle and Mark lack control.” He gestures to his journals before turning back to the drawers, “As you can see, mine is time. Takes a long time to come back to life.” You barely hear it when he mumbles, “Surprise, surprise.”

“You just kill yourself over and over again?”

“Pretty much.” He finds what he’s looking for but doesn’t take it out from the drawer. He turns to face you again, leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed once again. “What do you do?”

“I mimic other people’s abilities.”

His eyebrows raise slightly and he whistles lowly in appreciation, but he doesn’t say anything. “Drawback?”

“Uh… I guess it’s distance. If they’re too far away, it’s like I can’t reach their power.”

He nods in understanding, then furrows his eyebrows, “Johnny will have you training with all of us, then. Have you done ability training yet?”

You shake your head.

“How long have you been here?”

“One day,” you shrug.

“Wait, you’re the one Doyoung brought in?”

You pause, then nod.

“Ah, Jeno killed me before we could meet, I guess.”

“Jeno killed you?!” Your voice is high and loud. Jeno was much stronger, much faster, much more skilled than you were. You had no chance against him if he ever decided you were his next target. Donghyuck’s eyes widen at the loud noise, and he crosses the room to shut the door, “Shit, calm down. I’m immortal – it’s not like it’s a big deal. Almost everyone here has killed me at least once, though he does hold the record.” The side of his mouth quirks up to the side in a smile that you would almost call cute. Maybe if he wasn’t talking about his friend murdering him, he’d be cute.

You don’t know what to say to that. “You’re insane.” That works.

He shrugs, “Jeno’s always been impatient.”

“So he just kills you. Logical.” The disbelief in your voice makes him laugh.

“Rule number three; never get Jeno angry. His drawback is his anger.”

“Holy shit, where were you when I joined? I could have used some of this information.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Well, first of all, I was dead. Then I had to go out of town for a day – and here I am.”

You nod, “Right.”

Donghyuck grabs his bag and turns it upside down onto the top of the bed. You aren’t quite sure what you were expecting to come out, but it certainly wasn’t guns. You wait for something – anything – normal to drop out, yet it seems like it’s just guns. At least fifteen of them, ranging in size. You don’t say anything.

He takes one look at your face and immediately explains, “I just bought them. Our weapons dealer is based in China – Winwin? He’s a friend of Jaehyun’s – and he just got into the city two days ago. Jaehyun made me go pick them up.” Under all the posters and sketches on the wall, the walls are painted a bright red, and the subtle blush on Donghyuck’s face almost matches them completely.

“I didn’t realise there was more of you,” you say.

“Us.” You look up in confusion, and he offers you a smile, “More of us.” He clears his throat, his attention going back to the weapons on the bed, “Yeah, Jaehyun has connections everywhere. Japan, China, you name it.”

Carefully, he places the guns in boxes and stacks them in the corner of his room. He brushes off his hands on his thighs, “Look, I’m happy to take the couch tonight, but don’t get any ideas. This is my room, and I fully intend on taking it back after –“ He cuts himself off with a yawn and you raise an eyebrow at him. Rolling his eyes, he heads for the door, giving you an awkward bow of his head as he closes the door.

You feel a little bad about stealing his room, but you’re so tired, you don’t have enough time to think about it before you’re drifting off to sleep in his bed.