#develop in the new body part… for like maybe a few days she isn’t fully Connected to the new part and perhaps it is kind of numb

[femboy-central]

what if I said I thought Velvette’s body parts connected like the dunmeshi living armour…….

[mercy-burning]

Move This Along

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After months of waiting, Spencer decides he finally wants to have sex with Reader. Category: SMUT (18+) Warnings: Language, sex (oral sex- female receiving, virgin!Spence, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie) Word Count: 5.6k

Full Request: “...so a smutty oneshot with like virgin!spencer but im talkling like baby spence. and hes super blushy and cute but then when it happens its rlly raunchy and therws a lot of dirty talk. and like reader doesnt work at the bau but theyre close friends. and like she goes out to a bar with him and the team and they tease him so then she takes him home and literally fucks him after a movie or smth idk...” — @mggscumrag

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

NOTE: It took me forever to figure out how I wanted to do this, but once I did, it came out so quickly! I hope it’s to your liking 🥰

***

The first time she went out to meet Elle's friends from work, Y/N found herself absolutely nervous, and she wasn't sure why. She was always great with meeting new people, but for some reason, the prospect of meeting her next-door neighbor's co-workers seemed to really do a number on her.

She remembers how anxious she'd been, constantly worrying that they wouldn't like her, not to mention they were all probably super smart and strong and intimidating, just like Elle. Anyone who aided in putting away serial killers, rapists, and other monsters had to be just about the most intimidating personality there ever was.

But as Y/N soon learned, that wasn't quite the case at all.

To be fair, they were all intimidating in their own little ways, though it was really easy to forget about that when she was laughing with them, sharing drinks and stories, and exchanging phone numbers to stay in touch.

That's how she and Spencer had come to be good friends. Despite how obviously shy he was whenever they saw each other, the two of them managed to have conversations on just about everything. It usually happened that he talked and she listened to whatever he was teaching her, but she'd always add on the occasional, "Wow, I didn't know that," or "That's really fascinating." All of which she could tell he was surprised at and appreciated.

And since the first time they met at Elle's birthday party, the night she met the whole team for the first time, they'd been practically inseparable. While Y/N was good friends with the whole team, save for Gideon, who always seemed to like it better by himself, her relationship with Spencer seemed to even surpass the bond she'd built with her neighbor-slash-best friend.

Elle even told her as much one Saturday night, as the two of them were driving to the bar to meet up with everyone for a few drinks.

She'd mentioned it as a joke, but Y/N was instantly apologetic.

Elle only laughed. "Don't apologize. Actually, I think it's good that Reid has another friend outside of work. You're good for him. And you know, I think he has a little crush on you."

Warmth rushed to Y/N's cheeks, and she tried to hide it but failed miserably, causing Elle to give her a knowing smile. "Y—You don't know what you're talking about, Elle, it's not like that."

"Oh come on, it totally is. You give him the light of day when no one else does, he talks about you all the time, and everyone at work knows it."

She paused. "They... do?"

"Of course they do, we're all profilers, but it doesn't take one to see how obsessed that boy is with you. I think you should go for it."

Y/N would have been lying if she said she hadn't thought about asking him out. But in the end she had always figured it was a little weird, being that she was friends with all his and Elle's co-workers and she'd kinda been adopted into their family of sorts. But hearing what her neighbor was saying... She started to think differently about it.

"You really think so?"

Elle nodded. "Absolutely."'

"Okay," she replied with an excited smile. "Maybe I will, then."

A week later and the two of them started dating. Y/N always thinks back to the first few weeks of their relationship, how adorably shy and blush-prone Spencer was, even after they'd been together for some time. They spent almost all their free time together, and it still seemed like he was nervous to be around her. He'd assured her on multiple occasions that that wasn't the case, but Y/N still wondered why he hadn't fully warmed up to being around her.

Especially in public. Oh, in public it was worse. Y/N clung to his arm, and his face immediately got red. What confused her the most, though, was that every time she pulled away to make him more comfortable, he pulled her back in, seemingly desperate to feel her warmth.

In the end she and Spencer had grown to develop their own little communication system for public settings, something to let the other know when something was really wrong, and when to ask if the other was comfortable.

One night everyone was meeting after a rough case somewhere in Denver, and Y/N offered to buy everyone drinks once Spencer had called to tell her they were all back. It wasn't out of the ordinary for her to do that, but it had been a while, so everyone was quick to except. Well, mostly everyone— Gideon as per usual went his separate way, and Hotch was eager to get home and see his family.

Y/N was waiting for them at their favorite bar downtown when she heard a loud squeal that sounded a lot like her name. Sure enough, it was easy to spot a very yellow-clad Penelope Garcia headed straight towards her with her arms stretched out for a hug when she turned around. The smile she adorned was instantaneous as her arms came out a well, embracing Penelope with a large hug that almost knocked the wind out of her.

"I missed you!" she exclaimed, still hugging Y/N and swaying them back and forth a little. "I mean, I know I don't ever travel with the team, but because of that we should hang out more."

"Next time I need some company, I know who to call."

Y/N spotted Spencer then, behind Penelope and patiently waiting for a greeting. She smiled at him and whispered, "Hi," to which Penelope must have heard.

She quickly released her from their embrace and stepped out of the way. "Oh! I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from your boy wonder."

She laughed as she transferred from Penelope's arms to Spencer's. He muttered a little, "Hi," into her hair as she squeezed him and shoved her face into his neck. If she had to bet, he was probably red as a tomato right now with how close her mouth was to his neck—it was his weakness and she knew it. And just to tease him a little bit she quickly kissed up his neck, his jaw, and placed a decent peck on his lips before pulling away and grabbing his hand.

Despite the shy smile and the blush adorning his cheeks, he squeezed her hand tight and kept her at his side like they would die if they weren't touching at all times.

Everyone gave little greetings to Y/N as they all made their way to a large booth near the back. Y/N was sitting on one side with Elle to her right and Spencer to her left, while Derek, Penelope, and JJ sat across from them. Y/N got them all their preferred drinks, and a beer for herself, which Spencer couldn't help but find oddly attractive.

He glanced over at her as she took swigs from the bottle as the night progressed, and for whatever reason the sight made his insides all warm and tingly. And when she used her unoccupied hand to grab his under the table, rubbing gentle circles over the inside of his palm with her thumb, he'd never felt more in love with another person. He wasn't even drinking any alcohol, yet his head swam and his heart soared all the same, every bone in his body humming with euphoria at just the mere thought of her.

He must have been staring a little too obviously, because Derek kicked his leg under the table, pulling him from the lovesick daydream he never wanted to leave.

"I can't tell if those are cute ol' puppy dog eyes or bedroom eyes," Derek laughed, and everyone laughed right alongside him.

"Oh, stop it," Penelope said, swatting his arm. "He's obviously just very in love with her, what more could you need to know?"

"Oh, come on, tell me you're not curious to know how they... operate."

She smacked him harder this time, and everyone laughed.

Knowing her boyfriend didn't really care for the spotlight, especially when it came to their relationship, Y/N squeezed Spencer's hand under the table in reassurance. She drew a question mark in his palm, their signal for, "Are you uncomfortable?" And he responded by drawing an "X" in her palm, their answer for, "No." She laced their fingers together then, and set her beer down.

"Morgan, our sex life isn't any of your business," she stated simply.

Spencer felt his stomach churn at the sentence, if only because said sex life was, as of late, non-existent.

He and Y/N had made out a lot, sure, but the one time they did try having sex, he made it about ten seconds being inside of her before he finished, and since then he'd been kind of embarrassed about it. They only ever made out since then, because before it ever got that far he stopped it, nervous that he'd disappoint her.

And now his non-existent sex life was the topic of conversation, and if anyone picked up on it, he would have felt worse about the whole thing.

So, he didn't stop himself from speaking. "But if you must know, it's great."

Y/N's hand tensed up in his, and she looked over at him, shock marinating in her eyes. To anyone else it would have looked like she was surprised he'd even bring it up, but he knew she was most likely more curious to know why he'd lied about it.

Their friends laughed regardless, Elle adding a curious and joking, "Care to elaborate?"

Ready to change the subject, Spencer shook his head. "Nope."

"Yeah, actually I think we're gonna head out early," Y/N added. Spencer was suddenly worried he'd made her upset, but she rubbed gentle circles into his hand that reassured him everything was okay.

He got out of the booth and Y/N followed, as their friends grumbled.

"Oh, come on, we didn't mean to embarrass you guys," Derek said.

"No, that's not it," Y/N said as she threw on a light jacket. "You just reminded me how much I'd like to operate with my boyfriend since I haven't seen him in a few days, so we're leaving. Have a good night."

Spencer felt searing heat rise to his cheeks as he turned around and ushered Y/N out the door, accompanied by low whistles and claps from their friends.

***

The two of them were sitting on the couch now, Y/N having just set down a couple classes of water.

"Sorry if you wanted to stay," she said quietly, playing with her thumbs. "You know we don't... actually have to operate if you don't want, obviously, I was just looking for something to say..."

"Oh, Y/N, I know. Don't worry about it. Really, I... I was the one who even brought it up, I should have just let you handle it."

She looked up at him with a small smile. "Why.. did you bring it up anyway?"

"Well, I... I guess I just felt embarrassed. And I know what we do together isn't any of their business, but I was just... I really was thinking about how much I love you, and when Morgan brought it up, I felt like I wasn't... living up? To your expectations? I don't..." He sighed, unsure how to properly articulate how he was feeling. "I don't know. I just thought about the last time we tried having sex, and I felt embarrassed about it, that's all."

"Oh, honey," Y/N cooed, scooting closer to him and bringing her hand up to brush some of the hair from his face. "You know, you... don't have anything to prove, right? I know how much you love me, and you don't need to be having sex with me to show me, I hope you know that."

Still, he couldn't bring himself to look at her face. "I do," he choked out, pulling at the hem of his shirt. "I'm... I'm sorry."

Y/N's tongue clicked, and she leaned into him, wrapping one of her arms around his neck and placing the other across his lap. She held him tight and kissed the side of his head. "Don't you ever be sorry, unless you cheat on me. Then there will be something to be sorry about."

He laughed at her joke, turning his head to brush his nose against hers. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispered, giving him the lightest of kisses on the lips.

When she pulled away, he leaned in again, kissing her a little harder, and she gladly reciprocated. With every passing second, all of his worries started to melt away like the snow to her sunshine. Within every kiss was an emanation of outpouring love and comfort that warmed his soul and gave him the confidence to try something bold.

His hands threaded through her hair as he drew her in closer, and instinctively, she climbed over his lap, resting her hands on his shoulders as he gently probed her mouth with his tongue. The sound of her sigh as she opened up to him and allowed him to fully explore her mouth with his made his stomach bubble and tense.

This would be about the time where he'd stop, telling Y/N that they should slow down, and she'd sweetly oblige and stay cuddled into his side as they drifted off to sleep.

But tonight he didn't want that.

Tonight he wanted more.

While one of his hands remained in her hair, gently massaging her scalp, the other snaked down to her lower back. He gently slid his fingers under the fabric of her shirt and pressed his palm flat against her, pulling her closer to him with a desperation that both shocked and excited her.

Deciding to test the waters, Y/N rolled her hips, feeling him jump slightly underneath her, followed by a whine that vibrated her mouth and sent a low hum of pressure through her stomach.

Still, she pulled away.

Well... She tried to.

When she pulled her face away from him, Spencer used the hand in her hair to bring her back, tilting his head in the other direction and continuing to kiss her with enough passion for the both of them. And it didn't help that the sound she made when he did it spurred him on. She whimpered loudly into his mouth, and the hand on her back involuntarily slid down to grab her ass.

"Hey," she managed to get out when he pulled away momentarily for air. "Hey, you don't... We don't have to really do this if you don't want. I—I don't want you to think that what happened earlier means we have to have sex."

"Y/N..." His hand gently kneaded her ass, and against her better judgement, she rolled her hips again, sighing out against his lips. "I don't want to put it off any longer... Really, I... I want to. I want to show you how much I love you."

She kissed him softly again, bringing both of her hands up to cradle his face. "You already do. Every day."

She was giving him an out, and Spencer appreciated it. But with the way his insides were practically melting away at her presence, he knew more than anything that this was what he wanted.

"I know," he said. "But if you don't mind, today I'd like to show you a little extra." And then he kissed her deeply again.

Her hands tightened on his face, right before they slid up and through his hair. She gently tugged at it, and he let out one of the most delicious sounds she'd ever heard. For future reference, she relished in that sound, in that feeling, and made a mental note to try it out some more when they got further along in their sexual path.

But tonight, she would let him call the shots. He was finally ready to try it again, and seeing how confident he grew in his touches and kisses when she submitted to him, it was the simplest decision.

So she remained on his lap until he made another move, encouraging him with whimpers and languid rolls of her hips against his. Her hands grew frenzied in his hair when he dipped his hand past the waistband of her jeans and underwear, sticking his fingers in only about a knuckle deep. The warmth of his hands against her bare skin sent shivers down her spine, which she let show by involuntarily grinding down on his lap.

Spencer groaned deeply more than whined this time, his grip on her hands gripping tighter to her backside. He forced himself to remove his mouth from hers long enough to breathe out, "Bedroom. Please."

As much as Y/N didn't want to get off of his lap, she knew that what waited for her in the bedroom would be worth the momentary loss of complete physical contact. So she peeled herself away from her boyfriend, grabbing him by the hand, and lead him to her bedroom.

Once the door was closed, he was on her again, caging her face between his large hands and capturing her lips in another heated kiss. They moved backwards until she hit her back against the door, and the second their movement stopped, Spencer used their standing position to press his full body weight into her, their legs tangling together.

Meanwhile, Y/N was trying to figure out where to put her hands. She wanted to brace them on his chest, but it was pressed tightly against hers. So they wandered over his back, but she couldn't decide whether to place them under his shirt or on his butt. Or maybe she wanted to grip his arms to feel the veins as they strained against his skin from holding her face. The possibilities were quite endless.

So endless that they were even surprising—Spencer noticed her wandering hands and promptly decided to place them where he wanted, which was apparently above her head. He removed his hands from her face and pinned her wrists to the door above her head, and she huffed a breath as he pulled away to speak.

"Is this okay? I wasn't too... too rough?"

The concern swimming in his lust-filled eyes drew a little whimper from her throat as she struggled to find the right words. But finally, she settled on, "That was so fucking hot..."

Relief flashed over his gaze right before he grinned. His fingers flexed against her wrists, and even though she couldn't see them, she could imagine how it looked. And it really was fucking hot.

Seeing the expression on her face, Spencer leaned forward again and kissed her one last time. Their lips moved together hungrily, dancing in perfect synchronization, the music being the frantic beating of their hearts.

And then he started to trail his kisses down her jaw and neck, keeping her hands firmly pinned to the door. Usually she was the one to explore his neck with her tongue and teeth, but this time he wanted to try it for himself. Mirroring what he'd felt her do to him hundreds of times over, he soaked in every single sound she made, from the little whimpers of pleasure to the soft, choked whispers of his name dancing over her lips. And when her hips canted forward, searching for any kind of friction, he decided to grant it to her.

As his kisses moved down along her collarbone, his hands gently slid down with him, over her arms and then down to the bottom of her shirt as he kneeled in front of her. He lifted the shirt slowly, each new inch of exposed skin being met with soft kisses until it reached her breasts. He reached up to palm them over her bra while he trailed his kisses downward again.

Even though she was wearing jeans, he pressed kisses to her legs anyway. She squirmed under his touch, and the feeling made his heart soar.

"Please, Spence," she huffed, bringing her hands down to lay overtop of his. She felt the tendons and veins in his hands as they squeezed her, and with everything she had, she tried not to beg him to use them in more interesting places. She wanted to let him take his time, to be a vessel for his exploration, but it was growing harder every second to be patient.

Thankfully he seemed to get what she was feeling, because his hands slid out from under her shirt and rested at her jeans. "Can I take these off?"

The fact that he even asked when she so clearly begged him to do it made her heart swell. "Please do," she chuckled, though it turned into a choked sigh when his fingers actually started undoing the button. And at the sound of her zipper going down, she could have come undone right there.

He pulled her jeans down slowly and helped her step out of them. And she thought maybe he'd take the next step and do the same with her underwear, but he opted to use his mouth instead.

With gentle kisses, he traced the hem of the fabric all the way to either side of her waist. And then he looked up at her with curious eyes and shifted his face, pressing his nose right up against where her clit would be. Her hands immediately went to his hair, but he grabbed her wrists again and laid them at her sides. "Do you want me to move this along?" His voice wasn't teasing as much as it was genuine curiosity.

Still, Y/N resisted the urge to tell him yes. "I—I want you to do whatever feels right. Tonight's... about you. What you want."

"Well, what I want is to make you feel good. So, again... Do you want me to move this along?"

Every time his lips moved, they brushed up against where she desperately wanted him. And it was killing her. So, she nodded vigorously. "Yes, please," she whispered.

And with that, Spencer released her hands and used his fingers to gently rub her over the fabric. The contact made her shiver visibly, and he took that as a good sign. So he wasted no more time and replaced his fingers with his tongue, fluttering his eyes closed at the taste of her. And he knew that once the thin fabric was gone it would be stronger, but even then he was thoroughly wrecked.

He kept lapping his tongue over her, feeling her panties get wetter with ever second, and he only finally removed them when she started grinding her hips closer to his face, desperate for more.

When he did finally bring his tongue to fully taste her for the first time, they both let out the filthiest sounds, months and months of build-up starting to come to a head. He tasted her like he would an ice cream cone, and for the first few moments his eyes remained closed, all his focus on this brand new sensation. But he wanted nothing more than to see her react to him. So he opened his eyes and continued his ministrations, pupils blowing wide at the sight of her above him.

She was panting, her mouth hung open and her tongue just barely peeking out over her bottom lip. Her eyes remained shut, though Spencer could tell she was struggling to open them. With a tentative flick of his tongue over her clit, he took notice of the little gasp she made, and he knew he'd found it. So he repeated his action, providing small kitten licks to her clit as she picked up her breathing and clenched her hands at her sides.

He picked up the pace then, taking note of every little thing that made her cry out or jump with pleasure until she was clutching his hair. He was sucking on her clit now, his middle finger gently sliding in and out of her when she spoke.

"Oh, fuck, keep doing that. I'm... I'm almost..."

He felt her tighten around his finger as she started careening off the edge, and he did his best to keep his eyes on her face, because it had practically been haunting him, wondering what it would be like to see her come undone at his mercy.

To say it was better than he could have ever dreamed was a severe understatement.

Y/N's head leaned back against the door, her chin jutted out so he could see the beautiful contours of her chin and neck. He saw her throat contract as she moaned out his name, saw her chest heave as she struggled to catch her breath, and best of all, he felt her flutter around his finger and mouth. And if that was high inducing, he couldn't wait to feel wat it would be like to replace them with something else.

The mere thought had him trembling.

He pulled back when she huffed out an over-stimulated, "Okay, please, please stop, oh..."

Though it could just as easily have been a painful sentiment, the hungry, dazed look in her eye suggested otherwise.

Spencer stood up and brought his finger to his mouth, still caught up in her taste before she ripped his wrist away and kissed him, threading her fingers through his hair and moaning into his mouth.

Before he could get lost in it, though, she pulled away and nodded. "Okay. I think you're wearing too many clothes."

He tilted his head down in a little flush, and with the help of Y/N, his shirt peeled away from his body and joined her pants and underwear on the floor.

Y/N mirrored his actions, kissing gently down his jaw, neck, and then down his torso. Her hands wandered his bare back as she sunk to her knees. But when her hands moved to his belt, he stopped her.

"W—wait."

She peeled her hands away and looked up at him. "Are you okay? Do you want to slow down?"

He visibly swallowed, and she could read that look on his face that he got whenever he was embarrassed to tell her something. "N—no, I... I want... the opposite, actually."

"I don't follow..."

"Well, I know that... if you return the favor, I won't last very long, a—and I... I don't want to wait anymore."

Y/N smiled, standing again and bringing her hands to rest on his shoulders. "So you're saying you... want me to move this along?"

Spencer smiled at her recollection of his words. "Yes, please."

They travelled to the bed then, Y/N taking off her shirt and bra when they got there, and leaving her completely bare to him. She sat down and reached for his belt, looking up at him as he stood.

"I'm clean and on birth control, do you still want to use a condom? I have some in my table drawer."

He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "As long as you're sure."

Y/N undid his belt quickly and threw it to the side, making work of his button and zipper with a smile. "Oh I'm so sure..."

The way she said it made his dick twitch, images running through his mind of how it would look seeing her filled and dripping with—

Her hand was palming him through his underwear now, and it was all he could think about. He had already been hard before, but now it was tilting on the precipice of painful pleasure. So he stopped her, taking a deep breath.

"Lay down?"

"However you want me," Y/N answered, positioning herself on the bed so she was leaning back, her head nicely laid out on the pillows.

Spencer swallowed and removed his underwear before climbing on the bed and kneeling over her. Her legs were already wide, feet flat on either side of him as he positioned himself and got ready.

She reached out and gently grabbed his forearm, a gentle smile on her face. "You ready?"

"Mhm," he answered with a curt nod, bringing himself forward to run the head of his dick through her wetness. They both sighed at the feeling, and Spencer knew he was in trouble.

It was finally happening, he was getting another chance to have sex with her, and if he didn't last long again, he was going to—

"I love you," Y/N said reassuringly, rubbing circles into the hand that rested on the inside of her thigh.

He looked into her eyes and saw that love radiating from them. It warmed his insides and gave him the confidence he needed to finally, slowly push into her as he whispered, "I love you, too."

Once he was fully sheathed inside her, he let out a large breath, leaning down to brace his arms on either side of her head. The pressure of her clenched around him was overwhelming in the best way possible, and he never wanted to move.

But he had to.

She stroked his hair, pressing soft kisses all over his face, and whispered, "I love you."

With those three words, Spencer had the courage to pull back and then forward again, testing the waters and more accurately, his limits. He picked up a slow pace that burned him from the inside out, every muscle and vein in his body on fire with the knowledge that he was finally, properly making love to the woman he was pretty sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

But he was holding back. Y/N could tell. He glided through her with ease, sure, but his eyes were squeezed shut like he was concentrating, like he was pacing himself and trying to hold on to this feeling.

She moved her hands down to his back and lightly ran her fingernails over the skin, feeling him tremble under her touch.

"You feel so good, Spence," she whispered. "So perfect for me..."

The words made his hips stutter just a little, and Y/N knew then what the hesitation was.

He wanted to go faster.

So she moved her fingers lower, cupping his ass and scratching featherlight circles into the skin as she moaned. "You like when I talk to you, baby? Does hearing my voice help you out?"

Spencer choked out a groan as he opened his eyes and saw how feral she looked. Her pupils were blown wide, her mouth was pouted cutely, and she smiled as soon as she saw him bite his lip.

"You wanna go faster?" she cooed, digging her fingernails a little harder into the flesh of his ass. "Hmm?"

"F—fuck, Y/N... I..."

"You fuck me however you need to, baby. Don't hold back. Just let it all out."

He groaned out then, his hips picking up speed. She felt the relief and the tension rolling off his body as he finally gave into his urges, and it was just about the sexiest thing she'd ever witnessed.

"That's it, baby... Don't stop... Give it to me, let me feel you..."

He leaned down and kissed her then, pumping into her harder and harder with every second. She moaned out against his mouth, swallowing all his breaths and grunts. Meanwhile her fingers gripped his ass harder, relishing in the feeling of his muscles as they aided in fucking her.

His mouth pulled away as he shoved his face into her neck, and she sighed. "You're doing so good, baby. Fuck... " His hips kept moving, and she clenched around him hard, hoping to gauge his reaction.

Sure enough, he groaned against her neck and canted his hips harder. Every thrust forward now was so deep he hit her g-spot, and the sensation made her sigh with a smile. "That's fucking right, baby... Just like that, don't stop, don't stop. You fe—el so... ohhh."

Her words lit this fire in him that was impossible to put out. His body was hers for the taking, and so he'd give her everything he had. Which is why he picked up the pace and fucked into her as hard as he could, dangerously close to finishing.

"Fuck, Spence, I'm gonna... —na..."

Y/n's moans turned into a quiet scream as she came, clenching tightly around his dick and digging her fingernails into his ass. Her eyes squeezed shut with the swirling patterns of fireworks exploding behind them, meanwhile he twitched inside of her and lost it at last. As she came down, she helped him hold himself there, deep inside her as his cum spilled over in warm increments. They both moaned out at the feeling, all their tension easing and dissipating.

By the end, all that was left between the both of them was a thin sheen of sweat and murmured promises of "I love you."

They could have fallen asleep right there. Y/N's hands slid up his backside, over his arms, and then to the back of his head, combing gently through his disheveled hair as he pressed loving kisses to the patch of skin where her neck met her collarbone. He was still inside her, unwilling to leave the warmth she provided, and she did nothing to object.

"How are you feeling?" she finally asked, opening her eyes.

Spencer tilted his head up to look at her, his heart once again swelling at the adoring look in her eyes. "I'm great."

She laughed, and he laughed with her. And they were silent for a few moments before he spoke again.

"So, uh... What we just did is what we're counting as our real first time together, right? Like, the other time doesn't count?"

Y/N laughed again, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "If you want to count this as our first time, then yes. I'd be more than happy to agree with you."

"Good. This was much better."

Even though she would never hold their first first time together against him, she was inclined to agree.

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[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story pt 23 - Sci Fi

Here is the next part! There is at least one more part in this world. Getting really close to the end!

Masterpost Linked Here

Enjoy!

_______________________

Life moved on, and despite the growing anxiety I had after my encounter with Chris, things moved smoothly. Chris had disappeared after that night, leaving his resignation from the academy laying on his desk. Liam was busy with wedding plans, occasionally checking in to make sure I was happy with his choices.

He was honestly much more thoughtful about it than I would have been, and I was happy to have his help. My father arranged his leave and was on his way. We also heard from Liam’s parents that they were going to arrive soon as well.

When Liam received the news, he became perfectly still for a few moments. I watched him, concerned at the obvious change.

“Liam, are you okay?”

“I – I don’t know.” His eyes were unfocused, as if staring off into space. “Why… are they coming?”

“Because they’re your parents? I doubt they would miss the wedding of a royal family member, no matter how bad your relationship is.”

“Parents… it’s… all wrong.” Liam seemed to be struggling against some invisible bind. His dark blue eyes flickered, and seemed to almost glow in the shadow of the resting area we sat it.

WARNING. World destabilization detected. Attempting forced conformity… Failure… host and partner soul strength too high.

Unable to see the bright blue words hanging in the air, Liam continued speaking.

“This… isn’t right. I don’t have family." His face was becoming more certain. “It’s not my fate. All I have is…” He glanced at me, his eyes filled with pain. “Bel..?”

WARNING! Stabilize world story immediately or face destruction and mission failure.

I reached out quickly, holding Liam’s hands in my own. “Liam, take a deep breath. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” He answered without hesitation.

“I know it seems wrong, but for now I need you to go with the idea of having parents and family.”

“But…?”

“Trust me. “

“Okay.” He leaned back, sighing. The glowing dark blue of his eyes faded, and he closed them for a brief moment, before seemingly returning back to normal. “I trust you.”

We don’t belong here.

The uncertainty in this world grew each day. Liam, whoever Chris had become… me… we weren’t from this world. But if we deviated to much, the world could destabilize, and I could fail the mission.

I just needed to keep my head down, blend in and complete the mission.

Try not to rebel too much against the role I’d been given in this world, except the ending.

Simple, right?

_______________________

…

“We’ve talked the last few hours about our lists, now it’s your turn! What do you miss most about Chris, Alaira?”

Maybe world destabilization, mission failure and soul destruction aren’t that bad after all.

I stared at the group of young women in front me, wondering for the hundredth time in the past hour how I had been roped into this... harem support group?

Allie, Ilene and Wen stared back at me, waiting for me to answer.

“I… miss kicking his butt in mock Mech battles?” I winced as I spoke, realizing they would probably take offense at that, but to my surprise they all smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, you were a very important rival to Chris.” Ilene patted me on the back.

Allie spoke up, “He was always talking about how he wanted to beat you and have you accept him as a fellow Guardian. “

“Yeah… he… I…” Wen started to chime in, but then her face crumpled as she sobbed into her hands. “What are we supposed to do now that he’s gone?! What am I supposed to do without him?! What if he never comes back?!”

“I miss him!”

“Me too!”

Soon all three girls were crying, leaving me in uncomfortable silence in the corner.

Blend in, don’t make waves, don’t try to change things….

“I can’t live without him!” Ilene’s dramatic cry broke something within me.

SCREW THIS!

“OKAY GUYS, SHUT UP!” I stood up, placing my hands on my hips as I stared at them. “You are a group of highly intelligent, talented women in the most competitive military academy in the known universe! And you’re nothing without some guy?”

“He’s not just some….” Wen started to interrupt, but was shushed by me.

“No. No matter how much you care for him. He is a guy, and you are all your own person. You have talents, dreams and stories beyond his existence.” I turned to petite girl beside me first. “You! Wen, you’re one of the top engineering students in the program! With your skills, it would be a cinch to improve upon the current Mech design!” After all, she had ramped up Chris’s Mech in the story, surely she could do the same without him!

“And you!” I pointed at Allie. “You’re a Guardian! You're a level B one at that! That's an even higher level than Chris!”

“But I don’t have his drive…”

“You can have his drive! You can have more than his drive! He spent half his time complaining about how people didn’t take him seriously or how people were trying to force him to be a Connector. You can be TEN TIMES the Guardian Chris was!”

I ignored her startled sputterings and turned towards the dark haired girl on the other side. “And you… Ilene.”

She stared at me warily. “What about me?”

“You’re a freaking Princess! And a super talented Connector! How can that become nothing if Chris isn’t around?”

“…I thought you didn’t like me?”

“I don’t.” I answered bluntly. “You treat your brother like trash, and that’s enough for me to want to kick your teeth in.” I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “That being said, just because I hate you doesn’t mean I don’t respect you as a talented Connector. You just have a crappy personality.”

“Um… Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it.” I opened my arms. “You three have top-notch talent all gathered here in one room. What do you need Chris for?! You could be a force to be reckoned with!”

Wen jumped to her feet. “You’re right! I should design a Mech, one stronger than anyone’s ever seen.!”

“Yes!” I pumped a hand in the air.

“And I’ll fly it! I’ll terrorize the Hive until they go running back to their home planet!” Allie stood up as well.

“You’ve got it!”

Ilene joined in. “If I remember, Allie, you and I have a decent resonance match. How about we partner up?”

“Let’s do it!”

The girls high-fived each other while I watched approvingly.

“Let’s destroy the hIve!

“We’ll save humanity!”

‘...And then we’ll find Chris!”

I groaned.

They were so close… but I guess this is better than nothing.

The girls plotted the formation of a new team, surprisingly accepting the team name “Harem” (my suggestion). As they filed out, chattering excitedly, I prepared to escape this mentally exhausting group.

“Alaira, wait.” Princess Ilene stopped me before I could walk out the door.

“What is it?” I kept a neutral expression. I hadn’t been joking when I said I didn’t like her.

She hesitated. “Are you really marrying my brother?”

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

“…No… it’s just…” She rubbed her face. “He’s… different. And I feel like you should know. “

Sitting back down, I crossed my legs and prepared to listen.

“Since he met you… William is a different person. He’s kinder… gentler… even goes by a different name. He’s never gone by Liam.”

That caught my attention “What was he like before?”

“Angry. Vicious. Hurt people just to watch them suffer.” Her face was blank, as if remembering things she didn’t want to. “He was so mad at the world for not allowing him to match, he spent all his time plotting to take down talented people who could.”

A villain. Was that who he was before Liam stepped in? Like how Alaira was before I took over? Or Chris before… whoever it was… took his body?

“I’m not pretending that I’m perfect, either. You’re right, I treated my brother like garbage, instead of trying to help him. I thought he was a monster. Honestly, I thought his hanging around you was some new scheme…. I was kind of hoping he would take you out so your couldn’t bother Chris…”

“So nice of you.” My tone was sarcastic

“At least I’m honest. Anyways, this doesn’t appear to be some trick… I think he’s changed… he actually seems to care about you. But I thought you should know who he was before he met you.”

“Thanks.” My tone was slightly better than before. “Don’t worry, I know exactly who I’m marrying.”

Liam. Not your villain brother.

“Good Luck.” Ilene seemed relieved, as if a burden was off of her shoulders with the confession, and hurried out.

I stood in the room alone silently for a few moments, processing.

There’s too many questions, and no answers in sight.

I left to find Liam. I missed him.

_______________________

I arrived just in time to see Liam and Alaira’s father facing off.

“She is my precious daughter.” The tall middle aged man with close cropped hair and a scowl made scarier by the scar running from his left eye to the corner of his mouth, towered over Liam. His disapproving air was evident.

“Yes.” Liam smiled and nodded, seemingly fearless.

“No man deserves to marry her.”

“Agreed.”

“So who do you think you are?” General Gladus poked Liam’s chest with a finger.

“The luckiest man alive to be able to stand in the same room as Alaira, much less stay by her side all my life.” He held out a plate in front of the angry man. “Cookies?”

“Well, you should know I don’t approve of this fast courtship…” He picked up one of the cookies and bit into it angrily. “You both are so young…” He took another bite. “And I don’t want you to hold her back…”

“I completely agree. I will do my best to support all her goals in life.” Liam handed the general another cookie as he finished the first.

“Good…” He chewed slower. “Is this chocolate? How did you get it so soft but chewy at the same time?”

“I developed the recipe. Would you like more?”

He picked up another one. “Just know this doesn’t mean I fully approve of you.”

“Of course not… Would you like some cake…”

“….”

“I also have homemade hot chocolate.”

“… As long as she likes you, I guess.” He finally muttered, his hands full of baked treats and dessert drinks.

Liam overwhelmed him with support spouse abilities. I laughed in the doorway, attracting the attention of both men.

“Anything for me?”

Liam nodded with a bright smile. “I saved you a plate.”

General Gladus cleared his throat as he saw the large platter filled with cookies.

“Don’t worry, Sir, I saved an extra plate for you.”

“… Don’t think you can bribe me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So I can have your plate, then?”

“The hardened general clutched the plate of cookies to his chest. “Don’t you dare! The boy made them for me out of respect for his future father-in-law!”

“…” Liam and I smiled at each other.

“How is the front line… Dad?” The title felt a little rough as I spoke it. I was still acutely aware that he was Alaira’s father, not mine.

“Stable, for now.” He frowned. “Fortunately we have an elaborate defense system, to give plenty of warning. But they’ve been retreating more and more lately. The higher ups seem to think that they might be admitting defeat, but I just don’t think so. I think they’re preparing for something… big.”

He’s right.

I knew the ending of the original story. Around the time Alaira was supposed to graduate, they had attacked in the largest numbers ever seen, necessitating all senior students being recruited to help fight. Even Alaira, who was without a Connector and would have normally been left behind was brought in. They couldn’t afford to leave any powerful guardian out.

I still have a little more time, though. I can train with Liam, maybe get Wen to help upgrade our Mechs, train up some of the students… We can have a chance to really face off against the attack.

There’s still time…

“Don’t let down your guard. You’re the best general we’ve got.” I patted Alaira’s father on the shoulder.

He crushed me in a big hug. “Don’t worry, your dad will protect the galaxy! You just get married in peace.” He leaned in and whispered. “See if he can make a few more of those chocolate cookies, okay?”

“I will, Dad.” It came much more naturally this time.

I’ll protect you too. I added silently.

_______________________

As the wedding drew closer, we were notified that the king and queen were on their way. Liam ignored the news, continuing to work on seating charts and music for the ceremony.

“We have to welcome them when they arrive. They are due any minute.” I finally spoke up, slightly exasperated with his head-in-the-sand act.

“…If we have to.” His voice was cold, his dark blue eyes flickering between fear and annoyance.

I held his hand. “Don’t worry. No matter who they think you are, or what they say about you, just know that you’re my future husband. Don’t worry about anything else.”

He reached out, pulling me tightly against him. “ Thank you.”

“Just play along with them. I held his face between my hands. “You’re Liam. Not Prince William. Not their son. Not Ilene’s brother. Liam.”

WARNING. DIRECTLY CONTRADICTING STORYLINES IS FORBIDDEN.

Liam tilted his head and studied me with a worried expression. “… Are you okay?”

“Just follow my lead. Please.” I looked away from the bright blue words in annoyance and moved.

We went to meet the Royal Family, each of us nervous for different reasons.

The King and Queen looked slightly like Liam and Ilene. The king had curly dark hair, severe features, made worse by the frown as he studied Liam. The Queen had the dark blue eyes that both siblings had, and a beautiful, delicate face… but the overall sense was ruined by the terrified light in her eyes as she almost hid behind her husband.

“So this is the girl you tricked into marrying you?” The king looked at me with morbid curiosity.

Liam took a deep breath. “This is Alaira, Grade S Guardian, my resonance partner and my future wife…”

“What game are you playing, William?” His father snapped, interrupting him. “If this is some ploy to ruin General Gladus, you should stop now.”

“This isn’t…”

“You should stop this now.” The Queen squeaked out nervously at me from behind the King. “He might be my son, but you can’t trust him…”

“…”

“This wedding is a farce.” The king snapped finally. “He’s a monster.”

_______________________

“Why did you follow me?” the mournful voice called out as I entered the dark room.

“Do you want me to leave?” I looked up at the large dark blue eyes curiously, barely able to make out the large form in the darkness.

“I didn’t want you to see… didn’t want you to know…”

“Know what?”

“That I’m a monster.” The whisper was filled with so much pain it made me cry.

_______________________

BAM!

Before I fully came out of the memory, I had punched the King.

“…”

There was a moment of stunned silence from everyone present.

“You dare…!” The King finally spoke up, rubbing his red cheek with a furious expression. “I can have you executed!”

“Just try, Barry.” General Gladus walked in, his hand holding a drawn weapon. “I’ll shoot you in your precious Royal Ass, and then what are you going to lounge on while I fight your wars for you?”

"..."

"..."

"..."

The room processed his words in silence for a moment, before the king burst out angrily.

“Gladus, are you threatening me?!!”

“Oh shut up Barry. " He waved dismissively with his gun. "It wouldn’t even be the first time I’ve shot you. Probably won't be the last." You won’t arrest me, you need me to protect your country.”

“You are willing to let your precious daughter marry this… this… “ The king trailed off, glaring at Liam, who stared calmly back.

“Yes.” General Gladus shrugged “I heard the rumors. Even with the 100% match I wasn’t about to let him hurt my daughter.”

“Then why…?”

“I’ve sat down with your son, Barry. I shook his hand, looked him in the eye. I asked him the hard questions. I’ve observed him around Alaira.” The General stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I know a good man when I see one. And I see one. One who loves my daughter. Maybe you should try looking closer.”

“But he…”

“Plus he makes delicious cookies.” He muttered.

“…He what?”

I stepped forward, blocking Liam behind me. “He’s not a monster. He’s my future husband. I honestly do not care about your opinion. But if you want to try to hurt him, just know… you won’t have to wait for my father to shoot you. I’ll do it first.”

“… Control your child, Gladus.”

“She even threatens you just like me!” He reached out and placed an arm around my shoulders. “So proud.”

“…Fine. “ The King frowned “I won’t try to save you from yourself. Marry him, if you want.”

“I plan to.”

“Whatever you’re plotting, William, you better stop now.” He glared. “You might have fooled them, but you won’t fool me.”

“I don’t have to fool you.” Liam’s eyes were dark. “You mean nothing to me.”

“I’m your father.”

“I have no family. I… I can never have family.” Liam turned away.

“William…” The Queen called out softly.

“I AM NOT William.”

WARNING. World Destabilization detected!

“Come on, Liam. Let’s go.” I grabbed his hand and walked away, calling over my shoulder as we left. “You’re free to attend the wedding, but stay away from us otherwise.”

“You’ll regret this!”

I laughed at his bitter words. “Enjoy the disappointment.”

Liam and I left.

_______________________

We sat in my room, and as soon as my hand left his, he curled up, holding his arms over his head.

“I don’t feel right.”

“Liam.” I reached out and touched his back, feeling him trembling beneath me.

“Who am I? I don’t think I’m William. The things they said… the things William has done… He’s not me.”

Warning!

"He's not me... he can't be... He's not..."

WARNING! World destabilization... Bright blue words and a mechanical voice appeared again.

“SHUT UP!” I yelled, drowning out the voice. I pulled his arms down, looking straight into his dark blue eyes. “You are Liam. And you’re my partner. And tomorrow you’ll be my husband. Nothing else matters..”

“But…”

“I can’t explain things right now. I don’t even know everything right now. But I know there’s a reason we’re here together. I’ve found you, and I won’t leave you.”

He held me close, both of us kneeling on the floor. He was clutching me as if I was the only thing anchoring him. I felt lost myself. I was frustrated at my lack of answers, angry at the pain Liam was experiencing, afraid for the future ahead of us.

“Alaira… no… Bel?” He whispered. “... I love you.”

I smiled at the unfamiliar but familiar name, pressing my face against his shoulder. “I love you too, Liam.”

“Marry me tomorrow.”

“Definitely.”

“Don’t leave me behind… please.”

“I won't... No matter what.”

A long silence fell between us. Finally Liam sat back, his face slightly red. “I wish we were getting married tonight. I can’t help but feel something terrible is going to happen to prevent our wedding.”

Foreshadowing.

Ignoring the ominous word that appeared in my subconscious, I smiled reassuringly. “Nothing is going to happen…”

“ALERT! CODE LEVEL RED. PLEASE REPORT TO EMERGENCY STATIONS. ALERT!”

I sighed. “I take that back.”

We headed to the Command Level in the main Academy.

_______________________

“Dad, what’s going on?” I called out as we passed the main doors.

“Alaira…” General Gladus’ face was uncharacteristically serious. “It’s not good.”

I stood beside him, looking up at the large holographic display at the center of the command room, feeling the blood drain from my face. “The Hive.”

“They’re past our defense systems.” He slammed his fist against the table. “This doesn’t make any sense! How did an army this huge get past us without starting any alarms!”

I stared at the countless red dots on the screen, feeling lost.

This isn’t right. In the story I should have had YEARS before the Hive attacked in such large numbers. Even then they were caught immediately in the defense systems and gave the military time to prepare. How could they get past us… unless…

“Chris.”

He said he was going to end everything. Is this what he meant?

Alaira’s father was confused. “That male student who disappeared? How would he have access to defense system information?”

Chris wouldn’t… but whoever was controlling Chris might have more information.

I let it go for now. “What do we do?”

“There’s too many… and they’re headed for a defenseless planet in this system.” He hung his head. “I don’t have the manpower to defend it.”

I stepped forward, giving him a grim smile. “You’re not alone, Dad. I’ll help.”

“We! We’ll help.” Liam stood beside me. “We’re a powerful combo. You can’t afford to turn us down.”

General Gladus sighed. “Even if I recruit top senior students from the academy… the numbers we have… it’s a suicide mission.”

Warning! Mission Failure Imminent!

Your mission: Prevent destruction of the human race by the alien monster race known as The Hive.

The Hive are now attacking in large numbers. Your estimated chance of success against them in battle is 0%.

“If you’re not gonna say anything helpful, then shut up.” I growled quietly.

Liam turned towards me. “Are you okay?”

If you fail your mission, you will face soul destruction.

“It’s not like I’m swimming in options.”

You have one option.

“Who are you talking to?”

“What is it?” I whispered, holding Liam’s hand and squeezing it. I have to save him.

...

ACCEPT YOUR FATE.

...

I stared at the blue words silently for a few minutes. “Liam, what if I said we have an 100% chance of dying if we went on this mission…”

“You don’t know that…”

“...and I had a fool proof way to protect you… But we would be separated forever?”

I didn’t know what my fate was. But I did know in the deepest part of my soul one thing:

Liam was not my fate.

“I don’t plan to survive this, Liam… but if I could save you…”

“I would rather die by your side.” He didn’t hesitate.

“But…”

He grabbed my other hand, holding them both tightly. “We’ll face this together.”

_______________________

“It’s hopeless.” I whispered, holding him tightly. “What if fate is stronger than us?”

“I don’t need hope, Bel.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against my neck. “If fate is going to separate us, then we’ll destroy it.”

“Together.”

“Always.”

_______________________

I looked at the hologram, at the countless numbers of enemies that awaited us, and leaned against him with a sigh.

“Together.”

He smiled in return.

“Always.”

[gusu-emilu]

Ship: Wei Wuxian / Wen Ning

Summary: Wei Wuxian gives Wen Ning a heartbeat, but not in the way either of them expected.

Rated T, No Warnings Apply

POV Wen Ning, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, references to WWX's poor health, First Kiss, Pining, Cuddling, Presumably Unrequited Love, or more accurately: whatever these two have going on, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, and the inherent homoeroticism of necromancy

Ch. 1/2, 6k, read on AO3 above or on Tumblr below

Wen Ning has always known that Wei Wuxian is not someone to hesitate.

The moment Wen Ning enters the Demon Subdue Palace after packing up the last sack of turnips, Wei Wuxian grabs his wrist.

“Come look!” He tugs Wen Ning deeper into the cave, slender fingers wrapped around Wen Ning’s wrist. He grins at Wen Ning over his shoulder. “I’ve made some more demonic devices, probably my best batch yet. I’d like to see the impersonators down in the town copy these!”

Wen Ning steadies his balance, not fully recovered from Wei Wuxian suddenly whisking him away.

Wei Wuxian has never hesitated to touch him. Wen Ning still isn’t quite used to it, having grown up in a family of doctors whose every touch felt calculated, and among clansmen more focused on war and strength than friendship. Clansmen who rarely respected him, never mind showed him affection.

Even now, he exists in a constant state of volatility due to his outbursts of resentful energy. Every family member in the Burial Mounds is careful around him, even A-Yuan at times.

But not Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is entirely different. Has always been different.

The first time they spoke, Wei Wuxian had already been comfortable with casual touch. Wei Wuxian hadn’t hesitated to lay hands on him to adjust his archery posture—steady hands he can still imagine on his upper arm and around the side of his ribs, friendly pressure like a heavy quilt, as Wei Wuxian comforted and praised him.

Then the war began, and Wei Wuxian choked him in Lotus Pier—furious, merciless hands like paws of a frightened animal. Wei Wuxian hadn’t hesitated then, either. He would’ve fully choked Wen Ning had he not held back enough to let him speak.

Then the war ended. Now Wei Wuxian uses him as an armrest, fixes his hair, arranges talismans on him, even once tried to pick him up and carry him as a joke. (He'd been a bit too weak to manage it for long. Wen Ning hadn’t thought that part was funny.) Now he drags Wen Ning around by the hand, all without hesitation.

Had Wei Wuxian hesitated before raising him from the dead?

Wen Ning isn’t sure which answer would comfort him.

“Take a look at this one,” Wei Wuxian says as he places a stone tablet in Wen Ning’s hand. A faint black cloud winds around the tablet, the smoke’s path tracing the red fulu writings carved into its surface. “Still pretty weak, but I’m getting closer to replicating yin iron with just regular stone.”

Wen Ning glances back and forth between the tablet and Wei Wuxian’s tired but enthusiastic smile. His eyes are bright with joy, but dark circles frame them. He hasn’t eaten much in the past few days, instead focusing relentlessly on his experiments, despite needing to save energy to heal the stab wound from Jiang Wanyin.

But Wen Ning still hasn’t figured out how to make him rest. Maybe admiring the new batch of demonic devices will help calm his inventive frenzy.

He nods, giving a small smile at Wei Wuxian. “That’s good.”

“Weak yin iron will be much easier to use. Better for small applications here and there, less dangerous…” Wei Wuxian squats by the scattered piles of demonic cultivation tools and notes, rummaging through to find another invention, the tablet already forgotten.

The black cloud around the tablet continues to swirl, small wisps seeping into Wen Ning’s skin. The tablet feels more like a block of dust than like stone, but despite his dulled senses, he notices…something else. A second sensation.

A throb.

“Wei-gongzi?”

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian says, squinting at a page of especially messy notes.

“Does…does this have a pulse?” The stone continues to throb weakly, more of a resonance than a physical sensation, its aura cold like resentful energy.

Wei Wuxian looks up from the papers, one eyebrow raised. “It’s still doing that?�� He stands and takes the tablet, examines it. “Hm. This might be good! I’ll have to find out what flow pattern of resentful energy caused this.”

Wen Ning closes his hand. Strangely, he wishes for the tablet to still be pulsing against his palm. It had felt kind of pleasant, if disturbing. “Resentful energy can create a heartbeat?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a heartbeat. But yes, if channeled the right way.”

“…Does that mean I have one?” Behind his back to prevent Wei Wuxian from noticing, he presses three fingers to the inside of his wrist, where years ago Jiejie had taught him how to read the flow of his blood. A black vein of resentful energy now covers those lifeless pulse points. “I’ve never felt it.”

Wei Wuxian turns the tablet between his hands thoughtfully. “No…you don’t have a heartbeat.” Then he grins, one of those sly grins that crosses his handsome face slowly, as if an idea has rushed into him so quickly that he needs to pace his smile just to contain it. Wen Ning doesn’t like those grins, because they make something flutter inside him.

“At least, not yet!” Wei Wuxian adds. “Do you want one? I could figure something out—”

“No, it’s okay. I’m fine without one.” The last thing Wei Wuxian needs is another project to stay up all night for—least of all an unnecessary project that Wen Ning requested by accident. Wei Wuxian has done enough for him already.

“I’m serious!” Wei Wuxian says. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I can test it right now.” He trails a finger over the blood-red writing on the tablet and mutters a few words under his breath. The black smoke around it thickens. “Just something temporary, to see if the idea works.” He steps closer.

Nervousness immediately jolts through Wen Ning. It’s unfortunate that death has muted the nerve endings in Wen Ning’s skin but has done nothing to quiet his anxious mind, which is always at both its most overactive and sluggish around Wei Wuxian.

Wen Ning watches the tablet’s red markings begin to glow, watches Wei Wuxian’s expression harden to a chiseled concentration.

“Come here,” Wei Wuxian says.

If Wei Wuxian’s hunch works, Wei Wuxian will ignore his health until he finishes developing the method to give Wen Ning a permanent heartbeat. If it fails, Wei Wuxian will still ignore his health, this time trying until he finds a different method.

It’s best to not let him try. To give him a firm “no.”

But Wen Ning has never been good at those. Especially when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

He has also never been good at lying to Wei Wuxian. Although he must do so for the sake of Wei Wuxian’s health, it’s hard to admit that he doesn’t miss his heartbeat.

He misses many small details of his body. Jiejie had taught him the ways of Dafan Wen medicine, made him attuned to the evidence of life in himself. He knows how fast his heart rate is supposed to be while lying in bed, knows which pressure points she once worked at to calm his anxiety, knows the irregularities of the breaths he no longer takes.

He used to like his heartbeat, his breath, their soothing rhythm as he fell asleep. It was comforting to understand that much about himself, to follow this evidence of life, when in childhood a piece of his soul had been snatched and left the rest of him a puzzle.

Now the lack of this evidence of life feels like a testimony against him.

Wei Wuxian could return some illusion of life to him. Would be happy to do so.

Selfishly, Wen Ning wants him to try. Being a walking experiment has its unsettling moments—more accurately, a constant hum of discomfort—but there is something morbidly enchanting about letting Wei Wuxian mold him into whatever he envisions. Into the magnum opus of a genius.

An even more selfish part of him wants to beg Wei Wuxian to try, because how symbolic would it be for Wei Wuxian to restore his heart, of all things…

“Wen Ning?” Wei Wuxian asks softly.

“Okay,” he answers, and instantly regrets it.

Wei Wuxian smiles again, this time the smile he saves for when he is about to tinker with the Ghost General. Wen Ning has learned all of his smiles by now, and he still doesn’t believe that there is one specially for him. But Wei Wuxian gives him that reassuring nod, the warm curve of his lips, the eager yet slightly rueful glint in his eyes, and Wen Ning can only recall seeing that expression the previous times Wei Wuxian rewrote pieces of him.

Wei Wuxian explains exactly what he’s going to do and how the resentful energy will flow. Wen Ning nods, and Wei Wuxian rests a hand on Wen Ning’s chest—casually, moving without hesitation, like always. “It won’t actually restart your heart. Just give the illusion of a pulse for a few minutes.” He furrows his brow as his focus intensifies. “That is, if it works.”

The feeling of Wei Wuxian’s hand on the center of his chest is stabilizing, yet it sets Wen Ning’s mind into disarray, despite how many times he has felt this before.

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, preparing to reroute the resentful energy inside Wen Ning.

A cool stream of energy enters Wen Ning. Growing colder, gushing rapidly—

Freezing—

Then over almost instantly.

Wei Wuxian opens his eyes. “Feel any different?”

Wen Ning feels a bit dizzy, which is new. He hasn’t experienced vertigo since becoming a fierce corpse. But that fades quickly, and soon he is left with only the feeling of thick fabric pressing against his chest where Wei Wuxian’s hand rests.

He shakes his head. “Do…do you feel anything?”

Wei Wuxian shifts his hand, presses harder against Wen Ning’s chest. Waits, then sticks three fingers in the groove of Wen Ning’s neck, and that feels nice. Wen Ning almost wants to hold his hand there—

“No. I guess it didn’t work.” Wei Wuxian sounds much more tired than before. He removes his hand.

“That’s okay. I don’t need a heartbeat.”

“You want one though, yeah?” Wei Wuxian begins sifting through the inventions scattered across the cave, perhaps looking for another device, perhaps just hunting for kindling to spark an idea.

Wen Ning had been too selfish by agreeing to this. Who knows how long Wei Wuxian will research this now?

“I don’t want you to start another project,” Wen Ning says, and the faint thread of anger in his voice is stronger than he intended, even though that anger is mostly directed at himself. It's been harder to control his emotions since resentful energy began feeding them.

Wei Wuxian looks up, startled. Then he grins and gives a small laugh. “Are you turning into your jiejie now? Bossing me around…”

The joke only strengthens Wen Ning’s resolve. It reminds him that he can invoke Jiejie’s authoritativeness. He has never been good at following in his sister’s footsteps, but calling upon her immovability is almost as effective at steeling him as resentful energy. “You should sleep or come help us outside instead of always working in here.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his eyes. “I know, I know. You’ve all told me many times.” He seems to regret the slight bite in his tone. He tends to snap once in a while, the effect of stress lashing out from behind his mask, but it always dissolves as quickly as it appears.

“I’ll listen to you,” Wei Wuxian says, gently this time. Wen Ning feels a wave of relief. But then Wei Wuxian smirks and adds, “For now. I really do have some theories I want to test.”

“But—Wei-gongzi—”

Wei Wuxian rises to his feet and walks over to him. Stands and looks at him for a while, then says, almost murmurs, “I have enough projects for myself.” He tucks a strand of hair behind Wen Ning’s ear, and Wen Ning nearly melts. “Let me do something that’ll make you happy.”

This is bad. Very bad.

Wei Wuxian isn’t even telling the truth. His projects are all for the protection of Wen Ning’s family, not for himself. But the fond touch, combined with the sweetness in Wei Wuxian’s voice, is already enough to make Wen Ning bend.

He would much rather take care of Wei Wuxian than be taken care of. But if he weren’t worried about being a bother, he would tangle his hair just for Wei Wuxian to run his fingers through it, to twirl and comb and braid it the way he unravels and reorders the resentful energy inside Wen Ning.

“You really don’t need to. Getting a heartbeat was just an idea,” Wen Ning mumbles.

“And a good idea! We all need more comforts around here, don’t we?” Wei Wuxian nestles three fingers in the groove of Wen Ning’s neck to search for a pulse again, his brow knit in thought. Despite himself, Wen Ning can’t help but be glad that he can feel that touch a second time.

When Wei Wuxian experiments on him, the tugs and surges of resentful energy don’t exactly feel good. It’s like ice cracking under his skin, leaving shards that poke out of him. Or like the bony hand of a skeleton yanking at his insides, ripping him apart and rattling the pieces around.

The pain and discomfort frighten him. Remind him of what Wei Wuxian is capable of. What Wen Ning is capable of.

Yet he finds enjoyment in the fear, in the icy fingers of resentful energy, because those are the shadows of Wei Wuxian’s hands on him, reshaping him.

And before Wei Wuxian experiments on him…that feels too good. The doting—almost loving—attention, the careful examination, mumbled words, soft touches…

Wei Wuxian pulls his hand away and brings it to his own throat. His glance darts around the cave as he seems to calculate something in his mind.

Then he grabs Wen Ning’s hand and presses Wen Ning’s fingers into his neck. The sensation comes delayed, but Wen Ning feels it.

A pulse. Wei Wuxian’s pulse.

Wei Wuxian continues looking around the cave and thinking, as if this is just another ordinary step in a routine. But to Wen Ning, this is—this is—have they ever done something this intimate? How can Wei Wuxian let him feel the rhythm of his pulse, of his life force, and act like it’s nothing?

Somehow that makes it even more intimate, that Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to mind…

Wen Ning counts the beats to himself.

Too slow. Not by much, but Wei Wuxian’s heart rate is too slow for his age, his size.

Wen Ning would make a mental note to tell Jiejie, but he knows she’s already aware. Wei Wuxian’s health has been deteriorating since he stepped back into the Burial Mounds.

“Wei-gongzi?”

“Mn?”

“I…I have a different idea.”

Wei Wuxian lifts Wen Ning’s hand from his neck, but doesn’t let go. He smiles. “What’s that?”

“You can just give me the tablet.” Wen Ning looks down at the slab of stone, thin black wisps of smoke swirling around it. “I can feel its heartbeat.”

“You don’t want your own?”

He shakes his head.

Wei Wuxian playfully taps the back of Wen Ning’s hand a few times. Four times, to be exact. Wen Ning can’t help counting. “That heartbeat isn’t very human, though.”

Neither am I, Wen Ning wants to say, but he knows Wei Wuxian will scold him if he does. “It would be more than enough,” he says instead.

“You’re going to make the Yiling Laozu feel like a fraud if you let him give you scraps and call it ‘more than enough.’” He sighs and glances down at the tablet. “But you can take it until I come up with something better.”

“Then…is there something that you don’t think is a scrap?”

Wei Wuxian brings Wen Ning’s fingers to his neck again, and the warm pulse hums through his fingertips. “Well, there’s my heartbeat.” He winks. “I’d still call that a scrap, though.”

“No it isn’t,” Wen Ning blurts.

Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows. Then his expression turns thoughtful. “Would you rather keep feeling mine?”

Wen Ning doesn’t reply, but he knows his face says everything. Not even rigor mortis can hide the answer.

“Forget about that useless rock, then.” Wei Wuxian pats his chest. “I’ll be your heartbeat for now.”

Wen Ning is sure that if he still had blood flow, he would be flushed. Panicked energy begins to twitch inside him. “N-No, it’s okay—”

“You don’t want my finest craftsmanship, and you don’t want my scraps! What am I going to do with you?”

“Nothing,” Wen Ning answers quietly.

“Yes, something.” He takes Wen Ning’s hand and tugs him toward the slab of stone he uses as a bed. “Hm. How should we do this? Maybe—”

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says, exasperated. He likes that Wei Wuxian never hesitates, never slows down—it’s attractive, in a frustrating kind of way—but it often leaves Wen Ning in the dust with his mind still sputtering and struggling to function.

“Alright, sit here.” Wei Wuxian gestures toward the bed. “If you want to,” he adds.

It’s pointless to ask if Wen Ning wants to. He wonders if Wei Wuxian knows that he doesn’t need Chenqing or yin iron to make him do just about anything.

Suddenly filled with dread, a dread that he is going to like this too much, he steps forward and awkwardly sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Perfect,” Wei Wuxian murmurs. He taps Wen Ning’s knee twice. “Spread your legs.”

Now Wen Ning is certain that he would be flushed if he were alive. “S-S-Spr—what?”

“Hey.” He smirks and points a finger at Wen Ning. “Who taught you to have thoughts like that? Don’t worry. I just need you to make room for me.”

Wen Ning gets out some garbled form of “okay” and spreads his legs, creating enough space for Wei Wuxian to sit on one of his knees.

Which Wei Wuxian does.

Sit on his knee.

He also wraps his arms around Wen Ning’s neck and pulls him closer until his cheek touches Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“I can’t do all the work myself.” He cups Wen Ning’s chin. “You have to move too.”

Wen Ning swallows—by habit, since he doesn’t really need to do that anymore—and positions himself so his ear rests over Wei Wuxian’s heart. He can’t feel Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat through the robes, but the gentle sound of thum, thum seeps into him right away.

Warmth, too. A lot of warmth.

“Good?” Wei Wuxian hums.

Wen Ning makes a small noise of contentment in the back of his throat. He fiddles with his hands in his lap, trying and failing to find a good place for them that isn’t Wei Wuxian’s legs. “I hear it.”

“Only hear it?”

He opens his mouth to object, but he knows that Wei Wuxian will spot the lie before it leaves his lips.

Wei Wuxian opens the collar of his dark outer robes and lets Wen Ning rest his head on the thin red inner garment.

Even warmer. Softer.

He can feel Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat.

He hasn’t felt something like this since he was a child. It’s…not what he expects.

Jiejie had taught him how to take a person’s pulse. How to place three fingers on each wrist and find the six pulse positions corresponding to the meridians of the body, to identify the different types of pulses—their depth, width, length, strength. How sometimes the pulse feels like beads rolling along a table, while other times it feels like the crisp pluck of a guqin string, and so on, each revealing secrets of the body, guiding how to best heal the patient.

All that knowledge had once been exciting. It seems mundane, now.

The medical analogies for a pulse at the wrist, Wen Ning realizes, don’t work to describe what a heartbeat from the chest feels like when it’s pressed against his cheek.

It’s like wading in a warm stream, sunshine beating on him. The gentle lap of current, its smooth rhythm—thum, thum—like the most natural and simple form of expression.

Wen Ning wishes Jiejie had instead taught him how to decipher a person’s soul by listening to their heartbeat, because with this strange, steady language reverberating in his ear, it almost seems possible.

“Now?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Wen Ning doesn’t make a sound this time.

He counts Wei Wuxian’s heartbeats and tries to guess how many fit into a minute. They remain like that, long after Wen Ning loses count, with Wei Wuxian’s warm body in his lap. They both relax, and Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat eventually fades into Wen Ning, like it’s his own.

His awareness returns when he notices Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat slowing even more. He pulls away, immediately missing the comforting solidness of Wei Wuxian’s chest, and looks up to see a calm, drowsy expression on Wei Wuxian’s face. His eyes are heavy-lidded and almost fully closed.

“We’ve been telling you,” Wen Ning says softly. “You don’t sleep enough.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his eyes. “You really are becoming bossy.”

“I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“You and your jiejie are like a pair of vultures. Circling me when I’m weak and picking at me!” He gives a wan smile and reaches around Wen Ning’s back to rub his shoulder. “But I appreciate that you care about me.”

Wen Ning absorbs the feeling of Wei Wuxian stroking his shoulder, the thrum of Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat still lingering in his ear. “I appreciate that you care about me, too,” he mumbles.

He’s not sure if Wei Wuxian hears, but figures he knows anyway.

* * *

The next day, Wei Wuxian lets Wen Ning listen again.

And the day after.

And the day after that.

It becomes a pattern, as reliable as the beat of Wei Wuxian’s heart. Wei Wuxian is more likely to skip a meal or lose a night of sleep than he is to shirk his self-proclaimed “heartbeat duty,” and Wen Ning begins to wonder if Wei Wuxian likes it as much as he does.

Then Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli show up in Yiling.

That night, Wei Wuxian drinks like he wants to waterboard himself.

He forgets about heartbeat duty after that. Wen Ning lets him.

* * *

Two weeks later, Wen Ning brings a medicinal draught Jiejie prepared to the Demon Subdue Palace. The sun outside sank long ago, leaving behind deep blues and browns that bleed into the entrance of the cave. A single candle flickers on a rock shelf in the cave wall, illuminating the craggy wall and the floor strewn with bits of metal and wood and crumpled talismans.

Astoundingly, Wei Wuxian is not hunched in the corner scribbling away. He’s in bed scribbling away, his sleeves rolled up and his tied-back hair slightly disheveled the way they are when he digs in the mud pond for the lotus pods that won’t grow.

He hadn’t come out to farm since the day before. Wen Ning wonders if he’s fixed his sleeves or his hair since then.

Wen Ning steps over as quietly as he can manage with his clumsy feet and waits beside the bed, holding the draught with both hands and feeling a faint sensation of its warmth. “Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian presses the wooden end of his brush into the corner of his mouth. “Do you know how to make a Spirit-Attraction Flag attract only ghosts of a certain age?”

“…No.”

“Mn. I—wait—” He cuts off and draws what looks like disjointed pieces of an array scribbled in the margins around rejected brushstrokes.

Wen Ning lets him write for a while, then says, “My jiejie made this for you to drink.”

“And why,” Wei Wuxian asks without a pause in his writing, “is she spending resources on me instead of saving them for A-Yuan and the others?”

“You need medicine, too. Because your stab wound still hasn't healed, and—and Jiejie says your body still isn’t used to not having a gold—”

Wei Wuxian abruptly stops writing. Wen Ning clamps his mouth shut, and wishes he hadn’t said anything.

With a lack of pleasure that he fails to hide, Wei Wuxian scribbles a few more things, then stands up, slices a cut in his finger, and begins trailing red lines on a Spirit-Attraction Flag. “I’m going down the mountain to test this.” He looks over at Wen Ning with a softened expression and walks out of the cave.

Wen Ning doesn’t need him to say that it’s an invitation to follow. He always accompanies Wei Wuxian down the mountain. He’d rather Wei Wuxian sleep, but at least leaving the Burial Mounds always puts him in a better mood.

After they pass through the final protective array and the forest around the path begins to change from grim black leafless trees to green trees shaded blue by moonlight, Wei Wuxian seems to relax. But instead of testing the flag in the clearing where he usually does, he continues walking.

They reach the edge of the forest. A few clouds in the sky hide some of the stars, but the moon is out, a bright half of a silver coin. They pass the town from a distance, still close enough to see amber dots of light from the few lanterns lit at this time of night, but far enough that even Wen Ning’s sharp vision can’t discern clear shapes of the buildings. Wei Wuxian stares at the town once in a while, as if he can see something in the muddied blocks of light.

They enter a different patch of forest and stray just far enough inside for tree branches to reach across the sky again.

Wei Wuxian holds up the flag and examines it.

He lowers the flag to his side.

“Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says quietly.

“Yes?”

“Did you…”

He trails off when Wei Wuxian begins slowly rolling up the thin canvas. “I think I just wanted to go for a walk,” he says. “I’ll let the spirits rest today.” He sets the folded flag on a large rock and sits on the ground, his back against the stone, looking out at the plains and town from the recesses of the forest.

“I like walking with you,” Wen Ning says, and sits beside him.

Wei Wuxian usually buries his sorrow in his projects, in the crop fields, in his games with A-Yuan. This aimlessness is the closest glimpse Wen Ning sees of Wei Wuxian’s true state of mind. Wei Wuxian ensures that he is alone whenever he truly lets in his sorrow, but Wen Ning accompanies him during the times when he comes close. As if Wei Wuxian wants him to see—wants someone to see—but refuses to reveal everything.

No one else but Wen Ning has sat next to Wei Wuxian while he draws portraits for no particular reason (he never shows them to Wen Ning, but Wen Ning can guess whom he draws), no one else has slept across the cave from him while he mumbles in his sleep, no one else has wandered down the mountain at night with him.

Wen Ning doesn’t know if he should feel privileged or worried that Wei Wuxian lets him see this much.

He doesn’t think he deserves to know Wei Wuxian’s deepest thoughts, but he wants Wei Wuxian to pass more sorrow onto him, let him shoulder some of the pain. Wen Ning’s heart is dead, he can take it.

“Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian says. He smooths his robes, adjusts his fitted sleeves. “I haven’t done heartbeat duty in a while, have I?”

“You don’t need to.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Wen Ning looks down at his knees, but Wei Wuxian scoots closer.

With their backs against the rock, Wei Wuxian hugs him in, rests his hand on the side of Wen Ning’s head, cradling him against his chest. Wen Ning tucks his arms away, trying not to touch Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian takes one of his hands.

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian says.

Wen Ning waits a moment, wishing he had proper breath to steady himself, then carefully wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian, nestling close to his slender frame.

It feels different this time. Not because their position is different, or because Wuxian’s heartbeat is any faster or slower, stronger or weaker.

There is no purpose this time. It isn’t for Wen Ning to experience sensations more fully. It isn’t for Wei Wuxian to find comfort.

They are just two bodies cast aside from life, bodies that struggled to catch each other during their fall until they landed in each other’s embrace.

Holding Wei Wuxian feels as natural as his heartbeat, as inevitable as each thrum beneath where Wen Ning rests his head.

And just as fleeting.

Wei Wuxian is more alive than any person he knows, yet is wasting away more each day, having given up everything to protect the Dafan Wen.

And Wei Wuxian is not his. Only one thing ties them together: they have each made the other into a member of the living dead.

With whom did it start? Was it Wei Wuxian, who brought Wen Ning back as a fierce corpse, or was it Wen Ning, who held Wei Wuxian down as his core was removed? Or was it the world that did this to both of them?

But despite the thread of shared death that ties them together, Wei Wuxian could break that connection if he wanted to.

Wen Ning is bound to his family, bound to this unnatural body, bound to Chenqing's laments. He can never reenter the world.

But Wei Wuxian...

One day, Wei Wuxian may have the chance to belong in the world again. With his shidi and shijie, with Lan Wangji.

Wen Ning will always be banished to the margins of the world.

“How long are you going to live with us?” Wen Ning finds himself asking.

Leaves rustle quietly in the forest, clouds disappearing above their heads to reveal more stars against the dark liquid sky. An owl hoots questioningly far behind them.

“Until tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian says. “Ask me again tomorrow, and I’ll tell you again.”

“I can’t ask you that every day.”

“Then don’t ask me at all.” He strokes Wen Ning’s hair, over the back of his head and down his back. “I’m not leaving.”

Wei Wuxian continues playing with Wen Ning’s hair, running his fingers through it, stopping occasionally to work out a tangle. Not for the first time, Wen Ning wishes he could feel touch more strongly. He had dreamt of moments like these as a teenager, gentle caresses from Wei Wuxian, impossible moments. He hadn’t realized he would receive them one day after they had given up their lives for each other.

“When do you think we’ll get our next visitor?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Think I can make that Spirit-Attraction Flag into a Guest-Attraction Flag?” He chuckles. “We can hang it at the ridge. People will be drawn from miles to come talk to us. Tell Uncle Four to get lots of fruit wine ready." He fiddles with the sleeve of Wen Ning's robe. "I’ll have you test out the flag. Wear it like a cloak, and go walk around Yiling to see how many friends you make.”

“I can barely get anyone to buy turnips from me.”

“Change of plans, then! I’ll make a Customer-Attraction Flag, and we’ll finally be rich.”

Wen Ning smiles. “What are we going to buy once we’re rich?”

“Toys for A-Yuan.” Wei Wuxian rubs across Wen Ning’s shoulders, back and forth. “Every toy in Yiling.”

“We should buy every toy in Lanling, too.”

“That’ll need a lot more money. We’ll have to grow bigger turnips.”

“A giant one.”

“A single giant turnip?” Now there is real laughter in Wei Wuxian’s voice. “I’ll have to plant you as the seed to grow something big enough. Don’t tell your jiejie. Although she might figure it out when you disappear, and meanwhile a turnip the size of the Burial Mounds takes over Yiling.”

“I still won’t tell her.”

Wei Wuxian makes a low humming sound. “I can always count on you.”

Wen Ning melts more into Wei Wuxian’s embrace, surrounded by his warmth.

“Too bad that no matter who we bury in the lotus pond,” Wei Wuxian says with a sigh, “those plants still don’t want to sprout.” This time he doesn’t rub Wen Ning’s back or fiddle with him while he talks.

He’s never said something like that about the lotus crop without following it up with a confident proclamation—But when have I ever not achieved the impossible?, They’ll poke their heads out soon!, My lotus flowers will be the biggest you’ve seen, just wait!

He’s never left hanging the chance that the lotus crop might not grow.

Wen Ning waits for the cocky remark, but it doesn’t come. “They’ll sprout if you’re the one growing them,” Wen Ning suggests, filling in the declaration that Wei Wuxian missed.

“…Yeah.”

Wen Ning’s stomach sinks. He looks up. Wei Wuxian smiles at him and guides him to rest against his chest again.

“It’s only been two weeks. They might take a while,” Wen Ning says, his face nearly turned into Wei Wuxian’s robes.

“I’ll just cheat and make a Lotus-Attraction Flag.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Of course you will. You’ll also help me with the flag for attracting guests to marvel at the beauty of our lotus pond!”

Guests again.

Wen Ning knows that Hanguang-Jun had visited on the day his consciousness returned. Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli had met with Wei Wuxian soon after. Both left marks on Wei Wuxian.

Is he thinking about them?

Wishing he had warmth of his own to give Wei Wuxian, Wen Ning hugs him tighter. He's not sure if they lower to the ground in one movement or slowly slide down, but eventually they lie on their sides, facing each other, arms tight around each other. Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat speaks, and Wen Ning listens.

I’m lonely, it whispers. I’m so lonely.

Who is there in the Burial Mounds for Wei Wuxian to feel the same affection toward as he feels about Hanguang-Jun? Or to provide the same comfort as the company of his siblings?

Everyone in the Burial Mounds has tried their best to provide the support of a new family for Wei Wuxian. He has even called them his family. But try as they might, how could the Dafan Wen replace his shidi and shijie?

The shidi and shijie Wen Ning helped Wei Wuxian save, only to steal him away from. He knows that it was Wei Wuxian’s choice to lead the Dafan Wen to the Burial Mounds and live with them, but would he have made that choice if he had never formed a relationship with Wen Ning and his sister? The thought makes guilt churn in his stomach.

“Wei-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian runs his thumb in gentle circles over Wen Ning’s shoulder. “Yes?”

“Is that something you want?” He pulls away from Wei Wuxian’s chest to look up at him, though not quite into his eyes. “Guests?”

“Don’t take that all so seriously. If guests come, would they be as good of a drinking buddy as Uncle Four, or as good of a storyteller as Granny, or as energetic as A-Yuan? They couldn’t compete.”

“But you meant it,” Wen Ning says, surprised at the force in his own voice, quiet as it is. “I’ll help you bring guests here.”

Wei Wuxian smiles and brushes his thumb over Wen Ning’s cheek, the touch warm and soft like hushed words. “You’re already too good to me. Don’t worry about me.” He sighs and looks up at the sky. “Each of us will have things we want, but can’t have. It’s just part of living.”

Wen Ning, too, looks up at the star-studded sky through the dark silhouettes of trees. The full shapes of the constellations are broken up, but he can picture which stars are waiting behind the black hands of tree leaves.

As he follows the disjointed forms of the constellations, he decides that he will relieve Wei Wuxian’s burdens.

He is not sure at what moment he makes the decision, but it settles into his bones and becomes his purpose for the night.

Not just for the night. For as long as Wei Wuxian is by his side.

The day Wen Ning’s consciousness was restored, he had heard A-Yuan singing a song about walking the “single-log bridge.” Curious, Wen Ning had asked where A-Yuan learned the song.

“Xian-gege,” had been the answer. The song’s lyrics had been about Wei Wuxian walking alone into darkness.

Wen Ning will not let him walk alone.

If Wei Wuxian wants to walk the single-log bridge, Wen Ning will carry him across it.

“Will you tell me about them?” Wen Ning asks.

“About what?”

“The things you want, but can’t have.”

* * *

Thank you for reading! Next chapter is coming soon. If you enjoyed this fic, come visit me on AO3!

[demonslayedher]

Hello! I don't know if you've been asked about this before but I love your analysis and reflections and I'd love to know all your thoughts about Zennezu if you don't mind 👀⚡🎀 Thanks so much for this blog!! 😊💝

Thank you again for your patience, as well as your comments on my fics and stuff in the meantime (even on Bird Fic, kya~ thank you <3). All my thoughts, hmmmmn…. Well, clearly I am a fluffy ZenNezu shipper and ship-content creator now, but I sure didn’t start that way. This may be long and rambling and mixed between analysis and personal taste. (Actually, it turned into almost 4000 words.)

So. First a little background. I usually am not much of a shipper. The very few OTPs I have all ended in horrific tragedy, and when romance is a big focus of something I’m otherwise enjoying I usually end up not paying much attention to it in favor of all the other elements I like. This is so much more the case when you can tell they’re going to wind up happily ever after. So what happened to make me so soft and fuzzy about the Kimetsu ships, when I otherwise usually don’t have an appetite for happy fluffy romantic endings?

Three major factors: 1. I’m obsessed. 2. I love these characters and want to see anything and everything about them. 3. Romance wasn’t actually a big element at all in canon, so it left me with an appetite and curiosity for it.

Even though I figured from long ago that ZenNezu would be end game, initially I was somewhere between indifferent and put-off. As much as I love Zenitsu, and I acknowledge that Ufotable the added the “run around and chase Nezuko” bit and removed the part with Zenitsu adoringly talking to Nezuko through her box, and as much as he can be defended for being lonely rather a pervert, the fact still stands that his level of appreciation for girls makes the characters around him uncomfortable. His most cringe-worthy lines at the Butterfly Mansion are all straight from the manga, and even though he was easily one of my favorite characters by the end of my initial watch of the series, I was very put off by his “girls are all queens” surface-level comments and more disturbing pleasure he took in the presence of girls (especially when he could physically interact with them), not to mention his pathetic introduction bothering a complete stranger and displaying that he doesn’t actually take girls’ feelings into consideration.

All this made me inwardly groan, feeling bad for Nezuko, figuring they were going to wind up together because she’s a saint who can find the patience to deal with someone like that, as he clearly wasn’t going to be desirable to any of the rest of the female cast. Enjoying the series well enough despite this, it didn’t bother me terribly much, pairings happen, whatever, I have a history of ignoring them. But one day, well and deep into caring about this whole cast like they’re all my children, I realized something. Isn’t… isn’t it cute how they both get their strength from taking naps? W-wouldn’t it be cute to see them innocently take naps together? Naps to protect each other? Oh. Oh-h-h-h-h. Oh dear. Oh no, it’s cute. Oh no. OH NO.

And that was how my warming up to this pairing started, it very quickly grew into “I love these children and I want them to be happy, being with Nezuko will make Zenitsu very, very happy, I love seeing him happy, happy Zenitsu” but was still a little reserved about Nezuko. Zenitsu was going to make her happy, right? It wasn’t just going to be a case of Nezuko having gotten fond of him over the course of everything they’ve been though, he is actually going to be her taste and make her heart go “kyun” right? Oh Nezuko, oh saintly Nezuko…

Let’s take a moment to pause here and think chronologically, though, as well as analyze their personalities and tastes. Neither of them are particularly picky, we can start there. Aside from fussy busy-bodies like Aoi, as long as it’s a girl, any girl is Zenitsu’s type. He’s desperate, and he’s painted the whole of girl-kind in pretty similar, not always realistic rosy colors. Even though he’s been used and abused by so many girls in his past, it’s his desire to believe that each new one he meets will fit that rosy imaginary color he paints over them that he chooses to let himself be duped, because he really is that lonely. I’ll give him that, sure, he’s a healthy young man with an interest in physical touch, but his dream in Mugen Ressha gives a good indication of what he’s really looking for: companionship, someone who likes spending time with him, someone who will find him useful and believe in him and look to him for protection, someone who likes him enough to spare him the physical intimacy of simply holding his hand. This is all an extension of what Zenitsu desires as whole, hoping he can better himself enough to be reliable and valued in general. Picturing it in the form of a significant other is one very vivid way to focus all those feelings, resulting in that rosy ideal which Zenitsu probably knows in his heart of hearts is too good to be true. That’s why he probably doesn’t think he’s ever going to find it, and therefore why he’s all over any slightest chance of attaining it.

My gosh, if being abandoned over and over isn’t enough, the fact that none of the girls he dated in the past were ever willing to even hold his hand hurts so much.

Nezuko, though, grew up in a secure family with a good relationship to observe between her parents. She probably always envisioned growing up to be like her mother, the quintessential “good wife, wise mother” (a phrase coined later on in the Taisho period to idealize the traditional roles of a woman). She cooks and cleans and sews and the first fanbook even tells us she was good at using an abacus, so she can handle family finances like a pro. Her traditional values probably made her tastes pretty standard, hoping for a reliable protector, but also someone who might be as kind as her father and her brother. But as for what makes her heart go doki-doki? The extra comic at the end of volume 3 tells us that she does long since have a type, it’s a person who’s like a Hisha.

Hisha: a chess/Shougi piece that can move an unlimited number of spaces in horizontal and vertical directions, and is crowned a dragon when it enters enemy territory.

So, yes, this is the part where we all smile and point at Gotouge and say, “I see what you did there, Wani-sensei.”

I find this reassuring; it tells me that Nezuko can find her heart squeezed at how cool Zenitsu is instead of just coming around and liking him because she was flattered by his affection and learned to see how nice he is and stuff. There are plenty of nice Demon Slayers who are strong and cool protectors, but that ZING that Zenitsu has (when he’s asleep) is something that can make her heart race. I’m all for this. I hinge so much of my ZenNezu feelings on this Hisha comment.

The second fanbook states that Nezuko initially had trouble sorting out her memories, and because Zenitsu gave her two such different impressions, it felt like memories of two different people, but over time the memories overlapped to form one complete person. We could say that she and Zenitsu had two first meetings.

Initially, when she was in the box, her little demon heart did go doki-doki; it was the first time a boy besides her brother had protected her, so even though Oniichan is Number One in her heart for the general duration of canon, this encounter was sure to leave a flattering impression. However, when they met face to face that night, he was just some confusing dandelion yelling and screaming about weird stuff, and then he was just a confusing (and possible bothersome) dandelion wanting to hang around her and give her flowers and stuff. It’s anyone’s guess just how “there” Nezuko was at this stage, as she does seem to gain back more of her own will and thought processes over the course of the series, rather than being guided by very, very simple rules to govern her behavior.

Zenitsu feel in love at first sight, and the second fanbook tells us he asked Tanjiro about her human personality, seeing as she wasn’t fully there. He was initially doubtful that anyone so perfect as Nezuko could exist and figured Tanjiro must had been biased and therefore exaggerating, but can we blame Zenitsu for being a smidge guarded? He’s been let down a lot, after all.

We know from Taisho Secrets and side novels that Zenitsu spent a lot of time with Nezuko during their long recovery at the Butterfly Mansion. Even how much more thought we see Nezuko display in the Train arc, she probably underwent a lot of mental development in this time, and my guess is that due to how much he interacted with her, this is probably when Zenitsu went from being a strange dandelion to a strange companion. She probably focused more on the goldfish and the pretty flowers (which he did take her to see!) and any flattering mention of her brother, though. Zenitsu, I’m relieved to say, seemed to genuinely care about what would make Nezuko happy instead of selfishly assuming something like “she likes me too, she wants to marry me.” But knowing Zenitsu, he probably assumed that her willingness to spend time with him was an indication of being willing to talk marriage once she was more herself again, though.

Let’s pause here and put on our Oniichan goggles, though. Early on, Tanjiro has to insist to just about everyone that Nezuko is still her own person with her own thoughts and feelings. Being a demon has taken a lot of her freedom to act on her true nature away from her, but he knows she’s still in there and he treats her like an equal human being. He had to watch over and over as people see his sister and only think, “demon.”

And then there’s his friend Zenitsu, who looks at her and thinks, “girl. Girl! Girl. Girl. Sweet girl, adorable girl, best girl in the world.” And maybe that’s a little bothersome, but yes, someone gets it!! Someone understands! Even though Tanjiro’s initial concerns are keeping Nezuko from being bothered by unwelcome advances, as long as Zenitsu is willing to respect that Nezuko is not entirely able to speak for herself now, he seems pretty approving of Zenitsu (provided Nezuko decides she likes him back). I’d like to think there was an unspoken promise between bros on what boundaries to follow. Besides that, Tanjiro believes in Zenitsu a lot more than Zenitsu believes in himself, so Tanjiro probably wasn’t worried about the “strong protector” role a future husband should fulfil. Or at least, Tanjiro doesn’t seem concerned once he gets to know Zenitsu, he’d have rejected Zenitsu flat-out on that first meeting. Zenitsu, you are so lucky Tanjiro is so forgiving.

However, for as much as Zenitsu sees Nezuko as “GIRL!! Girl, girl, girl!”, he’s still got his rosy vision that conveniently clouds out any disturbing realities. She is, after all, a demon.

This is something Zenitsu never actually had the chance to struggle with, and I would have really liked to see him challenged by that reality a bit more. He never witnessed Nezuko’s berserker mode, nor did he ever see her struggle to keep from eating someone, he wasn’t even awake to watch her fight like a violent animal/angry toddler on the train. Had there been a scene of Zenitsu forced to face how terrifying she had potential to be, it would had really sold his commitment to Nezuko specifically, instead of only Nezuko as his most likely girlfriend candidate.

On the train, Nezuko has the good fortune of seeing another side of Zenitsu, getting one hell of a doki-doki moment. As she’s gaining more self-awareness back, it probably made those doki-dokis more complex too. While I understand there wasn’t a good opportunity to fit in the pace of the story, I love that Taisho Secret of her concerned about him before he wakes up. Instead of him just being that boy who shows her pretty things and says nice things about her Oniichan, this is when he starts becoming something a little more unique among all the people whom little demon Nezuko has bet and who have been nice to her.

In the months that follow, we don’t get much deviation from this slow development. Zenitsu’s feelings toward Nezuko don’t really change at all, but there’s another thing about this ship: neither one chose the other over anybody else. They sort of just came together, Zenitsu gets hooked on one girl at a time, but what if someone had come along with an interest in him? At what point would he had given up on Nezuko? Probably pretty quickly, if someone was serious enough about him. It wouldn’t have been a break up either, since he was still in the pursuing stages (might be more of a break-up conversation with Tanjiro, who had been tacitly supportive).

Actually, for most of the remainder of the series, the affection that Nezuko and Zenitsu build for each other is done when they’re apart, dwelling on their thoughts of each other. For Nezuko, we see this come out after the Swordsmith Village arc in her sunlit elation to see him again, and her efforts to greet him. She very clearly recognizes him and is happy to see him, a big difference compared to how she was more elated by the sight of a fishbowl before. In Zenitsu’s case, this deepening of his affections and running away with his thoughts and feelings results him declaring once and for all, this is her. He’s found her. This is the girl who he will be committed to his whole life, in his heart she is already his wife.

When human!Nezuko is gaining her memories back, her first impressions are of the boy showing her pretty things and giving her flowers, someone who probably has a crush on her, rather than thinking back to someone who she may have had a crush on. (Those cool impressions probably hit her later, I’m assuming, given the stress of the moment.) Romance is not immediately on her mind, though she does quickly recall having friendly affection for this boy for has always been so sweet to her. And Nezuko, handling his surprising level of affection gracefully, helps Zenitsu off the battlefield while he’s in terrible pain (though she probably was too, my poor girl, that fight with demon!Tanjiro was so rough). But honestly, not only is she probably too overwhelmed by everything to think much about romance, but she probably doesn’t take Zenitsu very seriously initially. She knows he’s got a tendency to overexaggerate, and it’s nice that he’s so sweet to her, but since he acts all fluffy and silly around her she probably thinks he’s not being that serious either. Furthermore, she’s got a lot of people to suddenly care about, Zenitsu has a lot to contend with for trying to get special attention. Hell, Zenitsu was probably awake and causing a racket while she was frantic with worry that comatose Giyuu might die. While she did remake Jiichan’s haori to fit Zenitsu’s later, see spent her time in the hospital mending Giyuu’s haori (Nezuko, baby, doesn’t your hand hurt though!?). While Zenitsu was swept up in happy “Nezuko is human now, we’re totally gonna get married” feels, he probably didn’t even notice that he was only one slice in a very big pie of memories that Nezuko suddenly found in her lap and had to slowly chew and digest.

So… this brings us to the extra post-canon comic in the second fanbook, which I initially did not like very much back when it came out in February. I’ve come around a lot to it, but what really hit me at first was “oh no, Nezuko really is only going to accept this marriage because she’s a saint, he’s not being desirable at all.”

But, treating it with a little more patience and sympathy for Zenitsu… he’s just gotten what he’s always wanted, of course he’s going to stop striving a bit and get blissfully carried away in it. And Nezuko, the ever sweet, isn’t going to stop him.

Some of the other commentary in the fanbook states that Zenitsu, for a time, found himself terrified of how girls could be sweet to his face while hiding their true thoughts about him. But, finding that Nezuko was not at all two-faced, he nearly “died and went to heaven” as the exaggeration goes. He doesn’t like to work hard in the first place (but does, because it will make people like Jiichan proud), so getting away with being spoiled is too big of a temptation to resist. Nezuko is sensitive to what makes the people around her happy or uncomfortable, so she never makes any request of Zenitsu. She’s so grateful to have their new little family that her happiness is everyone else’s happiness, she doesn’t really desire a heartthrob romance, even if being a wife and mother is an eventual goal. And, without being under any pressure to make someone proud, Zenitsu gets swept away and indulges.

Thank you, Tanjiro, for putting a stop to this.

He’s still rooting for Zenitsu, since this is his friend and he knows it would make his friend happy to wind up with Nezuko, but he’s setting himself up for failure, or setting Nezuko up to be cheated out on a good match at this rate (if she were to accept out of being nice). Very, very thankfully, Zenitsu responds well to pressure. By this point Nezuko has gotten so used to sweet but indulgent Zenitsu that he seems she totally accepted that his Hisha side didn’t exist anymore, if it even existed in the first place.

Good for Zenitsu asking for her response a year later (when they’d be getting to the legal marriage ages for the Taisho period anyway), he knew he still had shaping up to do to earn her affection. And Nezuko probably needed time to build some admiration for him again, since the doki-dokis were so gone. Even if he couldn’t use that super cool Thunder Breath anymore, it would probably catch her attention to see him strive again, to put effort into being manly, specifically for her. It wasn’t just the Thunder Breath that gave her doki-dokis, it was the Hisha knight-like attitude too, whether asleep and acting on his inner potential, or awake and bravely defending her based on his own goodness and faith.

I hope that in their married life, Zenitsu will retain that sort of manliness in being a provider for her, even he does get indulged a lot at home.

Now for how this plays into some of my fanwork and headcanons:

You know how I said all my OTPs were tragedies? Yeah, I love a good dose of angst. I did start writing a single-scene fic one time of injured Zenitsu desperately trying to cover Nezuko from the sun while waiting for Tanjiro to find them, and in Nezuko’s panic about the sun she starts losing her self-control over her appetite, and Zenitsu is forced to confront that the girl he loves could very easily kill him. I never finished it, though, and it was embarrassingly self-indulgent.

For my big favorite AU of a monster fanfic, I did add more ZenNezu on the massive edit, because by this point I just enjoy ZenNezu so much that I wanted more of it. But!! What I really like about working with it in this fic is that there’s a conflict: Demon!Tanjiro. In this canon divergence, Human!Nezuko and Zenitsu get to interact more than they ever did while she was a demon, and they both already have affection for each other, but the lingering fact that Tanjiro is technically their enemy gives me some tension and angst to work with.

Yes, I wrote a One Shot of Zenitsu and Nezuko as fresh new parents, but it was a bit of a dark dive into Zenitsu’s feelings of inadequacy. But domesticity comes with some inevitable fluff anyway, and likewise it felt embarrassing indulgent, and I can’t write fluff without a little bittersweetness. M…maybe the reason I’m not a shipper is because I’m easily flustered???

I’d like to think that Zenitsu got a desk job that he worked hard at because he wants to be a provider, and Nezuko does find his hard work attractive. I headcanon it was at an electric company, because hahahaha, electricity. I’d like to think he had a long career in that company (and although his colleagues know him for having a bit of an extreme personality and being obsessed with his wife, they sometimes catch glimpses of a very, very strong side of Zenitsu—like, scarily strong), and that when he’s old and retired in the Postwar Economic Miracle, he buys a fancy camera to take pictures of Nezuko (instead of “say cheese” it’s “Thunderclap and Flash!”), and he takes Nezuko to Paris because that’s the romantic thing to do. Also, I don’t like moustaches as a rule, but I totally approve of old man Zenitsu having a fluffy moustache.

World War Two, though… I’d like to think that if his job had him in the city, he was extremely reliable when it came to protecting his family in case of bombing. I’d also like to think that this was when the Kamado family moved to the city, because Nezuko was worried about Kanao and her nieces and nephews, so Zenitsu made sure they were all together. Inosuke might had taken the opposite route and taken his family to the mountains to shelter out there in the wild.

AAAAHHHH, listen to me being so self-indulgent with headcanons, I pride myself on sticking close to canon in my fanwork, I will never produce this, AAAAHHHH, I’m embarrassed~~~~I---I’m not a shipper! No! I don’t have a shipper’s bone in my body! Who needs romance, it means nothing to me, I don’t get swept up in happy fantasies about young newlywed Zenitsu and Nezuko, really I don’t, I take what canon gives me and I stick with it, I’m here for bromance and comradery and fights to the death, I—I don’t need disgusting fluffy feelings, ew, ew, no, really-----ahhh, too flustered, too flustered, too flustered, no, no, no, no, no, no, WHEN DID I BECOME A SHIPPER, nnnnnnnnhhhhjjjj

Which is all to say that Zenitsu and Nezuko as a pairing really grew on me, even though it is essentially a fluffy happy pairing that only got surface-level interaction and was never seriously challenged. It’s got some shadows lurking in there, especially diving into Zenitsu’s heart, but in general this was a slow build-up of mutual affection between two characters with pretty simple desires of their own, and most of all, a desire to see each other happy. That makes it a good comfort ship.

And they’re both are sleepyheads, hNNNGGGHHHhhhhHHHHHHHHHHH

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 14:

Gif credit: @dudeitiskarev

Warnings: None really, minor mentions of injuries, major trauma bonding, Emily and reader are true soulmates, Hotch drops a bombshell.

———

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” - Laurell K. Hamilton

———

Relief is a strange thing. 

Hotch has been by your bedside for the two days you’ve been in the hospital recovering from your injuries. He switches periodically between your room and Emily’s, checking in, grabbing a stale cup of coffee and stuffing himself into a chair that’s much too small. He’d met Ambassador Prentiss on the night you’d been brought into the hospital, all hard lines and pointy corners packed into her petite, perfectly postured frame. 

Emily looks unsettlingly like her, he thinks. Just warmer. 

It was Elizabeth who’d finally managed to get a hold of your father in the early hours after you’d been brought in, after which he’d ordered the plane to be turned around immediately. He’d narrowly escaped his fate too. Unbeknownst to him, Jordan had arranged for somebody to have him taken care of as well.

He was debriefed on his way to the hospital, convoy in tow and had taken the time to handle his emotions en route. A few stray tears had rolled down his cheek when he’d seen you, the angry bruising on your face piercing his chest. 

He’d spoken with Elizabeth then, hushed voices that agreed to finally take care of this. 

“It’s the Fitzgerald boy?” He’d asked Hotch. 

“Yes, Sir. He’s in our custody at HQ. Senator Fitzgerald is waiting to see him.” 

“I think maybe we should pay them both a visit.” Your father had said evenly. 

It’s the most stoic Hotch had ever seen him and it was entirely unsettling. Hotch had always known him as a powerful man, but he was kind, affable, humble. He could see now the side to him that he hadn’t before, the side that controlled DC, pulled strings and cashed in favours and had a powerful, reputational political standing. 

He’d take care of it. 

And he had. 

Calls had been made to law firms - now any lawyer who valued their career refused to take on the case, despite Senator Fitzgerald’s own old-money influence. A public defender would try to get him out on bail the following day but a well-placed call to Chief Justice Archibald and the DA would ensure that wouldn’t happen. 

A seething threat delivered in your father’s expert, neutral and unwavering tone had been made to the Senator himself when he’d tried to cash in his own favours. That had sealed the fate for the Senator, his son and his legacy. 

“Try something like that again, Senator, and I won’t need my security to take care of you. After you let your dog off his leash, after what your boy did to my daughter - I’ll make sure you’re done here. Forever.” 

———

In the meanwhile, Hotch studies the marbling bruises on your face, the stitches above your eyebrow, remnants of your harrowing ordeal. He watches you exhale in short shallow breaths, slipping in and out of sleep but frowns when a stray strand of hair obscures your face. He reaches out and moves it gently, his finger brushing the jagged skin of your cheek. 

His breath hitches. 

He’s now developed a sort of tic, runs his fingers over the cool gold of your pendant that he still has a hold of, finds it’s the only thing that’ll fight off thoughts of a very possible different ending. He keeps reminding himself he needs to return it to you as soon as he can - can’t promise he’ll want to part with it, though. 

Relief is a strange thing. 

You’re alive and recovering but would anything alleviate the guilt that’s settled in his chest? He doesn’t think so.

Guilt that he’d allowed for Jordan to get close enough, that he hadn’t worked it out sooner. Guilt that his increasing involvement with you was what drove Jordan’s obsession to such a point. He still has to fight the thoughts in his head, all what ifs and imagine ifs, the only thing that grounds him now is the fact that you’re here. 

Safe and sound. 

He succumbs to his sleep with the intention of telling you that. 

You eventually wake up in the sterile hospital room, the sounds of the various machines you’re hooked up to annoyingly monotonous. As you blink your eyes open, you slowly become accustomed to the daylight outside, the reality of the past however many days settling in. 

Your eyes fall to the 6’2 man curled into a chair next to your bed. His arm rests on his forehead, small breaths escaping his mouth. You stir just slightly, exceedingly careful not to wake him but he jolts awake at the sound of the sheets rustling anyway. 

“You’re awake.” He whispers, blinking his eyes open. He immediately places a gentle, reassuring hand over yours. 

You chuckle, wincing a little from the pain in your ribs. “Hi.” You whisper with a smile. 

“Hi.” He replies with glassy eyes. “It’s good to have you back.” He says, fondly. “How do you feel?” 

“Sore.” Your voice is hoarse. “How long’s it been?”

“Two days. They sedated you to make sure there was no swelling in your brain from the accident after you passed out. You’ve got some bruised ribs and your face needed some stitches, but you’re going to be okay.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Listen, I have some news.” He pauses, not sure how to phrase the rest.

You feel like you’re missing a limb, a sore pull at your chest when you remember Jordan’s words. He’d killed the two most important people in your life. 

“Yeah. They’re dead.” You whisper. 

His eyes widen in alarm and he takes a seat on the bed next to your legs, a reassuring hand on your shin. “What? Who?”

You fight the tears pricking your eyes and the heaviness in your chest. “My father. Emily.”

“What? No. No, no! They’re both alive.” He cups your face gently. 

“-But he told me…” 

“He tried to kill Emily after the accident. Your dad… he had the plane turned around before he got to Paris. Emily was in pretty bad shape after the accident, but she’s in recovery - they’re absolutely fine. The rest I’ll tell you another day.”  

It’s like the feeling returns to your chest. Your tears spill over. “They’re really okay?” You reach for his hand that cups your cheek. 

He nods. “And so are you.” He delicately wipes a stray tear off your cheek, a small chuckle escaping his lips. He soothes you quietly but his face lights up, an idea seemingly occurring to him. 

He shoots up from his chair to head outside. He holds out a finger, “I’ll be right back.” He says from the door. 

He returns around ten minutes later, with McCall in tow and the tension and turmoil of the last week all but melts away when he wheels in Emily, your dad following behind. Two security guards stand watch at the doors. 

You immediately sit up in your bed, letting out a shaky laugh, in disbelief that you’re all really okay. The state of Emily’s face throws you off first, angry hues of blue, purple and red bleed into each other, stitches and scars adorn her face and she’s sporting a neck stabiliser. A nasty gash on her lip and cheek make it hard for her to smile fully but she still squeals when she sees you. 

Your father almost crushes you in his embrace, quickly retreating when you wince but you laugh them both off, reaching for their hands. Your desire to hold them close is just as much affection as it is to make sure they wouldn’t dissipate as a figment of your imagination. 

The sure enough contact is something that you would’ve ordinarily taken for granted, but this time, it almost reduces you to tears. You silently thank Hotch who gives you some privacy and waits outside. He does keep you in his eye line though, watching you fondly from the glass on the other side. 

McCall pointedly clears his throat next to Hotch causing him to snap out of his stupor. “You know we can see you?” 

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re staring, Aaron.” 

Hotch rolls his eyes in response and wanders over to the coffee machine at the end of the hall, McCall trailing behind him. He hands McCall a piping styrofoam cup, taking one for himself, immersing himself in trying to cool the hot liquid but McCall sees right through him.

“Aaron. You remember what I told you the day we went to the Fitzgerald house?”

“Ben-”

“If it wasn’t clear to you then, it must be now. You don’t spend two days squashed into a stiff chair for an assignment. I saw the look on your face when you saw the wreck, I see the way you hold her.”

Hotch says nothing, just stares into his reflection in the black coffee. 

He places a sturdy hand on his shoulder. “Everyone can.” 

It’s true. 

Everybody can. 

While Hotch had spent the best part of the last two days by your bedside, McCall had been by Emily’s side, striking up an unlikely friendship. Topics change, things are said, speculations are made, and within it all, the topic of you and Hotch has come up several times. 

Emily had never been one to sugarcoat things, neither had McCall. Both of them had a degree of distance, and could see what neither of you could. 

“It’s now or never, man.” McCall tells him with a pat on his shoulder. 

———

You’d waved your dad out of the room after 45 minutes, his incessant yawning revealing his fatigue. He’d objected, of course, but after some persuasion from you and Emily, he’d said goodbye with a kiss atop both of your heads. 

Your father isn’t even out of earshot before Emily wheels herself in closer to you, a wry grin spreading on her face in spite of her split lip. 

“So,” she whispers, rubbing her hands together. “Tell me!”

You frown in confusion. “Tell you what?” 

She rolls her eyes. “You! And Hotch. Did you guys talk?” 

You use your hands to sign between the two of you. “Well, I don’t really know if you noticed, but I haven’t really had a lot of time to figure out crushes.” 

“So you admit it? You have a crush on him?” She cackles.

“Emily, for God’s sake. Stop. You’re incorrigible. Shouldn’t you be focused on yourself, didn't you, like, break your neck?”

“No, it’s a soft tissue injury-”

“For now.” You warn her. 

“You’re not funny. But seriously, have you given any more thought to what we talked about?”

“Emily, I will wheel you out of this room myself.”  

“Answer the question!” 

Yes. 

You had. 

It was one of the only things that had occupied your brain when you were stuck in that cabin. You still feel the effects of the grief you’d felt when you’d thought you’d lost him deep in your chest. Like a lingering ache. The regret was all-consuming, regret that you’d never been able to figure out what you felt for him while he was still around. Regret that you’d never been able to tell him. 

You’ve been given a second chance, you’d be an idiot not to take it, right? The feeling had been so chilling, you’d sworn in that moment you’d never put yourself in a position like that again. But fear and vulnerability still play a part in your decision. 

“Hey!” She snaps her fingers in your face with her good arm. Her eyes soften though, when she sees the faraway look on your face. “Oh, honey.” She takes your hand and takes a cursory glance around the room before turning back to you. “For what it’s worth - I think it’s a really good idea. You. Hotch.” 

You shake your head dismissively but she grips your hand tighter in spite of her injuries. 

“Really. I know you don’t see it, but he’d do anything for you, he killed that dirty cop y’know? You should’ve seen what a wreck he was after the crash, I made him promise he’d find you.” Her voice turns thick.

“You did?”

“Yeah. It wasn't fair to him at all, I never should’ve put him in that position. But he stayed with me when they brought me in, he thought I was asleep but I was watching him. He was distraught when he thought he’d lost you.”

That sparks something in you, a kind of warmth that spreads. It’s heady. 

“I don’t know, Em. What do I even say?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just matters that you say it. And quick. You need to tell him before he leaves for good.”

That stings. You hadn’t even thought about that. You’d been so used to having him around and him being a part of your daily routine, you hadn’t really thought about him not being a part of your life anymore. 

This was an assignment and it was over. You could just as easily part ways with the hope that you’ll forget him and the effect he had on you. That you’ll eventually stop thinking about him but there’s something in you that tells you he’ll linger deep in your soul long after you part ways. 

“I’ll think about it.” You whisper. 

———

“Red or green?” He holds up two Jell-O pots, one red and one green. 

“Red.” You sigh.

“Damn.” He mutters under his breath with a laugh. He takes his assigned seat next to you, handing you a spoon and pulling your table out in the process. He winces when he sits, digging two fingers into his back, just under his ribs. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Ah it’s nothing, I think I’m a little sore.” 

Shit. You’d been so caught up in your own thoughts you hadn’t even realised he’d been sitting there in that tiny seat, squashed together for the past two days. 

“I’m sorry. You have to squash yourself into that seat for me.”

“I’m not.” He says, almost instinctively. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” 

You both sit in silence for a moment, contemplating both of your earlier revelations. 

He breaks the silence first. “Well, I guess I should probably debrief you on the details-” He turns to catch you staring at him, a faraway look on your face. He frowns, “Hey. You okay?” 

“What? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, continue.” 

And that’s when he takes you through the night you were taken. He recalls how he came home after visiting Jordan when McCall called him to give him the news. He tells you that two of the cops that were on duty were killed in the crash and that Lawrence was Jordan’s inside man. He takes you through every harrowing detail from finding Emily barely conscious to being shot at, to finally finding you. 

Emily was right, the anxiety is etched on his face as though he’s reliving it. 

But there’s still something you don’t understand.

“How did you know it was Jordan?” You ask him. 

He sucks in a breath, eyes darkening for just a moment. “It’s complicated.”

“I think I deserve to know. Don’t you?” 

He clenches his jaw, the anger still fresh. It’s the strangest thing though, he’s not as angry about being cheated on as he is about the fact that it put you in danger. 

He inhales sharply. “Haley.”

“Ah.”

“You know?” He asks, alarmed.

“He told me when I was in that place. That he’d used her for information.” 

He averts his gaze, running a hand over his beard. “Yeah. Remember a couple of months ago when I told you we were having problems - the day I took you to the firing range for the first time?” You nod. “Well, that was the day she decided that she’d had enough, and she left. For two weeks.”

The same two weeks he’d avoided you for.

You disguise your hurt when you recall that period and he goes on, “I guess in those two weeks, she found somebody else to help her through her issues. Not that I blame her, I think it was a long time coming, we hadn’t been happy for a while. I admit I checked out of that relationship king before she did.” He swallows thickly before he reveals too much. “She didn’t know who Jordan was, but he knew she was my girlfriend - he took advantage of that, I guess.” He shakes his head. I’m sorry.” 

You frown. “Sorry? For what?”

“For putting you in danger. If I’d just kept my distance or given Haley more attention, maybe none of this would’ve happened.” 

Your heart sinks when you see the wounded expression on his face and you place a hand over his. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” You whisper. He scoffs, but you press on with a squeeze of his hand, “He still would’ve found a way to get to me. Haley, you - it doesn’t matter - he wouldn’t have stopped until he got to me. So I need you to listen to me when I say it isn’t your fault, it isn’t Haley’s fault. Nobody is to blame. Okay?” 

You need him to know that you don’t blame him, far from it, in fact. You revere him, you rely on him, you’re falling for him. 

You’re falling for him. 

He shakes his head, standing up. He refuses to allow you to make him feel better about the situation. 

He stands at the window now, gazing out at the parking lot. You drag yourself out of your bed for the first time that day, IV in tow and place a reassuring hand on his built shoulder. 

“Hey. Can you look at me?” He steels for a moment before finally turning after a minute. You close the distance between you. “Really. Hotch, you saved my life. The things you taught me, the self-defence, the weapons training? I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.” 

Your proximity to one another drives you dangerously close to losing your willpower and spilling the secrets that lie on the tip of your tongue. 

He hates to admit it, but your words lighten the load on his shoulders exponentially. He was ready to fight this guilt for a long time to come, a fitting punishment for taking his eye off the ball. But your words seem to wash the blood on his hands away. 

He says nothing but smiles gently, watching you. He marvels at your heart, doesn’t understand how somebody could be so gracious even after everything that had happened. Your closeness, your warmth, it takes everything in him to not reach out and show you what you mean to him.  

He knows as well as you do that after this, he may never see you again. There’s no reason for him to. He didn’t want to give you the impression that he was using his leverage as an FBI agent to pursue something more with you, especially after everything you’d been through. 

It didn’t matter what his true intentions were. 

It didn’t matter that he was falling for you. 

———

You’re discharged three days and a deep shower later, and despite your dad pleading with you to return back to his estate, you’re adamant that you want to go home. Besides, you have a pit stop to make on the way. 

“No way.” Hotch’s voice wavers when you make the request. “I won’t allow it. Your father would kill me.” 

“You’re not in a position to allow anything.” You reply defiantly. “I’m not asking. You can either take me now, or you can take me home and I’ll go later. Either way - I’m going.” 

“Why? Give me one good reason you want to see him and I’ll take you.” 

“I don’t need to give you a reason!” But he doesn’t budge. You sigh. “I want to show him that I won. I want him to see that I’m going to be okay and he’s not. I just need to speak to him.”

He just grips the steering wheel tighter, the leather squeaking under his grip. He inhales sharply, taking some time to weigh your words. “Fine.” He says after a pause. “But I’m going in with you. He’s behind bars, but I’m still not letting you go in alone.” 

“I can handle myself.” 

“Damnit.” He mutters. “I know you can, but for God’s sake - I’m not letting him anywhere near you without someone else present.”

“Fine.” 

———

The guard leads you and Hotch to an interview room, and the telltale hue of an orange jumpsuit catches your eyes through the tiny window of the door. He has a sling on one arm, the other kept secure by handcuffs to the table, yellowing bruises on his face. 

You’re completely safe and secure, yet you shiver. You feel Hotch’s warm, large hand slink into yours, squeezing reassuringly. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? You say the word, I’ll take you home.” 

You take a steadying breath, your hand flexing in Hotch’s. “Thanks. But I’m okay. I’m ready.” 

You nod to the guard to let you in, taking the last few seconds to brace yourself. 

The door creaks open, Jordan’s eyes fall to you. The atmosphere is thick enough to choke on and the air is heavy, lingering with unfinished business. Your mind fills with cracked memories of a dark dingy cabin, the smell of his breath on your skin - you swear you can still feel his hands around your throat.

You steady yourself.

He shifts in his chair when you take a seat opposite him, nostrils flaring. “Well, well, well. Hey, Princess,” he scoffs. You shudder at his pet name, his jarring words abrasive against your skin. The reaction doesn’t go amiss by him, so he takes the moment of weakness to reel you in, snare you back into his trap. “Miss me already?” He look wounded when he sees Hotch follow behind you. “You brought him with you? This-” he lifts his cuffed hand as far as it’ll go without pulling on his arm, “Wasn’t bad enough? You had to bring the fed?” 

You don’t dignify his words with a reply. You opt instead to just watch him with narrow eyes, a play straight out of your father’s handbook. He squirms under your gaze, visibly uncomfortable when he sees the look on your face, unwavering, focused. 

“How’s jail?” You ask.

“Peachy. ’Course I’d much rather be with you.”

“Watch your mouth.” Hotch replies, anger simmering under his skin. 

“Bail?” You ask him. 

“No dice.” 

“Wonder why.” You hum with a wry smile. 

“No doubt you had your daddy pay off the tri-state area to keep me rotting in here. Always have been a pampered little bitch.” Hotch’s hands flex into fists but he continues. “What do you want? You’re not here to make small talk, I know that much.”

You observe him slowly, before answering. “How does it feel?” 

“What?”

“How does it feel to be a failure, Jordan?” That stings, you can tell, because as soon as the words leave your mouth, he shifts positions, hunching his shoulders like a dog about to attack. 

Except he’s handcuffed. 

You continue, “You tried to kill me, you missed. You tried to kill Emily, you missed. You tried to have my father killed, you missed, you even tried to have Aaron killed. Still, nothing.” 

“Aaron?” He hisses. “What, you guys are on a first name basis now?” 

He’s deflecting. 

“Answer me. You’ve done nothing but disappoint your father, he tolerates you. You had everything you could possibly need, you could’ve done so much with your life, Jordan - I actually pity you.” 

He blinks rapidly, desperately thinking of a way to attack you. 

“You think this is going to go away for you?” He snarls. “You don’t think I’m going to haunt your dreams? Everywhere you look, you’re going to think it’s me. Every time you get a letter, a package, your first reaction is going to be fear.” He chuckles. “I’m gonna stay with you, it doesn't matter if I’m doing life in here.” 

“I can handle that. I will handle that. But you - you’re gonna spend the rest of your life in a 6x8, with nothing to do except to think about all the ways in which you’re a fucking disappointment. A coward.” You force your voice to remain steady despite your entire body shaking. 

The chair scrapes against the floor when you go to get up, your hands clenched in fists, willing them not to shake. Hotch follows behind you and you’re already out of the door when Hotch is called back into the interview room by Jordan. 

A cold smile makes his way onto his face, an attempt to deliver one last blow. “You know I fucked your girl, Aaron?” He delivers his line calmly, his tongue in his cheek. 

What Hotch says will stay with him, long after he walks out of the doors. “Did you get what you wanted?” He nods over to the doors you’d just walked out of, a fond smile on his face. “Because I did.” 

———

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[nukacoola]

Companions react to Danse stepping out of power armor for the first time!

Cait: 

She would look Danse up and down very obviously and grin which would make him extremely uncomfortable. 

“Ya’outgha get out of that thing more often Dansey. Who knew there were cookies in that tin can of yours.”

She obviously isn’t actually interested in Danse. Way too boring. But she’s not one to toss out eye candy just cause it isn’t her favorite flavor. She wouldn’t actively follow him but for fun and also to get on his nerves she would definitely cat-call him everytime he was in hearing range. Deacon and Hancock might join in for a few comments if they don’t have anything better to do.

She would not stop unless sole made a convincing plea or reason for why she should and maybe not even then.

Danse would not respond or look at Cait but he would be very red and never get out of his suit in front of her again.

Codsworth: 

“Why Paladin Danse I dare say you’ve been keeping up your workout routine! Cheers to your excellent health whether in or out of your power armor!” Codsworth is reassured that his owner is traveling with someone so equipped for the struggles of the wasteland.

“Uh, thank you, Codsworth.” Danse would feel a bit awkward but he would appreciate the compliment. 

“Might I polish that for you while you're otherwise engaged? It seems to be in a just dreadful state and I would like nothing more than for you to be looking your best in your wasteland escapades!” Though he is reassured by Danse’s physical state and abilities, he is mortified by the state his armor is in. All the scratches, dings, and dirt? It’s just horrible. Codsworth has always wanted an opportunity to fix that suit up and is pretty happy that the day has finally arrived.

“I- If you’d like to you can.”

“Oh good! I do so love a difficult task!” With that Codsworth would zoom away to procure the necessary supplies to return Danse’s armor to it’s original state. Danse didn’t really know whether or not he should be offended at the robot’s comments but he decided to just continue about his business and not think about it too much. 

Curie:

“Oh Monsieur Danse, you are quite zee lovely specimen! I would be eager to do a physical examination if you would allow me to.” Ever since leaving the vault, Curie has been astounded at how many different sorts of humans there are. Danse is particularly interesting to her because of the amazing athletic feats he does so regularly. She is also interested in studying the effects of constant power armor usage on the human body. When she sees him step out of his suit for the first time and sees his overly muscular physique, it just tacks on another reason she wants to study him. 

Before Blind Betrayal:

“The only specimen that needs examining is you, synth. Don’t talk to me unless you’re submitting yourself to the Brotherhood.” The only reason Curie isn’t already on the Prydwen is because Sole thinks it’s their friend. It bothers Danse immensely that Sole hasn’t destroyed or used this inhuman thing already.

(Don’t get mad at me he literally says this in game.)

Curie is very hurt, she expected this reaction but it still hurt. She was still getting used to feelings such as the pained ones she felt in moments like these.

After Blind Betrayal:

“No. Thank you.” Danse’s words were strained. Being around Curie was pretty awful for him. He had treated her so terribly before and he still had strong feelings of disgust towards her despite what he knows now. Everytime he sees her and has those feelings of hate and disgust, he remembers that he and Curie are the same. He’s still struggling to overcome the years of propaganda that were drilled into him. 

Curie is disappointed. Did Danse not see they are the same? If he didn’t believe in her humanity then he would have to not believe in his own. It is very confusing for Curie. She hopes that he will eventually go back on his denial of her offer. He would be a very interesting specimen.

Deacon:

He would be surprised that Danse would be able to wear that clunky thing so much in the first place. He wouldn’t be surprised at how muscular he is under the suit though. It takes a lot of strength to operate those suits. He’d read that before they were fully developed, a lot of trial runs had resulted in really terrible accidents. The kind of accidents that crush all of your bones at once or remove your top half from your bottom.

Deacon would definitely make a few jokes. “Hey the sardine’s outta the can!” “Isn’t getting out of that bulldozer against Brotherhood policy or something?” “And I thought it was glued on! Learn something new everyday.”

Danse would scowl at his comments but say nothing. He did not like Deacon one bit. That man’s hiding something and if it turns out what he’s hiding will harm Sole or the Brotherhood’s mission, there was gonna be hell to pay. Danse could’ve sworn he’d seen him on the Prydwen a few times but whenever he looked back again to check, he was gone. Danse didn’t much like the idea of leaving his power armor alone with Deacon around but Sole assured him he’s harmless. We’ll see...

Whenever Danse returned to his suit Deacon would stand suspiciously close to it and act like he was trying to play cool after almost being caught doing something nefarious. He would never get tired of watching Danse carefully inspect every part of the armor before apprehensively getting in. Man that guy’s fun to mess with.

Dogmeat: 

He was so surprised! He thought this human was just made of metal! But now Dogmeat can play and jump and lick! Yes!!

Danse has no idea how to deal with a dog he wasn’t allowed to kick so he would just try to awkwardly push the pup off until Sole took care of it.

Hancock: 

Oh HELL YES! Hancock has wanted to punch this fucker since he first laid eyes on him. “HEY SOLDIER BOY, TIME TO SEE WHAT YOU CAN DO OUT OF YOUR DAMN COWARD COFFIN!” He would make a beeline towards the paladin and the paladin would speed walk towards the ghoul as well. Sole barely let him insult the damn freak but this was a direct attack of which he was most definitely gonna defend himself from.

Sole would freak out a bit and try to get in between the two. They would both try to get Sole out of the way so they could pummel each other. A brief alliance in order to facilitate their battle. This was too sweet of an opportunity to miss. 

“Sorry Sunshine, this is happening.”

“Sole, it has directly started an altercation with me and I intend to see it through.”

If they both had a great relationship with Sole after a bit of panicked begging to both parties, the men would begrudgingly back off. They would, however, insult each other viciously despite Sole’s protests. 

“You have no fucking idea how lucky you are meathead. I swear to god if they weren’t here…”

“You call me a meathead but you’re the one who’s rotting, ghoul.”

They would continue to jab each other until Sole dragged Danse off to do what he got out of his suit to do in the first place. 

If one or both of them didn’t have a close relationship with Sole, well, it wouldn’t be pretty. They would forcibly move Sole out of the way and fight for a while. Though Danse is much bigger than Hancock, Hancock is quicker and better at hand to hand. Danse, being unused to fighting outside of his armor, was ultimately unable to beat the ghoul. Hancock landed one final blow to his face, knocking Danse flat. When he stayed down Hancock laughed loudly and spit at him.

“Done in by the best, lucky you.” It would be a huge blow to Danse’s ego and he’d resent Hancock even more now. Hancock would gloat constantly when Danse was around. “Heyyy, there’s my favorite punching bag!” “Come on over Dansey I won’t bite!” He wouldn’t out of shame, but if Danse ever did try to retort, Hancock would just taunt him. Saying something like “Oh yeah? Ya know my favorite way to settle conflicts is by beating the other asshole into the dirt. Hop outta that suit and we can go for round two.”

MacCready:

Mac’s always thought of Danse as an annoying asshole. He still thinks of him this way but when he stepped out of that armor for the first time. Ho lee sh-crap. MacCready might have to look into joining the Brotherhood if the rest of those guys looked the same as Danse. He had expected him to be strong cause of the whole carrying 500 pounds of steel everywhere but his body was something Mac was not expecting and something he could look at for a while. 

If Danse came near the merc he would probably clam up and blush a bit. If Danse caught him staring, he would annoyedly ask, “Is there a problem, civilian?”

“I- uh no.” any other day he would’ve fired back some snide remark but he couldn’t quite seem to think of one right now. 

Nick:

Nick really couldn’t give less of a damn. He hated Danse, Danse hated him, and the two did their best to ignore each other. 

Piper: Piper didn’t really care either. Sure he was muscular but she was very turned off by the everything else about him. All she really payed attention to was the possibility of an exclusive interview or an inside look at the Brotherhood’s workings. Danse would never agree to either of those though. Preston: Preston didn’t care. He already knew you had to be strong to wear power armor especially if you wore them as much as Brotherhood Paladins did. He didn’t like the Brotherhood and by extension, he didn’t trust Danse. Preston was mannerly of course, for Sole, but he knows Danse thinks very little of the Minutemen so he didn’t try too hard to be kind. Strong: Strong thinks this is good time to smash strong human. He has killed many brothers but he wears metal suit. He is weak without metal suit. Human friend tells Strong that if Strong smash, Strong will not find milk of human kindness. Strong angry, Strong want to smash, but Strong not smash.

Danse would never get out of his suit near Strong unless he absolutely had to. Sole insisted that the abomination wasn’t going to be a problem but he didn’t believe it for a second. It took all of his willpower to not open fire on the thing whenever he saw it. Sole has poor taste in companions...

X6:

X6 wouldn’t care. He would consider taking this opportunity to get rid of the high ranking Brotherhood soldier, but it would make Sole upset and would do relatively little to the Brotherhood as a whole. 

Ask and ye shall recieve! I decide the winner on Hancock’s one by their special stats. How the hell does Hancock have such good stats and he’s still terrible in a fight??

[delldarling]

the city is hoarding hearts | arroven

male dragon x gender/body neutral reader 9015 words lemon | mention of drinking alcohol, face riding, size difference, fairly submissive monster, penetrative sex, poetry, touch starved note: behold! my modern epic fantasy universe! this world first appeared back in August for my Patreon Story of the Month, and though I haven’t revisited Arroven again just yet, I did return to this universe for December’s Story of the Month as well. 👀

Magic, despite people's claim to the contrary, is beyond rare these days. No one really claims that it isn’t real, that it didn’t once run rampant with it’s existence. After all, it’s impossible to deny when people have things like the architecture of the North to reference. The towers built into their seaside cliffs, spiraling up like the serpents of old reaching for the sun? Without magic, without gravity spells, and an everlasting charm on those spells, thick enough to double as a coat of paint, the towers would have fallen into the sea by now, dashed against the dark stones jutting out from the deep green waters. Many people, though especially the elves, think that the towers will endure long after the cliffs have crumbled into the water. Floating relics, you’ve heard more than a few people murmur, wonder in their voices, wouldn’t that be something?

Even more common now, there are people the world over that claim they have a spark of magic left still, that they can feel the rhythms of the magical tide flooding back over the world.

She Wakes is written on street corners and thick posters, spray painted on the underside of the colossal Echo Bridge. No matter how often they have workers doing their best to clean the graffiti up, the giant letters are back in place a few days later.

Despite how much you’d like to believe them, as everyone dreams of the rumors, of magic returning, you’ve never put too much stock into the whispered words. Why would you? No matter how often you’ve spent watching wispy clouds streak by your window, no matter how often you’ve taken a moment to reflect on the thought, to nurse a seed of hope… Nothing has ever come of it.

It’s why you keep trying to ignore that heavy ache in the arch of your feet, or the way you keep noticing advertisements for Arroven.

History books and the elderly all say that this is how it starts when magic finally blooms in someone’s blood. There’s an itch. An ache. A constant irritant that starts in your extremities and wriggles into your veins, and then coincidences will start to pile up. Small things, like noticing whenever the clock strikes 11:11 on whatever clock you pass. Or maybe it’s having the luck to switch the radio station to your favorite song without fail, or—

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself when you spot it. You breath puffs out into the chilly air, adding to the fog lingering in the streets. You kneel, brushing aside some of the fallen damask leaves, their velvety backs clinging to your touch even as you do your best to shake them off. Just barely hidden under their litter is a postcard. Without even glancing at it, you know what you’ll find on the back, but you’re drawn to pick it up anyway, turning it over. It depicts a sprawling city with green undertones, the word Arroven written in a sloping, beautiful script along the bottom of the image. The edges are creased, almost lovingly, and there’s a small puncture hole at the top left corner, as if someone had it pinned to a corkboard for no short amount of time. 

Until this moment, you haven’t picked up any of the advertisements for Arroven. The stories all say that you can ignore it, that the magic will go away and fade from you like an ebbing tide if you only will it hard enough, but… You don’t know that you really want it to leave. Those seeds have hope might not have fully sprouted, but their roots have run deep, snaking through your veins. You swallow past the dryness in your throat and turn the postcard over, wonder if you’re going to get an address, or if there are words of encouragement intended for the last owner.

The postcard is faintly yellowed at the edges, but it’s otherwise blank.

You wilt, disappointed, but you don’t throw it back down onto the stones. If you check the railway listings, you’re more than certain that you’ll find a one way trip to Arroven suddenly dirt cheap. The pathway that will lead you there is probably paved with strangely good fortune, more invisible hooks ready to find a secure hold in your heart. You might as well find out if there’s anything to these claims of magic. You have far too much hope shored up in your bones and pumping through your chest not to at least try. 

-

A month later, and you’re starting to believe that whatever magic that led you this far has all but fled. Of course, you’re more than content with where it’s left you, a word rattling around in the back of your brain and clamoring to spill from your lips: home. Arroven feels like home.

It’s not just the city though. It’s your place. It’s the stones that pave the streets and the people that fill them. It’s the smell of bakeries and the faint hint of exhaust. It’s the clean smell of paper and ink from the stationary shop you’d stumbled into on your first night in Arroven, and the proprietor’s barely-there smile. You’d made fast friends with her almost instantly, like it was fate.

Mora, despite her solemn stature, and the vast amount of spiraling tattoos disappearing under the neck of her cleanly pressed shirts, is beyond kind. She possesses a startling, sparkling wit that leaves a smile lingering on your lips whenever you think of her snappy little comments. She’d given you a job in her shop a few days after you’d first arrived, perking up as soon as you’d come back into her shop. She needed a cashier, so she could have more time to develop her own inks, and then a few days after that you literally stumbled onto a showing of a furnished apartment. It had fit all of your needs, and your shoes had sunk into the plush carpet of the bedroom, like a quiet voice in the place asking you to stay.

The ache in your feet had eased, that strange little irritant in the back of your mind fading with every passing day. You haven’t put too much thought into magic since then, as there hasn’t been a reason when you have a new job to keep you busy, and a city to explore on your days off. You love it here, the sea green patina on the copper statues, the swirling architecture that extends to every building in the city, no matter how large or small. Besides, you know if you go looking into magic again, at the message boards or if you go hunting down books, it’s likely that they’ll all say much the same thing: She Wakes, and her gift will blossom in you, but not Forever. She moves us like pawns, adjusting us Just So, no matter how small the slot She needs filled. 

You’ve read it all before, have heard debates shouted in the streets or argued about in the back corner of classrooms. Magic moves through people as it wills, and no amount of pleading will keep it in you unless you’re a mage, and even then, that takes years of study. If the magic that led you here only existed long enough for you to make your home? Then you’ll have to be satisfied with that.

And you are, until that ache in your feet starts up again.

Late one evening, as you’re locking the back door of Rumoura’s, it floods through you fast enough to steal your breath. There’s no voice, no heavy hand on your shoulder, just a fierce pain that wells, threatening to bring tears to your eyes, until you turn to the right. You blink, surprise at the sudden and complete lack of pain, and take a ragged breath as you pocket the key to the door. When you feel steady enough, when your lungs no longer ache, you turn to the right and start walking.It takes you about ten minutes to realize you’re headed towards the main park, the one with ancient ruins of a half finished serpent tower peppered throughout its boundaries. You’ve walked through once, one golden afternoon with Mora, and you’ve been meaning to come back sometime on your lunch break. The past few days have been busy though, with a flood of students coming back to Arroven, stocking up on both casual and serious supplies from Mora’s shop.

Besides, there’s always been time to explore at your leisure now that you’re living here. 

Two towering trees make a grand arch over the park entrance, and the slow swirl of damask leaves spiraling down from the branches make you laugh.

“Coincidence,” you murmur, a small smile curling your lips, and you walk into the park. The paths are well lit, even this late in the evening. This part of the city doesn’t boast about it’s lack of crime, but most people feel it. There always seems to be groups of people roaming: Elven tourists, hooking arms and laughing over cups of tea and coffee, Orcish artists and musicians, setting up on benches or street corners, busking for the simple sake of sharing their art with others. You wander through the park, expecting to simply take in the sights among the meandering attendees, but.. You haven’t seen anyone for the past few minutes. Your footsteps start to slow, wondering if you missed a sign somewhere and you have the nagging feeling that you just need to find someone.

Cautiously, you keep moving, the sudden bout of nervousness easing when you see someone up ahead. They’re sitting at the foot of one of the rather large blocks of toppled variscite, a dark hoodie hiding their face. Their shoulders are broad, and their clothes are a little more ragged than you see on people around here, but it gives off more of a well lived look than a dangerous one. They’re tapping the toes of their boots together, the tread of them worn smooth, and a low, masculine hum reaches your ears the closer you get. He stops as soon as you’re within speaking range though, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. There’s a street lamp not too far behind him, and with the hood and the angle of the light, it casts most of his face in shadow. All you can spy is a pair of long, thorn-like ear gauges, curling out from the depths of his hood. They’re bigger around than a thimble and sharp looking from this far away. 

“Nice evening, hm?” You say in greeting, hoping that if he doesn’t want to speak, he’ll just bob his head and let you move along. You haven’t run into any trouble in Arroven yet, but even with that strange ache, you don’t know that you can see your good luck lasting forever.

“A lovely one,” he mumbles and he leans back, hands grabbing at his knees and squeezing like he’s the nervous one.

That thought makes you stop, your eyes focusing a bit more intensely on what you can see of his skin. At first glance, his knuckles are bruised and paint splattered, nails split and a little too long, skin rough in texture. You blink, realizing that his knuckles aren’t bruised, his skin just mirrors the strange patterns of the variscite he’s sitting on, ink black and sea green, and the rough texture to his skin has pointy, scalloped edges.

The noise he makes isn’t a sigh, not quite, but he turns his face away, as if he expects you to ignore him, or run, and his hood edges back, just a sliver. The arch of his nose is straight as an arrow, and his nostrils are thin things, slashing upwards. His face has so many angles that it’s hard to tear your gaze away. You wish you could see his eyes, but he has them closed, like he’s still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you.. Are you alright?” You ask, because it seems like the thing to say, with how tense he is, with how he’s waiting.

His eyes flash open, reflective in the depths of his hood. His mouth curls into a frown when he turns to look at you again. His eyes are still the eerie glam of a reflected light. “You’re not frightened?”

“Are you?” You ask, ignoring the thundering of your own heart. You’ve seen Trolls before, and even a few half-elves or half-orcs of varying descent, with skin that just barely reminds you of his, but.. You’re willing to bet he isn’t any of those. 

“A bit?” He says, unsure, and the edge of a violet tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. “It’s been a few centuries since any of you have made yourself so at home here that you stumbled across me.” He hunches his shoulders, looking away from you for the breadth of a second, before he can’t help himself. His eyes flick back to you, rove over you from head to toe, almost greedily. “You felt a call then, an itch?”

“An ache,” you correct, staring at him with wide eyes. Centuries? The long lived races don’t often mention the time they have over others. It’s rude at the best of times, and most of them are terrible sticklers for manners. 

“At home here, you said?” You ask, knowing that something about him seems terribly familiar. 

Your question makes him pause, brow lifting before he finally pushes himself to his feet. He unfolds, all long, heavy limbs, but doesn’t move from his spot on the variscite. “M-.. Arroven. You do think of the city as home?” He breathes in, hesitantly lifting his chin. “Not to be rude,” he says, a little awkwardly, “but you smell like Arroven.”

All at once, the old poem flickers back into your mind, the one about hearts and desires and winter. The oldest folktales of the first cities, those built around the serpent towers, all seemed to carry the poem with them. It was both a warning and a blessing to those that wished to stay. You’d have to hunt down the entirety of it, but the ending couplet?  

The city promises, you’ll be most adored So can you, will you, join the hoard?

You bite down fiercely on the desire to blurt out dragon, but he must sense it, might even see the aborted twist of your lips. 

“..you’ve figured it out, then?” He asks, and when his shoulders droop, you spy the barest edge of a wing, tucked in close to his back. “If being in my immediate vicinity is a problem, I quite understand, but please stay in the city. You-” He blows out a breath, large hands fussing about with his hoodie pocket. Everything about him reads awkward, almost shy. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He breathes in again, like he can’t resist, eyes falling closed when his violet tongue appears, there and gone before you can blink. “You belong,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in the material of his hoodie, like he would reach out if he didn’t stop himself.

Inexplicably, you wonder if Mora knows about the city patron. If you should waltz into the shop tomorrow and announce: I’ve officially been welcomed to the hoard.  ...Sort of. Before you lose your nerve, before you can bite your tongue, you ask. “An official welcome involves more drinks though, doesn’t it?”

-Arroven, the dragon, the founder of the city, is sitting across the table from you, slouching in a barstool that has a difficult time encompassing his enormous body. Despite his height, and the way his hood shadows his face in a frankly ominous way, no one is paying him any attention. One of the bartender’s had slid a drink list your way as soon as you’d claimed the seats, but she hadn’t even glanced at Arroven. In fact, you think her eyes might have skipped right over his seat. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing as he’d claimed that Wink was one of the best bars around, but if they ignore him, if they can’t see him?

“What’ll it be?” A different bartender asks, a tall elf, with his hair plaited back in a complicated braid. He has pleasant features, though he looks a little flustered, a lock or two of dark hair escaping his braid. You think he might be on the newer end when he fumbles a bit with the card you slide his way, olive skin flushing when his fingers nearly touch yours.  

“Uh, the special,” you finally decide, expecting him to turn to Arroven so he can order as well. Your jaw drops when he whirls, not even bothering. “Ar- hey, wait!” 

The elf turns back, smiling vaguely, looking even more tense now that he can’t leave straight off, but he doesn’t seem to see Arroven when you gesture towards him. His gaze zips right through the neckline of Arroven's hoodie, straight on through to the next customer. 

Perturbed, you lean in close to Arroven, heart skipping a beat due to his proximity. He smells faintly of musty books, and stone, cooling in the early evening after baking in the sunshine of a warm day. "Didn’t you want something?” You force yourself to ask, unwilling to let the elf leave without at least checking with him first. He doesn’t have to get anything, but you’d hoped he would, if only so you can spend a while longer in his company. Maybe the flirtatious tone you’d struck had made him uncomfortable?

For a moment Arroven hunches further into his sweatshirt, and you think your fears might hold weight. You are a little close, and you still don’t know each other terribly well yet. You straighten, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel and Arroven heaves out a sigh. He finally tugs back his hood, though the elf behind the bar doesn’t even blink. “Just a.. a Beetle Wing," he mutters, large, sharp teeth catching the light. The elf nods, though his gaze is still on you when Arroven speaks, and turns away to go make the drinks. 

Without the darkness of night, without his hood shadowing his face, you see that his eyes aren’t permanently reflective. In the dim lights of the bar, they’re a lovely shade of blue-green that matches well with his skin. What you thought were ear gauges were actually his horns, thick and curving, and trailing after the clean arch of his jaw. His ears are heavy with plugs though, and they clink against his horns when he turns, noticing that you’re staring. The scent of hot stone grows stronger when you smile at him, and then he huffs, looking away and running a hand through his already tousled, short dark hair. You catch sight of scales on his scalp and then blink. It’s not hair on his head, it’s feathers. His eyebrows are much the same, in miniature. Fine, thin feathers, as ink dark as the scalloped edges of his scales. 

“So,” you tease, hoping your questions won’t come off as prying. “Can the rest of the people in here see you at all? You said that it’d been a while since anyone had felt at home enough here to stumble across you, but.. I don’t know exactly if that means Magicis is at work, or something else.”

Arroven breathes in, glancing up at the filigreed round sign hanging over the bar. There’s a single neon eye in the middle, opening and closing on loop under the word WINK. Even with the noise of people talking, and the music coming steadily from the small corner of a dance floor, you can still hear the faint buzz and click of the neon switching over. “Not many,” he finally confesses. “If the proprietor were here, she would see me, but she’s been here for a.. For a while.” She’s one of the long lived races then. Arroven turns, taking a quick look over the other patrons, tense, as if he expects one of them to approach. “The couple near the dance floor there,” he finally says, pointing out two women leaning into each other, stealing sips of each other’s drinks. “The orcish fellow on his phone. They can see me, though I doubt they’ll realize who I am. Just living here doesn’t make someone part of the hoard, though it’s always a step in the right direction.” For a second, he looks like he might let the subject drop, but then he cringes, glancing at your eyes before he looks away. “I don’t- I don’t steal from the people living here, whether they’re part of my hoard or not, even if they don’t realize I’m around. Even if they can’t see me.”

That’s reassuring, though you hadn’t planned on diving into that topic.

“What then,” you ask, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, and your elbow on the bar, “makes someone part of your hoard?” 

Arroven’s rough looking scales don’t shine, but the neon light over the both of you shifts again from blue, to pink, and back. It was already hard for you to take your eyes off of him, knowing who he is, attracted to the nervous quirk of his lips, but now? The magic that you’ve only ever felt the after effects of, the strange aches and coincidences, it feels like more in this moment. More than a soft nudge in the correct direction. Arroven is sitting at your side, winking neon sign a spotlight over both your heads.

Hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, Arroven lifts his hand, reaching out, and taps once, softly, against your sternum. “It sounds esoteric, but the only explanation I have is that all of you feels like you should be here. From the way you smell, to the echoes of your voice or your footsteps along the pavement...” Arroven swallows, and then inhales, letting his hand fall away from your chest as his eyes close. He doesn’t pull his hand back completely though, just lets his hand hover over your thigh. “It’s always the desires of the heart that bring my hoard home,” he murmurs and starts to sway towards you.

There’s a soft clink on the bar, your drinks being set carefully in front of you and Arroven. When you look, the bartender still hasn’t noticed the city patron, the dragon, but the drink is still clearly set aside for him. Your card is placed very quickly next to your glass, the elf flashing you a much more jovial smile than earlier. 

“Your drink has been taken care of,” he explains, but doesn’t stay behind to point out who might have bought them. When you look, Arroven is sitting straight up in his seat, and his guilty expression is answer enough.

“I was supposed to be welcoming you to the city,” he murmurs, turning in his stool so he can take hold of his glass. The liquid inside is iridescent, shifting from what looks like violet, to a strange umber. You’re willing to bet that it’s more blue and green, but the neon light isn’t doing it too many favors. Arroven lifts his cup, patiently waiting for you to do the same and then quietly toasts your arrival. The clink of the glasses rings in your ears with the clarity of a bell, echoes lasting far longer than the noise itself.

“Goodness,” you say, coughing when you finish your swallow. Your drink is a little stronger than you thought it would be, heat already spiralling down into your chest and filling your belly. “So, uh, the city blessings seem to be true, I take it?” You don’t look at him as you speak, afraid he’ll cringe away from the mention of them.

“Blessings?” Arroven asks, and then you have to search up the poem. He sounds like he doesn't know, but they're supposed to be as old as the cities. Or near as.

“Sometimes they vary, from city to city. But most of the time they have almost the same structure. The same meaning,” you explain, pulling up the poem on your phone. “Hoarding hearts, keeping people safe in winter. The, uh-” You turn it his way, but he doesn’t take the phone from you, just reads the words out of the palm of your hand, brows raised by the time he gets to the end.

“‘Sinking talons into your thighs?’” Arroven’s slit pupils grow wide, nearly drowning his iris in darkness. He straightens, taking another hasty gulp of his drink. He laughs when he’s finished, nerves finally beginning to ease. “That’s how they’re translating it these days?” He asks, but you notice his eyes lingering on your hands, drifting down to your knees and the way you’re sitting. 

You pass a good portion of the evening, teetering back and forth with conversation about the city now, and how it was when Arroven had first settled. For all that he’s wearing modern clothes and walking on two feet, you can see him in a larger, more draconic figure, delving into the variscite mines and overseeing the people that had decided to settle under his watch.  

He’s just as enthralled with your stories though, hanging onto your every word, even though he’s still clearly a little anxious. He abandons his hunched and wary demeanor as soon as you start talking about the magic though. All the little aches and nudges and postcards that had led a clear path to his city. To him.

You insist on buying the next round when he makes to wave down the bartender, who is still completely oblivious to his presence, but Arroven stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

"Another time," he says, just loud enough for you to hear. "A welcome isn't a single round, is it?" He asks, a tentative smile revealing a small glimpse of those sharp teeth.

You could argue. You have the feeling that he would let it go if you pushed, but the smile sways you. It's the first time he's spoken without lowering his eyes mid sentence. You accept the drink, and try not to stare when his smile grows, shy and small and all the more endearing for it.

You both pretend not to notice each other grinning after that.

It’s just past 1 AM by the time the both of you leave the bar, only slightly unsteady after a few drinks and a few plates of bar food. Warmth floods you when Arroven’s hand finds your elbow, just barely keeping you from stumbling off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. All it takes is a single stroke of his thumb over your arm for you to throw aside any worries you might have about flirting. 

He's reciprocated, in quiet ways, for the last hour or so. He’s leaned into you whenever you lowered your voice, had let his eyes linger on your hands and thighs after you brought up the poem.. The worst thing he can do is say no.

“Come to my place?” You blurt and Arroven stutters, hand spasming in his grip on your arm. For a heart wrenching moment, you think he might turn you down, but he finally bobs his head, gauges clicking against his horns with the motion. “...You said you’d been out of the loop with the people living here,” you start, mouth dry, wondering if he knows what you’re trying to ask, but still a little too sober to spell it out. “I’m asking, I’m not just asking you to come visit. I-” 

Arroven stops your worried speech with a slightly awkward smile. “I know what you’re getting at,” he finally says with a gentle huff of a laugh, hand sliding down your arm until he can twine his fingers about yours. His breath hitches, and for a moment you think he might stop, might pull away. “I- I would love to,” he says quietly, and squeezes until his fingernails gently prick the back of your hand.

Wordless with triumph, you flash another smile his way, heart pounding as you keep hold of his hand, ventral scales dry, but slick against your palm.

“The walk back to my place is a bit of a long one from here,” you confess, glancing at the handful of cabs loitering along the street. “Seeing as you got the drinks, I can—” You nearly trip over your own feet when Arroven tugs you back, keeping you from approaching any of the cabs. 

“I don’t.. Fit very well,” he says, apologetically. “If you would rather take one, I can, but if you aren’t opposed..” Arroven’s wings, still tucked in flat along his back, quirk and stretch, spreading wide enough that he nearly clips another leaving bar patron in the face. They don’t move, don’t see him, but they blink, as if a gust of wind just hit them, and shield their eyes until they’re well past you and Arroven.

His statement leaves you staring, jaw beginning to grow slack. “Are you saying you can fly us back to my place?” Your eyes trace his wings again, the fragile veins spider webbing across the membranes. It’s not that you thought they were ornamental, but it’s one thing to see them, and another to know you’ll get to witness their use first hand. 

Arroven’s shoulders start to hunch, but his eyes flick down to your hand, fingers still curled around his. He smiles instead. “Yes?” 

You glance at the cabs, and then back to Arroven’s tall figure and broad shoulders. As much as you’d like being pressed up against him, trapped in the backseat of an uncomfortable cab isn’t quite what you’d pictured, and he’s already nervous enough. That settles things. You nod, just the once and lift your chin to meet his eyes. “Flying it is then! We can’t have you getting stuck in one of those, can we?”

While Arroven walks you through how he’s going to pick you up, how he’s going to hold onto you, some of the people on the sidewalk start to watch you. You’re nodding readily at what they assume to be empty air. You spare a second to wonder if they’ll see you vanish, or if they’ll be able to see the equivalent of a magical wind carrying you away. That would cause quite a stir, wouldn't it? You forget to ask Arroven about it though when he holds out his arm, waiting patiently for you to step closer, fingers gentle in their continued grip on your hand. 

He’s still giving you the chance to turn away. 

You take a breath, thinking back to the nerves you’d felt, packing up a bag and deciding to visit somewhere based on coincidences and the hearsay of magic. You think of Mora, and the apartment that feels more like home to you than nearly anything else ever has. The way everything fits here, every piece of the city you've set foot in branded on your brain, clearer than any map. You step close, eagerly letting Arroven curl his arm around your back and then lift you up in a bridal carry. His forearms and biceps tense, bracing you as he prepares, and then the snap of his wings flaring open makes your heart jump before he leaps. His wings catch a sudden breeze swooping into the street, allowing it to lift the both of you well clear of the ground before he starts to flap. The slight dip in elevation as he finds his rhythm makes you clutch a little tighter, but Arroven doesn’t complain. In fact, when you glance at him, he seems to be holding back a smug little smile.  

It’s cold when he finally crests over the top of the nearest buildings. Between the chill, and the fast growing height between you and the ground, you have no issues absolutely clinging to Arroven’s neck. You don't feel like you're going to fall, but it's still safer than sitting meekly in his arms, isn't it? You try to twist your head about to see everything below you, but another rush of cold wind makes you squint. It takes a moment before you realize Arroven isn't moving though, he's simply keeping the both of you suspended in midair.

“Your address?” Arroven asks as soon as you start to frown, his voice rumbling against your ear.

“Ah.” You give it to him, laughing when you meet his still-shy gaze. “I suppose that’s a little important.”

While the walk would have left you both a little tired, the flight is a fairly short one. You have just enough time to relish all the places you’re pressed in close, to enjoy what little warmth you’ve managed to keep with the wind seeping through your clothes, when Arroven lands in front of your quiet building. There are no witnesses but the dim streetlights, the sound of his flapping wings muffled by the mist beginning to roll through the city. Arroven lowers you almost reluctantly, fingers slow to uncurl so you can step down onto the pavement. He takes a step back as soon as you do, like he needs the space between you to think.

“Still up for coming inside?” You ask, giving him the same chance he’d given you earlier. You jerk a thumb at the locked door, searching for your keys with your other hand. 

Arroven’s head jerks forward almost too fast, the dark feathers on his skull prickling upwards. His wings snap closed, tight against his back again as soon as you unlock your door. It’s only mildly nerve wracking, having him follow you up to your place, and you think it might be because of how nervous he’s acting. He flinches away from the wall when he barely brushes it, almost tripping over his own boots as he goes up the stairs. He’s been shy from the get-go, but this-

“Arroven,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, hand pausing on your door handle. “Is something wrong?”

He breathes out, turning his head so the plugs in his earlobes clack against his horns, blue-green eyes roving over the hall. “No,” he says slowly, forcing himself to stop hunching into his hoodie, to take his wringing hangs out of the front pocket. “I’ve just, it’s just that I keep-” He stays where he is, brow furrowing for all of five seconds before he’s huffing and stepping into your space. When Arroven leans down, his pupils are needle thin, that sunshine warm smell suffusing the air. He was summoning up courage, you realize, just in time to let your eyes fall closed as he cradles your jaw with both hands. They dwarf your human face, his fingertips easily reaching all the way to the back of your neck, but his touch may well be the softest thing you’ve ever known. His kiss is more the brush of his mouth over the shape of yours, a slip of a taste when his tongue follows the curve of your lower lip. He hums, softly, but when you kiss him back? When your tongue touches his and you try to stand on your tip-toes to deepen things, when you stumble a step closer—Arroven’s groan is gratifying. Achingly slowly, he draws his hands down the side of your neck, leaving you free to control the pace of the kiss. His thumbs trace your collarbone, slow, deep circles that make you wish you weren’t standing out here, fully clothed and too warm.

You pull away, licking your lips and glancing down the hall. There’s no one there, despite your pulse loud in your ears and your breath heaving, surely loud enough to wake even those in the very depths of sleep. Arroven’s breath hitches, and for a moment he sways, ready to chase you for another kiss. “Wait, wait,” you say softly, trying not to smile too wide when his eyes flicker open, dark pupils growing larger. He starts to straighten, embarrassment lifting his shoulders. “Maybe we should get in my house first?” You rush to say, not wanting to potentially scar one of your neighbors, but not wanting him to rush away either.

His mouth opens on reflex, and then closes, slipping into a gentle smile. “Yes,” he says, and then you have to swallow, watching his eyes slide down to your hands and then further down to your knees.  

You get your door open before he touches you again, but you’re only a few steps inside when Arroven reaches for you. He strokes the back of his knuckles down your forearm, fingertips only barely grazing your hips. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, one of his fingers catching two of yours. “Touching,” he explains, the edge of his thumbnail stroking over your wrist and the base of your thumb and back. “Being close to, well…” He breathes in when you step into him, and grows as still as a statue when you balance against him, reaching around his middle to swing the front door shut. This close, Arroven still smells of sunshine, but there’s a sweeter, crisper undertone that makes you want to close your eyes to savor it, to breathe it in. He’s nearly vibrating with you pressed close though, hands hovering somewhere over the middle of your back, trying to keep himself still. He’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead, still caught up in his nerves... Or maybe just manners?

You grin, gently pushing yourself back a step before you smooth out your expression. “Part of your hoard?” You wonder aloud, but then you can’t keep yourself straight faced any longer, wanting him to recognize the words for the gentle teasing they are. You smile. “How about you touch me then?”

Arroven huffs, pleased, and then you quickly discover how needy he can be. He kisses you all the way down the hall, his wings nearly catching on picture frames, hands trembling in their stroking over your back. He keeps pausing at the top of your hips, like he wants to let his hands drift lower, but focuses on his mouth instead, mouth and teeth moving from your lips, to your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t think he’s willing to risk going further though, knowing that it would likely end up with both of you unbalanced and on the floor instead of the bed. 

“Distracted?” You ask, reaching blindly around your doorframe, searching for the lightswitch as Arroven’s tongue flickers over the pulse on the left side of your neck. Your own breathing stutters for a moment, heat building in your veins. “You keep-”

Arroven’s breath puffs over the damp patch he’s left on your skin as he lifts his head, violet tongue sliding along the sharp points of his teeth. “Hardly,” Arroven interrupts, and his wings tense when you hook your fingers into the neck of his hoodie, drawing him further into the room. Your fingers find the lightswitch, the soft ring of the bulb lighting strangely loud in the room. “You’re all I can see. All I can focus on. ..am I missing something? Cues?” He asks, voice gone lower when you give his hoodie a fierce tug. He follows, all too willingly, fingers flexing around your hips. 

“Hardly,” you say back, teasing as you back up towards the bed. You pull when you lean back, expecting him to let you fall, to fall with you, but his wings flare again. He catches himself on the blankets, hands to either side of your body, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by his pupils as he takes the sight of you in. “Still good?” You ask after a moment, because he’s staring, because he hasn’t moved a muscle. 

“Tell me,” Arroven blurts, arms tensing as his fingers twist into the blankets. “Tell me what to do,” he pleads, gaze catching on every sliver of bared skin he can find. “I’m.. finding it a little difficult to think. All I want to do is make you happy, make you want to-” He stops, feathered brows drawing together as he considers his words.

You arch an eyebrow, your hands stilling just shy of his chest. The way he’d hesitated, his flighty touches? they all make a bit more sense now. He’d asked you to stay in the city, had mentioned your belonging here. If you wanted to leave, if you insisted on stopping, Arroven wouldn’t keep you. But he wants you to stay here.

  “Little to no thinking,” you muse, unable to keep from smiling as he hangs onto your every word. “Undress me,” you finally decide, and his nostrils flare before he sets to work. He’s terribly careful, every brush of his scaled knuckles whisper-soft and cool against your skin, but his breathing is ragged by the time he’s finished and your heart has sped in response. You’re tempted to make him undress himself too. In fact, he would probably do just as you asked, but you’re too impatient to get your hands back on him. “Hoodie off,” you declare, half amazed that he’s obeying your whims, “and lay down on the bed.”

Arroven listens immediately, tucking his wings in close before he’s pulling off the hoodie, careful around the curl of his horns and the arch of his wings. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but with his wings, you understand why. Most of those with wings don’t favor mass produced clothes or modern fashion. He’s on the bed before you can finish pushing yourself back up, jeans low on his hips, pale belly and chest all the brighter compared to the black and teal pattern of his scales. His legs spread reflexively when you stand, jeans growing taut when you reach for him. Your hands are steady, even if your pulse isn’t, but Arroven doesn’t seem to care. He looks blissed out from this much touch alone, jaw gone slack, eyelids heavy as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He exhales when you pull at his jeans, eyes zeroed in on your face.

He’s thicker than he is long, and as pale as his abdomen, save for a violet tinge that makes you think of his tongue. Nestled as he is in the ‘v’ of his unzipped jeans, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from stroking him straight away, or even leaning down to-

“Maybe I can think,” Arroven says hoarsely. He lifts one of his hands, gentleman-like, offering it to you palm up. “Let me?” He asks, though you’re not entirely sure what he wants you to let him do.

Mannerly, you can’t help but think, lips twitching as you place your hand in his. The older races are, generally. It’s something to fall back on if they’re nervous or unsure. Not that most of them would ever admit to it.

“Are you thinking I should leave your boots on?” You get one knee on the bed before you pause, glancing back at his legs still hanging over the edge.

Arroven hums, but his grip on your fingers tightens for a second, not wanting to let go. “I’ll worry about those later,” he says, and then inhales sharply when you straddle his lap, cock pulsing as you settle against him. If he wants to let his jeans tangle around his boots, you’re not going to complain. It’s a bit of a thrill, knowing that he’s too impatient to fuss with them.

“Boots on, then. Now, what am I supposed to let you do?” You lean forward, drawing an aimless, spiraling pattern from his abdomen up to his ribcage. He’s much warmer now, with you astride his thighs and his wings trapped beneath him on the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t mentioned them once.

Hesitant, Arroven’s hold on you loosens, and then his hand drops to your thigh, eyebrows furrowing when he finally speaks. “Sit on my face?”

The brevity of it, the tone of uncertainty, makes your mouth twitch. “Jumping right in there, aren’t we? And here I thought you were kind of shy.”

“I am!” Arroven blurts and then covers his face with one hand, laughing quietly at himself. “I am,” he says, a bit more composed when he lets his hand fall away. “Though shyness has hardly ever been a factor in my favor. What is it humans say? Better to rip off the bandage?”

You crawl halfway up his body, smiling wider when he forgets to breathe. “Had to get the anxiety out of the way?” You brush a kiss over his chin, eyes catching on the curl of his horns. He’s moved so carefully that you’ve yet to feel the sharp points of them catching your skin, but if you sit on his face… You ignore Arroven’s disappointed sigh as you turn away to stroke the pad of your thumb over his right horn, wondering whether he has any feeling in them. They’re as ink dark as some of his scales and twisted in a lovely spiral that perfectly circles his pointed, gauged ears. Arroven isn’t reacting like he has sensation in them, though he reacts to every other little touch of you against his scales. “You’re going to have to help me balance,” you confess, sitting back against his middle. “Because even though they aren’t terribly sharp, I rather think I’ll be risking my thighs. Don’t you?”

Arroven stares, blinking, and then he looks horrified, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he’s been close to a human, if ever. 

“I’m not against this,” you add, grinning, “just to be clear.”

For a moment, all he says in response is a strangled sounding “Ah,” before he blinks again, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can... I will help. I’ll be careful. More than careful.”

It takes a few moments, and some adjustment, before you’re finally able to settle over his face. Your heart starts to pound a little faster when Arroven opens his mouth, those dagger-like teeth flashing in the dim light. His hands are strong though, curling around your thigh and bracing your hip. He’s too tall for you to do more than help balance against his chest, though you can see that he’s still wonderfully hard, and his cock is starting to leak. You’d love nothing more than to take him in hand, to taste him, but then Arroven nips your inner thigh, and you stop paying attention to his cock and start focusing on sensation. Your fingers curl at the first hot swipe of his tongue, pressing a little hard into the ventral scales over his chest, and the next slow lick has your eyes falling closed. 

It’s not easy to stay steady, to keep your arms and legs from quivering the longer he licks and slurps. Arroven sucks small kisses over your thighs and the left cheek of your ass, his teeth only ever the barest pressure on your skin. His horns graze you, but he’s true to his word in keeping you balanced. The texture of them against your skin is just something more to feel, to enjoy as he tilts his head this way and that. Pleasure builds, faster by far than the magic that built in your veins, that left you aching with the need to come to the city. If that ache had been anything close to what you’re feeling now, warm, and slick, with the heady pressure of Arroven’s fingers on your skin, you would have picked up on the breadcrumb trail a lot sooner.

“You’re go- going to push me over the edge,” you warn with a gasp, legs starting to tremble. He moves you in response, starts to rock your hips so all he has to do is stick out his tongue, but your hands are shaking now too, cluing him into your urgency. Arroven shakes his head from side to side, a little wild, the plugs in his earlobes clattering against his horns with every shift. You bite down on your lower lip, orgasm rolling swiftly over you and nearly choke on the curse that wants to leave your mouth. He keeps you there, aching and weak, until you pat awkwardly at his chest, releasing you reluctantly with one last obscene noise of satisfaction. 

You sit next to him, still a little unsteady and grin down at his pleased, messy face. “Now, unless you have any other lovely thoughts to share - your turn?”  

His rough sounding “Please,” has your libido jumping back into overdrive, but it’s safety that has you slipping off the bed to dig out a bottle of lube from your things. He’s half pushed himself back up when you come back to the bed, resting on his elbows, fingers twisted gently into the blankets. His wings are partially stretched out now too, one of them reaching all the way to the end of your bed. 

“Are your wings alright?” You ask, wondering if you should throw away the idea of climbing back into his lap, lube already pooling in the palm of your hand.  

Arroven smiles again though, waving away your worry. “Tense,” he offers, as explanation. “I was more focused on you, but they’re good. I promise.” His cock bobs as you approach, and then he lays back down, irises vanishing into the ether of his pupils. 

“If you promise, I suppose I’ll let it go.” You close the lube, only a bit ungracefully, and toss it to the side, climbing back onto the bed and straddling his thighs.

  Your first wet squeeze of his cock has him whimpering, your hand barely fitting around him at his thinnest point. When you stroke, he bucks nearly unseating you until he claps his hands onto your thighs, muttering a hasty apology. Despite being tempted to laugh, you narrow your eyes, squeezing him just a little harder. “You don’t have to be still, but move a little slower for now, hm?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say, and then his jaw goes slack when you press him against you. “Oh,” he breathes, nails pricking your skin as you hold him in place. You rub yourself against his cock, up and back down, a slow undulation that makes you tense, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm. 

And then you straighten, pressing the head of his cock into you. The first slow stretch of him inside you echoes the steady ache of magic, has your breath rushing from your lungs in a gasp. “Fuck,” you breathe and then glance at Arroven’s face. His head is tilted back, mouth open to reveal all of those sharp teeth, and his eyes are closed tight. You think he might be keeping himself from looking at you, might be trying to stem the urge to buck again, to move at all. You tilt your hips and press yourself down though, wiggling, and then Arroven is cursing. You don’t recognize the language, but you understand the sentiment behind it, the pleading tone that softens the edges of the words. It’s hard to concentrate, to keep yourself from getting distracted when all you want to do is sink down every inch of him and then just lay on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “Too much?” You manage to ask, but all Arroven does is shake his head and then carefully ease his grip on your thighs, stroking down to your knees and back up. Your legs, among other things, are definitely going to ache after this.

You ride Arroven until he’s a shaking, breathless mess, until he can’t help but tense his thighs every time he bottoms out, and you can barely stay up. You reach up, fingers just barely brushing his chin to make him pay attention. “Fuck me,” you command and his wings stretch to either side with force. You nearly scream when he starts fucking into you with purpose, and as lovely as your neighbors have been, you have the feeling they’re going to complain at some point. Every thrust has you tightening up on reflex, still shaky from your earlier orgasm, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright. A few moments later and Arroven arches as he comes inside you, clutching tightly to you until he’s finished, breath deep and rasping. You don’t wait. Carefully you flop down next to him, smiling tiredly against the blankets. You’re not sure your legs will carry you for the next hour or so, but it’s hardly something to complain about. 

“Do you give all newcomers to the hoard such a.. Vigorous welcome?” You ask, laughing, your voice rough, not really expecting him to answer. Even though he’s clearly a little more comfortable, even though he’s been clinging to your skin and he looks wrecked by all the activity. Arroven nearly chokes.

“No,” he says immediately. “Moments like this,” he murmurs, reaching out for you, ventral scales on his palm smooth over the apple of your cheek, “moments like this are few and far between.” There’s a low rumble of noise from him when you roll close to brush another kiss over his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all you can do not to laugh again, not to quote the poem at him or interrupt the soft moment. It still sits in the back of your mind though, sweet and lilting.

the city is hoarding hearts

it draws them in, with coin, with art

reflects their dreams on mirrored glass

sings siren songs to catch them fast

the lights?

they gleam, they glitter, bright

it steals a piece, with every sight

roots get worn

they split, they splinter

'but i'll keep you warm, in the depth of winter'

the city whispers, it cajoles, it cries

it'll sink it's talons into your thighs

it tears, it scrapes, it batters the unwary

but oh, the love it gifts, to those who tarry

the city promises, you'll be most adored

so can you, will you, join the hoard?

[whump-town]

Lie to Me

Chapter Two

Warnings:

Chapter One

It’s not as bad as it looks.

Derek Morgan stands in place, his right hand coated in a drying layer of the foaming pink blood Hotch had choked up. He’s staring ahead, eyes growing an unfocused haze as his body and mind struggle to keep pace with all that’s just happened. No nurse has stepped in to remove him, medical staff simply navigate around him. It’s violating, it feels like he’s being given a front-row seat to a trauma no one’s supposed to witness. Unmoving, he’s unable to look away. Tears start to cloud his vision but someone has to stay. Someone has to see.

The catheter that they use to suction his mouth is clear. The tubing long and spirally, the room’s occupants able to see the sea foam blood leaving Hotch’s lungs. He’s sat up on the stretcher, shirt cut-off in a long simple swipe. Left to be packed into a bag, the once white fabric speckled in pink. There’s a cloth against the upper section of his chest, catching drool and blood that the doctors miss with the tube hunting the corners of his mouth. Hotch heaves, producing nothing from his empty stomach than acid and thin, soft pink spit. He twists away from the catheter, sucking in wet wheezing breathes. Sounds like he’s breathing through a straw, waterlogged and thick.

A nurse directs Derek closer to the bed with a hand on his bicep, her kind words of encouragement going over his head as he pulls his shell-shocked body closer to Hotch’s. That whispered, useless comment bursting through the space between them. It’s not as bad as it looks. Derek finds that incredibly hard to believe, no matter how neatly they wipe Hotch’s mouth and rid the space of blood-tinged rags.

He’d sat in the ambulance for ten minutes listening to Hotch choke on blood. Heard the EMTs warning the hospital about a pulmonary aspiration, watched them debate intubating Hotch while he was still conscious enough to writhe on the stretcher. Trying to pull his body away from the steady hands placing an IV, to sit up and get away from them. Derek could do nothing, had been forced to

It’s not as bad as it looks. He’s assured, taking the thin, uncushioned chair at Hotch’s side. Close enough now to see the pink of Hotch’s dried blood on the side of his cheek. To hear the wheezing breathes he’s taking, quick and shallow. His eyes dart underneath his eyelids, fingers jerking as he struggles to find comfort trapped between awareness and the bliss of unconsciousness.

One week after his diagnosis he had a panic attack. Not the sort he could hide, as he’d hidden many, but suddenly just the full force of his life hitting him centerfold and buckling his knees from underneath him. Jessica had Jack in the kitchen, the two of them laughing as she made fun of his inability to cook. Jack eagerly agreeing, lacing light accommodations in their mix to make him the butt of their joke. Thoughtful and grounding. He listened to his son try and recount at least one meal he hadn’t ruined by burning it. He’s gotten way better at cooking but for a few months, they survived off of chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese (that he could never get the shells to soften entirely), and frozen vegetables. Off of the kindness (and off fear) of Dave and Penelope bringing pre-cooked meals over. Things he could keep in the freezer and just stick in the over.

He’d tilted his head back against the wall, laced his fingers through the strands of the carpet, and held on. Tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. Listened to Jack sticking up for him, “it wasn’t that bad” Jack pouts. And he’d managed a shallow smile, still choking on punched breathes leaving his parted lips. He’s Haley’s son, through and through. The only people who have ever stuck up for him -- even in the face of his awful cooking. Jessica found him on the floor twenty minutes later. Old tears drying on his face and new ones still dripping down from his eyelashes. He told her the truth when she asked what was wrong, took his burden, and brought her down with him. He held her as she cried into his shoulder and then he cried when she asked him to stay, not to leave her. She’s so tired of losing her family and he cracks a smile, thinks an awful little stabbing joke about how he’s the reason she’s lost her family. Haley. Her mother to a heart attack three months after Haley died. Now him, his own body betraying him.

It’s not that bad, he promises but all he can think about is his father. Lung cancer at fifty-three and dead by fifty-four. He’s only fifty but he’s still repeating the story.

We’ll do it together, she assures him but he’s already made sure that’s not an option.

“He’s so cold,” JJ whispers. She’s the only person who can stand to get close enough, who can penetrate the heavy sickness in the room to take his hand. To hold his stiff, cold fingers between her own. She looks over her shoulder, expecting someone to say something but finds them all in the distance. Unable to fully enter the room. Pressed to the walls. Eyes counting the tiles on the floor and making up the ceiling. JJ frowns sadly at them, not surprised but disheartened. She warms his hand between her own, trying to rub warmth back into the cold digits.

Jessica comes into the room, a storm of movement and noise that throws the silent contemplation of the room off. She looks around herself, frowning at the collection of them before rolling her eyes. She knows of the team intimately. For years she’s been listening to Aaron come home and talk about them and she’s grown to know them by means of her own exchanges as Jack gets older. They’re Aaron’s family and Jack’s other aunts and uncles, naturally she’s interested in them. That isn’t to say she isn’t annoyed with them. For the willing ignorance in Aaron’s rapid health decline. In the ways that they chose to appease Aaron rather than help him, can’t they see how much it is to make him happy with their ignorance rather than annoyed with their care?

“Derek,” she’s moving things around the room. They’ll be here for a while. His oxygen saturation is too low and his breathing is causing some mild concern that he might develop aspiration pneumonia. With his temperature still low he might be safe but even then they’re things are not magically better. “Will you please get his heated blanket out of that--” she points to the bag and nods when he goes to the right one. “Thank you.”

She takes control of the room, of the movements they make. Who stays when and who goes where.

He’s sleeping, probably will be for a while.

Around the third week of chemo, he started to understand the doctor’s warnings about fatigue. That, yeah, he might feel okay now and maybe he will continue to feel good for several more weeks but it’s going to catch up, and when it does he needs to be ready to ask for help. His current workload is by no means healthy and hardly sustainable for a healthy person, he’s going to have to make adjustments.

He’d started to feel the fatigue but not creeping in as he’d thought. One Wednesday morning he woke up feeling like he’d gone out drinking the night before. The sort of night Emily’s in charge of, where he wakes up in weird clothes with a haircut Emily gave him in the bathroom. It’s Wednesday, though, and his hair is intact. An awful headache and no amount of sleep were able to bring him to life.

His hours at the office got smaller, falling asleep at the desk and on the couch. He leaned to the explanation that he was just getting older. One sly comment about the grey creeping into his hairline spread unevenly and no longer contained to his temples, and he knew they were using the same safe answer. Making the journey from his office for coffee became a mental battle. He needed twenty minutes to prepare himself. Standing too quickly makes him nauseous. The chemo seemed to make every moment of the day, every complex thought, and all foods cause his stomach to twist threateningly.

Saline dripping above his head, oxygen hissing around his ears, and the warmth of overlapped conversations around him. He feels vacantly removed, left out of a loop that he can’t even tell what’s happening. Prying his eyelids open his hard, resolve weak and body too heavy. Weighed down, rocks tied to his hands. He can feel himself being pulled down through the stretcher. He can’t make his mouth work properly, lips parted in a hoarse groan. “W’as wrong?”

Jessica hears him, sees him waking up. His fingers twitching on the bed and his head lifting up off the pillows, searching for something without opening his eyes. Jessica decides to let someone else handle it, looks over the top of her book, and makes it clear.

Dave moves first, pen sliding into the pages of his book as he sits it down. He squeezes Aaron’s hand, smiling at the groan that leaves his mouth. “Shh, now,” Dave encourages. “It’s alright. It’s nothing, go back to sleep. You’re okay.” His response is another groan, slivers of brown iris’ finding him. “Back to sleep, Aaron.”

Hotch turns his head, “don’.” He pulls his hand back, agitated. He rubs the back of his hand against his nose, “not tired.”

Dave rolls his eyes, Jessica scoffs.

“Aaron,” Jessica, mercifully, leans forward to take the situation into her own hands. “Sleep.”

He groans eyes weighed down, body betraying his rebellion. “Bossy,” he rasps and Jessica just hums. She stands, smirking, and pulls his blanket back up to his neck. He does fall back to sleep, lulled under by the fingers Jessica passes across his hairline. Comforted by how tightly Dave holds his hand.

The medical staff advises and predicts a stay of about a week. They need to closely monitor his breathing for a little longer, prevent another episode from occurring. He spikes a fever and that gets him a few more days, his combative behavior doesn’t help. He’s resistant to the idea that anyone helps him and as his fever spikes it’s hard to comply to his request.

Here Garcia and Reid step back. They’re not… as prepared.

Emily doesn’t even ask when she walks into the bathroom where he’s trying to shower, talking to him about Stephanie from the third floor who was totally hitting on her. He’s shaking by the time the shower’s done, exhausted from lifting his hands up and down and from standing so long. Emily keeps talking, towel drying his hair roughly until he grumbles and then they laugh at the oddness of the situation. His hair is untamable and she gets a kick out of standing the ends up, spiking his hair into a mohawk.

Derek falls into step with him when the nurses come in to remind him of the three daily walks he’s supposed to take up and down the hall. He’s a person to lean into when Hotch starts coughing, an arm around his hips so that he doesn’t fall over. And when they wrap a fall risk bracelet around his hand Derek winces and Dave supplies “yellow isn’t your color”. Some days Derek is met with intense distance and other days they walk close, Derek’s arm already around his back, and talk about nothing, anything.

Dave brings dinner, not that Hotch is eager to eat it, but also popsicles of whatever flavor he could possibly want. He’s partial to Outshine, especially the strawberry ones, and it might not be food but it feels nearly right again to see him eating at least something. It’s a sensitive barrier, a hard line to play with knowing when Hotch just needs a little encouragement and when he just really can’t.

JJ brings movies. Her speed is action movies and Hotch is more into anything but that. So they take turns picking and usually pull punches so that the movie is something they’ll both like but when he’s feeling particularly ill, she’ll pick something awful. Give him an excuse to fall asleep during the movie and she enjoys as much, if not more than he does. An excuse to invade his personal space, cut the lights off, and lay beside him on the bed. She’ll paperwork up there, so relaxed she can zone in and out of what she’s supposed to be doing. He’ll look over her shoulder, reading case reports until he falls asleep or until she shuts the file and tosses it to the side.

These habits, these formations, do not stop when he leaves the hospital. Early. He leaves the hospital, too. Reid comes to visit on Thursday when the others are simply too busy doing other things. Resolve weakened and still shaken, Reid doesn’t last even phase one of Hotch’s plan to bust himself out of the hospital.

Derek is already at Hotch’s house, fighting Jack in the kitchen as they search through the fridge that Garcia’s just packed full of food. She feels ill-equipped to deal with everything, despite having known the longest. She feels guilty. She should have said something long before he got this bad, to the other’s so that they’d know, or to Hotch so at least he could ask her for help.

“Daddy!” Jack jumps up from the floor, running straight to his father before anyone can advise against it but Hotch withstands the collision, beaming down at his son. “I missed you.” Jack wraps his arms around Hotch’s hips, face pressed into his stomach. “Do you wanna help me put my puzzle together?”

They’re livid that he left but they don’t take it out on Reid. Emily won’t speak to either of them but she’s just too mad to hold a conversation. Derek helps him back to his room, Jack hot on their heels. It actually makes Hotch feel worse, being home and still unable to do things the way he wants. They get out of his hair a little more, there isn’t the same guilt associated with his home as the hospital.

It gives him a lot of time to think.

And he finds himself thinking about his father.

No one but Jessica knows the full story of his childhood but they’ve seen him shirtless too many times, know him too well not to have pieced at least most of it together. It’s not his best-kept secret.

He had been the kid that sat in the back of the class. Who never raised his hand, eagerly dancing in his chair, jumping at the chance to prove himself by means of validation from his teachers praising his correct answers. If they were reading aloud, rest assured he’d never have his name spoken by another classmate -- no one ever called his name and giggled in glee at his shocked and annoyed face like they did with one another. He couldn’t be certain they even knew it.

Logged with secrets of his short life, managing only the barest glimpses of life behind his dark eyes, he’d lurched and crawled his way to graduation. No more than a lifeless corpse dragging its reanimated form up and down the halls in its familiar pattern. Showing no signs of spontaneity, neither pain nor joy. Grey and slow.

It hadn’t mattered the silent prayers Hotch sent by way of hushed whispers just under his breath, Haley’s head tucked just under his chin, and the soft wisps of her hair moving with each puff of his breath. No matter how Hotch worked at integrating Jack quickly into as many social situations as possible, he had raised his son to be just a little bit too much like him. There are glimpses of Haley in the things that Jack does. Befriending Paul was leaps out of Hotch’s introverted ways and, more surprisingly, Jack’s.

Jessica’s sage words of frequently repeated wisdom disagree -- “he’s exactly like you, Aaron. The messy hair, that look he makes when he’s doing his homework… that’s all you”.

The little cowlick at the back of Jack’s blonde hair hardly speaks of anything more than Hotch forgetting to run a comb through it in the morning. Perhaps some validity points in favor of his paternity, after all it’s nearly the same cowlick he has. Neither one has tameable hair once it gets longer than an inch. Which does not leave a lot of stylistic options.

“Do you like the dinosaurs with the -- with the spiney -- What are they called?” As carefully as Derek had instructed him to be, Jack sits up by his father’s head. He’d crawled into the bed without invitation, he gets by with a lot these days, and Hotch can’t find it within himself to put those boundaries up between them right now. Jack curls up on his side, head on his father’s chest and a Triceratops staring at Hotch.

It had taken a year for cancer to kill his father and he knows that they’re right, he’s not the same as his father. His father smoked, heavily. Drank frequently and always too much. Didn’t have any friends -- and he finds himself snagged on this difference. Even as Derek throws his son up in the air, hauling Jack over his shoulder and making him shriek with laughter. As Penelope tries new recipe after new recipe of his favorite foods in the hopes that he manages to eat at least one. Not angry, not once, when he picks at the food the others shovel into their mouths. Singing her praises. Emily dragging him around on walks, slowly her pace to accommodate him. She never asks if he needs to stop, just does.

He has friends but sometimes he forgets.

“Daddy,” Jack pulls him back into the conversation. “Can we go to the museum? Uncle Spencer said there are dinosaurs everywhere.”

Hotch nods, “I can ask Uncle Spencer to take you.”

Jack shakes his head, sitting up, “I want you to take me.” He would have never demanded a thing from his father. Never once considered asking for something. Sean was allowed these luxuries, begging to be taken to a game or to the park. Jack pouts, leaning forward and tucking himself up against his father. “We can go Saturday? I’ll take a shower the night before, I promise.”

He’s been hospitalized for four days and Saturday is only two days away, it’s not enough time to recuperate. Not enough time to feel like himself but he can do it. He’ll invite Reid, it’ll provide a great distraction for them both, and that way there’s someone else to focus on. It’s just the museum.

“Okay,” he caves. “On Saturday.”

He’s got a family, people who can trust and who need him just as much as he needs them. He’s going to be okay.

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write Day 1

Foster – “encourage or promote the development of (something, typically something regarded as good)”

“I still cannot believe you built a bloody airship! I mean, I’ve done maintenance work on them under Cid or Stephanivien’s tutelage, but you BUILT one, from practically nothing!”

Tataru looked up from the pile of paperwork she was dealing with and grinned at Franks. “What, you didn’t think little old me could do it all by myself? No, wait, that’s not it, is it?? You’re JEALOUS!”

Franks threw down the cloth he’d been using to clean his gun and tools only moments before. “Of COURSE, I’m jealous! You know how many times I’ve tried to make time with either one of them to learn more about magitek engineering? I’ve lost count, because every time, without fail, either I have to cancel because the star’s in peril again or one of them has some company emergency or other to deal with! And now here you are, buildin’ an entire AIRSHIP! Hells yes I’m jealous!”

Tataru spasmed as she tried to hold back her mirth, covering her mouth, but there was no hiding the look in her eyes. First a few giggles escaped her, growing more numerous and loud, until she released peals of laughter, falling over in her chair. Franks eventually joined in, the pair enjoying a simple moment together.

Eventually Tataru managed to get herself under control. “Well, hopefully one day, this will all be in our pasts and you can spend the rest of your days building and maintaining magitek, if you wish. Think you’ll open up Cid’s first competition? Or maybe work for him? Wait, can you stand to be around Nero that much?”

Franks chuckled as he resumed cleaning a wrench.”Honestly, once you recognize and accept that his boundless arrogance is an attempt to mask both his profound fear at having to essentially restart his life in a formerly-hostile land AND trying to sort out exactly how he feels about Cid, he’s really not that bad. But while working at the Ironworks would certainly be enjoyable, I think my place is in Ishgard, in the Machinists guild. I want to be at the forefront of that discipline, both training new recruits and helpin’ Stephanivien come up with new tools for them to use. I foresee workin’ closely with the Ironworks to make that happen, though, so it’s really the best o’ both worlds.”

Tataru nodded. “I don’t know what the Scions will do once this is all over. I don’t even know if there’s really a place for us once the world is saved, if such a thing is even possible. But I might quite like working for Cid, I think. There’s a lot of upsides. Good pay, constantly getting to learn, don’t have to leave Mor Dhona…”

“Not to mention being in constant proximity to a certain Lalafell engineer…” Franks added, smirking as he looked over in her direction.

Tataru flushed and quickly looked away from his knowing gaze. “Y-yes, I suppose being near my good friend Wedge would be a nice perk!”

“Uh huh” Franks replied, not at all sounding like he was buying that description for one second. He finished wiping down the last piece of his aetherotransformer, and with practiced ease, began reassembling the components. With a final click, the device came together and lit up from within. Giving it a final examination, he returned it to its place at his hip and began reassembling his gun. “So…this next question might seem cruel, and if it’s hurtful please tell me so I can apologize, but I’m curious. You’re clearly a good engineer, which means math isn’t a problem for you. So why have you had such a problem with arcanima?”

Tataru had returned her attention to her paperwork, but the question stopped her mid-sentence. She looked back at Franks, her expression one of sad acceptance. “Thank you for saying it like…. that”

“Tataru, I’m so…”

“No no, it’s not bad. It’s nothing I haven’t asked myself and wrestled with, but I came to an answer a while ago.” She picked up a small clock that adorned her desk. “When I’m building, anything from constructing an airship to something simple like sawing wood…the math is there, a physical object in front of me. When I can see, can feel, the results right then, it all makes sense in my head. But with Arcanima….it was all in my head for me to unravel before it would manifest the magic. That’s harder for me. Not impossible, I don’t think I could have manifested a carbuncle or a Ruin spell otherwise, but I was a lot less confident, doubly so when I had to fight with it. I think that confidence, or lack thereof, is why my carbuncle didn’t do what I want.”

Franks nodded. “That absolutely is understandable. Everyone learns differently after all.”

Tataru’s smile brightened. “And really, I’m somewhat glad it didn’t work out! I wouldn’t have been able to find my talents as a crafter and intelligence gatherer for the Scions if I hadn’t accepted defeat with a grimoire!”

Franks laughed. “Absolutely true. I’ve no idea what would have become of the Scions if you hadn’t! We probably would still be wondering how we’d pay for the fare to Kugane! Definitely wouldn’t be eating as well, that’s for sure!”

She had to laugh at that. “Oh, I get it, I’m just your bank lender and chef, is that it?”

“In all seriousness, do you still wish you could join us in the field? Fight alongside everyone?”

She paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “I won’t deny the idea doesn’t STILL have some appeal, but I know I’m way more valuable to the Scions in my current role. I do wish I had a more reliable way of defending myself, especially should the Garlands attempt another Waking Sands massacre, though. I suppose I’ll just have to hope the people of Revenant’s Toll are more capable of defending us than the citizens of Vesper Bay were.”

Franks looked back down to his gun, nodding. “Mmm, makes sense. Even if you aren’t in enemy territory, as it were, traveling around isn’t always safe. We might just have to….” he stopped, nearly dropping the assembled firearm.

“Have to what, Franks?”

“I can’t believe I never thought of this. How did it not occur to me?”. Franks stood up, slinging his weapon across his band into the holster that held it in place. He looked to Tataru with an almost manic gleam in his eye. “Go get something warm to wear, Tataru! We got someplace to be!”

Tataru looked confused “W-where??”

Franks grinned. “Ishgard!”

A bell later, the air around the Ishgardian aetheryte gave a slight pop as it was suddenly displaced by the appearing forms of Franks and Fearless. Both shivered, if only briefly, before their bodies re-acclimated to the colder temperatures that they had grown used to those many moons they’d spent in the city.

Both were quickly recognized by practically everyone they passed by, and while Franks had little hope of recognizing most of the people who spoke to them, Tataru seemed to know everyone, able to call them by name and ask personal questions that she’d had to have learned about on those random evenings in the Forgotten Knight. More than once, she was able to recognize fully helmed Temple Knights by voice alone. Franks, for his part, hurried them both along, seemingly eager to reach their destination.

“So where ARE we going, exactly?” Tataru asked in between a conversation with one of Hilda’s people in the City Watch and a noblewoman of a minor house. Franks didn’t reply aside from a grin on his face until a few minutes later when he stopped in front of a building and pointed. “There!”

Tataru bid one more person farewell and stopped to take in where the pair had arrived at. Sounds of rhythmic thumping filled the air, which smelled of flame and metal and soot. She looked up at the building. “Skysteel Manufactory? What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see!” Franks called back, already having made his way to the corner where one needed to turn to enter the Manufactory’s font door. Tataru squeaked and started after him as quick as her smaller legs could carry her. By the time she rounded the corner, Franks had already thrown open the wooden doors of the entrance and strode in.

“Franks, my old friend!” a voice cried out from within. Tataru quickly ran to catch up, and as she entered the door, the eyes of an Elezen man quickly jumped to her. “And mistress Tataru! What a surprise!”

“Good to see you too, Lord Stephanivien!” she replied, smiling.

“Whatever brings Ishgard’s savior, and most importantly my best machinist, and the Scion’s….erm…what IS your official role within the Scions of the Seventh Dawn these days, milady? If half of what Franks tells me is true, “secretary” would seem a woefully inadequate title! Perhaps ‘the very hull on which the entire ship is built’? No? Too long?”

Tataru giggled. “Oh no, milord, ‘secretary’ is just fine. I like it, makes people underestimate me! And that’s how I get em!”

“Who’s come calling, milord?” came a voice from the upper levels of the Manufactory. A woman’s head peaked over the railing, her blond ponytails dangling from the sides of her head. “I thought I heard….TATARU!” With that, she bolted for the stairs that led to the entryway, sliding down the rails. Tataru ran for the woman and lept right into her arms, hugging.

“What’re ye doin here, girl? I thought you were busy keepin’ them Scions from fallin apart!”

“I don’t know, rightly! Franks dragged me….” Tataru trailed off as she noticed that Joye’s braids had somehow completely undone themselves, and her hair was a wild mess. “Are you ever going to tell me how you do that??”

“Dunno what yer on about! FRANKS!” she turned and yelled at the man who’d been quietly conversing with Stephanivien. “Why you dragged this poor lass all the way out into the cold arse o’ this time o’ night without tellin’ her what’s goin on?”

Franks smiled, leaning away from Stephanivien, and crossed his arms. “Well, Joye, I’d like to introduce you to someone that, well, you don’t really need introduction to! That lady you’re hugging is Tataru Taru, Scion of the Seventh Dawn, the glue and rivets that keep the very organization held together, and-“

“We know who she is, ye daft sod!” Joy interrupted, setting Tataru back on the ground. “Ya literally just watched us have a mini-reunion!”

“-AND, assuming she’s amenable, the newest member of the Machinist’s guild!” Franks continued, as though he hadn’t been interrupted.

THAT got everyone’s attention. Both Joye’s and Tataru’s jaws dropped. Stephanivien simply smiled.

“Wait…this is your solution to me wanting to increase my martial skillset?” Tataru asked.

Franks threw his arms out, gesturing around to the manufactory around them. “It’s a perfect idea! Think about it! You’re already proficient with magitek, you’ve certainly proven that by now! You already know what I’m guessing is about 80% of the members already! You don’t need any extensive training in magic or heavy melee arms, all you really need to learn is how to shoot! I don’t doubt you can get the hang of that, especially with Joye teaching you!”

Joye looked down at Tataru. “Aye….aye I can! Tataru, this’ll be great!”

Tataru still appeared in shock. “But…I don’t…I don’t have a gun! And I bet they don’t keep ones sized for Lalafell around!”

Stephanivien knelt down to face her. “As it turns out, my dear, we actually made a custom one for a colleague of ours from Garlond Ironworks. He frequently comes to collaborate with our fair guild and commissioned a carbine with which to recreationally shoot. He keeps it here, as well. I believe you are acquainted with one Wedge? His weapon should suffice for you to practice with until we can build a custom one for you. I daresay he will not object either, would you not agree?” He winked almost conspiratorially.

“I know where it is! Come on Tataru, let’s go blast some training dummies!” Joye practically dragged Tataru behind her as she ran outside. Tataru didn’t require TOO much prompting, however, as pretty soon, she was running full steam out the door behind Joye under her own power.

Stephanivien turned to Franks. “Seems you have a knack for fostering talent in people, my friend. I heard of the fortune that befell the Baroness de Jervaint, and now you’ve added a new member to our guild’s ranks as well! I know you must wear any number of metaphorical hats, but I am quite glad the Machinist’s goggles are among them!”

Franks smiled. Whatever the future held, he was glad to keep building towards making it better.

[curligurl0896]

So getting to read @thejakeformerlyknownasprince 's FMA AU reminded me of my own ideas for a FMA/Animorphs fic. A crossover, in this case, a Megamorphs of sorts (complete with rotating narration) because I really want an excuse to have the Animorphs interact with the characters of the FMA universe. I don't have enough ideas worked out to confidently write a whole fanfic yet, so I think I'll just share some of my ideas so that at least they don't stay inside my head forever like the vast majority of ideas that I either never finish enough to post it or just never get around to at all, especially when my brain is always generating new plot bunnies instead of focusing on developing the ones I already have, it's so distracting lol

(Also maybe y'all could give some suggestions if you wanna, I'd definitely appreciate it lol)

Anyway, here it is:

First off, the answer as to how exactly the Animorphs end up in the FMA universe: I was kicking around a few ideas for this, and was originally thinking something along the lines of like, a freak accident that somehow results in them ending up in front of the Gate of Truth, but I think a better idea would be for an alchemist (or perhaps even several alchemists) to end up in the Aniverse, get Yeerkified, and the Yeerk (or Yeerks, as it may be), intrigued by the memories and knowledge of an alternate Earth where you can manipulate matter and shape it according to your will with nothing more than a well drawn chalk circle (or even less than that if you've been through the Gate, as the Yeerk(s) will eventually discover), lured in by the idea of a legendary object that supposedly can be used to circumvent a pesky little law known as Equivalent Exchange, decides to pull something of a "Tom's Yeerk and his Yeerk buddies a la book 52" deciding to start their own colony in the FMAverse where they won't have to answer to the Council of Thirteen or the Visserarchy (well, at least the ones higher ranked than the Yeerk in charge, who, I imagine, would have to be a Sub-Visser at the very least to have the power to arrange all this) in addition to being able to use alchemy, which, much like the morphing power, can be used for a massive variety of things, ranging from merely convenient to pretty damn useful in a pinch to OP as fuck to even just downright terrifying.

It takes a lot of time and meticulous planning, of course, as they have to find a way to transport the Yeerks, their ship, and all the other stuff they'll need to thrive over there through the Gate and into the FMAverse-- all while in a universe where alchemy flat out doesn't work. The Yeerks have to figure out how to get around that issue, and it takes at least a year of research and using their new hosts' alchemical knowledge to work out a solution, but they work it out, and soon enough they get everything set up and ready to go. At some point, the Chee find out about this secret unknown project going on, inform the Animorphs about it, and Jake decides that they should at least check it out on the off chance that it's something big.

That's where the story officially starts: with our team of traumatized teenage shapeshifters at the location where this thing is being set up (haven't figured out the where yet). They've spent the past several days spying on these Yeerks, but still aren't sure what exactly is going on-- they keep talking about opening a gate-- and aren't sure if it's worth it. Marco's convinced the whole thing is ridiculous, especially after overhearing a human Controller mention something about a "Philosopher's Stone" ("What is this, Harry Potter? Are they gonna wave wooden sticks around and yell in Latin?") . Rachel is bored at this point, and just wants to kick ass and call it a day-- they were probably up to no good anyway. Cassie isn't particularly keen on the asskicking part, but she's been having a bad feeling about all this that she can't shake, and Tobias agrees that something fishy is going on and says they should wait a few days-- after all, from what they've gleaned, whatever plans these Yeerks had would be set in motion very soon. Ax, being Ax, declares as usual that he'll just go along with whatever Prince Jake orders, though when Jake presses him about his opinion, he just says he isn't sure what to make of it. In the end, they keep it up for a couple more days, and sure enough, the time comes for the Yeerks to "open the gate", whatever that means.

After all the time they'd spent spying on the Yeerks, it is conveniently now, when the Yeerks are about to do their thing, that they're discovered. It quickly turns into a fight, and the Animorphs attempt to bail as they're soon overwhelmed-- and then the Gate is opened.

None of them had any idea what to expect next. They certainly weren't expecting the blue lightning that erupted around them in a massive circle, seeming to originate from the curving lines that had been so painstakingly carved into the floor. They aren't expecting the atmosphere to turn dark and purple and creepy, or for a giant grey eye to suddenly appear beneath them, or for wavy black tentacle arms to come out of that eye. And they definitely were NOT expecting to abruptly find themselves in the white void of Zerospace.

Only they aren't in Z-space, exactly. Surrounded by it, sure, but somehow they stand there, as if on solid ground, surrounded by the eerie blankness that had once nearly suffocated them to death.

Each Animorph is utterly alone, with nothing and no one else in sight. That is, until they hear a voice, one that sounds like several voices speaking in unison, and suddenly they see a figure-- or, more accurately, an outline of a figure, with only shadows to mark where the figure ended and the void began. The figure is shaped like a human in all but Ax and Tobias's case: the figure Ax sees is shaped like an Andalite, and Tobias's version takes the form of a bird.

Truth gives the whole "I am God, I am the world, and I am also you" speech, then informs them they can't pass through the Gate without payment. Suddenly, there's a huge gateway where previously there was nothing. Truth is unconcerned with the fact that these "A-ni-morphs" have zero clue what's going on-- it simply takes the required toll and sends them on their way.

Except the toll is literal body parts-- which, even then, isn't usually a big deal for an Animorph, but in this case it absolutely is a big deal, because, as they'll soon discover, there's no way they're going to just replace their lost limbs through morphing. It's expressly forbidden for one to simply have nice things in this universe; in other words, Truth isn't letting them off the hook that easily.

The discovery that they're not able to replace their lost body parts through morphing is especially horrifying to Ax, because, well, y'know... book 40. The one that every Ax fan, and really anyone who otherwise genuinely enjoys Ax's character, would like to pretend never fucking happened.

In fact, given Truth's precedent for irony when extracting payment from people who've opened/been through the Gate in the series, I have no doubt in my mind that Ax would end up suffering the exact same fate as Mertil. Andalites, after all, place high value on their tail blades, especially the warriors; it's their number one go-to weapon when shit hits the fan. Ax himself is such a warrior, in fact it's a huge part of who he is as a person. Needless to say I think yeeting Ax's tail blade would be the exact kind of twisted irony that Truth would employ.

He gets over himself eventually-- well, sort of. However, it takes him a long time to truly come to terms with it-- instead of accepting that the attitudes he'd been taught his whole life regarding those who aren't fully able-bodied are actually shit, I feel like he'd be more likely to double down on them, internalizing them, and actually go into full-on self loathing as a result.

He holds his metaphorical tongue, though, upon seeing that Tobias has suffered a payment that is arguably far more cruelly ironic-- given that Tobias is a bird, given that his initial attraction to the morph that eventually became his default body came from the sense of freedom and escapism only provided through flying, I think it's fairly obvious what Truth would take: his wings.

As for the others: Rachel has lost her arm (for basically the same reason Ed did), Cassie loses her hands (which she uses to, you know, help injured animals and stuff), and as for Jake... well, it was a bit of a struggle, the best I could come up with is the idea of him going blind much like Mustang did after being forced to open the Gate (though maybe not for the same reason, though... idk. If anyone has any better suggestions, please let me know lol, I couldn't think of any solid ideas for what body part would be ironic for Jake to lose). Marco is the only one who doesn't lose any outwardly visible body parts-- what he loses is his voice.

At some point, they are discovered, taken into custody by the Amestrian military, and eventually they end up in Colonel Mustang's office. Mustang listens to their story with a massive dose of skepticism. He isn't sure what to make of these bizarre barefoot children, nor their claims of fighting bodysnatching slugs from outer space by turning into animals, nor their wingless pet hawk, nor... well, he could only assume the other creature was some sort of chimera, although he had zero clue what animals could have possibly been used to make something with blue fur and extra eyes.

At this point, they're about to do a morphing demonstration to prove to the Colonel that they aren't completely batshit, when suddenly the door is slammed open, and a teenage boy with blond hair and sharp golden eyes comes sauntering in, accompanied by a hulking giant covered head to toe in a suit of armor.

The boy immediately starts shouting at Mustang, calling him a bastard and accusing him of wasting his time, to which Mustang responds by merely rolling his eyes and sighing, as if this sort of thing happens all the time (spoiler alert: it does). After a moment, the kid stops as he takes notice of the other kids standing in the room.

"So," he says, calmly, as if he wasn't yelling at his superior just a moment ago, "what's the deal with these fuckers?"

The casual use of the kind of language that would have surely landed them in hot water back home was quite shocking, but they don't comment on it. Instead, Rachel says, in a voice sweet as honey, "Oh, look, Marco. He's just as short as you are."

Before Marco could turn to glare daggers at her (come on, it wasn't like he could argue back in that moment), the boy goes absolutely ballistic, and the armored guy has to physically restrain him as he screams obscenities at Rachel ("The fuck did you just call me, you freakishly oversized bitch? I'll show you too-fucking-short-to-fucking-sit-at-the-fucking-table-without-a-fucking-booster-seat! Call me short one more fucking time, I fucking dare you to! You think I give a shit that you're a girl? I'll fuck that pretty face of yours right up, just you fucking wait--")

"Brother!" The armored guy cries. "Calm down!" Then, to the Animorphs: "I'm sorry about my brother's behavior. He's, um, a bit sensitive about his height."

"A bit sensitive" is the understatement of the century, but none of the Animorphs call him out on it. They're too dumbfounded by the sound of his voice, which sounds sweet, innocent, and, despite his size, sounds like it belonged to a boy no more than nine or ten years old.

And that's where I'm going to leave it for now, since I've spent way too long on this post already. I have a few other ideas, but mostly in bits and pieces, not really any more comprehensive plot points beyond this point. Please do let me know what you think!

[thelovelyghostwriter]

do you think kuraneon is gonna be canon in the official hxh universe and what must have happened?

Whether or not they would be canon is up to Sir Togashi himself. While he does have romantic elements in his previous works like Yu Yu Hakusho and Ten de Showaru Cupid, it's not as explicit in HxH (e.g. Meruem/Komugi).

If you asked me this before knowing about the KuraNeon Marriage Theory (will give a link in the reblog later on) and KuraNeon paired up in mobile games, I would have said "0% chance" because we do not see them interact on-screen (even if I had shipped them since I first laid my eyes on Neon).

However, it is kinda sus that Kurapika became a Nostrade Family Young Boss; with Light and Neon nowhere shown. The more "accepted" theory is that Light is unable to continue and Neon is dead (although I do have rebuttals about Neon being dead - that's another conversation). I do wonder why he had to keep their mafia family name - there is no reason to if he truly let them wither. But from Light's last appearance in a manga panel, Kurapika did reassure him that he'll handle everything and you see the Nostrade mafia family organisation doing well under Kurapika. Which is also why my friend went to bring up that plausible KuraNeon Marriage Theory. 

I know that a lot of people think they don’t interact, but that is on-screen. After York New City arc, we don’t see Kurapika until way later, however him being in charge as the Nostrade Boss indicates that he stayed with the Nostrades. God knows what they did while living under one roof. 

Another thing that is major sus is the mobile games. Even non-shippers are baffled why KuraNeon is a thing. Kurapika and Neon are seen dressed as Hikoboshi and Orihime in two sets of the mobage cards; a romantic couple that is known in a Japanese legend and celebrated on 7 July (Tanabata Festival). They are even shown writing on coloured papers in one of the cards + Kurapika holding a bamboo - these coloured papers are used during the Tanabata festival where wishes are written on them and hung on bamboo. It is believed that the reunion between the two lovers Hikoboshi and Orihime are so joyous that they grant the wishes of the people. As far as I know, the only pairing that gets to have a Orihime/Hikoboshi theme in their cards is Machi/Hisoka; and we do see Hisoka/Machi having a soft spot for one another in canon (in the current arc, Machi does patch him up after his defeat and Hisoka spared her).  

Hmmm.. I should make a post about this whole Tanabata thing actually. Asides from that, they are also the v-day banner in 2019 for the games and she gave him a cake during the valentine’s day event, to which showed a scene of him thinking about what to give her back (and low and behold, Kurapika’s White’s Day card featured him with a gift and him wearing the same outfit of the scene where he thought about what to give her). 

In a separate mobile game, they have a special attack together. Their mobage cards have identical backgrounds and themes. Therefore, it isn’t just one mobile game that does this. It makes me wonder why the official team devs do that when this pairing shipping sub-fandom is really small and many even dislike it. 

Even as a shipper, it also baffles me why devs do that when they have little screentime together (gotta be more objective here). If you do consider the KuraNeon Marriage Theory or consider that they might end up together in the manga, it makes sense why the official hxh game devs pair them together. And I am unsure about the source - but I think for Japanese manga production of non-manga material, you need approval from the writer? All the more to be suspicious of the mobile games that contains KuraNeon above every single pairing out there. 

Hence, if you ask me, there is a chance of Kurapika/Neon being canon. How that might happen is a little tricky and depending on the type of portrayal they will be (I have four interpretations of this ship on my pinned post lol). 

I’m not sure if you only define canon as the vanilla/romantic type, or it also includes one that is a little twisted. I've noticed that hxh has friendship and family dynamics that are already complicated and not as wholesome as one would think. I do believe that if KuraNeon were to be canon, it would be the latter interpretation. 

There are actually a few things that are needed to be considered for it to happen: 1) Neon’s fate - she needs to be alive (or maybe not)  Now, a lot of people believe she died because Chrollo’s book speculates that she does. However, we don’t see her dead body. It’s literally just Chrollo’s interpretation. This is contrasted by Kurapika that states that the previous Scarlet Eye owners did not need to be killed (and the “daughter of a mafia leader” is one of them). If the daughter of a mafia leader is truly Neon, then it brings a question of who should you believe more: Chrollo or Kurapika? (Imo it’s super interesting how these two guys who are enemies have different narratives on the same girl). 

Of course, there was this potential discrepancy I found while re-watching this arc. The Scarlet Eyes that Kurapika bidded for 2.9 billion was a fake. They thought it was stolen when Squala took it with him and died - but it was actually that Kortopi’s Gallery Fake copy disappears after 24hour. So technically, the Eyes is with the Troupe. Now, assuming that Togashi has not forgotten this detail (I believe he still remembers), I do think that it is possible that since Chrollo is the type to get bored of the stuff he steals, he will just sell it and it will be obtained by the later owners. As for “the daughter of a mafia leader”, I’m sure it’s Neon that Kurapika is referring to - be it him mentioning her as merely a previous owner despite the set of Scarlet Eyes being “stolen” or she bought another set. (There is a chance that is not Neon, but another daughter of a random mafia leader, but what are the chances of another daughter being like that?) 

I guess I just wanted to point this detail out because many people readily believed Chrollo’s book (it was not even himself). He stated that he did not know when it disappeared. 

As for that “Hisoka killed Neon” theory, while it is believable and interesting, the only thing that is doubtful for that is that a) Hisoka could not have gone off to kill Neon in such a short period of time, b) that would be an insult to Kurapika’s capabilities if she was under his care, c) the fortune-telling ability doesn’t bother Hisoka. Pakunoda and Hisoka had a short conversation about the fortune and both of them acknowledged that the future changed. Hisoka wrote over his fortune despite having a good one to manipulate the events in hopes of fighting Chrollo - that is an indication of his belief that he writes his own future, and therefore which is why I argue that the fortune-telling ability never bothered him.

As for the “Kurapika killed Neon” theory, I think... they all need to get one thing straight about Kurapika: as much as possible, except for the spiders, he doesn’t kill (or at least dislikes to kill). He stated that none of the owners had to die even if two preferred to die. If there’s a way, he will not shed blood. Besides, Kurapika doesn’t actually hate Neon - contrary to popular belief. There wasn’t a single manga panel that indicates his hatred for her; or even annoyance. It was only the time where Mellody mentioned that he will kill her if she stands in the way, but Kurapika, as much as mentioned before, doesn’t kill if there is an alternative way. 

I have yet to fully explore possible reasons why Neon’s ability disappears from Chrollo’s book if she’s still alive (my friend thinks it’s related to Kurapika’s dolphin ability). However, there are many rebuttals to the theories on how she died. 

But yeah, I think for it to be canon, Neon has to be alive. Unless... they were already canon and he sailed to the Dark Continent and she died slightly before that event (tbh I rather not have this).

2) Kurapika’s fate - he needs to live

Number 2 is a condition is if they aren’t canon yet before he sails to the Dark Continent. 

One thing that confuses people is that they think that just because Kurapika is under the Kakin Employment, it means that he is no longer affiliated with the Nostrades. The Kakin Employment contract is temporary - he is still affiliated with the Nostrades (and their business is bodyguarding, take note). As for him being in the Zodiac, he is still the Nostrade Family Young Boss - being part of the Zodiacs is like some political committee. 

I know there are rumours (I say rumours cause I don’t see the interview script by my own eyes) that Togashi once indicated that the Phantom Troupe and Kurapika will all die. I do think that Togashi can kill one of his main characters, but there’s one thing that makes me question whether he changed his mind: Nitro Rice from the Dark Continent. 

The Nitro Rice is a thing in the Dark Continent that prolongs one’s life - a direct solution to Kurapika’s Emperor Time problem. I think if he does last until they reach the Dark Continent, he has a chance to prolong his lifespan that he has lost while using Emperor Time. 

Now, if he indeed gets to survive, manages to complete his mission, there’s another problem he will face: a will to live. Because currently, all he has ever lived for is bringing justice to his clan. Beyond that, what can he live for? Which kind of makes the ending for him to happily live with someone (be it his friends or having a family) a suitable one. 

3) Neon’s development

Neon is seriously misunderstood among the fandom - even her personality. I’ve seen a lot of Kurapika x (other character) ships where Neon is the 3rd party in fanfics; and it is a one-sided love. 

However, Neon is actually an emotionally detached person while Kurapika is the one that gets attached to people, even if he initially avoids them. Neon has what psychologists will call “Avoidant-Dismissive Attachment Style” while Kurapika has “Avoidant-Fearful Attachment Style”. This is rightfully so due to their different backgrounds. I actually believe that between the two of them, Kurapika will be the one who falls first or if this is one-sided, Kurapika is the one that likes her because of their attachment styles. 

Neon has zero friends, is materialistic and lacks sympathy for dead people (the complete opposite of Kurapika). She believes in focusing on the present and the living (it’s actually a pretty good principle to live for). She needs to learn how to be more attached to people and learn compassion - which she actually is seen as being capable of. She was surprised that Eliza broke down and cried, and even forgo bidding physically. I think this is an indication of her starting to feel sympathy for people and perhaps being more mature - cemented by the fact that she lost her powers.

Therefore, I do think she needs to learn how to warm her heart up to people (which she might have already started to after the York New incident) if she were to feel something for Kurapika. 

4) Kurapika’s view of her

Okay, this is one factor that is either you take it the vanilla way or the kinky way lmao. I actually wrote a Cognitive Dissonance Theory for Kurapika on my Tumblr post for this one (will try to link it in the reblog). 

Kurapika’s initial belief is that flesh collectors are scums who should be arrested, yet he is surprised to see that his flesh-collecting employer is a girl of his age. I think there is already dissonance in his mind there once he met her. 

Contrary to popular belief, Kurapika doesn’t hate Neon (there’s no single manga panel that ever once showed he detest her or feel annoyed with her; as compared to other employees of hers). In fact, he does quickly understand that Neon is being exploited by her father - to which he corrects Basho about the situation. In the manga, when he woke up after the fever, he says her name (in the 2011 anime, it was “Boss” but in the manga, it’s “Neon”) and immediately asks about her; which indicates that he is concerned for her. Of course, she is his employer but in that situation where he is bedridden and not working, him asking about her won’t be just due to him working as a bodyguard. 

However, this doesn’t show that he has feelings for her. It only proves that a) he doesn’t hate her, b) he does care about her. He needs to see Neon as more than just a flesh collector for him to like her; on top of spending time with one another. He needs to see (if he hasn’t already) that she is a girl his age that has a different predicament than him. 

This is the vanilla way I guess. 

The darker and more saucy interesting interpretation would be him thinking it’s okay to objectify her just as much as she objectifies his clan’s eyes (that’s another post I gotta do for another day - but hey, this interpretation is paralleled to Tserreidnich/Theta). 

5) Spending Time with one another

I think as mentioned, it is already a given that Kurapika and Neon had spent time together under one roof off-screen while we see Gon and Killua on-screen during the 3 arcs. However, I think Neon cannot suddenly become less detached and Kurapika cannot want something more than his mission at the moment; so I do think that even if they had spent time before Dark Continent Exploration arc, Neon and Kurapika needs to spend time together after he comes back (that’s if they haven’t banged before he sailed to the Dark Continent like they did in my fic lmao). 

So yeah, I think these are generally the five things that I think should happen if they were to be canon. 

I don’t know why I was compelled to do a long-ass post of this, but I hope this answers your question. I can go on and write a report about this but Imma stop here for now. 

[bestworstcase]

farran rereads lost lagoon: chapters 9-10

it’s been a hot minute! previous installments here, in case you’d like to refresh your memory first.

- this chapter opens with rapunzel observing that cassandra is angry and concluding, correctly, that it’s because rapunzel followed her. i think this is a very interesting choice for howland to make. tts rapunzel is not like this. she often, particularly in s1, fails to notice when cass is frustrated with her and is startled when that frustration erupts into anger after repeated pushing. she is also generally quite bad at linking cause and effect together like this; she might recognize that cass is angry, but miss why. she stomps all over cassandra’s boundaries in large part because she doesn’t know any better. she can’t see how her behavior is hurting cass. but lagoon rapunzel does know better. she’s far more emotionally intuitive, and she can see right away that sticking her nose into cassandra’s business upsets cass, yet she will continue to do it. part of me wonders if this change is to facilitate the character growth lagoon rapunzel gets (which tts rapunzel does not)? it’s much easier, after all, to fix poor behavior if you’re able to see how it’s hurting people you care about.

- rapunzel here also observes that cassandra’s “eyes were wide and vulnerable,” indicating how afraid cass was of the water situation. cass denies that she was afraid when rapunzel asks her. this has a lot of similarities to how cass acts in fanon, cassunzel fanon in particular—outright denying her feelings, even when rapunzel accurately identifies them. and i know i’m beating a dead horse here, but tts cass is not like this. tts cass readily expresses her feelings to rapunzel—except when she thinks rapunzel isn’t willing to listen to her. in COTB, her reticence with rapunzel comes on the heels of rapunzel doing something cassandra pleaded with her not to do. in RATGT, rapunzel outright tells her to ‘be okay with’ the way rapunzel treats her, and in RDO cass bottles up her feelings and refuses to talk until rapunzel forces her to. actively hiding her feelings is a behavior she develops after becoming friends with rapunzel, because rapunzel continually dismisses or ignores her feelings. this is probably not the last time i am going to harp on this over the course of this little reread. it’s a huge pet peeve of mine.

- re: romance novel: “I hadn’t seen Eugene since the night before. After Cassandra left my room, I sent Pascal to follow her. I instructed him to come get me if she went anywhere.” ksdkjf

- cassandra, of course, wants the lagoon to be their—or rather, ideally, her—little secret, because she’s decided this is the thing that will prove she’s ready for the guard. her approach to getting rapunzel on board with this secret-keeping is to imply that frederic and arianna might compromise corona’s national security if they are informed. i think this is very funny.

- (again, contrast this to what happens in tts: when cass begs rapunzel to keep their midnight excursion a secret, she explains her reasoning in detail, because tts cass knows how to communicate like an adult.)

- “It’s so…blue” jksdfl cass has a way with words huh

- i do not think ms howland knows what a lagoon is, because what she is describing is absolutely not a lagoon. it appears to be a cenote. i suppose ‘rapunzel and the lost cenote’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, though, does it?

- cassandra reveals that she doesn’t know how to swim. i will get into this in a moment.

- corona has 315 miles of coastline, according to ms. howland. for purposes of comparison, rhode island has around 380 miles of coastline. now! in addition to those three hundred odd miles of coastline, corona has 212 lakes, 121 ponds, 67 rivers, of which 17 are significant in size and let out into the sea. with some cursory research i haven’t been able to get a precise count of the number of freshwater bodies of water there are in rhode island, but wikipedia tells me that about 90% of the inland freshwater in the state is contained in 237 lakes and ponds, which is a bit less than corona’s 333 total lakes and ponds, so… assuming the other 10% of rhode island’s inland freshwater is contained in a few dozen smaller lakes and ponds, those numbers are quite close as well. and according to wikipedia, rhode island has 59 rivers, of which 17 are ‘considered major rivers either geographically or historically.’ 

there is not really a point to this digression except that i think it is interesting. rhode island is 1,214 square miles in size and based on the general closeness of these numbers i have decided to tentatively conclude that corona is meant to be roughly similar in size. let’s call it a nice even 1,250 square miles for the sake of ease and to account for the greater number of lakes and ponds. 

this is quite a bit larger than the kingdom appears to be in tts—unless the kingdom is very lopsided and island city is situated within a couple dozen miles of the nearest border—but it’s also quite small for a country. (europe has a few very small microstates and city-states, but excluding those, the smallest country in europe is almost twice the size of rhode island). 

for my own writing, i decided that corona was quite a bit larger than this—bitter snow corona is in the neighborhood of 13,125 square miles, of which about ⅓ was formerly saporia and another ¼ is the disputed territory/province of malinar, meaning saporia is/was about 4,375 square miles, malinar is about 3,288 square miles, and pre-conquest corona would have been about 5,462 square miles—but, if you’re writing fanfiction and looking for an approximate ‘canon’ size for corona, 1,250 sq miles is not a bad guess. just remember that that big old wall rapunzel’s so eager to get to the other side of has to be within about twenty miles of the island capital in order for horses to be able to comfortably get there and back in less than a day! so either the island has to be very near the nearest border, or the wall isn’t actually corona’s border but rather a defensive wall around the capital or something like that. 

- now back to cassandra, and the matter of her inability to swim. i think, given that they live on an island and the generally high standards to which he holds his daughter, it beggars belief a little that the captain did not force the issue of her learning how. it’s a safety matter. if you live near water you need to be able to swim.  but, fine, she has a phobia, whatever. it’s for the romance novel™

- but i hate this. i hate it. ms. howland expects me to believe that:

1 - cassandra hasn’t been in swimming lessons since she could walk

2 - cassandra’s phobia was so severe that the captain never forced the issue of her learning to swim, while living on an island

3 - rapunzel magically knows how to swim, because the three or four minutes she spent almost drowning in a slowly flooding cave and then being spat out into a river and dragged to the bank by eugene was sufficient for her to become a great swimmer.

4 - all it takes for cassandra to overcome her debilitating phobia of water is for rapunzel to spend maybe ten or fifteen minutes gently coaxing her into the water and teaching her how to tread water

5 - swimming in the lagoon with rapunzel then becomes one of cassandra’s most treasured pastimes, and

6 - merely a few months after this, cassandra is a strong enough swimmer to (in fitzherbert pi) DIVE INTO THE FUCKING OCEAN FULLY DRESSED WITH HER BOOTS ON in order to rescue shorty before he drowns.

and NO!!!!!! NO! THAT’S NOT HOW SWIMMING WORKS THAT’S NOT HOW ANYTHING WORKS!!

now i get it. i get it. this is a romance novel and the symbolism of rapunzel liberating cassandra from her fears and teaching her a valuable new skill that they bond over and becomes their shared special secret thing to do together is obviously powerful and a staple trope for the genre. but it makes so little sense for this to be a skill that rapunzel has but cassandra does not. it feels almost infantalizing of cassandra and aggrandizing of rapunzel. like… rapunzel is an exceptionally competent young woman, yes. but no she can’t fucking swim you can’t learn to swim from that one time you almost drowned in a FUCKING cave. fuck!

- i’m still on the first page of chapter 10 and i am steamed.

- “It’s amazing how fast you can pick something up when your life depends on it.” FUCK you, ms. howland. you don’t learn how to turn sommersalts or swim laps by almost drowning. at most you might teach yourself how to doggy paddle.

- this scene would have worked just as goddamn well on the romance novel front if cass were the one who knew how to swim and rapunzel desperately wanted to learn and made big sad puppy eyes until cass caved and agreed to teach her. like! ffs you could even squeeze in the phobia stuff - rapunzel freaks out when she gets to a certain depth because it throws her back to being in that cave and cass, who has plenty of experience dealing with her own panic attacks, is able to gently calm her down.

- but that would require ms. howland to allow rapunzel to be bad at something. grumble.

- i don’t think rapunzel is qualified to give cass exposure therapy.

- this is nitpicky but i’m annoyed. this is not how you clean plate armor. “First you hang your suit of armor up to make sure every piece is properly aligned and that there’s no rust” WHAT? it’s not… like, it’s not like a onesie. plate armor is a bunch of individual components tied or buckled to an arming doublet or, in some cases, to other pieces of plate. you can’t ‘hang up’ a suit of plate armor the way you’d hang up, like, a jacket. you can put the pieces together on an arming doublet that you’ve hung up on a dummy, but… why would you do that in order to clean it.

“Then you attach the foot coverings” gjksdfjk just… the mental image of cassandra painstakingly putting a suit of armor together on a fucking mannequin and buckling the sabatons to the greaves or what the fuck ever she means by this and trying to clean the set that way is destroying me

“Then you need to polish the chest plate, with a soft cloth, work in circles, going outward” okay yes but you’d do the cuirrass separate from the rest of the set and you’d do the inside too and cass ought to know the proper name for all of these pieces please it’s not hard

“The arms can be tricky because the joints” WHAT. for arms you’ve got, like, a pauldron (or spaulder and rondel), rerebrace, couter, vambrace, gauntlets. these are separate pieces. you clean them one at a time, inside and outside. does howland think you just… don’t need to clean the inside of a set of plate armor? does she think the inside isn’t just as if not more susceptible to rust as the outside? does… does she realize that you can take plate armor apart i am CONFOUNDED

WHAT is a “mouth cover” in this context. is she refering to a visor. hinged pieces like on an armet? does she mean a bevor? the bevor isn’t even part of the helmet aljksdflkjsfdj

cassandra refers to cuisses and greaves as “thigh plates” and “shin [plates]” respectively i’m die. she also completely skips the poleyns. i do not think this cass has ever cleaned a suit of plate armor in her entire life.

i am losing. my. mind.

- in the immediate aftermath of cass learning how to tread water i think rapunzel asks her more personal questions than she does in the entirety of tts itself. like, it’s almost jarring how much more interested both rapunzel and eugene are in cassandra as a person in this book than they seem to be in tts. compare this conversation to the way cass opens up to rapunzel in beginnings - here, it’s prompted by rapunzel asking questions, expressing interest in cassandra’s feelings and encouraging her by telling her she’s brave. in beginnings, rapunzel builds a pillow fort in cass’s room because she wants to force a bonding moment and cass, after initially trying to kick her out, relents and volunteers some personal information as a kind of apology for being hostile. the vibes are completely different, so different that it feels like i’m not even reading about the same characters.

- like can you imagine tts rapunzel saying something like “it’s your story, that makes it important” to cass? lmao

- cass reveals that she’s afraid of water because she got dragged out by the undertow at the beach when she was small, and her dad saved her and then got so mad at her that she remembers being as afraid of him as she was of the water. this is not unrealistic per se, but… if cassandra was as scared of her dad that day as she was of drowning, then… shouldn’t that have more of an impact on her relationship with him? like…he screams at her after she almost drowns and she walks away with this debilitating phobia of the water but zero lingering fear of him?

- this chapter has given me a headache

- re: romance novel: “Rapunzel gripped my hand. This time I didn’t flinch.” snrk. 

[moipale]

Scientist’s Curiosity

This fic was written for Ectober Week 2020 Day 2: Bones/Pulse and can be found on AO3 and FFN as well as here!

You can find me on this blog or on my main @faedemon

Maddie is alone when she catches it.

Jack is out of town visiting a convention, and she still hasn’t managed to rope either of the kids into coming out on these little patrols, so it’s just her and the whistle of the empty street that bears witness to Phantom’s fall.

It hasn’t even been weakened by another ghost—it’s been a peaceful night, quiet, and what allows Maddie to bag the ghost boy is nothing more than luck. Luck, and a lapse in judgement on Phantom’s part.

Maybe it’s a good thing Jack isn’t with her—his lumbering, bless him, surely would have given them away by now. But Maddie is quiet, and she creeps into range with a stealth she didn’t realize she could still maintain, well into her forties. The weapon she’d decided to carry for this particular venture is perfect: an electric net-thrower, and Phantom, sitting casually on the edge of a rooftop, its legs dangling off the side, is well within shooting distance.

She readies the gun, looking up at its silhouette. If it were human, she wouldn’t be able to see its facial features this late at night, but the ghostly glow that emanates from its form lights it up like a beacon, and as she steadies her aim, her eyes scour its face, studying it.

Phantom’s facial features are soft. Its body holds that look of someone who’s just about to lose the last of their baby fat, but hasn’t reached that point quite yet. It looks young. Childlike.

It’s really too bad that Maddie knows enough to check Amity’s death records, because no one matching Phantom’s rough age, description, or the name ‘Danny’ has died in Amity Park since its founding.

Ghosts truly are evil creatures, to play the part of a child.

She pulls the trigger, her aim true, and the net flies toward Phantom faster than it can react to. It wraps around the ghost, glomming onto its limbs as the bolas bond themselves to its ectoplasm—a nice touch Jack had thought of, she should really thank him when he gets back—and effectively immobilizes it.

Phantom starts struggling immediately, its eyes going wide as it tries desperately to wriggle out of the net. Maddie has to fight back a titter of amusement when it wiggles its way off the roof, falling the two stories down to the pavement. It can’t fly, either—good to know the power nullification agent in the net works as intended.

She approaches, and Phantom catches sight of her quickly enough. The look in its eyes goes through a peculiar flash of emotions—fear, a pause of confusion where it relaxes slightly, and then fear again, almost like it had forgotten for a moment who she was and what its capture meant.

No matter. Maddie will be able to study all its “emotional” responses up close soon enough.

She’d gone out tonight without the van, which is a shame—she hadn’t been expecting to collect a sample tonight, so she’d wandered a fair distance away from home. It’ll be hell to carry Phantom all the way back. She’s not willing to risk leaving it there to go grab the van, though, so lugging the ghost back it is. At least ectoplasm is fairly light—most of the weight she’s carrying comes from the net.

“Hey,” the ghost says as she hoists it onto her shoulder. “Mo—Maddie, listen, you don’t want to do this. Please put me down.” It pleads, quite pathetically, as she adjusts her grip and starts walking. It’s late at night, so she’s not particularly worried about anyone seeing this little spectacle, but even if they did, she isn’t expecting anyone to stop her. It’s not like she’s carrying around a person.

“Maddie—” it says again, but she interrupts it.

“Ask again and I’ll turn my taser on you and I won’t turn it off,” she warns in a sharp voice.

There’s a beat of silence before it mutters, “Oh, yeah, tase the guy who died from electrocution, that’s nice,” and then falls silent.

Well, that little tidbit has given her an idea for a whole new line of experimentation. The thought puts a little pep in her step, and she starts to walk a bit faster. Phantom seems to sense this, and it starts to wriggle again, trying to worm its way out of her grip. She holds onto it more tightly and continues on.

Fentonworks comes into view about fifteen minutes later, and she darts up the front steps, more giddy than she’s been in a long while. There’s a keypad next to the lock, and she punches in the numbers that will disable the anti-ecto array inside—it wouldn’t do to have her specimen polka-dotted with holes before she can even get it onto the examination table. Once she hears the whine of the machinery powering off, she lets herself in, beelining for the lab.

Normally, if she manages to capture a specimen while Jack’s not around, she’d call him to let him know what she’d picked up and then hold off on examination until he returned. This, though—this is big, and Phantom is a known escape artist. She can’t wait and risk losing it, not even for a phone call.

She deposits Phantom on one of the clearer tables before making quick work of all the junk on the floor, shoving it to the sides or, in the case of more fragile pieces, putting them away where they won’t be touched. After she’s confident the lab is clear enough for her to move around without danger of tripping, she takes the table Phantom is steadily trying to wiggle off of and drags it to the center of the room, directly beneath one of the overhead lights and well within range of any of the tools she may feel necessary to pull out. The fluorescent light above Phantom has the added bonus of partially blinding him, and making her look like little more than an indistinct silhouette.

As convenient as built-in restraints would be, ghosts’ forms are too variable for her and Jack to have ever installed any that would be universally effective, so she goes back to the old tried-and-true: paralytics.

Maddie preps a sterile needle—sterilized more for her benefit than Phantom’s, in case of an accident—and fills it with a concoction she and Jack had developed fairly recently: a paralyzing agent made from a mix of chemicals that would be frankly concerning—if it were meant for humans.

Phantom’s eyes are locked onto the needle as she turns around and approaches the table. It looks almost surprised, and Maddie wonders if it’s only now that the true reality of the situation is dawning on it. If ghosts can even have that kind of emotional realization, anyway. She hasn’t quite determined where the threshold is.

“Hey, what are—what are you doing?” It had stopped talking on the walk back to Fentonworks, but now it starts up again, babbling protests and pleas. “Please, don’t—I have a responsibility, I have to—” Maddie stops listening after a moment, not bothering to even respond.

Phantom begins to wiggle more fiercely, to which Maddie sighs quietly, reaching out to physically hold him down with one arm. It takes a moment, but she manages to slide the needle in just below the elbow, pushing down the plunger without any real regard for how fast she’s injecting. It’s not like it even matters where she inserts the needle—the entirety of Phantom’s body should just be ectoplasm inside; its not like there are any particular veins she’s trying to hit. Its body does give a good illusion of blood vessels from the outside, though. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re green.

After a few seconds, Phantom’s movements slow, and within a minute its fully immobilized, save its eyes, which dart back and forth rapidly. Its thrashing had left it sprawled in an unlikely position, and Maddie has half a mind to leave it like that for the humiliation before her thoughts catch up with her and she realizes how unscientific the impulse is. Pursing her lips, she arranges Phantom’s body to her convenience: on its back, legs and arms extended, both sets of limbs pulled slightly out from the body. She also closes its mouth, which had been hanging open dumbly, but not before spying how humanlike the inside of it looks. She makes a note to examine it more thoroughly later, after she’s gotten the samples she needs.

Seeing Phantom laid out like this, immobile, entirely at her mercy, is far more vindicating than it probably should be. The ghost boy has been the source of so much of the Fentons’ ire, and now she finally, finally has it where she wants it. A lesser scientist would probably take advantage of this situation, but Maddie is a professional. No matter how eager she may be to get her hands on it, she will keep her composure.

Maddie and Jack have had two goals since they first laid eyes on Phantom: to study and understand its obsession and its physiology.

Phantom’s obsession has been a thing of curiosity for them since the beginning. Something in Phantom compels it not only to avoid attacking humans, but also actively try to prevent other ghosts from attacking humans. Maddie has hesitantly labeled the obsession as ‘protection,’ but the notion is a vague one—what, exactly, is it protecting? An individual? A group? Or not a person at all, but the town? Why Amity Park, of all places?

And aside from that, Phantom’s unusual physiology is obvious even when observing it from afar. It’s not like the other ghosts—its ectoplasm is denser and less malleable, it seems to activate powers consciously rather than subconsciously, and its appearance mimics a human’s almost concerningly well. In regards to the latter, Maddie would assume Phantom is a recently-formed ghost, and the human body is not too far of a memory for its form to retrieve and recreate, if not for the research she’s done. Phantom, whatever it is, has appeared as far back as ancient Rome, and has made multiple appearances in the 1600s and in the 20th century.

She meets its eyes again, though she’s sure it can’t tell through the red sheen of her goggles. It watches her, terrified, the slightest hint of resignation creeping in.

She’s always wondered where the line is between mimicking emotions and feeling them. If you can force your heart to race and tears to fall, even if you made it happen, is the adrenaline spike any different? The choked throat?

She’s always wondered why, even when caught or observed alone, the ghosts never stop emoting. Muscle memory? Habit? Truth?

She and Jack had agreed long before now on what samples would be taken, should either of them manage to capture Phantom: five ectoplasm samples at intervals leading toward the core from the extremities, a sample of the core material while active and one while inactive, a piece of the hazmat suit, hair (and nails, should it have them), and anything else of note.

She gets to work immediately, taking up a pair of scissors from one of the nearby tables. This, too, she sterilizes, and then wastes no time in cutting her way down Phantom’s suit, first down the torso and next down each of the limbs, so that the suit falls away from the body, exposing its form beneath. She snips off a sizable chunk of the garment’s chest and stores it in a specimen bag, setting it aside for later examination.

It’s as she moves to begin carving out chunks of ectoplasm that she notices something she really should have noticed far earlier. As the scalpel she’d picked up moves closer to Phantom’s skin, its panicked breathing picks up.

Its breathing.

Maddie slowly turns her head to look down at Phantom, watching its chest rise and fall rapidly, enough so that it would be considered hyperventilation in a person. It watches her back, eyes flicking between her face and her hands, unable to do anything but lie there.

Does it have lungs? she wonders, detached, her scientist’s curiosity getting the best of her as she reaches with one hand to lay her palm flat on the ghost’s chest. If it has lungs, what else does it have?

There’s no reason I can’t dissect it, she reasons, already unable to redirect her thoughts, curiosity burning within her. Just to find out. It’ll only take a little longer than what I’d initially planned.

She was going to remove chunks of Phantom starting at the calf and working her way toward the center of its chest, where the core should be, and the terror it had shown at that prospect was quite acute. It has nothing, however, on the terror that mounts in Phantom’s eyes as her scalpel redirects, moving toward the center of its chest.

Maddie reels herself back in as she does so, stopping herself from making any unplanned incisions. Instead, she carefully puts the scalpel down before moving over to the desk in the corner to retrieve a permanent marker. She uses it to draw careful lines down Phantom’s chest: two branching down from its shoulders, then meeting in the middle and heading straight down the chest. The ‘Y’ of an autopsy.

Phantom is dead, after all.

Before she picks up the scalpel again, out of pure curiosity, she rests her hand flat on its chest once more. She can feel the low hum of its core, as expected—you can feel it in all ghosts, provided you get close enough—but she can also feel something else. Something familiar.

Beneath her palm, through the rubber of her hazmat suit, Maddie swears she can feel the tha-thump of a heartbeat.

Phantom has a pulse.

She looks it in the eye once again, almost trying to memorize the flickers she sees in its gaze. Terror, hysteria, desperation. She feels so strangely detached from them. Maybe a long time ago it might have stirred something in her, some sympathetic belief that perhaps ghosts do have the capacity for feeling, for thinking beyond following the program of their obsession—

but not now. Not this Maddie, who feels a heartbeat beneath her hand in a creature long dead and feels curiosity grip her with a fervor she can’t shake.

She takes up the scalpel and begins to cut.

[megibluedragon]

Gen - The most superficial man is dead

There, there, easy. I don’t mean literally. What I mean is that Gen’s superficial side is officially dead. We all cry about Gen’s petrification crack. Really me too but on second thought I think Inagaki and Boichi are also sending here really beautiful message.

We all remember Gen’s introduction. He seemed shady since very beggining and his petrification crack which looks like creepy smile with sharp teeth was like cheery on top screaming ,,Yeah, he is evil”. Manga readers, anime watchers don’t even lie that you knew he is a good boy after introduction. Or first thought was at least ,,villain or antagonist” not ,,new buddy”. Petrification crack really tried to highlight Gen being sketchy character.

Gen even introduced himself as ,,The most superficial man on Earth” which points at him being selfish person which will trample others to chase after benefit and be the last one standing. He even talked about shallow things like chilling all days with bunch of girls.

Interesting fact: After choosing Senku’s side Gen never brought back idea of getting harem and he don’t even flirt with girls.

Like really all Gen do since then is hang around Senku as close as he can if he doesn’t have job to do in different place. When Gen is in ,,chilling out mode” which he talked about doing with girls he is doing with Senku.

Let me bring up technique Gen is using to manipulate people. It says about being next to person you want to win over but Gen explain it more as moment of negotiation which is one time situation if you want something from other person.

Going back to Gen’s ,,special behavior” towards Senku. Gen is using same technique but this time for winning person over for personal reasons. Gen choose person he really wants to gain trust from on longer terms and not in one time negotiation. Gen isn’t stalking Senku or anything like that but omg Gen wants to share personal space with Senku in all parts of daily routine: 

1. Eat next to Senku

2. Stand next to Senku

3. Walk next to Senku

4. Work next to Senku

5. Sit/rest next to Senku

6. Sleep next to Senku

That’s everyday parts of human life and Gen is doing everything to do those things with Senku around. That’s almost like living together. Gen at this point seek for every occasion to approach Senku. Let me show you how he is doing this:

Let’s take cotton candy moment as an example. Gen is standing few feet away from Senku. He just spotted him standing alone and free after giving cotton candy to everyone and what Gen is doing next?

Few seconds later Gen is already at Senku’s side chilling with cotton candy. They are pretty much touching with elbows. That’s start of entering personal space and it looks like Senku doesn’t mind that at all. Gen is usually approching Senku THAT close when he is alone and not in big group. Gen then just waits for Senku to be in more open area again.

Maybe Gen really was superficial man in the past but Senku really picked his interest. Maybe whole harem talk was a lie since beggining or Gen warned Senku that was his already exerienced past to perform magic shows, write books, chill and hang out with girls so he wanted to check if Senku is worth of changing his old ways. In the end Gen pretty much confessed to Senku that he liked him longer than he thought.

Gen even said being around Senku makes him feel safe. That could be another reason why he stand next to Senku almost all the time because he feels comfortable and not only for times when his Science is needed. Senku in terms of body is the weakest person around so saying his side is the safest place sound weird. That just shows that Senku also keeps Gen’s sanity in good mood and Gen believes Senku has solution for every situation.

Kohaku are you secret Sengen shipper? She always saw through Gen’s lies. She pretty much called out Gen wanting to stay with Senku for personal reasons and not for strategic reasons. Senku is also in the corner smirking probably being flattered by Gen being soft towards him and only act tough.

And this is just prove of Gen really feeling safe only around Senku. Gen wasn’t that scared since being around Tsukasa and Hyoga. Just let Gen be around Senku because separation gives him almost heart attack XD

Now let’s go back to Gen’s petrification crack and hidden beautiful message from Inagaki and Boichi about Gen. Just look at him here while being all soft around Senku and now look at his petrification crack. Now let’s be honest. Does it still suits him alfter all Gen went through? Shady mark on face of someone who is opening up to people and only mess with them with no bad intentions. Yeah this petrification crack looks cool but doesn’t it also show broken and bad version of Gen? And this is where all this character development went:

Gen let himself turn into stone FOR Senku. That was the most selfless act he ever did. This pretty much threw out the window all his ,,superficial man” trash. Superficial man would take a run for it, join Mozu or Ibara or something like that. Gen choosed to sacrifice himself to protect Senku. To protect not himself but another person not knowing if he will ever get out of stone again. He took that with smile on his face with full trust in Senku. Boichi even focused on Gen’s cheek in stone form now without petrification crack.

Gen by loosing his petrification crack is saying farewell to his superficial side. He is fully team player and doesn’t want to be last man standing anymore if he knows someone like Senku could do bigger things to benefit not him but many more people and is more worth saving. Gen turned from superficial man to selfless man and now scar won’t be reminding him every morning how badly he treated people in the past. Gen will get back his pretty face and losing scar might lift some burden from his shoulders or he will make fun of it and start doing make up looking like his petrification crack to remind himself how much he changed.

[afaimsarrowverse]

Arrowverse Update 2021:

(No, I won’t call it The CW-Verse).

 Yes, I promised you one of these ages ago, but then RL turned everything around on its head, and I did not want to make one before all the shows were back in production and there was anything solid to tell you. So now I have lots.

 Only facts here, not politics, and only slight speculation regarding future developments, as always.

Batwoman

 Season 2 will start airing on the 17th of January and return to the shows usual time slot. They are planning to produce 19 episodes for this season. However given the times we are living in another production shutdown could prevent that number tob e fullfilled again, so take it with a grain of salt.

One of these 19 episodes will be part of this years Crossover-Event, which is a two parter and crosses over with „Superman& Lois“. Characters from the other shows are set to appear as well, however who that will be is unknown at this point. The Flash will probably be in it, aswell as someone from „Supergirl“, however if this someone is Kara is up for debate right now. John Constantine, Mick Rory, and Nate Heywood are the most likley candidates for someone from „Legends“. „Black Lightning“ is most likley not participating in the crossover. However someone from „Arrow“ might show up in it instead.

Ruby Rose is off the show and so is Kate Kane.

Just to clearify: Ruby Rose was not fired from the show , the higher ups at Warner and The CW were as surprised as we were about her decescion to leave, and Season 1 did not fail, quite the opposite actually: Until „Stargirl“ came along, „Batwoman“ was Number 3 on The CW, only „The Flash“ and „Riverdale“ did better. If the ratings of „Batwoman“ would have been bad, the whole network would be forced to shut down. Yes, the ratings dropped after „Crisis“ (but they dropped for all the shows except for „Arrow“ after the crossover), but they recovered, and overall „Batwoman“ was doing a lot better than let’s said fan favourite shows like „SPN“. The Powers That Be had every intention to go forward with Season 2 as originally planned.

Ruby Rose hurt her back a while back and had an emergency surgery after which she returned to the set of „Batwoman“, thereby disregarding her health. She has been suffering from chronical pain ever since. Thanks to Lockdown she was able to live the difference, a life without Batsuit, stunt work, and shooting days – and decided to quit. On the long run this might have happened eventually anyways. The actress has a history of depression and has been bullied online since the day it was announced that she got the part – by her own community as well as by Alt.Right Fanboys, who hate woman, LGBT-Characters, The CW, and the idea of anyone but Bruce Wayne being a Bat-Hero. Add that to physical pain, hard working hours, and a dislike for Vancouver, why should someone do that herself on the long run? However, it would not have happend between Season 1 and 2, and the writers would have had a chance to write Kate out of the show gardually and to build up an heir to her mantle at the same time. Now none of this will happen.

The producers decided against recasting Kate Kane as well as against making an established character into the new Batwoman. They even decided against bringing another Batfamily character from the comics into the show or introduce someone with ties to the established cast into the show for that purpose (like a cousin of Kate or Luke Foxs sister). Instead the quickly made up a brand new character – Ryan Wilder.

Ryan Wilder was invented for the show. Yes, she has shown up in a recent „Batgirl“ Comic, but make no mistake, she was inserted into that comic to make it look like she is a character from the comics, even though she isn’t. The Scripts for Season 2 predate that comic appearance by quite some time.

Javicia Leslie will be the new Batwoman, who has no ties to anyone in the show, but will witness whatever happens to Kate. So this will be a Miles Morales kind of situation, by the sounds of it. However we were told Kate won’t be killed of. Instead the Bat-Eating Monster that ate Batman will get her. Well kind of, she will disappear like Batman before her.

Ryan Wilder will have ties to Scarecrow though. If that means that somewhere along the line he will replace Alice as the main villain of the show is unknown. Safiyah is going to show up though, and will be played by Shivaani Ghai. She will face of with Alice, which seems to be one of the few preplanned elements, that will make their way into Season 2 after all. A female assassin named The Whisper will work for her, and a guy called Ocean will show up.

Pictures of the new Bat Suit have been released online. The most important part about the new look seemd to be the fact that you can tell that it’s an Afro American Woman by the silhouette. Juding by this the main focus of the show will shift. Discussions about DADT and Coming Outs are in the past, BLM it is instead. Ryan Wilder is supposed to be lesbian though. And a (former?) drug addict and goofy and „not the right person“ for the job of Batwoman at „this time“ of her life.

Given that there is a „Kate has disappeared“- storyline – either offscreen or via body double – it would make sense to have the character return to the show at some point in the future. However don’t expect that to happen in Season 2. As long as the two week quarantine period for people coming into Canada is in place guest stars won’t come cheap and might prefer to work in the US instead.

Also don’t expect to get Kate Kane back as a main character any time ever for that show. If she returns it will only be to wrap up her storyline and to give the new Batwoman her blessing.

Season 2 is currently filming in Vancouver. „Batwoman“ was one of the first shows to return to filming and has had a small filming break forced on them already, due to testing issues. However those seem to have been resolved. The production has been running smoothly for the most part.

Expect a proper trailer around December time and expect Season 2 to be treated like a new show by the network. Because that’s bascially what it is. (International distrubiton deals will however remain the same, so don’t worry about that, wherever you saw Season 1, it’s likely you will be able to watch Season 2 there too).

 Black Lightning (+ Painkiller)

 Season 4 will start airing on the 8th of Febuary and take the Monday night 9:00 pm slot. The season will consist of 13 episodes, and consdering that it’s the shows final season all of these episodes will be made and aired, come hell or high water.

We don’t know a whole lot about this season. Chantal Thuy will be part of the main cast in this season, so hopefully that means that Grace will consistently hang around all season and won’t do her usual disappearing act inbetween episodes.

What we do know is, that around the middle of the season a backdoor pilot for a potential Painkiller Spin-Off will air as episode 4.7. In it Khalil will end up in an new city Askahic Valley, where he will aim for a fresh start and find trouble instead. Helping those in need he will have to find a way to use his inner darkness  aka his Painkiller personality for good.

The backdoor pilot sounds engaging, kind of like a more down played version of „Legion“, but as for the chances for it to get picked up, we will have to wait and see. Being more of a follow up for „Black Lightning“ then a spin off the chances for a pick up are much better than most of us thought, when we still believed it to be a sister show to the adventures of the Pierce-Family. However it may be too high concept to find an audience. Furthermore the reboot of „Batwoman“ (see above) may also be enough for The CWs need to live up ist own diversity statement. So we will have to wait how the backdoor pilot works out for an audience and for the network, and also how the future plans for the Arrowverse in particular and their whole program in general for the 2021/2022 season will look like. Diversity also means not too many of those superheroes shows at the same time.

As for why it was decided that the series has to end with Season 4, this is currently still unknown. The ratings were always the poorest out of all the Arrowverseshows and also among the lowest of the whole program of the network, and Netflixs decision to go from weekly episodes to whole seasons also indicated that outside the UK and Australia the show did not do overly well, however the reason behind the decision might have nothing to do with any of that given that the show was rather consitent where the numbers where concerned. It might have been a creative decision, the fall out from the desire of on of the main actors to leave the show, or even a demand from Warner or AT&T. As of right now, we just don’t know, but the truth will come out eventually.

For International Netflix the season will likely be put on after it finishes airing in the US, just like Season 3 was. The Series Finale will probably air in May.

Season 4 is currently shooting in Atlanta. Due to this crossovers with the other shows are more or less out of the question for this season, however in theory characters from „Arrow“ could show up in the final season. But given that „Black Lightning“ always was its own thing, I would not count on it. However after the show is finished, Black Lighting, Thunder, and Lightning could show up from time to time in the Vancouver based shows, if the actors are willing (and in „Painkiller“ of course), so maybe „Black Lightning“ will be fully integrated in the Arrowverse after it’s finished in the same way „Constantine“ was.

 The Flash:

 Season 7 of „The Flash“ will start airing on the 23 of Febuary on Tuesday night right before  „Superman & Lois“. It’s planned to have 18 episodes in total. One of those is 6x20 („All’s Wells That Ends Wells“) which was already more or less finished, when the production shut down. Most of the episode will now be 7x01, however there might have been some reshoots concerning the scenes Hartley Sawyer was in (more on that later). 17 additional episodes are being filmed, provided there isn’t another  production shutdown.

The first three episodes of the season will be the slighty rewritten finale of Season 6 and deal with the Mirror Mistress. The rest of seasons will consists of two volumes again, shorter ones than usual though. As of now there are no plans for a crossover episode. Barry will however almost certainly show up in the „Batwoman“/“Superman & Lois“ Crossover Event.

Godspeed will be the main villain of at least the first half of the season. However it won’t be August Heart, it will be a new Godspeed instead. Also set to return are Top, Bloodwork, and Abra Kadabra.

Kayla Compton and Brandon McKnight will be part of Season 7s Main Cast. Hartley Sawyer however is off the show. After his Twitter was scammed, old tweets from long before he even joined „The Flash“ resurfaced, that included offensive jokes. One or two were racist, so he was fired. Ralph will be written out of the show in the first few episodes of the Season. He will shapeshift into another established character for storyline reasons and take his leave in this form. He might return later down the line, when the waves of his departure have subsided. In which form and played by which actor depends on how everything goes until then. Sue Dearborns storyline will be rapped up accordingly, however she is not of the show. She will return over the course of this Season and help out Team Flash time and time again.

There has been a lot of speculation about other actors leaving the show, given that their initial contracts are up and they cost a lot of money or might want to leave. Jesse L. Martin, Tom Cavanagh, und Carlos Valdes are the main concern here. However given that Season 6 was never finsihed, everyone from the main cast (including for story reasons of course Victoria Park and probably Patrick Sabongui) except Hartley Sawyer is returning for Season 7. If there are plans to kill anyone of in a shocking fashion in Episode 3, they obviously wouldn’t tell us. So it is of course possible that someone will leave the show during Season 7, however even if there were plans in place, Covid might have changed them. As for Jesse L. Martin, he might be safe, because we were told that a Joe West related storyline about the Police Issue will be part of this season (however that could of course happen during the first three episodes as well). Danielle Panabaker however will be back sooner than expected, and Frost will be part of the Mirror Mistress wrap up episodes. Given that the show started filming much later than usual, her maternity leave for which she departed the show in 6x19 was over before the returned to filming.

That said what might happen this season is something most people probably noticed during Seaon 6 already: Not everyone will be in every episode, and some might only have cameo appearances in certain episodes. Also US based guest stars might be a problem as long as the 2 week Quarantine for travelers to Canada is still in place. Don’t expect people to show up for only one scene or something like that.

As far as the Mirrorverse storyline goes, Iris will escape from there pretty early on in this season, however there will be lasting effects for her character (as you might have guessed from the last few episodes of Season 6). She will be confronted by a splintered part of her persona and might make a visit to the Eva McCullloch crazy town. If she will have Mirror Powers like Eva after she is out of the Mirrorverse is still unknown but possible, at least until the Mirror Mistress/Mirrorverse storyline is wrapped up.

The Volume after that will deal with Speedster and revolve around the new Godspeed. Originally Season 6 was supposed to end with a cliffhangar involving Eobard Thawne. If this is still the case for 7x03 is unknown. However it stands to reason that Reverse Flash could very well show up during the Speedster Volume. Wally West might also make his return. Und maybe a certain female West-Allen Child will as well. Jesse Wells could also show up at some point. The Wells-Situation will play into Season 7, so she might be connected to this storyline or the Speedster One or both.

What about the future though? There were plans to bring „Stargirl“ into the Arrowverse via „The Flash“. However „Stargirl“ is filming in the US, which means that these plans were postponed for the moment. We will see a Crossover between these two shows eventually (or if „The Flash“ ends before than between „Superman & Lois“ and „Stargirl“). However not until travelling between the US and Canda is easier again.

As for potential future seasons, we still don’t know whatever came of Grants talks about Season 8 and 9. It’s extremly unlikely (but not impossible) that Season 7 is the final Season for „The Flash“, however don’t take Eric Wallaces talks about „many seasons down the line“ for granted. Season 8 might be the last one, or the first of many more to come. We just don’t know at this point.

Season 7 is currently filming in Vancouver. They were forced to start a few days later than originally planned because of issues with testing results (those were delayed), however since they started the prodcution has been running smoothly, so fingers crossed that we will get all of those 18 episodes.

 Superman & Lois:

 „Superman & Lois“ will start airing on the 23 of Febuary on Tuesday nights right after „The Flash“. 13 episodes were ordered. It’s the big new show of The CW, but it did start filming relativly late, which is why they postponed the start date for the show from January to February. The pilot was supposed to shoot in spring, but couldn’t because of the production shutdown in Vancouver. Therefore they have just done the pilot and went directly on to Episode 2. Normally an episode order of a show like this one would be extended to 16, 20, or even 22 episodes pretty early on. This year however everything is different, and I personally don’t even think that they will extend to 16 episodes (there are clues that point into that direction), so it’s likely that we will get only 13 episodes in this first season. However if the extend the order, we might get 14 or 15 episodes instead.

One of those first 13 episodes will be the crossover episode with „Batwoman“. Characters from the other Arrowverse Shows will show up in it aswell, however it will be a much smaller Crossover than the latest ones. The Flash will probably be in it, as well as someone from „Supergirl“, and maybe someone from „Legends“. There is talk about John Diggle and a Green Lantern storyline, but none of this has been confirmed. However due to the fact that John und Lyla moved to Metropolis, „Superman & Lois“ is the most likely place for him to show up again.

Yes, the pilot script has been leaked, but please keep in mind, that they had months to change it. While the main points of the scripts probably remain the same, don’t expect everything you read to actually happen in the pilot.

That said, here is a summary of the shows synopsis: Clark und Lois have to learn to balanace their lifes as world famour reporters and superheroes with their lifes as parents. On Earth Prime they don’t have an infant son, but two teeange sons instead, that may or may not have inheretied their fathers powers. The Pilot sees them returning to Smallville out of family reasons and reconnecting with Lana Lang (Clarks first love) and her family (her Husband and her teenage daughter). While Lois father General Lane (recast for the show) expects his son in law to focus on the superbusiness, the couple would preferable focus on Smallville, which is in real estate troubles, but even the idyllic small town is all but this when a mysterouis stranger turns up and … well turns the show into a Superhero Show.

Tyler Hoechlin and Bitsie Tulloch return to their roles als Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Superman gets a new suit for the show. Pictures have leaked, but are of bad quality, however the main point of the suit change is to have him wear an endurable suit. His original suit was not made for long term use and was more or less falling apart by the time of „Crisis“.

Their sons are played by Jordan Elsass (Jonathan) and Alexander Garfin (Jordan). They are both thirteen, so apparanly twins, and don’t know that their father is Superman. Jonathan is good in sports but kind and well liked. Jordan on the other hand is smart, but a loner with an anxiety disorder. The new Sam Lane will be Dylan Walsh, Earth Prime hasn’t changed his attitude much, however he might be on better terms with Clark, whom he knows to be Superman. Emanuelle Chriqui is this shows Lana Lang-Cushing, she works at a bank and is in a difficult period of her life. Her husband Kyle Cushing is played by Erik Valdez and chief of the towns firedepartement. He is a drunk and a smalltown guy at heart. Their daughter Sarah Cushing is played by Inde Navarette, she is fourteen, tried to take her own life some time ago, and befriends the Kent boys. Wolé Parks downgraded from the devil to The Stranger, who … well !spoilers!  is said to be a Luthor from another dimension, stranded on Earth Prime. He is the main villain of the season and wants to prove that the world that it does not need Superman anymore. Presumable with violence.

If this is true, the events of „Crisis on Infinite Earths“ will play a rather massive part in „Superman & Lois“. Another massive part is tragedy it seems. Something happend to Martha Kent that bringts Clark back to Smallville, and something did happen to the Cushing Family (it might have something to do with their younger daugther Sophie). Also Clark has lost his job at the Daily Planet. So this is quite a dark set up for this new show, which will mainly take place in Smallville, while Metropolis will take the backseat, but will factor into the show. Perry White is set to appear. So is Morgan Edge, who is the one who fired Clark, because after not getting CatCo he appearanty bought the Planet. And is not in jail, but buying real estate in Smallville as well. Sadly he is another character they are recasting for the show. He is probably supposed to be the Earth Prime Version of the character we know, but maybe not. Nevertheless he is is the other main villain of the Season. (The Stranger might be Clarks villain, while he is Lois‘).

As for other news, yes a writer was let go from the show and then complained on Twitter about it, making it into a toxic workplace thing, but the main thing I took from that is the „no extension for this seaons episode count“-clue. Everything else is none of our concern. Of course she would say her writing is good. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. She was probably let go, because there were too many writers on the show, and for none other reason. If however there was something untoward going on, Warner and The CW would know (at least by now) and do something about it, they have a history of doing exactly that, e. g. Andrew Kreisberg. That does not mean that all the other scripts are bad, it only means that she was frustrated because she was sacked and felt it happened because she pushed certain points in the writers‘ room, that were incooperated into the scripts long before she was sacked. She might not haven been the only writer pushing for those points, others might have put them into their scripts without discussing it in the room beforehand, we only know her side of everything. So just wait and see.

As for: Will Kara turn up in the Pilot? Normally she would. It’s a Spin Off from „Supergirl“ after all. If the pilot would have been shot in spring, Melissa surely would have turned up in it. However given that she allegedly won’t go back to shooting until next year, she might not. They could film a short scene with her and insert it into the Pilot before it airs, as soon as she is back to Vancouver. But given that she will have to catch up with her own show, maybe this won’t happen. Maybe it was never even planned, because they did not feel the need for it. Everyone knows who Superman and Lois Lane are. Even people who never touched a comic book in their life. Maybe they thinkt that showing Kara would ty the new show too much to the established Arrowverse and „Supergirl“ in particular. However it would be a major disappointment, if she does not show up at all in this show. But sady given the shooting reality of this season it’s a high possibilty that she won’t. Let’s just hope that she in it in some shape or form. Maybe even in the crossover.

Anyway, Season 1 of „Superman & Lois“ is currently shooting in Vancouver. They had to postpone the start of the shoot several times, but they are up an running now, and should be able to complete the 13 planned episodes, if there isn’t a major production shutdown coming their way again.

Legends of Tomorrow

 Season 6 of „Legends of Tomorrow“ will air in 2021, starting with „Ground Control to Sara Lance“ around June, maybe May, if we’re lukcy. Season 6 will consist of 13 episodes and will be pretty complex, but if any show can pull of the concept behind the Season in times like this it’s „Legends“.

Shayan Sobhian and Adam Tsekhman will be part of the Main Cast in Season 6. The Waverider will also gain a new crewmember in the form of Esperanza „Spooner“ Cruz, who will be played by Lisseth Chavez. Oliva Swanns Astra will return to the show as well. Newbie Spooner will be tough and self sufficent and won’t play well with the others in the beginning. Definitifly not a warm presence in the beginning, she believes that she was abducted by aliens as a kid and has gained the ability to telepathically communicate with them since then. That will make her the key to find the Waveriders abduted Captain Sara Lance, provided she is not only a paranoid crazy lunatic and actually can do all of this.

The show has also cast Raffi Barsoumian as a new character named Bishop, who is a genuis, but also very dangerous and might actually be the big bad of the season. Structurally the Legends will encounter a new aliens species every week. The idea of using the Waverider as an actual space ship has been around in since Season 1, and now comes to fruition. If one of these aliens species they encounter will be a certain Hawk-related one remains to be seen. It would make sense, however I am not so sure the writers would want to hawk back (sorry) to Season 1 at this point.

Sara will be on her own journey for a while in this season. She won’t be immedeatly rescued in Episode 1. Meanwhile Ava will have a hard time coping with the loss of her Co-Captain and unravel. Maybe Nate will try to lend her a hand, but at the beginning of the season the Legends will very much be dysfunctional without their Time Mom.

Astra will try her hand at a human life and life with John in his house, while Zari und Behrad will be the shows version of the Wonder Twins, sharing the Totem, and learning how to be a team. Essential to this will be Episode 2 of this Season („Meat: The Legends“), which will also explore what is was like for Behrad to grow up in his child star sisters shadow.

There have been contradicting claims about how exactly the aliens will be introduced in the shows. The initial claim made by the writers was that the Legend would visist a different alien planet every week. However later the claim surfaced that different alien races would pop up in Earths History in different time periodes every week. The first claim would make every kind of crossover with the rest of the Arrowverse really difficult, however when „Legends“ is going back on air, this seasons crossover will most likely be over already, and furthermore the character who would have made the most sense in it – Sara Lance – wouldn’t be able to be in it anyways, given the Season 5 Cliffhangar Ending. Still a Legend could show up in the Crossover, maybe John Constantine or Mick Rory or even Nate Heywood. On the other hand, Gary war in „Elseworlds“, so mabye Spooner will just run around in „Superman & Lois“ in the backround while chasing aliens, one never knows with „Legends“.

This is pretty much most of what we know at this point about Season 6. So I guess, I have to adress some of the obvious concerns around this season right now. Number One would be if Season 6 is the last season. With both „Supergirl“ and „Black Lightning“ ending this season, it would be very stupid of The CW to end „Legends“ as well, especially given that „Arrow“, „Supernatural“ and „The 100“ also just ended in 2020. However the ratings were never the greatest, and the show is the most expensive and most complicated out of the Arrowvers Shows. But it also got pretty good press in the last couple of years. So maybe there will be a Season 7. The producers obviously bought themselves Season 6 by trading in Brandon Routh. They might do something simelar this season. Given that Caity Lotz is the face of the show, the most likely and most expensive candidate to get kicked out it Dominic Purcell. So will Rory leave in the middle of Season 6? Maybe. The problem here is that his most logical reason for him leaving is currently shooting Season 3 of „Lost in Space“. However she is doing it in Canada, and I have no idea what the shooting schedule for „Lost in Space“ looks like, so they could bring Lita back in to write Mick Rory out with her. However, they would not do this, if they knew beforehand that there is no Season 7 (because why waste an fan favourite character for nothing?). Dominic also already had reduced Screentime in Season 5 and might want to leave after Season 5 anyway. So we will have to wait and see.

The other concern revolves around John Constantine. Warner is trying to re-establish the character in it’s DC Movies or at least it seems like that. Right now we are in a phase were pretty much all DC Characters can be used at the same time in different continuities, however that could change any moment. Obviously they wouldn’t cancel „Superman & Lois“ once it’s on air because of this, but they could force the producers to write John Constantine out of the Arrowverse. However, until John is scheduled to appear in a DC movie, at least two more seasons could have gone by, so while it is possible that we will have to bid John goodbye after Season 6, it is also possible that we will have him around in Season 7. If there is a Season 7 that is. We’ll have to wait and see.

I have said multiple times that in theory „Legends of Tomorrow“ could go on forever, if they keep rotating the cast. But The CW is not known for thinking that much outside the box. Every additional season they have been given to their shows with lower ratings, including „Legends“, was already thinking outside the box. No other network would have done this. Plus At&T or Warner or both are pushing HBOmax right now and would prefer new shows that stream there over older shows that stream on Netflix (in the States that is). Therefor „Legends“ will probaly go away rather sooner than later. Sadly.

However, Season 6 is currently filming in Vancouver. You can follow Keto Shimizu on Twitter, if you wanna get updated when they start filming a new episode. The original start date had to be pushed back a couple of days because of testing issues, but those have been resolved, and since then the first round of episodes has been done without a hitch.

Supergirl

 Season 6 of Supergirl will air 2021 around June or maybe in late May, if we are lucky. It will be the final season and will consist of 20 episodes. Don’t worry, „Supergirl“ will be 2021s „Supernatural“, those 20 episodes will be made and aired, if it’s humanly possible, they will find a way, no matter what.

„Supergirl“ is my White Whale among the Arrowverse Shows right now, I can literally tell you next to nothing about what is going to happen in this season. I can’t even tell you what is happening behind the scenes. There is next to no confirmed information about the final season out there.

What I can tell you is, that they will pick up where Season 5 left off, that Jon Cryer will be a big part of Season 6, and that Karas and Williams slow burn relationship will continue to … slow burn, I guess. And that’s it. Sorry.

Season 5s Main Cast ist back together, expect for Andrea Brooks, but I can’t even tell you that for sure, because while she has not be confirmed to be in the season yet, nobody said she wouldn’t be in it either.

Yes, the ending leaked, or so some people thought, but this ending has mainly been an educated guess based on fan wishes. It’s plausible but not set in stone.

What I can tell you is: No, „Supergirl“ has not been cancelled. If it had been up to The CW the show would have gotten another Season, at least. „Supergirl“ always did fairly good for the network, better than „Arrow“ actually. What happened is pretty simple, it’s the same thing that happened to „Arrow“. The Leads contract was up, and said person did decide against an extension. There have been rumors about Melissas contract spanning seven seasons, but those have been based on wrong assumptions. The standart contract a lead actor signs when he or she does a pilot contains six seasons. Melissa signed one of those. But as you might remember „Supergirl“ did not start out on The CW, it did start out on CBS and Season 1 was filmed in Los Angeles. After Season 1 swollowed too much money, Warner moved the show to the cheaper network and to Vancouver. At this point the contracts were renegotiated. Calista Flockhart even left the show – which she could without breaching contract, because „Supergirl“ was not any longer the show she signed on for originally.

At this point Melissas contract changed – she has less screen time from Season 2 onwards than she had in Season 1, because she demanded more time to travel home to L.A. at the weekends. However what did not change and would not have changed was the six season thing. It would have been very irregular for her to sign a new six season contract at this point. Or for the network to extent it for a season. Especially for The CW who is actually used to shows with fewer seasons (forget SPN for a moment, that was its own thing). So it was and always has been six seasons.

Now between Season 4 and 5 Melissa and Chris decided they wanted to try for a baby. Which is by the way the real reason Supergirl got a new costume in Season 5. Melissa got pregnant, informed the producers and the network. Plans for Season 5 were shifted from 22 to 20 episodes, and to an early start for the filming of Season 6 with a break in the middle so they could work around Melissas pregnancy. But then Covid hit, the production was shut down amidst the Season Finale, and Season 6 became a problem because it would collide with the leads pregnancy leave. During all of this Melissa was in negotiation for a contract extension. And did not sign it. So the producers and the network decided to end „Supergirl“, because without Kara there would be no point to continue. They ended „Arrow“ when Stephen decided to leave, even though they had enough potential replacements from both genders ligned up. They only possible replacement for Kara was written out of the show with the end of Season 3. So that’s all that is to it.

It was definitly not axed to make place for „Superman & Lois“. „Superman & Lois“ has been in works since around „Elseworlds“, and the dream has always been that those two shows would co-exists. However the fact that „Supergirl“ is ending may have factored into the decescion to pick up „Superman & Lois“, so that the successor show is already in place, when „Supergirl“ ends.

So they are currently filming Season 6 in Vancouver, at least some of them are, because as predicted Melissa is still on Maternity Leave. It’s said (and I can’t confirm that) that she will return to filming in January, because the production will take an extended christmas break. Extended because of the two weeks quarantine period. Everyone who goes to the States to see their family will have to quarantine for two weeks before they can go back to shooting after they return to Canada. So that would mean that they filmed for quite some time without Melissa. If that means that she is only in 10 to 15 episodes of the final season or that her scenes are filmed seperatly and she will get stuck in the faceless suit again or if she is deaged and played by an other actress for a couple of episodes or gets turnes invisible and is there in voice only I don’t know. I only know that they are currently filming without her.

And what about crossovers? Given that it’s the final season, there will be no crossover episodes in Season 6 (however someone from the other shows might show up in a small way). As for the characters crossing over to other shows, I again don’t know. Someone will be in the Two Part Crossover between „Batwoman“ and „Superman & Lois“, probably, however we don’t know if this someone will be Melissas, because the focus will be to produce those 20 final episodes with as much her in it as possible. So maybe J’onn or Alex will be in the crossover instead.

And yes, they were originally meant to start filming in September, but there was a problem with the test results. Now, that problem hit all the other shows as well, „Batwoman“ even had to halt shooting for a few days, while the other shows pushed their start date back until the results were in. The strange thing is, however, that most of the other shows only lost of couple of days, a week tops, „Supergirl“ however started almost two weeks later, then it was originally suppossed to. Now, that would be the „someone was testes positve“ period, but they were allowed to go back to shooting around a week after their original date. But took another week or so to get going. Maybe. They might have started earlier, however all the other shows told us via Social Media when they started shooting (or picked it up again) and „Supergirl“ didn’t do so until about two weeks  into October. I have no idea why.

But sadly that’s how the show is communicating with its fans right now: Not at all. I wasn‘t even sure they were really back to filming, when I saw those first very cryptic posts until two days later, when David (bless his heart) tweeted that he was on set and started shooting again. Before that Jon Cryers ring-story (check it out online, if you want to, it’s heartwarming and great) was the only thing somehow related to the shooting of Season 6 anyone could find.

So yeah, they are filming. And plan to do that for nine more months at least. After that, it’s over. Which is sad, but well, it is what it is.

 Green Arrow and the Canaries (+ Wonder Girl)

 As for the „Arrow“ Spin Off, I wish I had news in any form. The show has not been picked up, but it has not been axed either. At the moment it can go both ways. I always guessed that The CW was considering „Green Arrow and the Canaries“ for the 2021/22 Season and not for the Current Season, and this has turned out to be true, but the backdoor pilot aired in January. And now it’s November! Normally we would have heard something either way by now.

And there are two problems: There is that very important thing I have been going on about in the „Supergirl“ Section quite long about called contracts. There is an expireing date on those things - actors can’t stop making money, just because some executives can’t make up their mind about a pilot. And then there is the bigger threat which is the new „Wonder Girl“ show which is in development for The CW, and which is more likely to be picked up by the network to fill the Female Lead Superheroe Show Hole, that „Supergirl“ is leaving behind than „Green Arrow and the Canaries“. I don’t think the network would pick up both of these shows in the same season (or maybe even at all).

So it does not look good, right now for the show, but as long as there is no word about it not going forward, there is still hope. Also, we may get a new version of it in form of a new project instead, if it does not go into series. You never know.

 (Stargirl is not one here because I don’t consider it part of the Arrowverse yet).