#experimenting with how I draw teen Needles' hair

[simm-mouse]

To make up for me doing Pascal dirty last night, here's teen Needles getting scolded by Pascal

[osharenippon]

'70s Harajuku (Part 2)

The Harajuku district in Shibuya has gained international acclaim as a hub of Tokyo's youth culture and fashion scene. Its streets are lined with cafes, boutiques, and well-known fast fashion stores, drawing a constant stream of tourists, fashionistas, and teenagers. However, before the arrival of billionaire retailers, foreigners, and media attention, this area's early inhabitants were the ones who truly shaped its unique character.

'70s Harajuku (Part 1)

There's been a few books written about Harajuku and its culture in the '70s. Famed photographer Shinpei Asai wrote "Central Apartments Monogatari" (Central Apartments Tale), published in 2002. Futoshi Kimizuka interviewed some creative professionals who had offices in the building for 2004's "Central Apartments no asobi" (Walking through Central Apartments). Yasuko Takahashi, Japan's first stylist, wrote extensively about her experience working and playing in the neighborhood during that era in "Omotesando no Yakko-san" (Yakko-san from Omotesando, 2012) and "Toki no kakeru Yakko-san" (Yakko-san Who Leapt Through Time, 2015). In 2019, Non Nakamura, who started out as Yakko-san's assistant, compiled photographs and essays from influential figures of the time in "70s Harajuku Genfuukei."

This same Non Nakamura contributed what I consider to be some of the most insightful and readily available essays on this period through her "20th Century Girl" serialization in Mononcle. These essays are accessible for free on their website (in Japanese, though Google Translate provides a decent translation). Nakamura's series chronicles the culture of the 1970s in Harajuku and the broader oshare influences of that decade.

The first essay discusses how she owes her fateful meeting with Yakko-san to rock 'n' roll. Nakamura was a teen during the folk music era when rockstars had long hair, worn-out T-shirts, and bell-bottom denim. She wasn't particularly attracted to this type of fashion, so when she first saw glamorous-looking David Bowie in a magazine, she instantly fell in love with him. Her other passion was the band Carols. She passed by a poster of them, with their regent hairstyles, motorcycles, and leather jackets, on her way to her part-time job in Shinjuku and was remarkably attracted to them. After work, she ran to the record store and bought their then-just-released first single, "Louisiana." When she got home and dropped the needle on the record, the sound of rock 'n' roll took over her body, and she was utterly fascinated with the band. Soon after, she got a boyfriend who followed the regent hairstyle/leather jacket/motorcycle trend of the time.

Nakamura hated studying and wasn't interested in school clubs and activities. She'd fulfill her curiosity about the world by reading the dressmaking magazine Fukusou and admiring the avant-garde professionals that worked in it, such as the photographers (Saku Sawatari, Daitomo Yoshida, Osamu Nagahama), the illustrators (Ayumu Ohashi, Teruhiko Yumura, Yosuke Kawamura, Osamu Harada, Tamie Okumura), the models (Risa Akigawa, Brenda, Ichizo Koizumi), and the writers (Takeshi Matsuyama and Ken Sunayama).

One day, Yasuko Takahashi, aka Yakko-san, started a serialization in Fukusou. In her inaugural essay, she wrote that if she were a teen, she'd probably be chasing her rock 'n' roll dreams and dating a rocker dude her mom disapproved of. These words resonated deeply with Nakamura, who found school tiresome, yearned for an artsy and glamorous world, adored Carol and Bowie, and was dating a delinquent high school dropout who didn't earn her mother's favor. She felt seen and understood.

In her column, Yakko-san published plenty of photos of her daily life. To Nakamura's surprise, she was friends with the guys from Carol and also worked as a stylist for David Bowie. In the 17-year-old girl's eyes, she was the most incredible woman alive.

As she recounts in her second essay, her deep relationship with the Fukuso magazine team started a few months before Yakko-san's inaugural column in the October '73 issue. One day during the spring of her senior year, she felt compelled to write a letter to the magazine professing her love for it. She dreamed of being an illustrator, so she included a bunch of her doodles. To her surprise, the editorial team called her home a few months later and invited her to their office.

After school, she changed from her uniform to her favorite clothes (which included a shirt she bought from a London import shop in the basement of Central Apartments and a gingham skirt she made inspired by MiLK) and eagerly made her way to the meeting. The editors inquired about her clothing and life, and their comment, "I sensed something in you that was not Yojohan-ish," stuck with her.

To understand the context of this comment, we must go back in time to the folk music fever of the '70s, when yojohan (4 tatamis and a mat) folk was at its peak. Yojohan referred to small rooms where impoverished university students lived, often idealized in songs about young love and melancholy that dominated the charts. Nakamura was happy with the comment because, indeed, she didn't like the poor and humid vibe of said songs. She was drawn instead to dreamy pop and rock. 

The teen girl left the magazine's office that day with an invite to publish a double-spread page in the June issue, full of her illustrations and thoughts. It was quite an achievement for her.

Encouraged by this experience, she didn't hesitate to write Yakklp-san a letter. And to her astonishment, Yakko-san replied! Before she knew it, they had become penpals and engaged in lengthy phone conversations. Thus began a profound friendship between a 17-year-old high school student and a 34-year-old stylist at the pinnacle of her career.

Funnily enough, Yakko-san feared meeting Nakamura and disappointing her. To the 17-year-old, it was amusing that a grown woman who organized Japan's top designer Kansai Yamamoto's show in London Fashion Week and had the initiative to collaborate with world-famous figures such as T-Rex and David Bowie would be intimidated by her.

But, as she recounts in her third essay, they finally met. First, a quick 10-minute meeting in a Shibuya coffee shop. And then a proper encounter at the renowned Leon, where she also met other cool people she used to see in the magazines. Soon after, she became a frequent visitor to Yakko-san's small apartment in Harajuku.

Initially, she was taken aback by the apartment's minimalist and compact layout, as well as Yakko's sparse possessions. Yet, within the broader context, it made sense that a trend-savvy individual in 1973 lived this way. It was the year of the Oil Shock, the first post-war recession and frugality was in vogue. Books like "Jonathan Livingston Seagull," an anti-materialism allegory, and Alicia Bay Laurel's "Back to the Earth" became bestsellers, reflecting the shift towards a more modest lifestyle.

Amid the growing popularity of the back-to-the-land movement in the United States, minimalism and healthy living gained global momentum. It was Yakko-san who first introduced Nakamura to these ideas.

Through Yakko, Nakamura also learned about "natural food," a relatively unfamiliar concept in Japan at the time. While a foreign concept to most, natural food was all the rage in the vibrant neighborhood of Harajuku, and locals bought it from the market in the basement of the luxury Co-Op Olympia condo. Additionally, a delivery service offered pesticide-free vegetables, spearheaded by a former Leon patron who had forsaken a successful creative career to explore his passion for sustainable farming. Through these encounters, young Nakamura began to comprehend that life presented various paths, and fashion encompassed not only clothing but also a holistic lifestyle, including food and living habits.

The fourth installment focuses on Sayoko Yamaguchi, one of Japan's top models of the '70s, who had worldwide success and shared a close relationship with Yakko-san. Nakamura observed that during that era, the most prominent models were of mixed heritage (haafus), characterized by big eyes, long eyelashes, and wavy hair. Notably, Lisa Akigawa was one of the most renowned among them. In contrast, Yamaguchi stood apart with her almond-shaped eyes and black bob haircut. Her unique style served as an inspiration for many Japanese girls, fostering their self-confidence. Her signature eyeliner makeup and haircut were emulated by numerous admirers. While Yamaguchi enjoyed global fame at international fashion weeks, she became a familiar face to the Japanese public through her Shiseido commercials. She was among the numerous icons in fashion and culture closely connected to Yakko-san.

During the 1970s, Sayoko Yamaguchi was one of the faces of Shiseido cosmetics.

Another notable figure in this circle was the director Juzo Itami, whose tight relationship with Yakko-san was evident in his introduction to her first book, "Aisatsu no Nai no Nagadenwa" (Long Phone Conversation with no Greeting), published in 1976. This title offered one of the first comprehensive examinations of the "stylist" profession, which was relatively obscure in Japan then.

In the fifth essay, Nakamura writes how she found out about the profession through an article at AnAn, which briefly described a stylist as "people who lease clothes for fashion shoots, run around Harajuku with large bags, line the soles of model's shoes with duct tape, coordinate clothes, and attend shoots."

As she discovered through her work with Yakko-san, stylists do way more than that. And that was also what Itami tried to convey in the introduction to Yakko's book:

"I want to introduce my friend, Yasuko Takahashi. She is a first-class stylist. When making fashion editorials or commercials, a stylist can materialize a suitable house, the right interior design, or a place just like the one you're looking for out of thin air. At the same time, they also find props that are suitable for the location and source costumes. Depending on the situation, they will interact with the models and even advise on hair and make-up, so they must be genuinely knowledgeable. Collaborating with Yakko is, without exaggeration, a heavenly experience for me. She is a consummate professional. Once upon a time, when she couldn't find a suitable location, she wandered through town all night, shedding tears of frustration until she eventually discovered one. I mean, she's persistent. Her tenacity isn't limited to her professional life; in her case, she's unwavering in allowing her creativity to roam freely."

Yakko and Itami first met after being introduced by famed photographer Shinpei Asai, who had his office at Harajuku Central Apartments. The three of them worked together on a serialization Itami had at Shūkan Bunshun magazine in the sixties, which had Asai in charge of the photography and Takahashi doing the styling.

Takahashi was impressed by Itami's sensitivity to trends on a global scale. When she went to New York, he told her to buy a Yellow Pages-sized book, "Whole Earth Catalog," which inspired his weekly column. As covered here, "Whole Earth Catalog" was highly influential among Japanese media and creative types in the late 60s and early 70s, molding much of Japan's fashion culture.

But back to Non Nakamura's column, stylist was a novel occupation. She notes that stylists became highly sought after in the 80s, with the effects of the D.C. brand boom and the bubble economy. A diverse range of stylist roles emerged, including magazine stylists, advertising stylists, men's fashion stylists, and even specialists in props and food styling, each requiring unique skills and expertise. But back then, when Yakko-san was one of the few professionals doing this job, a stylist was in charge of everything, from the models and shooting locations to the costumes, dishes, houseplants, furniture, or anything else the shoot may need.

One day, Yakko asked Non to work as her assistant on a Noriyaki Yokosuka shoot. She promptly accepted, even though she had no idea who the photographer was. However, when she mentioned him to the boys in her design school, they were impressed and told her that he was the one who photographed Sayoko Yamaguchi's Shiseido posters, as well as doing the Parco ads. Parco, the Shibuya fashion building, had the buzziest campaigns in the country under Eiko Ishioka's art direction.

When she got to the shoot, the photographer asked her to get some poppy flowers. Faced with challenges in finding these specific flowers, Non embarked on a frantic quest, purchasing as many as she could to meet the photographer's expectations. However, to her astonishment, the photographer didn't even glance at the flowers. That's when she realized that being a stylist was a tough job.

David Bowie was the theme of two installments of the column. Yakko-san introduced him to legendary Japanese designer Kansai Yamamoto, who was behind some of his most legendary costumes, and they established a close working relationship in the 1970s. During her tenure as Yakko's assistant, Non had the opportunity to meet Bowie in a 1977 photoshoot in Harajuku. One of the photographs from that session, captured by Masayoshi Sukita, ultimately was used as the cover of Bowie's 12th studio album, "Heroes."

The cover of Bowie's 12th studio album, "Heroes," was shot in Harajuku. Yakko-san was the stylist.

She also dedicated a chapter to another one of her idols, Eikichi Yazawa, whom she met just a few weeks after Carol's farewell concert as he prepared to make his solo debut. She recounts that his charm so enchanted her that she realized she didn't actually love her boyfriend at the time, breaking up with him shortly after.

Nakamura watched Carol's final concert twice. Along with the rest of the country, she followed the telecast, aired a few days later. As she recounts, she and Yakko-san were working in Harajuku on a Saturday afternoon when the stylist took a look at her watch, said, "oh, it's starting soon," and rushed to a design office at Central Apartment that had a TV (minimalist Yakko-san didn't have one at her place).

But she also was one of the lucky few who actually were at the proper concert in Hibya Open Air, which she attended all dressed up in clothes from the trendy Creamy Soda boutique in Harajuku (the owner was notoriously close to Carol's members). Infected by the feral atmosphere, she ended up in the front row and even tried to invade the stage. She succeeded in getting her right foot in before being kicked out by the security guard. But here's a twist: the security was also a regular at Harajuku's Leon coffee shop.

In the 1970s, the hippiest motorcycling gang in Tokyo was The Cools. They were known for their cool styles, hung out with models and celebrities, and were always at Leon. Of course, like all of Japan's young bad boys, they were also big Carol fans. And they actually became close to the members. For their final show, the band wanted to mimic the Rolling Stones -- which had the Hell's Angels as security -- and they invited The Cools to escort them and guard the stage. 

After Carols disbanded, the Cools were actually hired by a major record label and became a proper rock band.

In the 1970s, Harajuku remained a hidden gem, undiscovered by the masses. Yet, this small district nestled within bustling Shibuya played an integral role in the histories of the most extraordinary individuals. As the rest of the country caught on, they sought a taste of Harajuku's uniqueness, propelling it into the phenomenon it has become today.

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. iv

→ one | two | three

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part four / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 3,118

☾iv.

Name: Sayomi Zoldyck 小夜美 | "小" is small | "夜" is night | "美" is beauty |

Hair color: White

Eye Color: Purple

Nen: Manipulator (same exact abilities as Illumi)

Abilities: Same as Illumi Zoldyck - Body Alteration, Hypnotic Spell, Corpse Control, Needle People, Katana

☾iv. part iv: the mafia(1/2)

The ambience within the car was calm, or at least a calm for the situation at hand. 

Sayomi was curious about what kind of job she was being forced into, but at the same time, she wanted to maintain her composed facade by staying quiet.

She decided to start with a subtle question. “So… who exactly are you guys anyway?”

The man seated next to her answered without an ounce of hesitation, “The mafia.”

Well, shit. So much for a subtle question.

Sayomi was thrown off by the man’s response for the first time since they’d showed up.

The mafia… what would they want with a nobody from Meteor City? 

Her parents had often spoken of the Mafia. They had a reputation of harboring no-name assassins who’d overrun the market with their skill and mass numbers. 

No names… Mother once said that the most notorious criminals hailed from the dumps in Meteor City. Because… their records didn’t exist! They couldn’t be traced, but I wasn’t born there. Do they know that?

Sayomi was on edge now, having a vague idea of what they might be planning to do with her. “What, am I gonna be one of the Mafia’s little assassins now?”

The man smirked at her quick deduction abilities. “You’re a bright one I see, Sayomi Zoldyck.” His tone had roughed up at her last name.

He knows. 

“Well, seeing that you know who I am. You should also be aware that my family would never let me work for another group, right?”

He moved in his seat, turning to face her slightly as he sensed a long conversation. “And that’s why they left you here? Because they care about you?”

She grimaced at the hard truth behind his words.

In an attempt to hide her deflating ego, she replied an icy tone, “Don’t make assumptions. You people know nothing about my family.”

The man let out a monotonous laugh. “Ms Zoldyck, I’m not trying to start a fight here. We didn’t take you to use against your family or anything of that sort. We simply came to recruit our next line of assassins...  and what a coincidence! The family we were following called one day to say they had a proposal for us, and that’s where you came in. It was just the luck of our draw that you happened to stumble upon the exact family of who would’ve been our next assassin.”

Ayame. 

The man continued, “So please, rest assured we will not attempt to harm you or notify your family of your whereabouts. That would only be bad for both of us, correct?”

Sayomi nodded in defeat. She hadn’t stopped to think about the possibilities of her captors being a group so far up the food chain.

It’s true I don’t exactly want to go back home anyway. Maybe I’ll stick around and see what happens.

Sayomi closed her eyes as she leaned up against the cool glass of the window. Her head was throbbing from the sudden onset of overwhelming information, and all she wanted now was to let herself drift off into sleep.

Noting the lack of words from the teen beside him, the man made quiet movements to revert back to his original position, opting to stare out the window as the remainder of the car ride went without another word.

Deep in her dreams, Sayomi felt an emotion she hadn’t experienced since she was abandoned. 

Happiness.

☾ iv.

Inside Sayomi’s dreams.

Sayomi looked down at herself to see she was wearing the kimono she had on the day her mother left her. There’s no way it could still fit her now, having grown almost half a foot, but there she was.

Fine, black silk ran elegantly down her shoulders, arms, and body. The silver accents shone like moonlight reflecting off of her form, while a shocking violet color made up the wrap around her waist.

“Sayomi! Get your head out of the clouds! If I beat you this time I’m taking your new daggers!”

Her head whipped up at the familiar squeaky voice. “Illumi?” she mumbled.

At the sound of his name, the boy turned back towards her, mid-run. The wide smile on his face was replaced by a frown as he noticed Sayomi’s perplexed expression.

Sayomi said nothing, however, only running towards her twin as she reached out to envelop her ever 10 year old brother in a hug.

But upon contact with Illumi, he vanished into thin air, taking the familiar scene of the courtyard away with him.

In a split second, she was back in Meteor City. 

Sayomi blinked twice before slumping down into the sickening piles of junk and filth, sobbing as the absence of her other half sparked her back into reality.

“Ms Zoldyck”, a man’s voice echoed through her dreams.

“Ms Zoldyck”, once again and she opened her eyes-

☾ iv.

Sayomi blinked several times, spotting the reflection of herself slumped against the car door in the window. 

It was much brighter now, the sun having risen far overhead while she had been asleep.

She squinted at the scenery whizzing by outside the window, sighing in defeat when she failed to recognize her new surroundings.

“Good Morning Ms Zoldyck. We have about a half an hour left to our destination.” 

Bidding a slurred ‘good morning’ to the voice in return as she stretched her limbs, a weight dropped in her chest as she remembered why she was here.

Making use of the time left before her arrival, Sayomi attempted to wake herself further as she mentally prepared for the events to come.

15 more minutes in, and the nature that made up the scenery outside began to clear as Yorknew City came into view.

Worries aside, Sayomi stared at the rapidly approaching city in awe. She had yet to have visited Yorknew City, as her parents had felt she wasn’t ready for the big jobs yet. 

But now she faced the megacity at last. She couldn’t help but feel excited at the thought of being in the bustling city of Yorknew on her own.

She was like a teenager who had snuck out to the mall while her parents were at work. 

There was something so exhilarating about going against her parents’ words, even if it was unintentional. In the back of her mind, she felt crazy for cracking a smile in the situation she was in, but the 16 year old side of her ignored it as she let herself enjoy the moment.

Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.

☾ iv.

Arriving at their destination, the three black cars pulled up in front of a luxurious hotel.

Sayomi looked up at the building in awe, her breath fogging up the glass as she gaped at the forever extending floors of the hotel.

The driver of her designated car stepped out, followed by the man on her left. 

Rounding about the back of the car, the man opened the door on Sayomi’s side, gesturing for her to exit the vehicle.

She quickly obliged, slinging her katana over her shoulder as the men from the other two cars accompanied her into the lobby.

Sayomi was once again awestruck by the interior of the hotel, everything around her seeming to scream ‘high-class’ and ‘wealthy’. It was a stark contrast to the rags she wore, having no other clothes besides the now tiny kimono she’d left back at Meteor City.

Although the mansion was without a doubt far larger and much pricier than the hotel in which she stood, Sayomi was mesmerized by the people, walking around or sitting in groups, their friendly bonds shining through the crowds.

Back at home, Sayomi’s only ‘friends’ had been Illumi and the butlers. She had yet to experience what it was like to have real friends, her parents seeing them only as a distraction to her job.

She was pulled away from her thoughts as one of the men nudged her to keep walking, the group making their way to the elevators. 

Stopping in midway through the hall in wait of an elevator, the man who had been sitting next Sayomi in the car spoke up, “Welcome to your new temporary home, Ms Zoldyck.”

Home? I get to stay in this classy hotel? 

The man broke through her thoughts once again, “As I told you before, as long as you behave and prove to be a valuable asset to us, we will treat you with the utmost respect.”

Sayomi made brief eye contact with the man, still wary of the offputting kindness they were showing her. Nevertheless, she nodded, not wanting to ruin the rare opportunity.

A loud ding signified the arrival of their elevator, and the same man accompanied Sayomi into the elevator, the rest of the members turning to head back out of the building. 

Inside the elevator, the man held two buttons down at the same time, the top two floors: 49 and 50. Sayomi tilted her head, curious of the maneuver. “Why two floors?” she asked.

The man looked over his shoulder at her, raising his eyebrows at her question.

“It’s a secret floor. For the Mafia and our hired assassins. Just above the 50th floor.”

Sayomi’s mouth formed a round O, clearly impressed by the revelation of a secret floor. Just how influential are these people? They have their own floor and everything.

The two of them waited in silence for the remainder of the time, only moving when the elevator arrived at their floor. 

Sayomi followed the man out into the hallway ahead, mindlessly reading the different room numbers as they passed her by. 5102… 5104… 5106… 5108-

“Alright Ms Zoldyck, this will be your room for the time being. Inside you’ll find a uniform along with any other supplies you’ll be needing while we’re here. I’ll come back in about half an hour to get you started on the job, so in the meantime please change into the uniform and get settled.” And with that, the man handed Sayomi a room key while explaining how the elevators were locked, meaning she couldn’t escape.

Accepting the room key, Sayomi hummed in agreement before entering her new room.

Room # 5110

Two steps into the room, her heart raced with excitement at the view in front of her. 

The room itself wasn’t the impressive part, being a small square with a bed and bathroom. It was the view from the large window in front of her that made her exclaim in delight.

Having grown up on Kukuroo mountain with only the occasional trip to the outside world, the vast city and its bustling streets made Sayomi swoon, her heart restless for a chance to explore the beautiful city.

Noticing the uniform hanging in the closet as mentioned, Sayomi made quick work to change into the fresh set of clothes, ditching her rags.

It was a classic black suit with black dress shoes, matching the clothes of the men that had accompanied her here from Meteor City. The change in outfits restricted the usual placement of her band of needles, and she opted to tuck the band into her pocket instead. 

A knock on her door interrupted the silence, as the man asked through the door if she was ready to begin the job.

She replied with a “yes”, moving to sling her katana over her shoulder as she exited the room.

☾ iv.

“When we don’t have specific targets for you, this will be your job.” the man started to say.

Sayomi stared at the walkie talkie now in her hands. 

“You’ll be staged as a bodyguard for the VIPs that visit the hotel. It’s nothing hard, just a deal we keep with the management to keep our floor up here a secret�� he continued.

She nodded in understanding. A bodyguard, huh. Maybe I’ll at least get some action this way.

“Ah, right. The walkie talkie I gave you will notify you of incoming VIP clients. All you have to do is accompany them with your assigned team to their room, where you’ll stand guard either inside or outside. 50 percent of the time the VIP will have a few assassins after them, but the other 50 percent stay and go with no problems.” He started walking back up the hall to the elevators.

Sayomi followed closely behind, asking a question once she stepped into the elevator. “For those 50 percent- the ones targeted by assassins, I mean. Is it fair game to kill their attackers?”

The man laughed out loud. “But of course, disposing of any attackers would only mean a safer client. Do as you wish as long as the VIP’s safety is ensured.”

The assassin blood that ran through Sayomi’s veins was bleeding through. It seemed her inevitable instinct to kill would always resurface, no matter how sympathetic or innocent she tried to become.

Back down at the hotel’s lobby once again, Sayomi now blended in with the numerous other bodyguards dressed in black suits. 

Sayomi’s escort pointed towards the main entrance of the hotel. “Ms Zoldyck, you’ll be stationed with Team 3 over by the fountain right outside. Introduce yourself or don’t, just stand posted until your team is dispatched through the walkie talkies.”

Before she could even respond, the man took off walking back to the elevators, leaving Sayomi to find her way to her post.

Wow, alright then.

Sneering at the man’s abrupt exit, Sayomi tied back her hair, taking a second to compose herself before walking out to the fountain to join her team.

Finding the line of bodyguards quite literally stationed in front of the fountain, the man’s instructions echoed in her head as she decided on the latter, keeping from introducing herself.

The team now had 6 members with the addition of Sayomi, and the others took a moment to size up their new member.

Sayomi did likewise, glancing down the row of suit-clad bodyguards. There were 4 men and 1 other woman, all of them looking to be around their mid-20s. 

Talk about a let down, they’re all at best D-ranked assassins.

Unimpressed at the lack of powerful auras amongst her new allies, Sayomi’s shoulders slumped as she turned to face the busy street with a lack of enthusiasm.

Figuring out a way to pass the time, Sayomi settled for analyzing the hundreds of people that walked by. She was curious about the so-called urban culture she had heard so much about from Ayame back in Meteor City.

Though Sayomi wasn’t completely detached from society, she had still spent a large portion of her life either trapped in the mansion or, recently, in Meteor City. This being, she was fascinated by the little things, such as the different types of clothing people in the city wore, or the billboards and neon signs that began to light up the streets as evening fell upon Yorknew City. 

I wonder what I’d look like if I wore a dress like that… nah but it’s probably impossible to run in anyway.

Looking down at the modest outfit she wore and back to the woman passing by wearing a rather revealing dress, she pouted. 

It must be nice to be able to enjoy the nightlife in a city like this. Maybe when i’m older-

The static sounds of her team’s walkie talkies cut through her thoughts, finally dispatching their assignment for the next few days.

“Team 3. VIP client Adachi Yuto is arriving in less than one minute. The vehicle is a black Maserati and the assigned room will be 4823. Current stay will be 3 days.” 

In unison, Sayomi and the rest of the team straightened their postures, now on alert while they awaited the VIP’s arrival.

Right on time at about a minute later, a black Maserati pulled up to the curb in front of the team. A few of the members began walking towards the car, and the rest including Sayomi followed suit.

The driver opened the door to the backseat in front of them, and a man looking to be in his early 20s stepped out, thanking the driver. 

Must be the VIP.

Her fellow bodyguards started to move almost automatically, forming a circle around the young man. Sayomi quickly found her spot in the formation, walking behind the VIPs right side as the group made their way into the hotel.

Her team seemed to be far experienced, as they walked straight to the elevators without another word or break in formation. It was a silent trip up to floor 48, the VIP remaining occupied on his phone for the entirety of the ride.

Once arriving at room 4823, one of the bodyguards finally spoke, addressing the VIP. “Mr. Yuto, would you like any of us to accompany you inside?”

The VIP politely declined, only looking up from his phone to briefly thank the team for their hard work.

With the VIP turning in for the night, the 3 day timer began for the team. They would take turns in pairs, staying posted outside the VIP’s room, the others going to get rest before switching in once again. 

One of the men volunteered to take the first shift, along with the other woman in group, leaving the rest of them to rest until their shifts came around. 

Sayomi was paired with one of the remaining men to take the next shift. He was a stocky, sturdy-looking man, most likely one of the older members of the group from the signs of age evident in his facial features. 

Agreeing to come back around to the post 15 minutes prior to their shift, the two returned to their rooms on the 51st floor.

☾ iv.

Sayomi flopped down onto her bed upon returning to her room.

Man, this job is getting boring already. 

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she decided to get some rest while she could. She had about 4 hours until the shift change, her break being in the most inconvenient time frame. 

Sayomi’s shift would be in the dead of night, from 1 am to 5 am. 

Not bothering to move underneath the blankets or even untie her hair, Sayomi fell into a deep sleep with her legs dangling off the side of the bed. Her mind and body were both exhausted from the day’s past events, and all she wanted now was to move on from what’d already occurred. 

Because the past isn’t important… right?

That’s what she chose to believe for now, but she also knew in the back of her mind that sooner or later the past would come back and find her. 

☾ iv.

to be continued.

a/n: my taglist is open!

[fluffomatic]

Hewwo, could you tell us more about Dr. Cackle, please? They look like a very interesting character!

Yooo this took forever to write out lmao. But thank u! I'm glad ur interested in them! Can't wait to draw more of them! (And eventually design their assistant whoops 😅)

Here we go! Also I looked up a template for this cause I needed a guide, if you're interested here it is!

First name: Alban

Surname: Cackle

Age: 23

Gender: Agender

Sexuality: Asexual Aromantic

Current residence: On the Tickle Island

Relationship status: Single (they care more for their research than forming a strong relationship with someone)

Physical Appearence

Height: 6'3"

Weight: 173 lbs

Eye colour: Brown

Hair colour: Blonde (they dyed it tho they're a brunette)

Personality

Likes: Tickling, science, being inside, alone time, traveling, adventure, seen as intelligent, their pet Buzzli, plants, bugs and animals

Dislikes: being seen as an idiot, arguments, large crowds, being over powered, people touching their hair, people calling them "sir", messes

Education: College Graduate

Fears: Large Crowds, Germs, Needles

Personal goals: To continue to expand the tickle island

General attitude: Reclusive and overly confident in themself. Sees themself as too powerful to overtake. If they feel like they're losing, in an argument, battle, etc, they will get angry and release one of their creations on the other.

Health

Illnesses : Diabetes Type 2

Sleeping habits: Poor, they tend to overwork themself. Sees their research as more important

Energy level: Low until they've had their coffee. Than it's average

Eating habits: Poor, again focuses too much on work and forgets to eat. Their assistant will sometimes bring them snacks if they haven't eaten in awhile

Memory: Excellent, will remember notes they took weeks ago

Any unhealthy habits: other than their poor sleeping and eating habits and the constant over working, they tend to strive for perfection and anything less than that is out of the question. They will do anything to make sure their experiments turn out perfectly, even if they have to sacrifice their body or anothers to do that.

History

Childhood: They had a fairly normal childhood, two great parents that loved them more than life. They were amazing in school and loved doing the work, sometimes they'd ask the teacher for more work cause they got bored quickly. They were tickled often as a child, their parents noticed they liked it, considering they told them, so they practically tickled Alban everyday. When they got a little older they started to tickle their parents back. They had the most relentless tickle fights.

Teen years: This is when they started questioning their gender. They felt uncomfortable being raised as a boy and they knew it wasn't who they were. They talked to their parents about how they were feeling and they started doing research right away. That's when they came out as Agender. Albans school life wasn't the best due to some bullying, being the schools "smart kid" they had a target on their back, however they took the bullying head on. Their confidence in themself overshadowed any negativity thrown their way. They're love for tickling only grew as they aged. They made a small group of friends and they dubbed Alban the "Tickle Monster". They constantly started tickle fights and they usually won. Luckily their friends were really sweet when they opened up and told them about their love for tickling. However the news somehow got around the school and that added to the bullying. They were embarrassed but kept their composure. They kept their tickling to a minimum afterwards.

Adult years: When Alban went to college for science they learned so much, too much some might say. In the end of their time at school they had figured out how to modify plants, on a small scale. Nothing crazy, but it planted a seed in their brain. After they graduated they started researching more at a small lab in their hometown. They learned more about modifying plants and even was able to modify their first bug, just a grub, they managed to modify the grubs body to be able to grow soft fur. This only heightend their interest. Their work got out and many science corporations contacted them for a higher paying job. One in particular peeked their interest. In the email they received from this place who were part of the government they offered them their own private island with a lab to do whatever they please with it, in return they must share their findings with them. They took the offer right away. When they got there they weren't sure what they were gonna do at first, but then they ran into Motherbloom. The huge flower asked why Alban was there and they told her, than asked what she was. Instead of telling them she decided to show them. That's when she pinned them down and wreaked them with tickles. After 10 minutes she let them up and Alban wanted in right away. They did some experiments on her and her flowers and discovered she held a potent "tickle pollen" they then used this pollen to start modifying the creatures on the island, not already changed by insects spreading it to themselves and other plants. At this point Alban developed kind of a "God complex". They felt they could do anything. As years went by they created the tickle forest. They don't know what the government is using their research for but they know that they want more of it, considering they're still paying them.

Relationships

Parents: Mother, Harriet Cackle/Father, Roger Cackle

Siblings: 1 brother, Billy Cackle

Friends: their assistant but barely

Others

Occupation: full time scientist at their own lab

Current home: the labs on tickle island

Favourite types of food: Spicy or Fried

Favourite types of drink: Just water, sometimes flavored

Guilty pleasures: Tickling, duh

Pet peeves: Small distracting noises like loud chewing or tapping

Pets: Buzzli the tickle bee

Talents: superior intelligence, cunning and can outsmart people easily

Favourite colours: pink

Favourite type of music: soft indie

If you have anything else specifically you wanna know go ahead and ask! :D

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance Cycle: The origins of Farthen Dur’s current veterans bar owner (semi-scrapped ficlet)

(*hacks up half completed MIC snippet hairball and wanders off* Timeline is a few years before Saphira’s egg is stolen, probably about three or four years at most.)

CONTENT WARNING: WARZONE COMBAT, COMBAT INJURIES, TRAUMATIC AMPUTATION, COMBAT AMPUTEE CHARACTER, REHABILITATION

Cracks and shots stabbed needles into unprotected ears. Bullets cut swirled, roiling lines through the smoke and dust saturated air while the clash of blades rumbled at a constant crackle. Heavy booms of dwarvish artilary and Broddring cannonbombs shook the blood soaked earth.

He couldn’t say he was at the center of it all. In fact, he was a good distance from the thick of the hand to hand combat, in a half completed, baked earth sprinkled trench. The crumbling walls had sloped in on him, partially burying what was left of his lower right leg and his shrapnel studded left. A cannonbomb impacted ten meters away, pouring more of the dirt onto his body as various warriors of both sides scrambled and yelled, running to and fro in the pitched battle.

No, he wasn’t at the center of it. Combat engineer Samuel “Coop” Cooper, 32nd Division of the Surdan ground forces, couldn’t have cared less. Because he was bleeding and screaming and writhing in that little trench, staring at the white shanks of bone that heralded the new end of his leg.

Coop cried out in renewed pain, the shudder of the ground bumping into his mangled limb. He was crying, cutting streaks through the grime on his young face down to his close cropped beard. He had been so proud of that damn beard, finally out of the awkward patchiness of his teen years, proud to finally be a true C.E. like the rest of his division. Now it didn’t even matter. He’d seen men on the battlefield in his situation. He knew that in the chaos of a full on fight that the wounded were rarely, if ever, treated early enough to grant survival.

He’d go out like his Pap. Screaming bloody murder at the Broddring dogs across the battlefield, knowing that his own battlemates couldn’t spare the time or distraction to pick him up and haul him back to the tents.

No one would ever say it was a noble death. But by the bright gods above, Coop would show the courage to face it head on.

New shots cracked overhead, a rifle not three yards from where the young man was concealed. Instead of footsteps pounding by in a dead run towards –or away, as many young recruits had gone– the thick of the battle, the steps came directly towards him. A cold hand clutched at Coop’s heart when black boots entered his field of vision, and he screamed incoherently at the owner, trying to brandish the remnants of his shattered rifle.

No bullet came for him. The figure crouched down, ignoring the whiz of projectiles whipping past.

“Looks like you’re in rough shape, kid.” Then they leapt into the trench and hunched over Coop’s prone form.

He stared.

He honestly couldn’t tell if it was a trick of his mind. He was in enough pain and had lost enough blood for that to make sense. It had to be that.

Crouched over him, thick braid dangling over her shoulder, was a woman. Her gore streaked face was strikingly pretty, even for Coop’s befuddled brain. A rifle he couldn’t identify was slung over her right shoulder, a fine sword clenched in her left hand, and pieces of an outlandish silvery blue kevlar material was strapped all over her chest.

“Hey. Hey!” He tried to focus his bleary vision on her face. Her dark eyes caught and held his gaze. “You got any wards? I need to know.”

Coop shook his head with great effort. Combat Engineers rarely got things as precious as wards.

Everything was getting very heavy….

And then the world shot back into achingly sharp clarity when the woman grabbed his mangled leg at the knee, fingers impossibly strong. He shrieked in agony, red and black spots flaring in his vision. The shrill sound drowned out the spell that the woman used, but he didn’t care because moments afterwards the pain drained away. There was a crawling, itching sensation as the blood that had been flowing from his legs coagulated and dried, forming hard, shiny scabs that were quickly covered with fine dust from the parched soil.

“H’up you go!” Suddenly the world tilted and rolled, spinning in and out of focus like a sickening rollercoaster. The next thing Coop saw, so close up so that he nearly crossed his eyes to read it, was the patch on the woman’s shoulder.

E.S.O. Elvin Spec. Ops. Edoc’sil Varden du Wyrani.

And then the world was again a blur. Not long after he felt himself being lowered onto a stretcher, the woman’s voice garbled and indistinct. As more voices layered in, Coop let himself close his eyes.

He didn’t really know what to think about the last ten minutes. He didn’t know if he was with the Surdan and Varden forces or with the Broddring Empire’s, but he didn’t hurt as much. His mind was foggy but that was okay. He just needed…needed a nap.

Sam Cooper fell asleep on the stretcher, and didn’t wake up until he was in the closest hospital, the lower half of his right shin now neatly amputated and wrapped in clean white gauze.

~~

Cooper closed his eyes, the bright white lights of the hospital room glaring through his lids. He didn’t want to get up and turn them off, but he couldn’t sleep with them on either.

It was six long, painful months after his medical discharge. Six months after he transferred from Surda’s VA hospital to the underground facility at Farthen Dur. Six months of getting used to his new prosthetic foot, six months of learning how to stand and walk again, six months of grueling physical therapy that put boot camp to shame. His whole body ached from the PT session he just completed, the stump of his leg the sorest of all. He was still building up thicker skin that would make putting his weight on it easier.

Coop groaned and dragged his hands over his eyes. He hated calling the nurses to ask for simple things like water and light switches. It felt humiliating. A twenty-two year old army man with three years of active, bloody duty on the Surdan border and the nurses still had the gall to look at him with open pity.

Maybe he could just sleep with his arm over his face….

Three sharp raps on the sign outside his hospital room startled Cooper from his thoughts. He pulled the crook of his elbow away from his eyes– and gaped at his visitor.

It was her!

The woman was leaned casually in his doorframe, stray tendrils of pitch black hair whisping over her forehead and braid again over her shoulder. Her jacket, pinned at the shoulders by the straps of a black backpack, was free from a majority of the kevlar, and hung open on her lean frame. Beneath it, a simple black shirt and a pair of mottled green cargo pants.

“Hi.” She waved slightly.

Coop opened and closed his mouth a few times. “…H-hi.”

“I figured you would have been sent here.” She raised an eyebrow. “Mind if I come in? I brought you a treat.”

“…Sure?” Slowly getting over his shock but still confused as ever, Coop pointed at the uncomfortable plastic chair against the wall. “Feel free, I guess.”

“Thanks, kid.” She dragged the chair over and sat down next to him, pulling the backpack into her lap as she did so. “Didn’t get to introduce myself before. I’m Arya.” They shook hands.

“Coop. Sam Cooper.”

“I stole some cans of fruit salad, Coop.” Arya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You want one?”

He glanced over at the tray of unappetizing hospital rations sitting on the dresser. “…Yeah. Thanks.” He accepted the can as she passed it to him, and in turn passed her one of the plastic multi utensils from his tray.

“Cheers, Coop.”

====================

Coop is/was going to be the eventual owner of Farthen Dur’s veterans bar. He’s good friends with Arya, Faolin and Glenwing, even occasionally using them as unofficial bouncers when things got rough or getting them to play music on slow nights to draw in customers.

MIC’s Glenwing is also an amputee, having lost his arm in the ambush that starts off the series, but his recovery was during the time that Eragon and Co are doing their thing and isn’t seen. I wanted to display the strength that many veterans who return from combat with missing limbs have to go through the stress and struggles that PT puts them through. A local man I am friends with lost his leg and he’s incredibly open about his experience, and it really struck a chord in me.

Alas, I never could pick this one up again. It felt too song fic like when I thought about later parts. Sam Cooper is a staple to much of my mental map of MIC though, and will always be ‘canon’ in my little corner of the IC world.

Cheers mates.

Oh right. Arya’s patch is what she, Faolin and Glen ‘homebrewed’ for their rank and division to better fit in with the Varden’s military structure. The motto translates very roughly (with some tinkering) to ‘Unconquerable Guardians of Fate’ because edgy.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #425

“evolution repressed by our backwards contest  /  breeding our torrential demise as we come to this edge”

Serious question, peanut butter or nutella? I think Nutella is a godsend, but I use peanut butter waaaaay more often. We don't even really buy Nutella because I will destroy the jar. Do you prefer baked potatoes or mashed potatoes? Baked. What is your oldest sibling’s middle name? Kathryn. I think. Do you like breadsticks? I just like bread, man. What are your favorite things to spend money on? Tattoos, uuuuugggghhhhh <3 Which would you rather have a new puppy or kitten? Neither, really. Most puppies drive me insane (even though they're cute as everliving fuck), and I don't want another cat. Mom actually talked about getting another, but I really just want my one boy. Roman would get SO jealous, anyway. I enjoy just having my baby. How old will you be on your next birthday? 26. Yikes. Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? As "the fat one," I can be sometimes. I would say though that more often than not, it's sort of whatever to me because I'm a human that has to eat. When you opened your eyes this morning, what were your first thoughts? I thought I slept way later than I actually did. What is one thing in the room you’re in that reminds you of somebody? My stuffed meerkat Rebel. Jason got it for me for my first birthday that we were together. Could you ever be friends with somebody who was homophobic? Never again. I was once able to think "agree to disagree," but sometimes by doing so, you're siding with evil by not enforcing what is more than just a belief. It should come with being a human. Also given my own sexuality, it would be a slap in the face to me. Would you ever want to be a supermodel, or date one? Hell no. I'd date one though, if they were modest about their position. Honestly, have you ever made fun of somebody so bad they cried? Wow, no. Honestly, would you rather be complimented on your looks or intelligence? Quite frankly, nowadays, my appearance. I need it. My self-confidence is so far below "shit." Have you ever purchased a pregnancy test, for yourself or otherwise? Nope. You can get one thing, anything, for free right now. What do you pick? Why? Hm. I know I talk about it a lot, but it would still probably be a 40 gallon terrarium for Venus. She needs - and deserves - it. Honestly, have you ever danced naked? NOOOOOOOO. What was the first illegal thing that you did? Did you get caught? Downloaded music. My mom eventually found out, but didn't care much. What is the home page on the computer you’re on? Google. Do you like to write poetry? I do, but I haven't done it in a while. :/ Are your ears pierced? Yes. If so, were they pierced with a piercing gun, or with a sterile needle? Piercing gun. Which, by the way, do not do. There are many more risks with a piercing gun versus a needle by a professional. Do you wear makeup regularly? I never do. Did you eat cereal for breakfast today? No. I've been on a bagel kick lately. When was the last time you tripped over something? Last night, actually. The rug in the living room was slightly turned up, and I tripped in the dark. I didn't actually fall, thankfully. Any obsessive-compulsive tendencies? I'm diagnosed with OCD. I experience more ruminations and intrusive thoughts more than obsessive behaviors, though. Who was the last person you yelled at? Probably Mom. Why did you yell at them? I don't remember. Favorite type of apple? I like pink lady apples. I really enjoy any, so long as they're crisp. Ever seen live horse racing? No. To be totally honest, I don't really like the concept of it. Motivating a horse to run by hurting it doesn't exactly seem moral... How about live greyhound racing? No. What’s one thing, besides the obvious, that you couldn’t live without? The Internet, haha. Have you ever touched a giraffe? No. What does your mom call you? Britt. What stresses you out the most in life? I really don't think I could pick a top one. There are so many. Do you play any PC games? What is your favorite? Yeah. Y'all probably know WoW is my favorite. If you were pregnant, how would you tell the father? Well, that would depend on the circumstances. Did we want a baby? Was it a bad surprise, a happy surprise? I can't answer this with just one idea. What’s the hardest level you can play on Guitar Hero? I used to be able to slam out Expert easily with only very few songs I had to play on Hard, but now it's been YEARS. I've played less than once in a blue moon, and my skill's definitely faded some. It really depends on the song. What ever happened with you and your first boyfriend? He couldn't handle my depression anymore. What’s your favorite country song? "When The Stars Go Blue" by Tim McGraw, probably. What is the worst thing a former boyfriend/girlfriend has done to you? Fail to communicate what he was feeling with me and then make a dashing break for it very, very abruptly after three and a half years. It put me past a state of shock, but trauma with how no less than obsessed I was with him. What were you for Halloween last year? I didn't dress up. :/ I wish I had the money and motivation alike to. Are you feeling guilty for something? I always will. Are you usually quiet or loud? Quiet. How many hours do you spend on the computer a day? Like... uh... all of them, oof. What is the show that you watched when you were little, and you still do? Meerkat Manor. Do your siblings text you? Not really. Do you want a small or big wedding? Small. Have you ever searched for your own house on Google Earth? Not the house I currently live in, but I have before. Who is your ex dating/talking to? I don't know. Ever kissed someone who smokes? No. Does it take a lot for someone to annoy you? Frankly, no. Do you own your own computer? This laptop, anyway. Did you ever have to share a room with one of your siblings? Yes, with my younger sister as a kid and pre-teen. What noises in the room you’re in, do you hear at the moment? I hear the video I'm watching, as well as my fan. Have you ever dated someone with longer hair than yours? Yes. What’s the biggest upcoming event for you? Nothing. Not like that's a surprise. What do you typically order from Wendy’s? Son of the Baconator. @_@ Have you ever been given a lapdance by an actual stripper? No. Those are so awkward to me. What do you love most about yourself? I don't know these days. Have you ever received a hickey from the last person you kissed? No. What are you doing right now? This survey and re-watching John Wolfe play Outlast 2. What’s bothering you right now? I'm immensely nervous about tomorrow. I have my first (and I pray the fuck to God not only) session with my new personal trainer then, and I'm terrified by how my body and my mental fortitude is going to react. Y'all have no fucking idea JUST how out of shape I am, and the muscles in my legs seem basically non-existent by now. I have to do something about my health, though, and I'm determined to make this shit work. More than determined. I know the first day is going to be hard, but I need to do this more than I can explain. What was the last thing you drank? ... What great fucking timing, I have a can of Mountain Dew, lol... That's another thing that needs to change. I've gotta stop the emotional and boredom-eating and chill the fuck out with soda. Be honest, do you like people in general? Quite frankly, no. There are plenty of people I love and think are amazing, of course, but I think I lean towards humanity being too shitty to like "in general." Do you want your tongue pierced? I miss my snake eyes. :/ That was suuuuch a cute piercing. I just had to take it out for the safety of my teeth. I kept accidentally clamping down on one of the balls when eating, and it would cause tiny fractures. Do you change your phone background a lot? No. Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something? No. Have you ever been strip searched? No. Do you have a funny last name? Does anyone make fun of it? It's not funny-sounding, no, I just think it's too manly for me to enjoy as part of my name. Ever have a drug overdose? What did you OD on exactly? Yes. Oddly enough, I don't remember what I OD'd on now... You'd think I would, given how extreme the situation was. It was some cold medicine. Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? I absolutely do. It's extremely insensitive to people like myself who legitimately suffer - and I do mean "suffer" - from the disorder. Describe your day so far in three words: Dull. Lazy. Anxious. What was the most stressful project you had so far/while in school? Probably my senior project and the presentation I had to do for it. I taught about the fallacies and misconceptions of snakes, and I made a PowerPoint and some drawings to color and crosswords for the special ed children. I was so, so very nervous, but I got through it fine and the kids seemed to enjoy it. I actually still have the recording. Choose one- Butterfinger, Milky Way, Snickers: MILKY WAY. FUCK I love those. Have you ever stepped in dog poop? UGH yes. What was the last thing you spent money on? My niece's birthday present. Have you ever slept in the same bed with the last person you kissed? Yeah. Is there a guy that knows a lot about you? I almost said "yes," but then I realized he doesn't know me at all anymore. I've changed so much, hopefully mostly for the better. He hasn't "known" me in many years. Is there someone you just can’t imagine your life without? It's terrifying to imagine my life without Mom; Sara, too. Do you prefer Starbucks coffee or small cafe coffee? I prefer no coffee. Would you ever consider getting a piercing in your septum? Nah. Do you enjoy being outdoors? If it's cool outside and I have somewhere to sit that's not the ground, yes. Do people tell you that you have an accent? Sometimes. Do you enjoy watching fireworks on the 4th of July? They're pretty, but I don't support their usage by this point in my life. They're a fire hazard, triggering to some vets with PTSD, and beyond terrifying for animals. What’re some unspeakable subjects for you? I get most heated about child molestation. You do not fucking touch a child like that. I don't even write any of my bajillion evil guys committing it in RP because I just can't stomach it. Even when my little sister (a children's social worker) is telling Mom about some stuff she sees at work, I have to not be present, 'cuz that shit isn't rare. It's nauseating. Is there anyone you would take a bullet for? A good number of people, honestly. Do you enjoy tanning? Hell no, I avoid the sun and heat at like all costs. Are you a virgin? This is going to sound weird, but I actually don't know, but I lean towards no. Who’s your celebrity crush? mARK EDWARD FISCHFUCK Did or do you get good grades in English class? I was always excellent in English. What part of your body are you self-conscious about? My stomach. But I'm self-conscious about everything else, too. Are you expected to help fix Thanksgiving dinner? No. Everyone knows I can't cook worth a damn. Have you ever lost anyone close to cancer? Truly close, no. Unless you include pets, actually. Then a few. :/ Do you personally know anyone who is transgender? Yep. When was the last time you got a shot? Earlier this year for Covid. Get your fucking vaccine, btw. :^)

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Dragon Egg (Part 1)

This is my (sort of late) entry for the @secrettunnelatla event.

Summary:  Azula’s metal music career put in jeopardy when a careless afterparty leaves her unexpectedly pregnant with Chan’s baby. Meanwhile, Zuko struggles to overcome his addiction as he works to get his own band off the ground.

Content Warnings: Language, Teen Pregnancy, Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, and Child Abuse.

It smells heavily of leather, disinfectant, and hand soap. Azula supposes that, that is a good thing. She tries not to twitch too much, but the discomfort is rather intense. More than intense, really. It is a mild, yet white hot pain. She tries to ignore the buzz of the needle and its attempts to remind her of its bite. 

“First time?” Seicho asks. 

Azula nods. 

“You’re telling me that you can get a pair of snake bites, a brow piercing, and stretch your earlobes, but this is too much?”

Azula resists another flinch. “Piercings are quicker. The needle goes in…” she winces, “and then it comes out and it’s over.”

Seicho withdraws the tattoo gun for a shrug, “there’s no art to piercings.”

“Tell that to Mai.” 

“She’s your bandmate, right?”

Azula shakes her head. “My brother’s girlfriend. She’s in his band.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I have my own band. We have a better sound and better lyrics.” She grips the edge edge of her chair. This time speaking ill of Zuko’s band isn’t a distraction enough. She isn’t sure why this is so hard for her. Chan and Ruon had gotten their ink without a hitch, and Ruon is a crybaby on a good day. 

“Do you need a break?” The artist asks, withdrawing her tattoo gun. The hideous red, plastic cup that she wears as a necklace charm, bobs with the motion. Azula grits her teeth and shakes her head. If Ruon could get it done in one go then she can manage as well. By the end of it she will have a blue and gold scaled dragon curling around her arm and outlined with blue flame and lightning. And if she can manage it, twin dragonflies will shimmer on both of her shoulder blades. 

The buzzing resumes and the pricking returns. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt so much as it does sting. And sometimes the stinging subsides for something more like a painful pressure. “Try to relax, it hurts more if you’re tense.” Seicho says. 

“This isn’t exactly relaxing.” Azula frowns. The woman has finally finished the outline of the dragon. “And this chair isn’t comfortable either.” She may as well add that she is thirsty and hungry for good measure. 

Seicho laughs, “I’ve had criers and fainters and a few boasting badasses, but I’ve never had a complainer.” 

Azula frowns. 

“If you want you can move to the bed.” She gestures to what looks like a dentist’s chair. “It has more padding and it’ll give your back a rest.”

“Alright.” While she is up she steals a drink from her water bottle. She tries to make herself as comfortable as possible on the bed. She hears the buzz of another tattoo gun on the other side of the parlor before Seicho’s comes to join it. Azula braces herself for more stinging. 

“So what kind of music do you play?”

“Disco pop.” She answers flatly. Sehicho has to draw back and wait for her laughter to pass. “We play metalcore. But Chan and Ruon want to experiment with…” it takes all of her soul not to shudder, “surfer rock.” Granted she can respect it as a genre, it isn’t terrible and it would suit the two of them well. But she can’t see herself providing vocals for surf rock and she doesn’t quite fit the aesthetic. At least she has Zirin to back her up on that, and so the band is perfectly divided like that. 

“That could be interesting.” Seicho comments. 

“Does anything about me indicate that surf rock is a good fit for my talents?”

.oOo.

Seicho looks her client up and down. Azula is an attractive girl, that’s for sure, it is more than a pleasure sitting in her chair--the girl has a reputation for being very particular and picky. 

She  studies her for a moment longer; small and slender  with the slightest muscle definition. Her eyes glitter with thick black eyeliner, shot with a line of neon blue. It’s elegantly dramatic against a soft helping of black eyeshadow. Her piercings glint silver in the light when she turns to watch Seicho work. She notices a septum ring as well. Her hair is styled with a neat undercut, someone has artfully worked fiery patterns into the shaved part. 

“That’s fair.” Seicho comments at last. She isn’t sure that she should make any other comments on the girl’s appearance, lest she makes a blabbering fool of herself. She supposes that she has a weak spot for piercings and sideshaves. “I don’t think that I caught your band’s name.” 

“Blue Talon.” She gestures to the outline of her dragon. She had specifically instructed Seicho to put emphasis on it’s inky talon. 

“I’ll have to listen to some of your music.”

Azula nods. “Give yourself a taste of culture.” 

She fixes her gaze on the screen of her phone. Seicho catches the name ‘Chan’ at the top of the screen and the words, ‘still up for tonight?’ Seicho brings  her focus back to the tattoo and resumes her work. 

It is an underappreciated art, she thinks. A misunderstood one. She doesn’t think that people understand just how brave one needs to be to decorate a person’s body.  Doesn’t think that they see the value in what she does. 

Her art has a weight to it, one that her canvases will carry with them forever. Her art comes with a story and her parchment is flesh. Some tales are as simple as a reminder of one impulse decision (perhaps good, perhaps bad) at the end of a wild night, the story of reckless youth and a fun time. While other stories are so deeply personal that even she doesn’t know the meaning behind the picture she has brought to life on the flesh. 

The elegance of dragging needles over skin in careful curves and sturdy lines is an art in itself. It takes a steady and loving hand to guide the needle in exactly the right ways. Calligraphy is renowned and loved, it is classy. Seicho doesn’t think that her job is much different than than. 

They say that it is a rough and reckless job. They can’t seem to grasp what tedious work it is. The special sort of carefulness that goes into laying ink onto skin. She supposes that they have taken and ran with stories of shady, cheap shops with unsterilized needles and infected basement tattoos done by best friends.  

She draws back for a moment to dab some excess ink from Azula’s skin.  “How are you feeling?” She checks in. Her client gives her a simple thumbs up. With it, Seicho continues. The tattoo begins to come to life now, with an enticing shade of deep blue. She takes care to keep it from marring the golden outline of the scales. 

As she carefully fills the scales with blue, she finds herself pondering how lovely it would be to have her artwork on the art of someone who has made it big. She hopes that Blue Talon will go far.

Occupied by her phone, Azula seems to be content for the time being. It would seem that the girl isn’t particularly interested in anymore conversation and she doesn’t try to force her into one. They don’t speak again until the final dragonfly has been inked on to the girl’s shoulder. Seicho flicks the tattoo gun off and sets it aside. “I can take a few pictures of the dragonflies for you so you can see them.” 

Azula nods, paying only half attention as she inspects the dragon that now curls around her bicep. “It’s good work.” She says at last. 

“Thank you.” Seicho smiles. She holds up her phone and the girl glances over it. “Hey!” She shouts as she snatches the phone from her hand. She watches Azula pull up her contacts list and add herself to it. 

“We will be in touch.” She presses the phone back into Seicho’s palm. 

She never would have thought that it would be so easy to get a rockstar’s phone number. Albeit, this particular rockstar seems to lack either impulse control or social graces. She is inclined to go with the latter.

“Feel free to give me a call if you think that the ink might be infected. Just follow the instructions,” she gestures to the aftercare package, “and that shouldn’t be an issue.” 

“Don’t wait by the phone.” Azula inspects her nails. “I have impeccable hygiene.” 

Seicho damn near laughs. She has only exchanged a few words with the girl and she has already left quite an impression. Aesthetic aside and phone incident, she is strangely well-mannered, prim and proper. She isn’t exactly the sort Seicho is used to having in her chair. 

She gives  her hair a flick, revealing a golden ring bearing the Kasai family emblem. Were it not for that, Seicho would have never guessed that she was the daughter of Fire Lord Ozai. Thee Fire Lord Ozai, vocalist and guitarist of Fire’s Reign. 

She doesn’t get the chance to request an autograph or a chance to meet her idol. She hears the shop bell rattle as the rock legend’s daughter shuts the door behind her and makes her way back to her car.  

Seicho hopes that her hard work will serve the girl well. 

[tsarisfanfiction]

Grounded pt4

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

7k words later and this thing that was supposed to be a short explanation for what I saw as a plot hole in Venom is finally at an end. Got rather out of hand but since when is that unusual with fics? This’ll be proof read, edited, and then posted on AO3/FFN soon; I’m still undecided if I should chapter split it or have it all as a oneshot but it won’t be exactly as it’s been split here because I’ve posted this as I wrote it.

Someone mentioned ‘what if the ep was really like this’ so I’ll reiterate some of my earlier notes: this fic is a reaction to the lack of TB1 or Scott doing any sort of piloting in the S3 Venom despite it being a rescue where speed was important.  All the events in part 2 fit around the events we see in the episode seamlessly (I literally watched it in 5 sec bursts as I was writing to make sure of that), so to them and everyone else who thought that: this fic is designed to be that episode, just viewed through a different lens.  And then I made it worse after the episode was over because why not.

The reaction to this has been fantastic so far, way beyond anything I expected!  Thanks for that, and I hope you enjoy this last installment as much as the rest of it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

There was a steady beeping, calm and methodical.  Beep… beep… beep… it went, more of a reassurance than an irritant to the dregs of his consciousness.  Scott recognised it, but couldn’t place it, and found himself more interested in the fresh air flowing around his mouth and nose.  That was more immediately familiar, a constant from his last bout of consciousness, and it didn’t take his stirring brain long to label it as a rebreather.

Was that really necessary? Frowning slightly, he lifted a hand to his face and tugged the machine away, fresh air replaced with warmer air that had just the faintest tang.  The air of the sea.  He’d been on Thunderbird Two, but Thunderbird Two’s air didn’t taste of warmth and salt, rather the recycled air of an enclosed plane in flight, crisp and just a little bit off.  If this wasn’t Thunderbird Two and he was tasting sea air, there was only one place he could possibly be.

He smiled, hand still holding the rebreather falling to his side limply.  He was home.

Opening his eyes was a little more of a challenge, eyelids still heavy and eyelashes catching on each other, but as he blinked his way into awareness, beads of moisture forming in the corners of his eyes but not falling, he realised that he was almost sitting upright, the bed raised to its full extent so he was facing the wall with its fake holographic window rather than the plain and boring ceiling.

Scott appreciated that, letting the rebreather fall from his fingers as he wiped the sleep and moisture from his eyes.  He’d spent far too many hours staring at the ceiling that never changed, and at least the hologram could change.  The actual reasoning behind his positioning was more likely his rib, which Scott would worry about later.  It wasn’t his rib that had tried to kill him, and he looked down at his left arm.

A neat band-aid – a childish one, decorated with bright red biplanes soaring across a blue background that he’d always fought for as a kid – stood out against his bare skin, just below the elbow, and he smiled, wondering which of his brothers was responsible for that one.  On that same forearm he also saw a cannula, attached to tubing with translucent liquid passing through, and grimaced.  He never liked being on a drip.

He was no longer in his uniform.  Part of him – the part that contained his pride – bristled at that, wondering who had stripped him while he was unconscious and why, but the clothes he was wearing were comfortable, well-worn, and unmistakable as his favourite pyjamas even without him looking at them.  His comfort-pyjamas, although he was fairly certain he’d never made the mistake of letting that slip to anyone.  The ones he turned to whenever things got particularly rough, a plain unassuming dark grey with worn patches from the times he’d needed all the support he could get.

It could just be a coincidence, although Scott was uncomfortably aware that if there was one person he couldn’t keep anything truly secret from it was John, but whatever the reason, he was glad of them now.  There was nothing like comfort clothes after a near-death experience.

Considering he’d just had a near-death experience, the lack of anyone in the room with him was somewhat unusual.  Virgil in particular he’d expected to see, his younger brother blaming himself for bringing him out on the mission even before he’d been bitten, let alone afterwards. Kayo hovering unassumedly in the corner, sharp eyes full of concern.  John flickering by his side, watching him for the slightest change. Grandma, retired from caring for strangers but never too old to stay up all night with her family.

Scott eyed the drip. If none of his family were with him, physically or virtually, then that meant something else was going on that trumped his condition.  In their family, there was very little that trumped an unconscious brother or grandson. And if they weren’t with him, he had no intentions of staying put.

He’d removed drips hundreds of times – his own and other peoples’.  By this point, he had it down to an art, even if his sneaky family had tried to make it harder on him by putting it in his dominant arm; there were benefits to being ambidextrous.  He reached across with his right hand, fingers gently probing the needle, and had just found the sweet spot when there was the unmistakable hsss of the door sliding open.

“What do you think you’re doing, young man?” Grandma demanded, striding in and gently but firmly forcing him to release his grip.  “That’s there for a reason.”

“Hey, Grandma,” he greeted, grinning at her and ignoring that she’d just caught him trying to escape. “How long was I asleep?”

“Your siblings brought you back four and a half hours ago,” she told him, picking up the discarded rebreather and placing it on the bedside table before perching on the bed.  Scott watched her carefully, accepting the hand cupping his cheek as a thumb swiped at what was presumably some sleep he’d missed.  “Trust you to wake up the one time I have to use the toilet.  This old bladder can’t hold it in like it used to.”

Scott grimaced good-naturedly at the tmi and she chuckled at him, patting his cheek lightly twice before letting her hand rest.

“You gave us all a scare there, Scott,” she said softly, eyes running over him once before meeting his own.  “You don’t have to try and beat Gordon on that score, you know.  It’s okay to let someone else have that crown.”

“I’d appreciate it if he never gave me another scare in my life,” Scott admitted, before glancing around the room again.  “Where are they, anyway?  Not to sound self-centred, but I don’t usually wake up here alone.”

“Alan and Kayo are dealing with a stalled freighter just outside of orbit and Gordon and Virgil are responding to a sinking cargo ship,” Grandma told him.  “They’ll all be back soon, and delighted to know you’ve decided to re-join the land of the living.”  She tangled her fingers with his, pressing them to her chest with a hand that was almost trembling.  “It was a close call, Scott.  Your brother almost didn’t make it in time.”

His brother? Virgil?  John?  John had had a plan, he remembered that much, although he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the details.  Wait…

“I heard Thunderbird One,” he said, recalling the roar that had soothed him to sleep like a purr.  It could have been a figment of his imagination, but he didn’t think so.  A smile spread across his grandmother’s face.

“Of course you did,” she laughed.  “You boys and your machines.  Well on your way to see your mother and you still recognised your ‘bird.”  The smile was bright for a moment before it dimmed again. “Alan flew all the way to a lab in China to collect a dose of the antivenom before rendezvousing with Thunderbird Two to deliver it.  I’ve never seen that ‘bird fly so fast without you in the hotseat.”

Alan.  Scott could well imagine his youngest brother, face screwed up in concentration and fear, sat in the pilot’s seat.  The idea tied a knot in his chest, but at the same time there was pride, and an unexpected thankfulness for the rib injury that had kept him grounded and subsequently given Alan more flight hours in his ‘bird. Without that…

Without that, he might well have died.  The realisation doused him like cold water, his eyes leaving his grandmother’s to stare blindly at his lap.  He’d known he was dying, remembered a desperate fight against whispered promises of the stars and seeing his Mom again, but sitting in the infirmary, home and safe, it carried a different weight.

“Oh, Scott,” Grandma whispered, releasing his hand and cheek only to draw him in to a careful hug around his shoulders.  “It’s okay. It’s over.”  After a moment his hands found the back of her always there purple onesie, fisting around the fabric as his head rested in the crook of her neck.  “It’s okay.”

There was the slightest of cracks in her voice, a reminder that no matter how much steel she was made of, she wasn’t immune to the idea of loss.  Her parents, long ago, before Scott’s memories began.  Her husband, daughter in law.  Her son, who might still be alive and waiting for them.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, as much for her benefit as his.  “I’m okay.”

Her hand found the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair softly as though he was a young boy woken from a nightmare again.  It was the sort of treatment she didn’t give him in front of his brothers, knowing that he preferred to keep up the illusion of strength in front of them, no matter what.

“I want you to take it easy,” she told him after a minute or so, releasing him and instead gripping his hands in hers.  One pair was trembling, but he didn’t know if it was his or hers.  “I know that’s not in your vocabulary, but I refuse to let you throw yourself back in harms’ way until you’re fully recovered after what happened today.”

“But-” Scott protested, complaints and reasons why he shouldn’t be bedbound queuing up one after the other on the tongue.  A single look from his grandmother quelled them all before he could vocalise any.

“If you can’t do it for the sake of your own recovery,” she said, something in her voice implying that she thought he should treat himself better – he treated himself fine! – “then do it for our peace of mind, Scott.  We were all terrified when we heard what happened. Virgil was stuck watching you slip away with no way of stopping it.  That fear doesn’t magically go away, Scott.  We all know that.”

He was saved from answering by the swish of the door opening again.  He glanced over, wondering who it could be when he hadn’t heard any Thunderbirds come in to land.  Brains and the Mechanic were the only others on the island, and while it wasn’t unusual for Brains to check up on the infirmary, Scott didn’t want the Mechanic near him in his current condition.

It wasn’t the Mechanic. It wasn’t Brains, either – or MAX, for that matter.

“h’Oh, you’re h’awake!” Parker said with a surprised but delighted grin as he fumbled his way into the room carrying a tray laden with food.  “h’I was just bringing food for Mrs Tracy…” he trailed off, but continued to approach the bed.

“Parker, you shouldn’t have,” Grandma smiled, releasing one of Scott’s hands to move the rebreather off of the bedside table.  The older man set the tray down before stepping up to Scott’s side.  He didn’t reach for him, keeping his hands loosely behind his back, but sharp blue eyes raked him up and down.

“’Ow are you feeling?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m fine,” Scott replied, ignoring the eye roll from his grandmother, who clearly didn’t agree with his assessment.  Aside from some token weariness, which he knew was normal after a spell of time unconscious, he really did feel perfectly fine.  Even his rib wasn’t bothering him.

“h’I suppose that’s because you’re h’on the good stuff,” Parker shrugged, making Scott pause.  He should have realised that, especially after all the trouble his ribs had given him on the mission.  The temptation was there to ask how badly his recovery had been set back, but that would have just given Grandma even more ammunition to stay in bed. Besides, he’d be told eventually. Of more immediate interest was Parker’s unexpected visit.

“What brings you to the island, Parker?” he asked, glancing around the room again.  “I don’t see Lady Penelope around?”

“M’Lady’s in the lounge,” Parker told him.  “We came ‘ere to drop off the Centurion-21 fuel for Brains, but ‘eard h’about you and M’Lady requested to stay h’a while.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Grandma reminded him, and Scott smiled in agreement.  “Is she making any progress?”

“h’I couldn’t say for sure,” Parker shrugged.  “But I know M’Lady and Master John won’t stop h’until they get their way.”

Scott frowned.  Combined, John and Lady Penelope were an almost unstoppable force, but he couldn’t think of any reason for that tag-team, not right now.

“What are they doing?” he asked, because anything that big, he needed to know about.  Especially if working on that was a higher priority for John than checking in on him – John, the brother who was too used to sitting out of the loop and firmly inserted himself virtually into any situation with a brother operating at less than one hundred percent.  Scott knew he wasn’t at one hundred percent, not even by his own standards.

“Making sure today’s events never happen again,” Grandma answered, curling her hand back around his again.

Today’s events. The rescue?  Him being bitten?  That was all bad luck, how could they possibly ensure it never happened again? Although, he supposed, if anyone could, it would be the duo currently working on it.

His confusion must have shown on his face, because Parker took it upon himself to explain.  “h’It transpires that the reason the ‘ospital ran h’out of h’antivenom was a funding problem,” he said, sounding somewhat unimpressed.  Scott didn’t blame him – whenever money was the problem, he found himself wanting to strangle whoever had decided lining their pockets was more important than human lives. “M’Lady h’is setting up a charity to make sure all ‘ospitals can ‘ave all the h’antivenoms they need.”  Admirable and welcome, but that didn’t explain John’s involvement.  He certainly hadn’t been needed in any of her past charity ventures.

“So what’s John doing?” he asked, hoping his brother was not ruining whoever had decided money was more important than lives.  It wouldn’t be the first time, and while Scott agreed that they deserved it, sometimes John could go a little too far.

“Arranging for International Rescue to have our own stock of all known antivenoms,” Grandma told him, squeezing his hands gently.  “We might not be able to stop spiders sneaking into our Thunderbirds, or you boys throwing yourselves in front of each other, but there is no reason why you should have had to suffer for an hour because you didn’t have the right antivenom on hand.”

That made sense, and Scott nodded his approval.  International Rescue did have a stock of common antivenoms, as well as everything they needed to deal with the local fauna on Tracy Island, but if they could broaden that, at least to the most dangerous venoms, it would only be a good thing.

It was also a typical John reaction – finding out why something had gone wrong and immediately finding a way to stop it happening again.  That, at least, told Scott that John was okay.  If he’d found a solution to the problem then he would be satisfied. No doubt Scott would find himself under close holographic scrutiny in the near future so John could see for himself that he really was fine, but with a solution the what-ifs wouldn’t be playing on his mind.

His other siblings would be less easily pacified.  He had no idea what Gordon knew, having not seen his water-loving brother at all that day thanks to a fishing trawler in trouble, but Virgil and Kayo would be kicking themselves black and blue, and Alan would be stuck in the what if I’d been too late loop.  Scott knew that feeling very well indeed.

He hadn’t yet decided if the fact that it had launched rather than exploded made the fact that he’d reached the Zero-X too late better or worse.  He wasn’t sure he’d ever decide.

“Still, I think we’d better let them know you’ve woken up,” Grandma said, releasing his hands.  “I won’t be long, so don’t even think about getting out of that bed, young man.”  She shared a look with Parker.  “If you’re hungry, see if you can eat some of that food Parker’s brought in.”  A gentle hand touched his cheek lightly before she stood up and left the room.

One look at Parker told him he wasn’t going to be going anywhere, especially when the man perched on the section of bed Grandma had just vacated.  Parker was the one he’d learnt many of his escaping tricks from – if there was one person that would see through them all, it was the butler.

“h’I wouldn’t be in too much of a ‘urry to h’escape, Master Scott,” the older man said, and Scott found himself relaxing back against the bed.  Master Scott.  It was his favourite of Parker’s ways of referring to him, but also the rarest.  He’d graduated to ‘Mr Scott’ after the Zero-X, the man’s acknowledgement that he was now the head of the family without using the dreaded Mr Tracy.  Parker never called him that, not even in public when the rest of the world insisted. Sir was a substitute when society demanded, and Scott always appreciated that.

Master Scott only came out when Parker was being fussy, and never with an audience.  Just like Grandma, he knew and accepted there was a front to be held in front of younger siblings – even if neither of them approved.  If he was Master Scott, he wasn’t expected to make any decisions or take on any of his father’s responsibilities.

“Some food?” the butler asked, gesturing to the tray.  It was homemade, but not by Grandma, and Scott would have to be far worse off to even consider declining that.  In answer, he reached for the toast, only for Parker to lightly touch his wrist and stop him. “You’ll get crumbs h’everywhere if you h’eat like that,” the older man scolded lightly.  “Stay still, there’s a good lad.”

The tray was relocated to his lap, and Scott tore into the offering as soon as Parker retracted his hands, to an amused chuckle from his companion.

“h’It’s not going anywhere, Master Scott,” Parker reminded him.

“He’s just trying to finish it before the others get home and want to share,” John commented, and Scott’s head jerked up to see his brother’s hologram materialise alongside him. He looked tired, not that that was an unusual occurrence over the past few weeks.  “You’re looking better, Scott.”

“I can’t imagine that’s hard,” he managed through a mouthful of food.  The last time he’d been aware of John’s presence, he’d been deep in the clutches of deadly venom.  If he’d looked half as had as he’d felt, it would have been an awful sight.  “How’s the campaign going?”

John pulled a face.  “They’re asking for money, which by itself isn’t a problem because I expected that, but they’re trying to charge us triple what they charge hospitals, and as Lady P’s working to get those rates reduced because they’re extortionate, I’m not letting them use our lives to line their pockets.”

Scott grimaced along with him.  Money grabbers were the worst.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked, because there was no way John was letting that slide.

“Persuading them that it’s better in their interest long-term to not try and bankrupt us,” John offered, a bemused look on his face.  “We could afford it, but if they think that they’ll be driving the prices up with every new shipment.  More realistically, I’m talking to Colonel Casey to see if the GDF can’t pull some weight. As they’re military and not private, the companies couldn’t charge them as much.  It would leave us needing the GDF’s good will for access, but we already know the GDF don’t dare put us out of business.”

It was Scott’s turn to pull a face.  He hated getting the GDF involved in anything; for as long as Colonel Casey was a dominant figure in the organisation International Rescue wouldn’t have any issues, but in the longer term he was brutally aware that she was their father’s generation.  At some point, she would be forced to retire and then they’d – he’d – have to handle the full force of the GDF without inside help.

Still, he trusted John and Colonel Casey.  Anything they implemented would be beneficial to International Rescue.

“Let me know what you come up with,” he requested, and John nodded, turquoise eyes briefly scanning across him.

“Alan and Kayo will be returning home in five minutes,” he told him.  “Do you want me to tell them you’re awake or let them find out for themselves when they check in?”

“Tell them once they’ve landed,” Scott decided.  “Virgil and Gordon, too – what’s their ETA?”

“They’re racing Thunderbird Three home,” John shrugged.  “But Thunderbird Three will win.”  Scott chuckled.  Alan somehow always won their races home, no matter how much further away he’d been.

“What are they betting this time?” he asked, and John grinned.

“Loser gets to be your slave for the week,” he said.

“Mine?”

“Well you’re not doing much on your own any time soon,” John told him matter-of-factly.  “Has Grandma given you the rundown?”  Scott blinked, pausing mid-bite.

“I thought I was supposed to be walking around with the ribs,” he ventured tentatively.  “But no, I haven’t been told what the damage is yet. Care to fill me in?”

John glanced away at something Scott couldn’t see.

“Your rib re-broke,” he started bluntly.  “Which I’m sure you’ve realised.  So that’s another six weeks grounded, and this time no-one’s sneaking you onto a Thunderbird before that’s up.”

“Six weeks?” Scott groaned.  John raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Well what did you expect?” he asked.  “Kayo filled us in on the mission details once you were stable.  You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“But-” Scott protested. “What about the mission to find Dad?” John shook his head.

“The new Zero-X will take longer that to construct,” he told him.  “Brains and the Mechanic finished the T-Drive while you were out in Brazil and we’ve got the fuel, so they’re going to test fire it tomorrow to make sure it’s all working before they start on the craft itself.”

“Tomorrow?” Scott asked. “If it’s ready why not today?”

“Even engineers need breaks sometimes, Scott,” John scolded lightly.  “They’ve been working almost non-stop for the past five weeks, which I know you know.”  There was a slightly accusatory tone at the end of his sentence, and Scott realised John knew how closely he’d started watching the two engineers.  “Besides, Grandma and Virgil won’t let you out of that bed for at least twenty four hours, and we all know you won’t be happy unless you see it for yourself.”

Well, they weren’t wrong.

“You still haven’t told me why I’m getting a slave for a week over a broken rib,” Scott realised, and John once again raised an eyebrow at him.

“You haven’t tried to get out of bed yet?”

“Don’t h’encourage ‘im, Master John,” Parker groaned.  “Mrs Tracy ‘ad to stop ‘im h’earlier and ‘e ‘asn’t ‘ad h’a chance since.”

“It was an hour before the antivenom reached you, Scott.  The damage doesn’t get miraculously fixed just because the venom’s gone,” John continued.  “Your blood pressure is still low so I’d wager you’ll probably pass out if you try to stand right now, no matter how ‘fine’ you feel, and we don’t yet know for sure if it’s done any damage to your heart.”

“My heart?”  The soft background beeping caught Scott’s attention and he turned his head to the EKG.  It was on, signalling that it was receiving data from wireless transmitters.  He put a hand to his chest; underneath the pyjamas he felt the tell-tale patches, leaving him with no doubt that it was his own heartbeat it was recording.  “Oh.” That was low.  Not dramatically so, but lower than his normal resting rate.

“It’s recovered reasonably well, but Grandma and Virgil still aren’t happy with it,” John told him. From his tone, it wasn’t only the family medics unhappy.  “I know you don’t like staying in bed, but unless you want to fall over and make your ribs worse, I would suggest you stay put.”

Scott scowled.

“You’re also recovering from dehydration, so drink up and leave that drip in,” Grandma added, walking back in with a large cup, complete with straw.  “I see there’s nothing wrong with your appetite,” she observed. Parker obligingly removed the now-empty tray away from Scott’s lap and stood so that she could sit back on the side of the bed.  “Drink.”

Obediently, he took the cup with both hands and sipped at the liquid, which revealed itself to be simply water.  A dull rumbling even through the soundproofing of the infirmary told him Thunderbird Three was back.  John confirmed that before signing off to talk to their returning siblings.

Scott made a note of the time, wondering how long it would take before he had visitors.

Three minutes later and the door slammed open to find Kayo and Alan shoulder-to-shoulder, clearly racing each other.

“No running in the house!” Grandma barked, but neither of them looked the least apologetic.  They did at least walk the distance from the door to his bed, where Grandma had slipped off to let them get closer.  Both stopped short, Alan fidgeting from foot to foot at he stared at him with open relief, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“Come here,” he told his youngest brother, spreading his arms in demand of a hug.  As always, Alan needed no further invitation, crashing into him and wrapping his arms around him tightly, although it didn’t miss Scott’s attention that it wasn’t Alan’s usual rib-squeezing hug.  He appreciated that, curling his own arms around his brother’s shoulders.

Alan was trembling.  “I thought I was going to lose you,” he mumbled into Scott’s neck.  “I thought-”

“I’m still here, kid,” he interrupted quietly.  “And I hear I have you to thank for that.”  The sniffle he got in response told him it was Alan, the baby brother, rather than Alan the emergency responder he was dealing with.  “You did good.”

“I thought I was too late,” Alan mumbled, and there were tears against Scott’s skin.  He tightened his grip on his brother.  “You looked d-dead.  I d-didn’t think you were breathing.”

“I’m here and breathing,” Scott reminded him, letting him sob on his shoulder as long as he needed, rubbing the neoprene – both siblings were still in uniform – underneath his hand reassuringly.  He remembered the same reaction after EOS had first made herself known to them, only that time it had been John Alan had clung to in tears, post-adrenaline rush. They needed to stop putting their lives in Alan’s hands like that.

But Alan would settle, barring the new nightmare fuel that never went away, once he’d let out the initial emotions.  It was either a blessing of youth, or a coping strategy he’d been forced to employ too young. Kayo, who was watching with unguarded relief across her face, was like John; pragmatic and level-headed.  A serious conversation would settle her, although when she met his eyes, he linked his hands together behind Alan’s back and made them flutter, shooting her a quick grin.

The resulting glower she sent him didn’t hide the softening in her eyes, or the way her shoulders slumped. Satisfied for the moment, he returned his attention to his youngest brother, who seemed content to stay where he was.  Scott let him, nodding at Parker when the older man gestured that he was going to leave the room.

No sooner was Parker gone than Gordon burst through the door, Virgil hot on his heels.

“Scott!”  Gordon skidded to a stop just behind Alan, reaching out to put a hand on Scott’s shoulder where he could.  “Don’t do that again,” he demanded, amber eyes flicking to the EKG for a split second before he found some space to perch on the bed behind Alan.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Scott shot back.  Gordon grinned.

“I won’t if you don’t,” he said.  “Deal?”

“Deal.”

They couldn’t really promise that, not in their profession, but Scott saw something lift behind Gordon’s eyes, the banter regardless doing something to reassure him.  Gordon had always used humour to cope.

Four siblings down, or at least addressed, and one to go.  Somehow, Scott didn’t think a hug or joke would work quite so well on Virgil. Guilt was deep-set in brown eyes, but Virgil didn’t look at him directly, focusing on the EKG and drip as he bustled around.

“Virgil,” he said, pulling one hand away from Alan to catch his brother’s arm the moment Virgil got in reach. It was the arm with the needle in it, bright band aid stark against his skin.  Virgil’s eyes focussed on it and Scott sighed, tightening his grip on the neoprene beneath his fingers.  “Look at me.” He couldn’t do much, not while Alan was still clinging to him, but hell if he was going to let Virgil shut himself away and stew in a self-inflicted puddle of misplaced guilt.

Virgil stilled, but didn’t obey.  Scott closed his eyes and sighed again, squeezing Alan lightly.  The blond snuffled but didn’t otherwise move.

“Virgil.”  That was John’s voice, his final brother reappearing holographically at the foot of Scott’s bed.  The middle brother ignored him, too.

“Kid, your brother’s talking to you,” Grandma chipped in.  “At least have the manners to look at him.”  Despite the words, there was no scolding in her tone, just a quiet encouragement.  Virgil glanced up at her, and a look passed between them that Scott couldn’t see before Virgil slowly turned to face him.

“Thank you,” he said before Virgil could apologise, or say something else nonsensical.  Whatever his brother had been gearing up for, it clearly wasn’t that; he blinked, startled, before opening his mouth to probably-protest. “I know it was Alan that got the antivenom, but you’re the one that kept me alive long enough to get it.”

“I’m the reason you needed it in the first place!” Virgil snapped, looking away again.  “If I’d paid more attention… if I-”

“If nothing,” Scott interrupted, conscious that they had an audience but unable to ask anyone to leave.  He wanted his family there, with him, and knew they were all busy reassuring themselves that he was going to be fine.  “You’d have done the same thing if our positions were reversed, except I’m not as good as you with all the medical stuff.”

“You’d have done enough,” Virgil mumbled, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“And you did enough,” he returned.  “No what-ifs, Virgil.”  Hell knew he’d told himself that enough through the years, with varying levels of success.

Virgil at least met his eyes again, even though Scott could see it wasn’t enough to lift the guilt. That would take much longer, including him making a full recovery and a conversation without the rest of the family listening in, intentionally or not.

“You’re staying in that bed,” he said instead, and Scott made a grumbling noise of protest.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied.  “I can’t say I’m happy about it, but John made quite the compelling argument.”

“Does this mean you’ll listen to me for once?” John asked disbelievingly, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean, for once?” Scott asked.  “I listen to you!”

“When it suits you,” John rebuked.  “I have a list, if you’d care to hear it.”

Scott wouldn’t put it past John to actually have a list.  He turned his attention back to his other brothers without responding, to an amused noise from the space monitor, and gave Alan a grin as the youngest finally pulled back from his shoulder, eyeing him with teary blue eyes.

“I’ll sit on you if you try and get up,” the youngest told him firmly, look somewhat ruined by those eyes. Gordon laughed.

“Alan, you’re a twig.”

“Am not, fishboy!”

“Are, too!”

“Not!”

“Boys,” Kayo interrupted, taking a few steps closer to the cluster on the bed.  With one arm now free, Scott reached for her and got a light hug at his silent request.  It didn’t last long, but it was enough for the rest of the tension to leave her shoulders before she stepped back, out of his reach again.

“Hey, where’s my hug?” Gordon demanded, and Scott raised an eyebrow at him.

“You want a hug, you’ve got to come get it yourself,” he said.  “I’m not moving.”

Permission gained, Gordon shoved Alan out of the way, the younger falling off the bed with a squawk of indignation, and wrapped himself around Scott.  It was far looser than his usual hugs, but out of all his brothers, Gordon was best at gauging what an injured person could take.  Scott rested his chin on his shoulder, feeling the dampness of the neoprene that betrayed that Gordon had been in the water during his mission.

Tension drained out of his aquanaut brother’s powerful shoulders and Scott found himself relaxing as well.  He’d always found it easiest to relax and wind down when his brothers were okay, and with three out of four openly reassured, his own nerves were less on edge.

“I’m still sorry,” Virgil said after a moment.  Scott still had hold of his bicep, and glanced up at him as he spoke.  That pain and guilt was still there in brown eyes, but it was Gordon and Alan that Virgil was looking at.  A big brother himself, he too was being drawn into some sort of reassurance by the youngest two calming down.

There were many responses Scott could give, and maybe later once it was just the two of them he’d dive deeper in if Virgil hadn’t managed to settle himself and needed a stronger release, but in that moment, with his family around him and the knowledge that whatever happened next, they’d survived this hurdle, there was only one thing to say.

“I know.”

Surprised brown eyes met his, as though Virgil had expected another rebuke, another it’s not your fault, but Scott knew better.  He didn’t blame Virgil at all, but it wasn’t his forgiveness Virgil needed; his brother needed to forgive himself for his perceived transgressions, and that he couldn’t do as long as Scott stayed stubborn.  He tugged at the bicep in his grip, coaxing Virgil closer with an inviting smile.

Virgil hesitated, understanding but unsure.  Scott didn’t say anything else, didn’t push harder, but then Grandma put a hand on Virgil’s other arm and whatever remaining fight there was seeped away.

It was Gordon’s turn to squawk as he found himself nudged out of the way, but he went willingly, surrendering the space to Virgil as Scott’s dark-haired brother wrapped his arms around him cautiously.

“I’m okay,” Scott murmured into his brother’s ear, returning the hug as fiercely as he could.  Like Alan before him, Virgil shook ever so slightly under his touch, but unlike the youngest, no tears were shed.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Virgil mumbled.  “You stopped breathing for a minute just before Alan arrived and I thought that was it.”

“I heard you,” Scott admitted, just as quietly.  “I don’t think I’d have had the strength to keep fighting without you.  Alan might have got the antivenom, but you saved me, too.”

Virgil gave a shuddering breath and his arms tightened, just a little.

They stayed like that for several minutes, Scott managing to relax further now that was the fifth and final sibling’s immediate concerns addressed, but eventually Virgil pulled back, the ghost of a smile on his face.  He looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, Gordon crashed into him.

“Group hug!” he declared, reaching out to snag Alan and pinning an unprotesting Virgil in place as Scott’s three youngest brothers gathered as close as they could for a tangle of arms and bodies on Scott’s bed.  Alan flailed in Kayo’s direction and the woman stepped closer, slipping an arm delicately around the back of Scott’s neck and more tightly around Alan.  Scott grinned at her before looking past the mass of brothers to lock eyes with the one he couldn’t reach.  John grinned back at him, and even though he wasn’t physically there, Scott didn’t need it to know his immediate brother was just as relieved.

The hug lasted until Grandma intervened, suggesting that they let him have a little bit of space. He didn’t need space, but they all heard the underlying reminder that he was in that bed for a reason.  After that, it was back to business as usual, his on-Earth siblings scattering to change on Grandma’s order and reconvening later in their civvies with various forms of entertainment while John went back to his latest project.

Lady Penelope poked her head in later, but he didn’t see Brains – or the Mechanic – until the next day.

“I-it’s time to t-test the T-Drive e-engine,” the engineer told him the next morning, after checking him over in his own desire for reassurance; there was some guilt there as well, for pushing him out on the rescue, but thankfully Brains was much easier to calm than his brothers – the fact that Brains hadn’t seen him almost dead helped.

“Give me five,” he said, reaching for the drip stuck in his arm.

“Make that ten, Brains,” Virgil rumbled, catching Scott’s hand.  “Scott’s not up to walking even if he thinks he is.”

Scott groaned, but Virgil raised an eyebrow at him.

“I thought John made a convincing argument for you to stay in bed?” he challenged, and Scott shrugged.

“That was yesterday.”

“And your heart rate still isn’t back to normal, so it’s the hoverchair or nothing,” Virgil rebuked, rolling his eyes.

Scott sighed but dutifully held out his arm for Virgil to remove the drip instead.

“No, that’s coming with you,” Virgil corrected, gently pushing it down to his side again.  “Just the EKG.”  The machine was turned off, but Virgil made no move to relieve him of the transmitters, telling Scott that it was being linked back up later. Wonderful.  “Now then, let’s get you out of this bed-”

Scott leaned forwards and swung his legs around, placing them on the floor and pushing himself to his feet.

“Woah!”  Virgil sprinted around the bed and caught him as his vision fuzzed.  “John’s compelling argument?”  Scott was vaguely aware of being shifted around as the world spun around him, but it was a surprise to find himself in the hoverchair by the time he was fully aware of his surroundings again.  Usually, Virgil would dump him straight back in bed.

“Okay, John’s compelling argument still holds,” he admitted, leaning against the back of the chair and closing his eyes briefly as the world tried to spin a little more.

“Let’s get going,” Virgil sighed.  “Hands off the controls; I’m steering.”  Scott grumbled, but had no doubt that the controls had actually been disabled.  “As soon as the test is over, you’re coming straight back.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” he asked, and Virgil chuckled.

“Not at all.”

They were last to the balcony; it didn’t escape Scott’s notice that the Mechanic was the other end to the rest of them, talking quietly to Brains but otherwise ignoring the Tracys. That suited Scott just fine; if the test worked, he was well aware he owed the man an apology for his accusations of sabotage.  Although maybe he’d keep that back until the Zero-X2 launched successfully and Dad was home. Just in case.

“You look pale,” Grandma commented.  “Did he try to stand up?” she asked Virgil.  Scott glowered as Virgil rolled his eyes in answer.

“What do you think?” he asked rhetorically.  “He didn’t pass out entirely, otherwise the test would be happening without him, whether he liked it or not, but it was close.”

“He is right here,” Scott grumbled.

“And he’s going to keep his mouth shut and drink this up,” Grandma informed him, pressing a cup of water, complete with straw, into his hands.  “You shouldn’t be out of bed at all, young man.”

“T-test is ready,” Brains announced before Scott could find a retort that wouldn’t get him taken straight back to the infirmary.  “I-igniting T-Drive in three, two, one.”

Without binoculars, it was difficult to see what was happening on the platform, but nothing exploded and after several moments all that could be seen or heard was the whining of an engine.  It was higher pitched than the engines Scott was used to, but there were none of the warning noises suggesting that something was wrong.

Beside him, Virgil sighed in relief while Gordon and Alan whooped.

“C-cutting engine,” Brains called, and it powered down easily.  Smooth as any of the best plane engines Scott had piloted – and he’d piloted many.

It had worked.  They had a T-Drive engine.

They could go find Dad.

“Scott?”  Virgil sounded worried, and he opened his eyes – when he had closed them? – to look up at his worried brother.  Alan and Gordon hovered nearby, and he looked at them all in turn, even John’s silent hologram – his ginger brother hadn’t been there when the test had started, hadn’t been expected after he pointed out their holotech’s range didn’t reach that far.  “Are you okay?”

Was he okay?  He had a broken rib, was recovering from a near-fatal spider bite and its side effects of dehydration, bradycardia and hypotension, and the man who had almost killed his brothers multiple times was standing the other end of the same balcony.

But they were one step, one significant step closer to Dad.

“Yeah,” he said, staring out past them, at the platform cradling the most important engine International Rescue had ever created.  For the first time since that horrid trash mine day five weeks earlier, he could honestly say, “I’m okay.”

Fin

[tarisilmarwen]

B, C, D for "Fire and Ice," F, G, K, S, T, V, X, Y, and Z. Sorry it's so many, but there are a lot good questions here and I couldn't just choose a few. ^^;

Don’t feel bad, I enjoyed answering.

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

A few!  “Gaming” from “Fire and Ice” is probably the most obvious example (as it’s basically how I played games with my then-boyfriend now-husband when we were still dating) but I drew a lot of little bits of inspiration from our relationship for miscellaneous shippy things in both that collection and some parts of “Titans Tales”.  (The RobStar embrace + hair petting in “Titans Tales” chapter “Nighttime Comforts” for instance.)

And “Splinters”, while not exactly inspired by personal experience, I did draw a little bit on how my anxiety feels and my dislike of needles for it.

C: What character do you identify with most?

Answered here!

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [”Fire and Ice”]?

There are a couple songs!  “Love Story” by Taylor Swift, for the chapter “Fairy Tale” and, obviously, “Too Darn Hot” from the Kiss Me Kate musical for the chapter “Ear Worm”.

F: Care to share a favorite hurt/comfort fic?

Hhhhhhhhnnnn I have such a list.

I guess for now let’s go with Rena Redhead’s “The Corset”, in which the titular corset is a metaphor for Robin’s obsession with and PTSD from Slade.  It’s a little trippy but it really hits right.

G: Care to share a favorite crack fic?

Gonna go with Peppermint_Shamrock‘s “The Chips Didn’t Work” on this one, for the sheer variety of elaborate lies and excuses the clones come up with to bluff Palpatine.  (Also has one where he is literally arrested for fashion crimes, it’s great.)

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

There was an idea I had for a dark!fic once where Starfire and Robin were basically trapped in Slade’s custody together as joint apprentices, with both of them being leverage for the other.  Probably not going to write that one.

I do have a “Slade breaks Robin” idea that is mostly a recovery fic focusing on the aftermath that will happen eventually someday.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Answered here!

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Answered here!

V: A secondary (or underrated) character you want to see more of in fic?

Honorary Titans!  Soooo many Honorary Titans.  Mai from Avatar: The Last Airbender.  And I want more Iron Squadron kids in Rebels fics dammit.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

*coughs*

Let’s see...

Ezra Bridger from Star Wars Rebels

Dick Grayson/Robin/Nightwing, typically from the 2003 Teen Titans cartoon but I’m also really not picky

Kazuto “Kirito” Kirigaya, Sword Art Online

Shirou Emiya, Fate/Stay Night

Frodo Baggins, Lord of the Rings

Lloyd Irving, Tales of Symphonia

Hell you can almost list any of my favs from any of my fandoms; I have a type, apparently, and I will usually laser-focus in on said favorite character and enjoy consuming all the hurt/comfort and whump and angst for them that I can get.

Y: A character you want to protect.

...See the above list, plus all my favorite lady characters forever.

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?

I used to not really be into character death in fic.  I still can’t read it if it’s noncanonical and part of a longfic that continues on, I think, but short oneshots/shortfics exploring the possibility I can handle.

Fanfic ask meme

[eccentricpony]

Hi, your kaomojis were so cute! UwU Could I request a movie theater date hc with Tenma? ty!!

Hey anon, thanks for visiting my page! I’d be happy to write this for you! I’m going to write in the style of bulleted imagine if that’s okay. My writing style is usually a usually a little campy humorous, a little emotional, a little sexy, and sometimes flowery.

I apologize if my tenses changed, or the style changed, but I just wanted to have fun with it. Maybe possibly a tiny bit implied NSFW but not really. 

·        You were determined to take Tenma to a movie theater as soon as you had found out he had never been to one.

·        Despite his fame, you had learned that this child star beau of yours had missed out on many opportunities that you had taken for granted growing up. Your boyfriend was an odd blend of mature and immature due to his isolation and the pressure to manage a full-time profession at the age of seven. Fame has a price, as they say.

·        He was hesitant at first – visiting a heavy traffic social scene meant donning sunglasses, avoiding eye contact… but you had already figured that part out! You’d be soliciting Monster Movie Night at the old theater-turned-cinema in the town square. You were sure Tenma would appreciate the 19th century theater aesthetic, and it was sure to have less attendees than the cinema at the mall.

·        And what better movie genre to experience in an old, darkened theater than a classic horror!

·        Yeah, no, Tenma was having none of that.

·        He claimed that the movie you chose had received bad reviews.

·        You then forwarded him the 97% fresh rating from RottenApples.com.

·        He argued that the antagonist of the film was an actor he had worked with before and it would be “too weird” to watch someone he knew go on a killing spree.

·        You proceeded to locate said actor on IFDB.com to find that he had passed away two years before Tenma was born.

·        The lake of excuses having run dry, Tenma agreed to pick you up at 1pm that coming Saturday.

·        Tenma was a bit more fidgety than usual in the back of his family limo. You assumed that it was date night jitters, which was so very precious. The old-fashioned theater marquee came into view, and you excitedly shuffled closer to the window. Nightmare on Birch Street! It had been ages since you had seen the film, and you couldn’t recall how the victims had all been killed… was it Chauncey who had been impaled by the school flagpole?  You continued to jabber excitedly, the exhilarated sentiments floating through your head remaining unscathed as Tenma had the common courtesy to feign a cough so you couldn’t glimpse his sour expression.

·        The journey from the ticket kiosk to the theater was uneventful. There were a few stares, and a “Aren’t you that kid? From the show? At that school?” but you made it to your seats in under 10.

·        Wow, they really renovated this place! It was a bit sad to see that the creaky wooden seats of the theater had been replaced with cushy, high-tech armchairs, but it was comforting to know you wouldn’t be suffering a butt-ache following the film.

·        Immediately, Tenma started messing with the seat like he was in a dentist’s chair. Leg rest up, back down, leg rest down, back straight, back flat. 123 degree angle…

·        “Don’t you have chairs like this at home, rich boy?”

·        “Yeah, but I never sit in my living room. There’s never anyone there.”

·        Oh. You held out the bag of popcorn as a peace offering. “Well, you know that you’re welcome at my house any time you like.”

·        “Yeah so I can recite the monologue from Shinobi Love Song to your mom for the 100th time? I’ll pass”

·        “Forget it, sunshine. It was hasty of me to assume you’d be able to find my house without the guidance of Igawa…”

·        Cheeky banter was the norm with the two of you, and you never tired of it. He handed you the box of Soup Patch kids with a feigned scowl as the lights in the theater began to dim. Leg rest up, back at a 95 degree angle was his final decision.

·        He figured he’d have sometime before the killing started, so he decided to try and pay attention to the overall plot and characters, in case you had questions for him later. So wait… the killer doesn’t actually murder them in real life, but in their dreams? What kind of late night, infomercial hour, made-for-TV junk is this…

·        Time to do the classic yawn and stretch. Smooth as a milkshake, he performed what he felt was a very believable yawn (practiced to a fault due to all of his roles as a too-cool-for-school hottie) and casually rested the stretch of his arm across your shoulder.

·        You had been dating for about 7 months now. You had been moderately intimate. For Tenma to put on this song-and-dance just to hold onto you was a surefire tell that he was nervous. You hadn’t even really considered that maybe he didn’t like horror. You just assumed that because he was an acting professional that he was also a film aficionado, and a fan of all genres, at that. Stop pigeonholing him! you reminded yourself. Sure, he was perfect to you, but you had to let go of those preconceived notions.

·        You turned and leaned closer to him, close enough to kiss. His throat constricted, he had heard there was more to these cinemas than just watching the movie. He prayed to God that this was your intention all along.

·        “We can leave if you’re not into it” you insisted into his cheek.

·        Pulse still quickening through his neck, he sat back and shook is head.

·        “Nah babe, it’s cool. I liked the…” He proceeded to regurgitate every possible fact he had learned about the film within the last 15 minutes.

·        Damn, so he was paying attention. You knew there was no point coaxing him to leave once he had made his mind up to stay, so instead you leaned forward and gave him a peck on the nose.

·        “You’re adorable.”

·        “Tch…” He bristled returning his back to the seat, but with the pouty pleased grin of a child who received praise for a shitty drawing. He watched as your eyes returned to the screen, and you flicked a few pieces of popcorn into your pretty mouth. Now what to do?

·        Anything but look at the screen, really. Beads of sweat began to collect on his brow as the movie soundtrack reached a crescendo. He swiftly brushed them off into his already unruly ginger mane. He needed to distract himself, at least until the slicing and dicing had desisted.

·        What’s this hole for? Tenma located an out of place hole attached to the arm of the chair. It doesn’t seem to have a bottom, but it does taper off deeper down. Curiosity got the best of him, and he casually slid his hand down into the soft drink cupholder. That’s freakin’ weird, there’s nothing even down there. Dumb. And he promptly finds his hand very much stuck.

·        Shit, now what? Now he was really sweating. Some freakin’ great newspaper article this would make. “Teen drama heartthrob finds himself arrested not by the eyes of a young beauty, but the grasp of a plastic cupholder.”  His father would kill him, to be sure. He’d probably have to sign autographs for all of the firefighters who removed the plastic cupholder from around his sore wrist. Here he is, trying so very hard to be a man’s man, to weather the barbarism that is horror cinema just to impress you, and now he’d gotten his hand stuck in the metaphorical cookie jar like a damn kid.

·        He twists and pulls but he can’t get the heel of his palm back through the opening. He jerks his hand in frustration and elbows your flimsy paper cup of Canada Dry. Oh, so that’s what they’re for…

·        “Hey! You got ginger ale on me, what are you doing?” You cocked an eyebrow at his hunched form.

·        “Sorry, sorry! Yeah, I- I think I’ve got it. Don’t worry about me- hey! I think that guy in on a TV show with my father.”

·        Snapping your head back to the screen, you consented that the man did indeed work with Tenma’s father (you’ve told him this before, he’s one of your favorite actors, and now you need to remind him again why his acting is so transcendent that even in a horror movie he can make the most mundane gestures seem so…)

·        To Tenma’s great relief, it turns out ginger ale makes a passable lubricant. Using the splash that now trickled down his forearm, he twisted his wrist and managed to retrieve his very sore hand, tingling with pins and needles as he returned it to his lap. He sensed that you’ve finished your rant and offers a vacant smile. “Yeah… he’s a talented guy…” Crisis averted.

·        Back to all the crazy shit happening on Birch Street. Tenma blanched as the whir of a chainsaw could be heard offscreen.

·        “You okay? he asked, leaning over to comfort you which really wasn’t necessary whatsoever since you actually seemed extremely excited and not the least bit worried or bothered by all of the disgusting blood and guts and weird fleshy ceiling splayed onto the wall by the projector overhead.

·        Before you had a chance to reply, he nuzzled in close to you, his hair brushing your cheek as he snuggled next to your chin. D’aww. You wiggled closer, touching the side of your forehead to his as the shrieks of the Final Girl could be felt penetrating the very seat below you. Great acoustics.

·        Tenma wiggles his head into the crook of your neck to avoid looking at the carnage, murmuring an almost devious “Don’t be scared” into your ear before pressing a kiss to the column of your throat.

·        Your heart leaps into your ears at the sudden burst of semi-public affection; Tenma wasn’t big on PDA, and you were cool with that. He smelled like a mix of clean cotton and Cool Water (they still make that?) He didn’t really do much besides camp out there above your collarbone after that, but his ghosting breath gave you pleasant chills, so you didn’t tell him he was missing the best part.

·        You smelled like almonds and Freesia, he considered. His mother loved Freesia and she had planted them all along their estate courtyard, though she was rarely at home long enough to enjoy it. Tenma enjoyed sitting in the courtyard as a child. While the house was always eerily silent aside from the sterile hum of electricity, the courtyard was always full of tweets and twittering after school, and a discordant chorus of various chirping in the evening. That was what homes are supposed to be like, he had always thought. Chaotic and noisy, but full of life. It was his safe haven, and you carried the scent of it on your skin. You were his new sanctuary… a little pocket of protection from the pains of fake friends and real insecurities.

·        These are his last thoughts before he fell asleep. You realize he’s out like a light as the credits roll, and you feel a sliver of drool trail down your clavicle. Hot.

·        “Tenma? Hey!” He startles awake and you attempt to suppress a grin. “Hope it was a good dream.”

·        Tenma may not have book smarts, but he’s far from stupid. He knows that you know he hated it, and he knows that you know that he knows he was just playing the brave guy to shield his ego. He was beginning to confuse himself, so instead he focused on the core of the matter – he loved you enough to feign interest in something you liked, and you loved him enough to go along with it.

·        “They’re always great when they feature my favorite co-star.” He leaned forward and gave the bridge of your nose a chaste smooch.

·        Gahhh. The right side of your mouth pinches up in a grin. Damn you and your flawless smileyou’re your immaculate stage presence.

·        After he returned his hat and sunglasses to their proper place, with twin grins syrupy-sweet enough to make Yuki vomit, you exited the theater.

·        Once outside, he took your hand and pulled you off to the side of the theater, at the mouth of the little alleyway that led to a street behind the theater. His wide palm and long fingers felt warm and comforting, though rather sticky and smelling oddly of ginger.  

·        “Thanks for coming out with me. I know it’s a pain in the ass for you,” you offered before he could speak.

·        “Nah,” he deflects. “I’m used to it.”

·        You knew he still hated it.

·        “Plus, you’re worth it,” he added, feet shuffling and pink tinging the tips of his ears.

·        Butterflies, oh so many butterflies. Rolling onto your toes, you leaned up and kissed him. After a meager gasp of surprise, he returned it with fervor, nose brushing against yours as he experimented with a few different head angles. Sour Patch kids never tasted so good.

·        The thump of a closing car door was unfortunately audible above the sounds of your smacking mouths – Igawa was on the move and ready to shuffle the prince of teen dramas and his beloved to the safety of the Sumeragi Cadillac CT5. You groaned in unison, and not the good kind.

·        Dragging your mouths apart, your mutual stares shared a silent vow that you would find a way to pick this up again later. Without a word, you both emerged from the shadows, fingers tangled tighter together as you steeled yourselves for a lecture from Igawa on the dangers of lingering in crowded places.

·        You had no doubt there would still be plenty more adjustments to be made by both parties, and many a wall to gently tumble down. But that was a future nearly too resplendent to imagine, when where you were now was already a pretty fantastic place to be.

[eclecticlanie]

Child Spirit claps back!

OK! SOOOO. A little back story first. I left my first husband 10 years ago. I left EVERYTHING with him except my daughter. I use to write novels (never published), songs, poems, draw all sorts of artwork, and my clothes were my life (I was particular about my fashion choices). I left everything: books, original artworks, basically my soul and identity. When I left I did not write or do any art ever again. I had to focus on being a first time mother, go to work full time, and school full time. I had a new identity that left no time or room for who I was from that day forward.

 My Hubs (2nd husband) produces Drum and Bass music and has since he was a teen. I support and help him as much as I can doing whatever I can (singing, speaking, picking out sounds, synths, etc; telling him to remove certain things that don’t work well, so on so forth). He has always taken music seriously and wanted to go much further than he has with it in the past but has held himself back due to fears of being in public eyes and what the media could do to him. Understandable. 

We decided recently to go for it-to take this to the next level if we could. In this process, Hubs decides I need to unpack that 10 years of exiling my talents. He bought me a notebook and now hounds me to speak to him so he can write or have me write my own songs and poems again. I say hounds but really he is trying to inspire me and find me a muse, there is no true negative connotation on it. I am just naturally pessimistic. Hubs is most definitely an optimist and before anyone asks, yes, sometimes it makes me sick (figuratively). In reality we balance each other extremely well. I never have had a more healthy relationship with anyone other than my mother in my life with the exception being Hubs. He is my everything, next to our kids. 

So that brings us to today. We, Hubs and I, are in the kitchen. I am cooking ground beef to make tacos on the stove. We were talking about how I don’t like my voice on recording but I do like it raw and natural and how I don’t understand why I feel I sound different on recording versus not recording. I then decide we need to discuss what we want to change and not to change if we happen to go next level with this music endeavor. As I leave the stove and go into the fridge (literally the fridge is next to the stove so it is only one step away) to make a glass of soda, I ask, “If we do go next level what do we want to stay the same and what do we want to have change?”

I turn around with the soda bottle in hand to go to the counter where my glass is waiting and Hubs is standing. I see a child standing next to him that isn’t mine with sandy brown or sandy blonde hair down to its cheeks. I’m not entirely sure which would better describe the kids hair. I assume it’s a non-binary child right off the bat. This child scares the shit out of me. It was not there prior to this moment. I never have seen this child before in my life and it is standing next to Hubs. I let out a short loud scream upon seeing this child and at this exact moment the child swings it’s hand and hits my Hubs glass of soda out of his own hands. The glass went up then hit the floor. It did not shatter, break, or crack. It was in one piece. Soda was on my upper and lower cabinets, on the floor and the side of the stove. The child was gone. Vanished. 

“What was that?” Hubs looked at me. 

“I don’t know why i screamed like that.” I tried to rationalize with myself, “It was a child.”

I pour myself a glass of soda and go back to cooking. Hubs and I discuss what just happened and didn’t continue the previous conversation we were trying to have about our possible future. We agree to invite the ghost upstairs to have a conversation via tarot after we eat dinner. Tacos took maybe another 3 minutes to cook and construct. We ate at the stove and the kids ate at the dining table. So a whole ten minutes maybe passed before we ran upstairs and grabbed my Nightmare Before Christmas Tarot Deck, pendulum, and pendulum board. 

I’m sitting on the bed and my back is killing me. This spirit is sucking my energy to stay present so I can receive it’s message. I start shuffling and right out of the gate cards are spilling.

The first five:

1. XIX The Sun: 

Directly from the guidebook: 

“When cloudy skies pass, the sun comes out, shining warmth and happiness on everyone’s lives. The excitement, renewed energy, and joy Jack experiences when he discovers Christmas Town perfectly embody the energy of the Sun tarot card. 

Upright: If you’ve been sad or troubled lately, the Sun is a sign you’re about to feel a very positive shift in your life. Use this rejuvenating energy to reconnect with good friends and enjoy yourself. There’s so much enthusiasm in this tarot card. It signifies a powerful time for inspired brainstorming.” 

Interpretation: I believe this represents both the child I seen and the situation. The child had no ill or negative feeling. It was a joyful and happy child. As for the situation, the Sun is calling me out on how I’m very negative and down on myself and that positive things are happening in my life. I need to start removing myself from being pessimistic and join ‘Team Optimistic’ by following through and doing as my Hubs has been pushing me to do. 

2. XVIII The Moon (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Moonlight illuminates Jack in the graveyard as he reflects on his feelings. The moon represents a great lament, the subconscious, and intuition.”

“Reversed: In order to move forward, you need to be honest about your feelings, with yourself and others. Expressing yourself will life a weight off your chest and get you out of a melancholy headspace. The Sun is about to come out, and a new day will bring new possibilities.” 

Interpretation: I was in the process of expressing my feelings on my voice right before the glass was thrown. I was being negative and hurtful to myself. The child did not like it and that is why they hit the glass to gain attention and to give me this message thus “the sun is about to come out”. I will be enlightened by the other side as to their feelings rather than focus on my own. 

3. X of Needles:

Directly from the guidebook:

“Upright: X of Needles indicates something is coming to a painful ending. Whether this refers to a friendship, relationship, project, or job, you may be left with heavy emotions. Give yourself time to grieve, but trust that it’s for the best. Fresh beginnings are ahead!”

Interpretation: The 10 years I am unpacking is the means to an end. The hurt will end. I’ve hurt myself enough. My talents no longer need to be buried and not used. They are valid and need to be expressed. They will bleed and feel rushed because the flood gates are now open.

4. Queen of Needles:

Directly from the guidebook: 

“Upright: The Queen of Needles is intelligent, intellectual, and sensible. She takes time to make up her own mind and isn’t easily swayed by trends, fads, or popular opinion. Fair and practical, the Queen of Needles shouldn’t be underestimated. This card is a call to remember how strong you really are.” 

Interpretation: The child is 

5. III of Needles (Reversed): 

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: III of Needles reversed symbolizes coming to terms with the past It’s time to pluck the needles out of your heart, and let it heal. Nurse your wounds and go forward.”

Interpretation: I need to let myself move forward and not punish myself. I need to allow my gifts to thrive and be of use in my life. 

I decided to use the Pendulum board a little bit to confirm everything I had seen. I asked the spirit if I was correct with the sandy brown-blonde hair color. The pendulum swung ‘yes’. I continued, “Definitely not a red head then.” The crystal swung ‘no.’ “Is there more you want to tell me?” ‘Yes.’ I picked up the cards and started shuffling again. Five more cards popped out. 

6. IX The Hermit:

Directly from the guidebook:

“The Hermit is a thoughtful, introverted figure who likes to spend his time ruminating alone--like the Creature Under the Stairs.

Upright: Now’s the time to get inspired by example and withdraw for some quiet alone time. The Hermit calls for reflection, so do a bit of soul-searching. Consider your current position, goals, and dreams. Remember your past, and learn from it so you can bring those lessons with you into a successful future.”

Interpretation: The child wants me to really look deep into myself and accept who I am. 

7. III The Empress (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“The Empress is a maternal, nurturing figure who enjoys self-indulgence and life’s creature comforts. Our Empress is the Corpse Mom, who is often seen leading her child on a leash.”

“Reversed: Are you being too hard on yourself? You may have been feeling self-critical lately, but beating yourself up about perceived failures and flaws won’t help. Be patient, and give yourself room to make mistakes--they’re learning opportunities.”

Interpretation: I couldn’t have interpreted this card any other way than as they described. I needed to stop bullying myself. The child seemed very adamant with this message.

8. IX of Needles (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Has your confidence been dealt a blow recently? If you’re feeling low, you may be your own biggest bully. Start focusing on your positive qualities instead of fixating on your perceived negative ones. A shift in perspective is what’s needed to get you out of despair.”

Interpretation: Again, I couldn’t have interpreted this card any differently. I need to get my head out of my ass.

9. VI of Needles:

Directly from the guidebook:

“VI of Needles usually indicates you’ve been through a difficult time. Have you recently been in conflict with someone or experienced an unexpected setback? It’s time to pick up the pieces and get on track again.”

Interpretation: I need to make peace with myself, pick up the pieces I left behind and put them where they belong in my life-not outside of it.

10. Queen of Candles (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook: 

“Reversed: The reversed Queen of Candles lacks self-confidence. Have you been giving too much attention to the opinions of others? Don’t stifle your ideas and lose your voice. Make time for a bit of soul-searching, and express yourself. Don’t worry what others may think. You have so much to offer!”

Interpretation: Another hard one! All jokes aside, this child couldn’t have been more direct. I need to keep my opinion on myself out of the picture. I need to use my voice-literally. I need to see the value in me and gain confidence. 

I then started telling the spirit I really understood the first time around about their message. Hubs is half laughing at me that I got called out by a child ghost. I continue to state out loud that I understand I need to be nicer to myself and use my talents with the focus of the future in mind. I also state that my back is really starting to kill me and that i would like it to leave if it had nothing more to say. I start shuffling and what do you know... Five more cards...

11. XIIII Death (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook: 

“Death is often a feared tarot card, but that’s just because its misunderstood. It’s a card of transformation and transition-beginnings and endings. Like the creaky, old gates in Halloween Town’s cemetery, the Death tarot card is a spooky symbol of change and transformation.”

“Reversed: Are you putting off a life-changing decision? Resisting change is impossible and will only cause harm in the long run. Letting go of the familiar can be tough, but trust that accepting transition will make way for positive, fresh beginnings.”

Interpretation: Clearly a change is coming. Whether it be my attitude about myself or how I manage my mental health? Only time will tell. 

12. IV of Needles (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Here, the restful energy of the IV of Needles card becomes static. Are you feeling stuck? Have you reached a plateau? It’s important to shake yourself out of your routine. When you take a different perspective, you’ll see you have all kinds of opportunities around you.”

Interpretation: I need to look outside of the box when I think about myself.

13. XIV Temperance (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Like pouring magical potions into a cauldron, Temperance represents the act of combining different elements together in perfect harmony.”

“Reversed: If life is feeling hectic, it’s time to bring things back into balance. Pay attention to areas of your life that may be a little neglected. The recipe for success requires a pinch of self-reflection and a dash of Temperance. stir thoroughly, and enjoy.”

Interpretation: I need to balance my negativity with positivity. 

14. IV of Candles:

Directly from the guidebook:

“IV of Candles represents celebration. People are recognizing your accomplishments! You’re feeling stable, secure, and comfortable. Be proud of yourself and enjoy the attention, but remember there is still work to be done when the party’s over.”

Interpretation: Although, at our current status as a family, we are successful and doing decent for ourselves but, individually, we can always work and build our characters. 

15. III of Presents (Reversed): 

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Reversed, III of Presents represents an imbalance within a professional or financial collaboration. If you’re working with others on a project, make sure everyone’s doing their part. Disaster strikes when things become inequitable. Prioritizing teamwork will get you where you want to go.”

Interpretation: I need to be more open about my thoughts, opinions, hopes, fears, etc towards Hubs on this new adventure. 

With this I felt a lot of my back pain let up. I started to slip the cards back into the deck and shuffle them again just to give them an after reading cleanse. Hubs randomly states he was thinking about splurging on a cyber whip rave toy and then another two cards popped out. 

16. XX Judgement:

Directly from guidebook:

“We all have pivotal decisions to make in our lives. Will yours land you on the naughty list or the nice list?

Upright: Now isn’t the time to be hasty and impulsive. Consider your actions and choices carefully, and take time to think things through. Remember that all actions have reactions. Be sensible, and stay true to your conscience.”

Interpretation: The Childs leaving statement is to be mindful as well as ‘you do you’. Apparently, Party time is not on its list of things to do. I may have taken this a little condescendingly. This ghost doesn’t like to have fun. 

17. IV of Presents (Reversed):

Directly from the guidebook:

“Reversed: Is your relationship with money healthy? Is it getting you where you want to go? If not, it may be time to look over your budget and reevaluate your priorities. Make sure you’re not spending frivolously if your cash flow can’t support it right now.”

Interpretation: The spirit child was telling us to maybe not go out and buy a light up whip to dance with. No parties for you! Well... In our house, raves will persevere! GLOW STICKS OUT! RAVE ON! 

[talatomaz]

talk to me | jj x fem!teen!reader

a/n: this is based around 5x13 where the bau investigates a series of teen suicides who are killing themselves as part of a game. it’s a bit slow in the beginning but the story develops later

warnings: mentions of suicide/death

word count: 2.4k

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i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“There is something definitely wrong here.”

JJ nodded in agreement and left her boss alone in his office and went back to her own. As soon as she had sent a mass text to her team to let them know they had a case, she sat down in her chair and clutched her necklace.

Sighing deeply, she glanced at the photo frame on her desk, picked up her phone and dialed, needing to hear her family’s voices before dealing with this case.

“Hi, honey.”

“JJ. What’s wrong?” The man added, sensing the tension over the phone.

“Nothing. I just...we’ve got a bad case and we’re flying out soon. I just needed to hear yours and the kids’ voices.”

“Are you okay, honey?” Will asked, his southern drawl becoming more and more prominent with each word he spoke. He knew that his voice always put the FBI agent at ease and this moment was no different.

“I promise I’m okay. Are they awake?”

The phone was silent for a few moments until she heard a playful scream and then a girl’s voice fill her ear.

“Hey, you okay?”

JJ smiled at the sound of her daughter’s voice.

Although you weren’t her biological daughter, you were her daughter just the same. JJ and Will had adopted you a few years ago when JJ had saved you from an unsub.

“I’m good, baby. How was your day?”

“It was good. I did another practice test and got full marks. Mrs Kredenski was so happy.”

“That’s great. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks. Yes, Henry, it’s Mama.”

The phone went dead for a few seconds before you came back on to speak.

“Sorry, Henry’s just being rowdy.”

“Mama!”

JJ chuckled at the sound of her 3 year old son’s voice and continued laughing when she could hear Henry talking to you about a picture he drew.

“I know, Henry. It’s awesome. When Mama gets home, you can show her. How about that?”

“Mama, it’s an airplane. It goes whoosh like yours.”

“That’s great, honey. I can’t wait to see it.”

“When you coming home, Mama?”

“Mama has do some work first but I’ll be home in a few days. I promise.”

“Hey, Henry. If Mama’s gonna be gone for a few more days, maybe you can draw some more pictures so you have more to show her.”

JJ’s heart warmed as she heard you speak to her son. The moment she had met you, she knew instantly that you’d be a part of her life forever. The fact that you were practically Henry’s best friend didn’t hurt either.

JJ listened for a bit longer as you tried to compromise with Henry so he would go to sleep rather than continue colouring.

Her head glanced up at her door when she heard a faint knock and signaled for Emily to give her a minute.

“Y/N, Henry, I have to go now. Goodnight, I love you both. Y/N, can you hand the phone over to your father please?”

***

JJ’s head turned when she felt the presence beside her.

“You okay?”

She smiled at the dark-haired woman and spoke, “yeah, I just think I need to see my family now.”

The team had managed to solve the case and were now on the jet back home. JJ was correct in that the suicides were actually homicides that were orchestrated by a sadistic father who was abusing his own son. JJ was asked to go and see the victims’ families and explain the outcome but had politely declined.

The case had hit her out of nowhere and all she wanted to do was hold her family close.

Especially you.

This case was revolving around teens exactly like you who were committing suicide. Granted it was part of a game but they all held similarities to you and JJ was scared to think of what she would do if she had lost you in that way.

She’d already lost her sister.

***

When JJ had gotten home, it was quite late but she woke up Henry to greet him who then proudly showed her the pictures that he drew. After staying with him for a while, she went to Will who met her with open arms. Few words transpired between them but he knew exactly how to bring her peace.

Once she had stayed with him for a bit, she got changed into her nightie, kissed his cheek, said goodnight and left the room.

She walked down the hallway and knocked on the plain white door and entered when she heard a faint ‘come in’.

Quietly opening and closing the door behind her, so as to not wake Henry or Will, she made her way over to the girl lying in bed.

JJ switched the lamp on and after it flickered, it immediately brightened the room whilst still remaining slightly dark.

Now that there was some light in the room, JJ glanced at you in bed and barely contained her shock.

When had her babygirl grew up?

You were only 14 when she took you in and now you were filling out college applications and getting ready to take your SATs.

You smiled as you looked up at JJ, “You okay, Mum?”

JJ swallowed hard.

It had taken a year, plus some much needed therapy to deal with your personal demons, before you had called JJ ‘Mum’ for the first time. You did it all the time now, but it still took her breath away.

“I’m good, baby. I just wanted to see you.” When she sat down on your bed, you draped the duvet over her so it covered the both of you. She sat against the head board with you leaning against her shoulder.

“How was the case? Did you catch him?” You murmured, playing with her hair as you twirled it around your fingers.

JJ nodded in response, “Yeah, he’s been arrested and charged.”

“Good.”

After a few moments of peaceful silence, JJ spoke once more.

“I’m so proud of you.”

Your brows furrowed as you tilted your head to meet your mother’s eyes.

“What? Why?”

“Just.”

“But, I-I’ve done nothing for you to be proud of.”

“I’m proud of you being you.” JJ said, her voice breaking slightly.

“Mum, you’re scaring me a bit. Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked warily.

The only indication she heard you was the slight tensing of her body.

“Mum?” You repeated.

Then JJ wrapped her arm around you, kissed your forehead as she cuddled you against her.

“I don’t mean to scare you. I promise I’m okay. We just had a bad case. That’s all.”

“Then tell me about it.” You asked, disbelief underlying in your tone.

“A group of teenagers were being dared to kill themselves as part of this game and the man who was behind it all was a father who was hurting his son.”

“Poor kid. Is he all right?”

“He will be.”

“Y/N, have you ever tried to hurt yourself?” JJ asked hesitantly, not sure if she wanted to know the answer or not.

You stilled and glanced ahead into the darkness.

“Why would you ask that?”

“These kids were quite similar to you. They did amazing in school, very sociable, outgoing but they still hurt themselves.”

On the one hand, you wanted to be hurt that JJ had asked you the question, partially because you knew she wouldn’t want to hear your answer. But, on the other hand, you knew that JJ had had her own experience with suicide, having lost her sister in that way, though she didn’t know you knew.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I could lie but-” you shrugged, not knowing how to finish your sentence.

JJ pulled you from her arms so she could stare at you. In her eyes, you saw hurt and wary, but the fear was what had tears springing to your eyes.

“I promise I’ve never gotten to the point where I’ve tried to kill myself. But I’d be lying if I said that I had never thought about it. It was practically all I thought about before I met you.” You explained, shuddering at your past memories.

You watched as the look in JJ’s eyes changed to...understanding?

“I’m still so sorry that you had to go through that. No child should ever have to. Especially not one as amazing as you, y/n.”

Your words stuck in your throat as a single tear spilled from your eye but was instantly wiped away by the blonde woman sitting in front of you.

When JJ had first taken you in, it took a while for you to open up.

When she had first found you, you were balled up in a corner, dirt caking your skin, rocking yourself as you stared wildly at your biological mother who lay dead just ten feet in front of you, a needle sticking out of her arm.

As soon as Morgan had kicked the door down and JJ had entered, you immediately noticed her, regained your composure and spoke as if you weren’t just having a breakdown a few moments before. You explained in full detail what had happened, including where and when the unsub had taken you and your mother and where he had gone.

She also watched as you looked down at your mother in contempt and it wasn’t until a few therapy sessions later that JJ learned exactly who your mother had been.

For lack of better words, she was a crack addict who clearly shouldn’t have been a mother at all.

Selling her daughter to get drugs into her system was not something a child should ever have to experience.

And with your mother gone and your father having died when you were young, you had no one, and, most likely, would have been forced into the foster care system.

But that was something JJ was dead set against.

You intrigued her from the first moment she laid eyes on you and you continued to surprise her even now.

“You promise that you’ll tell me if you ever feel like hurting yourself again?” She asked warily, her voice breaking a bit more as she tried to remain strong.

“I promise, Mum. Every now and again, it all hits me and the feeling comes rushing back but then I remember that I’m surrounded by you, Dad and Henry and I realise how much my life has improved. All because you saw something in me that day.”

Your words had tears springing to both yours and your mother’s eyes.

“Mum, what’s really bugging you about this case? It can’t just be about me.”

JJ sighed and brought you in close against her, deciding she’d find it easier to tell you the story if she wasn’t facing you.

“My sister gave me this necklace.” JJ stared and you stilled as she continued to speak. “She told me that no matter what happened, she loved me. This was her favorite necklace, so I told her I couldn't take it. But she insisted. I, of course, was secretly very happy, 'cause I always wanted one just like hers. That's the last time I spoke to her.” JJ added after a brief moment of pause.

“I’m so sorry, Mum.” You whispered as tears spilled from your eyes.

“I think about her every day. And I think I’m just fearful of what could happen if I lose you too.”

A minute of silence passed before JJ spoke again.

“Why aren’t you pushing me to tell you what happened?” JJ asked curiously.

“I know you will tell me when you’re ready. And if that time never comes, that’s fine too. So long as you have someone to speak to.” You explained, sighing as you childishly played with her hand, interlocking your fingers.

“How did I get so lucky to have such an amazing child?” JJ asked.

When you could practically hear the sob rising in her throat, you pulled away and fiercely met your mother’s eyes.

“I mean it, Mum. Don’t keep it buried inside. Tell someone. Dad. Emily. Reid. Hell, even me. Anyone. But never keep it bottled up. Promise me.” You more so demanded than asked.

“I promise, y/n.”

Satisfied that she was telling the truth, you smiled at your mother and pulled her down so her head was in your lap causing JJ to laugh.

“Y/N, what are you doing? I’m the parent here.”

“Just because you’re my Mum, doesn’t mean I can’t look after you the way you look after me. Now hush.”

JJ stifled a giggle and then a smile warmed her face as you began to gently stroke her hair before bringing your arm around her so you locked fingers.

“I’m proud of you, Mum. You deal with so much and try as hard as you can to never let it affect you. And what was it you said?”

You continued speaking without waiting for an answer, “you were fearful of what may happen? Well, fear can be a healthy thing because it helps you determine which risks are worth taking.”

“Definitely wise beyond your years.” JJ snorted before bringing your joined hands to her lips.

“Oh no, that’d be Spencer.” You countered, making your mother laugh even more.

JJ lifted her head and then moved to once again sit against the head board and yawned.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to Dad so you can sleep?”

“Well, actually, if you’ll have me, I was wondering if I could stay here for the night?” JJ asked and immediately, even though the room was relatively dark, she could see your face brighten.

“You really want to?” You asked and JJ couldn’t help but grin.

It was such a child-like way to say it but JJ was glad you were able to feel like a child again, having grown up way too fast and way too soon.

“Of course. I think I need some time with my favourite girl.”

You smiled as JJ pulled you in for a hug. “So is that a yes?”

“Most definitely.”

[slippinmickeys]

Release Valve (2/10): Fi Follet

When the moon circles the Earth, it pulls with it the ocean. She used to lie in bed and think about it. How the world can be your compass -- moss growing on one side of a tree, the North Star, sunsets on the horizon. Even if you can’t see it, you know the moon is above you when the tide is high. She felt that with him. When he was near, her blood would sing, rising to meet him whenever he passed. Standing in the doorway of their office, she can feel him even now, her skin prickling and flushing on the high tide of love. “You’re here early,” he said as he walked in. He loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, moving over to the cabinets behind his desk. “We’ve got a case?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t caught her mooning over him. She watched his movements with some trepidation. She hadn’t seen him since Friday and the new agents started today. He turned from the cabinets, unveiling his slide projector with fanfare. She made a show of rolling her eyes. “The kids are going to love this,” he said.

“Are they?” “You did.” “Did I?” Mulder gestured around the office. “The X-Files Headquarters: Where Fun Goes To Die.” He said. “If you’re going to make fun of my slideshow, you can wait in the hallway.” “Sorry, Mulder,” she said, grinning. “I’ll try not to ruin it.” “Thank you,” he said, earnestly.

On that, Stone and Isaacs walked in, chatting.

“Morning,” Stone said, his excitement palpable. He had a doofy grin pasted on his face and a cup of coffee in his hand. Isaacs was more subdued. She was tall, taller than Mulder remembered. He had met her last week on a long lunch with Scully where they’d talked about her past cases and what she might expect. There’d been a 15 minute stretch where she’d kept cutting her eyes to Scully, obviously expecting her to tell her they were kidding, an elaborate hazing for rookies at the top of their class. Even now she looked as though she expected people to jump out of the woodwork shouting “Gotcha!” Despite that, there was a quiet confidence about her. She looked at Mulder and nodded to the desk annex. “Anywhere in particular?” she asked. Mulder shook his head. “Anywhere you like.” She put her things down on the desk in the middle and went about unpacking her few belongings. Mulder looked to Stone. “The computer you wanted,” he said, “the requisition got approved. Should be here next week.” Stone pumped a fist in the air and dropped down at the further-most desk, the wheeled chair coasting a few inches before coming to a stop. He looked at Mulder, suddenly pensive. “Can you…” he started to say, then, with more confidence, “have Purchasing bring it down here as soon as it arrives. In the box, sealed. I’ll do the set up myself.” Mulder leaned back against his desk and shot Stone an approving look. “Look at him, Scully,” he said, “not in the basement five minutes and already he’s achieved a level of paranoia it took me 2 years to get to myself.” “You forget he’s read all your files,” she responded. “Our files,” Mulder said, giving her a meaningful look. “Speaking of the files,” Isaacs said from her desk, “I’ve read the Greatest Hits you sent me over the weekend. I wouldn’t mind taking a look at the rest.” “You’ll have some reading time,” Mulder said, turning to the projector and hitting the lights, “you two are flying to Cajun Country this afternoon.” “We’ve got a case?” Stone asked, excitedly. “We’ve got a case,” Mulder said, punching in the first slide. A picture of a small lake took up a wall of the office. It was slightly out of focus and a few degrees off being perfectly horizontal. It was close to either dawn or dusk, the water an inky grey, the trees in the background reaching up toward a new moon. In the far right of the picture a small green glow floated a few feet above the water, its twin reflecting off the lake below it. “This picture was taken about three months ago in Vermilion Parish, Louisiana,” Mulder started. “Anybody know what we’re looking at here?” “Will-o’-the-wisp?” Stone offered. “Two points to the kid,” Mulder said, then turned back to the slide, “Will-o’-the-wisp, also known as a hinkypunk, spook light or ignis fatuus in Latin, meaning ‘foolish fire.’ It’s an atmospheric ghost light, which, according to English folklore is usually seen by travelers at night, especially over bogs, swamps or marshes. It resembles a flickering lamp and is said to recede if approached, drawing travelers from safe paths. “This,” Mulder went on, pointing to the picture, “was published in a local paper around the time it was taken and became quite the sensation. Locals, particularly teens, started going out to the swamp at night, trying to catch a glimpse. It was all fun and games until three weeks ago, when it took its first victim.” Mulder switched the slide and the picture of a teenage girl came up. She was all smiles, looking directly into the camera as if daring it to take the picture. She had sky-high bangs and dangly gold earrings. “Vanessa Glassie, fifteen years old. Disappeared while out with friends on wisp hunt. They’d just seen the ghost light when she told friends she had to pee and that was the last they saw of her. Local authorities have yet to find a trace of her.” He clicked to the next slide. Another young girl, with dark pixie hair and a shy smile. “Then last week, Marcie Vincent, a friend of Vanessa’s, went missing as well, from the same area. Friends said she’d talked about going out and looking for her friend. She told her parents she was going to bed one night, and they found her room empty the next morning. The window open and shoeprints in Marcie’s size heading away from the house. The will-o’-the-wisp was seen in the area the same night. The local PD asked the FBI to investigate.” Mulder cut back to the first picture of the ghost light. “And they think what, the lights took her?” Scully said. “Not exactly,” he said, “there’s a more geographically targeted legend about the lights in that area of the south, called—“ “Fi follet,” Isaacs finished for him. Mulder cut her an impressed look. She shrugged. “My mom was born and bred in Louisiana,” she said. “But the fi follet is said to mostly play harmless pranks.” “And in some cases attacking people for vengeance and sucking the blood of children.” From Mulder, who dramatically flipped to the slide of Vanessa Glassie. The room was silent for a moment but for the hum of the projector. Then Mulder went for the lights. “Your flight leaves in four hours,” he said, dismissing them, “you should pack.” They both stood to leave. “I want updates twice daily,” he said, “even if there’s nothing to report, you call me.” They nodded and left. Scully leveled a look at him, “Will-o’-the-wisp, Mulder?” she asked, incredulous. “You heard Isaacs,” Mulder countered, “it’s called fi follet.” “It’s swamp gas!” “We’ve got two missing kids, Scully,” he said, “and authorities asking for help. Isaacs could do this one in her sleep and Stone needs seasoning.” “So you’re saying you don’t think the lights took those girls,” she asked, looking for clarity. “No,” he said, finally, “I think it’s probably swamp gas.” “I wish I had that on tape,” Scully said to no one in particular. XxXxXxXxX “You should take lead on this,” Stone said, as the wheels touched down on their flight from DC. “You’ve got seniority,” Isaacs replied. “I’ve also got fuck-all for field experience,” he said, “you should take lead.” Isaacs nodded. Same shit, different town. She knew she wasn’t going to get much different as a Fed, but the pay was better, the resources infinitely superior, and this paranormal stuff was the first work-related thing that had piqued her interest in years. You could have knocked her over with a feather when Agent Scully called her into her office her the last week of class and proposed the job. “That’s some crazy intense white people shit,” her boyfriend had said to her when she told him about it.

She’d had a tendency to agree until she’d read the files. For the first time in her adult life, maybe she wouldn’t be bored. XxXxXxXxX It was coming on evening when they followed the sheriff through the woods to the last place Vanessa Glassie had been seen. It was a tiny clearing in the swamp, the damp ground covered with brown pine needles and empty beer bottles. The air was thick with the scent of pitch and the dull whine of insects. The five of them, Stone, Isaacs, the sheriff and two of his deputies barely fit into the open area once they trampled in, and one of the deputies, McLaren, the tall one, nearly toppled into a tree. He kicked a beer bottle into the brush in frustration as he righted himself, his mood dark. “Fucking kids,” he muttered. McLaren hadn’t been very welcoming since their arrival. Whether he was pissed that the Feds had taken over the investigation or the fact that the lead Fed was black, Isaacs wasn’t quite sure. She smacked a mosquito as it landed on her neck and turned toward the sheriff. She really fucking hated the South. The sheriff caught her eye and nodded toward the empty bottles and cans. “The lights are just an excuse,” he said, “the kids mostly just come out here to party.” “Who owns the land?” Isaacs asked. “The State,” he replied. “I don’t really have the resources to stop these kids. They’d just find somewhere else.” He pointed to the brush off to their left. “That’s where she was last seen,” he said. Isaacs took a look, turning on a flashlight and running it over the area. “We swept it good,” the younger deputy, Miller, said, clearly trying to be helpful. Isaacs gave him a small smile. “There’s probably not much to find. I’m sure you guys were thorough.” She turned back to the Sheriff. “You had dogs out?”

He nodded.

“For both girls. They couldn’t find anything here. The dogs at the Vincent girl’s house lost her scent about a quarter of a mile from home. We’ve just come up empty.”

“I’d like to talk to Vanessa Glassie’s parents right away if you don’t mind. Marcie’s too.” “I’ll take you over there in the morning, first thing.” She nodded. Stone spoke up then. “And the lights?” He said, indicating toward the water on their right. “This is where they were seen?” “This is where the picture that ran in the paper was taken,” said the Sheriff in the affirmative. He narrowed his eyes at Stone. “You really think the lights had something to do with this?” Stone shrugged. “You never know.” McLaren huffed out an audible sigh. “And the lights were reportedly seen the night the Vincent girl went missing last week?” Stone went on, ignoring him. “We had a few people call in,” the Sheriff said, pointing East. “Her family’s house is about a mile and a half that way.” “There anything else around here?” Isaacs followed up, “other than the road and the Vincent residence? Any businesses or facilities?” “None,” he said, “this is all State land until it hits the Vincent property and they’ve got about 500 acres.” Isaacs nodded. “Thanks for bringing us out.” XxXxXxXxX The next morning came too soon for Isaacs. After checking in with Agent Mulder, she and Stone had stayed out in the swamp for hours waiting to see lights. They’d bagged out at about 2am, with nothing to show for it but bug bites and pine sap on their ass. “This is my best suit,” Stone said dejectedly as he took another swipe at his backside and unlocked the door to his motel room. He came out of the same door at 7:00am with a pillow crease in his cheek, carrying a small cup of steaming coffee. They were dinky motel rooms, but at least each one had a coffee maker. Isaacs slid into the driver’s seat. “You get any sleep?” she asked him. “A little,” he replied, on a yawn. “And I’ll tell you, my enthusiasm for field work is rapidly waning.” Isaacs smiled at him.

They pulled up to the Glassie residence at the same time as the Sheriff and were quickly ushered inside. Mrs. Glassie was short with frizzy black hair. She was pale and when she asked them to please sit, her smile was hollow. Her clothes hung off her loosely, like she’d lost a lot of weight. Mr. Glassie was of medium height and build, and quiet – he wouldn’t meet their eyes. Isaacs decided to just jump right into the questions. “Had Vanessa been acting strangely before she disappeared? Talking about any new friends or activities?” “We’ve already told the Sheriff everything we can think of,” Mrs. Glassie said. “And tell them too, if you don’t mind, Doris,” the Sheriff said, “they’re here to help.” “Nothing like that,” Mrs. Glassie said to Isaacs. “She’s a good girl.” “Did she have a job?”

“She wanted to, but I told her school was her job now, that she could get one next summer.” “How about a boyfriend?” On that, Mr. and Mrs. Glassie shared a look. “No,” Mr. Glassie said, short. Something about that was off, and Isaacs decided not to reply, to see if they filled in the silence themselves. It only took about ten seconds for Mrs. Glassie to jump in. “She wasn’t supposed to,” she said, “she’s only 15.” “But she did anyway?” “No,” again, from Mr. Glassie. “Bill,” from his wife. “He’s not good enough for her.” Ah. So there was a boyfriend. “What’s his name?” Isaacs asked quietly. “Martin Dubois,” said Mrs. Glassie. “We talked to him,” the Sheriff said then, “he didn’t give us much, but he seems like a good kid.” “He’s a goddamn dropout!” Mr. Glassie practically shouted. Stone cut in then. “Mr. Glassie, did Vanessa have a computer?” The question seemed to shake him out of it. “Yes,” he said, with a touch of pride, “a good one.” “Mind if I take a look?” “We didn’t find anything on it,” the Sheriff said. “Just covering all our bases,” Stone said with a smile. Mr. Glassie led him upstairs. Mrs. Glassie looked to Isaacs. “The neighbors are all saying it was fi follet,” she said, on a sniff, “isn’t that silly?” “Will you show me her room?” Isaacs said, not wanting to answer. Mrs. Glassie led her up the staircase and into a bright green room. It was covered with posters. Boys, soccer, Dave Matthews Band. Stone was sitting at her computer, typing, Mr. Glassie hovering nearby. There was a phone on the bedside table, one of the clear ones that showed the working parts inside. Isaacs pointed to the phone and looked at Mr. Glassie. “Does she have her own line?” “No,” he said, “she kept asking for one though.” Isaacs looked to Stone, then addressed Mrs. Glassie. “Do you mind giving us a few minutes?” Mrs. Glassie turned to leave, then looked to her husband, who didn’t budge. “Bill?” They both slowly shuffled out. Isaacs came up behind Stone. “Anything?” she asked, leaning over his shoulder. “Not yet,” he said, “Nothing on AIM or ICQ. No email or anything like that. But,” he said, continuing to type as he spoke, “her history did get wiped the afternoon before she went missing.” “Think you can recover it?” Stone looked at her. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” he said. She snorted a short laugh. About 90 seconds later, he leaned back and pointed to the screen. “There we go,” he said. “’DuBoy’ to ‘SoccerStar22’ in an unlinked chat room. Check it out.”

Isaacs leaned in. “I’ll be damned.”

[bluemoonfantasiesiii]

Servamp!Sakuya Ch. 1

“I’m Mahiru Shirota. Fifteen years old. I like to keep things simple; try to keep life uncomplicated. That’s why I picked him up. I didn’t want to just leave him there and regret it later. That would be irritating.”

Mahiru dried off the raccoon with an old towel. He had just given the critter a bath after picking it up off the street. He knew a raccoon wasn’t exactly the most common choice of pet, but if Mahiru hadn’t taken it in, who knows what would’ve happened to it in a big city like Tokyo? Besides, the raccoon seemed calm enough. If it had rabies, it would’ve tried to bite him already, so the young brunette figured it was safe.

As Mahiru rubbed the towel over his new flatmate’s fur, he noticed some strange things about it. First and most obviously, it was albino. Its snout and chest were still a brighter white than the rest of its body, and it still had black rings on its tail and around its eyes, but it was definitely missing some pigment everywhere else. The second thing was the fur around its face. It was long, natty, and almost looked like it had bangs. One clump, in particular, fell over its left eye. In fact, all the fur on the left side of its face was longer than its right.

At last, Mahiru deemed the animal dry enough to wander the apartment. Before he let it go, though, he carefully carded his fingers through the fur falling over its face.

“Poor thing,” he said to the raccoon. “It’s getting in your eye. Hang on.” Slightly surprised when the creature actually stayed put, Mahiru went to his nightstand and searched through the small drawer. Almost instantly, he found what he was looking for: a hairpin with two pink sakura flowers on it. He’d found it in the hallway at school about a year ago, and he kept it in hopes of one day finding its owner. However, thinking simply, if it had already been a year, she had probably replaced it by then. There would probably be no harm in Mahiru using it.

The raccoon stared at him curiously. It tilted its head as Mahiru gently pushed back the fur covering its eye and pinned it back using the hair clip. He laughed as it curled upward in response, seemingly defying gravity. The raccoon raised a little black paw up to feel the accessory. Mahiru could’ve sworn the thing smiled.

“Aww, he likes it,” he said to no one in particular, lifting the animal up off the ground. The raccoon titled its head again, its beady, white eyes staring directly at the teen. “Now, what to name you…?” Mahiru was no animal expert, but he was fairly certain his new friend was male. “Your hairpin has sakura flowers on it, but Sakura’s a little girly…” He mused to himself for a second before gasping with realization. “That’s it!” he exclaimed, making his albino companion jump in his hands. “How about Sakuya?”

There it was again. That satisfied little expression on the fluffy, white face. Mahiru laughed. “Sakuya it is, then!”

“I had no idea I was inviting trouble into my home and putting my life in danger… Until the next day.”

The next day, in a random high school, the students were attempting to plan for the upcoming Culture Festival. Most of the duties had been handed out already. All that was left was to decide who would make the costumes. No one really had any experience with making clothes, so the job was passed around until one student spoke up.

“Why don’t we just get Mahiru to do it?” asked a boy with short, black hair and red eyes. A pair of sunglasses hung from the collar of his uniform shirt. This boy was Tsubaki Yuushuu, a first year.

“But he’s already in charge of preparing the food,” replied another first year with wavy, light brown hair. Koyuki turned toward his friend with a soft smile. “True,” said Tsubaki, “but it’s not like he has anything else to do since he lives alone. Besides, he’s the only one of us who knows the first thing about sewing. The way, I see it, there’s no other choice!”

“You talk about him like he’s the class maid or something,” said Ryuusei, the last of the trio, with a chuckle. Tsubaki burst out laughing at that. It was an unexpected but admittedly accurate description of their friend. As he was busy slapping his desk in hysterics, the classroom door burst open, revealing Mahiru himself, a black apron over his uniform and a bowl of butter cookies balanced in each hand. The stern look on his face made everyone in the room simultaneously think “angry mother.”

“Seriously, you guys?!” he scolded. “You still haven’t picked someone?! There’s only one job left! How hard can it be?!” “Speak of the devil,” said Tsubaki, having calmed down.

Mahiru let out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly! Oh, and here,” he shifted the bowls to draw attention to them. “I made a test batch of cookies, so line up and-“ The entire class immediately swarmed the boy. He yelped as he struggled to balance the sweets. “HEY!” he shouted over his classmates. “I said LINE UP! One at a time! There’s plenty for everyone!”

Within seconds the whole class was gushing over how delicious the freshly-baked cookies were. Still a little annoyed at the stampede, Mahiru shrugged off the compliments with a simple “Well, I like to keep recipes simple,” before taking a bite of his own creation. Once everyone was done eating, the students all took their seats.

“So, costumes are all that’s left, right?” said Mahiru. Everyone nodded. “The person in charge of that will need to know how to sew and have lots of free time.” More nodding. “Well then, thinking simply,” Mahiru pointed to himself, “I’ll have to do it!”

The class erupted into cheers. They could always count on Mahiru to take charge!

(later)

Mahiru, Tsubaki, Koyuki, and Ryuusei strolled down the steps of the school. Mahiru and Tsubaki took the lead while Koyuki and Ryuusei lagged behind side by side, the latter greedily munching on a sandwich.

“Are you sure you can handle making the food and the costumes?” Koyuki asked with a concerned smile. As much as he appreciated Mahiru’s willingness to do all the work, he didn’t want his friend to exhaust himself. Mahiru tended to do this often. The other three recalled when he volunteered for track back in middle school, or when he offered to care for the class pet.

“Well, someone’s gotta do it,” said Mahiru. “I figured if I can be that someone, then why not just go for it?”

“Still,” said Tsubaki, who was now wearing his sunglasses on his face, “isn’t it a bit unfair that you’re doing everything yourself, Mahiru?” He threw an arm around the brunet. “I’d be happy to help if you’re willing to teach me how to wield a needle-“

“That would just be unnecessary work, especially knowing you!” Mahiru cut off his raven-haired friend. Tsubaki gasped and clutched at his own chest as if in pain.

“You wound me, Mahiru!” he cried, dramatically pressing the back of his free hand to his forehead. “How will I go on knowing my best friend has such little faith in me?!”

Ryuusei swallowed his mouthful before butting in. “He’s got a point though, Mahiru,” he said. “I mean, all that responsibility. Don’t you ever get…overwhelmed?”

“Nah,” Mahiru shrugged. “It’s easier to just do it than to try to make an excuse not to.”

“I don’t get that philosophy, but whatever,” Ryuusei responded. “We owe you one for this, though."

“Yeah!” Koyuki chimed. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help you out.”

Tsubaki laughed. “Well, it might take some bribing with me, but I’m here for you, too!”

“What can you even do, Tsubaki?” Mahiru jabbed. “Other than make bad jokes?”

Tsubaki feigned offense. “My jokes are gold, and you know it!”

“At the very least, we can help you shop for supplies,” said Koyuki.

“Thanks, you guys,” said Mahiru.

Tsubaki gasped. “Oh!”

“What is it, Tsubaki?” asked Mahiru.

“You’re not going to the shops near the station, are you?” the raven-haired boy inquired.

“Uhh, yeah, I am. Why?”

“There are rumors going around about that area.” A sinister smile tugged at Tsubaki’s lips as he leaned in. “I heard there’s a vampire on the loose!” The other three met Tsubaki with matching stares of skepticism.

“Seriously, though!” the red-eyed teen defended, smile falling. “There’s an investigation on some kind of street slasher. People have been calling him Tokyo’s Jack the Ripper! He’s already claimed about ten victims, all of them found drained of blood with bite marks on their necks and arms!”

While Mahiru and Ryuusei still weren’t convinced, Koyuki was practically shaking. “Th-that’s really scary!”

Tsubaki grinned, baring his longer-than-average canines. “Of course,” he said, “I could be lying,” and was promptly smacked on the back of the head by Mahiru.

“Don’t do that! You’re gonna give Koyuki a panic attack!”

Said brunet managed to compose himself fairly quickly. “Oh! W-well, if it’s really safe, I’ve got free passes for karaoke by the station if you guys are interested!”

“I’ve got no respect!” Tsubaki replied, sending himself and Ryuusei into a fit of laughter.

“I’ll meet up with you guys later,” Mahiru said, starting down the road to his apartment building. “I’ve got some laundry I want to finish before I do anything else.” And with that, he sprinted home.

“Hey!” Tsubaki called after him. “Not all of what I said was a lie! Don’t blame me if you get attacked by a vampire~!” “Yeah, yeah!” Mahiru called back.

“I’d actually already heard the rumor about vampires going around. But I had real things to worry about. I wonder if Sakuya’s alright. I hope he didn’t get into trouble while I was gone.”

Arriving at his building, Mahiru stepped into the elevator to get to the seventh floor. A few minutes later and home sweet home. He pulled out his key to unlock his apartment door.

“Sakuya, I’m home!” he called out from the doorway as he removed his shoes. A light from the living room caught his attention, and he could faintly make out pop music. “I could’ve sworn I turned the TV off before I left…” he muttered to himself. Now on guard, he silently approached the living room. He slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from gasping.

Sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the TV, the only source of light in the apartment as the blinds were closed, playing a rhythm game, was a boy who looked about Mahiru’s age. He had messy, green hair that was swept off to the left. Dressed in black slacks with suspender straps hanging at his waist and a black jacket over a black-and-white-striped button-down shirt, the collar popped. Seeming to notice Mahiru’s presence, the boy turned to face him. His eyes were red and seemed to glow in the dim light. Those eyes widened as the controller fell from his hands, and the song finished with a series of “Miss” sounds.

[fatandnerdy30]

The Itsy Bitsy Spider 6

Peter scuffed his foot on the glass table as Pepper and Mr. Stark talked with Bruce, and the man looked back at him, squinting with a sad smile. "Yeah, I'll help build something for him, but couldn't you do it by yourself?" Wait, why could the boy suddenly hear them all the way over there? He then felt weird.

Tony smiled. "I haven't seen you in so long, I miss you!" "Plus, I think he wants you and Peter to bond," Pepper said. "He's terrified of you, and he hasn't even seen the Hulk. But, what he's been through, I wouldn't want to be around doctors, either." She made a face. "Yeah, all right. I'll see what I've got here to make him something." The man stood and headed for the door. "Hey, Peter. Nice to see you again." He frowned when the boy flinched, looking pained. "What's wrong?" Tony took a step towards the boy. "Your voice...it's too loud.." Peter groaned, holding his ears. It seemed as if his entire body was going haywire at the moment. He didn't even see the hand coming at him, but when the fingers touched his torso, the boy reacted, grabbing the man's hand and bending his fingers back in a painful position. "OWOWOWOWOWOWOW!!!" Bruce struggled to get his hand away from Peter, but it seemed like the boy had it in a vice grip. He tried a different approach, trying to keep himself calm and calm the kid down at the same time. "Peter," he whispered. "Peter, calm down...no one is going to hurt you here...Peter, it's okay. I'm going to help you. I just need you to calm down, okay. Open your eyes, come on." His technique was working and he could feel the boy's grip loosening, until he was able to pull his hand away. "Are you okay?" Pepper and Tony stood on both sides of the boy, a look of concern on their face. "What happened?" Tony looked down when he saw Peter flinch and knelt down. "Hey, Pete, talk to me." Peter's head was pounding and every part of his body was screaming at him to get away. "I...I don't know..." he sobbed, curling up. "Help me.." "Okay, short stuff, we're gonna have to go into the lab fully, though." The boy nodded and Tony knew at that point something was wrong. Carefully, he slid Peter into his hand, wincing when the teen rolled to the middle of his palm. Quickly he walked towards the table Bruce was set up on, waiting for the doctor to set up a towel to place Peter down. "Okay, kid, Bruce is gonna take a look at you. It'll be okay." Banner came close, bringing a magnifying screen over the boy. "Pete, you need to calm down, you're giving yourself a nosebleed." He was worried that boy was going to have a heart attack with the way his blood pressure must have been raising. "Come on, bud.." "Peter," Tony slid his hand over the teen, resting his thumb over his chest. "Pete, feel my heart, listen to my breaths....easy...." He purposefully breathed loud, watching his thumb rise and fall to see if the boy followed his breathing, which he did after a moment. "Good job, kid. Just keep it up." He turned to Bruce. "What do you need?" "Um," Banner was looking between Tony and Peter, only seeing his friend like that with Morgan. "A new blood sample, definitely." He grabbed the thinnest needle he had and quickly swabbed the boy's arm, wincing when the smell made his face go pained again. He didn't have time to program a bot this time. "Sorry, bud. Okay, a little stick." He slid the needle into where he could see the blue of a vein, sighing when blood started flowing, and a second later he pulled the needle and quickly brought the sample to look at under the microscope. "Tones," he said, voice apprehensive. "Friday, project." The room darkened and Friday showed a hologram of what was going on under the scope. "What the hell?" Tony watched as the blood cells mutated right in front of his eyes. "Enhance to a molecular level." Friday enhanced the image. Peter's DNA was changing more than it already had. The DNA strands before them were suddenly twisting and reforming, healing itself before his eyes. It was amazing to watch. "What's going on?" A tiny pained voice asked.Tony looked back to Peter, who had calmed down, but still shaking under the man's hand. "Hey, hey, Pete, you okay?" Peter nodded. "Y-yeah....I don't know what happened.." "Your healing, how long would it take to heal a bruise?" Bruce asked, his mind working a mile a minute. "It takes usually twenty minutes from what I've seen...bruises are easy when they're simple. When they broke bones, that took two days..." He was so tired... "Don't go to sleep on me yet, kid." The billionaire remembered seeing the bruises on the boy's arms when they rescued him. "So, then it must have been that morning that they gave you an IV?" The teen nodded, his eyes closing, his face pale under the magnifying lens. "Do you know what they gave you?" A shake of the head. "Okay, it's okay, Pete...You can rest now." He accepted the corner of a paper towel from the doctor and placed it over Peter's bleeding nose until a few seconds later, the bleeding stopped on its own, which Tony thought was impossible. "Thanks, Mr. Stark," Peter slurred and his eyes closed, a small snore coming from him a moment later. "That...that was scary," Banner sighed. "No kidding." "What just happened?" Pepper came from the corner, concern on her face. "I mean...what just happened?" Tony lifted his hands. "It would appear the injection Hydra gave Pete here took a few days to take hold, and that caused a mutation in his own DNA." He looked to Bruce, who was studying the microscope, as if he'd forgotten Friday was projecting the results. "Tony...I know what they gave him, I would know it anywhere.." he pulled away, his eyes going to the hologram. "Gamma radiation...they mixed a spider's DNA string with gamma radiation.....It's hard to tell what spider, because the radiation takes it over. I can't believe he survived what those bastards did to him..." He took his glasses off, his face sad and angry at the same time. "Just calm down, Brucie. Take a breath, the kid is okay, just breathe. You don't wanna turn green with Peter in the room." Pepper went to him, placing a hand on his back, and when she wasn't rebuked, she rubbed circles on the doctor's back, soothing him with hushed words. "I'm okay," the doctor breathed after a few minutes. "I'm good, I'm good...I just...I hate thinking of anyone in the hands of those..." he took a deep breath and looked at the tiny boy on the table, watching his face in the lens. "At least he's okay now. I'll try and figure out how to undo the...the only way I can put it is the shrinking, as childish as it is to say." Banner smiled and shook his head. "And also I'll try to get in touch with Hank Pym again, see what he has to say." Tony nodded, and looked to Pepper, who was already holding Peter in her cupped hands, brushing the hair from his face with her thumb. "Okay, let's go get this kid to bed. He can take a shower after he wakes up." He wrapped his arm around the woman's waist and they stepped out, only to be greeted by a smiling Morgan. "Hi mommy! Hi daddy! Mommy, what are you holding? Can I see it? Daddy, look at my drawing! It's of the team!" Morgan dropped her bag to the floor and dug through her bag. Pepper stepped back, covering Peter. "I have to go for a minute. When I get back, how do you feel about cookies and milk before you start your homework?" The little girl stopped rummaging, her face lighting up."Yes please! Daddy, can you help me? You're super smart." She gave the man big doe eyes, which she knew her daddy couldn't say no to. "Okay, let's go." He grabbed his daughter's hand. "This is your fault, you know," he told Pepper, who smiled as the man was led away by the six year old. Pepper quickly went to Peter's room, laying the boy on the pillow, seeing how his body sunk slightly into the surface. "Have a good rest, sweetie," she whispered. She wanted to kiss his forehead, but was afraid of hurting Peter. So, she just kissed her fingertip and brushed it along the boy's hairline. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Morgan couldn't sleep. All day she'd been full of energy, but everything she did did nothing to get rid of the energy, and it was starting to bug her. She wanted to go into her daddy's workshop with her plastic tools, and mimic every move, but it was too late and she knew her daddy would yell. So, she got up out of bed and padded to her dolls, quietly taking the ones that didn't talk out and brought them to her bed. She wanted to turn on her music, but she couldn't ask Friday to block the noise from her room. She'd done that once when she was experimenting with the toilet, and her daddy had told Friday to never let her do it again.   So, she silently went playing with her dolls, but soon her stomach grumbled. She'd had two slices of pizza for dinner, the team all around her at the table, but she found it weird that her dad had left the table with a slice of pizza, then came back a few minutes later without it. Morgan couldn't think on a empty stomach. She needed a snack. Putting her dolls aside, she padded out of her room. "Miss Morgan," Friday's voice was loud. "What are you doing out of bed?" "Shh!! Friday, I wanted a snack. I'm hungry." "Your father will not be happy to learn that you are out of bed at this time," the AI whispered this time. "He doesn't have to know," she called up to the ceiling. "Please, Friday? Just this once? And it's the weekend!" "There are some carrot sticks in the bottom drawer." Morgan smiled and ran to the kitchen, grabbing her snack, grabbing a few when she looked down the hall curiously. "Friday? Who else is here?" "It is just your family, the avengers and Peter." Who was that? "Where is Peter staying?" "Down the hall, Miss Morgan. I am waking Mr. Stark." "No!" She ran down the hall, opening each door, but there was no one in any room...maybe they were invisible! She went through again, calling into each room until a watery voice answered. "M-Mrs. Stark?" "No...I'm Morgan Stark. Are you Peter?" She couldn't see anyone. "Are you invisible?" "What?" The boy laughed. "No! I'm just...tiny, I guess." Morgan raised a brow and walked into the room and there laying in the middle of the pillow was a tiny boy, the size of one of Morgan's dolls, his face scrunched up in fear. "Hi," Morgan called softly. "You really are tiny." She crawled onto the bed, being careful with her new friend. "Are you a fairy? Or, were you a doll that Daddy brought to life?" She reached out her hand.Peter scurried back when the child's hand reached toward him, his senses screaming at him that this was dangerous! "Morgan Stark, what are you doing out of bed?" Both kids gasped, Peter sagged in relief to see Mr. Stark standing in the doorway, a stern yet worried expression on his face. "I-I wanted to get a snack, but then I though about where the pizza from dinner went, so I looked in the rooms and found Peter." She frowned and looked at the ground. She was only curious.Tony sighed. "I see...and how did you know his name?" He came to stand by the bed. "Friday?" "You never gave an order to not tell anyone who asked, Boss." Peter struggled to sit up in the softness beneath him when suddenly his hair stood up and he rolled away from the hand that was reaching out to grab him, surprising both him and Morgan, who stared at him with a smile. "That was really cool."She was lifted away suddenly by Mr. Stark, who gave her a stern look. "Morgan, you could have hurt Peter if you had grabbed him. He's here under the Avengers protection, so that means that he is off limits." Peter didn't like being talked about like he wasn't even in the room and he frowned. "I..If she doesn't try to pick me up, she can come and talk to me. I don't mind." Morgan smiled. "See Daddy? He said I can come see him." Mr. Stark shook his head and looked to Peter. "You have no clue what you've done," he joked. "But, if you want her company, I won't say no. Just do what he says, Morgan. He may not look it, but he's older than you." He gave the boy a scared look as he turned and smiled. "Come on, back to bed little miss. I'll be back, Pete." The boy watched them leave the room, and wanted to tell the man not to leave. That he was scared...but, a few minutes later, Mr. Stark came back to sit on the bed. "You okay?" He glanced at the kid. Even though Tony had had the boy for only a couple of days, he felt protective of him. He could blame the parent thing, but he knew that wasn't it. Once you got to know Peter, it was impossible not to love him. Is this what having two kids felt like? "Yeah, I'm okay." Peter lied, wiping his face. He felt his senses blare again, but he moved too late and he was scooped up by the billionaire and brought up to the man's face, where two large eyes studied him. "Hmm....sure. What was this dream about?" Tony got up and started walking, exiting the room. He knew a nightmare when he saw it, and knew the boy had been having them since the first day. In a way, he was glad Morgan had gotten to him first. Normally when he got there, the kid was already asleep again, nightmare over. Well, tonight he was going to hopefully make them stay away. Peter let out a soft sigh, blush reddening his face as his hand pushed his curls from his eyes. "I was back in the lab....there were people all around me, but...this time, Dr. Banner was there." He shivered and held himself, but Mr. Stark must have noticed, because the next he knew, he was curling his hand around the boy, creating a cocoon of warmth. "It's stupid, I know," the boy laughed. "Nothing you've said has ever been stupid, kid. Trust me, I've known some pretty stupid people." I've had this dream before, Mr. Stark...it's nothing really." Tony ignored the boy an walked to his and Pepper's room, shutting the door behind him. "Wh-what are we doing in your room?" Peter asked, looking around. He'd never been in the man's room. "Well, it's late, I'm tired, you're tired. We're going to sleep." He slid into the bed as quietly as he could as not to wake the sleeping Pepper, but it seemed she was awake. "What's wrong?" she glanced at Peter in her husband's hand, concern filling her face. "Peter?" "It's nothing, honey. Just a little nightmare, that's all. Go back to sleep." Peter gasped as the man laid down, not having a chance to grab on to something before falling to the man's chest. He sat there dazed for a moment. "Mr. Stark, I'm okay, really. I can sleep in my own room." He looked into Mr. Stark's face with a serious expression, his body moving up and down with the man's breathing. He wasn't a baby. He could handle a bad dream, and he went to tell the man that, when the man opened his mouth. "Hush," Tony told him, closing his eyes. "It's sleep time." Peter huffed and started looking for ways to get down, when he felt his body react before he could even think, rolling out of the way of the hand coming at him. "Mr. Stark!" he squeaked, feeling the man chuckle. "You're tickling me," Tony lied and brought his hand up again, slower this time, letting the boy see it lower. "Now lay down." Peter shook his head. This was completely embarrassing! Then, out of nowhere a finger knocked the boy down and he turned to see Pepper smirking, her manicured hand going back to her side. "See? Even Pepper wants you to lay down." Tony brought his hand up before Peter could move, covering him, feeling his fingers over the boy like a weighted blanket. And it wasn't as bad as Peter thought. The minute Mr. Stark's hand covered him, he felt the anxiety and fear of the dream going away. Under him, the man's heart beat thundered, but it was comforting to Peter. Something touched his back and at first he fought it, but Mr. Stark's pointer finger had started rubbing his back, the digit firm and comforting. Slowly the boy felt his eyes closing, when the door opening brought them all to attention, but when they saw it was only Morgan, the adults relaxed. "What is it?" Pepper asked sleepily, opening her arms for her daughter to crawl into. "I wanted to tell Daddy I'm sorry for finding Peter...hi." Morgan waved at Peter, who laid on her father's chest, smiling when he waved back. "You found Peter?" Pepper asked. "Were you looking for him?" The girl shook her head. "No, but I found him. Can I sleep in here, too?" Tony was about to say no, when Pepper brought the girl up into the bed and he sighed, but smiled. "Sure, I already have a kid the size of a mouse on my chest...what's one more titan, huh?" Pepper chuckled as Morgan got settled and brought her arm across all three of them, her hand covering Tony's. "Good night," she whispered, but all she heard was breathing and she smiled, drifting off herself.

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

@letsbeinspiredby @sparrowrider @6inchicon @carttorchdeatth

[loversandantiheroes]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Lyrium Withdrawal, Lyrium Addiction, Mild Gore, Hurt/Comfort, first comes the hurt, then comes the comfort, I swear there will be comfort, Cuddling and Snuggling, see I said there’d be comfort

The threat of Adamant looms, and the cracks begin to show.

Thanks to @juliannos, @aloy-sobek, and @songofproserpine for their help and support <3

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He was steadier now, but even with her support she could feel the amount of effort it took to move as his own fatigue finally set in.  The stairs took an age, one slow, labored step, and then time to breathe.  Then again.  And again.  She let him rest against the wall when they reached the first landing, wiping the sweat from his face.

Upstairs, his bed was made but the stove cold and dark.  Aster croaked at her reproachfully from his cage in the corner.  Aadhlei steered Cullen toward the edge of his bed and folded his already swollen hand in her own.  “May I?”

He nodded, and she pulled a trickle of magic, letting it build slowly, watching his face for a reaction.  Cullen sighed in heady relief as his hand knit up and rested his forehead against hers.  “You feel like rain,” he murmured.  

The words left an aching in her chest, fierce and deep, and the tears she’d fought so hard against welled up all over again.  She pressed his now healed knuckles to her lips and restrained a nearly overpowering urge to draw him into her arms and into a wash of magic until he was well.  But still she felt her own exhaustion pressing in on her, and knew how brief her second wind would last if she burned through it all now.  She didn’t dare risk it.   

Instead she kissed him, once on the mouth and once on his forehead.  “Sit down, Cullen, rest easy a moment while I get a fire going.”

She filled the belly of the stove with wood and kindling and spent perhaps a touch too long trying to stop her hands from shaking enough to strike the flint from the tinderbox without fumbling it.  He needs you, she reminded herself, filling a copper kettle from the pitcher in the corner and setting it on to boil.

Cullen sat slumped on his bed, resting heavily on the palms of his hands.

“Can you stand?”

He looked up, dazed and drained, but still present, and nodded, pushing himself up onto shaking legs.

“I need to get you out of this kit.  I will try to be quick.”  She tugged at his mantle, pushing it off his shoulders.   

As she began work on the buckle of his heavy belt, Cullen gave a whistling chuckle.  “I’m afraid this is not quite how I pictured this happening.”  

“No, nor me,” she said, leaning his sword against the bedside table and easing his vest over the armor.  He froze, shocked into clarity for the moment, his gaze heavy.  Of course they’d both thought about it.  Of course they had.  But there was a difference between thinking it and saying it.  Or hearing it, for that matter.  She smiled a little sheepishly.  “A conversation for another time, I think,” she said, face beginning to burn, and set to work on the buckles of his armor.  

He helped a little, or at least tried to.  Twice he had to stop, leaning on her for support and closing his eyes against a fresh wave of dizziness, pressing his lips - hot and dry and cracked - against her temple.  Underneath it all his tunic was soaked in that sour-burned sweat, and Cullen shivered violently as she peeled it away.

It took every bit of her willpower to give no reaction.  Faint, silvery-white lines ghosted across his his upper arms, more on his right than his left.  A thicker, more prominent line streaked across his left collarbone down across his chest to disappear into the fine hair that swirled inward toward his sternum.  Another, far more wicked-looking scar curved up along the right side of his ribcage almost to his armpit.  Even as skilled a fighter as he was the scars should have been expected, but seeing the reality of it left her unsettled.  Cullen always seemed practically (unbreachable) invulnerable inside his armor.  She knew different of course, from both reason and experience.  The first time she had met him in the Temple ruins he had been wounded.  Yet there still remained some air to him in or out of combat that suggested he was nothing quite so simple as human.  More a fair-haired fortress built of bone and sinew.  A reminder - another reminder, in this case - of his vulnerability felt deeply and fundamentally offensive; an index of things that should not be.  

She shook herself a little, forcing herself back to task.  Kit off, wash him down, get him into bed.  When she moved her hands towards the lacings of his breeches he grabbed her wrist and shook his head.  A deep, mottled blush spread across his face and chest.  

“No…,” he rasped, suddenly quite hoarse.  “I would….I would rather….”

“Yes, yes of course,” she muttered, mouth dry.  “I didn’t mean to...shit, balls, sorry.”  Her face felt nearly as hot and feverish as his.  She twisted around him, turning the bedclothes down.  “Just sit yourself, let me get your boots.”

When all was done she pulled a clean cloth from her bag, dampened it in the washbasin, and washed him down quickly.  His skin was hot but even as he fought to still it, she could feel him shivering.  She urged him to lie back, arranging the pillows to prop him up a little.  The kettle on the stove let out a bubbling chuff as she pulled the covers up over him.

“Rest awhile,” she said.  “I’m going to make you up something, should set you right.”

From the looks of it, the table by the stove only ever seemed to see use for the odd cup of tea.  It was still quite bare, save for an iron trivet, a few cups and spoons, a small tea chest, and a round earthenware crock she could only assume was filled with sugar.  Aadhlei pulled the kettle off the stove and set it on the small iron trivet and opened her satchel.  She’d kept in touch with the physicians and knew which of the remedies he’d asked for while she was away, what worked and what did not, and had been adjusting them every time she returned.  Those, however, were usually separate remedies, small things to be taken as needed.  Now he needed all of it, and she needed several manner of things to play nice together in a single cup.  

She sang under her breath as she worked, an old song to clear her head.  Another thing of her foster mother that lingered.  A memory like the scent of dark licorice root and rosemary soap and the guidance of old, gnarled hands as she cut and crushed and measured leaf and root.  Aadhlei set the tea to steeping, alongside a second cup in which she added the tinctures she had brought to a bit of brandy.  Tucked in a fold in the bag was a small hourglass, and she set it at the ready on the table.  

Still humming, she set about lighting the candles in the room.  His armor still needed to be hung, and he did his best to direct her in the task, laughing only a little when she struggled to fasten the breastplate properly to the dummy.  Despite the frustration, she didn’t mind much.  It was too good to hear him laugh.

Aster croaked at her again from his cage, a positively sullen sound.  The door to it was open and he hopped onto the ledge as she came close.  He pecked at her when she reached up, a reprimand for her absence.

“I know, I know.”  She reached up again and this time he let her scratch gently at his feathered head.  “I’m worried about him, too,” she added in a low voice.

Aster regarded her curiously.  And then, to her great astonishment, he spoke.  A strange, slightly buzzing sound, but unmistakably words.  “To work?”

Aadhlei blinked, sputtering laughter.  She’d heard that ravens could be talk to speak if given time and training, but had never witnessed such a thing.  She glanced over her shoulder at Cullen.  “Is this your doing?”

Cullen’s eyes were alarmingly wide.  “I had no idea...Maker, he can just do that?”

“It would seem so.”  She turned back to the raven.  “No work for you tonight, pretty.  This job’s mine to do.”

Aster ruffled his feathers as he settled back onto his perch, a motion that seemed all at once content and a little grumpy.  “Maker’s breath,” he rasped.

“This is your influence,” Aadhlei said, a mock accusation.

“I cry your pardon and throw myself at your mercy, Inquisitor.”

She laughed again, stroking the back of her fingers against the white feathers on Aster’s breast.

“I think he missed you,” Cullen said, watching their messenger friend fluff out comfortably at the attention.

“I missed him, too.  These past two weeks would’ve felt less punishing with the sight of him at camp.”  She paused, a little pang of regret needling her heart.  “I should’ve written.  Even just a line or two.  I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“What would you have said?” Cullen asked in a low, curious voice as she fastened the door shut and gently covered the cage.

Aadhlei turned to face him and all at once found herself a little lost.  The light was beginning to wane and the dim fire of the candlelight gave a strange sheen to his pallid face.  But in his eyes it danced, turning their dark amber to something like low-burning embers.  He was watching her with an eager attentiveness, as if committing the moment to memory, and her with it.  

“That I missed you,” she said.  “So much that it hurt.  That the only thing that made the nights bearable was thinking of you.  Thinking that I was a little closer to having you in my arms again.”  A small chuckle.  “And that, when I returned, I was half likely to kiss you at the gates and let propriety be damned.”

The smile she hoped for didn’t come.  His face was impassive, nearly solemn.  “I would have been glad to hear that,” Cullen said slowly.  There was a shadow in his eyes that had nothing to do with the fire light.  “But I...I do not think I could have written back.  Not the way I have been.  It is hard for me to find anything gentle in myself like this.  It is just....just dark, and I would not give you that.”

“You needn’t hide from me, Cullen,” she said softly.  “I would have all of you.  Even the dark.”

There was a gravity in her voice that seemed to shake him, and for a moment he turned away, thumbing sweat and tears from his eyes.  And then he gazed up at her, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, achingly sweet in its tenacity.  “I’d never heard you sing before,” he said, changing the subject clumsily.  “I should have known you’d sound lovely.”

She took the shift in stride, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed and gently wiping at his forehead with the washcloth.  She had no wish to overburden him tonight.  A heavy heart was difficult enough to carry, she knew.  For that same heart to be full was staggering, and more than a little frightening.

“It was Kenna’s way,” she said.  “She taught me healing.  Always sang when she worked.  I suppose it stuck.  Such things often do.”

“There is still so much about you I don’t know,” he said, brushing his knuckles against the side of her arm.

Aadhlei wound her fingers in his, more than happy to be a distraction.  “I’m an open book, me.  What would you know?”

He chuckled, a little more of that stoniness fading from his features.  “I don’t know.  Suppose I didn’t think this through.  Always seems to happen where you’re concerned.”  The fingers that twined with hers were restless and fidgety as he thought it over.  “Tell me something of your childhood.  Something fond, something good.”

She considered for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on her lip.  Her childhood was a complicated matter at the best of times, and while it had certainly not all been awful, there was still little in it that felt good enough and whole enough to be worth sharing.  

“When I turned twelve, I was given a pair of gifts from my foster mother," she said at last, grasping at the first memory she found with a root that was both deep and good.  "The first was a book of elven - words and phrases and small stories she’d had some of the local serving girls and farm hands help cobble together.  I tried to teach myself to speak the language from that book ‒ no real idea what it was supposed to sound like ‒ so you can imagine how effective that was.  When I first met the Dalish, my elven was so bad they all laughed at me like I’d taken a knock to the head.  Not sure it’s improved as much as I’d hoped, either,” she added with a laugh.

Aadhlei reached up, tapping at the pendant that hung from her neck on a fine chain.  “This was the other gift.  Kenna told me it was my mother’s, my real mother’s, but it wasn’t.  No elf that gave up an infant to humans could have afforded such.”  She unclasped it, holding it up.  Dangling from the chain was a small heart-shaped leaf cast in mellow gold.  She turned it over to show a raised stamp under the bail.  “She had a ring with this stamp on it, too.  Human make, not elven.  But the leaf, it’s elfroot.  She had this made for me and told me a story so I would feel a little less alone.  And it worked.  There was a long time after she died where I was on my own, hiding and scrounging, when just about the only comfort I had left was in this and the reminder that, at least once in my life, there had been someone who cared.”

She took his hand, turned it palm up, and folded the necklace into it.

His face fell.  “I cannot take that from you,” he protested, trying to push it back into her hands.

“Do not fight me on this, Cullen,” she said, voice still light and measured, but the order was clear.  “You take this.  You keep it close.  And when the memories get bad, when it’s hard to remember where you are, or when, maybe this will help.  Maybe it’ll remind you the same way it reminded me that there’s somebody in this mess that cares about you.”

Cullen opened his mouth to speak, eyes shining in his pale face, and all at once she could see the words he meant to say painted boldly across his face.  Half-panicked, Aadhlei quickly put her hand across his lips.

“No, Cullen, I’ll not have you say anything, not just now.  Not when you’re half burned up with fever.  Wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”  

Hurt flared in his eyes, sharp and quick, then died away until all that remained was a soft shadow of guilt.  The hand she held across his mouth shifted, stroked gently across his unshaven cheek as if in apology, and then fell away.  

“Tea’s ready,” she said.

Her hands trembled a little as she mixed the brandy into the tea.  He’d nearly said it.  The words had been so plainly written in his eyes there was no question.  I love you.  Maker, she wanted him to say it.  Wanted to know what those words would sound like in his voice, to know what it felt like to receive them from one who meant it.  More than any of that, she wanted to say it back.  The words seemed to always hover just on the tip of her tongue these days, terrifyingly close, a confession simply waiting to tumble out whenever he looked at her too long.

But Creators, not like this, not now.  Not from a sickbed.  

The scent of rosemary filled her nose again, but this time it barely covered the smell of sick and slow decay that lurked beneath it.  She felt the clammy, wrinkled skin of Kenna’s forehead against her lips as she made prayers to any god that would listen.

Love you, mum.  I’m sorry I never said it before.  

Shuddering, she scrubbed at her cheeks, willing the memories back where they’d been buried.

Cullen had her necklace wrapped around his hand, the leaf pressed to his mouth like a Chantry sister’s prayer beads.

“Drink this,” she said, clearing her throat to hide the thickness in her voice.

He frowned at her, a tinge of concern in his features, but took the cup obediently in unsteady hands and drank.  At the first mouthful he grimaced.  “Oh Maker.  It’s like a hot toddy but angrier.”

“That’s the embrium.  Also the brandy.  Down the hatch, that’s no taste to savor.”

He grumbled in agreement and downed the rest as quickly as he could.

As he passed the empty cup back his fingers folded around hers and held her a moment.  “If I have upset you‒” he started.

“You’ve done no such thing.”

“The things I said before‒”

“Are nothing you owe me apology for.”

“Yes th‒”

“Cullen.”

He stared up at her, eyes searching her face intently.  Whatever he found there seemed to soften him and that woeful look in his eyes abated a little.  “I do not understand how you can....how you can still look at me the way that you do, knowing what I’ve done.”

“Nothing you have said tonight has changed the way I feel about you,” she said, each word slow and deliberate.  “Your past does not trouble me, not the way you think.”

Frowning, he traced along the side of her face with a calloused but gentle fingertip.  “Something has,” he said.

She leaned into the touch with a sigh.  “It hurts to see you like this, that’s all,” she said.  A small confession with more yet lurking behind it.  “I would protect you from it if I could.  Maker, I wish I could.  Do not mistake me, I would not have you hide your suffering for my sake.  But watching someone I… someone I care about suffer, it touches on an old hurt.  I’ll say no more about it the now.”  

Cullen only looked up at her with that same furrow in his brow.  She stroked at it, thumbing away sweat.  “Quit that.  Worrying’s my job tonight.  Your job is resting.”

She started to rise and Cullen tugged at her sleeve.  “Where‒”

“To have a word with the guards and let them know you are not to be disturbed,” she reassured him.

Impossibly, he seemed to pale further.  “I cannot,” he began, trying to push himself up, but his limbs refused to hold his weight and he fell back again, closing his eyes tight against a fresh wave of dizziness.  “They will...do not tell them I am ill.  There will be talk.”

Aadhlei straightened, squaring her shoulders.  “I seem to recall some ceremony or other with a big sword that would suggest the guards work for me now.  As such, I think I’m allowed at least one ‘do as you’re fucking told’ a month, wouldn’t you say?”

“I suppose you are,” he said, and there was a ghost of humor in his voice.

“That goes for you as well, Commander.  You are off duty until morning, is that clear?”

“As you say, Inquisitor.”  And this time he did smile.

She bent and placed her hand to his chest, feeling the thump of his heart beneath her fingers, its tempo abruptly jumping at the contact.  There was a thrill to the touch, to the intimacy of it, but a comfort, too.  The rhythm of his heart was patiently reassuring; a steady reminder of his perseverance.  “I’m not leaving tonight, Cullen.  I mean to look after you.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, and pressed her hand more firmly over his heart.

* * *

The first dosage lasted only three hours.  It helped, or seemed to, at least.  The shaking calmed, as did the sweating, and Cullen drifted off for awhile.  Aadhlei scribbled notes, checking over him carefully as he dozed, keeping careful eye on the hourglass to mark the time.  He talked in his sleep.  Mostly nonsense, but as the sweat began again to bead up on his brow his mutterings became darker and hissed through gritted teeth.

Higher dosage, she thought, adding fresh wood to the stove.  Perhaps elderberry instead of the spindleweed might‒

Cullen gave a short, shuddering groan that cut off abruptly.  Worried, Aadhlei turned to see him thrash the covers away, swinging his feet off the bed.  His face was pale and pinched, his mouth pressed to a thin, tight line.  A life spent in an orphanage looking after the other children had left her quite familiar with that look, and she grasped a nearby bucket - fast, but not quite fast enough.  Cullen stumbled forward, colliding with her as she rushed forward, knocking them both to the floor, prompting a startled rustle and squawk from Aster’s cage.  He wrenched the bucket from her just barely in time and retched into it violently, rocking on his knees.  She steadied him, rubbing his back as his muscles locked and his stomach emptied.

He stuttered once, spit, then retched again.  “Sorry,” he panted when it finally passed.  “Maker.  Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she said, stretching up to fetch the washcloth again.  Cullen fell back on his haunches, wobbled, and landed unceremoniously half on his ass and half on her, shoving her back against the edge of the bed.  Aadhlei craned her neck just in time to avoid getting bashed in the nose by the back of his head.

He gave another bevy of muttered apologies as he sagged against her and she eased his head to her shoulder, wiping his face down.  “Didn’t want you to see this,” he groaned.

“I have seen much worse than this, Cullen.  Don’t fret.  You tell me when you’re ready to move, alright?  We need to get you back into your bed.”

His hands came around, groping for hers and pulling them weakly.  “Can we stay?  Just for a moment.  I need…”  His head lolled against her shoulder, eyes shut tight.  A trickle strayed down from the corner of his eye, but if it was sweat or tears, she couldn’t say.

“Yes.  As long as you need,” she said.  There was still a cup of water on the bedside table and she groped for it, pressing it to his lips to wash away the taste of sick.  When he finished she set it aside and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, careful to keep the Anchor pressed against herself and not him.  

“Is it always this bad?”

A faint shake of the head, limbs beginning to tremble again.  “No.  Every few weeks.  Worst I’ve had.”

“Adamant?”

His eyes closed.  An almost imperceptible nod.  

She held him a little tighter.  “Do you need to talk about it?”

The shake of his head was more like a shudder.  “Just...just this,” he whispered, drumming a nervous tempo on her arm.  “Please.  I can’t.”

“Whatever you need.”  She shifted, trying to pull her knee out of his back and find something more comfortable for the both of them.  Cullen settled against her with a grateful sigh.  His weight left her pinned, the bedframe digging into her back, but she thought little of it.  She had spent far too many years sleeping rough with all manner of roots and rocks jabbing into her back and sides.  This was nothing.

His hand found her leg, curling against the bare skin of her calf.  “There has never been much good in my life,” he whispered.  “And now that there is, I cannot bear the thought of losing it.”

Aadhlei kissed the corner of his jaw below his ear in the bracket of a sweat-damp curl.  “The world will not be rid of me so easily.  Neither will you.”

A shudder ripped through him, head to toe, and Aadhlei had the strongest feeling it had nothing to do with the lyrium.  “Let me say it.  Please.”

Her stomach clenched.  “Cullen.  I already know.”

“I have to say it,” he said, finding a little strength to grip her arms tight.  “If something happens ‒ to either of us ‒ and I never have‒”

“In the morning,” she whispered into his ear and he was not the only one shaking.  “When the sun’s up, when you’re better, you tell me then, not before.  Promise me.  Not before.”

With a little effort he turned, wrapping his arms around her waist and laying his head against her chest.  “I promise,” he said, squeezing.

Silence stretched on, long enough for her to suspect Cullen had drifted to sleep in her arms.  She had time to wonder a little that this was the first time she had ever held him properly with no armor between them, huddled together on the floor of his bedchamber as he burned his way through a lyrium fever.  But then he spoke, soft and puzzled and very much awake.  

“Why me?”

She laughed, stroking his hair.  “That’s a question will only lead to heartbreak and headaches.  Best to avoid it.”

“No,” Cullen said, raising up to fix her with alarmingly clear eyes.  “Why me?  You could have anyone.  And yet‒”  He trailed off, voice breaking.

“I could say the same of you,” she said, trying for humor.  “Commander of the Inquisition’s forces dallying with some backwater healer that fell out of the Fade.”

It was mostly in jest, the sort of self-deprecating nonsense she always used to deflect a compliment around her companions, but she saw it land with him, saw it stick.  He knew she meant it.

“You are the single most extraordinary person I have ever met.”  He took her hand - her left, where the anchor thrummed gently like a second heartbeat - and threaded his fingers through hers, lacing them palm to palm.  Her necklace dangled between them, glinting green-gold from the light that escaped their hands.  “And this,” he said, “has nothing to do with it.”

With tears prickling the corners of her eyes, she kissed him, resting her forehead to his.  “And you ask why,” she said with a laugh that shook just a little too hard.  “Maker, you’re daft.  You remember the day in front of the Chantry?  I’d just come back from the Hinterlands.  Half the people there thought I was a murderer.  The rest just saw another mage ‒ someone they wanted to hurt, or was afraid would hurt them.  And the first thing I found was you standing in that awful little knot of angry people, staring down the Chancellor.  You wouldn’t budge for him.  Not an inch.  He would’ve been happy to see me burn as a heretic back then.  And you stepped up, put yourself between him and me, and once he scurried away you took me aside to be sure I knew you were on my side.  No one had ever done that.  No one had ever protected me without making sure I knew that they could stop, could and would toss me to the wolves any time they wanted.  You made me feel safe, and I’d never known that before.”

Her fingers traced the lines on his face, an early gift from a life that had been far too unforgiving.  “The world has been cruel to you, and it might’ve hardened you and misled you, but you never let it make you cruel in return.  You have the strongest heart, Cullen.  That’s all I’ve ever seen in you.  A good man who has worn himself bloody trying to do good - to stay good.”

“Maker, you almost make me believe it,” he muttered, voice breaking.  His free hand tangled in her hair as he kissed her, tight-lipped and desperate, over and over.  He drew a breath and with great effort swallowed the words that surfaced.  “In the morning,” he said instead.

“In the morning,” she echoed.  “You need to sleep.”

His legs were steadier as she helped him up and eased him back into bed.  Calmer now herself, she mixed a second dosage with a few small adjustments, a little more assured that this should in all good theory do the trick.

He drank obediently, as before, then snaked an arm around her.

“Stay,” he said.

“I told you, I’m not leaving.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.  The arm that curled around her pulled her closer.  “Stay,” he said again.

She laughed a little, high and breathless.  “Cullen I haven’t bathed in anything larger than a bucket for two months.”

“I don’t care.”

The thought of lying with him in the softness of a bed and the comforting circle of his arms was unbearably sweet, a surprisingly chaste fantasy she had craved for so many months.  The exhaustion she had staved off with potion and panic was suddenly roaring back to life, her limbs going leaden.  She needed another dose, and soon.  

“I can’t,” she said, nearly pained.  “I won’t be able to keep awake.”

“Then don’t,” he said simply.

“I’m here to look after you,” she insisted.  “I cannot do that in my sleep.”

“Then don’t,” he said again, with the sort of maddeningly reasonable tone she used so frequently.  It was strange to be on the receiving end of it herself.  “I know you.  You’ll have slept only as much as you needed to keep from falling from your saddle for two weeks straight.  You need the rest as badly as I do.  Stay with me.  Please.”  A beat.  A little warmth returning to his features.  “I have missed you.”

Aadhlei sighed, and swore she felt some of that spiraling tension release with the breath.  “I missed you, too,” she murmured.  She gave a small nod, a little more of the borrowed strength slipping out of her.  “Alright.”

Cullen pulled her flush to him, a long line of gently trembling muscles beneath the woolen blankets.  His mouth found hers as he rolled, dragging her across him and onto the other side of the bed with an encouraging show of strength.  Only the shaking of his arms and raggedness of his breathing belied the effort the show had cost him.  He kissed her steadily and drowsily as she settled against him, finding the places where they fit together.  

“Goodnight,” he muttered against her mouth when at last his breathing had calmed again.

“Goodnight,” she said, her hand against his cheek.  He was warm still ‒ Maker, he was always warm ‒ but no longer hot.  The fever, it seemed, was breaking.  A little relief bloomed in her as her eyes slipped closed and she fell asleep almost at once.