#<- just in case but apparently this sleeping arrangement is canon

[kingtheghast]

Ah yes. Me, my lieutenant, and the Ratsune Miku figurine that he got for ratmas and that is also a lamp.

[kivino]

PROBLEM I || HIGURUMA HIROMI X COWORKER!READER

sum. You have quite a crush on your coworker, but don’t know how to approach it. The opportunity to do something presents itself when you both get invited for drinks after not-so-voluntary overtime. 

tags. Suggestive themes, so MDNI; Canon divergent; Higuruma and reader work at a law firm; Japanese work culture is a warning in itself; Reader is a foreigner in Japan but it’s a little glazed over; fluff; cigarettes; alcohol consumption, obviously; Higuruma is a lightweight and a dork, I stand by that.

w.c. 3.4-ish

a.n. I’ve been having this Higuruma itch that needed a scratch (save me overworked lawyer disappointed in the justice system, save me), so I wrote this little fic! Plus forced myself to omit all the Japanese honorifics used cause apparently you kids find it cringe (/lh). Enjoy, and please, reblog/leave a comment, I really want to know what you all think and if I should continue writing for JJK. I’m planning to make a part two for this, so stay tuned!

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link to this fic || ko-fi

You feel completely lost. Not even lost, abandoned by your consciousness. And not in the tall pillars of paperwork on your desk, that threatened to fall over with a single blow of air from the AC blasting over your desk, as you should be. No-no-no, you’re lost in Hiromi’s deep, almost pitch-black eyes, so mesmerizing that you felt like you were falling right into their endless, warm void. Well, you were not supposed to be calling him Hiromi, it was Higuruma for you. “For now.” – you encouraged yourself. You’ll get there with him. Eventually. 

It only occasionally occurs to you that you were behaving like a dreamy-eyed middle-schooler…again. All that development of your frontal lobe goes right smack-dab into the trash when you notice those tired eyes stop on you for a split second as Higuruma gives you a polite nod with his lips twitching upwards, almost attempting a smile. Even in spite of the sheer exhaustion he is exuding all around. 

You don’t even have to look at him to notice how tired the man is – when you come into work, fifteen minutes earlier, just like everyone else in your firm, you see him sitting in his chair already, reading endless police reports, typing away on his computer, arranging for meetings with witnesses or clients. Even when you are heading for the elevator, calling out “Good job today” to the last people left in the office, hurrying for your last train home – Hiromi is glued to his visibly uncomfortable chair, his head almost bumping into keyboard as he wrestled with the sleep clouding his eyes. And even if you don’t see him around his desk – he is probably out somewhere, hounding for evidence on the case. 

Or in the smoking room. God, after you realize where Hiromi spends at least thirty minutes a day, you consider picking up smoking just to have an excuse to get to know him better. He’s definitely a bad influence on you.

But how can he not be? You physically can’t stop yourself from staring at him when you see him through the glass door of the smoking room, leaned on the wall, droopy half-lidded eyes looking up at the ceiling, dark long lashes pretty as a picture. You can’t help but imagine these puffy eyes tearing up or rolling into the back of his head along with his mouth falling open in a delicious silent plea; or looking down on you with mad fixation that would make liquid heat pool between your thighs. 

And you won’t even get started on his nose. The graceful arch of it, the perfect angle to…You stop before you stray too far, instead letting your mind wander to those beautiful eyes once more, intense and overwhelming, picturing desire clouding them until there is nothing but scorching fire burning up your skin, accompanied by Hiromi’s soft sighs, raspy whines or gentle praise, with those incredible voice cracks he would develop when he was oh-so-exhausted after a long day… you wonder how he would sound, as you grasp and store away in your memory each time your name is called by Higuruma.

Your eyes find your coworker once again at his desk, his deft hands are typing something out on the computer. You can see the way Hiromi’s fingers move, and your thoughts immediately settle on the image of them gently running over your thigh, hooking at the belt loops just to pull you into his warm, frail, charmingly pathetic form. You сan practically melt into a puddle, when your mind gets to his warm, large palms settling on your hips, setting electric currents running right to you brain, when the object of your fantasies suddenly catches your eyes on him. You can feel your heartbeat fall down somewhere to your feet – you’ve been caught! But before you can see how Higuruma reacts…

“Ah, Shimizu! Well done today!” you say with a polite nod to your coworker who emerges right in front of your desk, visibly ready to go home after yet another day’s grueling overtime – cute, mindful bag in her hand, work costume wrinkled after hours of sitting in one place; interrupting your session of staring at your higher-up. Which is probably for the best, you think. You are new compared to everyone else, you are supposed to be working twice as harder, not dedicating your time to undressing the poor, exhausted Higuruma with your eyes. All of a sudden, you feel shame burn at your cheeks. Just a tiny little bit. 

“Oh, not at all, you’re too kind!” Shimizu denies the praise with the dismissive wave of her hand, but you can see that she’s just being polite because you don’t know each other too well. “Yet” – You add in your mind. You’ll be accepted here, you just need a little time. “How are you settling in? Everyone’s nice to our cute kouhai I hope?” 

“Oh, yes! Everyone’s very kind! I’m looking forward to working and getting along with everyone in the future!” You say and add another small bow for emphasis – even though you are already hired it was instrumental to make the right impression on your coworkers. 

“That’s great to hear! About that actually…” You tense up for a moment, already running millions of possible scenarios through your mind. Did someone write you up or complain? That would be very typical for what you were used to here – no direct confrontation with you, instead an anonymous complaint made to HR and you’re out of here faster than you can apologize. Or maybe it’s a complaint from Higuruma himself, fed up with being stared at like he was a piece of meat, by “the foreigner” of the firm no less. You can feel your legs shake under a flimsy desk. “We’re going out for drinks! You’re going, right?”

Okay, false alarm. You are prepared for something like this. Shimizu was obviously putting you in a position where you’re not supposed to decline…But you were so tired, and the workload this week was just horrible, along with all the hours of overtime you did-

“Oh, and Higuruma’s going too.”

Come to think of it, you actually feel pretty energized and ready to go. You don’t catch the cheeky smile Shimizu sends over her shoulder to the previously mentioned man, and the most precious, thankful look he gives her in response.

“I-I suppose it wouldn’t hurt...” you mutter, trying your hardest not to seem as desperate as you are in actuality, to have an opportunity to finally get to know Hiromi somewhere outside work. This work crush has been driving you up the wall for too long, might as well start acting on it, if it’s here to stay. Maybe you’ll get to be friends with Hiromi, and that will resolve your yearning for him. It always dissipates when the person you desire is right by your side. 

However, you don’t get an opportunity for a one-on-one with Higuruma that you hoped for until much later in the night. You caught stray looks from him multiple times, but each time Hiromi met your eyes he would look away in an instant, with his neck turning so hard you were half-sure you could hear it crack. It felt pretty discouraging, looking at him silently pour the drinks down the hatch from the other side of the table, without even attempting to talk to you, while others were trying their best to make you feel welcome. Hiromi just made you so…confused.  

So, you decide to step out for a moment, lost in your thoughts. Lo and behold, there is the man of the hour himself, leaned up against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers. You are surprised at how he can stand up straight, after all these drinks he consumed without eating anything (and you’re pretty sure you didn’t see him eat lunch either), but you just settle on the fact that Hiromi might just be like that – a mystery to you. His face is barely illuminated by the low light pouring out of the windows of the izakaya, a slight flush on his tan cheeks making your mind travel places. 

“Can I have one?” You blurt out, before you can stop yourself. Oh, this is so stupid. You can feel your face heat up, and not even a gentle autumn breeze is able to cool you down at the moment. Oh, you were so about to screw up all of this. Nevertheless, you slowly approach him, as Hiromi’s head slowly turns to you and you can see a corner of his mouth twitch when he registers it’s you speaking. Huh. Interesting. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Hiromi mumbles, taking a pack out of his pocket, clumsy fingers struggling to pull out a cigarette for you. Well, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to see you smoke, since you only did that if you were drunk or stressed out. “I never saw you in the smoking room. Though, saw you pass by. Quite a lot.” Higuruma continues rambling, his head tilted forwards, eyes unsure and watery, staring up from under his eyebrows, focused solely on you. You can practically feel yourself getting hypnotized by the absolutely charming puppy dog eyes Hiromi is giving you, to the point of not noticing the man offering you the cig you just asked for a couple of seconds ago. 

“Uh, yeah. Guilty as charged.” You chuckle, not finding anything better to say, as you gently take what you’re offered. The silence falls over both of you, as your lips squeeze the “cancer stick” between them, Higuruma now fumbles to find a lighter. Well, it’s your chance to talk, but you, sadly, find yourself lost for words. 

Hiromi, much like yourself, cannot find the courage to speak up, as his eyes keep trailing back to your face, now more stunning than ever, surrounded by the blue air of the night instead of synthetic fluorescent lights of the office that rarely do justice to your beauty. He definitely overdid it with the liquid courage. Now he can’t muster up a thought to strike up a conversation with you. And it was supposed to be a chance for him to get to know you better, in an informal way. Way to go, you absolute nutjob. 

“You seem to be a very hard worker, Higuruma. I thought you’d stay for overtime instead of going out for drinks.” You finally say what’s on your mind, when you see Hiromi can’t seem to find the lighter he’s been looking for, for the past minute, maybe. 

“Well, first I was staying so long because of work, and now it’s because of you.” Hiromi blurts out with his eyes looking right at you. When the man finally realizes what he just said, his eyes are immediately drawn downwards, avoiding yours.

“What?” You look at him, for a moment thinking that your hearing gave up on you. Higuruma didn’t just say what you heard him say, right?

“What?” Hiromi’s tone is neutral and even calm, but behind it he was panicking. Why in the hell did he just say that?! He definitely weirded you out and now everything will fall apart, all thanks to his absolute inability to handle his liquor better. “I mean, you need someone to look at while you work, right? Might as well be me.” What was he talking about? If you weren’t standing right in front of him, so perfect and beautiful in the dim lights, with your hair exquisitely disheveled, and his eyes getting drawn to your figure in all the right places, his hands would definitely fly up to his face in exasperation at his sheer stupidity.

“You’re funny.” You finally chuckle out in a hushed tone, like you were saying something absolutely scandalous, and not just bashfully stating your opinion.

“No, I’m just drunk.” He states rather bluntly, and you’re taken aback for a moment. “I’m actually a lightweight. Without...” Higuruma makes a vague gesture with his hand, which you take as him referring to the copious amounts of alcohol running through his blood at the moment. “…I’d be too scared to talk to you.”

“Huh? Why would you be scared to talk to me?” You respond with yet another breathy laugh, feeling an incredibly strong surge of confidence, hearing that the whole time this grown man was scared of approaching you – polite and shy newbie, deeply infatuated with…everything about him. Which, Hiromi was so luckily and obviously unaware of.

“You’re just…” The unintentional pause is much shorter than it feels like, as a sudden hiccup interrupts his heartfelt confession. “Very…gorgeous. But uh…in a professional sense.” You can hear an uneven crack in Higuruma’s voice, and if for someone else it would’ve been a turn-off, you can already feel how breathing suddenly becomes a thing you need to be aware of. “Or whatever.”

“Or whatever?” You echo, with an amused smile tugging at your lips, as an idea dawns on you out of the blue. “Higuruma, could you…” you trail off, immediately bringing his attention to whatever you were about to ask of him. Oh, he was ready to do anything you’d ask. Jump? With pleasure. Drop down to his knees? Gladly. Kiss you? Please.

He freezes in place, as you lean closer to him, a surge of previously known, but supressed feelings rising with a tremble in his chest. The end of your cigarette touches a little burning cherry at the end of his, your eyes slowly drift up to his own, producing an incomprehensible, fiery spark when your gazes meet. Higuruma almost thinks the ground disappeared from under his feet right that moment, because in little less than a second of staring into your eyes like that, alluring, precious gemstones pulling him in with a siren’s song, he’s falling. Hard.

Hiromi’s face doesn’t hide even a sliver of what he’s experiencing at the moment, as he looks at you in awe, half-way sure that his heart is about to burst in a million of pieces while you’re lighting your cigarette with his. He wishes this moment would go on forever. He wished you’d reach out to him, throw out the damn cigarettes, close the miniscule distance that felt like kilometres and kiss him, so hard he’d surely loose his mind for you completely.

The seconds feel like hours, electricity and warmth bouncing inside of him, while cold air blows on his skin, failing to cool him down from the mad high he was experiencing just from your presence, so distant and at the same time, close.

“Thanks.” You mutter a short response, tactfully making a point not to mention the way his face got even redder (which you didn’t think was possible, yet here you are). Your lips wrap around the cigarette, inhaling the smoke, the slight hit of nicotine dulling your senses for a moment making you flutter your eyelashes in pleasure.

“You’re always…a problem.” He responds, quietly, and you arch your brow at his strange response. Higuruma immediately looks horrified as it dawns on him just what exactly he said in his…rather unsuccessful attempt to articulate his thoughts, as you mumble out an unsure “excuse me?”. Hiromi’s hands fly up to meet his face, exasperated sigh leaving his lips. Why did he always had to be…like this? He was confident and easily able to keep a cool head in the courtroom, faced with people representing and facing justice. Why, why was he losing face in front of you of all people? It was frankly frustrating, and he…

“Ha-ha-ha…I am, aren’t I?” You return playfully, seeing the sheer distress on Hiromi’s face and deciding to play off his probably unintentional slip-up as a joke. He didn’t, couldn’t mean what he said, right? He was always friendly (even if a little distant, but who weren’t like that to new, unfamiliar people, right?), polite…Unless?

“No! No! That’s not what I was trying to say…” Hiromi immediately corrects himself, a little too eager to fix the mistake he’s sure might cost him your precious attention at the moment. He can’t lose it. He absolutely cannot wait until the next drinking party to get close to you. It already feels like too much - keeping himself in reigns, containing the burn that threatens that spill over from the mere gaze that felt too intimate for his drunk consciousness.

Well…not that you aren’t an actual problem. It’s hard to concentrate whenever you are in the room. Higuruma’s eyes would inevitably drift over to you, observing every motion of your form, desperate for any sliver of attention from you. Didn’t matter if it was a polite nod, a quick half-bow or a smile, he always felt a dull ache in his chest, because that was not enough to satiate the hunger for you, cramping up in his insides, making him feel like he was utterly starved. And he definitely was. For affection, for gentle touch, for a soothing hand and for tenderness that came with it. Yeah, you were definitely a problem. One that needed an immediate solution.

“I was trying to say that…you’re always welcome and it’s not a problem. At the same time.” He finally managed to mutter out, explaining himself. A smile grazes your lips at that, and he can’t help himself but think how he wants be graced by the beauty of that smile first thing when he wakes up the morning. That would make going to sleep at night so much easier.

“Well, I’m glad that you don’t think I’m a problem then.” You say with a tiny laugh. Well, Hiromi didn’t exactly say that, but….

“Of course not. You’re…” Higuruma stops for a moment, before a sudden hiccup shakes his form. You stifle a chuckle from how cute for some reason it was, to hear a frown man hiccupping much like an overfed kitten. “Very hard-working. A good addition to the team.” He gives you a verdict with a nod, further solidifying his words. At that point, he wasn’t even sure what he was talking about, but that’s the first chance he ever got to talk to you informally, and by God, he’s going to make use of it. “If you ask me, you’ve got what it takes to be a great permanent addition.” To him, a sudden thought rushed through his mind, but he managed to keep his lips sealed.

“I appreciate what you’re saying, Higuruma.” You say with another one of your pleasant smiles and nods to him, taking another drag of your cigarettes and blowing the smoke out to the side, blissfully unaware of how Hiromi’s droopy, desperate eyes fixated on the pout of your lips. You were truly thankful he had this opinion, but life-time contracts? Here? As a foreigner? It would be easier for you to get to the moon and back, than receive an offer like that.

“You know you can just call me Hiromi, right?” He almost whispered, not daring to meet your eyes after such a bold move on his part. You felt your heart leap inside your chest. If you weren’t right in front of the man, you’d start kicking your feet, giggling, then you’d scream in a pillow, run a couple of laps, high-five yourself and finally face-plant into the asphalt victoriously, but you were a responsible adult, so you had to keep those teenage-esque urges inside of yourself. Despite how much you wanted to let them out at times.

“Alright then…Hiromi.” You knew what you’re doing to him. You had to, right? Because how can your voice can get so alluring and sultry all of a sudden while saying his name? Why did you whisper it, rolling it around between your pretty lips, almost like you were tasting a candy? Higuruma was a goner, that’s for sure.

Higuruma can’t help, but look into your eyes, marvel at you smile and the way your eyes glimmer in the low lighting, how the perfect curve of your lips calls for him, and how your hips beg to rest his hands on them. In that moment he only can think with nothing but his heart, that keeps shoving the thought that rest like honey on his tongue.

He needs you. Utterly and completely.

“So…do you want to have another drink? On me, of course.”

Hiromi takes his shot, and he’s not going to miss it.  

check out this masterlist for more jjk fics or send me a request/comment! you can also support me on ko-fi

[miscellaneoussmp]

*bounces back* hi hello so! mystery dungeon au. You're my notes document apparently. This is just like. So much angsty hours for the Brazilian mystery dungeon pokemon guys. There was supposed to be fluff in here somewhere but nah. The redeeming feature is that this is multiple years before actual plot happens (well bar the glowy Pac thing, that's still the case), and literally everyone involved is in much better places in their lives now.

Firstly. Shinx glow when stressed? Pac is just constantly glowing. People who don't understand shinx think when he stops glowing he's sick, but then they comment and he gets stressed again. No, no the glowing isn't a normal state of things, it's constant muscle tension from anxiety and trauma he's pretending he doesn't have making excess electricity. If on the occassional times he manages to get peaceful enough sleep to stop glowing (or otherwise gets a break) and you wake him up, Mike will just scratch you to death. He gets less glowy (more lower intensity than less often but hey still progress) when hanging out with Fit, so its allowed. (Mike does not know just how bright - to the point he can't hide it even in the sunshine - Pac gets when he's missing, as he's not there to see it).

The following is um kinda angsty even by above but I've been infodumping it a friend but he's busy now so you get it too! Backstory!!! Fit's the MC but brain not there rn also he doesn't have as much backstory what with amnesia and all.

Bagi is incharge of bounties for collecting criminals (she did used to be a cop in canon), but there's a much lower focus on prison and higher focus on rehabilitation and like. Actually helping. Most people still move into the city where her bosses are and better resources, but sometimes people who were arrested stick around. This is kinda how the Brazilian exploration team happened? After they were arrested and had healed Bagi arranged for Pac, Mike, and Cellbit to join the exploration guild, where they ended up teaming up with Felps. Shared language and also history between them.

Prior to getting arrested! Pac was abandoned as a kid in a dungeon, Mike hatched there without parents, Cellbit was kidnapped as a kid and put in an illegal pokemon fighting ring (please remember the characters are all pokemon, but humans do exist and are talked about) which he escaped. The three were part of the same gang causing minor level trouble in a dungeon, living outside of society (well, societies - most settlements are autonomous and have all their own rules and all). However one really harsh winter the rest of the gang ditched them. Mostly they had stuck to their territory so people just avoided them, but when things got hard and they needed to steal food and resources often violently that's when bounties were put on their heads.

Mike was fine. As a sableye he could eat the rocks. Pac the shinx and Cellbit the cubone though? Not so fine.

Things happen, Pac passes out, probably combo of injury and getting sick and hunger. And Cellbit... Cellbit is really *really* hungry. You don't get just quite how hungry - they were already doing survival theft before this and barely not starving, now they're 2 months into a snowstorm.

And well... You know how canon goes. This is so, so much more desperation and starvation than canon was. But Mike comes back from in on Pac getting a bit chewed on. As the only one who has eaten properly in the last 2 months he manages to get Cellbit off him, and just. Leaves Cellbit dazes on the floor as he decides getting arrested is better than Pac dying (while Bagi and her organisation are on the lets actually try help people build lives side of policing, a lot of towns its really, really not like that at all. And being random teens from a gang? Horror stories of bad places kept them in line). He can stop the blood, but its bad injury. Plus, yk, all the other problems rn.

So he ends up dragging Pac and trying to find a town to hand themselves in.

Meanwhile, Felps is a young adventurer, who has taken out the bounty on Pac, Mike, and Cellbit mostly because Guildmaster Foolish is looking at him like a tasty snack for having not done any jobs recently. Foolish gets to be lazy, the others don't. It's rated as a pretty simple job because, like, the rest of the gang were caught and taken to one of the cities, and three teenagers who have been starving for months. Honestly Bagi posted the bounty herself and with her money because she worked out her brother was involved, but that's besides the point.

Felps ends up finding Pac and Mike at the midpoint of the dungeon, and kinda. That's someone covered in blood. So abandons looking for all three to just teleport them out and to whomever does healing here. Not worked that out yet. Mike is... extremely confused to be just. Left with the healer while Felps teleports off again to get Bagi, and even moreso when Bagi is far more worried about her brother left behind and *eating people* than the two criminals right there. She is also very appreciative that Felps took them to the clinic then came to get her. She doesn't want dead suspects, she wants people to actually get fairly judged and get the help they need as opposed to just throwing them in a cell.

Mostly because she knows some of the crimes her brother has done and wants to believe her brother can still have a life but you know. If she believes there's hope for him, she can believe if about a lot of people.

Unfortunately, Cellbit eating people means she does have to increase the pay and danger level of the bounty, meaning Felps is no longer qualified to finish it. Another team take it, Felps gets to take some time off but does visit those two as curious. And like they stole stuff. They stole a lot of stuff. But also. They're kinda interesting. And they're curious about what he does too. Especially the the guild just gives him a room and pays for all his food yes even with weird diets like Mike has to eat gemstones.

Double unfortunately, the people who pick up Cellbit's bounty... Look. He's horrified at probably killing Pac and Mike (he's killed before, but these two kinda liked him, but he ate Pac and drove Mike out into the snow with what was probably a corpse and was absolutely a corpse in his memory), he's also sick, and starving, and sure he's kinda feral and absolutely resorts to violence first, but if you scruffed him you could probably drag him to town like a naughty puppy.

The team... Do not do that.

They don't even ask for him to surrender before beating him to within an inch of his already tenuous life. And then drag him back to town. And dump him on Bagi's office floor. Rather than, yk, taking the now seriously injured, starving, teenage cubone to the clinic (Bagi is also young, but... it's a small town, she trained apprenticeship style most of her teens, and as the explorer's guild is there if there are problems help is right at hand). Bagi is *not* impressed. Their pay gets docked, and she takes her brother to get help. And wrangles a lot of paperwork to be able to keep him in the village rather than sending him to her superiors in the city who... Have much better resources to help.

But.

Bagi wants her brother, and she's not giving him up.

Recovery from those sorts of injuries is a lot, and also gives all three time to come around to the idea of maybe trying something other than crime. And therapy. Therapy takes some convincing. Honestly having stability in their lives is a lot of a start, though takes a lot of getting used to.

Given time and help getting lives together and all that, the three of them end up at the Guild, because, well, they were interested, and Foolish was willing. And all guild members get bed and board whenever needed (though more senior crews tend to get their own houses with time).

As of Fit showing up they've been with the guild for a few years, and mostly settled in now, and people around town have mostly forgotten the somewhat harrowing nature of them arriving. The scars physically and mentally are still there, but newcomers tend to assume its because exploration work is dangerous, not... yk. Horrific backstory.

They also teamed up with Felps, because he kidna did need a team, and language shared, and Mike liked him and Mike and Cellbit at the time they were teaming were on unstable enough footing Cellbit had to say yes. These days its Cellbit and Felps are besties, though, once Cellbit warmed up to the idea of having friends.

The four of them mostly work in item finding. Pac and Mike were like what do you *mean* we can get paid to legally steal shit from dungeons for people? They get a roof, and food, and no problems with cops, and get to steal shit?! This is like. A dream. And all dungeon explorations involve some fighting, just because of how dungeons go, so Cellbit has somewhere to work out stabby tendencies. They do also do rescue missions (people trapped in dungeons) when needed, but do *not* do bounties on criminals. Its a bit... traumatic for 3/4 of them. Honestly likely 4/4 of them as Felps took one and ended up with some guy a year or two younger than him nearly bleeding to death during the teleport to safety. Just. Different trauma flavours.

Also!!! After searching egg groups, Bagi is a Nidorana (Nidoran both genders matches to Cubone, even if Nidorana can't egg group breed)! It's... Okay yes Cubones do evolve at a higher level than Nidoran, but it is notable she is evolved while Cellbit isn't, despite both being a fair bit into adulthood now. Same with Pac being a Shinx (Felps is mostly just still an Abra as he doesn't see any pressing need to evolve and is just vibing. Some people naturally just chill as their pokemon and this is fine. Someday he'll get around to it, but he doesn't *want* to be bigger and stronger and more able to protect himself and his like Cellbit and Pac). Cellbit did not get the same opportunities as Bagi in life, and so it is taking him longer to get there. Also. Bagi did everything she could to force herself to grow early, to prove her maturity so people would give her what she needed to find her twin.

~Factorial

Factorial, you're really out here writing a novel in my inbox /pos!!

God, they hurt my heart physically in every universe!!!!! There's so much wrong with them. They all need a nap and a hug, I think.

[nabanna]

Been thinking about Re:Dracula and how it's really difficult to do a truly accurate adaptation without just reading the book word for word in an audio format, and about how two big things I see in movie and other visually based adaptations are how they cut down the plot and they cut down the cast size.

Thinking about one that does it like: Mina, Johnathan, Lucy, Quincey, Van Helsing

Combine roles between Mina and Seward, and between Quincey and Arthur.

Mina is the medical student who studied under Van Helsing (emphasizes her role as the Smart One, lets Van Helsing see her more as an apprentice rather than a child to patronize, also gets in some Victorian gender role drama as Mina is a (highly qualified but still) woman going into a scientific/medical field dominated by men, she doesn't own an asylum though so alas no Renfield... unless... hmm, anyway one reason Jonathan is so eager to get that promotion is to help Mina finish medical school)

Give Quincey Arthur's most notable traits of being rich and having dogs, but also the most important traits of being an American cowboy from Texas who tells stories and plays up the persona for fun. And has a gun. Give Lucy other less important suitors in a flashback or something but make it clear these two Really Have Something

Mina becomes Lucy's best friend and doctor, maybe with Lucy's mother being dismissive of Mina as a woman trying to go into the medical field but accepting of her as an unpaid nurse for Lucy, Mina receives the news about Johnathan while Lucy seems to have gotten better but she asks Lucy's fiance to keep an eye on her just in case, and to contact her old professor if needed.

Harkers get married on the spot as god intended.

While Mina's gone, Van Helsing is unfortunately still a misogynist and doesn't handle Lucy and her mother as well as he could have, Quincey is just deferring to the apparent expert, Lucy dies and proceeds to Bloof, Van Helsing handles that roughly the same way as before but with only one sidekick this time.

Mina and Johnathan return upon receiving the news and Van Helsing tries to convince Mina that vampires are a thing the same way he did with Seward but with more "ah but you don't need to know all that because you're a woman" so she doesn't buy it until she connects the dots with Johnathan's experience and reads his journal, proceeds to tell him everything in there was real and gets Quincey to help them catch up on what happened with Lucy and to catch him up on what Dracula seems to be up to.

They go to Van Helsing for advice, he comes up with an arrangement that keeps Mina busy with something important but "safe" while he and the lads go out breaking and entering. Quincey shoots at a bat, Dracula gets Mina, Johnathan gets his anime transformation, Van Helsing burns Mina with something holy, there's an argument between the guys that gets cut off by Mina breaking down and Johnathan shooing the others out to comfort her, but Quincey sleeps in the hall outside.

Dracula runs away but forgets to turn off Mina's psychic "find your phone" settings, Mina is the Train Fiend, Van Helsing is confronted with how his efforts have led to further pain and realizes maybe they'll be better off if he steps back into a mentor rather than leader role, Quincey arms everyone and takes care of them by throwing money around and trying to be the level headed dependable comforting one, Mina can tell when Dracula is paying attention to her and this is the only time when hypnosis is necessary, the chase happens roughly as in canon.

Mina and Van Helsing go up to the castle to fight the Weird Sisters, maybe it's a bit more active this time, maybe Mina manages to channel Dracula's command in a way that saves them from the girlies but they realize that she's more vampiric than ever and killing Dracula is even more urgent.

Quincey and Johnathan follow Dracula by boat or by horse, whichever one is more exciting. They bond and it's low key kinda bisexual ngl but if anything comes of that it's a promise to talk to Mina once it's all over and they're safe again, they generally plan wistfully for the future, Johnathan feels a chill in sync with when Mina uses the Dracula power, Quincey suggests a spar to practice and get out their energy, maybe to add more interest here one of Dracula's scouts finds them and says there's a group of Dracula's servants that want to be free and will help them fight when they catch up.

The final battle goes a little differently, Mina puts herself in a barrier circle to protect Van Helsing from the possibility of her going vampiric but keeps a gun to provide ranged aid, Quincey and Johnathan roll up to Dracula's entourage and their secret allies back them up in the fight, Mina and Van Helsing provide cover fire and maybe make it seem like there's way more armed reinforcements up here to scare off the servants, the boys tag team Dracula as god intended, the gang reunites.

If I want to be evil and make good on those death flags, then Quincey dies (but not before seeing Mina's recovery and also getting kissed on the cheek by both Harkers at the same time) and the Harkers' first son is named after him. If I want to spare Quincey, then Van Helsing dies and his last moments are spent telling the gang that he's proud of them, and especially telling Mina that she's the brightest student he's ever had and he only wishes he could live to see her success but something about watching over them all from heaven idk. I guess the Harkers would name their first son Abraham then lmao, and maybe I'd give Quincey a lasting injury from the fight so he uses mobility aids in the future, and they'd definitely stay as a close knit trio forever. One might even call them roommates. See the thing is Quincey dying is canon and would bring more proper tragedy but also I don't want to kill him...

[outoftheirdifferences]

Annette collette and danielle

10 Questions Meme

🌟 Drop one of my characters’ names in my inbox and I’ll tell you 10 facts about them 🌟

All three of the girls actually have two names. As detailed in the newspaper strips from well before Scamp's Adventure existed, they parents respectively named them Ruffy, Fluffy and Scooter. Of course, with the humans incapable of understanding anything the dogs decided on, Jim and Darling picked out their own names for the trio: the names we know them by in the sequel. The two older girls in particular took a shine to their human-given names, finding them prettier and preferring to be called by them, and Dani followed suit as she usually does; but any of them will answer to the old names if used. (Note that I generally don't take the comics as canon to my portrayal, but I felt the old names just made sense to include in their own way.)

Ask either Annette or Collette and they'll both tell you that they're the leader of the trio: Collette on account of being the oldest, Annette on account of being the smartest. While this often works itself out since they're commonly on the same wavelength anyway - and when they're not, Annette will step in when she specifically feels like she knows best but otherwise generally be willing to defer to Collette - it does lead to them butting heads on rare occasions. At which point Dani will either try and step in between them (emphasis on try) or sit back with metaphorical popcorn, depending on how serious things are getting.

Essentially, the girls each represent a different one of the body's 'intelligences'. Annette is the head, she prides herself on being the smartest and most logical of the girls; Collette is the heart, the one who follows her emotions before anything else and, beneath her external concern over looks, is a deeply compassionate soul; and Danielle is the gut who acts far more on instinct than common sense. If they listen to each other and take account of all of their perspectives, they can be an almost unstoppable team... more often, however, this doesn't exactly happen as Annette and Collette tend not to respect Dani's perspective as much as they could.

I've said it before, but all three girls need each others' presence to sleep well at night. They're so used to always being together that any time one of them is absent at bedtime it creates a void that they're very aware of. Remove any one of the girls, and the other two will have a restless night: sleeping together is as natural to them as breathing, and any sister missing from that arrangement feels disturbingly wrong. The rare but intense occasions when Annette and Collette fall out with each other so badly that they refuse to share a bed invariably end with none of the girls getting very much sleep for just this reason.

Of the girls, both Annette and Collette of course particularly care about their own appearances, but in different ways and for different reasons. Collette, as the beauty of the trio - particularly apparent from her long flowing "hair" (that is, her ears) and most graceful manner - cares about looks for their own sake; she knows she's pretty, takes pride in keeping that the case which she considers an art in its own right, and will happily spend hours preening in front of Darling's mirror. At first glance it looks like the same could be said of Annette; but really, Annette is less concerned with looking beautiful as she is with looking dignified. She wants to be taken seriously, and wouldn't dream of going out looking at all scruffy as she feels it would undermine that. So while she, too, can take her time in front of the mirror, she's usually quicker to be satisfied and move on that Collette is. Dani meanwhile, though she follows her sisters' lead in this like in most things, is also quick to get bored of admiring their own reflections; she doesn't have the patience to carefully groom her fur, which is why hers always looks just a bit less neat than her sisters, and these are the times when she's more likely to wander off and do her own thing or to brawl with Scamp or the like.

All three girls absolutely adore Angel when she joins their family. Dani most enthusiastically so, as she's ecstatic to have another girl who'll happily scuffle and playfight and roll around in the mud with her, something that she can't get her sisters to do in a million years: she rather idolises Angel, to be quite honest, for how tough and street-smart she is. Annette and Collette aren't quite so exuberant, which is why Angel at first wonders if they really like her; but as she spends more time with them each individually she comes to realise that they both just have their own ways of showing it. Collette is first to do so, she feels for the hardships that Angel's had to face and wants to make sure she feels at home and well cared for, and picks her moment to take the new girl aside and fuss over her. Annette takes her time more, but finds Angel good conversation to talk with about the things that she feels her siblings don't take seriously and appreciates her very different perspective on life.

Naturally, each the trio have their own unique internal dynamics too. Annette and Collette, of course, are so close together that to an observer they can sometimes seem to share a single brain; this isn't the case, and there are times when they can disagree strongly, but they simply know each other so well that they typically accommodate for the other's differences in perspective most of the time without even thinking about it. That said, the rare times when they do argue, because they know each other so well they can quite deliberately hurt each others' feelings badly; at those times, these two closest of sisters may refuse to even be in the same room as each other, and it can take several days for them to make up again.

That said, under normal circumstances it's Annette and Danielle who tend to have the roughest relationship of the trio. They still love each other of course; but Annette has the least tolerance for Dani's more uncouth moments, and a tendency towards making some snide remarks behind her back. On the other side of things, Dani reckons Annette and Collette are both big prisses, and while she will still happily follow them around, isn't above trying to get them involved in her more boisterous definition of fun. Especially Annette since (as seen in the epilogue scene of the first movie) they did used to scuffle together when they were much younger... which naturally is another thing which tries Annette's patience now that she's come to prioritise her dignity. Still, if someone else was making fun of Danielle, Annette would be the first to stand to her defence; she very much has one of those "I can be mean to her, but no-one else can" protective attitudes towards her little sister. And while their arguments can certainly be fierce at times, they're unlikely to last the day.

As for Collette and Danielle... similarly, Dani sees Collette as a bit of a big priss too, but she gives Collette less grief about this; after all, Collette's always been interested in looks and such matters, it's not something that she grew into later like Annette did. And if Collette likewise shares some of Annette's impatience with the younger of their number, she tends to be more reserved about it than Annette is: preferring simply to distance herself from Dani's wilder antics rather than actively protesting them unless they get really outrageous and quickly accepting her back once they're over. This has the effect that, while Collette and Dani possibly understand each other least amongst their trio, they also never really fight between themselves either.

-

Certain above statements aren't to say that Annette and Collette don't just play like regular dogs too! Both of them will happily join in a game as long as it's clean, and despite her prized dignity Annette isn't above warring with Scamp for the best toys! They just have very particular lines that they draw: most of all they both hate getting muddy and will avoid that at practically all costs. You'll have better luck getting either of them involved in a game that takes place indoors rather than one that involves rolling around in the dirt outside.

[vixnovacoda]

Doctor's Medicine || Chapter 4

Hannibal Lecter x Original Character

Word Count: 2.6k

CW/TW: NSFW 18+, graphic, disturbing content, dissociation, canon-typical violence.

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3]

[ao3 version here]

“The Ghost Writer.” was the latest topic at a lecture hall within the walls of the FBI Academy. “Sometimes, there will be people who leave no trace. There will be no apparent motive. The answer lies in the details; the victim’s appearance, the body arrangement, and how the mutilation proceeded. All are things this killer kept clean and specific. This is his story,” detailed the brown-haired lecturer. Sleep had not been kind to Will, a fact he tried to obscure. The button-up shirt attire was suitable enough by teaching standards, and his tortoiseshell frames distracted notice from the eye bags that started forming.

It had been these details that Emma had gleamed upon arrival. The case drove hard at all involved.

Avoiding meeting her eyes and Dr. Lecter, who joined Emma, Will carried on with his talk. “A story about obsession. An obsession that he is not alone. The author behind the fictional version of this death helped him realise that. Emma Darcy, finder of the first victim.” Glowering pixels made up for his lack of contact. Pictures depicting the dead doppelgänger, split, dissected, and pieced together next to Emma, whole and alive, looked down upon all those sitting and standing. “The Ghost Writer gave her a gift, inspiration which might cost her life. She is the true intended.” Rigour built Will’s reminder. He didn’t speak to the agents-in-training; he spoke to the living victim, who watched and haunted him. They were each other’s ghosts, stuck by dire circumstances.

Bzzt. Bzzt. And Emma had multiple ghosts.

Through the discerning glance of Dr. Lecter, she reached for her phone, sparing no second. Thoughts raced. It had to be Alex. It had to be her. That alone caused Emma to beam like a wish had come true; hope. 

Until it didn’t.

MARCUS: just making sure you’re alright. Let’s meet up later.

A wish was still a wish, some blatant desire for change, an impossible product. Alex would never give her the light of day again after the last time.

———

In another time and place, the phone is dialled and answered. 

“Emma?” Alex came through raspy, irregular – a fault of living in a different time zone (USA, East Coast), figured Emma.

“Alex,” said the much more alert Emma. “How’s Johnny and Amy?” Small talk.

“They’re… They’re fine.” Floorboards moaned off from afar.

“That’s good. Hey, I just finished going over the edits you sent over.” Straight to business; that was Emma’s modus operandi. Strewn about sheets covered with red marker splayed about in front of her, she had been in the middle of work when Alex called.

“Oh.”

“There were a few things I thought we should discuss…” Emma thumbed through the mess, searching for a specific set.

“Emma.”

“I really think we should keep in that scene betwe—”

“Emma!”

Empty air whistled. Emma haltered under the moon’s watch. “Alex, what’s wrong?”

“I…” Alex moved the speaker from her face, muttering incoherent blobs, such as ‘why that case?’ and ‘how could you?’ between gasps. Each utterance bleeding from a fresh wound. “I-I can’t do this anymore. Emma, I can’t. I’m sorry.” The phone echoed a long beep.

“Alex?” she called out, but no answer came; the call was over.

Fumbling, she dialled back. Sorry, the number you have called is temporarily unavailable. Please try again later.

… is currently unavailable. Please try again—

… unavailable. Please—

———

Guilt eroded the expression Emma held as reality dowsed her delusions. Latent and dormant became her features. She placed the phone into her handbag, fingers tracing the cap of a plastic medicine bottle, unaware the lecture had reached its conclusion. “Observe everything. What are they trying to tell? What is the story?” told Will Graham as he leant against the desk, everything in his view. From the eager to the meagre, all that left, and all that remained. The lecture hall felt empty without the agents-in-training, and what should have felt like relief instead turned into dread by Emma and Dr. Lecter’s lingering presence as Emma led the charge. “The three of us, all in one room. Feels like the start of a self-help group or an experimental therapy session,” commented Will, adjusting his glasses.

“I catch you at a bad time?” responded Emma carefully, stopping at an appropriate distance.

“Well, it wasn’t a good one,” said he. “It depends on where this conversation goes.”

“The Ghost Writer,” she started.

“A bad time it is, then.” He stretched his back, situating into his position and noted her demeanour. She was ‘calm’ – whatever fear she carried sat far off. The sudden change in character earned a pointed look towards Dr. Lecter as if to say, is this your doing?

“Emma seeks an ending to this killer’s story. Don’t you, Will?” challenged Hannibal. In other unsaid words, yes. He wouldn’t be here otherwise.

The glasses came off. “Why?” Will asked Emma.

“Because.” She shifted, adjusting an invisible weight. “When the killer is found, what I feel will go away,” Emma stated with a hint of that real emotion, dread.

“Neither of you will have to work together again, either. You can return to normal,” said Dr. Lecter, closing the distance between him and his patient, standing one pace ahead of her.

“By diving head first.” Will folded his arms. The idea both intrigued and worried him.

“Sometimes a dive is better than a dip,” began Dr. Lecter. “When done right, it produces desirable results. It is fast. It is forceful. This case is not the sort of thing you approach gently.”

“But done wrong, and it has harsh consequences, Dr. Lecter.”

“Correct.”

“Though, in reality, worse will occur from a dip,” said Emma, her ‘calmness’ swaying back and forth, and the Special Agent swivelled his attention. Neither met eye-to-eye and still, he could feel that fear as if it was his own; it weighed between tolerable and unbearable. She saw his shoulders and the realisation sink, defeated. The longer they took, someone would die. That was a fact, not speculation; they had already taken enough time. “So, what have you found?” she asked, garnering his silence as acceptance to discuss the topic. Emma had known he’d agree because she did. Because it was their character; because it’s his character, Dr. Lecter had informed her. Will Graham’s fault laid in a want to save others. That, Emma learnt, is what the Doctor meant.

“Compared to what we already know? Nothing,” he answered, and reflexively, his hand muscles tensed as she crossed the divide, resting against the desk as he did. The two stood in equal positions. They could talk like this, Hannibal before them, their mediator for eye contact. “The interviews bore no fruit. Has labs?” Will exchanged earnestly.

“Barren. Jane Doe is still Jane Doe. No prints; burnt fingertips. No dental records. No hits.” She sighed; a futile frustration boiled inside the both of them. “You said ‘observe everything’. Those were your words. Have we done that?”

“Multiple times, except…”

The words spilt forth. Thoughts ran freely from Will’s tongue until his convictions got the best of him. Will silenced himself. Torn, he shared a look with Hannibal, a silent conversation. A discussion made up of twisted eyes and a slow nod. Only they knew what remained, and Emma did not. Hannibal could not convey it to her; he had to remain impartial, which gave Will no choice. If they wanted to catch this Ghost Writer, he’d have to do as Jack Crawford did to him; let her go into the deep and trust Hannibal Lecter.

“Except what?” echoed Emma.

  Warm air guided itself into Will’s lungs as he shut his eyes before speaking. “Your statement. We never properly went over it.”

“Honestly, I don’t remember much besides what I told you. It’s mostly a blur.” Truly, the most prominent image of all remained the building of the body, every detail: smell, touch and sight. But she couldn’t admit that.

“That’s the issue. A gap, no matter big or small, leads to the possibility of missing something,” explained Will, torso angled to face her.

Emma pushed herself off the desk. “Then what are you proposing?”

“We retrace your steps. Go back to the house,” he said. “We see what memory resurfaces or what detail becomes uncovered.”

The thought of missing something hadn’t crossed her mind. Nor willingly going back to that house. “Will it work?”

“It’s all we have.”

In a simple glance, Emma conferred with Dr. Lecter, he that held more awareness than them; he at the centre of it all. “Your memory is the only variable the killer can’t control,” said he, who remained stoic, though she saw how he favoured the idea, which allowed it to cement further into her mind and take root. Out of options, it made simple sense. The real reason she had driven here, confronting her thoughts up close; this was how the mirror stopped hurting, how she could return to normalcy. 

It was decided. Emma couldn’t disagree. 

Better to have a quick dive than a long dip.

———

Mid-century architecture slumped within the Maryland woods. Trees gathered around, shaming the home with bristled leaves and tall forms for the committed crime. The house had tarnished the forest’s well-earned peace by way of death. Yellow tape marked the front, flippant and tarnished.

Emma stood at the mouth of it all as the evening christened the horizon. Silence loomed in the air, a chill reminder. Nothing living resided here, not a soul, only death and nature. A brisk breeze nipped at her skin, causing pin-pricks to form as if to warn her of the impending doom ahead.

“You surprise me, Will,” said Hannibal, the gravel driveway crunching under his shoes as he moved beside the profiler. Both a distance away from the distant-minded author.

“Then you surprise me, Dr. Lecter,” retorted Will. Defensive.

“How so?” his sharp face edged slightly into Will’s periphery like a knife cutting through the world.

“Because,” said Will, turning his head towards him, “you knew I’d agree. That’s why you brought her to see me.” Not an inclination of surprise crossed the psychiatrist. Had there really been such, then it must have remained internal. Instead, he smiled. Small and wide. Proud and impressed.

“I can’t take claim for that. That would be an awful thing.” Mistaken, then, was Will as his eyes fleeted onto Emma with a questioning brow. “I am here to help her as I’ve helped you, Will. You needn’t think otherwise,” explained Hannibal. Gravel picked up beneath him once more as he carried on, leaving Will with no time to ponder and no choice but to follow. And like a knife, Doctor Hannibal Lecter proved beneficial when required to get to the thick of something in a single slice. He was clean and precise. But, like a knife, danger remained a possibility. 

An always overlooked possibility.

“It’s quiet. Not, however, peaceful,” muttered Emma as her psychiatrist/co-worker/acquaintance came into view. Naturally, Hannibal inclined himself forward. “The scenes back home had a similar stillness. Eerie and off. As if some form of the deceased stained the atmosphere. An echo, we called it. So loud and invisible… I don’t know why I thought it would be different here.”

“Control and deniability,” responded Hannibal, giving her the answer she did not ask for. “We all seek to alter undesirable situations, wishing that what we lived through never occurred, so we may hide behind the truth. 

“You’ve done this before. You know what will happen, what to expect. However, this time is different. You are no longer an outsider looking in.” A warning hid amongst gentle words. All eyes were on her; that is what he conveyed. Deniability had no place here.

“So this is how it feels,” Emma mused behind a tightened jaw. Previous victims stood where she did now, alive and dead. Scrutinised under knives and bloodhounds. Pressure built in them, and so too did it in her. “Take us through that afternoon,” spoke Hannibal. ‘Us’, referring to Will, who had caught up.

In turn, Emma flexed her hand. An attempt to cast away the feeling as she recollected. “I pulled up to the driveway, made my way to the door with key in hand and went indoors. Nothing out of the ordinary—”

“What about the present?” interrogated Will, eyes narrowed.

“The present. I…” She shut her eyes to play the memory through a clearer lens. “It rested against the door. I took it inside,” she rectified. A fog rolled in as her vision came back, ready to live out the past reality. A haze only she could see.

She should have been startled when hints of mist covered the ground. She should have shut out the thoughts which followed suit. But: “focus on me, Emma,” said Hannibal calmly, catching her attention instead. His darkened eyes, so full yet so empty, held her aloft. Like this, she could keep going.

Or could she?

Maybe.

Yes, she had to. Right. She had to.

“The details. Focusing on them will help your mind process the event accordingly,” elucidated the psychiatrist, Dr. Lecter. He stood closer now. Closer than she’d normally allow. Yet, she didn’t mind as his words reached her first and foremost, guiding, almost commanding. Just loud enough to break through sense.

Wading and melding with mist, dappled light came through, highlighting the small things as her breathing became focused. With a gloved hand on the door handle, Emma entered the memory. The box felt light when she carried it through, not a hint that it contained half a human body. There wasn’t a decaying smell either. She couldn’t have known at the time when her shoes remained by the door, steps muffled against wooden floorboards, and the package placed perfectly on the kitchen counter what sight hid inside. Nimble fingers pulled apart ribbon and string, blue and brown left stranded atop marble as both hands held the rest. The lid lifted and fell first, landing by the table before the first pieces of flesh flopped in closer succession, marbled muscle against marbled stone.

Flesh, muscle, organ, and bone. Not a part wasted.

A gift. Human sacrifice.

Emma recalled the itch which coursed through her nerves when the pattern pieces stuck to the tiles. Incomplete, requiring to be put together. It was overwhelming. Soft tissue moved in a sequence under her delicate hand. Each piece grasped between tissue paper and spread out along carpet. The kitchen held little space (enough for a person but not enough for this grand gesture). Hence, the living room.

The carpet: a passionate red akin to wine and not blood. Blood never touched it either, only water droplets. Water that failed to dissuade the defrosting puzzle from attaching soft, thin, coiled carpet fibres to the undersides. The fibres: cotton. Old, worn. Emma knelt where she had been that evening, the fibres scratching her trouser-covered legs. An irritating sensation, and it wasn’t until then that a rush overcame her.

The carpet. Scratchy on the surface and on closer inspection, the fibres stood short, wispy and elastic. It wasn’t cotton at all. It was wool. It had been replaced.

Someone had replaced the carpet.

Emma stepped back, her breathing erratic as she eyed the floor for missed details, fingers rubbed together. A vague rectangular outline, the two carpets almost indistinguishable but not for her. The details were off; this was her thing, what she was good at.

Slender fingers peeled at the edges of the rug-sized carpet, tearing and pulling up without a care. Beneath is what mattered. Beneath laid a missing underlay, fresh wood planks and blood. A hard lump formed in her throat. ‘Found me.’ spelt the blood, dried up, having waited for numerous days. Rotten meat and fruit crept through the cracks of the subfloor.

Decay.

Heart pounding, Emma lifted the boards. They came off with ease. No resistance. She had been meant to find this, to reveal what was built between the floor joists. 

Her breath hitched. Body stiff, unblinking.

The putrid smell spread, and Hannibal hovered over Emma. He inspected with nonchalance as Will lurched by the threshold, hand searching for the nearest support, gripping the doorframe with rigidity. New images recreated themselves in the FBI’s unstable minds. He saw as she did. He felt what she did, and it felt overwhelming.

A phone dialled. The line answered. “Jack,” started Will, “there’s another body.”

[tiny-fluffy-knight]

All of them for Gabriel ♡

Oh fucking hell-

We're doing this in parts or I will explode

🍬 - if you were in canon, what would the fanbase for your ship be like?

I genuinely have no clue! I would be surprised if there was much of one honestly. I know I'm a bit of a weird one in general and that would probably put people off.

🧁 - your f/o is planning a surprise date for you two! what do they choose?

Considering that I don't think human money is something he deals with very much... something cheap and quiet, most likely? A picnic, a small trip to a café, or a wander around a library or museum - which suits me great, I do not like big loud places.

🍵 - do you have any pets with your f/o? if not, what kind would you like to adopt? how do they act around animals?

My two actual cats, Oreo and Kitkat, are a package deal with me! Luckily Gabriel seems to both like and kind of kin kitties, so they get on well. I could also see him adopting his own, if there's enough space! We do not talk about how I am also kitten.

🍓 - what's a bad habit your f/o has?

My beloved angel, you have some anger issues... and a lot of religious hangups. He knows the right places and times to actually indulge in some cathartic violence though!

🍦 - what's your f/o's favorite way to show affection? are there any little things they do to indicate their appreciation for you?

He's very much a physical touch and acts of service kind of guy. Gentle touches to the shoulder, holding hands and squeezing, little taps to silently say 'I love you'. Just being close is comforting to both of us, I think. Then he's making sure I'm actually taking care of myself and helping to make it easier where he can.

🥥 - talk about a memorable moment in your relationship.

I'm sure he'd be very relieved if I stopped microwaving meteorites, that was, uh, 'fun'. Half jokes aside... for me it would have to be when we saw under each other's (metaphorical) armour for the first time. That moment where I felt he truly saw me.

🍾 - who confessed first, and how did it happen?

You ever just blurt out all your intense and confusing feelings to your guardian angel because you're an impulsive dumbass and cause him an on-the-spot existential gay crisis?

Oops.

🍧 - which of you is the better chef? what's their favorite thing to make for the other?

Gabriel, by far. I possess the magical ability to seriously injure myself whenever near anything sharp or hot, so my cooking skills are mostly relegated to the microwave... I wouldn't call him a professional chef, but he can at least not burn down the house, and the food he makes looks tasty. If he's making treats for me, it's usually baking!

🍒 - what is your f/o's love language, and how do they express it with you?

I mentioned it before, but we're both violently touch starved... so any contact with each other is really appreciated. There's really nothing better than curling up in his lap and being cuddled/pet. He's the only one I really trust to touch me at all, and that seems to kind of be the case with him too, so it works out well.

🥞 - who spoils the other more?

He has more energy for it, but I am always actively plotting on how to 'get him back' whenever he does! Some day I will make it truly balanced.

🍮 - what's something you do that always makes your f/o smile, and/or vice versa?

He's so incredibly cute when he's being silly! I can never tell if he knows what he's doing when he starts memeing, but it always manages to get me. As for what I do... I think he finds it cute when I get a bit too excited about my hyperfixations and start rambling/gesturing intensely/spinning in excitement.

🫐 - what's your sleeping arrangement with your f/o like? do you share a bed? do they cuddle you, or talk in their sleep?

Sharing a bed gets... interesting, when your lover is easily double your size. I end up feeling like a little teddy bear a lot, but in a way that's really cozy. He mumbles in his sleep a little, though I can't complain about that, considering I apparently coo like a pigeon sometimes. Besides, it's really cute too.

🍩 - what are some irl things that remind you of your f/o?

The body pillow is probably a given. Other than that, though... I have to say blue feathers, stained glass windows. For something I own personally, I have a Jellycat smudge lion with a floofy blue mane that always makes me think of him.

[lwjsbedtime]

Canon divergence fic where LWJ goes to Lotus Pier to 'keep an eye' on WWX's studies after he leaves CR. Little Wangxian end up living their best boarding school romance lives while everyone else slowly loses their minds around them.

----

When LWJ finds out WWX will be leaving CR behind, he recalls his mother's last words to him - to never let go of what you really want. In retrospect, perhaps this was meant less as advice and more as a jab against his father, but LWJ isn't in the right mind to ponder the deeper meaning of things right now. WWX is about to leave without him! He must find Uncle!

After pleading his case to LQR and JFM alike, that perhaps WWX would pay attention to CR's coursework better in the comfort of his own home, LWJ is given permission to pack his bags to accompany the boy back to LP as his official tutor.

WWX is thrilled by the idea of stealing the stern, silent LWJ away from his sect. The idea of it awakens something in him, though he doesn't quite understand what. He's less thrilled about the prospect of taking classes, but that's something that can be renegotiated at a later date, with much whining. Besides, LWJ acting as his tutor is really hot funny!

Wwx: If I misbehave, will you punish me, LZ?

LWJ's fists clench into his sleeves.

Lwj: If you deserve it.

Wwx: Oh? And how can I work to deserve it, laoshi? If you spank me I want to make sure I've earned it.

LWJ somehow manages to look fit to pop a blood vessel whilst maintaining a completely blank expression.

Jfm: I'm picking up some weird vibes from these two.

----

When they reach LP, it soon becomes apparent that WWX's idea of 'studying' is hanging all over Lan er gongzi, feeding him lotus seeds directly from his hand, carting him around town like he's his favourite wife. Meanwhile, LWJ's idea of 'watching' WWX is letting him do all these things without fuss.

One afternoon, JYL visits WWX's quarters to offer him soup and some advice. She's concerned her shidi is...overwhelming their guest with his presence.

Wwx: It's like one long sleepover! We play together, and bathe together, and then when it's time for bed, LZ sleeps right next to me!

JYL can see WWX is ecstatic about spending so much time with his new friend, and she really doesn't want to hurt his feelings, but LWJ constantly looks like he's just swallowed a bug with A-Xian around. As the eldest, it's her job to guide her darling little Xianxian correctly, even if it's upsetting for him.

Jyl: Have you considered having Lan er gongzi sleep in a separate bed? I know father made sure to prepare only the best rooms for such an esteemed young master. It would be a pity to let them go to waste.

She looks to Lan er gongzi with a gentle smile on her face, and he glares back.

Lwj: No.

WWX gasps in admonishment.

Wwx: Shijie! Lan Zhan gets lonely at night away from home! I can't abandon him.

LWJ arranges his face into an expression only WWX would recognise as tragic.

Lwj: I need Wei Ying's cuddles.

Wwx, buying into his act: See shijie? He needs my cuddles!

JYL senses if she argues her point any further, Lan er gongzi might actually burn a hole through her skull with his eyes alone. She chooses to make a graceful retreat.

Jyl: …Okay then. Soup?

----

Several nights later, JFM walks in on WWX brushing LWJ's hair whilst gazing at him tenderly through the mirror. As he watches, WWX brings a strand of the young master's hair to his face and inhales. His lips brush along the length of the lock in his hand, causing LWJ's breath to hitch audibly.

Wwx: LZ, you smell so gooood. I could eat you up.

Lan er gongzi's eyes grow darkly animalistic at his ward's words, and Jiang zongzhu is struck by the distinct impression he should leave before he's noticed. Unfortunately, said hungry eyes flick to him in the reflection of the mirror as he's making to leave.

Jfm: Excuse me? Boys?

WWX grins up innocently at his sect leader, as though he wasn't just caught doing...something. Something very...indescribably strange. His discomfort seems to show on his face, as WWX flushes and explains.

Wwx: Lan Zhan has a lot of hair. He needed my help.

Lwj is tense as he replies: I do. I did.

Jfm: We have maids…

Lwj: I would not dare tarnish the ladies' reputations by having them come to my room at night.

At his nonsensical proclamation, WWX swoons.

Wwx: So considerate, LZ! So wonderful...

JFM blinks. Has he missed something?

Jfm: …They're maids. They're here to serve.

LWJ's eyes narrow minutely, his gaze sharpening.

Lwj: They are people with hearts and minds who should be respected.

WWX falls into LWJ's back, his brow resting against the Lan boy's shoulder. Though his next words are spoken softly, JFM manages to overhear what is said.

Wwx: You're so sweet, I think my chest might burst from it. LZ, my heart!

Lwj: I will watch over Wei Ying's heart tonight.

The boy's hand reaches up to pat WWX's gently, and JFM is suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to interrupt....whatever this is.

Jfm: …His room is on the other side of LP…

WWX gasps - a new, LZ related habit, it would seem.

Wwx: Lan Zhan can't sleep alone! What if he gets lost at night and falls into a lake? The Lan sect would absolutely blame us!

Jfm: …I see.

He does not see. In fact, he's a bit concerned he may need to intervene on…someone's behalf. Probably not LWJ's, considering how the boy is glaring daggers into his soul through the copper surface of the mirror.

When he speaks with his wife about the matter later, they find common ground on which to commiserate.

Jfm: So I went to A-Xian's chamber tonight to ask him if he'd seen YL's missing dish, and…

His wife eyes him shrewdly.

Yzy: Were they eye-fucking again?

JFM sighs.

Jfm: …Yes.

Yzy, groaning: Just give that boy to the Lans, why don't you? Before someone finds them [REDACTED] in the lotus pond!

Jfm: ...My lady?!

YZY shoots her husband a disgruntled look.

Yzy: I've already caught them [REDACTED] each other with a-

Jfm: M-MY LADY?!!

Yzy: He made LWJ call him 'Yiling Laozu'.

----

It's a hot day in Lotus Pier and WWX has a wonderful idea with which to pass the time, only... He glances to LWJ who glances back.

Wwx: Hey, LZ. Do you know how to swim?

LWJ ponders this question for a few moments longer than should necessarily be required.

Lwj: …No.

WWX clasps his hands together, excited.

Wwx: Okay, I'll teach you!

LWJ nods, agreeing easily. Almost too easily, not that WWX notices.

LWJ spends many days after that 'learning' how to tread water with WWX's arms around his waist, on his chest, below his thighs. It's torture. He loves it.

The other disciples: …

Lwj: Oh no, I'm drowning!

LWJ sinks below the water.

Wwx: LZ!

WWX dives in after his friend. Terrified, he holds LWJ's body close to his chest until he breaks the water, gasping from more than lack of air. He brings LWJ's limp body to the lakeside, resting it carefully upon the bank.

After performing several chest compressions, with LWJ unresponsive, WWX feels tears beginning to prick at the corners of his eyes.

Wwx: LZ! Please wake up!

At that moment, something grabs around WWX's wrist with a firm grip. The boy looks down, distraught. It's LWJ's hand!

Lwj, whispering: Kiss me.

Wwx: Hm?

LWJ's brow furrows lightly.

Lwj: Put your mouth on my mouth.

WWX does.

Suddenly, LWJ is revived! Lan er gongzi springs up, his lips still upon WWX's.

LWJ: You saved me.

He kisses WWX again. WWX throws his arms around his friend in relief.

Wwx: LZ!

Another kiss occurs. WWX flushes brightly. He's beginning to think LWJ wasn't hurt at all...

Wwx: LZ, you can let go now.

In reply, LWJ launches into a fit of hacking coughs. He gazes up at WWX forlornly.

Lwj: There's still water in my lungs, WY.

WWX nods distractedly.

Wwx: Ah. Better make sure it's all out then.

The two proceed to engage in an extremely lengthy makeout session in broad daylight. During their activities, LWJ's inner robes somehow end up arranged on the ground.

The other disciples: …

Wwx: What? I need to take his clothes off so he can breathe!

Lwj: He needs to take my clothes off so I can breathe.

The other disciples: …

JC, who has just returned home from his stay in Gusu, falls into the water while exiting his boat.

Jc: Wei Wuxian!!! What are you doing?! Are you a cutsleeve now?!!

WWX looks at his shidi in exasperation.

Wwx: You don't make any sense, JC!

He lifts his bare arms up for all to see.

Wwx: I'm not even wearing sleeves!

JC groans in annoyance as he slowly submerges himself below the water. Maybe down there, he'll find peace.

BONUS:

JC just doesn't get it. LWJ was meant to return to Gusu over a week prior, yet here he still is. In a boat with WWX. On WWX's lap. Licking something off WWX's fingers, even! WWX's forefinger and thumb slip knuckle-deep into LWJ's mouth, and the heated look the pair exchange then sends a chill up his spine.

Jc: Why are you like this?

WWX jolts. It's obvious that he forgot JC was even here with them. He tilts his head in confusion and JC barely resists the urge to strangle him.

Wwx: Like what?

JC gestures angrily at the arm he has wrapped possessively around LWJ's hip.

Jc: You're always holding each other. It's sickening!

WWX frowns.

Wwx: I don't know what you mean, JC. It's normal to touch your guy friends!

JC balks.

Jc: Slinging an arm around their shoulder is normal. This, however…

He raises a particularly judgemental brow.

WWX pulls LWJ closer to his chest without seeming to realise it, making the young master's eyes flare dangerously. Good, JC thinks. He hopes LWJ bites off his shixiong's head.

Wwx: What are you implying?

LWJ turns his burning gaze upon the other occupant of the boat.

Lwj: Yes, Jiang Wanyin. What are you implying?

JC is not cowed. At all. Ever. He rolls his eyes.

Jc: Holding LWJ around the waist while you steer him around like some delicate little doll isn't something friends do!

WWX is outraged.

Wwx: It is too! Tell him LZ! It's very friendly! 

Jc: Too friendly. You look like you want to marry him!

WWX is so gobsmacked, he doesn't even realise what words are coming out of his mouth.

Wwx: I do! As a friend!

JC chokes on his own spit. WWX continues to glare at him.

Jc: What?!

Wwx: Lan Zhan will be a wonderful partner to somebody someday. Anyone would want to marry him.

LWJ grasps WWX's hand so swiftly, JC doesn't even see him move.

Lwj: I agree with Wei Ying. We should be married.

WWX breaks into a happy grin.

Wwx: LZ!

He pulls LWJ closer, so he can nuzzle into his neck. JC splutters.

Jc: Un-fucking-believable. You can have him!

LWJ nods serenely.

Lwj: Thank you for your blessings.

JC unleashes an inhuman groan of annoyance and throws himself over the edge of the boat - on purpose this time.

----

Somewhere in Gusu, LQR wakes from his dreams in a cold sweat. He takes a deep breath in and out, and settles back down for a full night of slumber.

LQR: Absolutely ridiculous what the mind can imagine...

----

A week later, when WWX arrives back on the Lan sect's doorstep alongside his nephew, the man rubs his face and sighs.

LQR: Not this godforsaken dream again...

LXC eyes his uncle with concern as he walks away, muttering to himself.

[rarepears]

Omg youngwife Shen jiu is living a good life!!

Im really curious what happened next I. Young wife SJ in his wedding day?

Because Im just imagining a prosesion of SJW's army shadows carrying boxes and boxes of dowry for SJ. (The sect only get partial course, SJ got 80%--) Just everyone losing their shit because the powerful and elusive SJW is there, apparently marrying their Martial BROTHER!??

The reaction of the other succeeding disciple would be great! 🤣

TO be more accurate, dowry is the stuff the bride brings into the groom's family. Bride price is what the groom pays to the bride's family, or, in this case, Shen Jiu.

There's no need for Shen Jiu to be giving this bride price to the sect, but he does give a few exquisite pieces to the Qing Jing peak lord as a gift. Most of the "bride price" really ends up just paying for the expensive and luxurious wedding.

But yes, the shadow summons are in a very large parade bringing the dowries to the sect and then back to Sung Jinwoo's manor (lmao). (Sung Jinwoo is the one providing most of the dowry. Cang Qiong sect throws in a few things to show their goodwill towards Shen Jiu otherwise they would look stingy and uncaring for their student.)

Anyways, back to Shen Jiu. Shen Jiu's reputation isn't as bad as in canon without the whole cheater/backstabber accusation, but it's still not good either - favoritism, bribery, spoiled reputation ain't a glowing review. So, he's still just as disliked by his peers, particularly as Shen Jiu isn't willing to get to close to even the male disciples, acting as though everyone around him is trash.

(Nah, Shen Jiu just doesn't want Sung Jinwoo to misunderstand a friendship as a budding love affair and try to back out of this marriage.)

With Shen Jiu primarily associating with females - they are far harder to chase away and once they learn that Shen Jiu is just a paper tiger, they flock to surround and coo at Shen Jiu's face - he's still seen as rather... questionable in conduct. Needless to say, Qi Qingqi isn't reaching out a hand in friendship.

Sung Jinwoo is one dramatic motherfucker when he wants. So a shadow summon bows in front of Shen Jiu, lifts an arm to create a portal and bam, out walks out Sung Jinwoo.

(Insert shocked gasps from the audience at seeing how good looking Sung Jinwoo is. This guy is nothing like what the rumor said he was going to look like - where are the wrinkles, pimples, yellow teeth, and ancient grandpa face?)

Anyways, given Yue Qingyuan's feelings about and for Shen Jiu, the Sect Leader makes sure to keep YQY in the dark until the very last minute, so it's just Yue Qingyuan staring in shock at seeing Shen Jiu in red being led into a sedan and departing to married life.

Shang Qinghua knew all about this marriage - who the fuck do you think had to arrange most of the Cang Qiong wedding decor? - but he didn't care about the gossip or the people involved, being too busy setting up the freaking thing to think much else in between naps. If anything, Shang Qinghua is ready to Sleep for A Week because Shen Jiu's wedding is over and done with. Hallelujah.

[quirklessidiot]

title : minazuki [4: sendai city] pairing : gojo satoru x f!y/n Genre: angst, arranged-marriage au, mystery/thriller, romance, mature, enemies-to-lovers-ish, and very slow burn (canon compliant-ish for ch-0 to the anime)

Summary: In which Y/N L/N is placed under a union she has no choice but to partake for the sake of her survival.

Warnings: language, kind of manipulative!y/n, mentions of death, manga spoilers, brief ptsd episode, sleeping problems, mild anxiety Notes:we’re finally here. sorry for the late update dhhshss i may or may not have fallen asleep and not have edited the chapter but ive made it up with a cute y/n and gojo scene

series masterlist || taglist closed ||

chapter summary: A trip to a city that was once promised to you along with danger lurking behind the scenes.

The soft rays of sunlight are pretty.

At least, in your point of view it is. It was a quaint city. One that seemed like just the memory had described, one that made a faint smile appear on your lips as you gently and leisurely push through the crowd, curiosity eating you up on the inside as if you were like some child on a candy store, as if it was your first time being given that box of kikiufuku mochi’s back when you were sixteen and you had tasted what dessert was actually like. Meanwhile, Satoru trails behind you with both of your luggage in tow, the shaman trying to make sure you don’t get out of his line of vision.

He surveils from how one man brazenly eyes you up and down then towards the young girl behind said man who was walking hand-in-hand with her mother, this time, she was looking at you with starry-eyes as if you were some princess walking out of a story book. He’s still absorbed by all types of attention you receive when you were both in public, how you elicit such a response from people who didn’t know you and knew you alike. You were like a doll behind a robustly-built glass case, nice to see and compliment from afar but could never be touched or tainted by foreign objects.

“Satoru-sama?” Your voice wasn’t as soft or as mellifluous as before, the faux pretense had now been reduced to what seemed like a reclusive individual who refused to be caught onto a spider's web, “Is this the place we’re staying at?”

It’s a tall building, a five-star hotel apparently according to Hanna when she booked the place for the both of you and helped plan the itinerary. The young maid was stoked the whole time and looked like she was the one going on the trip.

He nods in response, pushing the door open for the both of you and letting you in first. You continue your way onwards. Nimbly, your face is quickly replaced by a more relaxed and gentle expression than earlier when you greet the man in the front desk for the both of you. He takes note of how easy it is for people to be unguarded and open to you as if you were some old acquaintance or a distant relative even, “...Actually Gojo-san when Hana-san called, she had reserved a honeymoon suite for the both of you…”

There was a moment of stillness between you two for a brief period of time and Satoru was sure you were going to be the first one to kindly object him that he may have gotten it wrong but when he turns to you, you retain the courteous smile, no single eyebrow up or face contorted to something else, “Oh my,” You laughed behind your hand, “I apologize, you see, me and my husband have been fighting these days and he likes to sleep in a separate room to respect my well-wishes. Maybe this is a sign that we should finally make up.”

The manager nods fervently, placing one of his hands on his chest seemingly stirred and impassioned by your words as if he had suddenly understood how it felt like to be fighting with a spouse. The shaman takes heed on to the wedding band on the manager’s ring finger. Ah, that’s why.  “Our hotel will make you both feel like home and will patch up whatever problems you two may have.”

Satoru lifted a brow at your farce and tried to hide his laugh with a meek cough at the manager’s jocular words. Aside from your sharp eyes, he’s curious as to whether or not you took acting classes as a kid because of how rather easy it was for you to sway people and elicit a compassionate and empathetic feeling like those actresses he sees in movies or in broad way, “Thank you.” you beamed, taking the key cards, “We’ll be sure to enjoy our stay and trip.”

“Please contact us when you both need anything else!”

Satoru presses the elevator button then turns to you, “How do you do that?” he inquired, wondering how easy it is for you to exhibit things like that quickly as if you were simply switching the lights on and off in the living room. Even he had a hard time maintaining such pretenses with people he knew, how much more towards strangers and people he didn’t actually care?

“What do you mean?” the elevator dinged, you entered the small box as your husband continued to walk behind you.

“The whole act.”

“It’s not really an act when you do that everyday, is it not?” you coolly remarked, the elevator doors closing in as you pressed the button of your designated floor, the blaring red light of the elevator catching your gaze as you watch it ascend. Your (e/c) eyes remain there, not even looking back his way, “You have that too, Satoru-sama. Every human being has one. It’s just that some of us like to act by the book more than whatever it is people like you do.”

The white-haired shaman shifts one foot to another, “Well, I can’t seem to argue with you on that.” he blinks, you did have a point there, it was probably a matter of patience and finding a routine. Two things Satoru did not have and probably could never have in his life since he was more spontaneous and had anything but order in his life. Whatever he seemed to have lacked, you filled in generously so.

The conversation is cut short with the elevator doors opening at an empty floor, “I’ll be taking the cou-” you tried to utter as you make your way to the room.

“Dibs on the couch.” he puts the bags down and snatches the key card from your grasp, to open the door, “The bedroom is separated anyways so it’ll be easier for you there.”

Satoru makes his way in first along with the bags to prove a point by sitting down on the couch, relaxing there, taking his shoes off and putting his feet up like a childish boy.

“Have the master of the Gojo Clan sleep on the couch?” The irony of everything that had been going on so far between you two would make your grandmother wake up on the fiery pits of hell and question what on earth is it you were doing. Every single lesson, everything taught to you was thrown off the window ever since you’ve said yes to this man in the altar on this day, just one year ago.  Just how many more inconsistencies will this man ever push around down the road of this marriage?

It was also, without a doubt that whatever plan you had tried to mobilize and worked hard for and in the years ahead, is diminished to thin air, it seemed like the mistress part wasn’t going to happen either. You had to give it to him, this man was indefatigable with keeping his side of the bargain and not backing out of his own words. 

“I also can’t have the missus of the Gojo Clan sleep on the couch.” he specified, concluding the conversation between you two as if he didn’t want you to say anything more, the wonted shit eating grin decorating his features right after as if he didn’t want room for another argument between you two, “Now, I believe Hana hasn’t changed the itinerary except the room. Should we go now?”

It’s a five day trip, Hana had advised you two while she was planning about the places and what they were about. Satoru looked like he had his mind elsewhere and wasn’t all too keen about it since Sendai was mostly comprised of historical landmarks and sites from the books that you had read as a child. From the museums that contained artifacts of the old Date family to old houses of samurai’s and lastly, to a shinto shrine that was known to be a national treasure.

In the end, despite the dull reaction that your husband had brought forth when it was discussed to him what would be going on in the trip, you’re inwardly dumbfounded that he’s following you from behind for the next few hours, not even insisting on using his teleportation to the places despite them being a bit far from one another. He doesn’t even utter one snide comment nor does he say anything about how you mindlessly look at things as if it was your first time visiting places like this. He had held back his tongue throughout the whole trip, probably sputtered out a random comment or two but not one that you’d scornfully reply to.

“How is it?”

You and Satoru are on the side of the street, eating out specialties and street food delicacies of Sendai. The man had seen you peerlessly and ambiguously gaze over the grilled beef tongue awhile ago and decided to get you one along with some Robatayaki. You looked very content and relaxed with what was going on so far today, probably the first time Satoru has ever seen you this way since he had met you last December, two years ago. This time, such an expression didn’t look like a mask unlike before.

“Good.” you quietly replied, taking another bite of the grilled food, “Very good.”

The shaman also takes notes of how out of it you were at times today, letting your guard down here and there. He’s not entirely sure if this had meant you were slowly loosening up on him or if you were currently in a daze. Maybe it was because it was your first trip out of the main cities. He had heard from Ieiri that growing up, you had only most likely  been to Kyoto and Tokyo, not even fully going out to explore each prefecture in those places, “Not bad for a first trip, so far?” He takes a bite out of his ice cream.

You turn to him, as if you were pondering what to say yet again, “I think this is my favorite.”

“Place?” the honest response makes the small corner of his lips turn upwards, “You sure?”

“Yeah.” you acknowledge, your glossy eyes looking at the litters of people passing by and cars pushing through the streets in rush hour, the sun still softly peeking out and giving it a golden hour view. The place is looking more enchanting and captivating despite it being a small and ordinary city, “It’s nice here.”

Satoru doesn’t catch the underlying yearning on your tone nor the mild nostalgia washing over your eyes, one that seemed like you had been thinking of something else throughout the whole trip.

It’s later that evening, after having a rather filling and quiet dinner that was mildly comfortable    surprisingly    does Satoru receive a call from no one other than Megumi, himself. The white-haired sorcerer frowns and quips the phone in his ear. The boy was in Sendai too because apparently one of the fingers of Ryomen Sukuna was here and since the shaman couldn’t be bothered at this time, he ended up ordering the kid. The teenage boy was strong either way so picking a finger up won’t be such a hassle on his part plus it would be good to start training Megumi as early as this.

“You’re telling me,” Megumi growled on the other line, as usual, Satoru could almost feel the seething anger on this side of Sendai, “Someone’s keeping a special grade curse in a place like this? An outdoor thermometer box?”

Satoru quips his head back in laughter at the boy’s description, painstakingly so, the way Megumi and him argued was more or less comedic in his eyes. He was the complete opposite of him and he even favored you since the very beginning last year. The boy’s contrasting personalities between him and you were like an added frosting to the cake, “Recovering it should be no problem then!” He addressed, sitting down on the edge of the couch and relaxing on the softness of his soon to be bed.

“There’s nothing here.”

Silence filled the line first as Satoru’s forehead creased when he heard those words, what?

“Huh?” The shaman’s lips had turned down, suddenly leaning in forward as soon as he heard those words from his student. That didn’t seem right.

“There’s nothing in the box!” Megumi repeated, vexing his mentor. Satoru shakes his head and tries to maintain a calm disposition.

“For real?” he chuckles, trying not to think too much of it, “That’s hilarious then.”

“I’m going to punch you.”

“Well, that’s too bad. No going home until it’s recovered, kay?” he grins, grasping his phone a bit too tightly, the sudden harrowing discovery might lead him to cut this trip short with you,  “Me and Y/N will grab you something to eat for souvenirs later on so do a good job! If you finish early we might even get you some dinner.” Before Megumi could even respond to him, Satoru puts the phone down and throws it to the side. The man shuts his eyes tight and runs his hand through his snowy-white hair. Megumi will be fine, he hates to admit it but he’s his father's son with a technique that could rival the six eyes itself despite not being fully completed just yet, he was strong in his own right.

Satoru feels your presence reemerge from your side of the room. There you stood, unlike the usual nightie that you wore, you opted for something longer this time. Your hair was down and you were leaning against the doorway, still relaxed from earlier events, “He’s in Sendai?” you questioned, there's a hint of uneasiness in your tone, probably directed to Megumi and his first mission as an official student of the Academy. He’s come to notice how you worried for the boy greatly and looked as if you wanted the young shaman to be merited away from the perils and atrocities of the world of Jujutsu. You reminded him of a mother who worried too much for a child and didn’t want him to go around exploring too far from the nest.

“Yep.” he nodded, motioning on your face, “Judging by that disapproving tone, you’re probably worried.”

“He’ll be fine.” You addressed, crossing your arms but that doesn’t still erase the poking uneasiness in his tone, “I’m sure picking up a small finger won’t do him any harm, right?”

Satoru knows better, the man can detect that it was still mildly bothering you so he relaxes onto the couch again, showing you that he was faring well and that he had it all under control, reassuring you that this wasn’t going to go south, “If anything happens to him, I’ll be there.” he mused, “You have my word on that, Y/N.” 

“Well,” your blank gaze eyes him for a brief moment, “You have to be but honestly, I hope it still sails smoothly.”

“Are you doubting him?”

There was something so soothing when you talked to him without much bearing or hatred, it was probably the cool tone you’d use or the way that your attention seemed to be directly at him during the whole time. Something Satoru basks in, “Of course not,” you lean against the doorway, “He’s the future heir of the Zen’in Clan. The son of Toji Zen’in, the man who almost had you killed. Megumi is built upon the likeness to stand next to you, maybe even surpass you.”

Satoru almost wants to laugh at how you describe the boy. He was right about his description earlier, you had stood and easily filled in the shoes of a matriarchal figure and he’s sure Megumi is sort of seeing you in that light as well, “That’s more or less one way to put it, Y/N.” he articulated, “It’s amazing isn’t it?”

The shaman looked up at the ceiling as he continued to recline back on the soft furniture, the thoughts of kids like Yuta, Maki, Inumaki, Hakari, and Megumi filled his head, ones who he saw great potential in, “Have I ever told you of my dream, Y/N?” he finally uttered, this makes you cock your head to the side at his choice of words. Another thing that you didn’t expect from the said man was this type of conversation yet you remain in your place, humoring him, “I wanna change the system.”

It was an uncharacteristic dream. You’ve always seen Gojo Satoru as a man who was selfish and individualistic. One who always pushed forward to certain goals that only favored him. In your eyes, the system was corrupt and disgusting especially to women like you, so those words had only sparked genuine curiosity on your part,  “I could kill them all up there but nothing’s gonna change so I’m going to train these kids…” He continues, a shit eating grin plastered once again on his features as he turns to you, his eyes filled with zeal as he looks towards you behind his black sunglasses, “To be stronger than me and who can help me attain that.”

You feel your lips turn slightly upwards in levity as your husband confesses that goal, so that was why he didn’t want to marry you. Well, what do you know, Gojo Satoru was a man who wanted to rebel and change the dishonorable structure, how valorous,  “Is that why you didn’t want to marry me?”

A part of you wants to laugh at your past self for not even considering this. You should’ve realized that when you had heard of what happened between him and Geto Suguru and that meeting they had shared in front of the fast food restaurant. Gojo Satoru ended up being a man who looked like he had everything but in the end, had nothing at all because he had lost it to the system itself.

“You do know that I might end up being called out for treason, right?” He chuckled, turning his head towards you, carefully eyeing you for a moment, “I didn’t mind it at first, Y/N but after a year of this back and forth banter, I realized I can’t have you back in the bridal market.”

“How chivalrous of you.” you deadpanned.

He laughs at your derisive response, a rather typical one that he is now getting used to, “You don’t like pity. I’m not giving you any.” He truthfully comments, throwing his head back and guffawing at his remark. The agreement you had made seemed good on his perspective, what an honorable way to die if it was that way, in the hands of his wife,  “But a promise was made, Y/N. When the kill order is sent for my head and they force you back, drag me down with you. That’s our deal.”

You hummed a response, making your way to him, Satoru pupils dilated as he sees you bend over on top of him and cup his cheeks on both of your warm hands, taking advantage that the shaman doesn’t turn his infinity on around you. He feels his head turn fuzzy at the closeness between you two since this time, this one held no ill-intent and animosity like before, it doesn’t help that when he looks down, he sees a peak of your sheer lace bra, one that he’s startled that you even owned and he got to see with his very own eyes. His adam’s apple bobs up and down at this yet it’s the next few words that shifts his attention, “That’ll never happen,” You carefully stare at his bright blue eyes and overhear how his heart beat suddenly quickens at the sudden closeness between you two, odd, you didn’t expect this response especially from a man like him. Nevertheless, you carry on. Your tone isn’t coy nor honeyed but clear and concise, “Because you’ll succeed. Aren’t heroes usually the winners at the end?”

Satoru feels like his head was about to burst at the innocent choice of words you had said along with how your soft and warm fingertips brush his cheek. It was as if you were telling him that you believed in him and that he’ll be able to pull this off. He was honestly thinking you’d ridicule him and call it a night because you were someone that was more or less objective about things and overthrowing a whole system as of the moment, looked anything but that yet you maintained some sort of determination behind your voice as if you were pushing him to continue with whatever he was doing. You slowly remove your warm hands from his cheeks. He feels his jaw clench at the sudden and impromptu moment that you had created but you remain unfazed and collected as you bid him goodnight.

You don’t trust him but you trust the tenacity this man would have, changing the system would be advantageous on your part as well. This scenario couldn’t be that far-fetched, especially since Gojo Satoru would be in the front lines, leading it, “...Much less a man who strives to be some sort of god.” your lips part as you let out a small sigh underneath your breath, recalling the words scornfully remonstrated at you a year ago by the principal of the Kyoto College.

Some sort of god, you walk in your room, closing the door behind you as you thought of those words that had suddenly made their way back to your head. A god wouldn’t bestow a power to surpass him. A god wouldn’t try to go through such lengths. 

You let out a small chuckle underneath your breath, your husband did have some sort of savior/hero complex, after all. Maybe he shouldn’t be called the devil like you but an actual angel like Michael who fights for injustices and steps on the wickedness and snares of the devil.

My, this is probably why you’ll never have peace in your life even whilst you sleep.

You deserve the villainous ending for even using him, his situation, his life, and now, his dream to get what you wanted.

How befitting.

 It’s three am.

Satoru hears a loud thump that makes him immediately sit up on the couch, a curse wasn’t actually stupid to lurk around here, were they? The soft cooling sounds of the AC is the only thing heard along with the loud sound of silence.  Slowly, he strides to your door, softly knocking. There wasn’t any imminent response so he knocks again.

Again, nothing.

The door softly clicks open, he’s startled that you hadn’t even locked it at all in the first place. The dim light is enough to show that no one was on top of the king’s bed, this makes his forehead crease in wonder just where you were. He leers to the side, trying to find where you were and stops when he finds feet peeking out nearby, you were on the floor with pillows and a blanket strewn across you. Your brows are furrowed together and Satoru realizes that he has to wake you up. He bends down, “Y/N…” He softly calls out your name, shaking your shoulder lightly, “Y/N…”

Your eyes suddenly shot open, making the shaman jerk his hand away from you in response, “I-” You breathed out, clenching the sheets beneath you as you try to hide your unsteady breathing, “Satoru?” you uttered, eyes glossy from the unknown as you try to maintain a front.

“I heard…” he hesitated, “A sound…”

Judging by how the pillows and blankets were placed, it was obvious that you had slept on the floor so he didn't bother to say anything about it.

“I must’ve dropped something.” 

“Want me to be on guard?” 

Satoru is mildly aware that sleeping on the floor was probably not going to be the most comfortable thing to do and he wants to probe as to why you’re sleeping there when you have a king’s bed here that looks quite comfortable too. He’s sure that you didn’t practice this at home since he recalls that one night he had come into the room , “On guard?” you ask, he points to the soft mattress and motions you to lay back down.

“I’m not sleepy anymore.”

“But-” you tried to protest.

“Just go back to sleep on the bed, I’ll watch out if there are curses that come in.”

You dither for a few seconds, unmindful of what to do next  and if you should follow his order. The shaman’s gaze stares down on your empty eyes, there was no agitation but the facial expression you had made a while ago in your sleep was enough to tell that you were still pressing on grisly nightmares. Steadily, you prop and pull yourself up from the floor. The shaman’s warm hands ghosting your lower back to help support you. You showed no signs of displeasure in this as you sat down on the bed. Hesitantly, you recline and relax on the softness of the mattress. Satoru remains by your bedside, making himself comfortable as he perches himself on the floor.

“My obaachan would turn on her grave if she saw this scene right in front of her.” You honestly point out. The shaman turns to you, the sudden small story of your personal life has his mouth turn to a half-smile. It was a random one, you’ve never talked about your family but judging by how you called your grandmother and the rather affectionate way you called out for her, he has a feeling you two were close.

“Oh?”

“A wife letting her husband sit on the floor.” your eyes flutter as you stifle out a yawn,  indicating that you are tired, “You don’t see that everyday.”

“Well,” he leans back on the side of the bed,  “Haven’t we established that we both were never an ordinary couple to begin with?” he recalls your conversation during the cold wintery night of the twenty-fourth last year.

You had both come a long way from that to whatever it is you two were doing now. The dynamic was still confusing but more or less, it was getting bearable and getting there, “Oh, we did, didn’t we?” you agreed, slowly closing your eyes. The white-haired man places one hand on top of your forehead.

“Sleep, Y/N.” He mumbles, reassuring you, an odd thing that he hasn’t done in a long time, “You’ll be fine.”

He hears your soft breathing and your face slowly starts to relax but his hand still lingers on the strands that cover your face. Lightly, he lets his finger dance between it before tucking it behind your ear. 

When you had woken up, Satoru was nowhere to be found. You rub your eyes and sit up at the edge of your bed, the clock staring down at you, it was ten o’ clock. You had overslept and you were supposed to start the day early since you were visiting some places up the mountains. You mumble a few curses on your breath as you feel the cool floor below you, opening the door, only to find your husband there, casually scrolling through the tv.

“Satoru-” you began, he turned to you, a chocolate croissant in between his mouth as he waves the remote up. The shaman tosses it to the side and grabs the sweet treat between his lips

“You sure you don’t wanna sleep more?” he asks, cutting you off, trying to discern you for a brief moment behind his sunglasses, “We still have three days to kill around here. Sleeping in doesn’t really matter.”

At some point, maybe you had to give him some credit. He seemed to be easier to talk to rather than the past, maybe it was because of how different the air between you two was these days. At the very least, you both seemed to find a rhythmic pace that you both could seem to agree on.

“I…” You paused, “I’m good. We can go have lunch out now and move around.”

“You know,”  he takes another bite of his bread, “you really have to stop doing that.” You lifted a brow at his choice of words, surveying his facial features for a brief moment. He remains relaxed and casual as he raises his hands up, signaling that he didn’t mean to be offensive about it, “I’m just saying. Just go back to sleep, it’s not like I’m going anywhere either.”

“I’m fine. It’s not a lie.” You acknowledged, truthfully, it was a dreamless state and you felt quite energized by this,  “I’d like to eat some Kikufuku later, I’ll go get changed.'' Without even waiting for him to say anymore, you return to your room to get changed while Satoru remains seated there, eyeing your door, lingering thoughts about what he had seen this morning probing his mind. He clicks his tongue in dismay and puts his head back, ah, just what he needed. Another unanswered question from your side.

After what seemed like a while, he finds you ready to go, your features are now fresher and complexion better than before. Satoru, once again, like yesterday, trails behind you as you both move around the city, he takes you to brunch, and even buys you the Kikufuku mochi you've been wanting to eat. You both sit across from each other in the restaurant, enjoying the comfortable silence after a good meal, he slowly eases on the chair, “Feeling better?” he asked.

“I should be asking you that question.” you return, wiping the invisible stain at the side of your mouth, addressing what happened this morning yourself, “You were awake from the wee hours of the morning and sitting on the floor.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t done.” he dismissed, truthfully while on missions, there were some uncomfortable places to be so sitting on the floor wasn’t exactly a big problem. He slowly leans forward and clasps his hands together. You know that look anywhere, he was curious about something. Maybe about what he saw when he came in.

“You’re going to ask a question.” You manage to say, mouth pressing onto a thin line as your gaze narrows down on him, “Go spit it out, it looks like it's been bothering you.”

Satoru is debating whether or not to ask about what was going on with you these days, how you looked like you had seen things that probably shouldn’t be seen when he catches a glimpse of those panic-stricken eyes and clammy hands that gripped the bed sheets tightly but he bites back his tongue, he had a hunch that he won’t be getting anywhere if he asked that, “Just got curious, you talked about your family earlier.” he started, asking about something else, maybe family wasn’t so much of a problem since you seemed to have spoken softly of the deceased woman. 

He has seen your grandmother in passing once as a child, she was like you yet at the same time she wasn’t. Even giving him a piece of candy and fluffing his hair at the party when he was probably about twelve, with her finger over her lips, telling him that he need not to tell anybody that she fed him a treat before dinner time.

“Have you met her?” you cock your head to the side, surprised that your grandmother had approached him. Despite the motherly aura she presented, she had confessed to you in passing how much she actually loathed children, if it weren’t for her little charade, she apparently wouldn’t want anything to do with the little gremlins even if they were her own blood. It wasn’t that surprising to you then, with your confusing dynamic growing up, it was clear she didn’t know to properly give affection to a child from the heart, “She’s quite the woman.”

“Once,” he recounts the event, “Very briefly, a long time ago. I barely even remember what she looked like then.”

“She was the one who raised me and was in charge of everything I’ve learned.” your fingers softly tap the wooden table, your eyes glint with apathy as you remember her but your tone held mild longing, “We don’t know what happened one day, she suddenly disappeared. I ended up having to go to Kyoto instead.”

“They didn’t find anything?”

“Nothing.” Your expression turns blank as you stare down at his plate for a split second before boring your eyes to his, “Not even a piece of fabric.”

After that conversation, Satoru and you are back on the road again. The soft peaks of the sunlight peeking through the clouds as you made your way to the busy streets, the shaman shouldn’t have probably asked about your grandmother too. It sounded like a depressing topic to also begin with.

Not even a body to be found or buried and you seemed very close with her as well, he wonders how you feel each year when you pray to an empty grave.

“Satoru-sama?” You call out, raising another box of kikufuku  and motioning him to come closer, you don’t seem perturbed by the topic earlier, he thinks it’s probably because you’ve always paraded around with a smile to the point where it became an automatic expression for you then, “You should give this to Megumi after the mission. I’m sure he’ll like it.”

“Get one for the both-” His phone rings, cutting him short, “Give me a sec.”

Your eyes blink at how his face suddenly contorts to mild seriousness as he steps out of the conversation, you remain standing there, the box of delicacies in hand is forgotten as you watch your husband from afar. Megumi wasn’t in trouble was he? Maybe Satoru shouldn’t have given such a mission so heavily to him for a first try. At the end of the day, it was a special grade cursed object-

Your heavy thoughts are cut short when you feel someone bumping into you and you have to hold onto the box a bit too tightly to prevent it from falling to the ground, this snaps you out of your worried trance, “Oh, sorry ma’am.” the boy apologizes, his pink spiky hair splayed everywhere and a familiar cherubic expression suddenly makes your gaze turn soft as he snatches the fallen bouquet of daisies on the floor. 

“It’s fine,” you eye his flowers for a brief moment and the fallen petals on the ground, “Are you and your flowers alright?” 

“Oh they’re fine.” He gingerly grins, “My jichan won’t even mind if they start looking ugly. Sorry about that again, ma’am.”

The way he had spoken about his grandfather makes you genuinely beam, the youthfulness and normalcy of the young man was sure something that you were envious about and wished you could experience.

“It’s alright.”  you politely smile at him, “I think you should be on your way now, I know my obaachan wouldn’t like it if I kept her waiting too.”

The young boy’s apologetic and shy grin turns even bigger at your choice of words. He bows down in apology again yet you dismiss it and completely reassure him that you were fine and that such little things won’t be such a problem. You watch as he hurriedly dashes away, the sudden impact of the bump temporarily reels you away from the horrid thoughts that something might have happened to Megumi. Satoru, mean while, returns to your side, stuffing his work phone back in his pocket, “What happened here?” he looks down at some of the petals and fallen daisies on the floor.

“A child,” you simply explained, it wasn’t exactly a big deal, what you wanted to know was if the call was related to Megumi,  “He probably hadn’t seen me since he was too in a hurry. What happened?” 

“Just work,” He disclosed, taking the box from your hand and giving it to the girl at the front to pay for it and have it wrapped. He’s been liking these mochi’s that you had requested to get, maybe he should ask the chef when he gets home to make something like this flavor, “Calling some people in, they wanted my opinion on some things.”

“Megumi?”

The shaman’s bemused that your worry for Megumi still knows no bounds, you’ve been asking about him since last night and seemed to be on alert whenever he had received a call.

Satoru pursed his lips for a moment, taking the box from the front and turning to you, “How do I reassure you that he’s alright and I’m here in case something ever turns south?” he hearted, bending down a bit as he caught the underlying tones of disconcertment in your voice, “Stop worrying. He’ll be fine, Y/N. Didn’t you say that he was going to surpass me one day?”

“He’s still sixteen and it’s his-”

“Small things!” he cut you off, suddenly standing erectly,  raising his arms to prove a point, “Don’t worry about him. You’re on a trip to a city you’ve always wanted to go to. Try to enjoy it.”

Yet the sense of dreadfulness and ominous feeling still doesn’t leave your profound thoughts as you walk next to your husband on the busy streets of Sendai. One that felt like something was brewing, you thought of a silent prayer to whatever god or diety that was out there to keep the boy safe from any harm.

Satoru should’ve known better.

Later that night he receives a call from the higher-ups that he might need to cut your vacation short because of the problem regarding the missing cursed object. He mumbles some curses underneath his breath as he starts to call in Ichiji to come by here and drive you home.

You’re bundled up in a thin coat with your suitcases next to you as Satoru helps you down to the lobby, the shaman seemed to have compunctious feelings about how this trip had ended too quickly but you don’t seem all that displeased that it was cut short, “You should give this to him.” You hand him the gift box filled with the Kikufuku mochi’s, there it was again, the foreboding sense as the talks of the young boy came into play, “He deserves it after doing a good job.”

“I’ll get him one on the way.”  You chew on your bottom lip, wondering if you should voice out your concerns for the student yet you decide not to. You trust Megumi, he’ll be fine. He’ll be alright, “Take care on the way home...” He opens the door for you but before he closes it, he bends down to face you, “Let’s go back here and attend the Tanabata in July, Y/N.”

Your mouth presses into a thin line as you hear his words. These days, the shaman seemed to like making a lot of promises to you. Daresay, he seems like he was more, human in your eyes, like he was easily reachable this time, “I’d like that,” you affirmed, “Take care of yourself too, Satoru-sama. I doubt you’ll need it, though.”

His gaze suddenly catches the fallen strand, an out of place facet since you’ve always liked to keep your hair away from your face. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand up and tucks a stray hair beneath your ear, “Sorry.” he utters, his warm finger grazing your earlobe, “You always liked to keep your hair away from your face.”

Your lips parts and pupils flare at the unanticipated action that there's a few moments of quietude between the both of you, the warmness of his touch still right there.

Ichiji clears his throat, the moment gone as soon as it came, “Satoru-san,” The driver calls out, “Me and Y/N-san have to get going now, you should too.”

Satoru leans back and shuts the door while you remain mildly fazed by his actions, he wasn’t usually touchy. Although you did like to touch him to prove a point that you were taking advantage of your position, it was the first time Satoru had ever held you like that alongside saying such outlandish words, “Y/N-san?” Ichiji hesitated, looking at you through the mirror as he drove through the traffic.

“Yes?”

“You and Satoru-san make a good couple.” he compliments.

You relax on your car seat and look out the window, staring at the places of the night life, forgetting what had happened just awhile ago because it wasn’t something that you should dawdle on too much. After all, you still viewed him as a conundrum, “That’s what they all say.” you mumbled, then turning to smile at him through the mirror, “We do, don’t we? He’s a good man.”

Maybe it was the guilt that was stating to gnaw you up and the wonton feeling of getting rid of the plans that you’ve made. You could only shut your eyes tight, ignoring the lingering apprehension.

Satoru, meanwhile, has ended up on the rooftops of one of the schools in Sendai and is greeted by a very much injured Fushiguro Megumi with a troubled look on his face. By the looks of the damage, it didn’t look good. He might be on the receiving end of your dirty looks when Megumi comes to visit you, bandaged, “So what’s the situation?” he pops out of nowhere, hands in his pocket along with a gift bag. 

“Wha-” the boy exclaimed, turning to him, eyes widening, “Gojo-sensei? What’re you doing here?”

Megumi suddenly recalls that you and Satoru were in Sendai for your anniversary, the thought of your trip getting cut short because he was too incompetent suddenly makes his stomach turn to mush. You looked like you were looking forward to it when Hana had brought it up one time while you two were having lunch together. He can’t believe that he was the reason why the trip had suddenly been canceled,  “I wasn’t going to come but the higher-ups got involved after hearing that there was a special grade cursed object that went missing.” Satoru whips out his phone and starts taking pictures of Megumi like the little shit that he is so that he could be able to show it off to Maki and the other second years, he takes a mental note to hide this from you, though, “And I agreed because Y/N kept giving me a look the whole time and she looked like she wouldn’t enjoy the rest of the trip.”

The young boy feels his spirits disheartened when he hears those words, you truly were too kind for his mentor.

“...so did you find it?” Satoru finally inquired, putting his phone back in his pocket as his masked eyes bore into his dark obsidian ones.

“Uh…” a new voice pipes in, the white-haired shaman turns to find a unknown individual with bright pink hair standing there, looking absolutely clueless with no qualms about the current affairs at hand, “I ate it.”

Satoru remains on his spot, gaped and mildly surprised by the phrase, “For real?”

“For real.” Megumi confirmed, bowing his head and sighing on the spot, not entirely sure of the predicament he reeled himself into. Not only did he ruin your anniversary trip, he dragged in an innocent civilian in this too. He almost wanted to slam his palm on his face because of this mess he had created yet his mentor’s laugh suddenly echoed in the solitude of the terrace. His gaze shifts to find the six-eyed shaman staring down at Itadori Yuuji with great interest.

“You’re not kidding, they’ve combined.” He stated, tapping on his chin as he continued to look at Yuuji, “How does your body feel?”

The pink-haired boy looks down and starts stretching and turning his body side to side just to check, “Okay?” he’s mildly unsure if he should trust this guy, he’s wearing a blind fold after all. Could he even see him?

“Well, could you switch to Sukuna?” Satoru asks, taking a step back to give the boy some space.

“Sukuna?”

“The cursed object that you ate.”

“Oh yeah,” he hesitantly lilted, “probably.”

Yuuji is mildly unsure of what to say next or if he should even consent to it because judging by the damage that this ‘Sukuna’ did, he didn’t seem like a very good guy. What if he’d hurt the newcomer?

“Ten seconds,” Satoru exclaimed, noticing the hesitance of the boy as he started playfully stretching. If his hypothesis was right, he might earn himself a new student to the cause. The abrupt thought of you too makes him inwardly laugh, it seemed like he might also earn himself another visitor at his house if this kid would be able to control the demon in his body,  “Come on back after ten seconds.”

“I dunno about this.” He noted, hands on his hips as he looked down on the shaman who was not even the slightest bit perturbed by it.

“Don’t worry,” Satoru is confident as his lips twist to a wild and crazy grin. Sukuna Ryomen or not, he’s not called the strongest sorcerer alive for nothing, “I’m crazy strong.”

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[iheartgarrus]

I am extremely curious about Bath bomb and Garrus gets a tutor

Hehehe

Bath bomb:

"It's a gift," he clarified quickly. "For my, ah, girlfriend. She's a human." Her eyes widened just barely - he was starting to get used to that reaction - but otherwise she didn't miss a beat. "Well, in that case, you're definitely in the right place. Is there a particular type of product you're looking for today?" "Well..." He surveyed the shop for a moment, finding that he vaguely recognized the shapes of a few bottles from things he'd seen in Shepard's bathroom, and some of the signs indicated things he was familiar with ("soap" was universal enough), but he was largely out of his element, and a little intimidated, if he was being honest. "Not exactly. All I know is that she just got this new apartment with a big bathtub in it, and she said she's never had one before. And a friend of ours - another human - was talking about things she liked putting in her baths to relax. But half the words she said didn't translate." He sighed, his shoulders slumping a bit. "Anyway, I just wanted to... She's been under a lot of pressure, and she's not easy to buy gifts for." "I think I understand," Alice replied with a firm nod. "You need bath bombs." "...Pardon?"

And...

Garrus gets a tutor (not part of my personal canon btw):

But right now, he was thinking about the sex. If he was honest with himself, it had been amazing, because it was with Shepard, his best friend and the person he respected most in the galaxy. But if it had been with anyone else? He might’ve rated it a bit lower. He knew he’d fumbled a bit. All the research in the world hadn’t prepared him for having her in front of him, and she didn’t seem wholly confident either. He’d naively hoped that they would have time to iron out the wrinkles, to get used to each other. But the Reapers apparently had something to say about that. What if… If he got to see her again (big “if”), and she was still interested in him, what if he came into it with a little more… practical knowledge? It wouldn’t be cheating, even if it kind of felt that way to him - sleeping with someone twice and never discussing the relationship certainly didn’t make for a monogamous arrangement. This was insane. He was thinking about hiring a sex tutor.

[thetriggeredhappy]

in the dadspy au, what if jeremy was just going to be an assistant/cook/janitor at the base while his dad was being the mercenary (since spy didnt want him to follow the "career" but didnt want to be separated from him), but then jeremy turned out to be even better than the hired scout so they promote him to that position and spy is not happy with this at all

ok i was gonna put this in the queue to post but im impatient because im happy with this one. only thing i didnt have was spy being upset by this development

(warnings for canon-typical violence, discussion of mercenary-type things, paranoia, alcohol, and exactly one proper fight scene. consider this pg-13)

-

“Would you prefer the good news first, or the bad news?” Dad asked.

Jeremy looked up at him from where he’d snatched up the sunday comics from his dad’s newspaper and was doodling little hats on the characters while they waited for their food to arrive. “Uh,” he said, “good news first.”

“Alright. The good news is, do you remember that line I’ve been tailing? The one in New Mexico?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy said, then nodded a little more confidently. “Immunity, safehouse, somethin’ like that, right?”

“...Something like that,” Dad agreed carefully, and that made him raise an eyebrow. “It went well, and I think there’s the very real possibility that I’ve all but closed the deal, all they want now is an interview.”

“...Interview, singular,” Jeremy said slowly.

“That’s where the bad news begins. Unfortunately... merde, how to phrase this?” He drew a hand down his face. “They’re fully willing to hire me on, but this is a more... corporate affair than I’m used to. They have rules, stipulations. Long story short, they will not hire you as a mercenary on the basis of your age.”

Jeremy tensed. “What?” he demanded. “That’s stupid, I’m old enough to drive and buy guns and whatever the hell else.”

“But not rent a car, at least in many places in the United States.”

“But—“ he started, and remembered they were in public, and lowered his voice to a hiss, leaning in. “We’re hired killers, thieves, criminals. Do they really think we’re above having fakes? False documentation?”

“Actually, that is one of their requirements,” Dad said dryly, taking a paper from his jacket and consulting it. “I’m not happy about it either, mon lapin, but those are their rules. Already they have slightly bent them for one individual, and already I am on thin ice. But I may have a way to manage this.”

“Yeah?” Jeremy asked, nervous now.

“I know the woman responsible for new hires and managing the team I’ve applied for. She owes me a favor—a fairly hefty one. When I go in for the interview, one of my demands will include you being hired on, not as a mercenary, but for... for custodial purposes, something like that. Cook, janitor, security guard, secretary—whatever job there is that needs doing there, and I am sure that there will be one. Something to allow you to live there. Pay will likely be her stipulation, and the play I hope to make is that really, you’re overqualified for the position and she’s lucky to have someone so competent available, and in the worst case scenario, the pay is still good enough even for just one of us that we will not cut too deeply into the savings.”

The savings. That made Scout blink, because they only ever brought up the savings when—

“You think this could be it?” he asked quietly. “Like, it it?”

A hard exhale, and he leaned his cheek on his hand. “Potentially,” he finally said. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but the job promises a variety of things. Medical attention available, extremely low levels of danger, and most of all, confidentiality. The only people who will know any name we give them would be the woman in charge of hiring us and their singular medical professional. There is no mode of communication to or from the compound outside of emergency lines to the organization and a single secure payphone located two miles away, there is no civilization within a twenty-five minute drive minimum, and this operation has been going long enough that the local authorities have long since grown used to being paid off, and likely don’t even remember what for anymore. I cash in a few valuable favors and ask this employer to turn a blind eye, we’d have somewhere remote and secure to spend our time after our deaths are faked and once the contract is over, we can start over. No ties to the past.”

“Freedom,” Jeremy marveled.

Silence for a few seconds, broken only by the quiet chatter of the rest of the diner. “I want to warn you, this work may not be glamorous. It may not even be particularly easy. I’m giving you the option of saying no,” Dad said.

“What?! Yes, hell yes, are you joking? To get us to living like normal people? Steady work? Livin’ in one place? Count me in!” he laughed.

“What if the job is something you won’t enjoy? Long hours, boring work?” Dad asked, entirely serious.

“I’m still on board.”

“What if the other people working there are rude to you? Disrespectful?”

“Well most of the people I meet through our job now try to kill us, so really it’s an upgrade.”

“What if there’s no diner nearby?” he asked, and there was a glint of humor in his eye.

“Damn, sorry, that’s the dealbreaker,” he joked right back, and that made him snort, shake his head, greet the waitress as she came back with their coffee and soda and then informed them that their food would be out shortly.

“I’ll ask,” was what Dad said once she was gone again, and that was that, and they started driving to New Mexico two nights later.

-

“—A warm welcome to our two newest recruits. This is the Spy, and this is the Guard.”

“Guard?” asked one of the men at the table, his accent thick and distinctly Russian. It made Jeremy tense slightly, but he didn’t let it show.

“Night Guard,” Jeremy answered, voice clipped.

“He’s not technically hired on as a mercenary like you all, he won’t be joining you on missions,” the short woman apparently named Miss Pauling (Jeremy was fairly sure it was a fake name) said, hands folded in front of her neatly. “He’s here to work security. Keep an eye out during the night, filter through the camera footage, handle the archiving, things like that.”

“We’re hiring on a civvie now?” asked another man, thick Scottish accent a little harder to digest than the eyepatch and the grenade he was in the process of fiddling with the internal mechanisms of.

“He’s combat ready, and will still be armed. His job is to essentially make sure you’re all safe enough to sleep through the night,” Miss Pauling said.

“I’m not some chump,” Jeremy agreed. “I know my stuff.”

“How old is he?” another man asked, this one in a hardhat with a heavy drawl, looking concerned.

“Twenty, for your information,” Jeremy said, a little sharply, eyes narrowed.

“If you have any other questions, there’ll be time later on. For now, I do need to show our two newest recruits where they’ll be staying,” Miss Pauling cut in.

There was an audible scoff from one of the men at the table, a dramatic rolling of eyes. Jeremy glared at him. He unfolded and refolded his extremely tattoo’d tree-trunk-like arms, tugging the visor of his hat between. “Sorry,” he said, accent thick and distinctly Californian. “I just don’t have the most trust for some scrawny kid in slacks and creep in a ski mask.”

“Scout, don’t start,” Miss Pauling warned.

“Just saying,” this man, apparently called Scout, muttered under his breath regardless.

“Don’t,” she said again, more firmly, and ignored the second eye roll she got for the trouble. “If you two would follow me.”

And they were shown around the base, and Jeremy in particular was shown into a room stuck behind three locked doors, where he found camera feeds and recording equipment. She gave him a basic overview and a thick packet of instructions and policies labelled ‘highly classified’ and a phone number to call if he had any further questions, and a set of hours that were apparently meant to become the new standard for him (with the quiet addendum that if he finished early that was alright, and that technically he could turn in early if two or more members of the team were already awake for the day and he was caught up on the archiving of old tapes).

Then he was left to “get used to the equipment”, which he assumed meant his dad was getting a similar rundown of his job, and it took a pretty quick glance through the packet to understand that clearly this place ran on an extremely secretive and closely monitored series of systems. In the packet, between the sections on camera maintenance and operation hours, were a few sheets detailing what were apparently the movement patterns of the various members of the team, including frequented locations and previously recorded large-scale infractions (mostly on the part of the Soldier, the Medic, the Scout, and one from the Demoman).

He wasn’t the one with the title Spy, but fuck, it seemed like he might as well have it. His entire job wasn’t even necessarily to keep the team safe overnight—he was just meant to watch all of them to make sure nobody was anywhere or doing anything out of the ordinary.

The next time he saw his dad, waiting outside the infirmary to get some sort of physical evaluation, his face was arranged carefully enough that he could tell he’d figured out something was up, too.

“Got your job assignments?” he asked quietly in French, glancing towards the door into the infirmary.

A nod, a glance. “I’m intrigued by the methods used in employee evaluation,” he deadpanned. “Especially the fact that apparently, they’re willing to assign employees for the explicit task of doing them.”

“How often?”

“Weekly.”

“Thorough,” Jeremy deadpanned, and glanced towards the hall at the distant sound of laughter, echoing from somewhere else on the base. “That’s basically mine too.”

There was a long silence, and when Jeremy looked back over, his dad was giving him an almost expectant look, waiting. All he had to offer him was a shrug, which was returned after a moment with a vague shake of the head. “I don’t believe it will be a problem,” his dad said simply. “Not for us, at the very least.”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. Uh, anyways, good luck with the… physical, or whatever,” he said, and received a pat on the shoulder before he walked back off down the hall, hoping to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do with an entire room all to himself. He’d almost never had one before.

-

He was used to time changes and jet lag, to needing to switch his sleep schedule on the regular, but the switch to a straight up night shift was a rough one.

His nine-to-five was actually a ten-to-six, as in 10 PM through 6 AM. This meant that, assuming he managed to get his schedule in order, he’d be able to join in on the team dinners if he woke up early and could eat breakfast with them before he went to bed.

Very quickly he realized that going to dinner and breakfast with the team was going to become a staple part of his routine, because it didn’t take long before he began to feel extremely lonely all of the time. In a dark little room, everyone else asleep, scrubbing through tapes from during the day while half keeping an eye on the live feed from around the base that never showed much of anything, it was brutal. It was suffocating.

It was easy, at least. It didn’t take long before he got efficient at it and could start zoning out, and it wasn’t like he was under much pressure. His was the only room without any cameras in it. Security risk, apparently. 
And to be honest, what small amount he and Dad interacted with mercenaries and other criminal types, Jeremy didn’t really tend to like them much. A lot of them were loud and rude and had the potential to turn around and try and kill them whenever they felt like it. He didn’t expect that he’d like the team as much as he did. He especially didn’t expect to like them so much without ever really talking to them.

But watching the camera feeds from throughout the day, seeing what they were up to, they were just... nice people. Soldier out by the dumpsters practicing rocket jumps and wrangling raccoons and apparently trying to learn how to spin a rifle, Pyro’s regular minor explosions in the kitchen while cooking and the surprised and frantic way they cleaned it up every time, the Demoman’s tendency to whistle wherever he went, watching through the feed as they all played cards and argued and jostled each other. They all seemed really nice. Really cool. Really dorky, too, but mostly just really nice and really cool.

And there were a few of them he was less sure about—he couldn’t get eyes on the Medic most of the time, what with the one camera in the Medbay being tilted down at an angle that made it hard to see much of anything but the occasional bird (probably by those same birds). The Heavy tended to just sit and read, and was pretty much silent most of the time otherwise. The Scout tended to leave the base pretty often. And the Sniper didn’t even live on base, he had a van outside that he could only occasionally see movement in when he squinted at the far edge of the camera leading outside. But even then, Heavy and Sniper mostly just seemed quiet, and Medic just seemed busy, and the Scout just seemed like a little bit of a dickhead.

But then one day when Jeremy was at breakfast the Heavy caught him leaning to try to get a look at the cover of the book he was reading, and he blurted that he was just wondering what book was so great that he’d stay up until like four in the morning reading, and then the entire team was gawking at him and asking questions and insisting that it was insane that there was someone actually watching all those cameras, and he shrugged and said there was always supposed to be someone watching the tapes back it was just usually some office worker type a hundred miles away. And they seemed almost... upset with him. And maybe that was fair, it wasn’t like he ever talked to any of them much, mostly he just spent breakfast and dinner half-asleep and listening to their chatter. And Demoman admitted that he’d honestly assumed that Jeremy slept his entire shift, he just always looked so tired at breakfast. There was almost this discomfort. This distrust.

And so, now that the jig was up, he made it a point to say some things to certain members of the team. To tell the Medic that his camera was tilted down so that he couldn’t see most of the room, and to very pointedly say that it was weird how that happened and that he didn’t know why they set it up like that in the first place, but it was really none of his business. Made it a point to warn the Engineer in the morning that the previous night, Soldier had been doing something in the fridge for a while, and to maybe check the labels before he made breakfast. Made it a point to tell the Demoman that the camera in his workshop was right in plain sight, and that if he moved one of his blackboards an inch or two to the left, it would obscure the room a pretty hefty amount. Made it a point to tell the Sniper that the camera on the rooftop seemed to be glitching out, and it’d just sort of lost the tapes of the previous two nights, and that it was really unfortunate since for all he knew there might have been someone ignoring the signs about there being no personnel allowed up there.

In return, he found that Pyro would sometimes make little sparkly notes with smiley faces on them and stick them to the door to the security room. That Sniper started tipping his hat at the camera above the door into the base from the garage. That on occasional drinking nights, the team would suddenly turn and start waving at the camera, laughing the whole way. On one night in particular he could hear through the low-quality and tinny speakers that they were trying to cajole him into leaving the security room for a while to join them for cards, and god, but he wanted to.

And he noticed more things. Soldier walking with a slight limp some days when rocket jumps had rough landings. Being able to count the doves in the infirmary and even tell them apart to some extent through blurry close-ups. The Engineer making it a point to sweep really regularly regardless of what project he was working on.

And then he noticed a weird thing.

It took him a long time to get used to the patterns of hallways, the cameras not really lined up linearly after a while, too many branching paths. He learned to follow progress, to flick from one camera to the next as someone walked around corners. And for a while he thought maybe he wasn’t very good at it.

Until he realized two things. First of all, that in a hallway where he knew there were five doors, he could only see four—apparently the door to Pyro’s room was just barely out of sight of the camera. He only figured it out because one day it swung open wide enough to almost bang against the wall.

And then, when he realized there was somehow that massive blindspot, that there was a corner with a blindspot too. One where that Scout kept disappearing.

He watched a few more times to make sure, and yep. He’d see the Engineer walking around the corner, flick to the next screen, and there he was, continuing down the hallway. And then later that same day, the Scout, walking, and flick to the next camera, and he wasn’t there.

One of the worse parts of the job was that he never got to see Dad anymore, never got to just sort of hang out the way they did all the time when he was growing up, and he knew he would miss it but he didn’t know how much. And he found it was even worse when he had something important to say, doubly so when he had something important to say but no idea if it was actually important.

He tried to bring it up casually, in the like ten minutes of time he ever got alone to talk to Dad. Dad was fighting the kettle trying to make some tea and he was trying to stay awake long enough to figure out how he was going to say this.

“Uh,” he said, and Dad looked at him. “So, uh, what’s the read you’re getting on that Scout guy?”

“Lazy,” Dad shrugged, looked back at the kettle. “Arrogant. He seems to care very little about doing his job correctly and has horrible communication on the field.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, fought a yawn down. “Uh. So like, kind of a dickhead.”

“Indeed,” Dad said, nodding vaguely.

“So uhhh... not the best.”

“Where are you going with this?” Dad asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I, I dunno, the guy just likes hanging out in this one blindspot in the cameras, and it’s kinda freaking me out,” Jeremy said, scratching at the back of his neck.

Dad frowned. “Strange. I wasn’t aware that there were any blindspots in the cameras.”

“There’s only a few, and only for pretty small spaces I think? But apparently he just likes hanging out in one of them.” Jeremy scuffed his shoe on the ground, glancing over as voices started echoing down the hall towards them. “Just thought it was weird.”

“I’ll look into it,” Dad muttered, voice quiet, and then raised it again slightly. “I refuse to keep up with sports.”

“C’mon,” Jeremy said, knowing this game well, changing subjects into something more normal as people entered earshot. “I’m not even asking you to keep up with sports, I’m just saying, I’d kill to go to a baseball game right about now.”

“The American Pasttime!” Soldier called from the room over.

“Exactly,” Jeremy agreed, nodding at Soldier as he also entered the kitchen, a half-asleep Demoman in tow.

“Any ghosties or ghoulies on the cameras last night, lad?” Demo had enough energy to ask, blinking blearily at the contents of the fridge.

“Oh, a billion,” Jeremy said.

“Guard!” Soldier barked, the most awake person in the room. “Should these ghost-ghouls appear again, don’t be afraid to point me in their direction! I have significant experience with them already and do not fear the likes of them!”

“Yeah sure,” Jeremy shrugged.

“You’re a champion, Guard,” Demo said with what was either a really disoriented blink or a wink, slugging him on the shoulder and wandering back out into the common room with the entire carton of milk in his other hand. Jeremy gave him a mock-salute that Soldier copied with absolute conviction. He and Dad shared a glance after the two of them left, and Jeremy was the first one to break, snickering under his breath.

“I’ll look into it,” Dad said, and also left the kitchen, and Jeremy nodded and started trying to remember what else he’d been planning on doing before bed.

-

“So,” Dad said a few days later, materializing next to Jeremy when he was in the middle of his jog and making him almost jump out of his skin, skidding to a stop.

“You’re enjoying that new watch way too much,” Jeremy panted, out of breath and still very much startled.

“Maybe,” Dad said, and he was smiling. “But as I was saying.”

“All you said was ‘so’,” Jeremy pointed out, giving him a look.

“There’s a juvenile joke here about how I’m your father and so of course I say ‘so’, but if you wouldn’t mind it, I did have something important to say, mon lapin,” Dad replied, and Jeremy rolled his eyes hard at the horrible joke and cheesy name, fighting back a smile of his own.

“Go for it,” he said, and took the opportunity to bend and tighten his shoelaces.

“So. Regarding that Scout and his habits. You mentioned he spends time in blind spots of the cameras, oui?” Dad asked.

“Yeah. Keeps, uh, I guess he keeps getting infractions for going off base too much, too. I’ve logged him leaving like three times this week already,” Jeremy nodded.

“Indeed. Well, considering how new we are to the team, I did not want to jump to conclusions, and so contacted Miss Pauling and asked on your behalf for any older records, and I found out something very... intriguing.”

Jeremy looked up at him, blinking. ‘Intriguing’, historically, had always been a very, very bad thing.

“Apparently, it has been two years since they last had a Guard situated on base. The previous one was a much older gentleman, retired from being a full member of the team due to health complications but not entirely ready to part with the company. The previous guard was somewhat strict, and the Scout—the same as we have now—very much disliked the man. He continued acquiring near-constant infractions under the man’s watch for leaving when he was not meant to, so much so that the previous Guard proposed enstating trackers on the team when they went off-base. And before this policy could take hold, the previous Guard left the base one day and did not return, and finally was found dead a state over, one month later.”

Jeremy blinked once, twice. “Holy shit,” he said, and took note of the wary look on his face. “Okay. So we’re thinkin’ the same thing, right?”

“I would assume so. And…” Dad hesitated, moved to fidget with his cufflinks. “And I would not be particularly concerned about this, as I’m confident that you wouldn’t have gotten his attention from what you’ve been up to lately, and therefore wouldn’t be in danger yet should history attempt to repeat itself, but… he’s already taken a disliking to you.”

“What?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“I believe it’s something as simple as some sort of shallow jealousy. Another American on the team, also relatively young, filling the position of someone he disliked previously. He regularly complains about the fact that you don’t need to go do the same job as the rest of us.” Dad shrugged, glanced over at him. “That, combined with the fact that you have somewhat conflicting duties, well, he tends to rather tetchy. He claims that considering he’s meant to be the first line of defense, they shouldn’t also need a guard at night.”

Jeremy had a number of opinions about that, but he stuck to the most relevant ones. “I really don’t like this guy,” he said. “Might be, uh. Worth keeping an eye on.”

“Agreed.” Dad glanced back over his shoulder towards the base, then at his watch. “Enjoy the rest of your run. Don’t forget to eat.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, hit the bricks already, old man,” Jeremy scoffed, waving him off, and Dad rolled his eyes, disappearing again in a cloud of smoke. “You’re gonna be using that thing all the damn time now, aren’t you?”

“Oui,” came a voice from nowhere, and Jeremy huffed a laugh, meandering his way back into the rest of his jog.

-

Jeremy hummed along to the radio, flicking between cameras on autopilot and wondering when exactly to take his lunch break.

He didn’t face the clock or anything, so he wasn’t sure, but he thought he had a pretty solid rhythm at that point. Click, click, click, between the camera to the road, the camera to the main entrance, and the camera in the hall towards the middle of the building, for about one second each. At just about any time after 11 or 11:30, those were the only three in real time that he needed to keep an eye on, mostly for people coming back late from bar hopping or if Miss Pauling was rolling in on a delivery. All the other cameras he could see out of the corner of his eye, and any movement he’d pick up on pretty quick, even if it was usually just the doves fluttering on the camera to the Medbay. After he cycled through those (and there was almost never anything there) he’d cycle back through to the tape he had in, put it on high speed, and watch it for about two or three minutes, get through a chunk of that time. Mostly he’d just be making sure nobody had been in the base while the team was away ni o(which indeed there never was), so there wasn’t much of a reason to take it off high speed, and the second part of the night would be watching the tapes for the time the team was back on base.

Movement on a camera made him click the pause, and he glanced off to the side. One of the doves had shuffled to face the other direction. He rolled his eyes, looking back at the bigger monitor again and pressing play.

The second half of the night was a little more interesting. He just had to look at the tapes for the time the team was there, check for discrepancies that might point to Dad messing with the disguise technology off-the-clock or the enemy Spy having infiltrated. For the most part things were straightforward, but he at least got to see his teammates up to funny things sometimes. Pyro’s antics were usually entertaining. Soldier he only caught some of, on the basis of him often walking off out of range of the cameras when he went on his excursions. Demo was funny sometimes. Honestly, just seeing the Sniper anywhere but as a fuzzy distant shape was interesting.

Movement on a camera. Same dove. He ignored it. Click, click, click, all three cameras clear, back to the fast-forward of the same empty hallway as before.

He really needed to figure something out, for the Scout. Maybe he and Dad were just being paranoid. It would be insane for him to try to outright kill anyone who inconvenienced him, not to mention reckless, and stupid to boot. Acting like that in their line of work would make him a lot of enemies extremely quickly. It would make more sense for the old Guard disappearing to be unrelated, to be honest.

Yeah. Hell, he barely knew the guy, and here he was assuming he’d straight up whacked a guy for getting a little too on his case about something. Maybe they were wrong.

Movement on a camera. He glanced over and froze outright.

It took him five seconds to come to his senses enough to pause the playback on his screen.

Figures. Shapes. Not at the front entrance, in the hallway, there next to the back way, by the garage. At least three, moving carefully, hard to make out in the darkness.

Okay. Okay, don’t panic, focus.

Jeremy ran through a few things in his head. He’d already done a headcount, the only people he wasn’t sure about were the Sniper and the Medic, but he hadn’t seen the Medic in any of the hallways out of the infirmary. Three figures were two too many to be any of the team, and besides that, they didn’t look like the Medic. Too short to be the Sniper, moving differently. Different clothes.

Three people. He hopped up, rushed over to the wall, yanked open the panel he had there. Three buttons, which he needed to hit in order. The first would send an alert to Miss Pauling, the second to whoever was assigned to be on alert that night, the third would set off the alarm.

He hit the first, hit the second, and hesitated on the third.

Okay. Technically if he didn’t hit that third button, he’d be breaking protocol, which was, according to the manual, ‘grounds for termination’. He was pretty sure that meant a long swim with some concrete shoes. And it was apparently recorded every time he hit these buttons, so they could deduct from his pay on false alerts. So they’d know if he didn’t hit this third button. He needed to think fast.

This was a different button than the alert button. The alert was more subtle, set for just one person. The alarm was throughout the entire base, over every loudspeaker. Louder than a fire alarm. If he hit this one, these intruders would hear that there was an alarm going off. Anyone smart would book it, high tail it the hell out of there. But he still didn’t know where they came from.

There hadn’t been movement on any of the screens, and he looked at the camera feed facing the road already, a few times even. He should’ve seen them. And if they found their way in once, they could do it again.

If he didn’t hit the button, on the other hand, whoever was on alert would wake up and wonder why they’d gotten an alert but the alarm wasn’t going off. If they were clever, which they probably were if they’d lasted this long, they’d come to the security room to see what was up and they could work from there.

He closed the panel again and moved to wait.

A minute later, still no movement from the hallway where most of the rooms were. That was fine, they’d just woken up, and probably needed to get dressed and grab their guns.

Another minute later, no movement, which was fair, they just needed a second to get their bearings. The intruders, meanwhile, were just lurking, slowly making their way down the hall.

Another minute later, no movement, and he opened the panel to press the button again before he continued waiting. Maybe they didn’t hear him the first time.

Another minute later and he took to standing next to the panel, mashing the button rapidly, eyes on the screen where the intruders were passing the kitchen, starting to get pretty far into the building.

Another minute later and he stomped his way into his sneakers, grabbing his flashlight and gun and guard cap from where they were hung on the wall. “Fine, I’ll fucking do it myself,” he grumbled, and carefully shouldered open the door, taking one last glance at the camera before he shut the door behind himself.

He kept his footsteps quiet, squinting into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to finish adjusting as he crept towards where he’d last seen the figures. It was near-silent in the base at night except for the distant, quiet hum of generators and occasional shift of plumbing. It was getting more and more familiar, and he found himself able to tune it out somewhat, instead listening intently for footsteps besides his own, making sure to click the safety off his gun while he was still alone and not when he was close to whoever had decided to break in.

Okay. Dad did this all the time. He could handle this.

He slowed as he approached the corner near the kitchen, peering around as carefully as he could, tugging down the brim of his cap to try and hide any potential shine from his eyes. He caught sight of a vague shape standing near the doorway, hesitating before it crept inside, into the common area.

Not ideal, on the basis of that being their goddamn kitchen, but at least there would be cover.

By the time he managed to sneak up to the doorway, he could make out the sound of vague whispering. It was far enough that it gave him the boldness to peer into the room, and just slightly lit by the glow of the clock on the oven he could see two shapes there in the kitchen, the third lingering nearer to him, there by the table.

Jeremy was only just starting to make a plan, relieved to have the jump on them, when there was the distant sound of a generator humming to life, and all the figures stopped, paused for a moment.

“Fucking spooky here,” one whispered, barely audible.

“Calm down,” another whispered. “What, scared of ghosts?”

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, shifted onto the balls of his feet and started creeping a little further into the room. If he could just get all three of them to one side, so he wouldn’t need to pivot so much…

“You don’t know, maybe there’s ghosts here,” the first protested, and swore quietly at what sounded like their winging their elbow against the corner of the tale, and Jeremy tried to stick near the wall, managed to creep half-behind one of the chairs, trying to keep his silhouette indistinct. “These guys kill people.”

“So do we,” the third mumbled, moving out of sight in the kitchen, and Jeremy bit down on a swear, starting to inch behind the couch. “Don’t be a coward. And stop making so much noise.”

“You can’t shoot a ghost,” the first pointed out, moving a bit closer to the kitchen, giving the table a wide berth now. “Or punch it.”

“I can try,” the second said, and stopped at the sound of a rustle.

Jeremy held his breath, weight half-balanced against where he’d tried to step, newspaper trapped beneath his foot.

“That one wasn’t me,” the first whispered. There was another, more significant rustle throughout the room, and Jeremy could see a glint as the intruders drew their weapons.

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, and just barely managed not to swear out loud.

The first one was the closest by, lingering beside the arm of the couch Jeremy was crouched in the shadow of. “Do they have a cat here?” they asked, voice quiet.

The second was approaching into the main room more carefully. From the sound of the footsteps, trying to keep a shoulder closer to the wall, clearly paying more attention to the door. “Are you stupid or something?” was the reply, voice also quiet.

The third didn’t speak, but huffed out a laugh, which was enough to tell Jeremy that he was out of the kitchen.

Jeremy inhaled shakily, exhaled shakily, shifted his grip on his handgun and flashlight, and took a split second to think. Inhaled one more time.

He leapt to his feet, swinging his flashlight like a billy club and clobbering the first figure across the side of the head, sending them tumbling to the ground. From the sound of the impact, a dislocated jaw at the very least. One down.

A shout from the other side of the room, arms moving to try to aim, clearly struggling to see him, but that third figure was in the doorway, silhouetted against the faint light from the oven’s clock, and that was enough to figure out where the head and chest were. He aimed, fired, got what he was pretty sure was the neck considering the brief spray of blood that splattered against the oven, darkening the room completely.

A swear from the second figure, and Jeremy wanted to swear too, because he’d hoped that second figure would be stupid and try and charge him, but now he was ten steps away and didn’t have time to fiddle with and cock the gun again, other hand full with a flashlight and no way to—

Oh, duh.

“Stay where you are,” the second figure ordered, but Jeremy’s eyes were a little better adjusted and besides that, he wasn’t the one talking. He lifted his flashlight and clicked it on.

The second figure cried out, recoiling at the sudden blindingly bright light in what had been near-darkness, and Jeremy had time to finagle his thumb up to cock his gun again, now able to aim with absolute accuracy, this shot connecting with the figure’s head.

He exhaled.

It took Jeremy two minutes to remember to fire a bullet into the chest of the unconscious guy, and another minute for the other mercenaries to start showing up, half-dressed and armed. Dad, presumably to prove a point, showed up pretty close to the middle of the pack almost fully dressed. Jeremy wasn’t entirely sure how long it took before Miss Pauling showed up, but he wasn’t even halfway through their questions by that time.

“Guard, headcount?” she asked before she even bothered saying hello, still wearing her motorcycle helmet and looking more than a little bit miffed.

“Uh,” he said, eyes drawn away from where Medic was assessing the bodies on the kitchen table, “seven present and accounted for. Sniper’s probably out at his van, don’t know about the Scout.”

“Alright. Pyro,” she said, and Pyro stood at attention, bunny slippers squeaking at the movement. “go wake up Sniper and get him in here.”

Pyro nodded, handing their weird unicorn plushie thing to Jeremy as they passed by, giving him a solemn nod before hurrying away.

“Okay. Guard, hit me with a rundown, then,” she said, and shot a glance around the room. “No peanut gallery needed. And Medic, please don’t take them apart too much. I gotta get rid of those later.”

“Uh. Spotted these guys on the cameras, hit the first and second alerts,” Jeremy said.

“And not the third?” she asked pointedly.

“They were, like, right next to the door, and—here’s the thing, Miss P, is I dunno how the hell they got in here,” he said, and there was a general balk from the room. “No, seriously. They didn’t come in on the main road, they were in one of the back hallways by the garage. There’s gotta be a hole in the cameras or something, because I seriously don’t know where they came from. And if they booked it, they’d take whatever vehicle they used to get here, too, and we might not figure it out. Thought I’d just wait for whoever the hell was supposed to be on alert so we could… I dunno, at least see which way they went.”

“Guard,” she admonished, and he shrank a little bit. “That was incredibly reckless. What if nobody had shown up to help you?”

“Uh,” he said, blinked, “but… nobody did show up.”

A pause. She blinked. “What? You’re the one who did that?” she asked, entirely shocked, pointing towards the three bodies on the table.

“Uh, yeah? Isn’t that my job?” he asked carefully, shifting the stuffed animal under his arm.

“No, you’re—you’re just supposed to be the Guard, you’re supposed to watch cameras, not—“ She paused, taking a second to push up her glasses and rub at the bridge of her nose, inhaling, exhaling. “Okay. Points for… going above and beyond, here, but Guard, don’t do that again.”

“Sure thing, Miss P,” he mumbled, tugging on the brim of his guard cap, and sighed to himself as Miss Pauling moved away to try and stop Medic from attempting to covertly steal a few organs from the corpses. Dad clapped him on the shoulder supportively, and that did make him feel a little better. He wasn’t expecting a clap to the other shoulder, and looked up, surprised to see Heavy there, looking just slightly less grim than usual.

“Little Guard man is credit to team,” he said simply, solemnly.

Jeremy straightened up slightly. “Oh. Hey, thanks,” he said. Heavy nodded at him.

“It’s true,” Demo called, and he looked over, got another approving nod. “Really saved the lot of us, lad.”

“I, I mean, hey, it’s… what I’m here for. Or, uh. I thought that was it, anyways,” he shrugged, glancing away. “I mean, yeah, I’m pretty cool, though.”

Dad bumped his arm for the last part, and he snickered. “My question,” Dad continued, doing his best to ignore him, “is primarily regarding who, precisely, was supposed to be present to help Guard with this. Who is meant to be on alert?”

“It’s meant to be Scout, ain’t it?” the Engineer asked from nearby, frowning. A general murmur of agreement. “Could he have slept through it?”

“Heavy doubts this,” Heavy grumbled, looking troubled.

“Why’re we awake?” asked Sniper from the doorway, and various teammates called out a greeting. Sniper seemed half-gone, and completely grumpy, but not as grumpy as Pyro, and not nearly as gone as the man leaning heavily against Pyro’s shoulder.

“Hey,” the Scout managed, grinning, speech garbled, visibly sloppy and unbalanced. “What’s up, guys?”

Groans from parts of the room. “Drinkin’ again, Scout?” the Engineer drawled, visibly irritated.

“That’s my trademark, lad, go on,” Demo laughed, but the enthusiasm wasn’t entirely there.

“Scout,” Miss Pauling said, voice firm in a way that made Jeremy almost flinch in sympathy. “Are you aware that we’ve had a situation here while you’ve been sleeping?”

“Weren’t sleeping,” Sniper murmured, and eyes turned to him. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Came stumbling in ‘round when I was heading in. He was out for the night. Bar, looks like.”

“What?” Jeremy demanded. “Why the fuck didn’t I see him leave on the cameras?”

“Alright,” Miss Pauling said, and Jeremy looked at her. Her expression was hard to read. “It’s possible he went through the back tunnel.”

“Back tunnel?” Jeremy asked, and glanced around. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard of it.

“For emergencies only. Scout’s the only one who I’ve given a key card to. I have one too. It’s supposed to be used for transporting especially sensitive information, most of the team isn’t supposed to even know it exists. If there’s a gap in the cameras around the back of the building, he might have been using it to… sneak out to go to town, even though he knows he’s already in hot water for leaving the base so much,” Miss Pauling said, glaring at Scout, who was looking increasingly annoyed.

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” he protested, scoffing.

“That tunnel is for emergencies only,” Miss Pauling stressed. “I trusted you with the privilege of knowing about it account of having worked here for so long, and you’re using that privilege and key card to mess around?”

“He was coming back from around the front of the building, at least,” Sniper chimed in, and Pyro nodded. “Not that I’d understand the point of sneaking out if he’s going to just walk back in the front door.”

“Key card?” Medic repeated from near the table, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, it’s, it’s a magnetized card, that can be read by a card reader, used like a key,” Miss Pauling explained, deflating a little bit.

His eyebrows furrowed further. “Would it happen to look anything like this?” he asked, picking up a lanyard from the table and holding it up, showing the room the card clipped onto the end of it.

Two beats of silence. “Spy, would you mind?” Miss Pauling asked politely, nodding towards the Scout, who had gone pale.

“Not at all,” Dad said just as politely, and walked over towards the Scout and Pyro, then circled around behind them, and sank a blade into the Scout’s spine. He promptly crumbled to the floor, dead.

“Well. At least that’s that mystery solved,” Miss Pauling sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of her nose again. “Now I’ve gotta block off time tomorrow to get rid of three bodies, and then hopefully that’s the last we’re gonna hear of this or else the Administrator is gonna kill me.”

“What about the Scout?” Heavy rumbled.

“…Scratch that. Four bodies,” she mumbled, face dropping into her hands. “And then I need to find his replacement. Ugh.”

“Can’t imagine you’d need to go far,” Demo said, and Jeremy looked up, and Demo was very obviously tilting a thumb in his direction.

“He’s proven himself to be better at this job,” Dad agreed, shrugging. “And I would say on a bad day he’s still a better runner than the previous Scout on a good one.”

“He can clearly handle a firearm well,” the Engineer noted, looking over one of the bodies.

“And a blunt object,” Medic chimed, just a bit too pleased. “This jaw is almost completely shattered!”

“Okay, okay, fine, sure,” Miss Pauling waved off, one hand still pressed to her face, clearly overwhelmed and tired. “We’ll get his paperwork in tomorrow. Congratulations, you’re the new Scout, any questions? Can the questions wait until morning? Great, thank you. Good night, everyone. Medic, have the bodies in bags for me at least, okay?”

A distracted thumbs up from Medic, and Miss Pauling was groaning, wandering back out of the room, and most of the team followed, yawning amongst themselves. Sniper half-attempted to ask again why the hell any of them were awake, but gave up halfway through. Pyro, for one, made sure to at least retrieve the plushie from Scout’s arms before wandering off, giving him an appreciative pat on the shoulder.

“So,” Dad said, and when he looked over, he was smiling. “A promotion, mon lapin. Congratulations, new Scout.”

“Do I gotta wear that stupid outfit he always wears?” Jeremy asked, entirely serious. His reply was a laugh and a pat on the shoulder before he disappeared in a puff of smoke. “Pops, I’m serious. Do I? Dad!?”

-

“—So that’s why I figured, y’know, might as well tell you guys,” Jeremy finished rambling, hands in his pockets, continuing down the hallway. “Because… I dunno. I could tell Miss P, but it’s nice having secret stuff, y’know?”

“You think this is how they actually got in?” Demo asked, looking dubious. “Little blind spot in the cameras?”

“Only a couple feet wide, you said?” Sniper grumbled.

“Sounds possible,” Heavy said hesitantly.

“I dunno. Maybe. But if I tell Miss P about it, they’re gonna fix it,” Jeremy shrugged, turning the corner and stopping. “There. I knew it.”

They stopped with him, following his line of sight. “You’re takin’ the piss, mate,” Sniper deadpanned. “You want to tell me he’d been climbing out a window like a teenager?”

Jeremy shrugged, moving to open the window in question. It swung open easily, just large enough to push through with only a little bit of a problem, barely needing to turn his shoulders. “He’s not much bigger than me, and what the hell else would he be doing here?” he pointed out.

“Heavy cannot fit through that window,” Heavy deadpanned.

“Yeah. Sorry, big guy,” Jeremy apologized, leaning back inside and closing it again. “But hey, mystery solved, right?”

“Well, if I ever need windows to climb out of, now I know just the lad for the job,” Demo said, nudging him. “Thanks, Guard. Or, er, Scout. Och, now that’s going to take getting used to, aye? Might just stick to calling you ‘laddie’, laddie.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he laughed, nudging him right back. And as much as they ribbed him for it, he did see a kind of appreciation there. Just like he’d figured, they seemed to take note of him taking their side and not just Miss Pauling’s.

Now he just needed to switch back over to the day shift.

[phoenixyfriend]

The IzuTobi Prequel

Prequel to this post, which I’ve taken to calling the “Red Eyes = Spouse Material” AU.

WARNING: contains a reference to worries/fears of sexual coercion.

Like, okay, they did not know that Tobirama had red eyes at first. They weren't close enough on the river for Izuna to see, since he didn't have Sharingan yet, while Tajima and Madara were looking at their respective opponents, not Tobirama.

Then, once they were in their early teens, and Izuna already had his Sharingan, they met on the battlefield for the first time, and Izuna saw Tobirama's eyes. Sure, Tobirama wouldn't meet his gaze, but Izuna could still see him.

And Izuna, as is only natural, went to Madara to ask 'hey uhhhhhhhhh one of our enemies is actually Amaterasu-blessed, what do.'

And Madara's just like '!!!!!' because hey actually this is great news everybody knows that the first step upon meeting an unmarried stranger with red eyes is to figure out who the best person to court them is, they can get a marriage alliance out of this to end the bloodshed and child death! Even the Elders can't argue against having a clan marriage to an Amaterasu-blessed indivi--

They object.

Well, Tajima objects.

Madara and Izuna bring the issue to him, both pretty excited about doing the whole "arranged engagement in the early teens, actual marriage at twenty or so" thing as a way to stop killing kids but Nope! For a variety of reasons, most of which boil down on Tajima's side to "the Senju have killed three of my children, I have no interest in taking in one of their own," the plan is shot down.

Madara and Izuna are naturally devastated but keep an eye out for like. A chance. To slip the info to Tobirama or Hashirama so they're at least aware of the possibility for when Tajima dies, in case Butsuma is more open to it?

I can't decide if they actually manage to set up a Secret Meeting prior to their dads' deaths, but I'm leaning towards 'no.'

(In this plot, Izuna is still wary of the Senju, but much more open to the idea of peace on account of Auspicious Omens Are Here.)

Anyway, Tajima dies first, I think, and Madara's first act as Clan Head is to send Hashirama a request by hawk for a private meeting. Hashirama is still only heir, not Clan Head, but Butsuma is ill (infected wound, I think), so Hashirama has the option of accepting this.

They meet, and Madara explains that he can sway most of the clan into an alliance--not just an armistice, but an actual alliance, possibly even establish that village they talked about as kids--if they can marry Tobirama into the Uchiha.

"Does it have to be Tobirama?" Hashirama asks, because he's not the best brother, but he's good enough to know that Tobirama hates the idea of getting married.

"Yes," Madara says, and then explains that it's all in the eyes, that this is a deeply spiritual thing to the clan and while some of the more militant elders may object, most of the clan will take the red eyes as a sign that this is intended to happen.

And Hashirama is quiet, and then asks if a marriage would require Tobirama to sire any children.

"We're not going to try to steal a kekkei genkai."

"That's not it."

"...wait, does he prefer men? We can--we can make that happen. If it's... hell, in that case it might work better, he could marry me or Izuna, direct connection to the main house, skip the issue of heirs and--"

"No, that's not... not it. But it makes me feel better to know that. I'll have to run it past him."

Tobirama is VERY ace and Hashirama had strict plans to respect that so he's trying to feel out if consummation would be required, or if a kiss for the wedding and then cohabitation would be enough.

Internal logic is "I want peace but not at the expense of handing my brother over for coerced marital rape where he thinks he can't say no without restarting the war."

He manages to get the agreement that the Uchiha weren't looking to pressure Tobirama into any sex-related things, though Madara still thinks it's a matter of Bloodline Protection and that Hashirama is worried about, like, someone trying to steal surplus semen or something.

Hashirama goes home and outlines it to Tobirama, who is very ??? about the whole thing but willing to at least consider it after Hashirama explains the basic requirements and how he confirmed that sexual relations aren't necessary. Hashirama floats it past Butsuma as a Theoretical Exercise, and is shot down.

So, Hashirama sends Madara a letter to the effect of "Our esteemed Clan Head says no, but we'll keep it in mind [insert veiled implication that Butsuma's dying anyway here]."

Madara and Hashirama have always kinda held back against each other, but now Tobirama and Izuna are also holding back the teensiest bit, just enough that nobody can be sure (and tell Butsuma or and Elder about it).

Well, Touka notices, but her first resort is "ask Tobirama to his face" and second resort is "bother Hashirama about it" so she gets the rundown on how Madara and Izuna are angling to get a political marriage with Tobirama since his eyes are Apparently a spiritual matter to the Uchiha as a whole.

Obviously, Butsuma dies, and Hashirama then immediately sends Madara a letter like "HEY so I'm Clan Head now, here's a nice inn located in neutral territory, bring your brother and an advisor, I'll do the same, let's hammer out a contract ASAP."

So it's Hashirama, Tobirama, and Touka on one side, Madara, Izuna, and Hikaku on the other.

Tobirama explains that he refuses to engage in sexual relations with anyone he marries (internally he's thinking that he might eventually take interest if he gets comfortable enough, but overall the entire concept is a little disgusting to him, and he doesn't want anyone to think they can convince him to do it, so he takes a hardline stance during the marriage contract negotiation process), but is open to his marriage partner engaging in an extramarital affair for a period of time in order to secure an heir.

"I promise we're not trying to steal your--" "Madara. Look at me. I do not like sex, and have never had any intention to engage in the activity with anyone, Uchiha or Senju or any clan at all. I had no plans for marriage, ever. The only reason I am opening myself to this one is because I value the opportunity for peace." "...oh."

So, you know, that's out in the open now, but it actually makes it easier to negotiate because they now know why he's uncomfortable with the idea of marriage, so other things (like the cohabitation and dowry and whatnot) can be discussed without people getting resentful about the other party not trusting them with genetic material. Hashirama and Madara get really excited about the whole village idea again, in part because Hashirama wants his brother to be able to visit Really Easily.

At one point they ask Tobirama who he wants to marry, if there's anyone he's interested in? Male or female? What ages is he comfortable with? Main line would be most politically expedient, but--

And he's just like "I know Izuna best, as my rival, and I've taken note of enough recently to know he's not a terrible person, at least as far as any shinobi can be 'good.' If Izuna is open to it, then I would like to discuss what cohabitation would look like between us. Should our expectations of daily life line up well enough, then I imagine that would be optimal."

Izuna's torn, because Amaterasu-blessed, but also he'd kind of been hoping for a Real Marriage with Affection and Children. Touka loudly suggests they take a recess and let Tobirama and Izuna talk in private for a bit.

Izuna manages to get across his personal worries, and Tobirama laughs and says that he actually loves children and was planning to take on plenty of students. "If you don't like the option of the extramarital affair for a child, we could always adopt. As for affection... I've been told I cling like an eel in my sleep, if that suggests anything."

"So if I grew enough feelings that I wanted, like... a good morning kiss or something..." "Quite frankly, my feelings on kissing in general are pretty neutral. It's a little strange, but I could engage with it, once a rapport is built. Heavy petting is distasteful, however, and anything past that..."

And Izuna listens to all that like "Oh. Okay, I will be able to Acquire Cuddles."

Then they discuss the whole 'what do we anticipate out of cohabitation' thing, like pets and cleanliness standards and what spare rooms are for and what goes on in the basement and allergies. It matches up... not perfectly, really, but close enough that they can make it work. They shake hands like the nerds they are and call their families back in and say they've decided it'll work so let's get that paperwork drawn up and start planning a wedding.

Aaaaaaaaaaand then Zetsu kills Izuna and convinces Madara that it was Tobirama's fault so he loses the plot (or, well, finds the canon plot, really).

I'm happy to imagine Tobirama and Izuna on a couch in their house, Izuna halfway asleep and leaning his head on Tobirama's shoulder, while Tobirama's got on a pair of glasses and is reading a book.

Just. Really domestic.

Cutesy.

IDK I feel like they just end up as pleasant roommates who don't necessarily ignore each other, but are well aware of the fact that they entered into this arrangement with non-romance expectations, and they're both okay with that.

They take dinner together, talk shop, try to engage with each other's hobbies, go to events as each other's default plus-one...

It’s Nice

[dakt37]

Avengers Assemble - Feral Outlaw Stony

So I've been expanding on this concept I doodled before Christmas, where Steve goes with Tony into the no-tech dimension at the end of season 3. Probably a lot of stuff isn't canon-compliant (beyond the obvious change that is), but "It's an AU so I do what I want" rules apply. Anyway. 

The tl;dr is: The two of them spend a little time puttering around the weird no-tech dimension, and then get absorbed into Battleworld. They become explorers, helping people out and falling in love along the way.

(Once again, I feel like someone must have had this idea already, but I’ve never looked.)

Cut for excessive rambling.

~~~

Not all the areas we see in the show are present in Battleworld when Steve and Tony first arrive, so the boys spend most of their time traveling around, mapping the place out as it expands. A lot of my ideas rely on them still having little-to-no access to modern conveniences. Obviously someplace modern has to show up for them to get their hands on a pickup truck and a motorcycle, but I’m picturing a post-apocalyptic junkyard that’s been picked clean of anything obviously useful. They get the vehicles working by sheer force of “I’m Tony-fucking-Stark.” But like that fully functional NYC area is way too convenient, so it’s not around yet. (tbh I’m not even sure if it’s an alternate NYC or theirs, in which case it wouldn’t show up until the other Avengers do anyway) 

They get the low-down on the "Battleworld" concept by eavesdropping on one of Beyonder's* welcome speeches. They realize that they are uniquely off the grid, because Beyonder didn't know they were in the no-tech dimension when he added it to Battleworld. They decide it's advantageous to maintain this secret status, but they're still Avengers™️ so they can't NOT help out wherever they can. But they don’t stick around any one place for long. Basically, they become vagrant vigilantes in addition to surveyors. They get a lot of their “stuff” (clothes, tools, toiletries, etc) as payment for odd jobs, or gifts from grateful locals they rescue. They get some food from populated areas as well, but also rely on foraging and hunting while on the lam. They have definitely eaten dinosaur at some point.

(*He doesn't get the nickname "Beyonder" until the other Avengers show up. In this AU Steve and Tony refer to him as "The Entity" or "Suspenders." You can probably guess who tends to use which.)

On top of the survival story, it's also a getting-together story. Steve and Tony flirt and pine and bicker and flirt some more, until a squabble turns into a confession and they finally start kissing. There’s plenty of time for “it’s cold in this wasteland and we only have one blanket, oh no,” but they’re firmly established as romantically involved by the time the other Avengers show up and they have the final showdown with Beyonder.

Anyway a lot of the AU notes I've been making are about the functional side of their Big Camping Adventure. So here's a bunch of lists about vehicles, gadgets, and navigation.

~

Vehicle stuff:

If Tony is riding passenger on the motorcycle, he can clip his repulsor boots into special footrests that reroute the energy and give the bike a speed boost. 

The bike has a tow cable. Steve can harpoon things using a spring-action firing mechanism, including cliff faces to help him scale steep terrain. The cable can also be uncoiled manually, like when Tony takes flight while holding the end so he and Steve can clothesline hostiles. 

Steve can stick his shield several places on the bike depending on what’s convenient. On the front as a windscreen/battering ram, on one side for easy grabbing, and even on Tony’s backpack so Tony can snuggle in properly while riding passenger and keep both their backs protected.

They probably don’t even need a ramp to get the bike into the bed of the pickup. Steve just picks it up and puts it there.

The evolution of Marsha (the truck) into a full Hulkbuster-style mech takes a long time. For the majority of their time in Battleworld, it’s just a truck with an ever-increasing number of weird add-ons.

Marsha can function as a tiny camper home. The cargo bed liner is a false bottom, which can be pulled up and rearranged to form a cover/roof. Underneath the liner, the actual truck bed is about a foot deeper, with most of that storage space taken up by a mattress and bedding. 

Tony can pull a cable out of Marsha’s steering column and plug it directly into his arc reactor. This unlocks extra features and weapons. He generally has things balanced so that Marsha drawing power doesn't affect him any more than his armor drawing power would. But on rare and desperate occasions, he can overclock and hurt himself. Steve of course hates when he does this.

Turnabout is fair play though: at least once, something else damaged the arc reactor, so Tony plugged into Marsha to draw power from the battery for his electromagnet while he repaired the arc.

Gasoline can be difficult to procure, so both vehicles are hybrids. Tony just keeps adding new power conversion elements as they go along, based on what they can find. 

~

F in chat for Tony’s armor:

Tony dismantles the armor he’d been wearing when they first went into the no-tech dimension.

Obviously he keeps skeletal versions of the repulsor boots and gloves in-tact enough to function. 

He also keeps most of the helmet, for when he’s riding with Steve on the motorcycle. Mostly because Steve insisted. It's gutted of tech though, so if the faceplate stays as part of the design, the eyes are just holes (like in the classic comics).

The rest of the pieces are kept in a large packing trunk.

Tony repurposes some parts into useful gadgets for himself and Cap, plus the odd toy for other Avengers (like Widow’s new stinger gauntlets) because he’s optimistic like that.

Electronics use precious metals like gold and copper, so Tony scrapes some out to pay for things in certain areas of Battleworld, like the cowboy town or the pirate area. He might also barter with other general bits like wires and screws, but he avoids parting with any actual full tech.

~

Plug-n-play Gadgets

Since the power draw for Tony's electromagnet is actually fairly minimal, Tony makes use of the arc reactor as a charging station, mostly when he sleeps. It's not like there's a corner store they can drop by to get a pack of batteries. Things he charges include (but are not limited to):

Flashlight for Steve. The bulbs for it came from the eyes in the Iron Man helmet. Note: Tony doesn't need a flashlight himself because he can turn up his arc brightness apparently, lmao.

Camp stove. Steve questioned Tony building one for a hot second because hello we can build campfires to cook over? But then it’s raining and they're in a cave and Tony is like, "if you fill this space with smoke I will divorce you before we're even married." And Steve is like "camp stove wow yes okay." Also they had camp stoves in WW2 so honestly it was simply a Himbo Moment to disregard the virtues of one in the first place. 

Walkie talkies. I know they had Avengers comms but I like the aesthetic of walkie talkies more. Maybe the comms relied on satellites that they obviously don't have anymore or something.

~

Navigation:

Speaking of a lack of satellites, the GPS in Tony’s armor is rendered useless. Steve is real smug about it and pulls out his old-fashioned compass. But Battleworld also doesn’t have proper poles, so it just spins wildly for a few seconds and then points at Tony’s electromagnet. Not to be deterred, Steve declares, “Well, you’re never lost if you can find Polaris.” They look up and realize that the night sky, despite having stars and a moon, is not at all arranged the way it is on Earth. 

Tony takes this as a Challenge. He builds a sextant, then spends the next several nights in a row muttering math under his breath as he painstakingly creates a hand-drawn star chart. This, combined with landmarks, becomes the primary way they orient themselves as they roam around Battleworld.

Many nights, Steve and Tony lie in the bed of the pickup together and make up constellations named after other Avengers and friends. Steve makes a copy of Tony’s star chart and sketches artistic renditions of the constellations on top. To close this post with an interesting visual, here’s an example of what Tony’s star map might look like vs what Steve’s would more resemble:

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 19

19/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: mid-s3 (canon-divergent) | T | 5.3k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

Fate touches Scully's life, as does her own free will.

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

Can you still call something a miracle when you could not have gone on without it? When, if it hadn’t happened, the death knell would have sounded in your memory? Is that really a miracle, or is it just what had to occur? Certainly what keeps you breathing wouldn’t be so highly esteemed if the chips fell the other way. It would be called a tragedy, and no one wants to live in a world where every moment is caught between the two.

Scully existed there for a little while, but she’s escaped. Maybe for good. Because this--the Lace’s sacrifice, her signature on the adoption paper, her baby in her arms--is no miracle. This is God realizing she’s gotten her fair share, that he owes her a break. This is her fate.

In more normal circumstances, the foster family and the adoptive parent would have no contact. Social services would handle the transition. Since those barriers are already broken in Emily’s case, the state allows the Lace’s and their son to accompany Emily as she’s turned over to Scully. The nondescript woman in the polo shirt joins them as a witness to the custody change, and so they all find themselves at Bill Jr.’s house--of all places--for one grievous goodbye and a destined hello.

Mrs. Lace passes Emily to Scully moments after the family walks through the door. Her red-rimmed eyes reveal the depth of her agony. 

“Take her,” she says. “I need to start letting go while she’s still in my sight.”

Scully bites her lip, feels Emily’s pudgy hand press into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lace. I can’t imagine how hard this must be. I’ll make good on my promise to send pictures and updates, I swear.”

“Thank you, Dana.” She sighs. “It’ll be an adjustment.”

Her husband taps the head of the little boy by his knee. “This is Andrew, our son. He wanted to make sure Emily has the best life possible, so he made you a guide to her favorite things.”

The boy--no more than five--holds up a construction paper booklet with crayon drawings of him and baby Emily. How To Mak My Sister Smile, his stilted handwriting reads. Scully’s heart skips a beat as she accepts it from him. She kneels down so he’s level with her and Emily. 

“Thank you, Andrew. This is so sweet and I’ll be sure to read every bit of it and make sure your sister smiles every single day, okay?”

He nods, but tears cloud his vision. 

Scully turns Emily so that she’s perched on her knee, facing Andrew. “Tell me--what’s your favorite thing to do with your sister?” she asks him softly. 

He rubs his eyes and nose. “I like to show her my cars,” he stammers.

“Your cars? Wow!” Scully effuses. It’s not often that she gets to work on her kiddie voice, and she’ll need that now.

The color returns Andrew’s face. “Yeah, yeah, my race cars! I have a mat for them, and I push them around the track, and she watches. She likes the races. They make her laugh sometime.” 

“Wow! You sound like a great big brother.”

“Yeah, and I like her bouncy thing too,” he sputters. “It was mine before.”

“An activity jumper,” Mr. Lace clarifies. “From Fisher-Price.”

“Ahh.” Scully’s happy to get any insight she can into her daughter’s early life. The Lace’s offered to send some toys with Emily, but Scully will only accept a couple onesies and Emily’s beloved stuffed rabbit. She doesn’t want to take any more from them than she already is.

She adjusts Emily on her knee, looks to Andrew. “Do you wanna give your sister a hug?”

“Okay.” He moves bashfully toward her and wraps his arms around Emily. He holds on until Emily begins to fuss, then steps back like he’s been caught sneaking away from time out. 

“Emily’s lucky to have a big brother like you,” Scully tells him. “Your parents have my phone number, and you can call and talk to her whenever you want, okay? I know she can’t say much yet, but she’ll grow into it, and besides, she’ll recognize your voice.” Scully offers him a spirit-boosting smile. “Does that sound good?”

He nods, hands linked behind his back. Stranger shyness has taken over.

“Good. She’s gonna need her big brother to stick up for her.”

Scully stands up, clutching Emily to her chest. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace,” Scully addresses them, “it’s impossible for me to sum up how deeply, deeply grateful I am for you and your sacrifice. It is no exaggeration to say that you have saved my life. I can already tell that Emily is so lucky to have been raised by you--that you have done an incredible job--and I hope that the two of us will continue to be a part of you and your son’s lives as Emily grows up.”

Mrs. Lace dabs her cheeks with a tissue. Mr. Lace frowns at his wife’s pain. “That means a great deal to us, Dana,” he replies. 

“We feel blessed to have led Emily through her formative months,” his wife murmurs through her tear-strickenness. 

The man nods. “She’s a wonderful kid, and I’m sure some of that comes from you.”

Scully smiles tautly. “I could say the same of you. Thank you for giving her the start I was denied from providing her.”

“You’ll let us know if you need any help, won’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll have your number on speed dial by the end of the night.”

The Lace’s formal goodbye had taken place at home, they said, and dragging out their visit would only make matters worse. They leave Bill Jr.’s house after a few short minutes, advancing down the front steps like a funeral procession.

When the door shuts and Scully’s baby is in her arms, she realizes that this will be her life for the rest of her life. What joy--! What horror--!

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

The heater’s gentle sigh provides a generous rush of white noise as the girls settle for sleep. It’s the time of year when San Diego’s nightly temperatures start drifting away from perfection, when sleeping with the windows open no longer has such appeal. According to Bill, it’s not cold enough to turn on the heating system (surprise, surprise) so he pulled a dusty space heater from the closet for the “girl’s room” to share. Like a gentleman, Mulder took the couch (as if he had any other option), leaving Scully, Missy, and now Emily with the guest room. A family affair, one generation rounded out by another.

It’s a convenient arrangement, really. Bill doesn’t have a crib and it’s not worth buying one for a single night, so Emily will be sleeping on the bed like a grown-up. If Missy weren’t there as a physical barrier, Scully would be taking the chance that Emily might roll off the unattended side. Instead, the little girl’s mother and aunt will be an arm’s length away for her first sleep with her new family. A symbolic gesture of the protection they hope to provide for the rest of her life. 

It’s a wonder how smoothly the transition has gone. Emily hasn’t shed a single tear since the family she knew left her in this strange house. Then again, Scully has never seen her daughter cry; like her mother, she must not be prone to it. 

Tara served a ham for dinner while Scully spooned mashed carrots and peas into Emily’s mouth, her helicopter parenting beginning early. Mulder made some joke about gourmet baby food, and everybody laughed except Bill, and Scully felt that she finally understood what was meant by family--some who share your blood will never fit into it, but some who were once strangers will more than make up for that absence. 

And now, as Scully lowers her onesie-clad daughter onto the guest bed, there is peace. Terror, too, lingers in her mind, but it’s the unwarranted kind. She is the mother to a healthy baby girl. Yes, there will be challenges. Yes, a person loved separately from yourself is a person you could lose. But the summit has been reached; the worst did not happen, and now everything else pales in comparison. As far as Scully’s concerned, she can never be truly hurt again. Because if anything happens to Emily, well, this is what Scully asked for, and what gives her the right to complain? Beggars can’t be choosers, and she begged God for this...The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. This happened in the opposite order for her, so she can only assume more loss is to come, and she will accept it. She will.

Scully slides beneath the comforter, snaking her arm out from under to rest a hand on the small of her baby’s back. A comfort very familiar to her, and one she will bequeath to her daughter. They have the bed to themselves for now. Missy is in the living room downing a beer with the boys and trying to compete with (or mediate?) their trash talk. In the past, a situation like this might worry Scully, but those old concerns look so small now. 

Only a few hours in, and she already feels much more at home with the title of mother, much more deserving of it. The first diaper she changed rivaled some of the operations she witnessed in med school, both in its gruesome nature and in requiring multiple pairs of hands. Mulder would help if Emily was a boy, he swore, but he claimed to be “out of his depth with her plumbing” as he put it. Missy quipped that you sure are and it made even Bill laugh and life was wonderfully rose-colored through Dana Scully’s eyes. 

She hopes for sweet dreams for herself, but much more so, for her daughter, and she is aware that this is how it will be for the rest of time. Having been half-asleep when she was put down, Emily lulls into even-breathed dozing before Scully can decide on a lullaby. No harm done; Scully’s vocal cords haven’t seen regular exercise since college karaoke, and she’d hate to disappoint so soon.

When she opens her eyes again (she hadn’t realized she closed them, but apparently she had), Emily is deep in sleep, her eyelids twitching to the rhythm of her unseen dreams. And Missy has joined them too, her mouth drooping like it did when the sisters shared a bed every Christmas Eve. Scully doesn’t know what time it is, and with such a picture perfect view in front of her, she won’t dare to roll over and check the bedside clock. How nice it is to exist beyond time’s constraints, even for a moment. 

Scully is as present, maybe, as she’s ever been. She’s touched by the past and the future, ironically giving her a heightened awareness of now. One side of her consciousness is borne back into childhood and the many nights she slept by her sister’s side--in this very city, in fact. The other sees a path of hope unfurling in front of it, finally. She wonders whether her happiness might multiply, like a drop of food coloring unleashed into water. Might Emily be the shield that she’s needed?...Maybe the loss she expects will not be what comes.

And what that could mean...she has meant, for a long time now, to plant Mulder firmly in her life. Partner is much too fleeting--the Bureau could close the X-Files tomorrow, and then they’d be nothing but ex-coworkers. They’ve established where they stand through silences that say more than words ever could. She loves him, he loves her, and my god, neither one wants to lose that. It’s only now that Scully is realizing that they haven’t--or she, rather, hasn’t--embraced what they have, and so there is nothing to lose, and very little to cherish. 

With all this change in her life, she thinks, why not add that to the list?

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

They fly back into DC on Emily’s first birthday. November 2nd. Or at least, that’s the date that was left on the note at the foster agency. Scully isn’t sure exactly what she was doing last November 2nd, but she wasn’t having a baby, that’s certain. It was around the time of Aubrey, Missouri and BJ and nightmares, she remembers that. Plus, the phantom pregnancy, and the fear. The universe has a way of echoing itself.

They’re off to Mama Scully’s as soon as they make it off the tarmac. She’s aching to see her granddaughter, as she let Dana and Melissa know through a barrage of phone calls. I even made cupcakes and bought decorations for a warm welcome home! she insisted. Neither one of them can remember their mother being this excited about anything since...honestly? Ever. And they can’t blame her; Emily is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to their family. If only their father were here to meet her.

This is the sorrow that Scully has not had time to pick at. Her hero, her role model, the blueprint for all she wants Emily to be, not around to see it happen. She can’t think further than that; it’s the loose string that would unravel the sweater.

Mama Scully opens the door before they make it up the front steps, armed with yellow balloons and a party hat for the birthday girl. What a way to meet your grandmother. 

“Hello dear!” It’s unclear whether she’s referring to Emily, one of her daughters, or the three as a unit. “Look at you…” she cups her hands around Emily’s head, and now they’re pretty sure who she’s referring to. “You’re like a little princess!”

Scully smirks. She’s glad to witness her mother’s happiness, of course, but they’ve just finished five hours of travelling with a baby. “Mom, please, could you save the theatrics for inside?”

“Oh, I have a whole other set of theatrics planned there,” Mama Scully quips. She clears the way, ushers the group into the house. 

She touches Mulder’s shoulder as he passes. “Fox! I almost didn’t see you there.”

“Well, I can’t compete with Emily, so I don’t blame you.”

“She is precious, isn’t she?” Mrs. Scully gazes toward the doorway that Scully and Emily have since deserted. “There’s a place for you in Emily’s future, you know.”

Mulder shoves his hands in his pockets. “Oh.” He doesn’t know what else to say to that, and besides, it should be up to Scully.

“Unless there’s another woman in your life…?”

“No, no, I just--” he chuckles. “I didn’t expect that.”

Mama Scully lays a hand on his arm. “I care about you, Fox. Your well-being is deeply connected with my daughter’s.”

“Yes, of course…” He really, really would like to go in now. 

“And it’s important to me that she has a strong support system throughout this ordeal. Raising a child is a tremendous challenge, and I don’t want her to feel that the burden is hers alone.”

“I completely agree.”

“That’s why you should adopt Emily, too. Give her the gift of a father.”

Mulder’s brain short-circuits. “I--what? Mrs. Scully, I don’t know--”

She puts a hand on his back and leads him inside. “Think about it. You and Dana, forming a family for this child that needs one. It would be a little untraditional, of course, but the wedding could come in due time, no need to rush.”

Mulder’s head is spinning. This is a practical joke, right? The hidden cameras can feel free to reveal themselves any time now. 

The pair stops in the front hallway, a safe distance from everyone else in the kitchen. Mulder tries to mold his thoughts into cohesive sentences.

“Mrs. Scully, your intentions are good, but I think this solution is a bit extreme. I’m more than happy to help with Emily as much as possible, but becoming her father would just make things more complicated for all involved. And trust me, even if I were onboard, there’s no way Dana would go for it.”

Mama Scully nods. “I anticipated that. I’m going to talk with her tonight, straighten things out.”

Mulder does an awkward side-to-side shuffle. “If there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that her mind is not easily changed.” 

“Yes, well, I doubt this is something Dana has given much thought to. I’m hoping to get my argument across before she takes sides.”

“Mmm.” Mulder looks off toward the kitchen, where he would like to be. 

“I’ll let Dana know that we’ve discussed my proposition,” Mama Scully continues, “and then you two can talk it over, alright? I don’t mean to force you into anything. It just feels like a logical step. I’m sure you’d agree that your relationship is deeper than that of many married couples.”

“Sure, but it’s very different too,” Mulder mutters. This is not a topic to delve into with his partner’s mother, of all people. “I don’t know that they can be compared.”

“Perhaps you should consider it.” 

Mrs. Scully holds her hardened glance for a long second, and Mulder is the one who breaks. He scoots out of her direct line of sight, then gestures for her to go before him into the kitchen. “Shall we?”

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

They celebrate Emily’s 365th day around the sun like they’ve been by her side for every one of them. Before the crew arrived, Mama Scully whipped up vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles, or as she put it, “a little bit of everything since I don’t know what she likes.” She even bought a happy birthday banner and sharpied in Emily’s name--not to mention five birthday hats and a humongous 1 candle that a single cupcake can barely hold up. 

It’s a testament to Emily’s character that she’s so unbothered by it all. She lets Mama Scully slip the hat into place, shows no visible distress to the admiration she receives from the room. She prefers her mother’s arms over anyone else’s--they are, after all, the most familiar of the unfamiliar--but she’s content anywhere that welcomes her. And this is a place where she is most welcome.

Scully reminds herself to capture these little moments in her mind...Emily’s effervescent giggle as Missy tickles the bottoms of her feet,  Mulder helping Mama Scully add extra sprinkles to each cupcake, the warm hug of a family’s company. Love, love, there is so much love here. 

The time comes for cake and singing and blown-out candles. Well, candle in this case. Mulder performs the honor of lighting said candle as everyone gathers around, Emily nestled in her mother’s arms. 

“Ready?” Mulder inquires. He conducts in time with his countdown. “One, two, one, two, three…”

The rendition is not in tune on anyone’s part (though Missy is the closest), but at least their intentions are harmonious. Scully’s heart swells. Mulder and Missy throw in a zany “and many more!” for the cherry on top of a joyous moment. Scully mourns its end; the birthday song is much too brief.

“Make a wish!” Missy chirps, and Scully leans forward and blows out the flame for her daughter. Safety, happiness, love...these are the things she asks for. These are the things that everyone deserves. 

Scully’s not surprised when her mother pulls her aside a few minutes later and leads her to the library, leaving Emily at Missy and Mulder’s mercy. Her mother is fond of sentimental speeches, but not brave enough for an audience. Scully steels herself for a mushy-gushy outpouring. 

Mama Scully shuts the door, turns to her daughter. “I’m overflowing with joy. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, mom,” Scully answers, tiresome already. “I’m a bit afraid this is all a dream that I’ll wake up from at any moment.”

“Pinch yourself. You’ll see that it’s not, I promise.”

Scully pinches her bicep, more for her mother’s amusement than anything. This is, in fact, reality.

“You must be very overwhelmed, I imagine,” Mrs. Scully remarks, beginning to pace. Scully follows with her eyes. 

“There is a lot that I haven’t sorted out yet, yes,” Scully replies, her suspicion about her mother’s intentions growing. “Work, for example. I only have one more day off, and then I have to explain everything to Skinner, and hopefully I’ll qualify for maternity leave. But the Bureau isn’t very good about that, it’s only two weeks.”

“Just remember that I’m always available to babysit Emily if you need it.”

“I know, mom.”

Mama Scully allows herself to get side-tracked for a moment. “You have a crib though? And diapers, and a high chair?”

Scully nods. “Required for the home study.”

“Good.” Mama Scully sweeps back a wayward piece of her daughter’s hair. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re all alone in this.”

Her mother’s soft gaze unearths a sudden swell of emotion; tears prick at the back of Scully’s eyes. “I know, mom.”

“And I know that you’re gonna say you are Emily’s only legal guardian, and so you are technically alone, but you know what? You don’t have to be,” Mama Scully asserts. “There is someone out there who is willing to fill that void for you.”

Scully rolls her eyes, her brief emotional trance broken. “Don’t tell me you're gonna set me up with the Prizatskys’ son again.”

“Oh no,” Mrs. Scully laughs. “Besides, he’s engaged now.”

“Oh.” Scully tries to miss the patronization in her mother’s voice. 

“What I’m saying is,” Mrs. Scully continues, “there is a man in your life who is loyal, trustworthy, hard-working, and in the perfect position to provide for you and Emily.”

“If you’re referring to Mulder,” Scully starts, an eyebrow raised, “I’m not exactly planning to shun him anytime soon.”

“Yes, but have you ever truly let him in?”

Mrs. Scully has aimed her arrow and hit her target, a stunning blow. The most damning parts of Scully’s inner dialogue have just been echoed back at her. 

Wounded, she swallows hard. “That’s really none of your business. And just because he’s in my life doesn’t mean that he magically fills the role of Emily’s father. How would that even work? Emily would have to be shuttled back and forth...She’d be split between one parent and the other...It would make her life more hectic.”

“Dana, Dana…” Mama Scully pulls her daughter close, recognizing that she’s struck a nerve. Scully stiffens into the hug. “Remember when you were little, and your father would be gone on long deployments, and you’d draw pictures of him in his uniform, and tell your class about how your father was a Navy captain, and you were so proud? You barely had a sense of what that meant, but you knew he was doing something important.”

Scully relaxes into their embrace. “And when I missed him the worst, you’d let me wear his old sailor hat.”

“Yes.” Mama Scully takes a hearty breath. “I was there every day, feeding you, bathing you, sending you off to school...and you loved me, I don’t doubt that, but I wasn’t the one who put stars in your eyes.”

Scully nods against her mother’s shoulder. Damn, if she isn’t winding her way toward a convincing point.

“Emily’s gonna love you whatever you choose. But the fuller her life is--the more love she’s surrounded by--the more she’ll have to give, and the brighter her light will shine.”

Scully sniffles, shaken by the truth of this. God, to know as much love as she’s known in her life and resist it still. That’s not the way a life is meant to be lived.

“Thank you, mom,” she whispers in her mother’s ear. It’s an imprecise affirmation--encompassing everything and yet a specific something that she can no longer reject. 

Scully pulls away, smiles at her mom. “No more meddling, okay? I’ll sort this out for myself.”

Mama Scully laughs. “You just needed that push. Now that the ball’s rolling, I’ll leave it alone.”

“You’d better,” Scully teases. She gestures toward the door. “I should get back to my baby.”

“Yes,” Mama Scully grins, “you should.”

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

The knock on the door comes at a quarter to noon, as Scully expected. She didn’t expect that she’d be scrubbing grape juice off the tile when it happened, but hey, these are the disruptions everyone in her life will have to get used to. Including--especially--her. 

“I’ll get it!” Missy’s voice breezes through the apartment. 

A moment later, Scully finds herself level with a pair of black dress shoes. Big ones. A twelve if she had to guess.

“Scully, if you wanna know my shoe size, just ask,” Mulder jests, and has he read her mind? She feels like she’s been caught in a compromising act, though she’s done nothing but wipe up a sticky purple mess. She cranes her neck, looks up at him.

“Good morning, Mulder,” she mumbles, running her hand over the spill area. Coming up clean, she finds her footing. The top of her head is even with her partner’s collarbone. 

Scully thumbs toward Emily, who is gobbling cheese crackers in her high chair without a care in the world. “Apparently she doesn’t like grape juice.”

“Grape juice?” Mulder jeers. “She knows orange juice is where it’s at.”

Scully ignores him, but makes a mental note to add OJ to the grocery list. And apple too, just to be safe.

“Let me get my shoes and I’ll be ready to go,” she says, shuffling off in her pantyhose without waiting for a response. 

They have a lunchtime meeting with Skinner to explain...well, everything. Mulder doesn’t need to be there--as his partner was quick to remind him--but he insists on advocating for her. No amount of I’m not a damsel in distress, Mulder will put him off. She’s so much more than that, he knows. Hence why he’s got to do all he can so her life isn’t defined by its crises. Besides, he’ll take any excuse to sneak down to the office on his day off.

He told Scully he’d pick her up because it’d be easier on her, sure, but also because he has an important delivery to make. He nods to Missy, and she grabs the goods off the front table. He wanted to make his entrance before the big moment. His presence known, he’s ready to go.

“Emily, Uncle Mulder brought something for you!” Missy sing-songs as she places the gifts in Mulder’s hidden hands. The girl looks up, her attention easily diverted here and there. 

Mulder tries to tip-toe forward--hands behind his back--without coming off as creepy, which is harder than it seems. He takes it as a good sign that Emily doesn’t spook and wonders what it means that Missy called him Uncle Mulder. Did she and Scully have a conversation about it? Is this what he’ll be known as? Or was that just a last minute reach to fill the space? 

He pushes these thoughts away, focuses on the blue-eyed girl in front of him. 

“Emily,” he begins, and it rolls off his tongue like a devotion, “I thought your bunny might like some friends.”

He reveals the fox first, then the UFO. His personal mark on Emily’s budding stuffed animal collection. She lets out a peep of astonishment and reaches for the fox, fascinated with its bushy tail. She hits it back and forth so it wags like a dog’s.

Mulder chuckles, his brain lighting up in places it never has before. Missy hangs back and waits for her sister to reemerge. Sure enough, Scully melts at the sight, stopping short so she doesn’t interrupt it. She clutches her heart. She and Missy share a smile.

“My, my, look at this,” Scully saunters in, ruffles Emily’s hair. “Do you know what this is, Em?” she asks, patting the fox. “This is a fox.”  She points to Mulder. “And this is a Fox, too!” 

Emily doesn’t get the joke, but that’s okay. 

“And do you know what this is?” Mulder prompts, picking up the flying saucer. He moves it through the air like it’s flying. Emily reaches for it, and god, Mulder knows the feeling.

“This is a UFO, Emily,” Mulder tells her sweetly. “Aliens!”

“No, no.” Scully plucks the UFO from his hand. “No aliens, Em.” 

She lays the saucer on the high chair tray. “Mama’s gotta go away for a little bit, but I’ll be back soon.” She kisses Em’s temple. “Auntie Missy will be right here.”

Missy steps forward. “We can play with Mr. Fox and the al--” Scully shoots her a look. ”The UFO!” she corrects, winking at Mulder. She scoops her niece out of the high chair. “Say ‘bye Mama!’”

Emily doesn’t have that grasp on words yet, and they all know it, but Missy gets her to wave. “Okay, now ‘bye Uncle Mulder!’” Another wave. Smiles all around.

Mulder and Scully move reluctantly toward the door. Scully groans as Missy and the baby girl slip from her view. 

“They’ll be okay,” Mulder assures his partner.

“I know,” Scully sighs, “but will I?”

Mulder rests his hand in the familiar spot on her back as they exit her apartment. “Absolutely. Skinner will grant you the leave, and you’ll be back with your baby in no time.”

She nods, bites her lip, and slows, suddenly wistful. Mulder stops, turns to her. “Scully…?”

“Mulder, did my mom have a conversation with you?”

He nods. 

“And...did you think it was kind of crazy too?”

He nods again.

She takes a breath and rises to her tip-toes. She could pretend not to know what she’s doing, but she does. Oh, she does. 

“But not out of the realm of extreme possibility…?” she coos, eyes centered on his lips. 

Mulder smiles shyly. He always expected it would be this way: Scully the coquette to his boyish ineptitude. Who knew she’d be stealing his lines.

His hands find her waist, pulling her closer there in the hallway. “No, no,” he muses, “I think it’s pretty solidly in the realm…” He nuzzles her neck, breathes in her sweet smell, and nibbles her ear, all in the beat of a hummingbird’s wing. “...of extreme possibility,” he purrs into her ear, satisfied with himself. 

It reminds Scully of do you believe in the existence of  ~extraterrestrials~ and how she knew then that he was a little bit unhinged, whip-snap smart, and too goddamn charming for his own good. That either fate or her own unconquerable desire would bring them together. She knows now that fate conspired to keep them apart. What’s unfolding is neither an act of its hand nor a last-ditch effort of a dead-end life. It is one choice among many, undertaken out of sheer belief in the happiness it could bring.

She looks into his eyes, which look back at her with a caramel-drizzle melt. Yes, yes, this is right. She fans a hand out on his cheek, runs her thumb over his mole. She has always wanted to touch it, but could never come up with a good excuse. 

They’ve delayed the inevitable long enough. Scully leans in, still on her tip-toes, and Mulder bends to close the distance. Their lips meet, and there’s no fireworks. No, it’s simple serenity. Like coming home after a long time away--though this is a house they have never walked into until now, they have a feeling they will be walking into it for the rest of their lives.

And then Scully pulls away, and it’s over but it’s just beginning.

[damienthepious]

wow this hiatus sure is long huh

Tomorrow’s Some Kind Of Strangerland (chapter 5)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [ao3] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum & The Keep, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, The Keep, Sir Damien, Rilla, Queen Mira, Original Monster Character(s)

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ceasefire, Pre-Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, (some characters tagged will not appear until later chapters), canonical character illness, asking for help, (i still dn’t know how to tag things rip), (uhhhhh canon-typical fantasy monster-hatred? that’s gonna be a thing)

Summary:  When Mira took the throne, she did what no human ruler in living memory has done - she reached out, and brokered peace with the monsters. It is a shaky, uncertain sort of peace, but she and the current monster Senate have managed to maintain it for a handful of years now with only minor incident.

Lord Arum has not interacted with the human infection in the Northern Wilds since the ceasefire, but when his Keep becomes ill past his own ability to cure, the Senate has a peculiar idea for how to help the isolated Lord while testing the goodwill of their tentative allies at the same time.

Chapter Summary: Lord Arum adjusts to his temporary chambers.

Chapter Notes: less sick this week, thankfully. things still bad! just hanging in there, trying to keep doing my own thing, as always.

~

Arum can feel the knight seething as he leads him through the halls towards the… accommodations his little Queen insisted upon. Arum certainly can't complain about the adjustment; anything is better than listening to the vicious little creature babbling on about propriety and duty and whatever petty problems he has with Arum's voice. At least he has enough respect for his ruler to clamp his jaw shut, for a little while.

None of the other knights or servants pay them much more mind than a polite tilt of the head. Substantially more well trained than this irritating creature, apparently.

He buries a sneer. Was Mira joking, when she referred to Sir Damien as one of her most skilled knights, or was she simply setting Arum up for failure? Certainly they won't even get through the next full day before this skittish, irritable thing cracks and tries to kill Arum in his own borrowed chambers. An incident waiting to happen, this obnoxious, impossible to ignore little fool-

Sir Damien opens the door before him, dropping his eyes as Arum sweeps past stubbornly.

The chambers are... acceptable. Arum can see a number of points of structural inefficiency, but nothing so egregious as to worry him in truth. The stone is cut clean, the plush rugs dyed bright and lovely, the walls draped with tapestries and hung trailing plants (this last point being the most comforting; there is nothing he would have seen in his own swamp growing in this room, but the flora still looks glossy and well-cared-for). The front room houses bookshelves, a low table with surrounding cushions, and a writing desk beside a wide window curtained with green that Arum would be worried about if he had any faith that a human could climb these towers. A monster could, and perhaps Arum will still place a precautionary trap on the sill, but it is a relatively low risk. Arum can see the bedchamber through an open door, a much smaller room with a much smaller window.

The bed is piled with pillows and thick cloth. Humans and their soft, thin skin. Pathetic.

"Apparently," Sir Damien says, his tone frustrated and flat, "I will be staying in the adjoining servant's chambers. There is a hidden passage here," he says, and then he moves to brush aside one of the tapestries, pressing on what Arum had taken for a loose stone and swinging a small doorway open. The room behind the hidden door is somewhat smaller, less decorated, more utilitarian.

Arum does not bother to disguise the irritation on his face with this development. The knight certainly hasn't bothered to do the same.

"Provided that you do not enter these chambers uninvited and unannounced, I do not suppose I will have any reason to protest," he mutters, and the knight frowns. "You will not be afraid to sleep with a monster so close by?"

"I am not afraid of you," Sir Damien says, tone arch as he raises his chin. "Besides, I do not believe you would get what you want out of my Queen, if you attempted to assassinate me in the dark of night, would you?"

Arum keeps his eyes fixed on Sir Damien's for a long moment, a growl tickling soft in his throat. "So. You are capable of rational thought. Good." The knight sputters, his cheeks darkening with fury, but Arum turns his face away before he can protest more thoroughly. "Now. Leave me. It was a long journey, and I would quite like to rest unassailed by buffoons for the first time since I began to approach your shoddy little city."

The knight makes another noise, choking nonverbal indignation, but he either thinks better of speaking his mind in this moment or he is simply too angry to speak at all, and after a long moment Arum hears him step through to the other chamber and pull the stone door back closed behind him with an angry thunk.

Arum sags, just slightly, when he is finally alone again. He checks the door back into the palace hallway, first, latching the lock (for what little peace of mind that gives him), and then he begins to set up a few more trustworthy precautions.

He sets a small trap on the wide window, a fragile macrachnidweb lattice laced invisibly across the open sill, which will loudly set off a packet of snapseeds hidden beneath the curtain if broken. He hides another across the smaller window in the bedroom, just in case. He hides a detector under the lip of the table as well, the pseudo-cicada primed to alert him to any magic besides his own or the Keep's.

There is no lock on the bedroom door. Rather unfortunate. Arum sighs, then simply glares hard at the closed door for a long moment before he turns to the bed. He will set up a semi-permanent portal back to the Keep in the morning, when he feels better rested, when he has enough energy to cobble together a makeshift lock of his own. He already knows exactly which tapestry he can move to hide the portal against the wall; all he needs do is arrange the swamp dirt in his bags in the proper place, and then the Keep can grow a little foothold. If it doesn't need to produce a new portal in a new place every night, the strain shouldn't be unreasonable. It will allow him to continue to work towards his own cure while Mira's physician is still distant, and perhaps tomorrow Arum may even rest in his own damned bed again.

For now, he lowers his head, and then he climbs up onto the absurdly soft pile of human fabrics and curls around his packs for safekeeping, his eyes on the unlocked door with sharp distrust for what feels like a long, long time before he manages to succumb to sleep.

~

Sir Damien can sleep nearly anywhere, if necessary, and still wake with the dawn, with enough time to run through his morning exercises and meditate, at least briefly, with Saint Damien.

Waking within such close proximity to where a monster sleeps, however... it is disconcerting, to say the very least. Though, he did not lie, the night before. He is not afraid of Lord Arum.

He steps out into the hallway to clear his head before he attempts another conversation with that lizard, and he intercepts one of the palace workers, coming to meet him with a tray of food for himself and the monster ambassador. Damien suppresses an irritated huff, managing to thank the worker before he retreats back into his room with the tray.

Damien sets the tray down on the table in his room with a sigh, imagining the look on Sir Absolon's face if he heard that Damien had been tasked with serving food in the private chambers provided to a monster, and then he shakes his head to clear it.

He knocks on the stone door (less hidden, on his side of the wall), and waits a long moment. He supposes that it might take some time, if the creature is still in bed, for him to answer.

More than a minute passes. Damien knocks again.

"Lord Arum?" He pauses, and then he leans to press his ear closer to the stone. He cannot hear anything, though it is impossible to tell if that is because of the stone, or because there is nothing to hear. "Lord Arum, may I- may I come in? I have-" he winces, sighs, "I have breakfast for the both of us, if... Lord Arum?"

He knocks once more, and when that still yields no answer he frowns and grumbles a curse under his breath, and then he dares to press the hidden door open a crack, peering warily through.

The room looks... nearly untouched. Perhaps the monster truly was as exhausted as he claimed, or-

The door to the bedroom is still closed. Damien cannot- should not assume, simply because the monster is not in sight, that the creature has escaped- rather, disappeared into the Citadel unaccompanied, against Damien's orders-

He takes a deep breath, and then presses the door further open.

"Lord Arum, I wouldn't like to disturb you, but-"

A noise in the bedroom, strange and distant. Like- song? Or- chiming, perhaps. Unlike the rattling, rough voice of the monster.

"Lord Arum?" he asks, more suspicion coloring his tone as he steps closer to the bedroom door. "Lord-"

The door swings open, the monster striding out quickly enough to nearly collide with Sir Damien, growling with his frill flared and his cape half-draped over only a single shoulder.

"What? What is it? What do you want?"

"I..." Damien blinks, swallows, and leans back from the way the monster looms above him. "Er- there is- food. For the both of us. You did not answer, and I-"

"Thought you should barge into the private chambers your queen allocated for me?" he snaps, violet eyes flashing, and Damien feels a pulse of irritation burn past his surprise.

"You didn't answer," Damien repeats, more snap in his voice. "Do you want me to bring you your breakfast, or do you not?"

The monster glares for a long moment, his tail lashing behind him, and then he exhales a sigh and turns, reaching a hand over his own shoulder to right his cape again. Damien attempts not to notice the way the muscles of Arum's shoulders move beneath the motion, suggesting far more strength than Damien had previously assumed.

He will... need to keep that in mind.

"Ugh. Fine," the monster grumbles, turning and stalking to the table to drape himself across the cushions with an overdramatic sigh. "Next time I will try to wake more promptly, so you do not decide to kick down my door in a panic."

Damien narrows his eyes, then flicks his gaze into the bedchamber for just a moment before he turns back to his own room to gather the meal again.

The bed looks rumpled, though the sheets themselves seem as if they have not been turned back (did the creature simply curl up on top of the blankets?), and nothing much seems disturbed-

One of the tapestries on the far wall swings lightly, gently, as if in a breeze. Only one.

Damien shakes his head.

They eat entirely in silence, the monster ignoring Damien rather thoroughly over his spiced, vegetable stuffed bread. That is perfectly fine, so far as Damien is concerned. He does his best to ignore the monster over his own meal, despite himself.

"Queen Mira has requested your presence this evening, to take supper with her and a few other nobles, dignitaries, that sort," Damien says stiffly once they've finished, gathering their plates into a neat pile for the palace staff to collect later.

The monster narrows his eyes, his lip curling. "Fine," he says, somewhere near a growl. "If she insists."

She does not insist, Damien thinks sharply, barely biting his tongue. She is the Queen, Lord Arum should be honored that she would deign to grace him with such an invitation-

"That is not until the evening, however," he manages to continue through grit teeth. "Will I be accompanying you into the city today, Lord Arum?"

"Why would I need that?" he asks irritably, and Damien clenches his teeth even harder.

"I would hardly dare to guess," he says, his tone hopefully breezy and not still stiff. "Nor would I dare to assume that you should prefer to spend your time cooped up in this room alone, simply waiting for R- for Queen Mira's physician to return to the Citadel."

The monster blinks, then glances away, his frill fluttering oddly beside his neck and his scales- Damien is almost certain, this time, that he is not imagining it. The lizard's scales shift hue, a mottled pattern up his throat and on his cheeks shifting to a subtly brighter green.

"I do not see what there is to do besides wait, little knight," he mutters. "I do not desire any entertainment you think your city might provide while my home is dying, and I do not trust yourself or the citizens below not to attempt to slay me if I make some social misstep in the pursuit of such, which, as I have seen in the short time I have spent here already, I am very likely to do. I can hardly speak without committing offense. I dare not wander, lest I condemn myself by mistake."

Damien opens his mouth, then closes it again just as quickly. The monster almost seems- beneath his seething anger and that more subtle layer of sorrow Damien would prefer not to acknowledge, he almost seems self-conscious about his noticeable lack of human social graces.

"Well..." Damien says slowly, "If you do decide you would like to see more of the Citadel, I suppose that is precisely what I am here for. You would not be unprotected, and I think... I think you overstate the bloodthirst of the citizenry. Surely you saw, today, there were a number of other monsters in the market."

"Monsters under your bitter scrutiny," he growls, still not meeting Damien's eye. "No. I do not think I should like to risk my neck, even under your noble protection, oh brave Sir Knight."

Damien flushes again at the dripping sarcasm in Arum's voice, and then he turns to glare at the monster.

"There is no need to be so dour," Damien says, halfway snapping and halfway pleading. "The Queen herself has taken up your cause, as you wanted! Your swamp will be saved, because the most brilliant mind in the entirety of the Second Citadel - I can assure you of that personally - has been summoned to lend her skill. You should be grateful for what generosity you have been given even thus far."

"You would prefer me on my knees, little knight?" Arum spits, his teeth bared, and Damien manages - barely - not to splutter. "Have I not groveled thoroughly enough for your tastes?"

"No, I-" Damien shakes his head. "That isn't what I meant, I only- I only-"

"I understand," Lord Arum says stiffly, "that it is the fault of no one that your Queen could not provide me with the assistance I require at this very moment. I understand." His eyes flash, anger pulling quick across an anxiety that Damien cannot help but notice. "That does not mean that I have to pretend to be pleased about the delay."

"Queen Mira is dutiful and wise," Damien says, almost automatically, distracted by the monster's attention upon him. "She will do what is right, and she will do so in the proper way."

"And in the meantime," Arum says, looking away again, his gaze cast out the window towards the slow ascent of the sun. "In the meantime… my home suffers."

"I-" Damien stammers, but the monster does not turn towards him again. "I… am sorry," he says stiffly, and then Lord Arum scoffs.

"It is only us, now, little knight. There is no cause to pretend that you have a speck of care to spare for the suffering of either myself or my home."

"You…" Damien feels heat in his cheeks, feels inexplicable shame in his guts, feels sorrow rolling off of the monster in front of him in slow, undeniable waves. "Do... do not presume to know how I feel, Lord Arum."

"I do not need to presume," Arum says, his lip pulling into a sneer. "You have made your feelings rather intensely obvious."

Damien-

Damien supposes that he has. He swallows thickly, and then he gathers the dishes from their meal and turns back towards the door to his own temporary chambers.

"I... suppose I should leave you be, then. I'll accompany you to supper with the Queen in the evening," he says, only realizing how odd it is to say as the words leave him. "Until then- if you change your mind-" he reaches out, and raps his own knuckles off the stone beside the hidden door. "I will be... here, I suppose. I hope you will not be too bored in the meantime, Lord Arum."

The monster fails to look towards him again, his snout facing the window and his eyes distant, and he barely seems to notice when Damien takes his leave, precisely as unmoving as a statue until Sir Damien closes the door between them again.