#and even then i only take them when my usual go to methods to alleviate it don't work

[breakingjen]

.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

As an aspiring Mom Friend, here's some helpful life advice, especially aimed at neurodivergents, mentally ill, and college students.

1. So this one I'm just beginning to discover, but ya know how sometimes you'll get a text and it seems harsh and snippy and rude and that'll bog you down? Try your hardest to read that text in their voice. Can you imagine them saying something in that tone irl? Or is it a phrase that's similar to the way they usually speak, but it's usually more upbeat and polite? Not everyone is out to get you, especially not your friends!

2. Do you have a habit of seeing something on Tumblr but not having the mental energy to do anything with it (watch video, reblog with witty reply, ext?) Just click "reblog" then save it to your drafts so you can access it when you do have time!

3. Cleaning your room is a Very Big Task, and you can survive in a messy room, but you can almost feel the difference between survive and thrive in a clean room. The method I've always found helpful for cleaning (because it's hard to even know where to start) is one I read in an American Girl how-to book and hasn't failed yet. Start by putting clothes in the hamper/closet/dresser/one pile specifically. Then, put all of your books on your bookshelf. Then make your bed. That's only three things to do, but it makes an unbelievable difference, and might just give you the momentum you need to keep going.

4. Good at losing things and losing track of time? Get a waterproof watch. (Mine is a timex marathon I got at Wal-Mart for, like, $20 and it has lasted about five years with no signs of slowing down.) You can wear it to bed, in the shower, doing dishes, anywhere, really. It can help you keep track of time, no matter what you're doing, and alleviate time anxiety, and if you just never have to take it off, you don't have to worry about losing it or forgetting to put it on :)

5. There is nothing wrong with eating the same meal on repeat! If you like grilled cheese and it's easy to make, make grilled cheese every afternoon! Don't throw off your habits just because other people might judge you about it.

6. Find something alive to take care of and love. You don't need to raise a family or get a dog, but, like, start small with a hamster or hermit crab or fish (make sure you do this because you want to take care of them, not because of obligation!) If you don't feel qualified, start small, with plants! Get a succulent. Make sure there's a hole in the bottom of the pot. Fill the pot with water until it starts dripping out the hole on the bottom. Repeat every three weeks. It's that easy.

7. Mug cakes are awesome, but it can be difficult to make them all the time because it involves a lot of effort and keeping eight different ingredients on hand. Instead, buy a boxed cake mix. Mix six tablespoons of cake mix with four tablespoons of water in a mug, then microwave for a minute and bam! Instant mug cake that tastes amazing and literally only costs you 20 cents!

8. One time at camp, while my older brother was running the zipline, one of the other counselors was nervous to take that first step off the first platform. From the bottom of the tower I heard him tell her "Don't think about it. Just do it!" Those words still echo in my mind when I'm anxious, especially with social anxiety. "I don't wanna text this person, what if..." Don't think about it! Just do it! "Uhhh I don't know how to bring this up or if I should bring this up because maybe he's gonna..." Don't think about it! Just do it! "Eh, maybe I can do this without asking for help. After all..." Don't think about it! Just do it! I promise you, just like you don't have to do much to zipline once you've stepped off the platform, once you start that conversation you've been dreading, it stays going!

9. On a similar note, the conversations you dread the most are some of the best conversations ever. 9/10, when I was a camp counselor and had a particularly difficult camper, I would dread having a conversation with her, but as soon as I did, I understood her on a deeper level, and the entire scenario would shift. The conversations we fear the most are some of the most important conversations we can have!

10. If you're ever stuck when looking for gift ideas for someone, look through theor pinterest boards. If you're lucky, they'll have a board of cool things/outfits they want to buy that you could get or make for them, or you might find a fandom or interest they have that you could get them something from. Also, gift cards aren't the tacky thing you may think- not only can you give them something they love, but you've also just gifted them the monky brain rush of buying something without the guilt that comes with spending money! Try to find out what stores or restaurants they like (think fun things like Barnes&Nobles or Five Below, not generic stores like Wal-Mart where they're liable to use their frivolous gift money on something responsible,) and a gift card can be something that is so personal! And if you still wanna scratch that instant gratification of having a physical present, buy them a favorite candy bar or snack to go with it (you can usually find out their favorite candy from relatives or close friends, or you can ask them, or just pick something you see them eating often.)

If y'all seem interested I'll add more tips later :)

[funtimebunnyblog]

Nobody really asked for this but uhhh... I kind of needed it 😶😇😂 Please excuse me for being self indulgent for this one time! ❤❤❤ But most of all, please enjoy! 😘

The Pillarmen (separate) with an s/o on their Period...

(Under the cut for length!)

(Warning! This contains content all surrounding a Woman's menstruation cycle and all the absolute joys that come with it 🙃 like: graphic descriptions of pain and blood, more blood and lots of blood. Viewer discretion advised! In other words, you have been warned...)

Kars:

• Chances are, Kars will always be long prepared for your periods monthly arrival.

• Even in the time when you were first getting to know each other, he picked up on your cycle patterns quickly.

• The first time you confided to him you were on your period he was prepared then too, pulling out a fresh pack of pads for you seemingly out of nowhere.

• The way you reacted, he'd swore he had just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

• From then on he knows exactly when it will happen, he's done all the calculations and has the date marked on his desk calendar.

• When the day comes, he'll have a box of stuff already waiting for you by the bed; a hot waterbottle, some chocolate, pads/tampons, a bottle of Motrin, you name it.

• It's no surprise that even if you happen to be late or early he'll still be prepared; heck, he'll take one look at you and know.

• If you're cramping or feeling bloated and icky he knows some good teas to help you with that too.

• Kars is also prepared for the emotional and intensive side of things when you're undergoing your cycle.

☆

The door creaked open quietly, a tendril of light cutting through the dark as the wrapped head of Kars poked into the room, ruby eyes settling on the lumpy form quivering under the pile of blankets covering the bed.

He had heard you crying from the hallway one his way back to his Office.

The Pillarman's lips came together, however, he didn't hesitate for a moment as he stepped further into the room. "My dear," he spoke, approaching the bed. Your shaking form visibly tensed right up. It was obvious you hadn't even heard him come in. "Is your back giving you grief again?"

You had started just a day ago and of course things were carrying out as usual; cravings, back pain, nausea, all things he expected.

What he didn't expect was your answer, which was a wet sob, words muffled as the blankets moved; a shake of the head was his only coherent response.

He only frowned, the bed dipping with a low creak as he sat down on the very edge right at your back where you laid curled on on yourself under the covers.

"Your stomach then? You feel nauseous, is that it?" He pressed.

Another shake of the head, his sharp ears strained to hear the watery response from underneath the thick layer of blankets, leaving Kars with no choice but to finally peel away the barrier covers between you and him. Your very red and very wet face was finally revealed to him, your lips knotted and quivering as you sniffled.

Your state was only worrying him further, it was plainly obvious you had been crying for some time and on top of things, you weren't even looking at him.

There was an unmistakably guilty look to your watery expression.

"What is it then?" He asked, a huge hand plucking the stray hair from your soaked cheeks and eyes. "What's wrong? I need you to talk to me, dear."

His pressing only made the tears come much harder, his hands instinctively going to your back and rubbing softly.

"I'm sorry, Kars..." came the staccatic whimper.

He blinked twice, "For what?"

"I ruined the sheets!" You cried, hugging yourself tighter. "I... I laid down because--because my back was hurting again and I f-fell asleep and when I woke up it was just... all over the place!"

Your Husband listened to you quietly, suddenly coming to the realization that the bed had indeed been stripped of the sheets beneath the blankets; you were only laying (probably not very comfortably) on the thin white plastic mattress cover. His eyes drifted to the far corner of the room where the ruined fitted sheet and the thin matching over sheet had been simply balled up into a big lumpy wad and thrown there.

"You ruined your pants as well then," he hummed, remembering that you had been wearing a particular pair; your favourite fuzzy lounging pants with the stars on them.

A nod was his only response this time.

Kars let out a sigh, leaning down to lay his head on your shoulder. "Oh, my sunshine, it's alright. We have plenty of sheets, one ruined cover is nothing to me."

"I--"

"I know you didn't mean to." He cut you off, already knowing what you were going to say, his gentle ministrations unceasing. "It was an accident, I would not expect you to have control over something like this. These things happen. We can always get new sheets and buy you more pants and undergarments."

It relieved you to know he wasn't upset with you over this, or worse disgusted by the prospect of your mess, and you found yourself letting out a shakey breath you didn't know you had been holding.

The covers peeled away and you nearly yelped as you were suddenly hoisted into his arms, the Pillarman carrying you right out of the room without another word.

"Wh-What are you doing?" You squeaked, your confusion making the remainder of your tears ebb a little more.

"I'm taking you to get cleaned up." He answered without missing a beat. "No doubt you're probably still soiled, so you're going to take a nice hot shower. I'll leave you some fresh clothes and replace the sheets while you're in there and then we can crawl into bed and watch that program you like."

"I-- I thought you had work to do tonight." You said, watching him owl eyed as he set you down gently on the toilet and began to putter around the bathroom, pulling towels down from the cupboard and turning the shower on.

He hummed, "Oh, my work can wait until the morrow. My duties as your Mate come first, you know."

You felt a quivering smile tugging at your lips as he peered over his shoulder with a soft smile, cocking an eyebrow at you.

Kars was undoubtedly the only one in your life who could sweep up the shattered remains of a problem and fabricate it into something treasured.

He was the only one who made a this week out of every month truly bearable.

Esidisi:

• Growing up, Esidisi had been around the Women of his tribe and his Family a lot.

• He's definitely prepared for something like this and even upon first getting to know him, you could talk to him openly about it.

• These kinds of things don't faze him in the slightest; you're a Woman and as long as you're healthy there was no issue.

• Esidisi will almost always be able to tell whenever your monthly cycle is approaching, being an intuitive man and all.

• He knows your behaviors and habits and he can easily spot your telltale signs leading to your period, like: any erratic sleep patterns, a shift in your overall mood, your eating habits taking a sudden change, any ofd facial acne popping up, etc.

• He'll definitely be prepared for the day it does hit because he makes sure to go out and do all the necessary shopping prior.

• When your period does hit, it basically hits both of you.

• If you get emotional, he gets emotional; when you're in pain, he's in pain.

• Half of the ordeal might just consist of both of you crying and holding each other.

• The other half of it consists of him doing his very best to help you feel better and alleviate any discomfort you happen to feel.

• However... his methods in doing so are very unconventional.

☆

You did your very best to lay still as the calloused pad of a thumb swiped along bare skin, just under your navel, where you lay; leaving not only a trail of paint but a ticklish sensation that nearly made you giggle.

However, it was easy not to laugh while feeling nothing but waves of uncertainty and mild irritation rolling over you amidst all this.

The deep timber of Esidisi's voice thrumming out the tones of a mantra in some language you couldn't identify did little to comfort you as you laid there before him on the bed. You were dressed only in your underclothes and already painted with several other sigils along your body as he finished the one directly over your womb.

The room was dark, save for the light of two candles, one at each bedside table, allowing you to see him partially where he stood over you in the shadows.

His eyes, normally two sapphires glimmering, shined like rubies in the dark; animalistic and a reminder that he was something indeed inhuman.

You weren't really one to believe in rituals, especially not while you had some Motrin in a bottle downstairs that would fix up your prediciment just fine, but your Husband insisted on this instead.

You were starting to regret telling him you were still cramping with every sigil he drew and every stone and flower placed particularly around and over you.

"Esidisi," You whined. "Is this really necessary?"

The Pillarman's rythmic chanting fell to an abrupt halt at your words, his eyes fell on you incredulously.

"Of course this is necessary!" He cried. "You want the pain to stop, don't you?"

You grimaced, "Well, yes, but I just think this is..." teeth dug hard into your lower lip as your Mates brow came together, full lips twisting and arms folding over his chest as his gaze burned holes into you, awaiting the end to that sentence.

What could you possibly say that wouldn't hurt his feelings?

That is was a bunch of hoo-hah?

That he didn't know what he was doing or how a Women's body worked?

That the ancient medicine of his people that he was still using was something long outgrown in today's society?

That it most definitely wouldn't work and it was a waste of time?

"This is, what?" He pressed, chin raising as his foot began to tap quietly on the floor.

You could feel sweat sticking uncomfortably to your skin, or perhaps that was just you suddenly becoming increasingly aware of the feeling of the oil on your body he had slathered you with prior, as you fumbled to finish.

"Er... that is is... a little.... much?"

A bare brow cocked as he echoed you. "Much?"

"Well, I mean, you've painted at least 13 symbols on me now and you've smudged the air with so much sage my head hurts and the crystals and the flowers and... just the whole shebang here..." your hand went up to guesture to everything that was laid out, things both on you and on him.

His attire was something close to ridiculous in your eyes; he was even more naked than usual! Dressed in nothing but feathers covering his nether region and his usual hat, he stood before you covered in swirls of orange paint all along his body rather than just his cheeks.

"Isn't this just a little much?" You asked, unable to stop the frown from tugging on your lips.

Esidisi blinked owlishly, "Well, how else am I supposed to banish the evil spirits from your uterus and alleviate your pain?"

It had greatly surprised (and upset) him to find that the medicines and practices he was weaned on as a child had faded away into non-existence along with the name of his people.

Apart from Kars, who had taken to (ugh) more "modern" practices with those placebos and chemicals made in labratories, there didn't seem to be a soul out there who knew how to properly do these things!

Esidisi wasn't going to let you suffer or be harmed in any way shape or form, not when he knew how to stop it. He had learned early on how to cleanse the womb and heal it of any harmful curses or diseases that would happen to plague you. His Grandmother had been the one who had taught him and he had spent his youth putting them to much practice.

If you thought that this was much, you were definitely going to be in for a surprise for when you became pregnant one day; he planned to preform regular hour long sessions daily then.

You couldn't stop yourself from sighing, a hand reaching up to give a light slap to your cheek as you groaned.

You would just have to explain to him what really caused all the pain of menstruation. "Honey, there's no evil spirits--"

A finger pressed to your lips, stalling anymore words from falling from them. "Shh, beloved. You mustn't keep disrupting the ritual." The man chided softly, leaning down to press a dotting kiss to your brow as he swiped the final line of paint over it. "Now just lay there and let me handle this. Trust me, you'll feel better in no time."

Your lips turned downward as you watched him step back to fetch his singing bowl, sighing softly to yourself as you adjusted the bouquet of herbs and flowers that he had pushed into your hands.

It was hard to get comfortable when you could feel the mint leaves he had scattered in your hair scratching against your scalp and the orange peeling he had stuffed it on your bra was an entirely different matter all together.

You supposed that somehow it could've been worse and you had to be content that this was relatively harmless all in all.

At least the hollow ring of the singing bowl and the continuation of his mantra would put you to sleep while he carried out the rest of this ritual...

Wamuu:

• Admittedly, Wamuu knew very little on the concept of Women and their monthly cycles; until you came along into his life that was.

• He knew how it worked of course and that it indeed happened but embarrassingly, he had sort of... forgotten about it in a way.

• Really, you supposed you couldn't blame him. This wasn't exactly something that was part of his everyday life, growing up with only 3 other Males the majority of it.

• The first time he happened to smell blood off you, it sent him into a panic and he immediately thought that you were hiding an injury from him; demanding to know where it was so he could treat it.

• Embarrassed, you tried to be discreet and prod him gently in the direction of what was happening. However, every code word for it just seemed to fly over his head; inevitably confusing him further.

• "It's high tide." "What? Beloved, we do not live by the ocean." "Er... the blood moon has risen?" "The blood moon isn't supposed to appear for another few months. And it is daytime, beloved." "Uhh... It's shark week?" "Why are you talking about a T.V. program at a time like this?"

• Finally, after a long, LONG session of going back and forth like that, you had no choice but to scream that you were on your period.

• Wamuu's beat red face and his impossibly huge eyes will be an image forever burned into your brain.

• After that, even though he wasn't exactly an expert on such matters, Wamuu did his best to at least be attentive to your needs.

• He does his best to understand your patterns and the entirety of what exactly you go through.

• He's always checking in on you every so often, sheepishly asking if you're feeling ok or if you need anything.

• Just say the word and He'll get you pads or food or water, perhaps even a distraction like a movie...

☆

The wet sounds of sniffling hitting his eardrums was what caused Wamuu to be roused from his deep and comfortable sleep, the Warrior blinking in the dark of the room and instinctively raising his head to locate the source.

"Beloved," He breathed, eyes falling onto your form. You were also awake, your back to him and sitting on the edge of the bed, curled in on yourself. His lips fell into a frown as you continued to sniffle, now trying to stiffle the sound upon realizing that he too was awake now.

Wamuu slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, "what's wrong? Why are you awake?"

It was still the dead of night, just a little past 1AM, he couldn't think of a reason for you to be awake and crying other than the possibility of you having a nightmare.

" 's nothing..." you hiccuped, scrubbing your eye. "Go back to sleep."

His frown only deepened, scooting across the bed to get closer to you. "No. What is it? What has you so upset?" He pressed, an arm encircling around your quivering form. "Did you have a nightmare?"

A particularly harsh sob cut through you as you shook your head, burying your face in your hands as if trying to hide from him, "No! Go back to sleep!"

Chartreuse eyes softened considerably, the massive man only hugging you closer to his body as he chose to press further.

"If it's not a nightmare than what is it?"

"Oh, you'll laugh!" came the moan.

"I will not laugh." He replied, quite matter of factly.

"You'll--... You'll be angry!"

His brow knitted together sternly, one huge and warm hand wrapping around your much smaller one, uncaring of the fact it was wet with tears.

"I will not be angry. Please, just tell me why you are awake and crying, my love."

You fell silent, save for the staccato of your hiccupped breaths, Wamuu waited with all the patience in the world.

"I--" you paused, swallowing thickly. Your expression contorted in an almost painful manor, a hand slamming over your eyes as you only began to sob harder than before. "--I want... CHICKEN NUGGETS!"

The Pillarman blinked in surprise, that confession had completely taken him off guard. You were crying over food of all things? At 1 o'clock in the morning?

Realization washed over him, making him frown deeper for only a second as he suddenly remembered the fact that you had started your monthly menstrual cycle yesterday evening.

You must've woken up craving and hurting, of course those things would drive you to cry helplessly like so.

If anything, the Warrior was relieved it was nothing serious.

Wamuu smiled softly, only hugging you tighter to him. "Will chicken nuggets get you to stop crying?" He asked softly, carding his fingers gently through your awry bed-head hair.

You coughed, sniffling as your whimpered response rose up from your throat painfully. "Yeah,"

He nodded, "Alright. How many do you want and what kind?"

You sniffed a few times, managing to calm down enough to tell him what would suffice enough to satisfy your hankering. Wamuu pulled on a simple hoodie and some pants as you talked, he even asked you if you wanted to come with him but you declined, not really in the mood to go very far.

He put the Television on for you, turning it on to a program and kissed your head, telling you he'd be back with an order of nuggets, a drink you liked and perhaps something sweet to enjoy after.

You felt guilty for troubling him with something like this, it was even worse that it was at an ungodly hour in the morning but Wamuu didn't care about those things, what mattered to him was your comfort, your happiness and your needs met...

Santana:

• Much like Wamuu, Santana isn't very much educated on the subject of menstruation and your cycles when first getting to know you.

• However, he could tell immediately that something was happening to you even before your cycle started.

• He mentioned that you had a stronger smell to him, like your hormones were given a signifigant boost. He claimed he could also see that you looked a little softer somehow.

• After sitting him down (a little embarrassed) and explaining to him what was going to happen soon, the dots connected for him and he understood.

• You were his Mate afterall and he followed his natural instincts to care and provide for you.

• He doesn't really like letting you out of his sight when it does happen, preferring to keep you close to him and he'll help you out in any way you need.

• You have to be specific with him though. If you send him to the store telling him that you need tampons, he might just come back with the entire isle of boxes in tow.

• This whole thing is always a learning experience to him, even though he can't undergo the same thing he does his best to understand and at least be attentive.

☆

"Oh c'mon..." you groaned, practically begging now as you curled in on yourself on the bed. "Kick in already!"

You had taken that Motrin over 10 minutes ago and still nothing was happening, your back was still aching and your stomach was cramping.

It was impossible for you to move now, you had laid down and there was no way in Hell you were going to get up again until all the pain was gone.

However, you were very much regretting not having the foresight to grab your heating pad on the way here, at least with that it would make it bearable but alas, it was all the way downstairs.

You couldn't even get up without fear of fainting or worse; ruining your pants.

Another wave of nausea shot through your gut, curling up in an icky tendril to your throat straight from the pit of your hurting stomach. All you could do was try to breathe; breathe, ride out the pain, hope it would be over soon and try not to vomit because of it.

A litany of begging was now falling through your lips like a prayer, pleading for anyone or anything listening to make it stop. Tears were beading at the corners of your eyes threatening to fall as your spine felt like it was being twisted, rung out like one would a wet rag.

"Please, please, please stop." You grit, hands turning to fists. "Please, please make it stop."

Little did you know your pleas didn't go unheard.

Santana watched you from the doorway where you couldn't see him, peering in with a thoughtful frown and a tilt of his head. Each quiet moan and whimper made his hands instinctively grip the door tighter, fingers digging harshly into the wood.

You were having a hard time. You were in a lot of pain and he hated to see you as such.

With only a moments thought, the Pillarman knew what he had to do, taking off quickly down the stairs; his feet barely making a sound on the steps.

Your back was hurting, he could see it in the way you kept trying to roll onto it. You used a strange device to help, one that emanated heat with a click of a button. His eyes scanned the living room for the familiar blue fabric with the white chord.

He snatched it off the couch, tucking it under his arm as he went into the kitchen next, finding himself opening and closing cupboards and doors without really knowing what he was looking for this time.

You had already taken one of those pills and he was certain you said something before about having to wait a couple of hours before you took another so that was out of the question.

The bright colours of your waterbottle sitting all by itself on the kitchen counter caught his eye. He didn't know how long you would be up there resting so maybe it was best to put it by your bedside for when you needed it. He also grabbed a couple of snacks from the cupboard, simple wrapped treats you enjoyed here and there.

He put the bottle under the tap, making sure to only stop until it was filled right under the brim with cold water.

Water... hot water. The red-head blinked, humming softly to himself as the gears turned in his head.

Your stomach had been obviously giving you grief as well, it didn't go unnoticed by him that you were clutching it; trying to curl in on yourself. You had something you used to help that too, he had seen you fill it up a few times before.

Waterbottle and heating pad under arm and snacks clutched to his chest, he went back upstairs. He went right past your room and straight into the bathroom, prying open the closet and digging around for the strange rubbery sack he could clearly see in his memories.

He pulled it out triumphantly, the object limp in his grasp like a pelt as he turned on the tap. He waited until the water was hot enough to make steam rise up from the sink before plunging it under to fill and corking it.

His arms now completely full, he shuffled back to your room with the goods; pleased his little scavenger hunt was successful.

There you lay, right where he had left you; from the look of it you definitely hadn't improved.

You were so consumed with your own discomfort you didn't even hear him or see him.

Santana approached the bed quietly, setting the waterbottles (both hot and cold) down on the nighttable with the snacks before fumbling with the heating pad, plugging it into the wall.

The massive hand being laid on your side startled you somewhat, eyes popping open with a shudder before being greeted with the sight of your one and only Mate standing over you at the bedside with a frown.

"Roll over." Came the quiet command, his hand pushing you further onto your side and slipping something familiar underneath you before easing you onto your back again.

"Santana, wha--" was all you could manage out.

Santana clicked it onto the medium setting, reaching for the hot-waterbottle next and holding it up for you to see. He draped the wiggly rubber sack over your stomach, an audible "bloop!" sounding from inside as your arms instinctively curled around it with a sigh; already relishing in its warmth.

The bed dipped as he crawled in next to you, the Pillarmen kindly pulling the blankets up around you both as he curled into your side protectively.

You could feel the heat seeping slowly into your back, the pain starting to ebb somewhat and the heated weight over your stomach was soothing; it all left you near to deliriously blissful.

You realized belatedly that he had brought you all of these things without you even having to ask, you turned your head with a sleepy smile, meeting the gaze of the red-head. He was so sweet you swore at times your heart would melt.

A hand reached up to tangle in his mane of wild hair, "Thank you, honey..."

The Pillarman nuzzled into your neck, almost purring at the gentle touch. He had made you better and that was enough to leave him content for now.

"I will always take care of you, my Mate..." he murmured, smiling softly as you closed your eyes and slowly fell asleep. It wasn't long after that he did the very same...

[pact-ideas]

Ways your characters can transition between genders within the mechanics of dnd

this is not at all what this blog is usually about but I recently watched Identity: a trans coming out story by philosophy tube and like a true nerd I saw a moving and breath-taking piece of art and immediately attempted to apply it to Dungeons and dragons.

1. The Witches brew

The viscous green liquid within the cauldron bubbled as a wizened hand stirred with a gnarled wooden spoon “Sip once a day, every day for a year” croaked the witch “but never during the full moon”

A potion or blessing provided by the local wise woman/witches coven/hag that will slowly but surely transform the subject. This idea is maybe less steeped in the mechanics of dnd but this idea seems so classically witchy i had to include it plus this would likely be the only method of transition available for the common folks in your average dnd setting, for DM’s a fun level 1 adventure for your hero's could maybe include a character wishes to brew a potion of transitioning but is missing a vital ingredient and the party must set off on a quest to find it or it could be more of a long term thing, maybe one of the PCs is using such a potion and must occasionally either return to the witches hut to stock up or gather the ingredients themselves, lots of possibilities.

I thought that a slower transformation was appropriate since witches are fairly low level in the grand scheme of things however hags are known for making deals so maybe your character has bargained for a faster transition but then the question is what did they offer in exchange?

2. By Divine Favour

You kneel and whisper a prayer as you had done a thousand times before but this time something was different, from the sky, a beam of golden light falls down upon you and you feel power deep within your bones.

The gods are the most powerful creatures in the lore of dnd but with that comes a degree of separation, the gods are not likely to grant your wishes just because you asked so your best bet is to go to a cleric or become one yourself, spell wise however there is little they can do for you unless the dm has a very generous interpretation of the term ‘restoration��� luckily clerics have the divine intervention feat where they roll a d100 and if the number they roll is below their cleric level they can call on their deity for aid with a specific task, this task can be anything from drying out the laundry with some sun beams or alleviating dysphoria with a godly transfiguration. clerics get this ability at level 10 which means that there's a one in ten chance of success from the beginning and they can perform it once per long rest so just hang out with them for a fortnight and wait for luck to turn your way.

3. A Pact From Beyond

You hang in space as if swimming in an ocean and flying through the clouds all at once. You feel a mind older that time and vast enough to swallow a city whole asks you “what is it you desire?”

Here we are at my bread and butter. Eldritch pacts have been made for much less than a definitive change of identity so you could also throw in that your friends and family will only remember you as your new identity or you could just have anyone who ever deadnames you sucked into the nine hells.

There are other option if you don’t want to base your entire pact on transitioning. At second level you gain access to eldritch invocations one of which could be mask of many faces which allows you to cast disguise self at will without using a spell slot, what this means is that you can decide how your character looks 100% of the time. disguise self only lasts an hour but you can just cast it again and again. obviously this is a low level ability so it does have limits, the main draw back is that the spell is only an illusion. you can make your character look a certain way but you can’t change their body, at least until 7th level when you can get the sculptor of flesh invocation that allows you to cast polymorph but sadly you do have to use a spell lot for this invocation so even though you will have a proper transformation it will at most last an hour.

but hey the situation isn't hopeless I’ve heard that unfathomable eldritch beings are very reasonable creatures as long as you are willing to negotiate.

4. Find a wizard

“The ritual lasts an hour and requires you to be completely submerged” Said the kindly old man as he excitedly hopped around his arcane laboratory showing off his research which is complete gibberish to you “the magic of the clay will sustain you but if you are uncomfortable with the sensation of not breathing I have some improvised wooden reeds which you could use to breath through however a foreign body within the ritual may require me to take a little extra time to...” 

You silence him with a wave of your hand “Don't worry about it.” You lie back on the table “Lets begin,” 

Wizards have access to a larger amount of spells that other classes but only a few of those spells are fit for our purposes, Wizards have access to disguise self which we discussed in the previous section as well as alter self which would be perfect for our needs if it wasn't for the hour long time limit, if you can find a way to keep the alter self spell up indefinitely through either a magic item or a round the clock team of spell casters who take turns casting every hour, you would have a better time but even then it is an ongoing magical effect so it can be cancelled either by a dispel magic spell or an antimagic field but fear not dear reader! for wizards have the ultimate trans spell... Widowgast’s Transmogrification.

Now technically this spell isn’t part of official dnd material however the world the spell exists in is an official dnd world so I consider it cannon by proxy. Widowgast’s transmogrification is a spell that permanently transforms a willing humanoids body into another type of humanoid body this means you can change the race and/or gender of the subject. So you essentially get to look exactly how you want to with no magical baggage. There are some drawbacks of course this is a 6th level spell so you need to be at least an 11th level wizard to be able to cast it or you need to find a trustworthy wizard which is a challenge in of itself plus the spell components are costly but in my opinion the pros of the unique spell outweigh the cons.

[crystalelemental]

Unit Teambuilding - Courtney

I am still not over the fact they added a Zone to the general pool.  Like, thank god for that, but also what an unexpected twist for just before anniversary.  And Ground Zone!  We now have reasonable precedent for Rock and Ice Zones!  God, I can’t wait.  Maybe one of the last two will be an Ice Zone Glacia alt?  No?

General Overview Okay look.  I’m no fun.  I don’t really care much about Courtney.  She’s a cute design but I can’t remember anything about her?  I feel like calls for the admins were always more a matter of “They should get in when they can with their boss,” rather than any real desire for them, but Courtney being the exception feels entirely like a design thing.

And yet, here she is, with a single tool that makes her borderline mandatory: Ground Zone.  In the general pool!  This is insane on its own, but I think it’s...pretty justifiable when you look at the Ground-types available on an F2P budget.  Clay and Hapu.  That is...sad.  Everyone else is limited availability, so I guess it’s an act of mercy that their Zone setter isn’t also limited.  To be frank, Zone alone is enough to make Courtney viable, but she has some really nice tools that complement the Ground types currently in the meta.  Usually, we have to talk about whether the Zone setter does anything else to support their chosen typing, with abilities ranging from Cynthia’s “Technically yeah” to P!Marnie’s “Oh god it’s unreal how much she can help with” to Teatime Ingo’s “this is largely a disaster.”  Courtney got Defense Crush on Bulldoze, an AoE move, and every single Ground-type is physical.  Done deal, wrap it up.  Yes, Courtney is an unreasonably good partner to the Ground types in the meta.

Conceptually.  While she offers a lot of nice tools, like the defense debuffs and Team Wise/Sentry Entry at 3/5, there’s the major issue of Defense Crush being only rank 2 prior to mega evolution.  This means it is supremely inconsistent as a supportive tool, and if you want consistency, she has to take first sync.  Not every Ground type wants that.  Yet if you don’t get her consistency, you run the risk of her being just a Zone bot, and contributing next to nothing.  Speed debuffs are, broadly speaking, worthless.  The enemy effectively never moves so slowly that they can’t queue up their next move right away.  On very rare occasions, when they’re aiming for a 3-4 bar move, it might slow them down.  Might.  But speed-based debuffs exist almost entirely for multipliers, and while this is a cute method to improve Cakewalk, none of the Ground-types she should be paired with have it.  In fact, she herself doesn’t even have it.  As a result, Bulldoze is weaker damage with a nigh-meaningless debuff attached, and an inconsistent chance to activate the good skill.  Worse, it’s three gauge.  Consider that your Ground-type strikers tend to be slow, and pack their own three or four gauge moves, and you have a recipe for gauge issues that absolutely need to be alleviated.

Team 1: Courtney, Ingo, Cynthia This is one of those “Finally, I have them all” moments for Cynthia.  Sandstorm support that buffs offenses and speed, and now Ground Zone.  Cynthia’s finally come together into the biggest cluster of a sync demand you’ve seen.  Courtney wants first sync for guaranteed defense crush, but Cynthia also kinda wants it for the higher power on Mega Garchomp, but what about Ingo getting it for double damage buffs?  It’s a whole disaster out here.  In general, you’d probably want Ingo first if he’s EX, as the double EX buff is more valuable regardless of anything else.  Lacking that, a single defense point drop is not sufficient to override Mega Garchomp’s raw offensive presence, so Cynthia should sync first.  Meaning that Courtney, in this scenario, is pretty much never going to sync.

With that knowledge, I’m going to start my big push: Courtney works best with Defense Crush as a lucky skill.  Courtney will rarely, if ever in some cases, take first sync.  Defense drops are nice, but they’re not as good as an EX support sync buff, or the transformations of other Ground-types.  But you still want those defense drops, otherwise what’s Courtney really doing aside from applying a field effect?  Defense Crush as a lucky skill is the best way to gain more consistency in her primary role, and can even get really lucky and debuff defense by 2 in one action.  This is probably the best application of Courtney as a supportive partner to other Ground-type strikers, and it’s exactly what I’ll be going for myself.

Team 2: Courtney, Maxie, SS Morty/Marley Supporting her boss, Courtney takes Maxie’s ground-type damage to ridiculous extremes.  Sun and Ground Zone support is already insane enough, but thanks to SS Morty, we have a backup Sun setter that gives them good gauge control, and alleviates energy on Maxie’s grid by handling crit rate for them.  This does kinda completely forego Courtney’s attack, but in favor of...she easily takes first sync to get that guaranteed Defense Crush 9.  With that, Maxie just goes nuts.

As another option, Marley can save a ton of energy on Maxie’s grid, but removing the need for Critical Eye on Dire Hit+.  And since he’s not going to be using sync so Courtney is more consistent, this means putting all his points directly into offense.  Marley, as it turns out, is also one of Courtney’s best friends.  Team Sharp Entry means Courtney doesn’t need MPR on her trainer move to cap crit, and the rapid speed buffs mean she’s far less worried about spamming Bulldoze for debuffs.

Team 3: Courtney, Marley, SS Serena Let’s say you prefer SS Serena as your Master Fair Ground type.  Marley.  Again.  Marley caps speed, has Team Sharp Entry to save Serena a turn and let her apply Restrain pre-sync, and can block status for potential gimmick checks.  Serena always takes first sync (so again, Defense Crush 2 is a good Courtney cookie skill for those extra chances), and will plow through the stage easily with Ground Zone up.

Team 4: Courtney, Skyla/Sonia, Giovanni I was debating how to optimize this one.  Giovanni and Courtney are both slow and gauge hungry, so you need the speed buffs.  Skyla specifically benefits Courtney’s sync multipliers, but otherwise leaves her reliant on attack and crit bonuses from her own trainer move.  Sonia handles Courtney better, but isn’t as optimal with Giovanni because of how slow the needed speed buffs are.  Basically, it’s not as clean as you’d hope.  Courtney can support SS Giovannit, but it’s probably her worst pick.

Team 5: Courtney, Sonia, Clay You know what, forget that noise!  It’s time for us to focus on Courtney as her own person, not the backup to someone else’s success!  Courtney has a really good sync nuke, and the repeated defense drops means even Bulldoze can potentially deal damage.  Sonia, again, is pretty optimal, covering attack, crit, and defense, all of which Courtney needs.  Sonia also buffs team speed for gauge control, and can help with Defense Crush when she shifts into attacking.  I have Clay here, but realistically you can pick whoever you want, it’s not like Courtney needs anything all that specific.  A good Leer Eggmon would do the trick.  But I bring up Clay because one day, Clay will get a grid.  And that grid will involve Cakewalk.  And if you really wanted to, Courtney and Clay now have Double Bulldoze to minimize speed before first sync.  I’m just saying, it’s an option.

Final Thoughts Courtney’s not half bad, but I think her biggest hangup is being slow, and inconsistent as a debuffer.  She begs for gauge support, especially with all her Ground-type allies being horrendous gauge hogs with limited speed as well.  If you don’t have speed buffs, I’m pretty sure Courtney just doesn’t work.  Defense Crush 2 as a base passive also really hurts a lot.  It’s just not consistent enough to provide exceptional support to her allies.  It’s why I think Defense Crush 2 is such a good lucky skill; it enhances her odds as a debuffer for the partners she supports.  And support is more her focus.  Her sync nuke is far from bad, hitting about as hard as Bertha’s if Bertha doesn’t have Ground Zone.  But Cynthia’s been waiting ages for this, while Maxie ascends to a whole other plane of existence on Ground Zone.  Like, a huge reason his attack stat got to be so much bigger than Archie’s special was that multipliers like this didn’t exist, and now that’s no longer true.  As long as gauges are covered, it’s hard to consider Courtney anything less than optimal as a partner for him.  She’s just...inconsistent.

But you know, I’ll take it.  I know it’s weird that she’s the only admin in the game, and that it’s 100% from design and that one Evolutions episode, but I’ll take it.  Because at the end of the day, this saves me specifically.  I’m free.  Flying and Ground Zone are both in, on units I’m okay with.  There is officially no possible reason for me to ever have to pull Landorus-Therian.  This must be what inner peace is like.

[sidespromptblog]

If It Were In My Hands: (2/2)

One

Warnings: Janus gets angry during this chapter, mentions of possible violence, mentions of nightmare, past use of the dark used as punishment, mentions of verbal threats, angst, and hurt/comfort.

Summary: Virgil has a nightmare about what he said to Logan in a fit of fear and anger when Remus was making himself known, but was a nightmare all that it was?

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 2404

“What were you thinking?!”

It wasn’t often that Janus found himself both losing his temper as well as shouting, but when it came to instances like this… the only thing he felt that he could do in order to get his point across was shout until his voice went hoarse. At least he’d be listened to that way, and it seemed Remus very much needing someone to shout at him right now.

Especially after the stunt he had just pulled.

“What were you thinking?! Sending Virgil that kind of nightmare, and making him go through that kind of panic attack!” His coffee cup slammed against the counter so hard tat he was sure that it was going to shatter. Janus turned his blazing eyes towards Remus as he gave the creative side his full, but very pissed off, attention. “Are you fucking crazy?! We’re trying to get Thomas to LISTEN to us! Not to be scared off because you sent Virgil a nightmare about him fucking strangling Logan to death! If he finds out you made that nightmare and sent it to him it's over for all of us!” Janus raked his gloved fingers through his hair tugging angrily at the ends, forcing himself to take several breaths so that he wouldn’t explode again.

Remus clenched the fabric of his sash tightly, his knuckles turning white as he forced himself to keep his eyes down and not looking at Janus’ freak out.

There wasn’t much he could say to make the situation better, he’d known the moment that he’d done it that Janus would be pissed beyond belief. But he had to do it, he just had to. Even if Janus didn’t understand his reasoning.

The sigh that came from Janus made Remus flinch, he already knew how hard Janus was working and all of this was just one more thing that the dishonest side would have to work around in order to get anywhere close to being accepted by Thomas and the others. It made his guts churn with guilt, to know that he had inconvenienced the other side in the way that he had, but… he’d had to.. he just had to.

“Tell me Remus,” The side in question couldn’t help but to flinch yet again and tense up at the cool collected tone of the other side, even if Janus had never hurt him in any kind of way… everyone had a breaking point. Virgil’s threat towards Logan was proof enough of that, and Logan was supposed to be his friend. “What exactly was your thought process when you decided to do what you did?”

Janus sounded calm now, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

It was like the calm before the storm.

But in the very least, Janus was giving him the chance to explain himself, that was more than anyone else had ever done. It ignited a little spark of hope inside of him, hope that perhaps Janus would understand where he was coming from and not immediately disregard his thought process as crazy or just plain wild. He had a method and he had a reason, it just… wasn’t a reason that many other people would understand without the proper context.

Janus’ raised eyebrow urged him to begin, for fear of losing patience.

“I didn’t make the nightmare,” Remus blurted out, desperate to make the other side understand all at once. Janus’ quick blink of surprise urged him onwards. “It was already a nightmare that existed in a mind space from one of the others, I had nothing to do with its creation. I swear! If I had made it I wouldn’t have sent it to Virgil anyways, I would have just kept it on my side of the imagination, or sent it to Thomas like last time. I promise.” Once the words began he couldn’t stop them, he felt as if he were begging Janus to believe him, as the words all came out in one heavy flow of ramblings. Screw whatever he had practiced saying…

It was true, and the chances of Thomas even remembering a dream like that was slim to none.

Janus slowly raised his hand, a motion for Remus to stop for just a second and to slow down, and without even thinking Remus slammed his mouth shut almost immediately.

“Then..” The dishonest side slowly began, his temper sinking into oblivion the more that Remus had been explaining himself. The knowledge that the other side hadn’t made the dream helped a little, but the fact that it existed at all made him more curious than anything. A dream like that… It needed trauma, and more than anything.. broken trust. “Who did the dream belong to, if you did not make it?”

That was the real kicker, and Remus hesitated to answer as his gaze once again shot down to his shoes. He chewed the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, anything instead of immediately having to fess up to the truth. He knew that Janus wouldn’t like it, even if it was one of the light sides that the dishonest side had clashed with being the epitome of self preservation meant that Janus was always worried about their health.

Mental or otherwise.

Janus wouldn’t like what he had to say about who the nightmare belonged to, much less the circumstances of how such a thing could ever come to be. Remus usually didn’t involve himself in homemade nightmares, unless it was truly horrifying ones that he knew they couldn’t handle. The nightmare he’d seen was way more than that, just the fact that it had messed Virgil up as badly as it did meant that whoever else it was meant for… it would have made them end up so much worse. He knew this, and Janus knew this as well. Which was why...

Even he would have preferred the lie to what he knew for a fact.

Janus’ pristine shoes made an audible clicking on the tiled kitchen floor as he closed the distance between himself and the other side, his approach was carefully slow but also very determined. “Remus.” He gently asked worry coursing through his veins like a gushing river, as he placed his hand on the creative side’s shoulder. “Who did the dream belong to?”

Remus’ nails bit into the palms of his hands as his eyesight became blurry for a moment and his breathing hitched, for a moment he contemplated shaking his head at the question in order to deny it. It was unlike him to get upset about a nightmare, let alone one that he had no business in. But this one… this one had made him upset. Upset enough to the point where he’d acted without even considering the consequences that Janus had reminded him of. It wasn’t like he could hide his true emotions from Janus, he’d always told Janus everything that had gone through his head without so much as a mental filter to be found, and this.. this was no exception. Janus deserved to know, especially if he was going to be going back and trying to get Thomas to listen to them. He needed to know what he was going to be up against, especially when it came to Virgil.

His mouth tasted like iron, and the words laid heavily on his tongue.

But regardless… he spoke them.  

“It was Logan’s…”

The admission rang hollowly in the air, and on his shoulder he could feel Janus’ hand stiffen.

“What?” Janus rasped the single word out, a flurry of emotions passing over his face in an instance before finally settling on abject shock and horror. His eyes reflected more though, as his grip balled the fabric of Remus’ shirt. “Why?” He asked confusion flitting through him, “What on earth could have caused Logan to have a nightmare about Virgil taking his very life?!” He ranted to himself, shaking his head repeatedly until he was feeling dizzy. “What?!” Janus repeated again his confusion not alleviated in the slightest. His lips had curled back into a snarl revealing one fanged tooth that stood out among the rest, this time there was a layer of rage coating his voice that Remus had only heard in very rare occurrences.

This kind of rage didn’t even come close to the anger he’d felt when Roman had chosen for Thomas to go to the wedding.

But this time it wasn’t rage directed towards Remus.

It wasn’t directed towards anybody.

Remus caught Janus’ elbow as the dishonest side attempted to pull away, instead of keeping him standing though he directed him towards the living room where they could both sit down. Janus seemed to fold in on himself the moment that he’d seated himself, his fingers rubbing at his brows as he focused his gaze on the floor, keeping it there. Remus could tell that there was a cocktail of emotions stirring inside of Janus, after all, he’d felt very much the same way the moment that he had caught the nightmare before it had ever gotten close to Logan. At first he hadn’t been sure as to why he had stopped it, he’d caught it as if it were pure instinct. It had only take him a moment to realize…

It was thanks to Logan that Thomas had started to understand Remus, it was thanks to Logan that he was scary to Thomas anymore. Thomas could understand him, and understand what he did more thanks to the knowledge that the logical side had.

Without him… Thomas would still be pushing him away instead of letting him stay close.

Logan had made his step closer to acceptance that much easier, and he had even done the same for Janus. All by explaining their core, and how they worked to benefit Thomas, instead of hurting him like he’d been led to believe.

Logan had helped them.

Even if said side didn’t realize it yet.

So it had been almost instinct to protect the logical side in the very same way that he constantly protected Janus from his own nightmares. But to see just what the nightmare was about… it had made his blood boil with the kind of rage and righteous anger that he hadn’t felt in several years. So…

He’d done something about it.

Remus thumped his hand on Janus’ back, awkwardly trying to soothe the other side out of whatever turmoil he was going through. “I…” Remus felt like his tongue was trying to stick to the roof of his mouth. “Before I revealed myself to Thomas, Logan was trying to explain what I was to Thomas. And Virgil… he was… angry.” Remus wanted to groan and thump his head against the coffee table, but kind and gentle in both words and touch was most certainly not his thing. “None of the other sides really wanted to intervene, because well… it was Virgil. And Virgil was still freaking out from the thoughts I’d thought up for Thomas, and he… threatened Logan.”

Janus’ head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Remus’ with a blazing fury that made Remus’ skin itch and crawl, as if he’d released a herd of bugs into it. That look made him want to inch away and put something between them, so that whatever Janus did… the damage would be minimal.

“What did he say?”

Remus blinked in surprise at the sheer calmness of Janus’ voice, “Huh?” He dumbly asked.

“What…” He whispered in a soft growl, “Did. He. Say?”

Janus had straightened up, readjusting his gloves and caplet as he did. He looked like the moment he found out his answer he was going to go right out there and give Virgil a good walloping. Regardless of how slow he wanted to take things or how he wanted to win the others over, he knew that Janus would make good on that. Threats weren’t exactly something that Janus took very lightly, especially being a side of lies and protection for others. Those threats always struck very differently with him when he could tell the truth behind the words that always came spewing out, and one way or another…

There was always a little bit of truth behind the falsest threat.

Remus honestly wasn’t sure that he wanted to tell him if that’s what was going to happen, and especially if that was going to be the case with Janus’ clenched fists that promised some kind of violence. He didn’t want to be the one who would have to hold Janus back from giving Virgil a different kind of dark circles, and he honestly didn’t trust himself enough to not just let it happen and for it to ruin all of Janus’ future plans that he’d been working so hard on. If he did tell Janus... and if he let him walk out that door without looking back… there was no telling what would happen. His shifting Logan’s dream to be Virgil’s had been dicey and troublesome enough as it was, but for Janus to go out there and give Virgil a punch or two… it would just serve to bring back the dark days for them.

Everything would be ruined, and they’d be stuck in the dark forever this time.

There would be no chance at light.

Remus shuddered at the mere thought of being trapped in that kind of darkness again, he didn’t want that. The screaming, the broken voices, and blindly feeling around trying to find the others so that he could know that he wasn’t alone. Janus shivering alone in the darkness, with Remus and Virgil trying as desperately as he could to warm him up so that he wouldn’t go under like all of the other darks that they had lost along the way.

No.

It wouldn’t matter to Janus if Virgil had apologized, the fact that he’d made that kind of threat to begin with was enough.

For both of them.

“You can’t.” He finally said, trying desperately to keep the soft and squishy emotion out of his voice. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give two shits, and I’d tell you anything you wanted to hear, especially if it pertained to Virgil getting his shit rocked. But… No matter how angry you are, you can’t do anything. We have to keep going according to plan.”

Janus’ gloves gave a faint squeak the more the clenched his fists, it was hard for Janus, once he got riled up it was so hard to get him settled back down until something had been done about it. But regardless, the dishonest side forced himself to take in several deep breaths, his jaw was so tense that Remus could see the muscles bulging out with the concentration that it took to not do anything rash. His leg bounced in place, desperate to burn off whatever energy that was trapped inside of him.

Remus’ hand remained on his back, “We have to keep according to plan,” He softly spoke again, giving the other side something to focus on at least. He hated this, he hated being the voice of reason. But someone had to do it, especially if Janus was the one flying off in a rage towards someone they had promised not to touch. “You’ll take Virgil’s place after the wedding, when Thomas is all in a tizzy and-”

“No.” Janus spoke for the first time in several long and agonizing minutes, his voice was cold and dangerous. It sent shivers up and down Remus’ spine, as Janus’ seething eyes locked onto his. “I won’t be doing that.”

In a grand flourish Janus stood, and for a tense moment Remus was sure that he was going to have to body slam Janus to the floor so that he didn’t go after Virgil right then and there. Instead however, Janus spun around his caplet flowing behind him as he booked it for his bedroom, the door remaining open behind him as the other side disappeared into the darkness of his own room. He was gone for several long minutes, where Remus could hear him rifling through something, oftentimes accompanied by a few soft curses that even he was initially surprised by. It was at the ten minute mark that Janus finally left his room, sprinting out with a handful of papers and his pocket stuffed with several red pens.

The rage that had once radiated off of Janus seemed to be dying down, as if having those precious moments to think in his room had cooled him off a little.

Remus was dearly thankful for it.  

“I won’t be taking Virgil’s place this time,” Janus hurriedly blurted out scattering the papers all over the coffee table so that Remus could lean over and see what changes he was making to his plan. “I’ll take Logan’s place, it’ll save him from being ignored from the others and myself like last time. And given the fact that I’ve been watching him long enough to properly know his mannerisms, and with Roman’s most helpful notes I’m sure that I can successfully take his place, At least without the others catching on for too long, or until it’s time for the final reveal.” Janus’ hand moved in a blur as he crossed out several things, and scribbled a few more on the many papers he had.

There was a look of zeal in his eyes, a look that Remus much rather preferred compared to the look of pure rage he’d once had.

“What about Virgil?” Remus almost hesitated to ask, for fear of making that anger resurface once again. But Virgil would be the most suspicious out of all of them, all things considered, especially given how clingy he had been to Logan that night after the nightmare he’d suffered. He’d notice almost immediately that something was up with the logical side, especially if Janus had taken his place and acted even the slightest bit off from how Logan normally was. “He’s gonna know, he’s got like… a nose for you and everything.”

That much was almost certainly true.

Janus went silently for a moment, as he chewed the end of his pen. His eyes scoured the papers he’d laid down for some kind of hint as to what he should do about the biggest problem to his answers.

And then his eyes shifted over to Remus, and lit up like lights on a Christmas tree.

“You!” Janus shifted his entire body to face Remus. “You distract him, keep him with Logan and distract the both of them for however long that you can. Tease him about his eye shadow, or just about anything. So long as he and Logan don’t distract Thomas for a good couple of hours, then we’ll be in the clear.” A brilliantly devilish look lit up Janus’ face as he squeezed his pen so hard that Remus was sure that it’d crack any second now. “I’m going to make sure that something like what happened to Logan never happens again… The more that we’re in the picture the more that we can shut that kind of thing down for good.”

That and finally being listened to by Thomas always had its perks as well.

But having Logan as an ally… that would be invaluable to what they needed to do for Thomas to start on a more mentally healthy lifestyle. They would need Logan and his research, and… they’d listen to Logan at least too.

No threats.  

Remus could sense the truth in Janus’ voice, the pure and utter conviction that he had to make sure that Logan wouldn’t be hurt by Virgil…… let alone any of the other sides.

“Yeah.” Remus nodded, placing his hand on Janus’ shoulder to give it a firm squeeze. “It’s not going to happen again…”

With that being said, their plan was in motion and their hope for the future as well.

[ddarker-dreams]

Want. Yan Risotto x Reader [COMM]

You’ve never taken this long before.

Risotto is acutely aware of your everyday routine. Your shift at this cafe ends at 5:00 P.M., but you’ll chat with your coworkers for a few minutes afterwards. Then you’ll proceed to the staff room to retrieve your bag, check your phone, and leave through the back exit at around 5:10. When it’s a nice day out like this one, you’ll then walk home to your dingy apartment. However, if it’s raining, you’ll set up a carpool with a friend. 

Expecting you to be exactly on time always is unreasonable, yet Risotto prefers to stick to what he knows. This isn’t a small, overlookable delay either. It requires further scrutiny. 

He mulls over his options, all the possibilities that’d offer an explanation for this delay. Knowing that you’re still inside despite it being twenty minutes past the normal time for you to leave, he assumes something must’ve happened. Slipping out front isn’t a possibility either, he keeps watch there too. Calling your boss is a possibility, but a risky one at that. 

Binetti’s voice always quivers in blatant anxiety, never brave (or foolish) enough to ask why exactly a member of Passione has taken such an extreme interest in his employee. Curiosity is still there, as is to be expected. Ultimately, Risotto doesn’t want the weak willed man to mess up his carefully crafted plans, by accidentally revealing something to you.

So that leaves learning the reason for your absence to his discretion. 

Metallica gives him the ability to freely observe you to his heart’s content, but it doesn’t entirely erase him from existence. Under normal conditions he’d follow behind someone entering the cafe to avoid suspicion, since to anyone else, it’d appear as if a door was opening for no reason had he interacted with it. Dispelling the iron around him, he cautiously approaches the door that leads into the back of the building.

He’ll be able to use his Stand to hide his presence once he’s inside, but quietly opening the door will be the main hurdle. None of the windows are an option since they’re locked, and breaking them would be counterproductive to his plan. All of this trouble to ensure your safety. A few feet lay between him and his destination, his approach methodical. 

Only for you to open it before he even gets the chance.

Headphones in your ears as they usually are, you’re too busy picking out a new song while humming to notice Risotto’s presence at first. When you finally sense a shadow looming, it catches your attention, earning a small gasp. Risotto’s expression betrays his conflicting inner feelings, a calm facade already set in place to avoid further suspicion. He’s aware of his frightening appearance, but other than your initial astonishment, you don’t seem concerned.

Tugging the headphone out of your ear, you look up at him curiously. “Oh, uh, hello. I’m not sure if you’re lost, but the door to get into the cafe is--” you pause, pointing towards the corner that leads to the street. “--that way. I can show you, if you like.” 

Voice saccharine like sugar, he entertains the thought of how much better it’ll sound when you speak his name.

“I’m friends with the owner.” Risotto lies with practiced ease, his deep voice causing a shiver to travel down your spine. It’s a small experience, but it’s overwhelmingly thrilling to finally interact with the object of his affection. This isn’t what he planned originally, but Risotto is able to adapt in any situation without breaking a sweat. 

Letting out a hum of understanding, you offer him a beaming smile as if he’s your longtime friend. Muscles going taut at the endearing sight, he closes his eyes momentarily to regain himself. It’s nonsensical, how his heart remains steady when he takes the lives of others, but you render him weak at the knees by simply fluttering your eyelashes. Despite the lack of control it brings, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t savor it. 

Interaction with others is understandably limited for Risotto. He speaks with his squad, but tries to maintain a business-like relationship for their sake. It’s a lonely lifestyle, even if it’s what he chose for himself. The less traces of an assassin the better. It won’t always be this way, you filling the gaps in his heart he never knew existed. He just needs a little more time… 

“I’m glad you’re here then. I don’t want to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but Mr. Binetti has seemed on edge lately,” you sigh, crossing your arms with a worried frown. “Please cheer him up if you can, okay? He’s a bit of a skittish man, but he’s always been kind to me.” 

The news doesn’t come as a surprise to Risotto. Binetti can hardly stop sweating when he comes to check in on you, ensuring that you’re being treated well and no coworkers are giving you any flack. Still, it’s a detail he isn’t willing to overlook. If Binetti mentioned something to you -- whether it’s on purpose or not -- it’ll make things more complicated than they need to be.

Wanting more information to be safe, he prompts you to speak further. “Oh? Really? Has he said anything to you?” 

Risotto’s vermilion eyes admire how your soft lips move to the side while you think, how you  place a delicate hand to your chin. He’s seen and memorized your usual body language, but being on the receiving end of it feels different. Surreal. Now he’s this close to you, able to take in every aspect that makes you unique. Not to mention hearing the small flairs of your accent seeping through, it’s all too precious.

“Now that you mention it…” you trail off, eyes narrowing as memories come flooding back. “He did say something out of the ordinary the other day. Kinda like, be wary of everything? I didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’s just been paranoid lately. There is a lot of criminal activity in this area at times… though it never seems to affect us directly.” 

So his concerns weren’t unfounded. Your boss was attempting to signal you in his own, covert way. Irksome as it is, all problems have a solution.

Clasping your hands together, you attempt to alleviate his worries, still believing that Risotto is emotionally invested in this person’s well being. It doesn’t come as a shock. You may be naive, but you have a good, compassionate heart. It’s what drew Risotto to you initially, like a moth to a flame. 

“I know it sounds ominous, but I’m sure it isn’t anything that bad. Don’t worry too much, okay?” you reassure, eyes softening with empathy. Risotto’s owl-like stare observes as you reach out to him, the height difference not stopping you. Placing a considerate hand to his shoulder, you give a comforting squeeze. “You have to think of your own well being too.”

From all the immoral things he’s done in his lifetime, does he really deserve this? To have your attention for this long, to feel your heavenly touch. He isn’t normally a sentimental person, however, your caring actions touch him deeply. But as sweet as this little interaction is, it isn’t enough to placate a deeper hunger within. To know what you’d be like as a lover, his lover. All attention directed at no one other than him. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

His monotonous response doesn’t reflect overwhelming emotions within, all of his strength being used to keep his composure in front of you. How he desperately longs to take you with him. Your future shared bedroom is already waiting, he’s nothing if not prepared. Risotto amuses the thought, wondering if he should throw caution to the wind.

But it’s not the time for that. Not here, not now. Patience is a necessity in his field of work, and it applies here as well. There are still loose ends that need to be removed, more arrangements that need to be made. Seeing you in front of him, so tangible and real, reignites a fire beneath him. It won’t hurt to speed up the process a bit. 

Looking down at the time on your phone, you let out a quiet curse at how late it is. He knows it’s unusual for you to not be home by now. Troublesome as it is, he won’t be able to watch over you while you walk back either, but he’ll know when you arrive home. The motion sensors ensure that. 

“I’ve held you here long enough. Have a good day, alright?” you smile, placing your headphones back. He dismisses you with a nod of his head, eyes tracking your retreating form with interest. Heading off in the direction you normally do, you shoot him a final look. Giving a cheeky thumbs up and wave, you return on your way. 

A light scent of coffee mixed with your normal perfume stays even when he can no longer see you. He makes a mental note to buy this perfume late, recalling how it typically sits on your bathroom sink; making it difficult to gain access to when you’re home. 

There’ll be time to reflect on this pleasant experience, but for now, he has business to attend to. A talk with Binetti is in order. 

-- 

So it’s leftovers from Tuesday tonight. 

It’s disappointing, as watching you cook is always a sight to behold. From the way you carefully place uncooked pasta into a boiling pot so as not to burn yourself, or how you hum when chopping vegetables. It’s a domestic task, but one that Risotto has grown familiar to seeing. He hopes that you'll make dinner for him one day with the same enthusiasm. Take out and microwave meals just aren’t the same.

Seasoning your dish more to your liking, you stick it in the microwave with a satisfactory click. A low hum fills the cramped room, Risotto taking note of how you begin to sway in rhythm. He knows what that means, his heart fluttering in excitement for what’s to come.

Lips parting, the room is filled with your singing. A song he doesn’t recognize, but he’s never been musically inclined. Singing only for yourself, you get distracted in your song and forget what it was you were doing originally. Your voice is heavenly enough, but it transforms into something else entirely when you sing. There isn’t a satisfactory enough way to describe it, but he settles on the word stunning. 

The lyrics of the song are in English, your native tongue. He only picks up a few common phrases, but your talent transcends language. It’s a special privilege to be able to see you like this, entirely vulnerable and acting as your true self. Where you can apologetically be who you are, unaware of Risotto’s looming presence. Many sleepless nights he closes his eyes, picturing your voice serenading him with loving lullabies. 

How intimate. Beeping from the microwave causes you to jump, laughter soon following after. Risotto hasn’t ever tasted your cooking, but by how fast you consume it, assumes it must be good. Taking note of the time, he knows he’ll have to leave soon, a job needing his attention tonight. Wanting to spend more time in your presence is tempting, but work is work. 

‘Another thirty minutes.’

When you’re relaxing from a day at work, you spend time on social media or your other hobbies. Interchanging between them until sleep takes ahold of you. In the winter, blankets are warmed in the dryer at night for extra warmth. It’s a small detail, significant all the same. Observation is a vital part of his occupation. 

You’re not a target, in the traditional sense. A target of his affections, nothing purely malicious with killing intent. Methods from years of tracking and stalking for the purpose of murdering gave Risotto all the tools he needs to effectively keep watch over you. It was for peace of mind at first, but it evolved into something more. A calling to be the person closest to you. From the color of your toothbrush to the time you wake up in the morning, Risotto knows it all, which brings him pride. 

This knowledge will help ease the transition, once Risotto kidnaps you. He isn’t delusional, he knows the sudden change in lifestyle will be jarring. There’ll be exchanges of cruel words, tears shed, and possibly blood spilled. That’s why extra care is put into the villa you’ll soon live in with him. He still needs to find your favorite perfume to put on your bedside table.

Placing dishes in the sink, you dry your hands before venturing to your tiny bathroom. Risotto hears water running, faucet squeaking in protest. Frowning, Risotto reassures himself. Where you will live in the future is what you truly deserve, not this dingy studio apartment. He helps himself to the crevices of your room, running his fingers over your discarded clothes with interest.

‘These colors, hm?’

Shirts and dresses consisting of your favorite color and patterns are gently caressed, mind wandering to what you look like when wearing them. Casual is the style you’re fond of, wanting to be comfortable outside of your usual work clothes. Moving on, he looks at your phone which you had flung onto your bed prior.

Shower still running, he swiftly checks the screen while he’s still able to. A few text messages from your friends, and some from your parents in English. Scrolling further, Risotto’s eyes narrow in concentration at a new name. Marco. The text itself can be interpreted in a variety of ways, Risotto’s mind favoring the unsavory ones. 

From the lock screen, all he’s able to see an out of context message. 

I hope you’ll see it my way.

What were the two of you talking about? It’s a risk to steal your phone now, not wanting to alert you to any foul play. If only Melone were here, he’s more skilled with electronics. It sounds like this individual wants something from you, but what exactly? Now that he thinks about it, Binetti had mentioned that this coworker of yours is what caused the hold up earlier. Though the fickle man insisted that he’s unsure what words were exchanged, swearing on his life. 

‘How troublesome.’

If it weren’t for the looming assignment he has tonight, he’d personally give this Marco a visit. There’s always an option to ask one of the members of La Squadra to do it for him, but he prefers not to intertangle business and pleasure unless it’s unavoidable. Reading the text another time, he hears you turning the faucet off and knows his time is short.

Placing the phone back to its original spot with care, he reactivates Metallica and heads for an unlocked window. Venturing down the fire escape, Risotto considers what methods will be used on this unfortunate soul. Razors, perhaps? Or maybe scissors? Death from iron deficiency? He has time to give it some thought.

--

Finally gaining the opportunity to speak to you was a blessing, and a curse. 

As if he had tasted the forbidden fruit, knowledge of how euphoric it is to experience your attention firsthand leaving him wanting more. Watching you from afar is no longer enough to satisfy his deepest yearnings. For months he could tolerate never exchange a single word with you, harrowing as it was. Not anymore.

Everything is falling into place as he pictured it. The house the two of you were to share together fit your image well, furnishings put in place with your taste in mind. A wardrobe of your current clothing set up, normal toiletries, and the like. Even little, thoughtful gifts that Melone showed him from your wishlists. No detail is overlooked, Risotto wanting nothing more than to please you.

All that’s missing is the most important centerpiece to tie it all together, you. 

Stepping inside your workplace without using Metallica to conceal his presence, Risotto ignores the few stares that are shot his way. It’s par for the course, he’s well aware of his daunting appearance. Coffee and pastry aromas hit his nostrils, along with distant sounds of silverware clinking and muted chatter. People don’t stare at him for too long, whispers dying out after a few seconds.

He spots you speaking to a male customer, an incandescent smile on your face. His stomach churns as the customer returns your smile, firmly believing no one else deserves to witness such a beautiful sight. It feels like a knife being twisted in his gut, having to share you with the rest of the world.

Risotto isn’t sure what he’s doing here. Maybe it’s the anticipation for tonight, or the distaste his conversation with Marco instilled; that gave him the drive to speak to you in person again. This might be the last time for a while that you don’t perceive him as a monster, Risotto not looking forward to the inevitable animosity you’ll soon express. 

“Oh, I remember you!” you exclaim as Risotto approaches the counter, eyes lighting up in recognition. Binetti took notice of him, pretending to occupy himself with cleaning a spotless coffee filter. Risotto notices how his hands shake, yesterday’s confrontation still in mind. Not that Binetti’s behavior around you will matter much longer.

“I guess I should ask for your order first. What can I get for you today?” you inquire, leaning forward with a spring in your step. Risotto glances over the menu, before settling on a simple drink.

“A small red eye,” he answers without further thought. Remembering that he’s talking to you, continues. “Please.” 

Nodding your head with a concentrated look, you input his order before exchanging the required amount. Risotto shakes his head when you go to return his change, motioning towards the tip jar. Every concern in his mind melts away at the bright grin you flash him, gratefully tucking the extra money in with eager thanks. 

You move with practiced grace, working the silver machines with ease. He hears you humming a song you’ve sung in the past, recognizing it after the first few notes. Deft fingers measuring the required amounts for his drink, you set to work with the press of a button. 

After a few minutes, you hand over a steaming hot cup. Fingers lightly brushing over his own, his breath hitches. The first time you’ve ever touched him, and surely not the last.

“Is it alright if I go ahead and take my break now?” you call back to Binetti, who startles at the sudden sound of your voice. The middle aged man props his glasses up, eyes briefly flickering to Risotto’s imposing form before looking at you. 

“O-of course. Take your time.” 

Smoothing out your wrinkled apron, you walk over to Risotto who has taken a seat in the furthest corner of the store. “Mind if I hang out with you for a bit? My feet are killing me, and all the other seats are full.” 

Risotto feels his body erupt in warmth, knowing that you actively sought him out. Even if it’s only because there are no other options, the means to an end don’t concern him. Not wanting to seem overly eager by responding right away, he pretends to consider your proposition despite having already known the answer.

“Help yourself.” 

Taking another sip of his drink, the bitter flavor pacifies his dry mouth. Hot liquid running down his throat, he maintains a stoic expression in spite of his hammering heart. It could be pure luck that you came to sit here with him, or it could be fate. He’s grateful for it nonetheless. 

Chair groaning against the floor, you smooth out your skirt once you take your seat; thinking of how to start conversation. “It’s amazing that you can drink coffee without any cream or sugar. I know I never could.” 

Risotto’s lips quip upwards as he places the cup down onto the wooden table, well aware of your preference for sweets. “You get used to it.” 

“That could be true. I’ve never been brave enough to try it more than once, so I wouldn’t know,” you respond, a light laugh leaving your lips. “I don’t normally have caffeine this late in the day. It would be too hard to sleep, ya know? There was this time I saw a special that was only lasting one more day, and I didn’t want to miss trying the drink. So, idiot that I was, I went ahead and ordered it despite it being six o’clock in the evening.” 

Shaking your head with distant regret, you continue your story. “What a mistake that was! I was awake all night. My hands were so jittery I could’ve sworn they’d fall off. Not to mention I had a test the next morning… you know you messed up when you look out the window and the sun’s rising.” 

If it were anyone else, Risotto would find this chatter bothersome and pointless. However, since it’s you, every word matters to him. Fully appreciating even the most benign things you have to say, Risotto closes his eyes in contentment. Casual conversation doesn’t come easily, contemplating what a satisfactory response would be. 

“Was the drink good at the very least?” he wonders, watching as your jaw tightens and nose scrunches up. 

“Not at all! It was six dollars though, so you bet I drank the entire thing like it was ambrosia from the gods. A few days later I even saw articles of people making fun of how bad the drink was. It looked appealing enough, bright colors and all. But the taste… way too sweet, way too syrupy. A crime to the tastebuds.” 

“The person who invented it would’ve been locked away in the stocks if it were medieval times. Or is that the dark ages? One of the two. Anyways, if you ever see a bright purple and blue drink, run like your life depends on it.” you continue with apparent disdain, before snickering. 

“I wouldn’t try a drink like that.” he answers honestly, preferring bitter coffee over sugary flavors. 

“I wish I had thought the same. Would’ve saved me a lot of strife,” you sigh with exaggerated melancholy. “Enough about my myriad of dumb mistakes. How have you been lately? Mr. Binetti seems to be feeling better, so I think whatever you said to him cheered him up.” 

‘I don’t believe cheered up is the term I’d use.’

Risotto drums his fingers against the table. “I’m glad to hear that.” 

“I feel so dumb,” you suddenly proclaim, lightly hitting your forehead. “I just realized! We’ve been talking all this time, and I never bothered introducing myself.” 

Risotto points to your name tag with amusement. Looking down, you let out a quiet “ooh” at the sight. “How about you then? I don’t see any name tags on you.” 

It can’t hurt to tell you his name now, it’s far too late for you to do anything if you even did discover who he is. Sitting there obliviously, you’re unaware of the web the stranger in front of you has tied you in. 

“Risotto.” 

Goosebumps dot his skin as you repeat his name back to him, rolling off your tongue beautifully. Nodding your head in approval, you’re completely ignorant of the effect you have on him. He lightly clears this throat in hopes of regaining control of himself, excitement budding. 

“It’s a unique name,” you comment. “I like it though. My break’s just about ready to end, so I should get going. Thanks for letting me chat with you for a bit. You’re a good listener.” 

Bidding one another goodbye, you return to your job with a renewed vigor. Risotto finishes his coffee, tossing the cup before leaving the cafe. Everything he’s worked hard for is within reach, a small bag of sleep medicine in his pocket. One more visit to your apartment to gather some more essential belongings, and then he only needs to wait.

Unknown to you, this’ll be the last shift you’ll ever work.

-- 

It’s pitch black.

Everything feels heavy, an imaginary weight on your chest that you’ve never experienced. Head throbbing violently, a displeased groan leaves your lips. Fatigue has set in to every corner of your body, all of your strength required for the measly action of lifting your head. Blinking rapidly, the blurry surroundings start to come into focus.

‘This... this isn’t my room? Where the hell am I?’

You’re set upon a canopy bed, curtains obscuring where the door must be. Panic begins to set in at the unknown surroundings, shooting up only to hear a metallic clink. Hissing at a pain on your wrist, you look to see that you’ve been handcuffed to the bedpost. 

It feels as if your heart will burst from how rapidly it beats, adrenaline overtaking you. Thrashing in hopes of freeing yourself, it does nothing but irritate your skin. Swallowing doesn’t come easy, mouth too dry with primal fear to produce saliva. What options are there? You’ve been kidnapped, no doubt, but why? Money can’t be the motivation, you scrape by every month. 

Neither do you belong to any important family, who could assist in bailing you out. The motivations are murky, not that it matters now. All that matters is finding a way out of this nightmare of a situation. 

‘Think, [First], think!’

Calling help for help could be detrimental, who knows what your captor (or captors) might do once you’re awake. It’ll be wiser to utilize this time where you’re alone, hopefully gaining your freedom in the process. Who knows what demands could be made of you if you’re no longer alone. 

Glancing down at your body, you check to make sure everything is in order. You’ve read news stories in the past of people who traffic organs -- could that be what this is? With your free hand, you pull up your shirt, letting out a sigh of relief at the lack of tampering. No stitches, no pain. At least that’s off the table.

All the pain you feel comes from your wrist, and your head. Maybe you were knocked out somehow, most likely drugs; the pain not severe enough to have been bludgeoning. 

The handcuffs are the biggest issue here. It’s skin tight, leaving no room or hope of wiggling free. If you can find something to dislocate your wrist with, maybe it’ll allow you to pull free? Looking around further for anything that might be of assistance, you frown at the barren room.

Everything that could be of use to you is out of reach. Bed creaking underneath your weight as you shift forward, you curse silently. Was that loud enough to alert whoever is holding you captive? Staying perfectly still, you will yourself to silence your uneven breathing, listening closely for approaching footsteps.

Nothing.

A shiver goes down your spine as you return to your previous task. It doesn’t make sense, but you don’t feel like you’re alone. Someone is watching you, somewhere. It’s an uneasy feeling, not being able to see the furthest corners of the room due to how dark it is. 

Looking to your left reveals windows that are barred off. This person thought of everything. The door that you can see most likely leads to the bathroom, so even if you get free that won’t be an option. Maybe locking yourself inside?

Frustration and lethargy mix together, taking any semblance of logical thinking from you. This is too much, the fear of the unknown plaguing you with unshakable anxiety. Squeezing your eyes shut, you feel tears escaping down your face.

Sniffling softly as you can, you all but jump when a glass is placed down next to you. Head snapping in the direction of the noise, you’re able to make out a liquid that looks like water just within your reach.

“W-who’s there,” you shakily demand, searching around the room once more. Nothing. “I don’t have anything. Please.” 

“You must be thirsty. Drink.” 

It’s a terribly deep voice, that’s obscured by darkness. Bringing with it a sense of familiarity, you feel as if you know this man. That you’ve spoken with him in the past, but who could it be? And what does he want? 

Grabbing the glass, you carefully inspect the liquid. Your mouth does feel dry and achy, you’re too leery of the contents to trust it. What if it’s drugged? Grimacing, you throw the glass in the direction the voice last came from. It shatters against the wall from the force, not hitting your intended target.

Somewhere else in the room, you hear a disappointed sigh. “Already acting up?” 

Lips twitching downward, you sneer at this derisive comment. What the hell was he expecting? For you to lap it up gratefully like a dog? No, whatever is going on -- you resolve yourself to be a pain in the ass. There’s no way you’ll roll over for this fucked up monster, doing as he pleases.

“I-I don’t know who you are, but the police are searching for me. I always text my friends at night, they’ll report me missing if I don’t!” 

A single chuckle resonates throughout the room, coming from another direction yet again. How can you not hear any footsteps? Or even see a slight shadow of this person? The moonlight streaming in from the window should serve to give you some information, but it does nothing for you. The voice is not coming from a microphone either, being too clear for that.

“Who are you?” 

It’s all you can bring yourself to ask at this point, throat constricting and head growing dizzier by the second. Adrenaline is starting to wear off, all your energy being dedicated to staying awake out of fear. You’re not expecting a response, but he gives you one after a few minutes. 

“You’ll know soon enough. Sleep, I won’t harm you.” he tells you, voice commanding. It’ll be pointless to argue, as much as you want to. You need your strength back, whatever you ingested earlier still remaining strong in your body.

“Though you may not believe me... this is for the best, [First].” 

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 9)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~6000 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8 Read on AO3!   Disclaimer below the cut! more updates. is it really a disclaimer still, i wonder lmao

DISCLAIMER! we are nearing the grand finale of this fic!! please stick until the very end okay?! i know this chapter might be a little bit of a drag - it’ll get better, promise. <3 Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________ Leaving you had been a real test of will. Not only were you in such a deplorable state overall, but also your request - it was quite obvious you were putting on a brave face, but the truth of the matter was you weren’t faring well, at all. It was the little signs that gave you away - the slight tremor in your voice sometimes. The gallows humour. He didn’t want to think about what the withdrawal had been like for you. But he could well imagine. And as per usual, he was helpless except to unravel how to produce more of this damned leash. He couldn’t even heal you or alleviate some of your exhaustion at this point. 

By the time he had reached the laboratory he was frustrated beyond measure, sick from guilt and his heart was aching that if he didn’t know better, he might as well think he was sick. He wasn’t, of course. But eliciting such bodily responses due to his emotional state was something entirely foreign to Tobirama. He was - always had been - subject to his moods, sure. And the people around him would know his sour moods, especially. But would he carelessly act on them, or physically feel them like this? No. Luckily it was the middle of the night and there had been nobody around to witness the somber scowl he was wearing. Not that he cared, anyway.

In the grand scheme of things, that was the least of his concerns.

He had contemplated testing his newest result on another prisoner, but ultimately decided against it. The best he could hope for was a prolonged time of muting the victim’s chakra. What he really needed to start working on now was to weave the second component in, the disruption. And since he had four vials available, that offered a variety of options. He’d leave one untouched, to be safe - and work on one for now to start with that.

The first problem was to imagine how he’d want the disruption to kick in. He knew from examining your blood and also the reaction you’ve shown that it took some time for the disruption to kick in. He had deduced it must be because of the chakra muting component - it covered the disruption up to leave a timeframe in which a victim was not threatened by it. When it faded, only the disruption remained, the lethal withdrawal kicked in. Therefore, the chakra needed for this would need to last longer, adhere to the victim almost like a brand and be intense enough to cause these effects. He did have a vague idea how to achieve this - but to compress it into such a small vial was… daunting.

What’s new, he somberly figured to himself.

And just as he imagined, this proved to be even more complicated than weaving the first component in. Not only did he have to treat delicately, but also be extremely careful to not destroy the structures he had worked so hard to get into that vial in the first place. He didn’t quite succeed in that - partly, the muting component took damage. The whole process felt as though he needed to weave chakra inbetween what was already in the vial - as if he was transplanting it onto the already delicate structure he had created. It was endlessly frustrating. Frankly everything about this was so demanding, at times he wondered if there really was no other option to get a cure.

Like torturing the prisoners to a maximum.

The more time he spent threading the more he became convinced there must be some trick to it. That, or it required an intense amount of training. If it was the latter, then he’d be facing a new problem. 

He’d deal with that when it came to it. His plate was full as it was. 

Once he got a hang of how to weave it in without wrecking the delicate structure of the first pattern, his gaze swept to the clock. It was long past midnight. Time for a small break. As much as he hated it, he didn’t want to use his clones yet again - he needed to figure this out more, firstly. If he had no real idea where to truly go with this, his clones’ works would just ramp up more exhaustion. More he needed to sleep off. Besides, this would not be so much of a break - though you were stable, he simply didn’t like the thought of leaving you alone. Not after your request - not after seeing you in your frightfully weak state. He had to check on you, as he promised.

He teleported back into your dimly lit room. Briefly, he gazed out of the window - the sky was clear, the moon shone bright and there were a million stars alongside it. It was beautiful. Silently, he walked to your bedside again to find you had your eyes closed. Finally - finally your face seemed peaceful. Gaunt, for sure, but not in pain. Tobirama settled down into his chair and laid his hand on yours, as lightly as he could to not wake you up. Very slowly he let his chakra skim over your network to find it dormant as well, pleased you still were asleep. Equally slow, he increased the connection to examine you as softly as possible. As usual, the injuries, microscopic tears, tissue damages and healing bits were too numerous to count. And there also was the general lack of reserves overall - a result from the strain put on you by the stretching of the interval no doubt. Even so, your cardiovascular situation was superior and no organ showed any sign of dysfunction. A pleasant surprise - compared to before, you were doing even better. Seems that aside from the exhaustion you had recovered well from their first stunt. He withdrew quickly before you could notice his presence and leaned back in his chair.

Had they gone by their normal schedule, you’d be left with four and a half days now. And Tobirama hadn’t even yet produced something that was anywhere near the leash. For all the grief it had put you through, it was a small victory. Admitting this felt wrong, though - despicable. It was the method. And he wasn’t sure how much time they’d gain from this, overall. His medical expertise wasn’t comparable to his brother’s, but he didn’t think you’d keep up lengthier intervals. Maybe if you’d been in peak physical condition.

He groaned slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.

Part of him didn't want to think anymore, now. He felt stretched out, thin. Spent. But of course, his mind wouldn't stop.

He vividly remembered the first time you went into withdrawal. The torment you had been going through. Just because you hadn’t been writhing or screaming now didn’t mean it was more bearable - no. You had been sedated this time. Tobirama was quite sure the whole procedure was hell for you, nonetheless, and all that kept you together was your unbreakable will to live.

If that ever faltered…

An ice-cold shiver ran down his spine. He closed his eyes. Already his heart pumped painfully against his ribcage, he had expected it. The all too familiar ache, the grief. The guilt.

I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you.

It was all he could do. Though he caustically surmised, so far he had done a less than stellar job.

He returned to the lab as soon as his concentration felt up to the maddening task yet again. Having seen you again quite possibly helped a great deal to spur him on again despite the hour and how daunting it all felt - he just  had  to produce some kind of breakthrough now. He knew it. He could feel it. This is the way. He didn’t allow himself another break from the delicate weaving process until finally he inspected a vial containing both components now. Using his sensory skills he sent a weak, short-range chakra pulse through it.

The substance was not like the leash, no. If the leash was shining like a beacon, his copy was a torch, at least. It was progress, compared to the last time. He silently wondered if adding the second component had done this. Then came the next test - examining it directly. Again, the result was that his vial seemed inferior: while the chakra swirled in it in a quite complicated pattern, finely woven, he did distinguish the two different components after a little bit. The liquid made it difficult as it stayed ever in motion, but it was as though he was seeing two different colors.

It was a step forward, at least. He’d be testing this soon. Based on that - and the test subject’s blood work - he’d draw new conclusions. Still, there was more time to work on this vial further. The weaving itself was becoming something of a craft - with each moment he’d learn new tricks to it. A taxing one that seemed entirely focused on details, tiniest nudges and using small amounts of chakra at a time, but a craft nonetheless.

Had he not been so pressed for time, he might’ve actually found it interesting. But right now, all he felt was your torment breathing down his neck, wrenching his heart around and stealing his breath.

He wanted this over with.

It was early morning when he finished his work - not that he’d call it that, but he decided there was more merit to testing it out now. Even so, he’d check up on you again first. The world lurched with the use of his hiraishin seal, and a moment later he was in your room.

The first rays of dawn filtered in already, drenching the wooden hospital furniture in red hues once more. Low rustles were coming from your bed. Tobirama stepped over swiftly to find you stirring under the sheet irregularly, your head tilting from side to side. Briefly, he wondered if you were having a nightmare - but your eyes were open.

And recognizing him. “Tobirama,” you breathed, surprised.

“What’s wrong, Y/n?”, he inquired, wasting no time to step closer even, the worry already growing. 

“Just … trying to get more comfortable,” you whispered, attempting a weak smile. “Looks like my strength returned a little bit more.”

He frowned slightly. “Don’t force it.” He couldn’t have prevented the sternness from seeping into his voice if he wanted to.

You sighed. “No,” a light shake of your head, “Just help me get on my side. Please?”, you extended your left hand for him to take, which he did with a small sigh. At least that way you wouldn’t try to do it yourself. And while he was extremely  adamant, as Hashirama had eloquently put it, about your rest, it still tormented him to see you lacked the strength to turn on your side by yourself. Of course he knew it was common for patients in your condition - but this was you. He placed his right hand around where your hip and the small of your back would be under the blanket after his left had grasped your hand and pulled you towards him very slowly and gently so you tilted onto your side. You groaned a little, but sighed once you had adjusted to your new position.

“Thank you,” you hushed, meekly almost. The lack of strength was just as obvious to you. Tobirama took his seat at your side again and shook his head dismissively.

“Of course.” He still frowned, though. “How are you feeling?”

You closed your eyes and sighed again. “It’s… starting again. I can feel it. I’m feeling dizzy and… weaker.” Your voice shook from a slight tremble. Fear, Tobirama concluded.

He clenched his teeth and breathed through the tight feeling in his chest. “Y/n, we don’t need to stretch the interval as much-,”

“No,” you interjected firmly, eyes snapping open, giving him a sharp look. “We do. You know it. I know it.”

Now was Tobirama’s turn to close his eyes. “I don’t want you to suffer,” he whispered, his baritone voice near breaking again just from uttering these words and yet firm all the same. The tight feeling became worse

“I know,” you replied, haunted. “I know.” Your gaze was sorrowful. Knowing. Tobirama leaned forward to grasp your hand again and enclose it in his, letting his chakra coat your networks in the familiar, warm way. He didn’t know what else to do for your comfort. “Thank you,” you muttered again, forming yet another weak smile.

His head hung low as he simply basked in feeling you like this. The small nudge you were giving his sensitive network made him gasp slightly. 

The moment was interrupted by the door swinging open. Tobirama’s head shot up to find his brother standing in the doorway. Looking more rested than he himself did, most likely. When he had reapplied his face paint after washing himself, there definitely had been dark rings under his eyes.

“Good morning,” Hashirama announced warmly, rounding the bed to stand beside Tobirama when he realised you were on your right side. “How are you?”

As you explained your condition to him, Tobirama gently grazed over your chakra network once more before drawing back slowly to free your hand. He’d be on his way soon, anyway.

Hashirama nodded. “Very well. I singled out a few medications that should help us stabilize you, as I mentioned. It’d be best to take them while you’re still, ah, responsive.”

“You mean when I’m not spitting it back at you?”, you deadpanned. Tobirama near froze at the image. All he could think of was how his hand had forced your mouth open, then poured the torture drug in and forcefully constricted your airway to make you swallow it.

Hashirama cleared his throat. “Well, you haven’t managed that so far.” Tobirama snorted in quite a cynical way then, earning him an arched eyebrow from you. Hashirama shot each of you a meaningful glance before continuing slowly. “Still..., it might be necessary to draw additional seals to release the medications transdermally.”

Tobirama’s head whipped to the side to stare at his brother. “That will aggravate the overload.”

Hashirama held up his hands defensively already. “The seals I have in mind for this purpose only add very, very little of the user’s chakra to the patient.” Tobirama wasn’t quite convinced yet as his scowl indicated. But then forcing things down your throat wasn’t gentle, either. 

“And we’re also going to modify your nutrition, accommodating for the duress you find yourself in,” he added softly, but no less serious.

That made you snort now, but in a disgusted way. “Oh, I know what that’s going to taste like.” Every shinobi in the field on long missions knew that, in fact.

Tobirama wasn’t having any of it though. Already, he became riled up. “Y/n, we're not going to discuss-”

“I know, I know,” you already deflected exasperatedly, waving your free hand to calm him down. He leaned back in his chair then and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Alright. Now that that’s out of the way,” Hashirama sighed, stepping closer to you. “May I?”, he extended his hand to take yours.

That was Tobirama’s clue. He wasn’t of any use here right now. He leaned closer to you yet again, expression mellowing. “I’ll be back soon, Y/n,” he promised for the lack of a better phrase. Anything else - anything mundane like ‘take care’ - just seemed wrong at this point. You nodded, trying another brave smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Tobirama hoped his did.

He left the hospital to head straight for the interrogation and information headquarters, then, after having picked up his latest experiment with him.

It was already bustling with activity despite the early hour. Perhaps another mission finished. He didn’t dwell on it, really. Instead he headed to where he knew to find Ikuro; nodding towards the few familiar faces he made out. Apparently news about his task had made the round since nobody stopped him on his was through the small corridors past various offices. For a group that was euphemistically described as ‘interrogators’, everything seemed awfully quiet here. The walls must be thick. 

Ikuro indeed was behind the desk in the sparsely decorated office that adjourned the cell block holding the six prisoners. He greeted Tobirama with the oddly warm smile and a nod. “Back again,” his voice was quiet, deceptively soft.

“Back again.” Tobirama repeated, raising an eyebrow. Exchanging pleasantries was something he really had no time for - given his - your - predicament. Any waste of time felt like a crime at this point. And then again, he never liked chitchat much. “Any news?”

Ikuro shook his head. “Not regarding your problem, I’m afraid, given we know Zenji is the only one to interrogate about that. I take it you made progress, however.”

That was unsurprising. Despite all that happened, it had only been a day. A single day. “Something to test out, yes.”

Ikuro’s smile spread slightly. Tobirama wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but quickly decided he didn’t care enough to form an opinion just yet. “There is one question though,” his smile faded. Tobirama frowned. “Now that we know Zenji is the only one who knows how to make the leash, do you want to use it on him again? I know we did the last time, however, if we permanently injure him…” He trailed off, but Tobirama well caught the implication.

He crossed his arms then. A fair point that he hadn’t considered yet. Since there were six prisoners in total, he had more than enough test subjects to choose from. But picking Zenji had the additional possible merit of gleaning more information about the leash during the interrogation, at the cost of, well, risking him. It all boiled down to whether Tobirama was confident enough in his work to not harm a person permanently, or not.

He hated it. But, “The substance I brought with me today will be more aggressive than the one I used last time. So, no. Let’s pick someone else. If it works well, we’ll focus on him again.” He was set on giving that man hell until he gave up his secrets. Or Tobirama had figured it out himself. Either way.

Ikuro nodded then. “Alright. We’ll pay a visit to Kimi.” The smile was back again.

Tobirama instead scowled, his tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Why do I get the fleeting notion that is the loony one from the far end?”

Ikuro bellowed a sudden laugh that startled him, both eyebrows rising. He wouldn’t figure this man’s humour out, really. “You are as perceptive as they say, Tobirama.” Then he rose to full size and Tobirama followed with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. The walk down the cell block was accompanied by the well-known feeling of eyes on him. Not that Tobirama cared for those, either. Except for one pair. 

Zenji’s. His scarlet eyes darted to the side when they passed the middle cell. Tobirama was satisfied to find his black-bruised jaw was swollen. The look the man gave him was nothing short of hateful. He never broke his stride and followed Ikuro, surprised Zenji didn’t holler anything after him. Perhaps the jaw just hurt too much, hm.

Finally they reached Kimi’s cell. Like all the others, she also was chained up and sealed away. Her gaze seemed empty, staring a hole into the ceiling. That would soon change, Tobirama knew. Ikuro unlocked the cell. “Kimi,” he greeted warmly, like she was a friend.

“Go fuck yourself,” she shot back instantly but perfectly nonchalant. Tobirama’s eyebrows shot up. So much for friends. Her blue eyes locked with Tobirama’s. “Oh,” suddenly, her tone was infused with a shrill kind of adoration. “A high visitor!” Tobirama had to refuse the urge to cover his ears. “Tell me, tell me,” she chanted, swinging back and forth in the chains that held her. “How’s Y/n, how is she? Mhm?”, she exposed surprisingly bright teeth in a grotesque smile.

Tobirama didn’t even find her worth talking to; he could only roll his eyes and sigh exasperatedly. Enemies like this he knew to take serious - erratic behaviour covered up some of the most impressive techniques. But this wasn’t a fight. And he wasn’t about to try and converse with the likes of her. Not even in a cynical banter. He gazed at Ikuro. “Shall we?”

Kimi moaned loudly. “Awh, come on!”, it was an obscenely wanton sound. “Gimme a shred, please, please, please? I’m missing Y/n so, so much!”

Tobirama started to wonder if he had to break another jaw here. The ire that started to burn in his veins again surely provided enough fuel. His head tilted forward slightly as his stare narrowed, darkening.

Ikuro was already next to Kimi, shaking his head. He must’ve guessed at Tobirama’s thoughts - not that his body language wasn't enough of a giveaway. 

Kimi wasn’t helping her situation. “Tobirama Senju doesn’t find me worth talking tooo!”, she screamed then in a most offended way, loud enough for probably everyone in this building to hear. Not that she was wrong in any way. This woman would be better off without her vocal chords.

“Kimi,” Ikuro began, still sugary sweet. “You’re going to help us a little.” His hand seized the back of her head already, grasping her brown hair firmly.

She stiffened immediately, but the smile that spread over her lips now was nothing short of malicious. Typical, Tobirama figured - completely mad behaviour, but far from idiotic. “Oh.” It was a sharp sound. “My turn to get your itty-bitty-wannabe-leash?”

Tobirama’s mien remained completely impassive. “Are you going to open your mouth or are we going to have to force you, like your compatriot?”, entirely unfazed by threatening her with violence.

Not that she was fazed, either. And smart enough to know better than to put up a fight now. “I always wanted to taste the stuff, mhm,” she tried to nod her head, but Ikuro’s grip was iron already. “No need to break my jaw like dumb Zenji’s. Show me what y’got, Tobirama Senju, show me,” she then moaned again, lasciviously almost.

Tobirama’s lips drew into a disgusted scowl. “Good grief, how do you work with these people,” he scoffed. Ikuro was grinning widely. “I should’ve picked Zenji,” he added almost inaudibly. Kimi opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out, licking over her lower lip in distasteful ways. Still, he didn’t trust her for one second. And the contents of this vial were too precious for this maniac to spit back at him, which he was sure she would. His free hand seized her jaw tightly so that if she bit down, she’d seriously injure her cheeks. Kimi already spluttered. The moment Tobirama felt she wanted to speak more, he simply applied more pressure. He had enough of this nutcase.

Swiftly, he poured the contents of his vial into her mouth and in a well practiced move pressed down harshly on her nose and mouth to force her to swallow. Her eyes became glassy - luckily, he had been wise enough to keep her mouth shut, because he was perfectly sure she’d have licked his hand or done something equally disgusting had he not.

Not that much was needed. Obediently, she swallowed.

Followed by a shrill scream. Tobirama’s patience was a candle that burned on both ends at this point. He didn’t even put it past Kimi that this was precisely what she was aiming for but by all that he believed in, it worked. The woman let out a heavy tirade of sexually loaded metaphors about what she was seeing and feeling that might have turned a more innocent person bright red on the spot.

It elicited nothing but fast growing annoyance out of Tobirama, however. And Ikuro was grinning as he closed his eyes. He gave him a dark glare. The man had known, for sure. This better yielded good results. When he reached for her throat to examine her, his hand grasped so tightly Kimi’s voice got stuck in its tracks and all that remained was a small rivulet of obscenities at Ikuro, who had begun to invade her mind again. Squeaks, no more.

Much more bearable.

Now to examine her. He made no effort to be gentle about this whatsoever. Ikuro’s work was marvellous as before. Unsurprisingly, Kimi’s mental defense was nothing short of impressive. Perhaps Tobirama was imagining it, but Ikuro’s methods seemed different here - more brutal. More smothering. Akin to what he had done to Akio - less thought to the risk he was running. Was Ikuro himself fed up with her? The thought darkly amused Tobirama.

Kimi stayed completely stable throughout the whole procedure. Her chakra flow was almost as muted as yours was after indigestion of the leash, however it picked up again during the session. Tobirama had expected it, but with the additional experience in the whole weaving process, it gave him clues on how to improve on that. Briefly he stopped monitoring her to take a blood sample. Not an easy task as there was no patch of skin exposed save for her neck and head, so he had to go for the jugular artery as the veins would be collapsed. It bore a slight risk - but none that Tobirama even cared about. Unceremoniously he stabbed the needle in where he felt the pulse after having released his choke hold on her throat - an opportunity she used to gargle out profanities at both him and Ikuro, but the mental assault heavily impaired her ability to form coherent sentences. What was coherent by her standards anyway, Tobirama figured. After he had gotten what he needed from her neck, he continued to monitor her. The half-frozen state of her chakra remained steady for a while before it dropped more.

Ikuro began to retreat then, slowly. 

“Wait,” Tobirama instructed. His presence lingered then, still keeping Kimi in a mental choking hold.

As her chakra became less and less mute, the disruption kicked in more. And with it, for the first time there seemed to be genuine distress in the prisoner, indicated not by crude insults, but a genuine groan of pain. 

“Interesting,” Tobirama muttered, smugly, almost. Kimi whimpered while Tobirama took time to thoroughly investigate how her chakra tried to repel his disruption, over and over again - and each time, the reaction became worse for it, accompanied by a never ending stream of pained expressions. Watching the agony unfolding inside of her.

He felt no satisfaction, no. But he was pleased. A success, finally.

After a while of monitoring, he took another blood example. Ikuro was frowning now. “I’m not sure how much more she’ll take, mentally,” he announced.

“Well, physically, she’s well off. I won't say anything about her mental state, that has been debatable to begin with," Tobirama grunted. This was nothing compared to what you went through. The plight they ultimately had put you in.

Ikuro withdrew then, but Tobirama had to stay. After all, the disruption first had to fade at some point. He knew it would - this wasn’t the leash,  yet . But it was the right way. Slowly, Kimi’s body started to clear out the disruptive components alongside her chakra - another fascinating realisation that was different to when he had examined you. In you, the leash stuck - no matter how much your unmuted chakra and body battled it, it just kept on disruption and repelling it, thus causing the detrimental health effects. But Kimi’s cleared Tobirama’s out.

He withdrew then. Ikuro raised an expectant eyebrow. “She will be fine,” Tobirama announced, turning on his heels to leave the cell. He had new material to work with.

Ikuro followed swiftly after locking the cell containing the now limp Kimi.

The glare Zenji gave Tobirama now was decidedly murderous. Tobirama grinned back, darkly. Arrogantly. Zenji might as well know he was on their heels. His threats have not been empty. He almost had passed the cell, when Zenji’s strained voice echoed through the cell block: “Four more days, Tobirama fucking Senju,” the pain was obvious. Good. Nobody had healed the fracture, then. “Don’t think for a second you’re anywhere near perfection yet! Y/n’s gonna die so fucking miserably!”

Tobirama kept on walking, ignoring the new flare of ire in his veins. The urge to turn on his heels and break his jaw in new ways. Hell, rearrange his damned face. No, Zenji was beneath him he kept telling himself as he ground his teeth so hard his own jaws hurt. Back in the office, Ikuro closed the door. “I’m impressed, Tobirama.” His gaze was appreciative. For a split second, he believed this to be about reigning his temper in and was about to reply in a most impolite way to such a condescending remark, but he quickly realised this was not the case.

“Thanks.” Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. The praise for his work was hollow when he reminded himself why he was doing this - and that it was far from perfect yet. “I’ll be back soon. I trust you didn’t learn anything pertaining to my task?”, not that he thought so, but he had to ask anyway.

“Sadly, no. It was a fruitful session, especially considering it was Kimi, but it seems Zenji’s slip up was not a false lead. She really does not seem to know about the leash’s creation.” Then, he frowned. “But, she adamantly guarded anything relating to the leash. Perhaps there is more to glean from her.

Tobirama’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Well, then we know to build up more pressure.” 

Ikuro nodded, surprisingly somber now. “Indeed. I’ll inform you if anything from the other prisoners might come up.”

Tobirama bowed slightly. “Thank you.” Ikuro was a good man to work with. 

A second later, the world lurched and the hiraishin seal transported him back to your room, where the little victory he celebrated dissipated swiftly.

The mood was dreary - and the innate hum he felt due to his sensory skills had picked up from the last time. It could only mean one thing. By now it was high noon and the sun’s light reflected off of the room’s pale furniture. Hashirama’s back was turned to him but the blanket was pushed aside - revealing your marred legs. On them, more seals, which he couldn’t make out precisely at this distance. Instantly, Tobirama rounded your bed swiftly, to find Hashirama working on the heart seal. Still, he couldn’t help but gasp when he saw your whole form revealed like this: a shadow of your former self and almost no part of you that didn’t bear a barely healing mark of torture. It didn’t deter him from analysing the situation, but it’d never fail to drive a proverbial blade through his heart.

Your breaths were quick and shallow again and Tobirama was sure to hear a rumble in there. Not good. Your lung was affected. Combined with the fact your body definitely was paler than before and the sheen of sweat that covered your skin, the situation was obvious.  You didn’t move - and in your face, the grimace of pain was etched into your skin.

It was worse than before. And they hadn’t stretched the interval as much as before, yet.

Hashirama’s gaze swept up to him when he had finished what Tobirama guessed was strengthening the seal that supported your heart. His mien was grave. “We can’t wait much longer.” He gave Tobirama a quick rundown of what had happened: the withdrawal had kicked in again as before, but the symptoms developed faster, and more severe. As he had guessed, your lung was starting to suffer damage not just on the slight, microscopic level Tobirama had witnessed during the first stretch but in a greater margin. Your cardiovascular system required more support as your heart struggled, too. He still hadn’t intervened directly, yet.

Tobirama swallowed finally and nodded and nodded. Then, he looked down on your legs. Each bore another seal meant for transdermal release of the agents the seal in the middle was soaked in. “You drew more seals?” he inquired, terse again.

“We had to,” Hashirama explained, his hand back on your arm and his eyes closed. “Her lucid intervals are too short to ensure her taking the medication by herself. This is more effective and safer.”

“Safer?”, Tobirama shot back, sternly. “There are six seals on her now. Which means we barely have any room for additional chakra based options, if any, without overloading her.”

Hashirama clicked his tongue. “I am well aware, Tobirama,” a slight hint of strain had snuck into his voice now. But instead of angering him, it did the opposite - Tobirama realised how serious your condition was for his brother to even let a sliver of exasperation slip into his tone. And besides. He didn’t say any more.

All they were doing here - it was all dangerous. Too dangerous. They were running into dead ends, either way - be it the leash or the withdrawal of it. And to make you suffer, for a few precious hours? Tobirama swallowed hard against the shortness of breath that gripped this thorax tightly suddenly. “Anjia, I don’t think we should continue. Y/n is suffering and I -,” he swallowed again as his scarlet gaze swept to your face and the hurt in his heart was near unbearable again, “I cannot condone this.”

Hashirama’s eyes flew open and he gave Tobirama a deep frown. “She doesn’t want us to stop. So don’t.”

His gaze wandered to his brother, frowning himself now. “If she dies from the withdrawal, then it was pointless,” he nearly growled, voice stern again, if just to cover up for the gaping hole that the ache was boring into his chest in a most agonizing way.

“She’s not dying. Have more faith in me, Tobirama - and most importantly, her,” he gazed back at you then, voice becoming softer, fonder. Tobirama would never fail to be amazed by his brother’s optimism.

In a very sarcastic way.

“I’m not doubting you or her, anija,” and the sheer notion of him doing so did well enough to distract him from the terrible heartache simply for how furious it made him, “What I am doubting is what we’re up against - effects of something I haven’t fully understood yet or been able to recreate!”

Hashirama took a sharp breath. “On the other hand, we can evaluate her condition, react accordingly and adjust the figurative sails. We will not run a risk. You said so yourself. That, we do know.”

Tobirama looked back on your tormented form. Then he closed his eyes slowly. He hated it - he hated all of this - but he knew, deep down, he knew it - they’d need to continue down the path they had chosen. All of this - it would end soon. Either way. All he could do was to ensure it ended favourably, swiftly. And for as long as it lasted he’d need to remind himself of the promise he had made to you. No matter what. If Hashirama found your condition stable enough to continue - he’d trust him. He had no other choice but to.

“How much longer until the next dose?”, Tobirama asked then, the numb feeling spreading again. He welcomed it. The numbness muted all of the grief, of the ache. His focus returned.

“Not much. Might as well prepare it.” Hashirama instructed, politely refraining from commenting on Tobirama’s falter further.

He nodded and made for doing just that. Not twenty minutes later, they administered it - again, you were stirring from the force with which Tobirama had to pry your mouth open to pour the hated liquid in. The pained way in which you groaned echoed quietly in the sparsely furnitured room as he focused on not spilling a drop while gripping your jaw with vice strength again and holding it open. Uttering apologies he knew you couldn’t hear but he made nonetheless. After he made you swallow it you stilled again.

It had whatever brief respite - if it could’ve been called that - they had gained by stretching the intervals and thus making for more time null. Impressively, it had been shown you paid the price in proverbial blood and if it continued, literal blood might follow.

Tobirama’s only rest would be when he literally crashed, now.

[prose-for-hire]

How the women of the Buffyverse would care for a s/o with ptsd:

Request: Your depression hc's were so nice and comforting. If you’re willing to write it could you do similar hc's for a s/o with PTSD with the girls of the buffyverse (and optionally any guys you'd personally like to add)?

Characters include: Buffy Summers; Willow Rosenberg; Cordelia Chase; Faith Lehane; Tara Maclay; Anya Jenkins; Darla; Drusilla

Requested by: Anonymous

Warning: Discussion of ptsd (but mostly its about how the characters would support you). Mention of medication. Mention/implication of destructive coping methods. (You can ignore the parts that do not apply to you)

A/N: Female buffyverse characters were requested, if you would like male readers you can drop a request when they are open again. 

I’m so so sorry this took so long to do, I lost my motivation after I lost the first draft but I hope these are okay !! I made this as generic as I could so that it could be accessible.💖🖤

Buffy summers:

She will always be there

Even if you try and keep a distance, isolate yourself

She won’t let you cut yourself off

Will suggest activities if you’re feeling particularly low or alternatively just cuddle up to you if things really aren’t going well

However will always have a suggestion that gives you something constructive to do

Patrolling, walking around the mall, maybe even helping her train

If you’re struggling with sleeping she will stay up with you

Or at least always be on hand if oh need her

If you see something that triggers you she would know exactly what was going on

Knows about painful experiences (she’s died twice she has buckets of trauma)

You would feel less lost, less alone whenever she was around

Lots of physical affection and cuddling as long as you were comfortable

Her number one priority is you being as comfortable as possible

If you really struggle leaving the house/staying in rather than doing things you might usually

she will encourage you slowly but will never push it

will ride out any periods of depression with you, you are not alone

always presses the softest kiss to your cheek whenever she has to go anywhere, always lingers, you know she never wants to leave your side

Cordelia Chase:

Cordelia will always encourage you to see a therapist/doctor

but will always be there herself to listen if you want to talk over the painful stuff

She has a reputation for non-stop talking

But she is a really intuitive person

Will listen for hours if it’s something that would help you

Also would understand if you just needed time or not to have to relive anything

This is where her talking comes in

Has so many ideas up her sleeve for distractions it’s unreal

Will always speak sense, the way you feel is not your fault

It’s a mantra she’s always repeating

if you have a period of particularly bad feelings (whether its flashbacks, anxiety attacks, anything)

she will help you in her own way. 

Looking up techniques to combat it, riding it out with you

will insist you try meditation, she’s seen on some talk show that it helps with relaxation and clearing the mind

she wants to cover all bases, anything that has the ability to alleviate the way things can get even a little she’s all over it

she’s not often seen as the most practical, but she really can be. She knows when she should ‘step up’ for someone she loves

and has absolute faith and knowledge that if the roles were reversed you would be there for her in the same way

will hold you to her at night, hoping you felt safe in her arms

Willow Rosenberg:

caring is in her nature

You would never ever feel a burden with willow

She loves nurturing and caring so you don’t feel that you’re taking from her in a way you might with anyone else

She would have little reminders for taking meds or doctors appointments

She would make teas and warm drinks for you before bed

always looking up ways to improve your sleep or thinks up dorky (and incredibly cute) activities to see your smile

loves it when you smile so much

if she can get even a half smile out of you she will glow for the entire day

your happiness means so much to her

she will do little sleepy/sweet dream spells for you if you’re having trouble sleeping

Doesn’t always work, but it’s the thought that counts

if you have bad dreams she will pull you into her, stroking you softly until one of you falls back into sleep

If you’re slipping into destructive coping methods she will understand

She has felt the same but she will never make you feel ashamed or leave you when you most need her

She may be firm because she knows you need it

But will never ever deny you comfort if it’s something you need

Anya Jenkins:

If you’re avoiding leaving the house or going certain places she might not understand at first

But catch her in the magic box with every known book on ptsd

Telling customers to go away because she’s reading something important

That’s how much you mean to her

She’s turning away customers trying to understand

Will come home to you and not so subtly hint that she thinks there’s something wrong

Will talk over, very practically all of your options

therapy, meds, the works

don’t get her started on all of the alternative medicine she stumbled into on her search for information

Try not to roll your eyes at her being so by the book she is really trying

Will open her arms looking at you, nodding and smiling

Will give the most loving and comforting parts of her for as long as you need

she will take days off with you if you need to take time out of work/education

will rush around and tidy things up, offer to make snacks or petition to get that show you really loved back on air after they cut it

literally nothing is too big an ask for her

when she loves, she really loves 

literally only wants the best for you

if you’re struggling to get out of bed

will make your favourite breakfast and be really excited about it

brings it to you on a tray

the best part would be sitting with you in bed and sharing it with you while she dotes on you

Tara Maclay:

would have a tea to brew for any mood or situation

sleepy teas, calming ones, etc

she keeps you grounded

the woman is so empathetic, so in tune with your mental state

its as if she shares your brain sometimes

its spooky

If you’re feeling on edge

she would know about it

has the most sweet and honest approach to your mental health

She will always encourage you to open up to her

But won’t ever be annoyed if you don’t

She’s quiet so will understand when words just won’t cover how you’re feeling

Would never judge you no matter how graphic or shameful you believe your thoughts are

Would never pressure you to share anything

but it is in her nature to do small things to make your life easier

incredibly selfless love

would tidy up around your shared space if you haven’t had any motivation to do so

would stop every so often, probably kiss the tip of your nose soflty or something

would gently bundle you up in blankets and make sure she had your favourite movies or a show on hand

plenty of comfort as well as practicality

Faith Lehane:

when you first tell her she listens, wrapping her head around everything

she loves you and nothing like that would ever change the way she felt

in fact she loved you more for baring yourself to her in such a raw way

some days she just wants to fight your trauma

Wants to literally fist fight your brain sometimes for doing this to you

If you’re cutting yourself off she will very subtly (yes she can do subtlety) make suggestions or invite your friends over

even if she doesn’t like your friends

will endure events and hanging out with them even if she doesn’t care for them

Chaotic in her methods but never fails to make you feel supported

will be very secretly soft for you

especially in periods where you’re suffering particularly badly

would do anything to show you she was there

incredibly protective

 if anyone blames you for the way you feel or is wilfully ignorant about mental health she will shout at them

(she will probably make sure you’re out of earshot though)

wouldn’t baby you (unless you asked lol), or treat you different 

would be firm with you, making sure you took meds and went to the doctors if you needed to

no wouldn’t be an answer

but you always know its because she cares

becasue she only ever wants the best for you

Drusilla:

would probably relive any flashbacks with you

So would 100% understand

she would know exactly what you needed and when you needed it

Would never let you face anything alone (unless you told her you needed space)

Such soothing, calming touches

Wants you to feel she’s always there

Maybe it will help ground you too

she has her own pain and trauma and would definitely share with you equally to what you would tell her

you would bond so intimately

you would never feel alone

she would recite such sweet prose

such beautiful stories that she may have written herself or have been picked up from long ago

would distract you from your low moods

if you were in a period of depression, she might begin to plan lavish events 

(ensuring you agreed to them of course)

each would be more ridiculous than the last

she would decorate accordingly too

and have a fit at anyone that got anything wrong 

(never directed at you, ofc and would quieten down immediately if she sensed the noise disturbed you)

you would celebrate a holiday every night

St Patrick’s day, St Vigeous, World recycling day

demon and human holidays alike

all in your honour. all to try to cheer you up

Darla:

would have picked you out of a crowd

and just known

you were the one

she adapted very quickly to you, wanting you with her as much as possible

by her side

wouldn’t be used to taking a caring role, but would definitely do so for you if you needed it

if you have a period of particularly bad nightmares

She would be there

For anything you needed

She sleeps in the day so would literally stay awake all night laying beside you

would stay holding you as you slept

Stroking you, comforting you if it was so bad you woke up

if you could not get your mind to relax and images or thoughts kept replaying in your mind

she would talk, tell you stories

she has hours worth of stories

she would try to keep it light, but may get carried away if she remembered a particularly gruesome story from her past

would embellish or change the story if she saw your look becoming more and more spooked

she has a very guarded soft side

only for you

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Fireworks Event - Kiro

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Previous section: here

3rd Anniversary Masterlist: here 

Prior to the Carnival, there were questions posed in the Go See You feature which affects which scenario the player sees during the Fireworks Event:

Question 1: Without thinking of any external reasons, if you were to visit the amusement park again, which attraction would Miss Chips want to experience the most?

Option A: Rollercoaster! I think this attraction really alleviates stress.

Option B: Hehehe, the haunted house should be given a name.

Option C: The dessert store! There are so many delicious foods in the amusement park.

-

Question 2: 

Question: To Miss Chips, what is an essential element in a “perfect day”?

Option A: For you to be as romantic as in a fairytale.

Option B: For people to witness the most romantic moment. [no footage found]

-

[ PART ONE PROLOGUE ]

Time truly passes when one is having fun. In a blink of an eye, the night has already overtaken the sky.

I look at the guide map in my hands, thinking about which attraction should end our itinerary for today’s carnival.

Suddenly, Kiro grabs my hand. 

Kiro: Let’s go!

MC: Have you thought of what we’re going to do last?

Kiro: Haven’t we already decided this since a long time ago~

[ Option A: Rollercoaster! I think this attraction really alleviates stress. ]

At night, the tracks of the rollercoaster are full of coloured lights. From afar, it looks like a dream-like track hanging in the sky.

It suddenly occurs to me that the seemingly insignificant question he asked a few days ago actually had a reason behind it. 

Kiro: This time, we can enjoy the pleasures of the rollercoaster to our heart’s content!

He offers his hand to me, eyes sparkling despite being in the curtain of darkness.

MC: It’s the first time I’m riding a rollercoaster at night!

We’re seated in the last row, gradually climbing towards the peak. Our entire field of vision consists of the night and neon.

Kiro: MC, do you know about the legend related to rollercoasters?

MC: Do you create stories that quickly? We just sat on it.

Kiro: Nonsense, I was already thinking about it when we were in the queue!

MC: ...

Kiro: ...

Kiro suddenly clears his throat, his fingers making twirls in the air in a counterclockwise direction. Then, he lets out a soft “ding” sound.

Kiro: Miss Chips, do you know about the legend related to rollercoasters?

MC: Pfft.

Cooperating with him, I pretend to look contemplative. 

MC: There are sayings related to rollercoasters?

Kiro: Hmph. Not everyone knows about this legend, because it’s only used for rollercoasters at night, and when you’re seated at the last row.

MC: Ah! What else?

Kiro: The rollercoaster will take 55 seconds from the moment it leaves the peak. If you have any wishes you’d like fulfilled, say it silently in your heart, then hold your breath. As long as you can press on till the end, this wish will be fulfilled. 

MC: Isn’t the original setting in an elevator?

Kiro: Any similarities are mere coincidences. We’re reaching the peak soon. So? Want to give it a try?

MC: This legend has yet to be put to the test.

Looking at his sparkling eyes, I can’t help but want to tease him.

Kiro: You don’t trust me! But that’s okay, I can prove its success rate to you first.

With this, he closes his eyes, and I have no idea what wish he’s making.

Neon colours fall on his eyelashes, making his side profile look especially handsome.

Kiro: Done. 

We’re about to reach the peak. Kiro grips my hand, his face filled with anticipation and eagerness.

Kiro: Let’s go!

MC: Ahh--!

--

Kiro: Haa... haa...

Kiro is breathing in as much fresh air as he can, and I can’t help but laugh while looking at his flushed face.

MC: You’ve worked hard. From the bottom of my heart, I hope your wish can be fulfilled. 

Kiro: Are you secretly laughing at me? Don’t be envious when my wish comes true.

MC: What did you wish for just now?

Kiro: What I wished for...

He turns his eyes to me, then leans downwards slightly such that his face is in front of mine. He closes his eyes gently.

Kiro: I wonder if the intelligent MC can guess what it is.

MC: You’re just being unreasonable!

Kiro: I’m not. Maybe this is the result of my hard work from earlier?

Looking at the person before me who’s pretending to be innocent, I find it quite ticklish.

With a flushed face, I give the corner of his lips a light peck. He seems to have waited for a very long time. Just as I plan to flee, he pulls me back, once again locking me in a trance.

Kiro: Look - I said the legend was effective. You believe it now, don't you?

-

[ Option B: Hehehe, the haunted house should be given a name. ]

At night, the haunted house looks even more terrifying than usual. The gloomy and cold lights seem to be waiting for challengers to arrive. 

Looking at the slightly tense Kiro beside me, it suddenly occurs to me that the seemingly insignificant question he asked a few days ago actually had a reason behind it.

Kiro: Miss Chips, let’s go!

MC: Actually, it’s okay even if we don’t go for this...

Kiro: It’s all right.

He pats his chest confidently, pushing his sunglasses down with one hand. 

Kiro: This time, I came prepared.

-

In the narrow, strange and long corridor, Kiro and I walk unhurriedly, following the directions of the arrows.

Kiro: This is the third time we’ve come to a haunted house, isn’t it? 

MC: Yup. It seems like we always have memories of running wildly in haunted houses. 

Kiro: In that case, let’s walk slowly this time, and slowly enjoy the delights of the haunted house. 

Just as he finishes speaking, a bloodied handprint appears on the paper door at the side with a thud.

MC: !

Before I can rally my emotions, continuous streams of ghost-like cries drift from the paper door beside us. 

Kiro holds my hand, scanning the surroundings “coldly”---

From an unknown place, Kiro takes out a gigantic white sheet, covering it over us.

Kiro: If we can’t beat then, let’s join them!!

MC: Pfft!

Kiro wraps me in his arms. His breath is at my ear, which gives me an especially ticklish sensation in my heart. 

Kiro: See? It’s no longer scary, isn’t it? When we hear sounds, we’ll simply return fire!

Passerby couple: Erm...

Kiro: [ghostly] Mmm...?

Kiro and I turn around at the same time.

Passerby couple: Ahhhh----!!!!!!

After a short silence, I lift up my head, and just so happen to meet Kiro’s lowered gaze. 

Kiro: [chuckles] Even though I feel a little bad, but...

We burst into laughter at the same time. The white sheet seems to be a small protective screen, making us the only two people in the entire world, becoming our secret accomplice. 

Kiro: I’ve finally found a way to decode the haunted house!

MC: Next time, why don’t we...

Kiro: Be the ghosts!

We complete each others’ sentences as always. 

Kiro: This way, it doesn’t feel scary at all.

MC: You’ve got a good method~

Kiro: The method is one aspect of it. The other aspect is because you’re with me. Frightening things will always be frightening, and courage isn’t something that can be added or subtracted. 

MC: But won’t you become braver after going through it more often and having more experience?

Kiro: That’s called getting used to it and growing up. It doesn’t mean you’re no longer scared. It’s because there are other things which triumph over the fear.

His voice is very soft, and his eyes turn from the view outside the sheet to me.

Kiro: For example, right now. 

MC: It’s all right even if you’re scared. I’m here, and you aren’t alone!

Kiro: In that case, could I come nearer to you?

As he says this, he takes a step closer.

MC: [blushing] The staff would laugh at us if they see this...

Kiro: That’s fine. 

His lips are at my ear, bringing with them a smile of someone who has gotten his way.

Kiro: No one will see us.

-

[ Option C: The dessert store! There are so many delicious foods in the amusement park. ]

At night, the dessert store looks even more well-lit. The adorable decor, together with the colourful neon lights, are reminiscent of the sweetest kiss of a couple.

It suddenly occurs to me that the seemingly insignificant question he asked a few days ago actually had a reason behind it.

MC: Doesn't this place require a reservation? 

He smiles while talking out two reservation coupons from his pocket, a satisfied look on his face. 

Kiro: Hehe. It’s been a long wait, my Miss Chips. 

I scan the various limited edition couple desserts on the menu, each one of them looking utterly delicious, as though I can smell their sweet fragrance just from the pictures.

In the end, I decide to pick the dessert which Kiro is recommending whole-heartedly and with great force--

The double lava layer chocolate brownie.

Kiro: Trust me, this is the one. I’ve done a recon before, and found the most premium product from these premium products.

Under his solemn gaze, the double lava layer chocolate brownie is brought to our table. 

It looks like a chocolate brownie with some frosting sprinkled on it, and seems to be pretty normal.

Kiro: Give it a try! I haven’t forgotten its taste even till now.

I cut it open gently, and discover that underneath the chocolate exterior, there’s a soft chocolate cake. Chocolate sauce in the centre flows out slowly.

Cutting a small piece carefully, I place it into my mouth.

In a mere instant, my throat, nose, and even the air I inhale, are all sweet. 

The strong sweetness sweeps through all my senses. My tongue goes haywire, and it’s as though I'm biting into a hundred macarons at the same time. 

Kiro sits opposite me, his eyebrows arching slightly, an insuppressible anticipation and teasing look in his eyes. 

He has also prepared a guilty and apologetic look. 

I see through it immediately.

MC: Not bad. As expected of your recommendation!

Kiro: Hm? 

MC: It’s really delicious.

While saying this, I lift up the fork again, preparing to get another piece. 

Kiro: Wait wait wait! 

He immediately grabs my hand, his face filled with disbelief. Looking at me, he lowers his head and stares at the “scheme”.

Kiro: The taste is just right?

MC: Yeah, it is. Weren't you the one who recommended it?

Kiro: Well... you’re not wrong.

He looks at the brownie on the table hesitantly. He’s probably guessing that the store had changed its method of preparation, resulting in a different effect. 

At this moment, it’s a showdown between Kiro the glutton and reason. 

Slowly, he picks up the fork, and brings a small piece into his mouth.

Kiro: [groans] !!!

I immediately grab the lemon water at the side, flushing my ruined taste buds. 

Kiro: You...!

His features are scrunched, and I can't help but laugh when I see this. 

Kiro: Although I did it somewhat on purpose, you really endured it too well!

MC: Seeing this image before me is worth it hahaha.

Kiro: I’m letting you experience the wrong path I once walked on.

Saying this, he comes over to my side.

Kiro: If I’m at fault, you should have punished me by using the law! Not by killing me with this sickeningly sweet dessert!

MC: If you went down the wrong path, you shouldn’t have let others experience it either!

Kiro: But you’re special. I’ve suffered twice the harm and need treatment. 

MC: Mr Kiro, you’re insatiable. 

Despite saying this, I don't stop him when he slowly draws closer to me.

Kiro: [chuckles] All I need is a little normal sweetness. 

[ PART TWO ]

By the time we return to the vicinity of the castle in the plaza, the fireworks display is about to begin.

Considering Kiro’s special situation, his wig and props have more or less finished serving their function. I decide to find a location with fewer people.

But suddenly...

I realise that Kiro is gone.

Scanning my surroundings, I just can’t find any trace of him.

??: Beautiful Miss Princess, what are you looking at?

I freeze.

As the fireworks from the castle continuously scuttle to the skies, I see a figure at the end of the light.

At the top of the castle, he’s wearing a white coloured suit. His white cape is flying in the night, and an exquisite white mask conceals his entire face.

Just like the phantom thief under the moonlight.

Passerby: Is that a performance?

MC: Ki-!

Akin to magic, he soars downwards, stepping through the night, his cape kneading the moonlight as it flaps up and down, descending before me.

Wearing a pair of white gloves, he reaches out and places his forefinger on my lips.

Kiro: Shh.

The entire world seems to have become silent in an instant, leaving behind only the sound of my violently beating heart.

He takes half a step back, his left hand behind him, giving me a slight bow while offering his right hand to me.

Kiro: Beautiful Miss Princess, are you willing to come with me?

A pair of sapphire-like eyes hide behind the mask, leaving me unable to see his expression.

Seeing the arm he’s holding out in mid-air, I grip his hand without hesitation.

MC: It would be my honour!

Once the words leave my lips, he wraps an arm around my waist and carries me up, bringing me into the deep blue ocean.

Kiro: Hold me tight.

He presses a special mechanism, and strings pull the both of us upwards, as though we’re treading on moonlight.

When we reach the roof of the castle, he lets me step onto the bricks steadily, then removes the mask from his face.

Kiro: The performance has begun.

He snaps his fingers. At the same time, all the fireworks in the night sky bloom.

[ FIREWORKS ]

-

The colour I had selected is especially brilliant, and it blooms under Kiro’s command.

It’s as though he's standing in the middle of the stage, and every firework is a musical instrument under his control. With his guidance, they become the most beautiful musical composition in the night sky.

I think about that question related to a perfect day, and a him who is as romantic as in a fairytale.

As the fireworks come to an end, he once again gives me a bow, and walks towards me.

Kiro: I wish to ask my princess if the me of right now has the qualifications to steal your heart?

MC: [blushing] Haven’t you already stolen it since a long time ago?

Kiro: Is that so?

Under the moonlight of this winter day, his fringe is damp with sweat, and his eyes are filled with surprise.

Kiro: In that case, I won’t be returning it. Anyway, my heart happens to be with you too. Happy third anniversary, my Miss Chips.

Even the most precious day has to come to an end.

But the meaning residing in the future, which is the time we have next, will definitely be even more wonderful, and even more precious.

Until the end of life.

MC: Let’s go home!

Kiro: Mm! Let’s go home.

[uncloseted]

my mom believes in homeopathy and i don't know what to do. our town homeopath died not so long ago so she won't be recommending him to people anymore, but she still believes in the system. apparently he cured my brother's hyperthyroidism and my nephew's alopecia. she says that he went to tons of real doctors and the only thing that worked was homeopathy. that left me speechless. im still skeptical but how do you explain that? and if it's a placebo but it works, then why shouldn't we use it?

This answer is going to be a long one, so I apologize in advance. Apologies also for how long this has taken for me to write and publish. As always, I want to make sure that I answer every part of this question with thought, care, and sources. To make it easier to navigate, I'm going to add headers for each section. What are Homeopathic "Remedies"? The first thing I want to do is clarify what homeopathic "remedies" actually are and what the theory behind homeopathy is. Often, I think we imagine that homeopathy is just herbalism- using "natural" plants as "medicine". By itself, doing that is kind of a dubious approach to treating illness, but it can be at least somewhat effective. It's important to understand that that's not what homeopathy is. Homeopathy is an alternative "medicine" practice created in 1796 by Samuel Hahnemann as a reaction to the mainstream medicine of the late 18th century. Hahnemann's homeopathy is based on the doctrine that "like cures like"- that a disease can be cured by a substance that produces similar symptoms to that disease in healthy people. In order to prevent those symptoms from occurring as a result of the "remedy", homeopathy also subscribes to something called the “law of minimum dose”—the notion that the lower the dose of the medication, the greater its effectiveness. This is inconsistent with what science knows about dose-response relationships, where the effect of a dose is reliant on the concentration of the active ingredient. Many homeopathic products are so diluted that no molecules of the original active ingredient remain. Modern advocates of homeopathy have suggested that water "remembers" the substances mixed in it, and transmits the effect of those substances when it's consumed. This isn't consistent with our scientific understanding of matter. Homeopathy also traditionally includes the concept of "miasms" as the "infectious principle" behind illnesses (including illnesses like epilepsy, cancer, deafness, and cataracts). Miasms are a negative force (imagined to be kind of like a cloud or fog) that serve no purpose other than to make humans miserable and ultimately kill them. Traditionally, homeopaths believe that individual symptoms should not be alleviated, since it will only drive the miasm deeper and the miasm will "manifest itself as diseases of the internal organs". They believe that in order to cure illness, the miasm must be removed from the "vital force". The concept of miasms have become less popular in modern times, but there are still homeopaths who base their practice around it. It's important to know that none of these ideas are backed by the scientific method, nor have they been shown to be effective when subjected to the scientific method. That said, you can kind of see concepts in homeopathy that are 18th century explanations for phenomena that are real. For example, "like cures like" and "law of minimum dose" is actually kind of how vaccines work: you give a very small bit ("a minimum dose") of a disease-causing microorganism or an agent that resembles a disease-causing microorganism ("like cures like"), which trains the body's immune system to recognize that agent as a threat. Another example is airborne infectious diseases. It is possible to get certain illnesses (such as COVID-19, measles, chickenpox, the flu, and norovirus) if you encounter a "miasm" (what we now call droplets of an airborne infectious disease). The problem with homeopathy is that it's not the 18th century anymore. Science has moved on from using "like cures like" and "miasms" as explanations for illness. We know that "like cures like" is not an effective treatment for every illness, and we know that not all illnesses are "miasms" (airborne). We have a better grasp of things like genetics, viruses, infections, and environmental factors that allow us to more effectively understand what causes illnesses and how to provide effective, reliable treatments for those illnesses. What's the Harm? Problems with Homeopathic "Remedies" Moving on, I want to start with

your last question first. If homeopathic "remedies" are a placebo and they work, why shouldn't we use them? What's the harm? There are three main problems with using homeopathic "remedies" that I want to discuss. The first and most important answer is just that they don't work. I'll do a deeper dive on the evidence against homeopathic "remedies" and why homeopathic "remedies" don't work in a second, but for now, just know that the first problem is that homeopathy can't fix the health problems people are looking to solve. The placebo effect is pretty limited in its scope; it generally works for subjective, patient-reported outcomes such as pain and nausea, but it doesn't usually affect the actual disease. For example, when the placebo effect is used to treat insomnia, patients perceive that they've slept better, but it doesn't actually improve the amount of time it takes a person to fall asleep. The second problem is that homeopathic "remedies" aren't always harmless. While they're generally "unlikely to provoke severe adverse reactions", there have been cases of those "remedies" being taken off of the market because they've caused serious symptoms such as seizures. In the US, homeopathic "remedies" aren't overseen by the FDA in the same what that medications are. As a result, there's no assurance that the substance you think you're getting is what you're actually getting. Frequently, "remedies" are a waste of money because they don't have enough of the active ingredient to work at all. This is especially true if the product you're getting is a "dilution", which intentionally gets rid of the molecules of the original material as a result of the "law of minimum dose", but it can even be true of things like nutritional supplements that you can buy at CVS or Walmart. In the US, there's no group tasked with objectively testing the claims made by companies that sell "remedies", and there's no group making sure that "remedies" don't have ingredients in them that are unsafe. Belladonna, arsenic, and poison ivy have been found at detectable levels in homeopathic "remedies", and cases of arsenic poisoning in particular have occurred. But because homeopathic products are marketed as if they're "drugs", many people assume they wouldn't be allowed to be sold if they weren't good, if they didn't work, or if they were advertising falsely, and so they keep buying them. If you see an individual homeopath, this problem is compounded. "Homeopath" is not a protected term in the US, meaning that anyone can claim to be one. In turn, this means that there's no licensing board that oversees their work, no professional association or government agency that keeps them accountable for their mistakes, and no educational credentials that they need to begin practicing. Your local homeopath may have no background in biology, medicine, chemistry, pharmacology, or even homeopathic or alternative medicine practices. They can literally just be a person, one who you're trusting to cure your ailments and to not accidentally poison you in the process. The last issue I want to bring up is that homeopathy is often (although not always) viewed as being an acceptable replacement for evidence-backed medicine. This means that often, people who see a homeopath aren't seeing a medical doctor, and their symptoms aren't being treated by evidence-based medicine. By not taking an evidence-based approach to intervening in illness, outcomes are significantly worsened, especially for serious, life-threatening conditions such as cancer. Patients have died as a result of opting to take a homeopathic approach to illness instead of receiving proper treatment for diseases that could have been easily managed by evidence-backed medicine. This becomes an even bigger problem when it comes to public health issues. People who view homeopathy as being equal to or better than evidence-backed medicine are more likely to be anti-vaxxers and to not vaccinate their children. Reductions in vaccination rates have led to resurgences of diseases that had previously

been close to elimination. The US has seen a resurgence of whooping cough, measles, and tetanus as a result of anti-vax sentiment. Those resurgences directly endanger people who cannot be vaccinated due to chronic health issues, people with allergies to ingredients in vaccines, and people who cannot choose to be vaccinated, such as children. How Effective Are Homeopathic "Remedies"? Next, let's talk about studies that look into the efficacy of homeopathic "remedies". Government level reviews of homeopathic "remedies" have been conducted by the UK, Australia, and the European Academies' Science Advisory Council. The UK's study found that there was "no compelling evidence of effect". Australia conducted a meta-analysis of 1800 papers, and found that "there were no health conditions for which there was reliable evidence that homeopathy was effective." EASAC found that there was a lack of evidence that homeopathic products are effective, and raised concerns about quality control. Additionally, there have been systemic reviews and meta-analyses of the efficacy of homeopathic "remedies" from doctors, universities, and medical researchers. In 2005, The Lancet (one of the world's oldest, best-known, and respected medical journals) published a meta-analysis looking at the efficacy of homeopathy. Basically, that means that they looked at data from 110 homeopathy trials. These trials were included in the study because they had a completely randomized set of patients who don't know whether they were getting a "homeopathic treatment" or a placebo pill. This type of "blinded" study allows researchers to see how effective the intervention (in this case, a homeopathic "treatment") actually is. Their findings were, "compatible with the notion that the clinical effects of homeopathy are placebo effects". Meta-analyses have also been conducted on the application of homeopathy for individual diseases, including cancer, ADHD, asthma, insomnia, fibromyalgia, dementia, IBS, osteoarthritis, migraines, ecchymosis and edema, and dermatological conditions, and all have found the same result. The UK's NHS, the American Medical Association, the Federation of American Societies for Experimental Biology, the National Health Service and Medical Research Council of Australia, the World Health Organization, the American College of Medical Toxicology, the American Academy of Clinical Toxicology, the Russian Academy of Sciences, and even the acting deputy director of the National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine have all come out against the use of homeopathy, saying that there's "no good quality evidence that homeopathy is effective as treatment for any health condition", recommending that no one use homeopathic "treatments" for disease or as a preventative health measure, and noting that there is evidence that using these treatments can produce harm and indirect health risks. But it Seems Like it Works! What Else Could Have Happened? In terms of what happened with your brother's hyperthyroidism and your nephew's alopecia, I'm perfectly happy to admit that I have no idea. I don't know what the homeopath gave them or what else they were taking or what else they were doing during that period of time that might have changed their health status. I can offer you some hypotheses (and I will in a second), but I don't know, and that's okay. What I do know about is the current state of research on homeopathic "remedies" overall, and how it holds up when subjected to the scientific method. There are a few common culprits for why homeopathy may seem to work. I'm going to go over those now, and then I'll dig into some theories for what may have happened with your brother and nephew. These culprits include:

Placebo effect- we talked about this one earlier, but essentially, if people believe that a "treatment" will work, they're also more likely to believe the "treatment" worked after taking it. As a result, they will report feeling better on subjective measures such as pain.

Natural healing- with time, the body can sometimes heal itself without medical assistance. This is most common for things like viruses.

Therapeutic effect of consultation- care, concern, and reassurance from a compassionate caregiver can have a positive impact on the patient's assessment of their well-being, even if objective assessments of their well-being stay the same.

Regression towards the mean- many conditions and diseases are cyclical. The patient may notice a decrease in symptoms that they attribute to homeopathic "remedies", but are actually just a result of moving to a different stage of the disease cycle.

Cessation of unpleasant treatment- a homeopath may suggest that patients stop receiving medical treatment. Medical treatments can sometimes have unpleasant side effects, and so halting those treatments can make the patient feel better in the short term. The patient attributes the decrease in symptoms to the homeopathic "remedy" but it's actually that they stopped taking a medication that has side effects. In the short term, this feels good, but in the long term it is destructive because the disease isn't being treated.

Non-homeopathic treatment- the patient is also receiving medical care, and the medical care is responsible for the decrease in symptoms, not the homeopathic "remedy".

Unrecognized treatments- an unrelated food, exercise, environmental agent, treatment for a different ailment, etc. is also treating the patient's medical condition and is responsible for the decrease in symptoms.

For alopecia areata (hair loss in patches on the scalp), spontaneous remission is actually more common than you might expect. In most cases that begin with a small number of patches of hair loss, hair grows back after a few months to a year. It's possible that your nephew's hair just... grew back, especially if time had passed. It's also possible your nephew's parents were treating his alopecia other ways (minoxidil, contact immunotherapy, corticosteroids, a gluten free diet if the alopecia was associated with celiac disease) and just didn't tell you or your mum. Hyperthyroidism is a bit more difficult to guess at. It could be that your brother's medical doctors switched him to a different medication that did work or changed his dosage. If you're sure that's not it, it could be that he switched his diet to one that's low iodine and low in caffeine. Research suggests that, although a low iodine diet cannot cure hyperthyroidism, it can reduce or alleviate the symptoms in some people. If your brother went vegetarian, vegan, or stopped eating fish, that could be the culprit. If he stopped taking a multivitamin that contains iodine, that could be it. If he started eating a ton of foods high in goitrogens (soy, cassava, cabbage, cauliflower), that could also contribute to what happened, since goitrogens interfere with the uptake of iodine in the thyroid. It's also possible he was misdiagnosed, but if it's true that he went to "tons of real doctors", that seems fairly unlikely. Again, all of these are just guesses for the purpose of illustrating what confounding factors may have been present. I think the bottom line with stories like these are that you're hearing them secondhand. You don't know how many doctors your nephew or brother saw, or the quality of those doctors, or what they diagnosed, or what they prescribed, or how many different lifestyle changes they tried. You don't know what the homeopath prescribed them, or if they took it. You're hearing a story of miracles through the mouth of a believer, and that can make it difficult to know what is and isn't true (in a medically accurate kind of way). It's possible that your mum's homeopath has stumbled upon a treatment for alopecia and one for hyperthyroidism that work better than traditional medicine. I hope that's true. We can always use better treatments, especially for difficult-to-cure conditions like alopecia. But I think it's more likely that there's just some piece of information you weren't given. What do I do? Getting to your original question, there's not a ton of evidence-backed research (that I could find, at least) for how to change people's minds about homeopathy, but there is data on changing people's minds with regard to vaccines, and I think using those tactics may work in both cases. What to do about your mum's beliefs in homeopathy depend on where those beliefs come from, how entrenched they are, and how it's impacting her life. If she's just someone who tries lifestyle changes and supplements from CVS first before going to a doctor and if she believes in vaccination, homeopathy is a waste of time and money, but it's probably not too big of a problem. In that case, it may not be worth pushing her about it, especially if she hasn't found a new homeopath after her old one passed away. If she's anti-vax and/or refuses to see medical doctors, that's a bigger problem, and it's worth having a conversation about. Changing her views is likely to take time, so be prepared to have at least a few conversations about these topics. And be prepared to step away from the conversation and resume it at a later time if it becomes too contentious. Start by asking her about her fears with regard to evidence-backed medicine. Do your best to be curious rather than judgmental in those conversations and to be a good listener. Respect is the most important tool in changing a person's mind, so try not to interrupt, be dismissive, or combat her beliefs off the bat. Affirm her right to have questions (but not the validity of the actual concern), and

try to say positive things about her in the conversation (for example, "I can see you really want to do everything you can to keep yourself healthy and safe"). Focus on her feelings, not facts. By trying to understand where she's coming from, you can begin to understand where her hesitations are and how those fears might be remedied. For example, a lot of people who believe in homeopathy do so in part because they feel like homeopathic practitioners listen to them, respect them, and care about them more than medical doctors do. They've usually had a bad experience with medical doctors. Knowing where her fears lie gives you a better idea of what she needs in a medical context, and can help you figure out how to dispel misconceptions she has about medicine or find alternatives that actually work. In the case of feeling like medical doctors don't respect her, you may be able to help your mum find a medical doctor who will spend longer with her and really listen to what she has to say. You can try asking her follow-up questions that allow her to investigate her own beliefs. For example, you might try asking about Hahnemann's ideas of "like cures like", "the law of minimum dose" or "water memory" and see how she reacts. Many people, even those who use homeopathic "remedies", don't know the principles that it's based on, and will eventually express skepticism when asked to explain them. It's tempting to try and combat pseudoscience with facts, but studies suggest that presenting facts makes people more likely to cling to their original beliefs. It's better to let people investigate their beliefs on their own through asking the right questions. You might also try this technique. Ask her how likely she would be to see a medical doctor/get a vaccine, on a scale of 0-10. If she says 1 or 0, this strategy isn't going to work. But if she says 2 or 3, then you can ask her why she's not a 0. Why is she not fully saying she won't see a medical doctor or get a vaccine? This forces her to explain what she thinks the positives of medical doctors/vaccinations are. Now you're on the same side; you both think there are some positives to the medical profession. Reinforce those ideas when you talk to her. From there, you can ask what would make her more likely to see a medical doctor/get a vaccine, and when she answers, you can point to the places where those things exist in the medical field. If nothing else works, you could try finding ways to make evidence-based medicine and vaccination compatible with her beliefs. Perhaps you could try using the language of homeopathy to explain medical issues and their treatments. For example, with COVID, it might work to tell her that COVID is a miasm, and that researchers used "like cures like" and the “law of minimum dose” to create a vaccine to remove the miasm from the "vital force". All of that is technically true, at least in a sense. It's just not the language scientists would use to describe what happens. To Sum It Up The medical establishment definitely has issues it needs to work on. The lack of compassionate, respectful care in many medical settings is a real problem, and it has real consequences. There are some situations in which a placebo is a potentially valid approach to treatment. But the answer is not to encourage homeopathy. It's to do more research, develop better drugs, and change the ways that doctors interact with their patients. Homeopathy doesn't work, and it does potentially have harmful side effects, both on a personal and societal level. The way we can combat homeopathy is to be curious and respectful, to help people identify and work through their concerns, and to offer them solutions to their medical problems that take those concerns into account.

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 10 (Finale)

“Under the Knife” - Part 10 (Finale)

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3,800-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Cursing, talk of violence, talk of death

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Author’s Note: Well, we are finally at the final chapter. This has been such an incredibly challenging story to work on, but I have learned so much from this process that will no doubt help shape my future stories.

Thank you to all of the readers who have liked, reblogged, commented, messaged, and reached out to me. This has been the best response I’ve gotten on a story and it has filled me with a level of appreciation that I wasn’t expecting. <3 

With the sappy stuff out of the way, please enjoy the final chapter of “Under the Knife.”

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy​ @a-person-unlabled​ @germansarechill​ @rentheanonymous​ @liadamerondjarin

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“Taking into account that Henry Urik was left-handed, I was able to throw my head back, causing him to falter, and then lean to my right in order to escape his grasp and not have my throat sliced open. This gave me enough time to get back to the table and get my hands on the gun.” 

“Unfortunately, the gun was empty. It’s common for killers to use unloaded or fake guns as intimidation techniques with their victims. My mistake gave Henry enough time to stabilize himself and grab hold of me again, resulting in a mild concussion and being knocked unconscious until a few hours later. Luckily Dr.Lecter was able to fight, thus saving me until Special Agent Crawford and his team could come.” You looked around and saw a few people taking notes while others just nodded their heads. Checking your watch, you saw that you had a few more minutes left to fill up. “And with that, I have time for one or two questions before we leave.”

The lights faded up a little bit, nothing too harsh for you. You quickly scanned over the larger than the normal crowd in your lecture hall. 

The fact that you, a survivor of the Virginia Scalpel, were giving a lecture on the case had attracted the minds of not only your normal trainees but the higher-ups as well. 

It was a slightly dizzying feeling to see the faces of management in your lecture hall, but that could also be the still healing minor concussion from a serial killer slamming you into a table a little less than a week ago. Either way, you took this time to sit on your desk and drink some water as you pointed to one of the trainees in the first row.

“I don’t want to bring up anything too triggering, ma’am, but I--”

“Kid, if I wasn’t okay enough to jump back into the shitstorm named Henry Urik, I wouldn’t have agreed to be here today.” A scattering of chuckles echoed through the hall. You were glad to hear that your lighthearted comment helped ease the tension in the room. “Please, continue. I’ll be okay, I promise.” The agent nodded and took a breath, whatever they were going to ask must have been weighing on their mind enough to scare them. You could tell that they were trying to hide it, but your ability to read people's subtleties was strong.

“Thank you, ma’am. I wanted to ask for your advice. What should we be aware of if we’re ever in a similar situation with an unstable or unpredictable suspect? What do we do?” 

You nodded and thought for a moment before you responded. You had a feeling that this type of question would come up now or through an email later on. Fiddling with your ring, you spoke.

“To be honest, you have to be able to assess everything at the moment. I may have seemed to have a handle on the situation externally, but internally? I was a quivering, frantic, and terrified mess. With Henry’s focus being solely on me, I knew I couldn’t just sit there. I knew that if I froze, it could have cost not only my life but also Hannibal’s.” You took a deep inhale through your nose before continuing. The thought of losing Hannibal hurt your heart. “My advice: really focus on the suspect. What are they saying? How are they saying it? What are they doing? Are there any mannerisms o-or phrases that hint at any sort of soft spot?” 

You held up a finger and turned to your computer, scrolling back through your presentation until you found the slide you were looking for. It was a diagram showing how all of the victims tied to Henry as well as Henry’s symptoms. You turned back towards your class.

“While I knew a majority of this information before my encounter with Dr.Urik, I only knew the facts at face value. When he and I talked about his experiences with all of these doctors, Henry let his anger and annoyance towards these men out. His voice changed from the seemingly calm and confident man that had just had a gun pointed at me, to a frustrated patient who just wanted answers that he believed in.”

“Now if we want to talk about more physical tells, that is the premise for another lecture entirely. You can tell a lot about a person without either of you having to utter a word.”

You looked at the trainee, they were watching you, truly listening to everything you had to say. From the almost unnoticeably tensed jaw to the stiff posture, this future agent was using all of their power not to tremble in fear at the thought of being in a scenario like this. You saw the fear in their eyes.

“As long as you breathe, remember your training, and let yourself fully assess the situation at hand, you’ll do the best you can do. Trust me, there were two very distinct moments that night where I thought and accepted the possibility that I was going to die. That’s a risk we all take with this job. But I focused on what I could do next and kept going. And that’s what you’ll learn throughout your time in training and in the field. You cannot stop, you have to keep going.”

You ended with a smile directly to the trainee to try to calm their nerves even a little bit. They visibly took a deep breath and nodded, giving you a quiet “thank you” before writing something in their notebook. Your saw movement out of the corner of your eye. Will and Hannibal were now standing off to the side, letting you know that you were almost done. Will was more rigid than usual. You assumed he heard the part about accepting death and he did not like that thought. 

Hannibal caught your eye as he tapped his watch. Nodding, you looked back to the class, prepared to dismiss them. That was until you saw a hand near the back. Before you could say or do anything, the man with the raised hand spoke. 

“How were you able to confirm the Scalpel’s motive? What stood out with him that made him suspect number 1?” You took a slightly larger breath as you realized it was one of the assistant directors speaking. Blinking a few times and gathering your thoughts you tried to sound as professional as you could. 

“Well, we originally were looking for an active doctor. Someone who could have access to the equipment and drugs needed for these killings. But then we realized that it could be a former doctor who was now a patient of these doctors.” You gestured to the slide projected behind you. “As for motive, we could only theorize until we talked to Henry himself. And while talking to him face-to-face last week revealed a lot, we cannot actually confirm anything when it comes to his psyche.”

“But you said it yourself, he was frustrated at the answers that these doctors had given him. So wouldn’t the Virginia Scalpel murders be crimes of passion, making his motive emotional overload?” The man spoke. You were thrown off just a bit, but found your way back to correct wording.

“They actually weren’t crimes of passion. Those are usually impulsive and emotionally driven. The Virginia Scalpel crime scenes, especially that of Dr.Pencalt and his wife, showed us that Henry was methodical and purposeful.” 

“Yes, there could have been an emotionally charged aspect to it. He was upset with these men. I theorized with Dr.Lecter and Special Agent Crawford that these killings could have been some sort of pain relief for his headaches. The act of slaying these men took all of his focus, alleviating the pounding in his head.” 

“At one point, he said that killing was a form of mercy and life could be considered torture. So he could very well have just wanted to spare them from this mortal coil. Or maybe Henry saw these murders as a way of honoring them. Maybe there was even a thrill-seeking aspect that he got a kick from.” You stood up from your spot on your desk, feeling yourself getting a bit weary after so much talking over the last hour or so, and tried to politely wrap this all up.

“Where I’m going with this is the fact that we can theorize all we want-- Hell, we can even settle on what we believe his motive was. But that’s all it’ll be: A belief. We will never truly know because Dr. Urik was found dead in the woods behind his former office building, stabbed a handful of times, and had enough of his own paralytic drug in his system to take down an ostrich.”

They were out of your sightline, but Hannibal and Will both smirked at how well you had handled the situation. It wasn’t often that managerial positions were proven wrong in front of a classroom full of people. However, both of their smiles slowly fell as the assistant director continued.

“I guess his death is a breath of fresh air, right? You can sleep at night knowing that the Virginia Scalpel is no longer out there. No more target on your back.” The assistant director tried to say that as a lighthearted joke. Something to lighten the mood. But you forced a pained smile and spoke your mind.

“Yes. I am thankful that I don’t have to worry about a scalpel cutting into my cheek again, or almost slicing my throat, or finding Dr. Lecter chopped into pieces in his bed or maybe even Henry breaking his pattern and going after the last bit of family that I have left. I guess sleeping should be easier, shouldn’t it?” 

You looked directly at the man as you spoke, the gravity of your situation and the insensitivity of his statements hitting him. You shifted your gaze to the trainees that were in the first few rows and continued, straightfaced. 

“But I am curious as to what he would have to say and how that perspective could have helped us catch others like him. I hope that you all can find that same curiosity as I do. If we can catch them and talk to them, we could learn what makes them tick and get information that could help us catch the next one before it's too late.” You let a beat of silence pass, letting your words sink into the minds of the young ones. “Thank you all for your time. For questions regarding the Virginia Scalpel case, please contact Special Agent Crawford and he will see if you are authorized to view the file notes. If you need to reach me for any reason other than the Virginia Scalpel case, you all have my email. Stay safe out there.” 

You turned away from the class and shut down your computer, trying to gather your things as the room applauded. You raised a hand as a way of saying “thank you but please stop” and they all filed out of the room. 

“I think that went well despite Assistant Director Ass-Hat’s commentary at the end there” Will made his way to you, grabbing your jacket from the chair behind you and holding it in his hands, gripping it tighter than normal as if doing so would solidify in his brain that you were here and safe.

“Thanks. For someone with a shaken brain, I think I did pretty good today.” You joked back at your brother. Looking over your shoulder, you saw the beginnings of his brain spiraling with worry. 

If he was being honest, Will still hasn’t fully gotten over the events of last week. It was his exact fear almost coming true. And while he was forever thankful that you were alive today, he was worried that this near-death experience wouldn’t be enough to stop you from continuing to work active cases. The fact that you wanted to give this presentation so soon after you were released from the hospital validated his worry more and more.

“I still think it’s too soon for you to be back here.” 

“If you had your way, I would never step foot near this building again, Will.” You joke over your shoulder as you slide your laptop into your bag. “But I also think that that is just your way of trying to get me to be a 24/7 dog sitter.” Will huffed out a breath that sounded like a dry chuckle.

“I’m not saying that, but if you ask Winston or the others, I’m sure they would be all for that idea.” 

You finally turn fully to Will and lightly smack his arm. His face fades from a small smile to an unmasked face of worry as he looks down at the jacket in his hands that he is still fiddling with.

“I know this isn’t going to change your decision on whether or not you stay with Jack’s team, but I really don’t like that idea.” 

“You said the same thing the first time we had this conversation.”

“Yes, but that was before you got seriously injured while working a case.”

“I wasn’t seriously injured.” Will was going to interject, but you kept talking. “But I understand. What we do is dangerous. But I’m going to say the same thing I said last time: I have the chance to save lives, and that is a good enough reason for me to stay.” 

Before either of you could continue, Hannibal finally made his way over. His hand landed comfortably on your lower back for a long moment to alert you of his presence. 

You and Hannibal had talked about your mutual feelings for one another and agreed to start exploring a romantic relationship. That being said, you haven't told Will yet. Luckily, the gesture from Hannibal was easily passed as friendly to your unknowing brother.

“The assistant director wanted me to pass along his apology, (Y/N). He didn’t mean to insult you with his statements.” You waved your hand dismissively.

“I know he didn’t mean to. But it was a nice excuse to hand a ‘powerful male’ his ass in front of a whole room. I’m sure his ego will bounce back in no time.” You let a devilish smirk grace your features, earning a smile from Hannibal and a chuckle from Will. 

Hannibal looked to Will and saw how he was holding your jacket. Hannibal just offered his hand.

“I can take that, Will. You should go. You don’t want to be late for your own lecture. I will make sure your sister is safe.” 

The hospital discharged you, but you were still healing. The cut on your cheek was almost healed, but you kept a bandage on it to be safe. A scar would surely form, permanently reminding you of your first case. Most people would associate it with the fear of impending doom by the hands of a serial killer. But you were actually okay with it. You saw it as a reminder of what you were able to survive.

The most inconvenient thing was that you weren’t allowed to drive yourself. Between the healing concussion and the medications you were on, driving was not the safest thing. So Hannibal and Will took it upon themselves to compare schedules and be your drivers. 

When Hannibal had afternoon patients or had to work late on something, you would stay with Will. On days where Will was needed at work, you would stay with Hannibal. Sometimes you would stay in their homes, and sometimes they would crash on your couch. Well, Will would crash on your couch. Hannibal would share the bed with you, protecting you from anything that would try to get you physically or mentally. 

Even when you decided to stay at Hannibal’s home, you felt safe. The dining room was a bit haunting. But you knew that no matter what, if something felt off or if you were in any sort of danger, Hannibal would step up and help the best he could. 

Your boys (and the dogs) made sure you were safe no matter where you were.

 If there was anyone Will trusted to watch over you, it was Hannibal. He was the reason you weren’t the Scalpel’s ninth victim.

Will just nodded and struggled to hand over the jacket. Your heart ached because you knew how easily concerned he got when it came to you. But you could also see that he was trying to let go of some of that worry, letting himself see that Hannibal was a safe man to have in your life. You closed the gap between you and Will and wrapped your arms around him, feeling how tense and distraught he was. 

“I will text you as soon as I get home, alright?” Will nodded his head as he squeezed you just a bit tighter. You squeezed back, knowing he needed the reassurance. He pulled away and you patted his shoulder. “Don’t give your kids too much shit today.” 

You both snorted, knowing there was some truth behind the joke. Will said goodbye to Hannibal and left the room, leaving you and Hannibal alone. 

As much as you wanted to hurry up and get out of here, you had to lean against the desk as you zipped up your bag, really feeling your lack of energy now.

“Are you alright?” Nodding, you took a sip from your water bottle before speaking.

“Yes? Did a lot of talking and thinking today. I think I’m starting to get tired.” You let a chuckle-esque exhale come through your nostrils. “Gotta build my energy back up.”

Hannibal stood in front of you, gently placed your jacket down on the desk, and took one on your hands in his. To any normal person, it just looked like he was holding your hand to comfort you. But you knew him. He was gathering data: Pulse, temperature, if your hands were clammy, and whatever else he could find out. But he was also holding your hand to comfort you a little.

After determining your vitals to be manageable, he lifts his hand to brush a few strands of hair from your face, letting his thumb stroke your cheek for a moment.

“I think it's time to go home and rest, don’t you?” Hannibal proposed. You nodded and grabbed your jacket from next to you.

“My place or yours?”

“Your choice, my love.” You couldn’t help but smile at the new and special sobriquet that Hannibal had started using more frequently. Hannibal kissed the back of your hand before helping you stand up, putting your hand on his arm to guide you out.

“I think my place tonight. And maybe we can stop at the store on the way and you can finally show me how to cook something worthy of the esteemed food artist, Hannibal Lecter?” Hannibal smirked at your dramatics.

“Do you think you’ll have the energy for that?” 

“No. But I’d still like to try.” You leaned towards Hannibal and felt a pleading smile make its way across your face, knowing Hannibal was already going to agree to your idea. He still pretended to think it over before nodding. 

“That sounds like a lovely evening.” You felt yourself wiggle just a bit out of happiness, Hannibal smiled at the cuteness of the motion.

Hannibal reached out and touched the doorknob, but before he could open the door, you were distracted by your phone buzzing in your pocket. When you looked at the caller ID, your feet stopped moving and your heart dropped. You couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or excitement. Maybe a weird mix of both.

Hannibal turned to you, watching your face carefully as you answered.

“(Y/N) speaking.” 

“How you feelin’, (Y/N)?” You hadn’t heard Jack’s happy voice in a while. You weren’t sure if this one was real or fake. So you proceeded with caution.

“I’ve been better, but I’m also doing a lot better compared to a few days ago.” 

“Good. Good...” Crawford trailed off, his mind obviously on something else. 

There was an awkward silence. You knew Jack was trying to figure out how to phrase something without stressing you out after the last couple of weeks. You knew what that something was and you appreciated the effort to try and not overwhelm you, but you didn’t like this small talk part. So you took a deep breath before kick-starting the conversation that you knew Jack was trying to ease into.

“I get the feeling that this isn’t a social call, is it, Jack?”

“No. It is not, (Y/N). We have another odd case that we could use your help with.” 

You felt your thumb subconsciously go to wiggle your ring. You knew this conversation was going to happen eventually, but even knowing that didn’t lessen the anxiety you felt. Hannibal stepped closer and took your hand in his, lightly running his thumb across your knuckles. You knew he was trying to ease your mind with the small gesture. You mouthed “Thank you” to him and smiled. 

Jack continued before you could say anything. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now. But the sooner the better.”

“How about I get back to you tomorrow afternoon?” You stated more than asked. Jack agreed to that and hung up. Hannibal could see that you weren’t stressed but you also weren’t excited. 

“I take it Agent Crawford wants to borrow your mind again?” You nod your head, going back and forth in your mind about whether or not to take him up on his offer again or let yourself rest for a bit longer. “What’s stopping you from saying yes?”

“Not much to be honest.” You look at Hannibal and see him watching you, ready to react to anything you say or do. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” 

“Could you be my partner, Hannibal?” You ask and almost fear his response. You didn’t want to be a burden. But very quickly you are met with that lovely rare smile of his. 

“It would be an honor to be your partner, in life and on a case.” You smile as you lean towards him and he meets you halfway, pecking your lips softly, his hand smoothing its way to your back. The two of you pull away and he ushers you out of the room. “After all, someone has to protect that beautiful and reckless mind of yours.” 

You shot Hannibal a look as the two of you walked to his car, ready for one more relaxing night before jumping right back into the chaos.

[jonthethinker]

Does the Cerberus Assembly need to be reformed, or destroyed? And can it really be either?

Let’s start with an opinion we can all agree on; Trent Ikithon sucks. He’s clearly a very bad person, and our collective hatred of him is one of the rare things this fandom seems to actually agree on. What he’s done to his “disciples” is horrifying, and his general ideology is monstrous and abhorrent, although not surprising considering the role he plays in the Empire. We can, on this, agree that the world would be a better place if he was removed from power, correct?

Now this is where I start explaining my probably very divisive opinion.

A lot of people would say that all it takes to make the Cerberus Assembly better would be to replace the members like Ikithon with Good People. Maybe Caleb Widogast, for instance. If you simply put someone with a stronger moral character into that position, then its output in turn will also be Good.

This, whether knowingly or not, implies that institutions, even those like the Cerberus Assembly, are by their nature at the very least morally neutral. That all it takes to make an institution like the Assembly be Good is have Good People run it. You do that, and with time, all is well.

But what if institutions did have a moral character? what if the responsibilities and powers given to a body like the Assembly and its requisite components are not Good or even neutral, but instead very, very bad? And what if the incentives the people deciding who stands on the Assembly, namely the members of the Assembly themselves, are actually antithetical to any ideas of a substantially reformed Assembly in the first place?

Let’s think for a minute about Trent and his job. We are all horrified by his methods of creating his Volstruckers. But as much as it bothers me, what bothers me more, personally, is what they are for. While we tend to view them as arcane assassins, what they really are is a wholly unaccountable means of performing all of the Assembly’s, and by extension the Empire’s, dirty deeds not meant for public notice. And seeing as they fall under the sole purview of the Archmage of Civil Influence, this is largely going to translate to “managing dissidence and discontent” in the polite language a body like the Assembly would use to describe its work.

What this means is that its job, and the job of Trent’s office as a whole, is to keep the wrong ideas from getting too popular and the people from getting too loud about the awfulness of their everyday lives, and inside a broader system like the Empire, this is usually going to be dealt with by means of coercion and outright violence. While it’s easy to feel sorry for the incredibly abused and tormented people under Trent’s power, like Caleb and Astrid and Eadwolf, I feel like I’m one of the few in the fandom who has really considered the true extent of terror being unleashed on so many whose faces we’ll never know.

Peasant farmers’ organizing for lower taxes on their grain sales. Laborers gathering to raise hell over the low wages they receive from mandatory state projects. Citizens concerned about the unchecked brutality of the Crown’s Guard. Religious worshipers worried the Empire is straying from the path set by their gods. The mentally ill and other people who simply don’t comfortably fit into the grand scheme of things. Races of folks seen as outsiders suspected of conflicting allegiances. How many people like this have vanished in the night, either to be imprisoned or tortured or killed, or I guess in many cases, all three? How much suffering has been caused, hidden away from any measure of accountability?

And this brings me to my next point; While Trent is truly awful, his title, and the role he plays, are also awful, and I think you don’t get into a position like that in the first place without being someone like Trent. I say this because we’ve gotten to meet a handful of people on the Assembly outside of Trent, and they’ve all generally had the same things to say about him; he gives them the creeps and they don’t like him personally, but he has his uses. I interpret this to mean he performs the responsibilities of his office well enough, and while his methods and general demeanor may be off-putting, it isn’t worth causing a fuss about so long as the work gets done. If they simply ignore what he’s doing, they get the benefits of a suppressed polity with very little of the personal hangups of what it requires to make that happen.

So let’s say, for some reason, Trent dies or is imprisoned and disgraced, and Caleb assumes his role. Caleb has experienced a remarkable amount of personal growth, although not without his own stumbles and set-backs like any victim of severe trauma such as he. He is, in my humble opinion, a Good Man. I know if given the power of this office, he’d be motivated to end the traumatizing of children, and killing of parents, and perhaps even the wholesale disbanding of the Scourgers itself. He’d maybe seek to alleviate the suffering of those his office is meant to contain instead of inflicting more pain upon them. And wouldn’t that be nice?

But when you’ve got this entrenched elite like the Empire does, those sorts of efforts are not going to go unnoticed, and in many cases, are going to cause one hell of a backlash among the powerful, who more often than not believe in their heart of hearts that those lowly commoners deserve their lot in life, and to spare the lash is to spoil the child, and soon you’ll have a bunch of peasants thinking they can go so far as to ask for actual power, actual control over the direction of their lives, and for any empire, but especially this one, how do you imagine that’s going to fly?

I’m reminded of an anecdote out of Brazilian politics. Former President Lula da Silva is one of the the most popular Brazilian political figures of all time, and managed to massively alleviate poverty in Brazil while also working with Brazil’s entrenched elite to make sure not to piss off the wealthiest of the wealthy. But the comfortably upper middle class, or “petite bourgeoisie” as Marx would call them, were disgusted that all these poor people were suddenly climbing the ladder. According to some folks, they complained “The airports are starting to look like bus stations,” because for the first time, working class people in Brazil could actually afford to fly. This discontent among the comfortable led to a chain events ending in the false arrest and imprisonment of Lula and the rise of their current terrifying president Jair Bolsonaro. I learned from this, and other tales like it, to never underestimate how angry some people will become when their special status ain’t so special anymore.

This is to say, that while Caleb is an undoubtedly brilliant man, without the potential intervention of DM magic, I don’t see someone with his lack of political savvy either holding power long or holding onto his convictions long enough to do anything meaningful, if someone like him is considered for the job in the first place. AND even if he does accomplish all those wonderful things through this office and survives until he’s old and gray, he will eventually die. And judging solely on the general quality of character among the wizards we’ve met thus far, I’m not so optimistic about his potential replacement.

This example does spill out my major beef with the whole “Good Person in power” idea of reform. Good People either can’t live up to their values and actually wield power, or the clock itself defeats them and everything they ever stood for. This is also my problem with governmental models overly dependent on norms, as all it takes is someone willing to just completely ignore them,and for the people in power around them to have no incentive to stop them, for things to completely go off the rails. This is why reforms generally don’t last unless they universally redistribute power itself, from the top to the bottom, and even this is going to come with its own backlashes, and it generally doesn’t happen from polite attempts at reform by well meaning leaders, at least not all on their own, but through the sheer force of mass movements or outright revolutions.

And its not just Trent’s office that has this problem. It’s every single seat on the Assembly. His is just a particularly egregious example. Vess DeRogna didn’t get her job by being polite, of that much I’m sure. She’s clever, devious, and patient, not to mention her skill set and interests directly line her up for the role as Archmage of Antiquity. I don’t really think her sole interest is making sure nobody gets hurt by all these artifacts lying around, and neither do I imagine the Empire itself has any intention of keeping her discoveries behind lock and key; they pretty clearly want them mass produced where they can and immediately wielded against their enemies, both foreign and domestic.

And I’ve hinted at this earlier, but if you think Trent is a unique monster in the halls of Dwendalian mages, I’m going to have to disagree. I’m certain there are more than a few wizards in service of the Assembly and the Empire, who if not already believing similarly to Trent, could easily be convinced of his convictions, and ready to use his power themselves in an eerily identical manner. People like Trent aren’t as rare as we’d like them to be, and they’re all ready to grab power just as soon as they can.

So it would seem I come firmly on the “burn it all down” side of things. If only I believed it were that simple.

You see, I see the Cerberus Assembly as an institution that exists, in its entirety, for the cementing of power of the Dwendalian Elite and the progression of its interests. It protects them from threats both from inside and out, it teaches their children magic, it helps negotiate its trade, it aids in putting food on its table, and makes sure its armed for bear with the deadliest of magic only the Age of Arcanum and ancient elves could provide. It’s very reason for existence is to uphold the way of life for those on top. Even if it competes idly for who sits at the head of the table, it very much is invested in maintaining the structure of that table.

So if it were sundered and destroyed as an institution, what is to stop its functions from simply being absorbed by the broader Empire? What’s to stop the Empire from simply recreating the Volstrucker program under a different name? What’s stopping them from hiring its wizards to perform their original tasks, just under the sole discretion of the king? So I’d wager the problem isn’t the Assembly, but the very distribution of power required to maintain an Empire like Dwendal’s in the first place. The assembly is an immoral institution upholding a much larger, equally immoral institution. And you can’t truly solve the problem without tearing the whole damn thing down.

Do I think this campaign is going to be one in which our lovely players start a revolution? Hell no. I expect Trent at least to die or be deposed, and with the aid of some DM magic, things will get a little better. But Matt has given enough consideration to the political forces present in his world building, that I wanted to treat his world as if it were subject solely to the forces and motivations our own is. Just to see how things could turn out without a generally kind god like Matthew Mercer at the helm.

Plus I just really love trying to understand how fantasy political structures would really work. It’s usually a lot less depressing than real political structures, at least in so far as there are no real consequences for their abject failures. But I’ve rambled long enough. Thank you to the poor souls who read this ramble. You’re truly wonderful.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Heroes or Victims

Summary:  

"As Hange stared down at the man whom she believed was very much deserving of the title “hero,” she was reminded that he was just as much a victim as everyone else."

Hange reflects on emotions, relationships, war philosophies, and a future while taking care of a severely injured Levi.

Written for @levihanweek, Angstober 2020. Prompt: trapped/escape

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Notes: Here is my offering for LeviHan Week, Angstober 2020. Prompt: trapped/escape. I went a little overboard with the word count. Either way, I hope you enjoy. ;)

Credits to my betareader @scribusdomina

Any soldier who died in the field was presented as a hero of the walls. The stories told within the walls evoked images of violent charges, loud and emotional screams for their motherland and quick deaths.

Those soldiers were brave, honorable, and patriotic.

There is no better way to die than falling off one's horse battered and bloody, dreaming of the motherland.

It was a terrifyingly effective piece of propaganda that the lower class within the walls of Paradis welcomed with open arms and consumed too quickly. People saw the garrison and military police as equals to the brave soldiers who die a quick death in the battlefield, their moment of honor yet to come. Ironically, the survey corps members who actually died quickly in the battlefield were rarely afforded that same respect.

For that reason, and for many other reasons, those who survived past what could have been their first death and eventually became the veterans of the corps, ended up completely rejecting this train of thought.

As the numbers of the survey corps members dwindled, the war against titans morphed into a war of attrition. The survey corps did not have the hundreds of people to spare and those within the survey corps at Hange's command were trained to hide in enclosed spaces to preserve themselves until the enemy tires out. A war that starts with a brave charge ends with quick deaths and a quick end to the war, giving no time for the soldiers to ponder the losses and their purpose in the grand scheme of things.

The shift towards preserving life gave birth to a new type of thinker --- the battle hardened soldier. Levi and Hange having survived the longest through the bloodiest wars with the most cruel bouts of survivor's guilt, were at the forefront of this paradigm shift.

Every single person who died out there for the crown and for the people who lived within the walls were more victims than heroes.

Those words in particular rang louder to Hange as she stared down at the man whom she believed was very much deserving of the title “hero”. At that moment though, as he lay injured and vulnerable, with the beginnings of a fever, Hange was reminded that he was just as much a victim as everyone else.

Levi had always been trapped. He grew up in the underground city under Wall Sina, forced into a life of crime and violence just to survive. From what she remembered, he did not join the survey corps out of his own volition either.

Hange brushed Levi's bangs out of his face and reapplied the wet cloth on his forehead.

She shuddered as she listened to Levi's soft whimpers. His face was a mess. She guessed he had a few broken ribs, probably some internal bleeding. He needed to get to a doctor and even if he did survive, he could be left with a permanent disability.

While the rich kid who disobeyed her parents and willingly joined the battle, just came out blind in one eye with a few bruises and scars. Hange let out a pained sigh as she thought of how unfair it all was. She had experienced enough comfort growing up and could have gladly taken some of that misfortune off his shoulders.

Levi's history was a stark contrast to hers. Hange had come from a comfortable background and despite her parent's protests, had committed to joining the survey corps out of sheer curiosity on what existed outside the walls. To her, military service was an escape, an escape from the safe, comfortable yet predictable future her parents had set out for her.

"Now that I think about it, I was free to do whatever I wanted. I had the choice to live within Wall Sina, the choice to defy my parents and join the survey corps. So I shouldn't be regretting anything…" Hange lightly tapped her eyepatch. The pain had completely faded and as she put pressure on it, the only thing she felt was the phantom pain from the memory of the explosion and glass flying into her eye.

She looked back to the sleeping Levi, trying to gauge how much pain he must be in, given the gravity of his injuries. She ended up laughing at her own naivete. She had experienced her fair share of injuries. They were all painful yet none of them really evolved into a full blown hospital stay or an injury leave.

Back then, an explosion like that would definitely have put him on injury leave for at least a month.

As Hange reminisced on their old expeditions outside the walls, she gave a sardonic laugh. "Worst timing eh? Can't even take you to a hospital for decent healthcare. We have a war to fight and you're stuck in bed."

"No… time… for care. We need… to fight...”

Hange instinctively looked down when she felt something warm on her fingers. She watched, amused as Levi tried to find the most natural way to wrap three fingers around her hand.  "I'll go to your other side so at least it's your good hand wrapping around mine."

"No… Just sit near...."

Hange scooched closer to his hand and Levi settled for putting his right hand on top of hers. Levi's hand twitched a few times, possibly in protest to his attempts to squeeze her hand. She grasped it lightly and felt the hand on top of hers relax as she took on his burden. Somehow, his face seemed to relax more.

Hange lay down beside him on the forest floor, careful not to jostle his injured hand as she held it. She rolled over to her side and studied his bandaged face once again.

Ever since Levi had become a captain of the survey corps, he was constantly moving, constantly thinking. The weight of everyone's expectations on humanity's strongest was a heavy burden to carry. She had seen him fall asleep multiple times in Erwin's office or more recently, in her room next to her. He usually slept for three hours a night, easily awoken by the slightest sound, but there, right next to her, he looked like he had fallen into a deep sleep.

"Why now? How are you able to fall asleep now?" Hange asked softly with no expectations for an answer. By then, Levi's breathing had already evened out and Hange instead kept herself occupied, by mimicking the slow and steady breaths of the man next to her.

Somehow, she managed to fall asleep,too.

                                         Heroes or Victims

Levi's fever only worsened.

He wasn't awake yet but Hange feared that he could be in pain.

Hange searched the forest for familiar plants. She was no botanist but she had studied enough to know what could be used to alleviate pain, stave off infections.

Whether she would be giving it in the right doses and processing it correctly was the better question. She had seen the people in the infirmary do that same method multiple times as she supervised the treatments of injured soldiers who contracted fevers from wound infections. She was hesitant at first to even attempt such treatment on Levi without training but she had seen how a high fever deteriorates into chills, slow breathing, then eventually death without the right treatment. She decided for herself that it was a gamble she had to take. Hange only hoped that she remembered everything accurately enough that she wouldn’t end up poisoning him.

As she waited for the leaves to steep, she turned her attention to Levi. The wet cloth she had placed on his forehead was heating up alarmingly fast and Hange found herself shaking as she  wiped down his body with cooler water.

She recalled her own experiences in an attempt to placate her fears.

When was the last time she had felt that much heat come out of someone?

Maybe during her days supervising the injured survey corps members in the infirmary?

Did they survive?  

Back then, they had the safe, sterile environment of the infirmary. There, at that moment, it was just both of them in the middle of a dark forest. Her own attempts only served to worsen her already growing fears. Despite the high fever, Levi was sleeping like a log.

"Why do you look so fucking peaceful?" Hange teared up. She would have preferred to see Levi in a fitful sleep. Pain meant he was still there. Hange had learned, having watched countless soldiers die in the infirmary, that when the breath of the patient slows and they start to feel cool and clammy, it means certain death. Also, a peaceful sleep introduced the possibility that he might never wake up.

Hange resisted the temptation to shake Levi awake, risking further injury. Instead, she settled for putting her hand on his good one and squeezing hard enough to feel something back. She focused on the fact that he was still hot to touch. It meant he was still very much alive.

"Don't you fucking die on me."

                                     Heroes or Victims

Hange needed someone to talk to but at the same time, she was relieved that it had just been the two of them.

The ordeal with Levi's fever shooting up had left her exhausted, her eyes red and her nose running. As the poultice she had put together that night did its work and the fever started to subside, Hange had to stop herself from giving the injured Levi a good kick for all the stress he had caused her that night.

Hange woke up as soon as she heard the rustle of cloth next to her.

He's starting to come around.  

It was early morning and Hange wanted to use that time before the sun's heat became unbearable to wash the sheets by the riverside. She carried Levi a few feet towards the river bank, rested him on a tree and covered him with his green cloak.

The sheets were stained with blood and sweat and Hange made a mental note to change his bandages after cleaning out the bed sheets. Watching the blood stains disappear as the sheets flapped in the water was somehow calming. It gave the young commander enough time to reflect on the events of the night before, her own emotions and the fact that she was still lacking sleep. As the last bouts of sleepiness left her, the pent up emotions of last night started to take over.

"Levi, you asshole!" She screamed as she angrily pulled the wet sheets toward her. The sheet flailed as it fought between both her strength and the river carrying it westward. She needed a break. Emotions had built up inside her the night before with no decent outlet as she concentrated all her energy on keeping Levi alive.

"You fucking asshole!" Hange pulled the sheet out and threw it down into the water again.

The cold water that splashed towards her face somehow helped her cool off. Hange let the sheets flow along with the river, only holding on to them with the tips of her fingers. "It was fucking terrifying. You had this fucking face last night. You looked so peaceful. Like you wanted to sleep forever. Do you not want to live anymore? Is your life so shitty that you decide for yourself that 'hey maybe dying might be the better?’”

At that point, Hange did not know how much of what she said she actually meant. He could have heard it. Maybe he didn't. Hange though allowed herself the luxury of releasing everything that was bundled up inside her to the one person who would have understood her either way.  

"Life was shit. The dreams were good,” His reply was toneless and too rooted in their bleak reality.

Hange looked back to see that Levi was staring at her. For a while she wondered how much of her tirade he had heard but as she pulled the sheets out of the river and walked towards Levi, she found herself more interested in what Levi had just said.  

"Do you feel trapped?" Hange hung the sheet on a low lying branch then crouched down beside Levi.

"Trapped?"

"In life I mean. Like in this hellhole. You looked so free last night. For a while, I thought I was the selfish one for trying to keep you alive."

“I don’t know…”

Hange had to admit. It would be a difficult question for someone especially while recovering from a brush with death. She silently scooched closer to him and looked up, using that clear sky above her as a blank slate to organize her thoughts. She could at least use that extra time to predict an answer like she usually did.

What did I know about him? Admittedly, the two of them did spend a lot of time together but given their line of work, there was always something to discuss. They never had the free time to sit around and just discuss each other's histories. Everything Hange ever knew about Levi, she learned through the bouts of information he volunteered about himself in between sharing thoughts on the latest developments. Hange had taken the liberty to fill in the gaps herself on his personality using empathy, deduction, and pattern recognition.

She was reminded then, that although she knew Levi's personality and could easily predict how he'd react to most situations, she only knew so much about what his life was like before they met.

"Then let me ask something else." Before she even noticed it, Hange had softened her tone. The desperation and anger of a while ago was gone as it looked like Levi was going to survive.

"Hm?"

"What did you dream about?"

                                     Heroes or Victims

The world is a cruel place. That was something both Levi and Hange had concluded a long time ago.

The stark contrast between Levi’s dreams and the reality they lived in only made Hange feel worse for even taking out her frustrations on him. They had both experienced hell but Levi’s life had always been hell. From what she understood, he had grown up in abject poverty. He had experienced the worst the world had to offer--- starvation, discrimination, abuse. He had lost everyone he had ever loved. Only recently, he had lost everything he had known and suddenly was placed in a position of responsibility, forced to keep thinking, to keep moving.

Hange reflected on all these as she cleaned out his wounds. She couldn’t help but notice that Levi had stiffened up, possibly an attempt to control whatever natural reaction his body would make to the pain of the herbal poultice spilling into his deeper wounds. His attempt to hide the pain only served to intensify Hange’s guilt.

“It’s painful, huh?” She bit back tears. “I’m sorry. I was selfish.I didn’t wanna be trapped here alone but yeah,  I still have family alive. You have nothing and here I am being entitled, getting mad at you for almost dying.”

“Hey,” Levi said. He weakly grasped Hange’s wrist while she cleaned his wounds. “I’m not trapped. I never was.”

“How can you still say that after all the shit life has thrown at you?” Hange asked as she wriggled out of his weak grip and gently laid his hand on his bare chest.

“I had my mom. Then when she died, I had Farlan, then Isabel, Erwin, then my squad…When I lost them, it hurt like a bitch, every single fucking time.” Levi suddenly looked away from Hange.

Hange could tell from the slight crack in his voice that he was blinking back tears. She put her hand on top of his and squeezed, hoping that was enough for him to realize that he did not need to stop himself from showing emotion.  

Levi did not give in to his emotions though. The only sign that he was even about to cry a few seconds ago was that his voice had gotten softer. “But when I feel like shit, there’s always someone there to remind me that life was never just a hell hole. When this war is over, I like to imagine, life could get better. We could maybe live together, you can continue your stupid experiments, I can open a teashop.”

“Then we’ll fight over your black tea budget and how badly I clean the hallways,” Hange joked.

Levi’s mouth quivered into a smile and he closed his eyes. Hange watched as the sleeping effects of the herbal disinfectant took effect. She caressed his cheek and noted how his skin was still warm to the touch but not as hot as it was the night before.

When this war is over, I like to imagine, life could get better. Levi’s words echoed in Hange’s head. She closed her eyes, picturing the future he told her about a moment ago. It would take decades for the people within the walls to realize the futility of war and the vulnerability of the soldiers they had for so long revered. Either way, she let herself imagine spending a war-free future, stressing over mundane problems with the one she loved.

Before Hange left to scavenge for lunch, she allowed herself a few minutes to just stare at his sleeping face. She wondered if he was dreaming of that same future he had told her about. The subtle smile of a while ago had not disappeared from his face yet and somehow, he looked more peaceful than he did the night before.

Hange smiled. Maybe he was dreaming of the both of them. “You’re my escape, too,” she whispered.

Just in case he was.

[ddarker-dreams]

Round Them Up. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

warnings: kidnapping, canon typical violence, and some degrading language. word count: 3.4k.

A simple philosophy of budding romance is to keep date nights special. 

You’ve been told this for a long time, that the intimate experience between partners is always meant to be cherished. That with time, among other things, feelings start to change, or fade away all together. It’s a frightening aspect that you used to concern yourself with, the possibility of losing the spark that ignited passion within you in the first place. If these months dating Giorno Giovanna have taught you anything, it’s that these doubts were wrongfully planted. While he’s a busy man, he’s always gone above and beyond for your sake. Fancy dinners at the finest of establishments, picnics on the best private beaches of Italy, and even occasional trips to Milan or Rome. It isn’t the luxury that draws you to him like a moth to flame, but rather the enigma of a personality he brings. Every interaction with Giorno is imprinted on your mind. 

Charismatic, thoughtful, blessed with quick wit… your long list of admirations for him goes on. Humming lightly to yourself, there's an extra pep in your step as you take on the relatively mundane task of shopping. Shopping for clothes is usually one of your least favorite activities. Having to go in and out of dressing rooms, trying on multiple sizes of clothes just to find the one you need is out of stock, or the cashier pestering you into signing up for a credit card. The regular reservations that come with purchasing new clothes for your wardrobe are thrown out, as you’re too preoccupied looking forward to tonight. Giorno’s compliments of your person always feel so sincere, like every word has been designed only for you to hear. 

Tonight will be no different, an event marked on your calendar for the last month.

A romantic, seaside dinner. For the special occasion, you’re wanting to look the part. Feeling over the fabric underneath your fingertips, you inspect every item on the rack with potent interest. Keeping in mind the most flattering cuts for your body type, and the colors that complement your hair and complexion, multiple possible outfits are piled up one after the other. It’s difficult to fathom that you’ve already been in this store for a little over an hour, still undecided. Store clerks have come and gone, most trying a little too hard to keep you pleased. Finding their hovering around your person stifling, you managed to make your way around the store in hopes of avoiding further confrontation. It doesn’t strike you as strange how you haven’t seen anyone around lately, really. It’s not that busy a time of day, you believe.

“This should just about do it.” 

Hoisting up the tentatively picked selection, you make your way towards the back to try them on. When making your way over, you hear your phone buzzing, and look down to see who it is. There’s no fighting the smile that blossoms on your lips at the sight of Giorno’s name popping up on your screen, your phone background a picture of the two of you baking together. There’s flour smeared over his cheek, a result of your doing. Calling back fondly on the memory, your heart leaps in your chest at the chance to talk to him, if even for a brief moment. Sliding to unlock your phone, while balancing your clothes in the other arm, you see he’s asking about your day. 

A heavy set of footsteps saunter towards you, like a foreboding omen. 

“You must be real happy talking to whoever that is, huh?” A gruff voice catches your attention, and you look up to see an older looking man. He’s of intimidating stature, having broad shoulders, towering over you by at least a foot, accented with a navy suit. By his side are two men in a similar get up, all glowering down at you as if you were a speck of dust. You look around to see if it’s really you he’s speaking to, a spine chilling sensation trickling down your spine. There’s not a single soul in the store, other than the four of you. Not even the cashiers are at their station, the employees that were once buzzing about having vanished in thin air. 

There’s some malicious forces at play here. You need to get out of this, as soon as you can. 

Gulping, you subconsciously take a step back, pressing your phone to your chest. “Uh, I’m sorry… but can I help you…?” 

You cringe at how your voice wanes, not wanting to showcase your helplessness if you could help it. At your further prying, no information is offered. Time is set to a standstill, every passing second feeling more sluggish than the last. The main figure of the group regards you with little warmth, grabbing a picture from his breast pocket. He looks from the object in his hands to you, scrutinizing every detail. Never have you felt so small, so powerless. Whatever is going on here is sending alarms off in your head, a nasty premonition of things to come churning your stomach violently. 

“Now, listen to me real carefully. I don’t fancy the thought of messing up a pretty face like yours,” he opens the inside of his jacket, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of a handgun. You almost faint at the not so subtle message. “Follow me without any fuss, and you have my word no harm will come to you.” 

Your eyes dart around, searching for help that you’ll never find. Nausea and dizziness are cumbersome, rolling over you like crushing waves. You don’t know what to expect, all you can assume is that this won’t end well. Not trusting your tongue to form the words necessary to prevent the situation from getting worse, you nod your head once. The skin underneath his eyes tighten in mirth, pleased with your subservience, waving off the men behind him. He steps over, gesturing for you to join him by his side. Heart thrown into a frenzy against your ribcage, you’re amazed by how a simple task such as walking grows borderline impossible. Your phone is taken from you in the process, the chance of being tracked through that method now lost. He said that if you came along easily, you won’t be harmed, but why should you believe him? There has to be some way out of this.

The intermingling of speech between the group surrounding you gives the opportunity to look around, having spotted a series of hallways that are fire exits. Your main objective would be avoiding any possible gunfire, the cover these hallways bring the best and possibly only opportunity at an escape. You hold your breath, worried that any change in your breathing might be an indication of your hastily put together plan. With all your strength, you pivot on your heel, fully intending to run to cover. You make it a few paces, a sharp pain in your wrist preventing you from making it any further. A pained noise leaves you at the sudden jolt of pain, the joint being twisted painfully. Too taken with the ringing of your ears to notice their reprimanding words, you’re tugged along roughly. It’s a pain unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, dark bruises forming alongside the rapidly swelling skin. To make matters worse, the vice-like grip remains, since they no longer trust you not to make an escape attempt. 

Where the stranger walks, you follow in admitted defeat, wanting to alleviate the pain of your wrist. He leads you out the back of the store, many men in similar outfits standing against walls, or slithering in the background. A black car with tinted windows is your final destination. It’s pulled against the curb, the unknown man opening the door for you both to enter. Your nose crinkles at the aroma in the car, a combination of heavy cologne and cigarette smoke. Other cars follow in a single line behind you, the engine roaring to life. It makes you jump, your nerves frayed. There’s too much on your mind to pin down a single question, the tenderness of your fresh injury not helping in that regard. Having a plan to grasp onto, even if it’s a fallible, would be preferable to this. For now, you will yourself through the anxiety that plagues you to search for a solution. 

Once the car has taken off, he looks over to you, frowning at your limp hand. “You look scared outta your wits, little miss. Let’s see… that means you must really know nothing.” 

Now that you’re seated, the time to gather scraps of information has presented itself. This man isn’t a fellow Neapolitan, holding an accent reminiscent of northern Italy. From the few orders exchanged to what you presume to be his underlings, the dialect could possibly be Tuscan. What would people from there ever possibly want with you? It’s a prayer that may never reach the ears of god, but you pray they’re not taking you somewhere that far away. The best case scenario would be somehow escaping when the car is moving before it reaches the highway, but the car door is locked. Is smashing the window possible? It looks thick, likely bullet proof. There has to be a better opening. Your last escape attempt left much to be desired, but it was a knee jerk reaction. At least they didn’t open fire on you, but would you be so lucky for the next try?

Returning your attention back to the stranger, you immediately regret it. He’s wiping dried crimson off his hands with a handkerchief, staining the cloth. The sight answers the question from before, now certain that bloodshed isn’t one of the cards off the table. The pungent, metallic scent is undeniably blood, fresh one at that. Bile rises to your throat at the sight, hurriedly looking away as if it’d erase the nightmare that you’ve seen. Adrenaline continues pumping through your body, a momentary reprieve from the pain your wrist injury has brought. 

Your wandering eyes must have been too much of a giveaway, the man next to you letting out a humorless laugh. “This? I have to admit, Don Giovanna’s men aren’t easy to rid of. I was expecting more of a security detail around his prized passera. Though, seeing as you’ve been kept in the dark, keeping too many men around you might be suspicious.” 

There’s a certain bloodlust in the man’s gaze when he speaks Giorno’s surname, that chills your soul. The facades of a polite gentleman fade away, replaced by the spitting image of a mobster. His semantics in referring to you leave much to be desired, though the misogynistic language is the least of your concerns. Holding onto the lackluster set of information at your disposal, you take a wild stab in the dark at what could be happening here. While you’ve never intermingled with the mob, it’s not an uncommon tactic of obtaining wealth. Fleeting as it may be, some people go into crushing debts, having made deals with the devil. 

Sitting up straight and setting your lips into a straight line, you project a more composed version of yourself. You don’t want to give away the depths of your fear. “I’m not sure what it is you want with Giorno… but if it’s a money related debt, please let me help with it. I don’t want him to be in trouble.” 

The mobster takes a second to register your unprecedented words, eyes widening. Does that mean you figured out what the motivation here is? This assumption is thrown out the window as he bellows over, incapable of masking his amusement. 

Cheeks flushing with indignation at how he sputters out a condescending laugh, you want nothing more than to assert yourself. If not for the possible repercussions for doing so, you’d have done it long ago. “Unless you’ve got hundreds of billions of lire in that purse of yours, that won’t work, I wouldn’t count on it. His no drug policy has cost us more than you could imagine.” 

The jargon in use here erases all doubts from your mind. There’s no denying the fact that this is somehow related to gangs, Giorno, or both. You’ve never meddled in your partner’s affairs. Never so much as blinking at an eye at the smooth explanations for his coming into wealth, not seeing the point in prying beyond the surface. The usage of Don had caught your attention earlier, though that can sometimes apply to wealthy or powerful men in general. A lump forms in your throat as you think more on the subject, arriving at the conclusion Giorno is involved in more than you ever anticipated.

---

“Are you sure about clearing the schedule for tonight?” Mista inquires, giving the pistol in his hand another glance over. He inspects every groove, having already familiarized himself with all aspects of the weapon. Checking to make sure it can work at all times is a necessity, seeing as he’ll never know when the time will come to use it. Giorno leans back into his chair, not paying immediate heed to the gunslinger’s concerns. He steals a glance down at his phone, still expecting to have seen a message from you by now. At the further absence of your response, he responds to Mista. 

“There’s nothing left to discuss. I’ve made my demands of them very clear.” Giorno fights back the urge to sigh, the weight of dealing with rebellious groups sadly nothing new. As long as their avenues of making money involve the drug trade, they won’t ever bend permanently, all of the promises naught but lip service. Not even long lasting Passione allies prove to be fully complacent. That was all before him, anyways, when they could operate without accountability. 

“We have enough evidence of their conduct. Niceties are no longer necessary.” 

Mista raises an eyebrow, catching onto the hidden intent laced within Giorno’s words. “So it’s come to that, huh? You’d think the stories of what happened to the former narcotics team would be enough to keep them at bay. It was brutal, right Fugo?” 

The aforementioned male fights the urge to roll his eyes, leaning against the hardwood of Giorno’s desk. While his role is more of an advisor to Giorno than Mista’s, he can’t help but express a similar sentiment. There likely isn’t a better option, having discussed and been promised dozens of times that the mafioso from Tuscany would cease their drug trades. Each time has proved a fruitless endeavor, the Don from the most prominent group in that area going through great lengths to hide his tracks of the grimy dealings. 

“But you know, Giorno… Enzo’s men won’t be taking kindly to being cut off,” Fugo pipes up, taking the opportunity to voice his own share of concern. “You’ve been giving them the cold shoulder for a little over a week. It’s only a matter of time until he figures out what’s going on, or worse… does something about it.” 

Giorno gives a look of recognition, having already thought of this. It’s undesirable to think about, but seeing how the day’s heading, he might have to cancel his plans for you tonight. “I’m expecting it, yes. It’s a shame how stubborn he’s been on the matter.” 

Fugo’s lips part, only to be interrupted by the door to Giorno’s study suddenly being flung open. Scrunching up his eyebrows at the impudent entrance of one of Passione’s underlings, all words of admonishment disappear when spotting what’s unmistakably your phone in the guard’s hands. The room goes dead silent, Giorno standing from his spot and walking over to inspect your belonging. In the world they live in, this is a threat, most likely relating to the very topic the three of them were just discussing.

“When did this show up?” Giorno takes your phone into the palm of his hand, Mista and Fugo leaving their own spots to do the same. The guard is flushed, out of breath, most likely having run from the entrance of the villa to this spot. Even under the immense pressure this brings, Giorno’s tone remains an even timbre. Fugo spots the slightest of shakes in his fingers, eyes moving back to the guard for the sake of Giorno’s privacy. It’s affecting him on some level, but he knows Giorno; and how he deals with stressors like this. 

“J-just now, sir,” The guard explains in a frenzy, chest heaving for air. “We lost contact with [First]’s escorts about five minutes ago, I already sent out men to the last known spot she was seen at.” 

Giorno’s lips twitch downwards in evident displeasure, lips pursed. This misfortune of human error will be addressed at a later time, when he knows you’re safe. “Why was I not alerted sooner?” 

“We thought it might be a technical issue--”

Your phone has already been imbued with life, morphing into a butterfly from the usage of Gold Experience’s ability. Giorno strides past the bewildered guard without care, Fugo and Mista following soon after him. Fugo reaches down into his pocket, procuring a set of car keys, seeing as Giorno’s set on walking towards the garage. For once, neither he or Mista offer any quips to lighten the situation. Their knowledge of your relationship with Giorno is fuzzy at best, morally obscured at worse. Fugo’s turned a blind eye to the private life of his Don, not wanting to dip into the rabbit hole. He’s seen enough to know you’re blissfully unaware of Giorno’s invisible touch in your life. 

Mista is the first to try and speak up. “We’ll get her back, Giorno.” 

“Of course.” The words are curt, borderline snappy. They make their way to one of his many sports cars, their attention set on the butterflies movements. Fugo notes how it’s heading north, further confirming the suspicion that you’re currently in the hands of the gangster group from Tuscany. Giorno receives a plethora of phone calls in the drive, ranging in information regarding the attack and your possible whereabouts. A group of cars with unmarked license plates were confirmed by some of the workers at the mall, who had been threatened into compliance. They gave rough descriptions that fit the bill of one of Enzo’s Capos. This feels deeply personal, cutting too close for Giorno’s liking. 

He had not been expecting such a brazen counterattack, operating with casualties in broad daylight is almost unheard of. A testament to their desperate mindset, if he had to guess. It’s true that they’ve been bleeding dry ever since he’s enforced the zero tolerance drug policy, not that there aren’t other options of securing wealth. The unsavory method is one of the easiest and most lucrative, before he was in charge that is. His mind goes to you, and the possibilities run rampant. 

Gold Experience can heal any physical wounds inflicted on you, but the mental scarring… that will be another issue entirely. 

Though, he’s certain that they won’t kill you. You’re too valuable a bargaining chip, but there are fates far worse than death. Thinking about it brings emotions to the surface he hasn’t experienced in a long time, flurries of malicious thoughts pointed towards your captors forming. They’ll meet a befitting death -- he’ll make certain of that -- but your well being is of the top priority. Giorno wills himself to remain in control, fighting off the shakiness that threatens to overtake him. The last thing he needs to do right now is allow his carefully crafted composure to slip, it would serve no one. 

He catches Fugo sending him the occasional glance, but thinks little of it. 

There’s a strong resolve unique to you, Giorno believes. He regrets not having placed tighter security on you, mentally drafting up ways to avoid a situation like this from ever repeating again. It’ll be a much more constrictive way of living, and while it pains him to think of you losing some freedoms, it’s all for the greater good. Having been so caught up in his personal feelings of allowing you the autonomy to do as you please is what led to this misfortune in the first place, a mistake he will not repeat. When you’re back in his sight, completely safe, he’ll make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

You’ll come to understand it. 

[spardarose84]

This is still a work in progress but I suffer from debilitating chronic migraines (as well as some other health issues) and I just wanted to make a fic about MC (myself in this case) experiencing them in the Devildom and how a few of our beloved demon brothers would help MC with her pain. This is only part one but it sets the stage. Part two will probably be a bit more on the NSFW side but nothing like that in part 1. I hope you enjoy it. It brought me some comfort writing it. 

Migraine Diversion

Social events were never really your thing. Most people preferred to spend their Friday nights at a bar or a club or a concert; someplace typically jam-packed with people and quite lively. As far as you were concerned, getting into your comfortable clothes and curling up with a good book and a cup of tea was what you considered to be a ‘wild Friday night’. Honestly, crowds made you uncomfortable and you could never understand what people found enjoyable about being crammed together like sardines or having their ear drums ruptured by the loud music most of these venues played. And yet, here you were at just such a venue on a Friday night.

Asmo’s charm may not have worked on you but curse those pleading puppy dog eyes and those pouty lips of his. You just couldn’t say no this time around so, here you were sitting at the bar in the Devildom’s hottest nightclub The Fall. Asmo had been asking you to join him for a night out at The Fall for what seemed like ages now and you ultimately relented. You did adore the avatar of lust and while going to a club wasn’t your scene at all, you were willing to attempt it so long as it made him happy. And damn if his smile did not melt your little human heart when you agreed to accompany him.

The two of you had danced for a bit when you first arrived although, Asmo did most of the dancing and helped teach you as you went. You were starting to question your choice in shoes before Asmo decided it was time for a break and a drink. Asmo ordered himself a Demonus and a human realm Mudslide for you. You really didn’t drink much if at all but Asmo insisted that he get you something, so you politely accepted.

Currently you were sitting alone at the bar while Asmo went off and mingled with a few other demons. You sat there just sipping your drink quietly while the lord of lust did his thing when you suddenly became acutely aware of yourself and your surroundings. The flashing, pulsating lights of the club began to maim your eyes as they became increasingly sensitive. The music, which you typically loved seemed to turn against you, the notes becoming the shrill wail of a banshee that threatened to split your skull in two and rupture your eardrums. In that moment you knew you were in trouble as after all of this time a migraine had ambushed you.

You see, you had never mentioned it to the brothers but, you suffered from debilitating chronic migraines. Not that you had ever needed to divulge this information until now. Honestly, it was nothing short of a miracle that you had not had an attack until this very moment, especially considering all of the stress you had been under since arriving in the Devildom. As you sat there at the bar with this looming pain and increased sensitivity you were completely unaware that you had covered your ears with your hands to try and block out the music. You did not realize this until you felt a hand on your shoulder which startled you enough to jump out of your seat. To your relief, it was only Solomon.

“Are you feeling alright, MC?” asked the sorcerer.

You opened your mouth to speak, to reassure him that you were perfectly fine but those mysterious grey eyes of his told you he wouldn’t believe a word of it.

“No,” you sighed defeated. “I’m not feeling well…at all,” you confessed, telling him the truth without coming out and saying exactly why you were not well.

Solomon silently scrutinized you before he nodded in some sort of agreement with himself as to your words. The sorcerer could see that your complexion had paled significantly and that there were tears pricking the corner of your eyes. “Where is Asmodeous? I’ll have him take you home,”

“NO!” you protested before Solomon could even finish his sentence. “No…please,” you said a little softer. “He’s been really looking forward to tonight and I don’t want to take that away from him,” you admitted.

Solomon placed a hand to his chin in thought but nodded once more. “Very well. I won’t make him take you home but, can you get ahold of one of the other brothers? You know it’s not safe to walk around the devildom at night alone,” he reminded you.

Nodding, you pulled out your phone. Like roots from a tree trying to tether itself to the ground, a throbbing, stabbing pain was starting to take hold just above your right eye. You quickly sent a text message to Satan, apologizing for bothering him but asking if he could come escort you home.

The response was quick and to the point, as was typical of Satan. The lord of Wrath would come escort you home. You were to stay inside until he arrived however so, wait you did. Solomon got you a glass of water but the longer you stayed put in this club, the harder it was to concentrate on anything besides the searing pain in your skull. The migraine pain had completely taken root by this point and while you wanted nothing more to curl up in the fetal position and cry, you knew doing so would only make things worse.  

Only 20 minutes had passed when Satan finally arrived on scene. Solomon walked you out of the Fall to make sure you were passed over safely to Satan. Solomon was shady as Hell but he had proven himself to be a gentleman this evening so, he had that going for him at least.

Satan was looking at his phone not seeming happy with the time when you came out alongside Solomon. The blonde demon looked like he was about to give you a lecture until his eyes fell upon you and quickly assessed the state you were in. Rather than a lecture a sigh fell from his lips instead. “Thank you for staying with her, Solomon. I’ll take it from here,” Satan said approaching you and offering an arm to escort you home.

You gave Satan an apologetic look but took the arm he offered you wordlessly, thankful for it as vertigo had started to seep in at this point. You thanked Solomon and promised to text him later when you were feeling better before you and Satan started the long walk towards home.

The night was crisp and there was a definitive chill in the air that reminded you of Autumn evenings back in the human realm. Sadly, you weren’t able to enjoy any of it what with the stabbing sensation in your skull. Satan was quiet but ever observant and, since you were overly sensitive to everything right now you were hyper aware that those green-blue eyes were keenly watching you.

“I’m sorry,” you finally said in a soft and hushed tone.

Satan blinked at the apology but sighed and shook his head. “MC…you don’t have any reason to apologize. You’re obviously not well,” he said reaching over and moving a strand of hair behind your ear. “I would appreciate it though if you’d tell me what’s ailing you?”

“I…I suffer from what’s known as Chronic Migraines. It’s a neurological condition that causes multiple symptoms. In my case, excruciating head pain, extreme sensitivity to light, sound and smells and sometimes intense vertigo,” you explained. “There is no cure for it, just trial and error methods with medications. This is the first one I’ve had since coming to the Devildom,” you confessed.

Satan didn’t like hearing that you suffered from a chronic condition that had no cure. He didn’t like to see you suffer even though he wouldn’t bat an eye were it someone else. Everything had a different viewpoint when it came to you. “Is there anything I can do to make the pain go away?” asked the avatar of wrath.

You gave a little smile finding it sweet that Satan wanted to rid you of your pain but you lightly shook your head. “I’m afraid not. All my abortive medications were left in the human world. Best thing I can do is isolate myself in a dark, quiet room and hope sleep with take away the pain,” you sighed rubbing the temple above your right eye where your migraine always manifested. “I think I’ll take a shower when we get home. Sometimes the warm water helps,”

Satan nodded although the frown was still present. He wished you would have said something before now about your condition but realized that you had been whisked away here to the Devildom with no notice whatsoever. Diavolo really needed to reevaluate his selection procedures when it came to the exchange program. At least some sort of warning and preparation rather than being plucked from one realm to another straight away and without pause. There were certainly some kinks to work out.

At any rate, Satan returned you to the house of lamentation safely and without incident. You were grateful for the rare silence that had settled upon the usually noisy household but, as you passed the threshold, stepping into the artificially lit hallway just about did you in. You winced in pain as your extreme sensitivity to light only caused the imaginary hot poker in you head to delve deeper.

Satan frowned as you let out an audible whimper at the pain but he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Come on. I’ll take you to your room and while you’re showering, I’ll make us some tea. Does that sound good, Kitten?” he offered soothingly, shielding you from the artificial light as he stepped in front of your smaller frame.

You certainly did enjoy a nice hot cup of tea so you readily agreed which made Satan smile a little although it didn’t alleviate the concern in his eyes. As promised, he led you upstairs and made sure you would be alright on your own before he left you and went back down to the kitchen to get the kettle going.

Along with the soft glow of the fairy lights in your room there was a Himalayan salt lamp on your bedside table. The lamp had been a gift from Asmo when you had mentioned one day how you had a couple back home and loved the soft, soothing glow they emitted. You turned the lamp on once you were in your room. It was the only spectrum of light your eyes could stand right now and even then, it seemed piercing in your overtly sensitive state. You managed to get the shower going without incident, but you were still practically bathing in the dark. It wasn’t like you were doing anything spectacular anyway, just standing underneath the showerhead and letting the warm water caress your scalp, hoping it would be enough to compress the nerves and vessels in your head.

Up until this point you considered yourself quite fortunate that you hadn’t had a significant attack until now but, at the same time you had forgotten just how merciless migraines were to their victims and this one wasn’t letting it’s hostage go. It was pure Hell, and you were actually in Hell so, how was that for irony?

You sat on the shower floor in complete darkness and silence with the warm water cascading over your head long enough that the water eventually became cold. You didn’t feel great as you turned off the water but, it was at least a slight improvement from earlier. Beggars cannot be choosers after all, not in the game of chronic illness Russian roulette. You would take what little relief you could get.

It was as you were blindly reaching for a towel in the darkness that you found yourself being wrapped up in one. You squeaked out of surprise but the soft chuckle behind you told you everything you needed to know.

“A….Asmo?” you stuttered in surprise at finding yourself bundled up in a towel in the lord of lust’s arms.

“Hello my darling. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said giving your head a soft kiss. “You weren’t there when I came back from mingling and Solomon told me that you had left because you were unwell,” Asmo explained as he helped dry you off with the fluffy towel. “Satan told me about your condition just now,” he said finding a comb and running it gently through your damp hair. “What a dreadful thing that ails you, my sweet. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like,” he said giving a pout.

“Well I…I certainly don’t wish it on anyone,” you said softly in reflection of your pain as Asmo gently dried you off, keeping you close so you wouldn’t fall if your vertigo became particularly bad.

Asmo nodded. “Of course you wouldn’t, my sweet. Because you are a kind soul. But still, to suffer that kind of pain…why didn’t you tell us?” he asked looking at you with expressively apprehensive eyes.

“As I told Satan, it never came up in conversation until today. I’ve just been so preoccupied with everything…” you sighed, shoulders slumping downwards. “I’m sorry, Asmo…I ruined your night.”

“No, no, no, my sweet,” Asmo said placing a gentle hand on your cheek and stroking it with well-manicured fingers. “You didn’t ruin anything. Don’t even think that for a minute,” he reassured you as you made eye contact. “Now, enough talk about pain. Let us get you into your pajama’s and snuggled into bed. Satan’s bringing some tea for you,” he said planting a tender kiss to your forehead.

True to his word, Asmodeous helps to get you into your pajamas before leading you to your bed. He manages all of this with the lights off since he did not want to risk your migraine getting worse. Satan arrives just shortly after Asmo gets you all settled and snug in your bed, propping you up with pillows so that you can drink and enjoy your tea.

“Feeling any better?” Satan asked as he approached carrying a tray with three mugs. “It might not work with your migraines, I haven’t done enough research on them yet to know for certain, but I brought you an anti-inflammatory,”

You smiled tiredly at Satan, the lord of wrath seeing the toll that the pain was having on you and it was honestly a bit startling to see how quickly your health deteriorated. “Thank you, Satan. It certainly won’t hurt,” you admitted. “It’s still there but the shower helped a little bit,”

Satan nodded. “Good. I’m glad you found some relief,” he said gently handing you your teacup and the anti-inflammatory.

The warm cup being placed into your hands already relaxed you some. Satan had made you a London fog, the tea always seemed to evaporate the own fog in your brain. You swallowed the anti-inflammatory and quietly sipped your tea with Satan and Asmo by your side. You had gotten close to all the brother’s during your time at RAD but Satan and Asmo were probably the two brothers that you were closest to. The fourth and fifth born were almost a package deal like the twins and you were ok with that.

You finished your tea and started to feel the lull of sleep outweighing the pain throbbing furiously in your head. Satan took the empty cup and Asmo helped you get settled down and comfortable. The avatar of Lust lay next to you, softly running his fingers through your hair, his touch relaxing you even further as his fingers gently caressed your scalp. Within only a matter of minutes the sandman had finally arrived to rescue you from the vile pain. “Sleep well, Princess,” Asmo said as he lovingly kissed your temple, hoping perhaps somewhat childishly that the action would take away your pain.