#but it was all part of a sort of. broken-just-so sleep pattern i was keeping

[britneyshakespeare]

being someone who can't fall asleep OR stay asleep is a one-two punch of misery. it'll be like yeah i took multiple sleep aids and i only slept a couple hours last night. been awake since 3. why you ask? someone in my house got up to go to the bathroom. and how am i supposed to sleep after such a disturbance?

[c-e-d-dreamer]

When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Chapter 3

A/N: when I heard that today's @nestaarcheronweek prompt was wolf, I just knew I had to do some more werewolf Cassian 😉 Sorry this update has been a long time coming, but I promise this chapter is a good one! Hope everyone enjoys!

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Nesta

Nesta supposes she shouldn’t be surprised when she wakes alone.

She certainly didn’t expect to wake within some sort of lover’s embrace. It was clear last night that her and Cassian’s marriage was nothing more than duty, he to his pack and she to her family. But still…

With a soft sigh, she shifts and rolls over beneath the blankets, reaching a hand out and finding nothing but cold sheets. Early riser or didn’t even bother to stay the night? With another huff she sits up, rubbing the final remnants of sleep from her eyes. The room and the cabin doesn’t look much different in the light of day. The rays of sunlight spill in through the windows, painting patterns across the blankets and turning the wood beams of the ceiling into amber.

It could almost be described as homey if it weren’t for the frigid, cloying air still clinging to the room from the previous night.

Pushing the blankets off her legs, Nesta climbs off the bed. She starts to pad over to her trunks before a thought strikes her, her eyes dancing toward the bedroom door. Cassian made it clear last night that he doesn’t trust her, so does that mean he would lock her in? Keep his new wife locked away in the tower?

She steels her spine and stalks toward the door, hesitating for just a moment with her hand outstretched in front of her. Slowly, her fingers curl around the knob, but thankfully, there’s no resistance as she twists. Unlocked. Small consolations.

Shaking her head, Nesta spins on her heel and returns to preparing for the day. With running hot water and no one around, she dares to take another long bath. Loathe she is to admit it, there’s a lingering ache between her thighs, a delicious soreness to her muscles as she stretches out beneath the water. She tips her head back against the lip of the tub and closes her eyes, breathing deeply.

As much as she’d like to, Nesta knows she can’t hide in the warmth and safety of a bath all day. This is her life now, Archeron or not. This is her life here. She’s married to the alpha, a member of this pack even if they don’t fully trust or accept her. A witch amongst wolves.

Heaving herself out of the bath, Nesta finishes readying for the day and steps out of the bedroom. The rest of the cabin is just as quiet, but she pads her way into the kitchen. It takes some rooting around in the cupboards, but she’s able to find everything she needs to prepare a cup of tea, the strong taste and warmth of the drink at least helping to soothe some of the knots twisting around in her stomach.

It’s only when she settles at the small, wooden kitchen table that she notices the letter, her name scrawled across the page in familiar, crisp cursive. She snatches it up, flipping it over quickly. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised to find the wax seal already broken, but annoyance flares like low burning embers in her chest nonetheless. She opens the letter and skims through her mother’s words. It’s all polite and basic, reporting on her sisters, inquiring if she’s settled, but she notices the ink pressed into the right, bottom corner.

A crow.

Nesta pushes to her feet and finds a candle, placing it on the kitchen table and lighting it. She holds the letter over the flickering flame until the ink swirls, bleeding to the edge of the paper and melting away into nothing. She closes her eyes and says the incantation quietly beneath her breath before blowing across the page, revealing the ink and message hidden beneath.

A meeting.

It’s a meeting request that Nesta is sure was also sent to both of her sisters. No new husbands though, a meeting of just the Archeron ladies. Cassian is already suspicious of her, so she’ll have to figure out an excuse that will allow her to attend. A problem for her to work out later. For now, Nesta holds the letter over the candle again, this time until the corner of the parchment catches, the entire letter going up in flames.

She returns to her tea, the cup almost drained when the front door of the cabin swings open, Cassian striding inside. He’s dressed in surprisingly casual attire, a loose shirt tucked into his pants, the sleeves rolled up to expose the lines of tattoo and golden skin of his forearms. His hair is pulled back and piled into a bun at the back of his head.

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” Cassian says in way of greeting. He gestures with his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Nesta crosses her arms across her chest, raising an eyebrow and refusing to move. “I did sleep well. Thanks so much for asking.”

“You want to do fucking pleasantries?” Cassian scoffs, shaking his head.

“Oh, but dear husband, how did you sleep?” Nesta asks, offering a saccharine smile. The sight of Cassian’s lips pulling back in a snarl has it building into a full blown smirk.

“Do you want to see the village or not?”

“I’m surprised you’d allow a witch such free range around your pack.”

“If you’d prefer, we can stay here and continue our marital duties,” Cassian offers, his tone derisive, the golds of his hazel eyes practically sparking with the challenge.

Nesta’s smile drops away. “Fuck you.”

“Are you sore this morning, sweetheart? I’d be willing to bet that was the first time a prim princess like you has taken a real cock.”

“You wish,” Nesta growls, finally pushing to her feet just so she can glower at Cassian.

She wants to hate the way he doesn’t balk from her ire, the way his smirk almost seems to twitch and grow at her response. The way the golds of his hazel eyes practically spark at the challenge. The sight has Nesta’s scowl deepening, her mind grasping for a way to wipe that stupid expression off his face. Perhaps, she’ll threaten to curse him with impotence.

“Going to curse me, sweetheart?” Cassian drawls, raising an eyebrow and all but daring her.

Nesta refuses to let the surprise at him reading her so easily show. “You’re not even worth the waste of magic.”

Cassian snorts quietly, gesturing with his head again. “Are you coming or not?”

With a quiet huff, Nesta takes a moment to straighten out the skirts of her dress, striding right past Cassian and out the door. The village certainly looks different beneath the sun, and from this vantage point atop the hill, Nesta can see the various members of the pack milling about. There’s a group of women, baskets full of vegetables on their arms, a group of young men unloading crates from a wagon, and children running around. There’s even a few members of the pack moving about in their wolf forms.

Cassian leads the way down into the heart of the village, pointing out different places for her as they walk. The hall where the pack council meetings are held. The market square. The butcher and the bakery.

It’s almost strange the way everyone is so friendly and open with Cassian, smiling and greeting him as he passes, the way he gives the same energy back. It’s clear that he’s a beloved alpha, clear that he cares just as much for his people. It makes it all the more awkward the way everyone eyes her suspiciously, whispers of witchcraft swirling in her periphery.

They come to a stop in some sort of clearing between the trees. Circles are carved into the ground, creating three rings, and Nesta spies who she remembers are Cassian’s second and third sparring in one of them. Wooden dummies are set up along the other end of the clearing, wooden and steel weapons beside them. A group of young boys and girls alike run through a series of maneuvers, a woman with pure white braids along her back leading them through the steps.

Cassian whistles, and his second and third both snap their attention toward them, practically pausing mid swing. The woman gives the man one final shove, as though for good measure, before they’re jogging over. On instinct, Nesta’s spine is straightening, chin pinching higher in preparation.

“Nesta,” Cassian begins. “This is my second, Emerie, and my third, Balthazar.”

“My friends call me Baz,” Balthazar tells her easily, placing a hand on his heart.

“You can call him Balthazar,” Cassian says gruffly. Nesta scoffs and rolls her eyes, but neither Emerie or Balthazar seem to disagree with the order. “And over there is Cresseida. You’ll begin training with her each morning starting tomorrow.”

Nesta doesn’t bother holding back her glare, anger already simmering beneath her skin. “Excuse me?”

“My wife needs to be able to defend herself.”

“What makes you think I don’t know how to defend myself? What do you think I was taught growing up?”

Cassian steps closer into Nesta’s space, the sneer on his face sending her annoyance skyrocketing. “I don’t think you want me to answer that, princess.”

Nesta raises her chin higher to hold his gaze. “Fine. You want me to prove it? I’m more than happy to step in the ring right now.”

“I’m sure we can find a beginner opponent that will be willing for your little demonstration.”

“And miss the opportunity to knock you on your sorry ass?”

Cassian laughs, the sound nothing short of mocking, but he gestures toward the training rings with his arm. “Fine then. After you, Nes.”

Nesta scowls at the nickname, but she stalks forward into one of the three rings. Cassian follows behind her, stepping over the line at the opposite end. They’ve already drawn the attention of the group training, and Nesta is sure that word will quickly blaze through the rest of the village. The witch challenging the alpha.

She’s sure there will be more sneers, more whispers and snide remarks. She’s sure that if her mother could see her now, she’d call Nesta foolish, chide her for letting her emotions get the better of her. But Nesta swore to herself a long time ago that she would never be weak again, and she refuses to let Cassian or his pack see her as such. Alpha or not, marriage sham or not, she intends to meet that fire she’s seen sparking in his eyes head on. Intends to burn just as bright until she wipes that cocksure smile clean off his face.

“I’ve got Cassian in this,” Balthazar murmurs.

“Oh, I’m definitely taking Nesta,” Emerie answers.

Nesta closes her eyes, letting the village, the pack, Cassian, all fade away. She centers herself the way she always has, sinking beneath the rippling waves of her well of power. Even the birdsong around her dampens to nothing, warmth trickling through her veins and pooling in her fingertips. She opens her eyes, allowing the power to swell to the surface, knowing it’s now flickering within her gaze.

Cassian’s own eyes widen, his movements pausing, but he’s quick to shake his head and set his stance, mouth pinched in a firm line. The beast within Nesta gives a low growl of approval. She can feel it pressing down onto its haunches, desperate to be released, and she dares to turn the key in the lock, keeping the cage firmly closed. For now. She widens her feet and raises her fists in a defensive positioning, raising a single eyebrow in challenge to the male across from her.

He moves faster than she expects, Cassian all but charging toward her. His arm swings out, but Nesta is quick to duck beneath the arching punch. It seems to be the exact response Cassian was expecting, what he was hoping for. The palm of his other hand slams into her collarbone, the force enough to throw off her balance and send her toppling onto her ass with a soft grunt.

Cassian lets out a derisive snort above her, but Nesta glares up at him, jumping back up to her feet. She loosens that leash on her magic, feels the familiar heat of flames twisting and wreathing around her wrist. She drives her hand against Cassian’s chest, releasing all that magic through her fingers. The alpha goes careening back, landing hard in the dirt sprawled on his back.

Cassian sits up, spitting to the side and wiping his now split lip with his hand. “Using magic is cheating.”

“Because war is all about rules and fighting fair,” Nesta drawls sarcastically.

“Touche,” Cassian comments idly, pushing back to his feet. “We can play it like that, sweetheart.”

It’s like watching the whole thing in slow motion. The way that Cassian’s muscles seem to ripple and bulge. The way fur sprouts and cascades down his skin. The way magic practically shimmers around him as he shifts. One blink and a large world stands before Nesta’s eyes. His fur is a dark brown, lighter along the chest and down the belly and a black that seems to match Cassian’s hair around the face and ears. But there’s no mistaking the golden glow of his eyes, pinning Nesta firmly in place.

Cassian snarls, the sound low and viscous. It’s Nesta’s only warning before he leaps and closes the distance between them. Nesta doesn’t have time to react, to move out of the way or call forth her power again. Pain radiates down her spine as her back hits the dirt, large paws pinning her shoulders down. Cassian’s canines are dangerously close to her face, hot breath panting across her cheeks, but Nesta doesn’t look away from those golden eyes.

He doesn’t scare her.

A calm washes over Nesta, but that beast within her tugs at the leash, practically chomping at the bit. Just as she’s always done, she imagines slipping fingers through fur, even as she finally opens that cage door. With a deep breath in, power fills her chest, expands between each rib and twines around her lungs. She pictures curling her fingers and grasping the beast’s fur.

Giving permission.

Flames burst out of Nesta in a cascade of silver, crashing around her. With a surprised yelp, Cassian goes flying through the air as those flames curl around his limbs. The force of her power sends him all the way outside of the training ring, skittering and sliding through the grass beyond before his wolf form finally comes to a stop.

“Holy shit.”

~ * * * ~

Cassian

With a grunt, Cassian tosses the large stone out across the water, watching the ripples as it bounces once, twice, before vanishing beneath the surface. His arm is sore with the effort, but it’s a welcome feeling. One that he can control. His entire body still aches, and he doesn’t even dare to look to check for the bruises he’s sure are mottling his skin.

He’d known the Archerons were powerful, everyone knew that, but to witness it in action had been something else entirely. That power had rippled around him, pressing and scraping along his skin until every hair had stood on end. For a moment, his heart had stuttered to a painful stop in his chest. With the silver flames burning and engulfing her eyes, Cassian hadn’t even been sure it was truly Nesta staring back at him. And then all that magic crashed into him with an almost sickening crunch. It threw him hard and far enough that had he been in his human form, Cassian is confident his shoulder would have shattered with the force of his landing.

Huffing quietly, Cassian reaches down, sifting through the rocks at his feet until he finds another flat one. He tosses it gently in his hand, testing the weight of it, allowing the familiarity of it to center him. This deep in the woods, none of the sounds of the pack or the village reach him. It’s just the small, gentle waves lapping along the shore, a birdsong further in the forest, and the wind whispering through the branches and leaves.

“Have you finished sulking yet?”

Cassian throws the rock in his hand hard enough it merely plops beneath the water. “Fuck off.”

“I couldn’t help but notice that Nesta doesn’t have mating marks this morning,” Emerie comments. Her tone is idle, but Cassian doesn’t buy it for a second.

“She’s my wife, not my mate.”

“Is that so?”

Cassian knows what that sarcastic drawl means. He whirls around on his second, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. “Don’t.”

“Just like your father then.”

“I said don’t.”

Emerie rolls her eyes at his clipped voice, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “Do you plan on taking other females to your marriage bed as well, then? Plan to have a whole brood of little bastards just like yourself.”

With a snarl, Cassian closes the distance between himself and Emerie until he’s looming over the female. “Don’t make me relieve you of your post.”

She doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t step back. That same unimpressed look is painted across her face, exasperation spilling through her brown eyes as she continues to meet his gaze.

“You and I both know you made me your second because of this,” Emerie reminds him, shoving hard at his chest until he steps back. “Because I call you out on your bullshit. Did you forget there’s a war coming? Hybern may be quiet for now, but we both know too quiet is worse. Especially now that he has the Cauldron. Our pack is strong, but we’re not that strong. What happens when your wife, when her family, abandons you? Abandons us? Because you had a stick up your ass?”

“And what would you have me do?”

“Stop being a dick to your wife,” Emerie tells him, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “If you respect her, the rest of the pack will respect her.”

Cassian sighs, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’ll try, alright?”

“I guess that’s the most I can ask for from an idiot male such as yourself.”

Emerie leaves Cassian alone with his thoughts after that, trekking back through the trees and toward the village. He stares out across the water of the lake, letting out another sigh. He hates that Emerie is right. The whole reason he agreed to this alliance, why he went through with this marriage, is for the pack. Loathe as he is to admit it, they will need Nesta and the Archerons if they want to stand any sort of chance against Hybern, no matter his own thoughts or feelings or opinions.

Besides, it’s not like they have to love one another, they just have to be amicable with each other.

Cassian groans, tilting his head back and scrubbing his hands down his face. Rolling his shoulders, he heads back toward the village. He stops in at the blacksmith, chatting easily with Elis while he works the flames and testing the weight and balance of the newest swords. He hits the bakery next, selecting some fresh goods to take back to the cabin. But as he steps back out, he catches the eye of Cresseida at the shop across the way. She’s wearing the same unimpressed expression that her wife did, and Cassian can practically hear Emerie’s voice in his head, chastising him for stalling.

He flashes Cresseida the finger, earning a fond shake of the head in return, but he gets the message. He trudges the rest of the way back to his cabin, taking the stairs slower than he normally would, but there’s no delaying the inevitable.

He pushes the door open and finds Nesta sitting on the sofa in front of the fire. She has a book open and propped on her knees, one he has no idea where she got it from. She doesn’t even bother to look up or acknowledge him, pointedly turning a page, so with a soft sigh, Cassian turns his attention to the kitchen. He starts pulling out ingredients, lining the counter with everything he’ll need, and grabs a pan.

“Have you eaten?” Cassian calls out, sparking a flame.

The sound of a book snapping shut lets Cassian know he heard her. “Are you intending to cook for me?”

“I promise not to poison it and everything, sweetheart.”

“How generous.”

It’s with a familiar ease that Cassian begins chopping up everything he needs, adding everything to the pan to saute. He mixes up the spices and prepares the sauce just as his mother used to when he was growing up, the smells swirling and filling the kitchen tugging at his memory as much as they tug at his heart.

He feels more than he hears Nesta step into the kitchen. Even with his back to her, his every nerve ending prickles with awareness of exactly where in the room she is, always zeroing in on her presence. The tickle of her breath skates across the skin of his neck as she stands just behind him, pressing up onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.

“Don’t trust my promise?”

Nesta huffs quietly, taking a step back from him. “I want to see my sisters.”

Cassian hums, so she knows he heard her, but he continues to prepare their food. He gives it all a good stir, scooping some onto the wooden spoon and holding it out toward Nesta in offering. She hesitates for a moment, gaze dancing between the spoon and his face, but then she slowly leans forward, accepting the taste.

“I want to see my sisters,” Nesta repeats, crossing her arms. “I want to make sure they’re alright.”

“Is it the vampires or the Vanserras that you don’t trust?” Cassian asks, plating up their food. “Or is it both?”

“It’s not about trust. You agreed to this marriage because you knew it was the only way to keep your pack safe from Hybern. I did it for my sisters, to ensure that Elain and Feyre would be safe. So I want to see them. My mother wrote a letter, and she will arrange it all. I just need a carriage.”

“Fine.”

Nesta blinks a few times, reaching out to accept the plate Cassian extends toward her. “Fine?”

“But either Emerie or Baz will accompany you. You can choose which.”

“Did you hit your head when I knocked you on your ass or something?”

“You wish,” Cassian tells her, settling at the table with his own plate. “You said so yourself, we need each other if we want to stand any chance against what’s coming. But I can assure you, sweetheart, I won’t let you get another chance like that again.”

Nesta hums noncommittally, but she settles in the seat across from him nonetheless. Cassian doesn’t miss the fact that she waits until he’s fully taken a bite of his own food before digging into her own. He doesn’t take it too personally.

They eat in relative silence, just the quiet clink and scrape of utensils. When they’re finished, Nesta snatches up her book again and retires to the bedroom. Cassian continues to putter around the cabin, sorting through the papers on the desk in his study, studying the information and intel about Hybern his wolves have been able to discover, scrutinizing the map and the markings on it.

But as clouds continue to move across the sky, masking the silver glow of the moon, as shadows continue to stretch across the floors of the cabin, exhaustion begins to tug at Cassian’s limbs. He knows that, realistically, he should retreat to the extra bedroom in the cabin, the one he always keeps made up in case one of the younger wolves needs a place to crash. But that voice in the back of his mind continues to whisper, continues to prickle and scrape for his attention. His nerve endings still feel on high alert, all too aware of the witch between these four walls.

Emerie just told him to stop being a dick to his wife. She never said anything about needing to trust her.

Cassian doesn’t even bother knocking, strolling straight into the bedroom. Nesta is already settled beneath the blankets, pillow propped at her back and that same book still in her hands. She glares over the pages at Cassian, making an affronted sound when he closes the door behind him.

“What are you doing?” Nesta demands with an annoyed huff. “There’s no magic dictating us anymore. Don’t you have another bedroom you can stay in?”

“Did you forget that you’re in my bedroom?” Cassian fires back.

He can feel Nesta’s glare sinking into his shoulder blades like knives as he turns his back on her. Can practically hear the way she’s seething. But she doesn’t say anything back, and Cassian refuses to be bothered. He fists a hand in the back of his shirt, tugging it up and off and tossing it aside. He continues stripping down until he’s comfortable to sleep, pulling the tie from his hair until his curls tumble comfortably around his face and shoulders.

When he turns back toward the bed, Nesta’s eyes are glued to his chest. Already, Cassian can feel a smirk tug across his face, a teasing comment on the tip of his tongue, but then he takes in Nesta’s expression. The slightly hollowed look to her blue eyes, the pinched brow and downturned lips. He looks down at his own chest, and barely holds in a wince at the sight. Purple and red patches are mottled across his skin, stretching up over his ribs.

“Is that regret I see on your face, Nes?”

That all too familiar scowl is back in a second. “Not if you keep calling me that.”

“Do I need to sleep with one eye open?” Cassian asks, stepping over to the bed and slipping beneath the blankets.

“Just fuck off, and go to sleep.”

Nesta rolls over and places her book on the small, side table, extinguishing the lantern and casting the bedroom in darkness. Cassian snorts softly at the dismissal, but he settles back against the mattress. He closes his eyes and wills his body to relax, but Nesta shifts, clearly getting more comfortable, and he’s painfully aware of her presence beside him.

She hasn’t been here long, but already her scent has permeated the cabin, and with her so close again, vanilla and lilies flood Cassian’s nose. He can feel the warmth of her, and when she shifts again, her foot brushes against his leg. He dares to turn his head to the side, toward her. Nesta has her back to him, but the blankets still cling to her every curve, rising and falling with each slow, steady breath. Her hair is fanned out across the pillow behind her, the strands practically glistening under the moonlight spilling through the window.

Cassian can still remember the way those strands of golden brown hair felt twisted between his fingers. He can still remember her body pressed against his, the sweet sounds of her moans echoing in his ears. He can still remember the tight heat wrapped around his cock. He squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught of memories, suddenly feeling like a livewire. It would be too easy to turn to her fully, to press his body against hers. To latch his lips to the skin of her neck. To slide his hand across her waist, down her stomach, lower still.

Nesta’s name weighs heavy on his tongue, but Cassian is quick to swallow it back down. He rolls over onto his side, away from Nesta, giving his pillow a hard punch. These are the last type of thoughts he needs. Sighing softly, Cassian forces his mind to empty, to quiet, forces himself to give in to sleep’s embrace.

—

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[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumpuary Day 25-26 & 29-31

Prompts: Can’t stay awake | “You’re safe.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drugging, Overdose, Allusions to past child abuse

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You shouted, keeping your eyes on Daryl while Tomi loudly rummaged through cabinets and drawers behind you. “Daryl. Daryl, stay awake.”

“M’tired.” The archer mumbled, eyelids heavy, breaths slowing before your eyes. 

“Tomi!” You snapped again. 

“They injected him with some sort of opioid. I need narcan.” Things were flying around, hitting the floor as the surgeon continued his frantic search. “How’s his breathing?”

“Too slow.” You shook Daryl again. Each time he responded, you felt a short lived relief but it never lasted long. “Daryl, stay with me. Look at me.”

“Y/N…tired…”

“I know but you can’t sleep.” Those normally sharp blues were dull, his pupils contracted to barely there black dots inside the pale cerulean. His eyes closed, head lolling forward. “Daryl? Daryl!” He inhaled sharply, giving you hope that he might regain a normal breathing pattern. 

He didn’t. 

“Can’t…can’t stay…”

“You have to. Just for a few more minutes okay?” You hadn’t seen when the man had used the syringe, only catching Daryl yanking it from his neck to angrily toss it aside before plunging his knife through the attacker’s skull. It wasn’t even a minute before the archer staggered back against the wall and slid down to where he still sat. “Tomi!” When Daryl’s eyes closed this time, he didn’t reopen them. 

“I’m trying!”

“Daryl!” His breaths were further and further apart, agonizing torture to know that one would eventually be his last. 

“If he stops breathing, you need to breathe for him.”

“Al-alright.” You could do that. You placed two fingers to his neck, counting the beats over and over, witnessing that number fall each time. “Please, please.”

“Got it!” Tomi dropped down beside the archer, foregoing any measure of sterilizing to just jab the needle into the muscle of Daryl’s bicep. 

“What now?”

“We wait. He never stopped breathing. The narcan should level him out enough to move him safely.” The nod you gave was curt and unbidden, your sole focus was the rise and fall of Daryl’s chest. “Okay. Okay, good. It’s picking up. I’ll get a stretcher. Keep watching his breathing.” Another nod. 

“Daryl, can you hear me?” Unresponsive. At least each breath was coming in at a slow, but steady pace. You could work with that for now. The wheels of the stretcher were loud in the otherwise empty hospital.

“Vitals are stable for now. I grabbed all the narcan but we need to have access to intubation supplies and IV fluids.” At your confused expression, he added, “I’ll need to insert a tube to help him breathe for a while if he struggles to on his own.”

You nodded calmly before the two of you struggled and fumbled to get Daryl onto the stretcher. Truthfully, the thought of Daryl needing a machine to keep breathing was horrifying. For that moment, you just continued to watch his chest, breaths remaining steady and unlabored. 

It took only moments for an IV to be inserted and fluids to begin running into the archer’s hand. His breathing slowed only once more and one last dose of narcan was administered. 

Hours later, Tomi concluded that Daryl was out of danger and would likely wake up at any moment. So you waited, instinctively listening for danger as employees returned to the hospital, the walkers having been cleared as well as the living threats, thanks in part to the man on the bed in front of you. 

You couldn’t wait to get him home and sleep for at least a day, snug against his side with your head over his heart, able to hear each beat and feel each breath. 

Finally, his fingers twitched in your hold, his head rolling back and forth on the pillow, face scrunching. 

“Daryl?” You stood, leaning over him. He hated hospitals. The memories of so many visits when he was a child, broken bones and open wounds at the hands of his father. You wanted to be the first person he saw and heard, in hopes of easing that anxiety. 

His eyes were clouded, tired and unfocused, when they finally landed on you. “Where ‘m I?” He slurred, still appearing to be exhausted and slightly influenced by the drug working its way through his system. 

“You’re in the hospital. You’re safe and you’re gonna be okay.” You squeezed his hand, smiling when he weakly reciprocated. 

“Tell me what happened?” His eyes were already trying to close, most likely without his permission but leaving him with no choice. 

“When you wake up. I’ll tell you everything when you wake up.”

Daryl hummed and inhaled deeply before settling into a peaceful sleep; one you didn’t fear and from which you knew he would wake. For now, though, you’d rest your head on the hand holding his and count his breaths like counting sheep until you joined him in blissful unawareness. 

[thecraftywriter]

'Scars and Safety'

Following the encouragement from @terielle, @dumbasspirates, and @tgirlhawkins, I present to you a short one-shot I banged out (rather than doomscrolling) based on the premise that everyone's favorite SWORD captain absolutely needs therapy before any sexual intimacy. Thoughts appreciated. I may end up posting it to my ao3 as well.

So much of Drake’s life had been out of his control, but this? This was his decision. He’d chosen you, and you, miraculously, had chosen him.

Since that day, he had moved as if he were navigating a field of broken glass towards some beautiful dawn. Slowly but steadily, he moved forward, fear his constant companion. It wasn’t normal, he knew, that fear should be so mixed up with love, but he didn’t know any other way.

As long as you never saw, never realized how pathetic, tainted even, the love he gave you was, that was all that mattered.

You’d kissed him before. It was always you that initiated it; each time he tried, he felt as if he were trespassing in one of the sacred churches in the North Blue.

You’d shown him your body before. Over time, he’d been able to pry his fingers away from his eyes and stop his face from turning as red as the Liberal Hind’s sails.

Of course, you would sleep together. It was a foregone conclusion. You had hinted at it, and he found himself craving the greater intimacy with a hunger so intense it made him nauseous. He just wished he was more prepared.

There was no one he could ask about this sort of thing. Well, no one he cared to ask. No one who wouldn’t snicker or look at him with pity.

In his quarters you sit next to him on the bed and tap the new scars that are forming on his shoulder and chest. The raised tissue is still angry and pink. His time in Wano is quickly fading into the areas of his mind he doesn’t like to spend much time in, but the scars are not.

“Are you sure? Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?” you ask.

He almost makes some quip about swords not feeling pain but remembers how sad you look whenever he refers to himself as a monster or a weapon.

“I’m cleared for duty,” he says instead, “so this should be fine. I mean, it’s hardly combat.”

“Ha! Well, this isn’t duty or combat,” you tease and gently press him into the pillows the two of you have propped against the headboard.

Most of the time, Drake feels separate from his body, as if it were just a tool to use. He can disengage his mind with practiced ease.

So, when you pepper kisses on his exposed chest and neck and trace lazy patterns in his skin with one fingertip, the sensation is both overwhelming and addictive. He wants to arch away and lean into it at the same time. Though it feels like staring into a bright winter sun, he decides to lean in.

Drake is used to being handled roughly; this sort of tenderness feels like it shouldn’t be allowed. He knows he can’t return the same level of gentleness to you, so he simply…holds on.

You pull away for a moment and smile, sincere and warm. “Well, judging by your reaction, I think you’re enjoying this more than duty or combat.”

“What,” he’s shocked by how out-of-breath his voice sounds, “makes you say that?”

You laugh. “I’ve never been, um, nuzzled during foreplay before.”

Seas! Lost in the forbidden sensation of your gentle touch, his body had moved on its own. He can picture himself rubbing his face and head against your arms, your still-clothed body. Why? His own reaction or some part of his devil fruit bleeding through? Some bonded pairs of birds preen each other as a sign of affection. Does that reflect the depths of his feelings for you?

“Hey? You still with me?” he registers your hand waving in front of his face.

“I’m so sorry.” He can’t even look at you.

You frown. “Okay, I’m making a rule. No more apologizing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Drake looks up and nods. It’s true, you don’t seem upset with him. He’s going to keep it that way.

You pull off your top. This time, his face turns only a light pink. He’s slid down the pile of pillows and is completely flat when you lean over him.   

“The point is to figure out what you like, what feels good,” you explain.

“What you did earlier felt…” he hesitates, the right word not coming. How do you describe something that felt amazing and terrifying at the same time? ��…I liked it.”

“That was just the beginning. It’s going to get a whole lot better.”

You aren’t lying. His body responds instantly to your touch, twitching and bucking outside of his control. It’s wonderful. It’s disconcerting. You nip his ear playfully, card your fingers through his hair. Warmth pools at his core, and his slacks feel too tight. He has to pause and unbutton them. Undeterred, you help him pull them the rest of the way off.

At some point, you have his wrists pinned against the mattress, and your weight is pressing into him. What do you want him to do? What do you want him to be? If he can figure it out, he won’t disappoint you.

The feeling of restraint is becoming too much. It’s bringing back memories, the ghosts of old sensations, and a rising sense of panic. He swallows the feeling, and it settles as a slight tremor in his hands. This is the moment you choose to check in with him.

“How are you holding up?”

“Great. I’m enjoying this.”

He’s such a good liar.

Finally, a mercy: you encourage him to switch positions with you. He restrains his expression, lets no discomfort show on his face.

Now, you’re caged underneath him, and he has some semblance of control back. He feels the rumble of approval from his zoan side as the panic from earlier retreats into hiding.

Drake kisses your neck and chest and traces lines in your skin, the way you did to him earlier, letting his touch wander around your abdomen.

“That feels great,” you whisper. “Just like that. You’re so gentle.”

Gentle. Gentle is not a word people use to describe him. Gentle is for the young boy who nursed wounded animals back to health in his bedroom. Gentle is for the ensign who hid from his peers in the barracks, face buried in a book. You are gentle. He is all blades and leather and talons.

“Mmm, if you wouldn’t mind,” you tilt your held owlishly at him, “my ear.”

Okay. He’s fairly sure what that means based on what you did to him earlier. And it must be working because you’re squirming a little underneath him.

“You like that?” he hides his uncertainty behind a teasing voice.

“Yeah. It’s a little embarrassing, but they’re a surprisingly erogenous zone, okay?”

He keeps at it. Reading your movements, reacting accordingly. It’s familiar territory, spycraft 101. His mind once again separates from his body. It’s his usual state, but this time he hates it. It’s wrong. He doesn’t want to disengage. He wants to be here with you, both his mind and his body, so that you can see all of him, love all of him.

All of you? You’ll hurt them.

No. I have complete control over my powers.

The memory slices through him, sharp and bloody. I was starving and scared, he reassures himself. I was a teenager, and they were trying to kill me.

Not what I meant. What about the other monster? Look in the mirror. You look more and more like him every day. You think someone with your blood can hold another person’s heart without breaking it?

He has no future sight, but for a moment he sees you tracing the X on his chest. Slicing along each line, you peel back the edges. You’re probably expecting to find something good, something normal. But there’s just a void, like the one he saw at Marineford. It’s been inside him all this time. It’s where he keeps the memories that didn’t fade, the fear that might overwhelm him. The void is vast, and it will eat you whole.

Drake bolts upright, eyes wide, heart pounding. The movement slams him into the headboard, and he sits there for a moment, dazed, and then-

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He repeats it over and over again, your rule be damned, shame growing exponential with each repetition. If he doesn’t give you the chance to speak, he won’t have to hear how disappointed you are, how cowardly you think he is.

You’re saying something, but there’s too much blood in his ears and too many thoughts in his head. His vision is tunneled on a rumple of blanket at his feet. He feels the weight beside him disappear. You’re leaving. You’re leaving. You’re leaving…

The weight returns and something cold presses against his palm, shocking him out of the spiral. A glass of water.

“When did it stop being fine?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer, just takes slow sips until the glass is empty.

“Drake, I need to know.”

“When you were on top of me, holding my wrists.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You look so sad, and it’s his fault.

“I-I don’t know.”

“If you’d said something, I would have stopped. I don’t want you to force yourself into this if it’s not something you want.”

No, you have it wrong. It’s not forced. He does want this. He wants you, but…

“I can’t. My mind, it’s not working the way it’s supposed to,” he fumbles to explain. “It’s not letting me be here with you. Instead, it’s in the past or down some dark trail.” He’s not making sense. He watches you struggle to puzzle out his rambling.

“I’m not sure I understand, but if we do this, when we do this, it should be comfortable for you. You deserve to enjoy it.”

“I don’t know…when that might be.” He worries the sheets around his fingers. Admitting it is painful. This problem goes deeper than what he can puzzle through on his own.

“That’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

All Drake can manage is a nod. Exhaustion hits him like a punch to the face.

“You know,” you smile, “even if we didn’t sleep together, we can still sleep together.”

You coax him down and onto his side before sliding next to him and pulling the covers over you both. Your noses are almost touching. “That’s better,” you whisper. “Mmm, you’re so warm. How do you feel now?”

Drake lets the question linger as he tries to wrestle all his feelings under one name. There’s still shame, anger at himself, and a distant voice insisting on cowardice. But there’s something else: relief, and something he hasn’t felt in who knows how long. He finally answers, whispering the word.

“Safe.”

[everrsilly]

Please please please give me your Patches headcanons I beg I wanna hear more of your thoughts ab him

HIII TYSM i have SO many i’m glad you asked :DDD the hyperfixation makes me insane. get ready for Much text

big stuff:

- first off all of his “stand still and get stabbed” persona was def a front not indicative of his actual personality and was fully based off of his bitterness towards other people. lots of lines in his purrgatory pa2 scene back this up (“cutting bad dogs into tiny pieces”, “getting rid of the toxic people in your life”, etc.) a lot of his violence seems to be just be directed at the people who hurt him which due to his jadedness extends to everyone, as olive points out (“but i didn’t hurt you!”) with patches rebutting along the lines of “that’s what they all say but i know you’re lying”. it probably also doubled as a way to keep people who he saw as a danger to himself away from him: if he appeared to pose as more of a threat, they wouldn’t dare to hurt him in the first place.

- that being said, he definitely regretted killing angel and losing him “for good”. i can imagine a LOT of internal guilt stemming from this because this was the one person who he thought would stick around. like in his head this was the one thing he could keep for himself, the one really good thing he had outside of the bullying and the home situation and the circumstances out of his control. and then he ruined it all on his own, with the very coping mechanism intended to get Bad people Out of his life, and in his attempt to un-ruin it he ruined it more. he briefly equated angel with everyone else that he felt was against him when his heart was broken, and then he killed him. he then proceeded to attempt to mask his way out of it and also mask his way out of feelings in general (critical fail!)

- i also headcanon patches as arospec, specifically greyromantic (in this case being infrequent romantic attraction). which makes things worse intentionally by making angel patches’ first and only crush and worsening the impact of the breakup lolll. he fell HARD. ive also seen greyromantic people have worries about passing a romantic partner by because that might be the last time they fall in love for a long time and in my head that also plays a role. like his thought process is “how long will it be before i get to feel this way again? too long”

- in conclusion i think also that patches has nightmares about the way things could have gone if he had killed everyone. and i also think the ghost of angel (not real, but appearing similarly to pa1) haunts him in those nightmares which leads to him not sleeping very well post canon. manifestations of inner guilt

- he’s still drawn to angel a bit and pines after the way things were for sure, and he talks with angel casually the same way they talk at the end of pa3, but he doesn’t like touching angel or angel touching him even by accident. i have angel hcs too but the way i see it is like. in the end they’ll never be romantically affiliated but they’re still drawn to each other sort of like soulmates but. not really? in my head their relationship is so interesting and so complicated, chews on them like a rubber ball

- he would oscillate a little bit in his postcanon relationship with olive as well. sort of falling between pulling away and pulling them too close? patterns he forced himself to learn vs patterns he fell into with angel. olive would reassure him because i’m certain he’s not used to someone who has seen all the worst parts of him and still refuses to leave

- i think also that patches would be a very protective person in any situation where olive (especially) was in danger. kind of flipping the killer script but he is Very intent on not losing anything else in his life. he would also do this for other people especially if olive asked him (which they would) but it comes from a very specific place with olive. and maybe angel? complicated yet again

- repairs his relationship with luna postcanon for sure. they become more like real co-leaders and patches genuinely starts helping instead of trying to undermine luna. her conversations on the topic of patches show that she wanted to see the good in him the whole time and i think that is so sweet

- i believe in unexpected friendship in brownie. i know brownie was his biggest hater but i think genuinely over time it would become sort of a back and forth series of jabs friendship and i would be here for it !!

- not directly related to patches but in my head he, angel, coco and olive bury angel’s extra removed eye from patches’ locker in angel’s empty grave in front of their house. full circle type beat, kind of as a memory of what happened. laying it to rest and turning over a new leaf

and some smaller stuff:

- i think he totally continues to pick up snakes and small animals and carry them around to scare people. especially angel since we know for a fact that angel hates snakes

- good cook or baker perhaps? this is just based off of him carrying everyone in home ec but since everyone loved his cakes i’m going with it

- absolutely abysmal at sports. cannot play sports for the life of him. and once in a while he whips out a stunning play or a home run and then he goes back to sucking at sports. i think it would be funny

- definitely makes fun of angel and brownie’s ages. oh i see the preteen- i mean the freshman has an opinion. scathing remark from the preteen right here

- i do like patches and whisk together eventually. boyfailures for sure. on whisk’s end i think it makes good drama but i also think they could vibe with each other easily. emphasis on EVENTUALLY because patches would Not want a relationship for a while post canon (nor imo would he really have the opportunity to develop another crush for awhile after canon! since. greyromantic. thats my aroness talking though i fear)

ANYWAYS this is SUCH a long answer with MANY paragraphs you really can tell he’s my favorite character but !!!! hope you enjoyed this yap session i’m frankly mental about this game :))

[flowers-of-io]

The server is sharing so many good thoughts and I'm fighting off sleep at 4 am & not emotionally ready to unravel all that, but it made me look at the Traveler's actions from an angle I've realised I wasn't giving it the grace of, and yet (or maybe because) that is very intimately known to me. (Putting aside whether it has responsibility for the species it had chosen or not, and would it have been better if it had never arrived, etc--it's a whole 'nother post I shall make on some different sleepless night.)

I think we often don't give it the grace of being a person--frankly what this season has been all about--with all the complexity that comes along with it. Its choices are often framed as determined by pure calculation (again--Rasputin talked about that wrt himself!!!), and they're interpreted and judged only as such. The Traveler left because it didn't care about us, gave Light to the Hive because they're its besties now, went to Savathûn's throne world because it figured she'd do a better job keeping it safe than humanity. All cold necessity and calculation.

And I think it's so much more messy than that! The Gardener, who knocked the universe askew and hurt her only friend because she was bored and wanted to create new things. Her blessing that is given recklessly, with but one requirement of sacrifice, and other than that it's free for all regardless of who they are or used to be or are about to become. That first part of the Speakers' creed that talks about it being an independent, complex entity with its own personhood. A person who feels love, and hope, and protectiveness, and delight, and sorrow, and pain, and fear.

Maybe I was so shattered when I saw it leave because I hate to see characters mirror the parts of me I despise. I want to look at the Traveler as a benevolent god who does no wrong and always has a plan and does stuff for a reason, even if we can't see this reason just yet. I want to see it as unflinching and brave and infallibly good! I want to point to it and shout, look, you shouldn't have doubted, look how it has been right all along. I want to stuff it with all my Christian feelings. This is who it is in Book! A divine providence of sorts; a presence always there; always trustworthy, and infallible, and right in the end.

But Destiny is not a story about gods vs. people, but about different levels of the cosmic power hierarchy turning out to be really all about the same things. The pattern is the same, the pain is the same; be it the gods of the Hive or civilians in the City. Eramis' ire and vengeance for Riis mirroring the Hive's millennia-long chase to punish the Traveler for the syzygy, and Lakshmi's hate towards Eliksni for the razing of London. As @lizzieraindrops said -- in the end, it is a story about the broken relationship between the Gardener and Winnower. What the Witness says to Eramis, "make it know your pain" -- I like to think it is really talking about its own pain here. There are no gods here in the full meaning of the world, and no one is omniscient and perfect. The whole point of Rasputin's arc was his progression from a machine-god to a person!

And accepting this requires of me to accept that the Traveler makes mistakes--not only the cool, narratively pleasing fuck-ups I can make cool song edits about like the ending of TWQ, but also the mistakes that disturb and repulse me. I think about that bit in Constellations again, the Traveler battling with itself because it doesn't want to leave but is also so terrified its instinct is to run and not look back. It's bloodcurdling, because I so desperately want it to be brave! To stay even when the fear is overwhelming! It terrifies and repulses me, what fear can make you do. I don't want it to act on this panic, and I'm disturbed when it does, because I don't want myself to act on my own panic. The "run, run, RUN RUN" bit hits me so hard because it is so deeply, intimately known to me. Fear makes you lose yourself. You're stripped down of everything, reduced only to this blaring alarm in your head that tells you to GET OUT, NOW.

There have been many good thoughts shared on the Traveler possibly choosing to stay because it saw the light and love in us, it looked to us and saw that hope--again, something about there being no gods but only different levels of cosmic power structure--and it's beautiful and reassuring, and I love this. It gives me hope. But it's softening the blow I really need to take, I think.

I think I need to untangle why my instinct was to interpret it as betrayal and abandonment and a moral failure, when I saw the Traveler potentially act on its fear. Why do I hold it up to a standard of bravery, if I'm so often decimated and defeated my my own fears? Why do I expect it to always Be Brave without hesitation, if I am all hesitation, and every step forward comes with half a step back? And I am just a girl with an anxiety disorder, and not like... being in an actively life-threatening situation, where your trauma of near death and immense pain is threatening to repeat itself. I think I was distraught the most because some part of me knows that I would try to run too. If the fear it felt was anything close to what the worst of my anxiety is like? Yeah. I would try to run too.

[silverstarfics]

Virgil’s day of @thunder-pride !! Here, have something I wrote at 2am because who needs sleep schedules? (I’m joking. Please get some sleep, guys. Yes, this is directed at one person in particular). It technically follows on from my fic for Day 3, but it can be read as a stand alone too :)

AO3 link

Virgil hesitated in the doorway, quickly backed away before he could be spotted, then began pacing back-and-forth along the corridor again. At this rate he was likely to wear a hole in the patterned rug which Grandma had brought back from holiday, lying in pride of place at the foot of the stairs. He’d taken off his sneakers in an attempt to reduce this risk but even in socks it was still a distinct possibility.

“What’s wrong with you?” Gordon asked, knocking the front door shut with his heel. “Yo, Virg.” He kicked his shoes under the coat rack and peeled off his sweaty socks, tossing them at his brother’s head. “What’s up?”

Virgil slowed to a momentary halt. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…” Gordon shot him a weird look. “I live here?”

“Don’t you have swim practice?”

“That ended like twenty minutes ago.” Gordon’s voice grew muffled as he disappeared into the living room on the hunt for his hoodie. “So? Why are you acting like more of a freak than usual?”

“Thanks for that.”

Virgil propped himself against the wall and knocked his head back against the plasterwork with an inward groan. Gordon’s practice finished an hour after school, which meant he had officially been pacing in this corridor for seventy minutes. It was official – he was a disaster.

There was no reason for this to scare him so much. He knew his entire family would love and accept him regardless of his identity. And yet the idea of telling his grandmother that he had a boyfriend seemed comparable to holding a fully grown Huntsman spider in his bare hands which was saying a lot given his fear that was fast becoming undeniable arachnophobia.

God, this was so stupid. He knocked his head against the wall again, this time with an audible thud.

“Uh, Virg?” Gordon peered around the door. “I know I was giving you shit before, but, like… are you okay? Because pacing in the corridor is usually Scott’s thing. You don’t have to take over just because he’s at Yale now. This house doesn’t actually need holes in the floor. There are already enough in the walls.”

“That’s because you keep kicking soccer balls indoors.”

“Really? That’s the part you focussed on?”

Virgil slid down the wall to land in a sorrowful heap.

“I’m…” He flapped a hand vaguely.

“Annoying? A total dork?” Gordon grinned. “I’ve got a whole list, I can keep going.”

“I don’t know how to be a functional person,” Virgil corrected, drawing his knees up to hide his face.

He wrapped his arms around his legs and willed himself to become invisible. Or maybe sink through the fabric of reality into a universe where conversations didn’t fill him with dread and ordinary, everyday things such as speaking in class or getting a lower grade or holding a boy’s hand in a corridor didn’t terrify him.

It was so, so dumb. Sometimes he wondered if Scott had stolen all the confidence genes and left none for the rest of them, only Gordon seemed to flourish in any environment which sort of disproved that theory.

Steps creaked on the broken floorboard to his right that no one had gotten around to replacing. He didn’t lift his face from his knees. It was easier to keep his eyes shut and just focus on breathing, which had suddenly become a lot harder than it should have been. Someone flicked him on the head but he only registered the sting as background noise.

“Virgil?”

At fourteen, Gordon was now steadfast in his belief that he was ‘basically an adult already’ but every so often a very childlike fear would creep back into his voice. This was one such instance.

“Um, Virg? You need to breathe. That’s an actual thing humans have to do to stay alive.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Dude, I’m not kidding. You’re kinda freaking me out here. Do I need to get Grandma? Or we could call Scott but he’s probably busy with annoyingly cool college stuff. I mean, we could try ringing John because he’s a nerd with no social life so everyone at Harvard definitely thinks he’s a weirdo, but I’m not sure what use he’d be.”

It was easy to tell when Gordon was nervous because he started rambling. And yeah, he’d recently undergone a transformation into a bit of an obnoxious, rude teenager, but he still had a kind heart and behind closed doors he was still a good brother too, even if he refused to let the rest of the world see it yet. So, it wasn’t really too much of a surprise when he plonked himself down next to Virgil and shuffled close enough to press their shoulders together.

“So,” Gordon declared with a healthy dose of fake cheer. “How’s your day going?”

Virgil choked on a damp laugh which made him cough. This had the bonus of resetting his breathing rate even if it was fairly gross. “You know, shockingly, I think I’ve had better.”

Gordon elbowed him lightly. “Do I need to murder someone?”

Virgil dragged the back of his hand across his eyes with a sniff. “Yeah, right. How are you gonna murder anyone in my grade, short stuff?”

“Fair point. Why are all juniors so freakishly tall this year? Apart from you, obviously. Anyway, I could totally take out their kneecaps. I know a girl on the lacrosse team and she’d lend me a stick. Just… whack, you know? Or I could publicly humiliate them. I’ve still got stink bombs left over from last summer. Just say the word and I’ll ruin them.”

Virgil exhaled in a rush. “Nobody did anything.” He twisted his hands together. There was still paint dried under his nails and he longed to return to earlier’s art lesson when he’d made up his mind to come out to Grandma and had felt so certain about it. “It’s just… me.”

“The thing that’s bothering you is… yourself?” Gordon tilted his head with a confused frown. “I know I’m the family idiot, but that doesn’t make a lot of sense, Vee.”

“Hey.” Virgil thumped him on the arm. “Don’t call yourself an idiot.”

Gordon just looked at him.

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Yeah, okay, tell that to my Physics paper. Anyway, that is so not the point right now. How are you upsetting yourself? Seems kinda dumb to me. Unless this is a new thing you’re trying? Tortured young artist, some crap like that.”

Virgil fought a smile. “No, it’s not a thing. It’s just…”

“You?”

“Me.”

Gordon slid down the wall with a loud groan. “Virg, you’re killing me here. We’re going in circles. I feel like I’m swimming laps again. Just tell me already, jeez.” He shuffled to sit in front of Virgil, propping his chin in his hands with a mischievous smile. “Tell me, tell me, tell me. Are you getting annoyed yet? Because I won’t stop until you tell me, tell me, tell me, tell-”

“I think I’m pansexual.”

“-me. Wait, what?”

Virgil stared at the flecks of dried paint on his jeans. His voice sounded embarrassingly small as he repeated softly, “I think I’m pansexual.”

“You think or you know?”

“I know.”

“Huh. Cool.” Gordon frowned. “Wait, is that what’s been bothering you? Because you know none of us are homophobic asshats. Also, like, have you met John? No way he’s straight. And I made out with Robby at Taylor’s party so I’m definitely not- I mean, uh, I made out with Robby at a place that was totally not Taylor’s house because of course I didn’t go to a party when Dad said I was grounded.”

Virgil wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. There were too many emotions crammed into his chest. He ended up making a humiliating broken noise that was partway between a sob and a laugh.

Gordon awkwardly wrapped his arms around him, uncertain whether a hug was welcome, and Virgil melted against him, trying to pretend as if his eyes weren’t welling. He tucked his face into his little brother’s shoulder and fought back tears.

“Hey, Virg?” Gordon sounded uncharacteristically genuine. “It’s okay. You know it’s okay, right? Like, you’re my brother and I support you and, I dunno, love you or something. So, um, you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Thanks.” Virgil drew an unsteady breath. “Really. Thanks. That… helps.” He withdrew to wipe tears from his face, ducking his head to hide his expression. “You need a shower, by the way. You stink of chlorine.”

“Dude, I just spent an hour in a pool. What did you expect?” Gordon moved to sit beside him again, stretching his legs across the corridor and cracking his knuckles just to see Virgil cringe. “So… have you got a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Partner?”

“Oh my god.”

“What? I’m curious.”

“We’re not having this conversation.”

“Oh, but we are.” Gordon fished a celery crunch bar out of his pocket and tore the wrapper open with his teeth. “So?”

“I might have a boyfriend.”

“I knew it!” Gordon let out a delighted laugh. “I’ve always wanted to threaten someone. Like, if you ever hurt my brother I will hunt you down and destroy you.”

“I’m officially never introducing you. Anyway, I feel like you’re forgetting the part where I’m the big brother here. It’s my job to threaten your dates.”

“Yeah, but you’re… you know?”

“No?”

Gordon gestured vaguely. “You have soft feelings.”

“Okay, we’re done here.”

“Aw, Virg, c’mon…”

“Bye, Gordon, see you later.”

“Don’t you mean bi Gordon?”

“Huh?”

Gordon hauled himself upright with a sigh. “Never mind. Go tell Grandma about your boyfriend. She might get distracted enough that she forgets to make dinner and we can order pizza.”

Virgil hesitated. “Hey, uh, Gordon?”

“Nope. I don’t want to hear it. I know that face. Don’t go bringing all your gross emotions into my space. You’ll ruin my vibe.” Gordon pushed him towards the kitchen. “Go!”

[h7p3r4ct1v3-h0rn3t2]

you say you have characters and lore i think , what if you told me about one of them. or at least a general premise of the lore

I had a whole spiel here and my fuckng. browser crashed I have to type it all out again. Anyway I spun a wheel and got Spencer Przegrany, Who For the Record existed BEFORE I even KNEW about that stupid hipster freak . But for the sake of clarity , When i need to call him by name i will henceforth call him Loser Spencer (his surname is Loser in polish)

Loser Spencer is . well. He's a loser. he's a sleep-deprived malnourished socially inept loser . He basically never speaks unless spoken to Which he isn't spoken to very often because he spends most of his time in this big-ass labyrinthine machine that has no practical use and he's been working on it since he was like 16. He does not Think this lack of social interaction does anything to him mentally but It Does. His brain is like a fuckin. petri dish for strange and maladaptive thought patterns

Loser Spencer has . A Certain Condition . Which most in-universe doctors Don't believe in because it's very rare and just sounds so implausible . Officially it is called Tektonthropy but the laymen call it Were-architecture . I'll go find a pre-written Explanation and then mess w/ it until it's up to date because ive told A Lot of my friends about it . And Yes this condition is based on Man-made object

ok so umm. basically the main feature of Were-architecture is like. imagine being a werewolf but instead of Becoming A Wolf every full moon you just start building Tower of Babel Two. other symptoms that arise on the full moon include psychomotor agitation, abnormal muscular activitiy (usually resembling dystonia, which is another condition), social disinhibition (i.e. Exaggerated and uncharacteristic extroversion), compulsive biting (of the patient's self (autophagia . not good for you.) or others (Cannibalism. also not good for you) or nonliving things that resemble flesh sometimes . keep your leather jackets out of reach), emotional lability, anisocoria (that's when your pupils are two different sizes . like what happens when you get a concussion), and probably some other ones im forgetting. These symptoms are the ones that happen ON the full moon but that's not all. about 2-4 days before the full moon there's a prodromal stage that also sucks . During the day you get disorientation, drowsiness, light-headedness and dizziness . Mostly bc your circadian rhythm is like. Reversing on you (jhariah reference) . also a Lot of persistent and Annoying pseudo-hallucinations, sort of like if you had tinnitus but for all your senses . At Night you get stuff like insomnia, restlessness, same kind of pseudo-hallucinations mentioned earlier but like . worser and eviler . and if you Do get to sleep (this part is mentioned in the man-made object chorus so it was kind of a freebie) you're gonna have Weird As Fuck dreams. most of which feeature tall buildings and/or architecture as some kind of (at least vaguely) positive element. but also some of them are just bizarre and distressing . like that tumblr post where the guy puts butter on a pan and the pan melts.

Anyway. Loser Spencer doesn't KNOW he has this specific condition per se but he DOES know that when the full moon comes around he gets really sick for no reason and sometimes he wakes up with injuries he can't explain and paper strewn around the house with drawings of rectangles that say shit like "TALL" on them. He used to have furniture in his apartment but he kept waking up with it broken so he . Doesn't really anymore . Also, it occurs to me that The Big-Ass Machine might seem like a sort of offshoot of this. it's not. long before he contracted this disease he was working on this machine . It's his only hobby

I haven't much else to say except for that . well let's address the elephant in the room. he IS being pursued by a magician. I'll let you decide what "pursued" means in this context

[bestas-e-besteiras]

In the past week or so i've been driven temporarily insane by overwhelming sorrow, that like most of the times when that happens, and it happens a lot I assure you, I'm mostly driven in to psychotic stoic bloodlust and overly melodramatic thinking as I inject poetry in the most mundane of things, sometimes a heretic fusion of both and I go on about my days on the automatic, daydreaming incoherent things not to be mentioned here for the sake of my own self preservation and to keep things clean without the vulgarity that such thoughts often bring.

The funny thing is that a few years ago I discovered that my long deceased father was the same. He would go weeks if not months isolating himself inside his room writing poetry and so forth. Not much different from yours truly, in demeanor and nature, according to my family and his friends if they are to be trusted I mean. Is a funny thing to imagine that most of our quirks and personality, something we believe to be entirely ours, can be defined by something so "impersonal" as genetics, almost quantified in cold hard numbers, not a lot of poetry in there I think. That even one of my quirkiest characteristics and something that can really define me is just a byproduct of something so mundane as an double helix of acids that was used as base to set my brain chemicals and peer pure chance matched the ones of my father that led us to be susceptible to the same way of thinking and acting and a solid amount of different mental illness, and probably of his father too, and the father of my father of my father of my father and so on.

Because in the end all we are is only that, in the most reductive of senses our mind is are mere a soup of chemicals that is somehow aware of itself and that doesn't not change it's own nature and susceptibilities to patterns and repetitions often quite present in nature, that is just a long way of saying that not matter how much we wish it wasn't true or how much we like to pretend the contrary, we are not that special and what makes us "special" probably can be found in piles and piles in today's society with the billions of individuals living today. You could probably throw a rock and hit 5 or 6 people just like me if you visited the right places.

And somehow, not even with this being the absolute truth, it fails to capture something that is also true, but can not be proven or observed with the naked eye. That beyond the chemicals, proteins. acids and enzymes that form the electric soup that we call the human mind. There is a soul, and all that it entails, there is history, there are dreams and wishes that no one can comprehend, there is infinite potential, to change everything, to be anything, to rise and to destroy. There is happiness and there is sorrow so great that it can drive men insane.

I often get into trouble through my own love for the mental scars that form part of our own psyche, the fears and anxieties, the sad memories that break us apart and the dreams that lift us up when the dark comes. People complain that is not something that should be romanticized, but I just can't help it, is far too beautiful not to be loved and I would be betraying my own nature if I said I don't love people for it, because in there, in those scars and tears is where the soul also resides, it tells a story, it shows the things that can not be comprehended but that shine with divine light. I could bask in it eternally and still not be satisfied. Like a little snake I would coil myself in the deepened blackened heart scorched by the sadness that comes with living and sleeping quietly and soundly at the satisfying beat and the warm darkness emanating from a broken heart.

And all the superficial ideas, the stupid ideas that humans are nothing but chemicals simply fade away at the notion that they are also their past and the stories they tell if they don't want to, and so do I, even if it is a really sad one.

With that said, going insane because this sort of mental family malediction is extremely inconvenient, because I not only need to explain to my peers were the fuck I was in the last few weeks and saying "I was dancing with my own demons under the moonlight" sounds really fucking gay, it also makes keeping a job really hard because I'm pretty your boss also wouldn't give a fuck.

At least I'm not a normie I guess.

[innerpeacesanctum]

How to Get Rid of Negative Energy

So you have negative energy, and you want to find a way to get rid of it? Signs of stored negative energy are

Affected Mood. You have mood swing after mood swing and it seems like it's never-ending. Most of the time, you will wake up in a bad mood for no reason at all and you wonder what could be making you feel like this. It's negative energy!

Physical Symptoms. You are continuously hurting and aching, and you may live on ibuprofen. It's nothing serious, you are just surrounded by negative energy.

Sleep Problems. You are either not sleeping at all, having broken sleep patterns or you sleep way too much. Nightmares, very weird dreams and sleep paralysis can occur too.

Relationships. All of this can affect your relationships whether it's your partner, your friends, your coworkers, your kids.

     In my experience, I have had all of this happen to me. Sometimes it can be serious and take it's toll on your life. There are times where I've walked out on a job without a word, I've disappeared and went MIA on those who love me, I struggle with sleep, etc. It ruins your life if you don't learn to rid yourself of negativity. There is no simple solution, no quick fix to rid yourself. It takes effort and it is very difficult. You can't just light a candle and say a few prayers to make it go away. You have to work on yourself. You have to rewire your brain, self-reflect, set boundaries, and rid yourself of certain people in your life. It is so much deeper than what everybody thinks and you have to do it daily.

     There are different types of negative energy that people hold onto.

Talking to ourselves negatively will make an impact on the way you feel and the way you see yourself. And all of that negativity will reflect on our every day life such as work and relationships.

Negativity also stems from our culture and society. The way the world tells us to act, how to behave, what we should and shouldn’t say, etc and not be our true self.

Ancestry also has a part to play in it too. We hear stories that are passed down through generations from our family members and most of those stories are weighted with trauma. So when we hear those, we take it all in and the negativity we are already holding onto feeds off of more negative energy. And so it just builds up and we store it away, in return our lives become more difficult. It has an impact on our life.

Unaddressed emotions and thoughts are a big part of it. Every single person on this earth has had some sort of trauma in their life. And if you really look around, there really isn't anybody who you can talk to. You're scared of what that person will think or scared of how they react because you don't want them to add anymore negativity than you already have. And because of that, you are terrified that if you get a negative reaction from them, you will implode. And so, we hold onto those emotions. We hide them deep down and cover it up with a smile and pretend everything is okay. Fake it til you make it, right? WRONG! You  have to overcome that. Tell people how you feel and what you think, no matter their reaction. But at the same time, also be wise of who you open up to as well.

     There are many ways to rid yourself of negative energy. You just have to put in the effort and commit to it every day. I will admit that I still have trouble and I am not where I need to be yet. But I know that if I keep working at it, that I will get there. Methods that are very helpful are:

Reframing your mindset. Ask yourself why you're feeling the way you are, control the way you react to certain situations, etc. When you have a negative emotion or thought pop up, allow yourself to feel it and breathe. Don't just dismiss it. Breathe through it. Breathing helps you release that energy. Once you teach yourself how to release those negative emotions, you can eventually learn how to prevent them from happening or prevent them from getting really bad.

Detachment! Detach yourself from energy that isn't yours! Set yourself as many boundaries as you need to protect your peace. Examples are situations where there are unnecessary arguments, uncomfortable vibes from other individuals, etc. If you receive an off feeling from a person, place, event, or anything else, say no and mean it. Always trust that "gut feeling" because from my experience, it never ever fails you. You can also set energetic boundaries too. If you are an empath, you can set boundaries where you can avoid processing other people's energies. Ask yourself which emotions are yours and which emotions are somebody else's.

Submerging yourself in water is very helpful in clearing out any negative energy that is attached to you. Water is a very powerful cleansing agent. Whether it's a bath, shower, ocean or a lake; being in water allows you to be more in tune with yourself. We are made of water so it only makes sense. As you submerge yourself, think of which energies you need to release.

Meditation is a powerful way to examine and pinpoint on where the negative energy is coming from. It takes a lot of focus and even more patience.

They say spending time in nature is the best medicine, and it is 100% true. The Earth is one of the most powerful energy healers that we have free access to. Grounding yourself heals you. Walk outside barefoot, breathe, listen and observe. Acknowledge and feel the earth's energy using all of your senses.

And the last one is affirmations. What we say to ourselves matters. If we put ourselves down, it's going to attract negativity and then we reflect that negativity onto others, and it creates nothing but chaos. Rather than saying negative things to yourself, say positive things instead. The more you speak positive to yourself, positive energy will replace negative energy. Negativity doesn't want to dwell in a positive mindset and spirit. Negativity is attached to negativity. Positivity is attached to positivity. So once you keep doing this and staying positive, negativity will stay away. Don't open a door for any negative energy to pass through. It's very easy to let in and very difficult to get out.

      So take this however you need to and use it to your advantage. Sending light, love, prayers, and positive energy to everybody who needs it!

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

For the monster AU, what types of studies and test do they run on Yuu? Like for example, they let a select few boys into the room and watch how Yuu interacts with them under the guise that they're still preparing for testing.

Also I'm really loving your writing!

Aww, thank you so much! I can’t express how happy it makes me to get feedback like this and seeing so many people enjoying my content, so thank you~ QwQ 💖

Now, to answer your question, this can be quite varied depending on the institution conducting the research that week. Granted, the first month was…stressful, for lack of better term, but luckily the staff didn’t leave Yuu to deal with the headache and were able to create an agreement that respects Yuu’s rights and ensures their comfort. With mini!Yuu though, the staff will have more of a say as their guardians on what can or cannot be done.

That being said though, here would be a simple breakdown of the sort of tests needed or conducted:

Medical–pretty self-explanatory. Blood pressure, blood tests to monitor their levels and ensuring they get the right nutrition, x-rays to check for abnormalities (note: internally, humans are quite similar to centaurs or fauns, which the scientists use as a reference point. This also means that Riddle and Deuce may be volunteered to be x-rayed and examined, though if Yuu is female they will find x-rays from female monsters), and routine weekly check-ups. As annoying as it can be, this is deemed necessary within the first few months to ensure Yuu isn’t experiencing any unusual reactions from their environment. No one wanted to risk Yuu getting ill and made sure to give them vaccines, though they also examined how Yuu’s blood reacts to monster blood (and vice versa) in case a transfusion was ever needed due to injury.

Dental–well of course they’d care about teeth! Despite the fact that they’re technically omnivores, with how widely varied each species is in the canine department, teeth can be just as important to a monster as their claws, horns, and wings. Cavities? Fixed right up! Cracked or broken tooth? Not for long! Root canal? They’ll take care of it! They make sure that the dentist is careful and can make the experience as pleasant and calm as possible. One such dentist from Briar Valley offers his services…

Psychology/Behavioral–this is more or less observing how Yuu behaves and responds to different social situations among other tests. This one is less talked about or discussed as they know and understand that if Yuu (or the students brought in to help) is aware that they’re being observed, the data will be inaccurate. This ranges from problem solving skills to conflict resolution. It can go smoothly, awkwardly, or wind up like that one Spongebob episode depending on who is brought into the test with Yuu! They will only observe Yuu’s sleep patterns as part of a sleep study–otherwise, they don’t bother them in Ramshackle and keep that as the “no bother safe zone” so to speak.

These are just some of the basic ideas of what sort of tests these researchers may conduct off the top of my head (and what I could try to glean from the internet. =A= ). The important thing to keep in mind is that–as the only human left in Twisted Wonderland–these researchers want to preserve Yuu’s health (mental, emotional, and physical) and safety above all else.

Hope that answers your question! If you guys have any other ideas I’d love to hear them! :D

[unremarkablehouse]

What happens in Kroner

M15+ | S6 after Rain King |AO3

Summary: Part 1 of my new series. Mulder and Scully wake up together on their last day in Kroner and decide to test the boundaries of their relationship.

@today-in-fic

Sunlight peeking through the broken venetian blinds was a welcomed omen for Scully, who had been lying in bed waiting for a sign that this limbo would soon be over. The weather was clear and finally they’d be on the first puddle jumper out of Kroner, Kansas. Mulder casually rolled over to face her, groaning as his body surrendered to waking up, grumbling a ‘morning’ to a very awake Scully. The anxiety of sharing a bed with her partner was enough to keep her from falling into a deep sleep the night before and the noise from the other motel guests returning from the reunion didn’t help the matter. Somehow Mulder managed to block all of this out and fall into a deep sleep, while Scully watched his sleeping form with envy.

“Mulder, do you realize you say my name in your sleep?” Scully’s tone is inquisitive, and although Mulder knows he should feel some sort of embarrassment, he’s tired of this dance and is ready to lay his cards on the table.

“Actually, you’re not the first one to tell me this.”

Scully lifts her eyebrow, wanting to know what other bedfellows he’s had and surprised to hear that this is an established pattern.

“Just from the guys, oh and Skinner-“ Mulder answers.

At the thought of Skinner saying something Scully shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose while Mulder continues to dig a deeper hole.

“Good thing I don’t have a more active social life or my sleep talking could get me in trouble.”

“Good thing.”

The room is starting to feel more charged and Scully takes this casual comment as confirmation that Diana hasn’t been participating in any adult sleepovers. Tenderly brushing hair out of her face Mulder scoots up to make sure they’re face to face, they both know the intimacy they’re enjoying is stolen, but it doesn’t stop them from reveling in it any less. Mulder attempts to break the mounting tension by continuing his ramble.

“I guess saying your name in my sleep would probably be no less awkward than if I were to call you before bed.”

“Mulder, why would you call me if you’re in bed with another woman?”

“I always talk to you before I go to sleep-“ Mulder’s countenance is so earnest that Scully’s heart swoons with his admission. Her hand finds it’s way into his hair and she’s unable to resist scratching the hairs on the back of his neck. “I think the subconscious talking you could probably play off but the conscious choice to call me before bed would be a deal breaker for any sane woman.”

Mulder gives a laugh, “very true. I’d also have to explain why they’re getting introduced to your mother before mine.”

“What?!”

“Every time we talk Maggie asks me if there’s someone special and has made me promises to introduce her-“

“Oh God-“

The realization that her mother has been subjecting Mulder to the same interrogations over his love life is mortifying. Scully rolls onto her back and covers her face, cringing at the thought.

“Scully, now you know the real reason I’ve been single for so long. It’s not just because all womankind have unanimously decided I should be alone, but I am actually scared about introducing anyone to your mother.”

Scully can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, Mulder’s soft chuckle harmonizing nicely with hers.

“Welcome to the club. Your instincts are right, she is the worst to introduce any dates too.”

“Is this because of what happened when she met Marcus?”

Scully stops dead still at the mention of this particular anecdote, which she knows for a fact she’s never shared with Mulder.

“Mulder, just how often are you talking with my mother?”

Feeling a little defensive, Mulder quickly retorts “a normal amount!” Scully says nothing but her raised eyebrows challenge his statement loudly enough.

“Seriously, it’s not like we chat. We just talk because I call her whenever something happens to you, and she also checks in every once in a while if she hasn’t heard from me.”

“That’s the definition of chatting!” Scully is bemused by the discovery of Mulder’s relationship with her mother. Just when she thinks she has this man pegged he comes out with some new endearing facet that makes her love him just a tiny bit more. “At least you know she approves of you.”

Mulder unconsciously twines their fingers together and smiles at her.

“I wouldn’t say she approves of me. Just because I’m her adopted problem child, doesn’t mean she thinks I’m good enough for her daughter.”

“Trust me, my mother adores you.”

“You’re telling me that the very Catholic Margret Scully would be ok with us being a couple? I’m not buying it.”

“Ask her next time you chat-”

“We don’t chat!”

Scully can’t help laughing at Mulder’s exaggerated frustration.

“On that note, I’m going to shower now. You should probably avert your eyes. From my casual exterior it might seem like I haven’t noticed I’m in bed with a beautiful woman, but my body definitely knows.”

“It’s a perfectly natural physiological response Mulder. So you have little nocturnal penile tumescence.” Scully’s tone sounds unaffected but her smarmy dig doesn’t go undetected.

“Little! I’m not going to take that lying down!” Before Scully can move away Mulder has her pinned down and is tickling her ribs while Scully squirms and squeals. It only

takes a few moments before Scully demands a truce, Mulder yields satisfied his point has been made. They both stop and catch their breathe, staring at each other and shaking of the tail end of laughter. After a pause Mulder’s face suddenly turns serious as if he’s remembered something of vital importance. This is a look Scully has seen many times and assumes he will be darting out of the room any second with some vague statement, off to find monsters or chase his latest crazed theory. Instead, Mulder slowly leans over and gently places a soft, chaste kiss on Scully’s lips, retreating quickly with a sheepish smile.

“What was that for?”

Scully is surprised by this sudden move but can feel a big smile on her face, mirroring Mulder’s grin.

“I just realized we’re flying out of here in a tin can. If we go down I don’t want Sheila to be the last person I kissed.”

Scully chuckles, “well in that case.” Her hand moves to the back of Mulder’s head, he takes the signal and lets her pull him in for another kiss. The kiss is slow and tenuous but definitely less chaste. Her hands move to his cheek as the kiss deepens, while Mulder’s hand slowly strokes her hair. It is not the frenzied passionate kiss she thought they’d share when they finally submitted to their feelings but there is a gravity to this kiss that anchors them to each other with an enormity that feels all consuming. What was meant as a simple kiss has turned into one of their conversations, each taking turns to lead while the other remains fully engaged. Despite its long duration, there have been no attempts to progress things further on either side, both content to stay in the shallows of this first step but unwilling to pull away or stop.

Always in sync they finally pull back at the same time, fear and trepidation thick in the air, neither sure what to make of this turn of events. Finally, Scully looks Mulder in the eyes, she can see he shares the same fears and concerns, conflicting with want and she’s emboldened by this realization.

“What happens in Kroner stays in Kroner?”

With a huge smile Mulder agrees and moves his head back down to continue kissing her at their previously established slow and luxurious rate. He’s caught off guard when he feels Scully’s foot guiding up his calf and hooking him in so he’s forced to move closer. Mulder’s restraint snaps as he’s pulled in to Scully’s body. His tongue thrusts into her mouth while his body grinds against hers. Their hands rub and pull on each other, dying to get closer, losing themselves in each other. Each roll of Mulder’s pelvis is met by Scully’s, their bodies connected in some primal dance. Mulder’s body heat permeates through Scully as the friction overwhelms her senses. This isn’t a high school make out session, their bodies have become an extension of one another and Scully soon finds herself climbing towards release. Intuitively Mulder’s body responds to hers as he thrusts and grinds with just the right pressure to send her soaring over the edge. As her orgasm begins to engulf her, Scully pulls away from his lips, resting her forehead on his while she unravels. Before Mulder can follow suit an ominous chirping sound resonates through the room and breaks the spell. Realizing it’s Scully’s cell phone, Mulder rolls off her so she can answer it. Scully answers her phone, and he can’t help but smile to hear her voice is still affected and she sounds slightly out of breath. The call is brief and she passes on the confirmation that their flight out of Korna is scheduled to leave at 10. The phone call is like a bucket of ice water on them, each unsure how to proceed. Mulder makes the first move and gets out of bed heading for the shower, offering Scully a high five on the way. She obliged but rolls her eyes as she does it.

When Mulder reaches the bathroom door Scully calls out, “Mulder-“

“Yeah?”

“I was wrong.”

The statement hangs in the air for an eternity and Mulder panics that Scully might be regretting their earlier indiscretion. Scully sees his tortured face and laughs, clarifying her statement, “you’re definitely not little.”

Mulder has no response to this, Scully got him good. The best he can do is throw his tshirt at her face, shaking his head in amusement.

Now he just needs to work out how to make this all happen again outside of Korner.

[missmentelle]

What makes a codependent relationship? Is it healthy for someone to rely on you as a constant source for support, talking all the time? Getting seperation anxiety and experiencing extreme stress when they are without you? Is it selfish to not necessarily reciprocate that stress?

Let's start by defining what a codependent relationship is.

In a codependent relationship, one person (the codependent) consistently enables the dysfunction of another person, often assuming a "caretaker" or "protector" role. The dysfunctional person usually struggles with a serious issue that may make it difficult for them to function on their own - often addiction, mental illness, or serious underachievement/irresponsibility - and the codependent partner will make extreme personal sacrifices to take care of this person and shield them from the consequences of their actions.

Codependent relationships aren't always romantic relationships - they can be found between friends, parents/children, coworkers, other family members, or any other type of relationship. Wherever they exist, are very unhealthy for both of the people involved in them. The codependent person focuses so heavily on the dependent person's needs that they entirely neglect their own, while the dysfunctional person is enabled to continue being dysfunctional and is often prevented from making any kind of progress toward recovery.

Common traits of codependent people include:

a fear of being alone. They often seek out relationships with people who will depend on them and encourage that dependency to ensure that the other person will not leave them.

extreme fixation on the feelings and needs of others. They often view their own needs as unimportant or secondary and prioritize the needs of others, even when this has not been asked of them.

a compulsive need to "fix" the problems of others. when they see a person who is struggling, they feel the overwhelming need to step in and start "fixing" the situation, even if doing so is not their responsibility.

low self-esteem. They often have chronic issues with self-esteem, and don't feel that they "deserve" to have their own needs prioritized. Their self-esteem is often tied to their ability to maintain their caretaking role at all costs, even when it is incredibly harmful to them.

controlling and perfectionist tendencies. Codependent people often struggle to cope when they don't have high amounts of control in their relationships, or when things aren't done "just so". They gravitate towards caretaking roles where they have high amounts of control, and struggle to let go.

external locus of control. They often feel powerless in their lives, and feel that they simply have to accept their circumstances and the way that others treat them.

high capacity for denial. They often cannot or will not see problems that are right in front of them, and refuse to acknowledge the seriousness of a situation - the house will be burning down around them and they'll refuse to even admit that it's getting a little warm.

a history of interpersonal trauma or abuse. Codependency is often a learned behaviour - many people who fall into these patterns experienced codependency from their parents, or witnessed their parents' codependent relationship at a young age. Many have also experienced extreme emotional abuse, from their parents or a past partner.

a strong need for approval. Codependents need to be liked. They need approval. Doing things for others and letting others walk on them is the best way they know how to gain that.

boundary issues. They often cannot and do not set personal boundaries - they take a "Giving Tree" approach to helping others, endlessly giving even when it seriously hurts them. At the same time, they may overstep boundaries to try to fix others' issues, even when it is not their responsibility to get involved.

a lack of personal identity. The codependent relationship often becomes the focus of their whole life. They invest so much time and energy into it that without it, they wouldn't know what to do with themselves.

a tendency to be drawn to close relationships with substance addicts, alcoholics, people with personality disorders, or other codependents. Codependent relationships are usually not a one-off thing - they tend to be a recurring pattern in a person's life. In particular, people with untreated BPD often seek out relationships with codependent people, as they tend to prefer relationships with people who don't set personal boundaries and are willing to provide the extreme amounts of reassurance and caretaking that they need. People with BPD also tend to be codependent themselves, further complicating things.

an appearance of being "addicted to chaos". Codependent people often appear to gravitate toward drama, dysfunction and chaos. Having relationships with people who have healthy boundaries, autonomy and stable personal lives often holds little interest for them - they prefer relationships where they feel needed and depended upon.

Codependent people often have a "martyr" or "victim" complex - they often feel that it is their lot in life to suffer for others, that self-sacrifice is a key part of their identity, or that suffering is simply a part of loving someone. The idea that they should set expectations in a relationship, leave a relationship where they aren't treated well or have an identity of their own outside a relationship is something they struggle with. They often hop from codependent relationship to codependent relationship, becoming steadily more beaten down and burnt out in the process - breaking free from codependent tendencies can be a long process, and often requires professional help.

There is a lot of variety in what codependent relationships look like. Some examples of codependency in action would include:

A mother allows her chronically unemployed and irresponsible 38-year-old son to live with her, and does everything for him. She never confronts her son about the fact that he doesn't contribute financially or help out around the house, even though it's placing a great financial and personal strain on her. When other family members ask why her adult son isn't taking steps to get his life together, the mother becomes highly defensive, and may make up lies about the progress he's made, or insist that he's still young and that this is normal for his age.

A woman assumes the role of "caregiver" for her unstable and very mentally ill partner. She bends over backwards to keep her partner happy, and doesn't seem to notice or mind that her partner never does the same thing in return. Her partner constantly burns bridges with their own family or friends with their explosive anger, and she rushes in to make excuses and try to fix the situation. When friends raise concerns about the relationship, she brushes them off, insisting that she's happy and everything is fine.

The parent of an autistic teenager infantilizes their autistic child, and insists that the child needs much more care than they actually do. Being an "autism parent" is a huge part of their identity. The child has never been allowed to attend an overnight camp, go for sleepovers or stay at home with a babysitter, as the parent is highly fearful and believes that other people will not look after their child properly. The parent strongly resists all of their child's attempts to gain more independence, insisting that it's too dangerous or that the child cannot handle it.

The US version of the television show Shameless is almost entirely centered around codependent relationships. The main characters are all in codependent relationships with their alcoholic and dysfunctional father, Frank. Although the main characters are often angry with their father, they constantly allow him back into their lives no matter how horribly he treats them - at times, they give him money, provide him with alcohol, let him move back into their house, visit him in the hospital and cover him with a blanket when he passes out on the floor. The boundaries they set with him never last long, and they always resume having a relationship with him, even after he does things that most people would find unforgivable.

So with that said: is it healthy for someone to rely on you as a constant source of support?

It sort of depends.

Relationships are supposed to be a reliable source of support for both of the people in them. That's sort of what they're for. I worry sometimes that the internet is making us too transactional in our relationships, and too quick to think that someone is taking advantage of us if they constantly turn to us for support. It's normal to find comfort in your relationships, and to turn to your loved ones whenever you need someone to talk to. I talk to my partner, my parents and my closest friends every day - that often means mentioning things that we’re stressed or anxious about, or venting about problems in our lives. Sometimes people are going through something and need extra support for a while - that’s just a normal part of close relationships. 

With that said, there are times when someone leans on you too hard. If helping someone is starting to take a serious toll on your own life, that’s a problem. Every relationship needs boundaries; if your boundaries are consistently pushed or broken in the name of supporting that person, it may be time for a serious talk. Staying up until 4am to talk someone through a crisis is fine if this is a rare occurrence. Staying up until 4am to talk someone through a crisis multiple times per week, every single week, is an issue - that’s you sacrificing your own need for sleep, and something needs to change. Are you willing to set boundaries and balance your own needs with your friends’ needs? Is the other person willing to respect boundaries, or do they lash out with anger, guilt-trips, accusations of not caring for them or threats to harm themselves? 

If you and a friend are both willing to communicate and work on establishing boundaries, I think it’s fine for one person to need a lot of support. If the relationship is damaging for you and one or both of you just isn’t able or willing to discuss boundaries, that’s a sign there could be some codependence going on. 

A person experiencing separation anxiety and extreme stress when you aren’t around could be an issue - but again, it depends on how it’s being handled. Is your friend able to cope with this anxiety on their own, or are they constantly putting this anxiety on you? Are they blowing up your phone and getting anxious if you’re 10 minutes late answering a text? Do they ever try to guilt-trip you or blame you for triggering their separation anxiety? Do they accuse you of not caring about them if you try to take time for yourself? Are they jealous of your other relationships? Is their extreme stress taking a toll on your life and preventing you from having other relationships or having personal boundaries and space? If your friend is willing to work on boundaries and find healthy coping mechanisms for their stress, this might be something you can overcome. If your friend is burning you out and one or both of you is unable to set boundaries, this might be a very unhealthy situation. 

Not feeling the same stress and anxiety, however, is definitely not selfish. It’s not healthy for someone to feel that level of extreme stress and separation anxiety - it’s not your friend’s fault that they experience that, but it’s still very unhealthy. The fact that someone feels an unhealthy attachment to you does not mean that you should feel an unhealthy attachment right back. No one benefits from that. In any healthy relationship, both people have a life and identity outside the relationship. This is, fundamentally, the issue at the core of many different unhealthy relationships - whether they are codependent, enmeshed, or abusive.

 Being so attached to someone that you can’t handle them needing friends, hobbies, space and independence isn’t a compliment or something to aspire to - it’s just unhealthy.

Hope this answers your question! MM

[thevoidscreams]

I don't care which slashers/killers you do for this BUT...... May I have some killers hcs meeting their male s/o for the first time? 🥺👉👈

also I know I need to get through what little writings I have planned done and out so I can do these in return and maybe do somethin for ya

I really tried here, I'm sorry if it's not exactly what you wanted. I love these two and I wanted to write more for them. Please let me know if you'd like me to change them at all or if they seem wrong.

Ghostface:

Danny Johnson did not have a tolerant upbringing. His family, despite lacking any sort of faith, was a family built on the foundation that men only slept with women. That's just how it was and that that was how nature had kept things going. When Danny realized he didn't just get hard when looking at naked girls however, life became a lot harder. Literally.

Collage was the escape he needed. He took off and never looked back. Ghosting his family before it was a regular thing. He could finally be who he really was.

The first time he saw you was at a party and he knew something was different. Just introducing himself felt like a life or death situation, he couldn't fuck this up. Some deep part of him needed you to like him, needed you to want him. Danny man not have called it love at first sight but it was definitely something. When you left you took his number and promised to hang out later. You had similar schedules so it would be easy. Right?

You threw a wrench into every plan he'd set in place. All his aspiring affairs with other people died the moment you gave him your name. Your perfect name.

Danny begins every morning thinking about you and would lay down at night with you on his mind till he faded into sleep. Everyday for months you plague his thoughts. Your chill sessions are basically dates in his mind. Even if it's just bumming it on the dorm couches with Mariocart and eating cheap greasy pizza. He cherishes every moment. It has to be more, he thinks, your too nice, too friendly and some of your remarks could be taken as flirting. You're not like this with your other friends. Just with him.

He plans to ask you out but for the first time in his life he's scared by the idea of getting a no. The thought of being rejected by you makes him feel legitimately sick to his stomach. What if he's misread all your signals and your disgusted by his advances. What if you call him all the awful things his old high-school friends did when he came out to them. He needs you to know how he feels, keeping it all in is making him feel anxious.

He was mulling it over in his mind when he got a call, answering it to hear your voice caused a sudden feeling of euphoria within him. "Hey, can we meet up?" Your voice was shaky and you sounded unsure. But Danny agreed right away, assuring you he had the time and was happy to meet up.

You two got coffee together all the time but today there was something more to it. The way you laughed and bumped his shoulder with your fist, the way you smiled awkwardly like you were trying to keep something from him. Danny was getting worried as he looked down at you. "Is everything alright shortstake? You seem off today."

You took a deep breath and looked him right in the eyes. "DannyIlikeyou" you blurted out cheeks red and eyes wide in panic. "I'm sorry I just I couldn't do it anymore," you looked away, "keeping it all in made me feel so awful and I just needed you to know. I'll understand if you don't feel the same way about me and if you don't want to see me again I'll understand that too but-"

He kissed you, right there in front of all of the coffee shop patrons and employees. To his amazement a few people wooped and clapped.

Danny pulled away, he took his coffee in one hand and then your hand in his other.

"Let's go somewhere more private."

He led you to a little pond, there were ducks and water lilies. It was quiet, peaceful, the perfect place to have a heart to heart.

The talk that followed was long and he explained at great lengths how he felt about you.

You confirmed some of the things he suspected, embarrassed by how easily he read you. At the end of it all you were both a bit teary eyed.

"So I guess what I'm trying to say here is, I love you." You did cry after hearing that, so happy and relieved he felt the same way. You kissed him, and he responded in kind, with only the ducks as witnesses this time. They didn't make a peep about the kiss....but they did quack.

Thomas Hewitt:

Tommy knew something was different the first time he met you. You were just a new hire at the meat plant but he couldn't take his eyes off you. The poor thing didn't know what to do. So he just watched. Intrigued by the feelings he felt when he did.

"Good morning Thomas." You'd nod as you passed him to get to your work station. He'd grunt in reply and nod. Happy to see you.

"Hey Tom, lunch time! Thank God for lunch breaks am I right?" Your hand was firm as you passed him, clapping his shoulder. He liked when you touched him, no one ever touched him unless he was also being yelled at. But your touch was different and it was good.

"See ya tomorrow Tommy." You groaned tiredly after a long shift, promising to see him tomorrow. He hoped to see you everyday for the rest of his life.

It was a system, a pattern, it was something Tommy relied on, like a clock, you were on time and followed the routine.

Except this morning, you weren't here. The supervisor was passing by to inspect the work station.

"Where the hell is that freaky bastard at?" He asked pointing to your station. Tommy shrugged, he didn't know, probably the bathroom. "Yeah well you might want to keep your distance, I heard from some the other guys that he's one of them men lovers. If it were up to me he'dhave never come here, but the boss says we're 'short staffed'." The snicker that bubbled up from him was disgusting and he mouthed off a few insults and slurs before walking off to finished his rounds.

Tommy was angry, more than usual at least. He wanted to take that supervisor's head and crush it under his mallet. Instead he stripped his apron off and went to the bathroom. Still a tiny part of him was happy, glad to know he wasn't alone.

The bathroom was never locked, it couldn't be, the lock was broken and building management was too cheap to replace it. So Tommy pushed through the door and listened. A soft rhythmic sound greeted him. Soft uneven breathing, muffled by the walls of the stall. He knew that sound, it was all too personal to him.

He stepped in front of the stall and their sounds turned panicked like they knew they'd been caught.

He knocked on the wood so gently and as it swung open he confirmed his suspensions. Your eyes were red and swollen, a large bruise on your cheek. Tommy saw red as he looked over your generally disheveled appearance.

You were trying to hide the fact that you'd been crying.

"Hey Tommy, what's happening brother? The uh... supervisor send you in here to find me or something?" When you tried to push past him to get to the sinks Thomas stopped you with one big arm.

"Uh you good?" Your voiced trembled and it torn Tommy apart to hear the man he loved so distressed. His big arms pulled you in, holding your smaller body against his massive one. He just didn't care anymore, he didn't care if you knew, or if the whole world knew. People already called him a freak for the way he looked. They were wrong, Thomas wasn't a freak, not for the way he looked or for the way he felt. Neither were you for that matter. When you hugged him back his heart soared. "Thank you." You cried softly, face buried in his chest.

The gentle giant wiped a tear away, carefully as not to agitated the bruise. He grunted and ran his thumb around the edge of the darkening spot.

"Don't worry about that, some of the guys found out about my...well I'm sure you know or have at least heard." Thomas nodded, still holding you. "We should probably get back to our stations."

Tommy was hesitant but he let you go to wash your face and fix your appearance. Things were going to be hard for the both of you. But hard was nothing new to him he was used to fighting for equal footing with others, fighting to get what he wanted always fighting. But this time it really was something worth fighting for. This time it was you.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

either a prompt or reaction: codsworth and romanced hancock reacting to a distraught sole telling them that shaun is the leader of the institute.

Thanks so much for the ask, anon!

So I really wanted to do a drabble for this one, but it’s been a crazy week and I'm about to work a few 14 hour days at work and I wanted to get this out before my untimely demise. If you want to see this as more of a drabble, I'm happy to do it, just let me know and I can get it out once I'm alive again 😅

Codsworth:

He wouldn't believe it at first. The Mr. Handy would have a hard time grasping the fact that "young" Shaun is now older than his mistress/master. He would act very similar to how he had when Sole first found him after leaving vault 111.

There would definitely be a good bit of denial on his part before the information would really sink in. Poor Sole wouldn’t have much in the way of consolation right after they initially told him.

When he finally does grasp the reality of the situation, he is nearly as distraught as Sole is. Not necessarily because he thinks the institute is evil and he hates the idea that Shaun is its leader, but rather because he understands that Sole never got to see their son grow up. All of that lost time really gets to him. He knows what it's like to lose time with people you care about.

Once fully realizing the gravity of the situation, he would become the ultimate caretaker. He would give Sole a purified water every time he saw them tear up, and make them the wasteland version of their favourite comfort meal. He would be sure to check their bed and blankets, and keep them as clean and comfortable as possible, and would make sure Sole didn't have to lift a finger if they wanted to stay in bed all day. When they got up to do anything, Codsworth would be close behind, too worried to take his image receptors off of them for more than a couple minutes at a time. Codsworth has already lost one of their family members, and now Sole had told him Shaun was essentially lost to them as well, but they had each other, and Codsworth wanted to be absolutely sure that they knew he was there for them.

After the initial shock of the situation has worn off and some time has passed, he may utter the occasional joke for Sole, just so he can see them smile again. (Or scoff and roll their eyes at his puns, just anything but that distant melancholy look they've had plastered on their face since they returned from the Institute).

If anyone was to bring up the subject of destroying the institute or were openly bad-mouthing Shaun as it's leader, Codsworth would hush them and shoo them away until Sole told him that it was time to discuss the future of the institute and what to do about it. After that, he would still monitor conversations and intervene if he felt like anyone was being insensitive.

Hancock:

Hancock wouldn’t take his eyes off the space Sole had vanished from. Whether they were gone at the institute a few hours or a few days, he would remain, fingers absent-mindedly tearing bits of skin from his hands anxiously as he stared ahead. He wouldn’t even notice what he was doing until he felt a wetness, and looked down for a moment to see the blood crusting under his cracked fingernails. His head would snap back up to continue his watch. The moment the blue light flashes, indicating Sole’s return, he would have them in his arms, hugging them tightly before pulling back and running his hands along their body, making sure they were safe, that they were unhurt, that they were them. Only after Sole ensured him that they were unhurt would he allow others to approach them.

After the initial welcome had died down, Sole would indicate for Hancock to follow them to their house, their gaze falling heavily on Shaun’s crib as they led him to their room and closed the door. As soon as Sole told him what happened in the Institute, he would be absolutely furious. He would look down with a furrowed brow, fists clenching tightly as he tried to control his expression for Sole’s sake. He wouldn’t even be sure what pissed him off the most. Maybe it's the clinical and borderline dismissive way in which Shaun had spoken to his parent after knowing all that they had gone through to find him, or the way that he had used the child synth version of himself to experiment on Sole before he had even spoken to them himself, or the fact that he is the leader of a bigoted, self-righteous institution that actively practices slavery and mercilessly preys on the people of the Commonweath. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he could practically feel his blood boiling beneath his skin.

However, though the ghoul would be fuming, he would hold it together in order to best help Sole. No matter how livid he is, he knows that bad-mouthing their son probably isn't the best way to help Sole at this point. Even if their son was a cold, unfeeling, pious, self-centered son of a-- … ah, nevermind.

Initially, he might offer some sort of pick-me-up if that's something he knows Sole is into (it’s honestly just a built-in reflex to ask at this point). If they’re not about it, he'll be there for them in whatever way they choose to deal with this grief. If they want to drink themselves into a stupor until they forget their own name, he'll rub their back through the night and care for them the morning after. If they want to cry and wail until their throat is raw and their tears run dry, he'll bring them some purified water and hold onto them as tightly as he can as they're racked by their sobs. If they want to dose themselves up with enough chems to compete with his own bouts of crippling self-medication, he'll be there to help them through any rough trips and keep them from taking it too far. He'll be there for all of it, never leaving their side, even neglecting himself in the process.

That being said, he'd only let them go so far once. After their initial bout of grief, he'll encourage them not to fall into the same patterns that he once did (and still sometimes finds himself in). He'll tell them it's a bad plan, unless they wanna end up lookin like him. Sole was better than that, better than him, and he'd be sure to tell them that.

Now he’d be the one to go into the caretaker phase, ensuring Sole was eating enough, and sleeping the right amount, always offering them water, the occasional chem, (again, only if they’re into that), and he would constantly be talking to them. To distract them, to compliment them, to tell them how much they mean to him, and to tell them about his plans for their future, making sure they know they’ve got plenty left to live for, even if it doesn’t always seem like it.

He will constantly remind them of their worth, and the fact that their son's position in the institute has nothing to do with their role as his parent, or as a person in general. He'll tell them it's not their fault, and remind them that they did everything they could, and no one would have been able to do more than Sole had in this situation, given that it was clearly completely out of their hands.

Sole will have to be the one to bring it up, but Hancock will be happy to help them work through what to do about the Institute. Even though he has strong negative feelings for the faction, he would try and hold his tongue for the most part, as he understands that Sole would be feeling a great amount of conflict when it comes to the subject of the destruction of the institute; and, ultimately, the death of their child.

He’d be afraid of the mental toll this would take on Sole, but they would cross that bridge when they came to it, and in the end, he’s confident his Sole will do what’s best for the people of the Commonwealth, no matter how much it hurts them. It’s one of the things he loves most about them, and no matter how broken they become after enduring this strife, he’ll be there to pick up the pieces. He may not be the best with coping mechanisms, but he’ll be damned if he lets Sole fall into the same destructive patterns he had when he’d been in such a state. No, he’ll be there to make sure they don’t make the same mistakes he once did. The same mistakes that they had saved him from. It was only fair, after all.

[thetriggeredhappy]

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” Jeremy asked, nervous now.

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

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

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

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

“Freedom,” Jeremy marveled.

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

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

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

“I’m still on board.”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“Night Guard,” Jeremy answered, voice clipped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How often?”

“Weekly.”

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he noticed a weird thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed,” Dad said, nodding vaguely.

“So uhhh... not the best.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, a billion,” Jeremy said.

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

“Yeah sure,” Jeremy shrugged.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. Okay, don’t panic, focus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He closed the panel again and moved to wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, duh.

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

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

He exhaled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And not the third?” she asked pointedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about the Scout?” Heavy rumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“Sounds possible,” Heavy said hesitantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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