#he can go tinker with machines and other things but NO harming others

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

hello im new here but i saw your sanctuary au and i really like it!! unfortunately trying to go through the tag only yielded me two posts and i know there's more bc i saw another one while scrolling the whole blog but anyway that's to say if you've talked about the others who are at the sanctuary i only saw Dain's detailed post and here i sit wondering about sanctuary au dottore and/or capitano and how they interact with foul legacy (based on a canon voiceline is our moth wanting to politely spar with cap or does he just try to fight him at any given opportunity? i think i saw that dot can teleport so what kind of shenanigans does he get himself into?) im going to try to search for the rest of the sanctuary au posts as well i love this au

D: oh nooo the tags for it aren't working?? ARGH i will try to fix it when i have the time because that AU is one of my favorites :)) (also, i did not create it!! the wonderful @/pastelpeachyposts thought it into existence and i am eternally grateful that they did :D

HARBINGERS!!!! MORE HARBINGERS I LOVE THE HARBINGERS- i usually portray Foul Legacy Childe as less battle hungry than in game, but i think he'd still be up for some friendly sparring with a monstery Capitano!! you tell them both that you prefer no blood drawn, but they usually end up with a few nicks here and there, and you simply sigh and sit both of them down to be patched up. Childe still admires Capitano a little bit because he's strong and powerful, but honestly more than anything they both admire YOU for keeping your sanity intact while dealing with multiple Abyss monsters, some of which are NOT as polite and peaceful as Childe

example: Dottore

he probably ranks second in terms of "most chaotic", outdone only by Columbina- but you'd actually rather take care of Columbina, since she's fairly cheerful and likes snuggling, which always calms her down. Dottore on the other hand is not so easily pacified, and yes, he can teleport. now usually he'll tell you if he wants to go outside (or is going outside, you can't really stop him), but sometimes he unconsciously teleports when he's asleep, and when he wakes up he immediately starts getting into mischief. he doesn't panic at all, which is nice, but he also does what he wants and will do it NOW until he gets bored. additionally, the only person he has a chance of listening to is you, so whenever he suddenly appears in some city you'll get immediately contacted, either by friends or officials, to come and get your science-loving Harbinger monster. he'll hiss and sulk a bit, but usually he listens when you say he can continue his experiments at home

and while he trots off to the little lab he's constructed, you slump over in Childe's arms, exhausted from a day of chasing down a stubborn Dottore

[rosemaze-reveries]

clinging to the only manor guest who makes you feel safe various idv charas + you (platonic)

for @ninacottoncandy

🦈✈️🧲🔗❤️‍🩹

Here are the reader's traits described in the original ask: You have grown really attached to them and won't let them go, following them like a lost duckling. They're the only one you act energetic around, while you're shy and scared around others. It's later revealed that you were neglected back home resulting in abandonment issues.

🦈 Leo

Leo sees something in you that he can't exactly pinpoint. Maybe you fill a loss that he's tucked into the crevasses of his memory. Maybe you represent a second chance at one of his lingering regrets. Whatever it is, he swears that no harm will come to you as long as he's around.

He sneaks you the universal passcode to the arms factory's exit gates, with instructions written in his messy scrawl: "Play the game. Do what they ask. Use for emergensy only." It's not the first time he's been punished for breaking the rules, but that's a trivial thing if it means protecting you.

Before your first game, he brings you a gift, a crude little thing that's obviously handmade. It's a miniature red-and-purple striped rocket chair made for dolls. You find it a little childish, but Leo attaches a story to it: "If bad guy catches you. 1, 2, 3, blast off. Trapped again."

That's a bit grim, but cute, you suppose. You're not sure why he gave it to you, though.

✈️ Charles

As a man of few words and a perpetual poker face, his fondness for you might not be that obvious. But he finds you terribly endearing. He doesn't mind having you in his shadow at all. It won't be long before he starts feeling very protective of you.

In an attempt to get closer to him, one day you ask to try out his jetpack. He's always tinkering with the thing, so he must have a lot to say about it, right? The moment you reach for it, something in Charles snaps, and with a panicked shout he knocks you off it before cradling his device tightly in his arms. With that look of abject terror in his eyes, one would think you were trying to murder his baby. You never thought it was even possible for him to raise his voice like that.

The truth is, he couldn't have cared less about the jetpack. He was worried about losing someone else to his faulty machine. The guilt for frightening you plagues him for weeks after. He dedicates the next few months to working on a device that stabilizes his hand tremors. Not for his own sake, but because he can't bear to disappoint you—he wants to build something safer for you to try, and needs a reliable hand to do it.

🧲 Norton

Finds it bothersome. He has an unspoken agreement with the rest of the manor to steer clear of each other, what’s not clicking for you? He doesn’t exactly radiate sunshine and rainbows. Why you got attached to him of all people is something he can’t wrap his head around.

He won’t go out of his way to talk to you, which you can consider a small mercy from him. If forced he’ll bluntly shut down the idea of being your “protector” or whatever role you’ve arbitrarily assigned to him. He’s not here to babysit anyone, especially not for free. Doesn’t matter what your story is.

It seems like the best way to win his favor is by giving him space. And start hoping he’ll warm up with time. With the manor's stretches of eternity in store for you, you can certainly spare the wait.

🔗 Ada & ❤️‍🩹 Emil

The first time you begin yearning for them remains clear in your memory. They're huddled together over the kitchen stove, morning sun filtering through the open window. Ada explains how to flip an omelette while Emil is paying more attention to her gentle hands than her technique. Once in a while their soft giggles rise above the sound of sizzling oil.

Watching them, suddenly you aren't at the manor anymore. You're in one of those big, bright two-story houses from the stories you read as a child, the ones with the perfect families and happy endings to every trouble that comes their way. Ada and Emil probably don't even realize how picture-perfect they look in this moment, how similar they are to the families you thought only existed once upon a time. Their love makes you jealous, but you crave it just as much.

Sharp as always, Ada is quick to notice you observing them. You fear a round of questioning but instead she says, "Good morning. Do you want something? How do you like your eggs?" and Emil pipes in a second later with "Onions okay?"

It's such a casual sentiment, but it takes you aback. Most manor guests aren't glowing examples of neighborly people, you've learned that the hard way. But your wishful thinking gets the better of you, so you play along. They bring out a plate of your breakfast and sit with you at the table. You remember thinking, even if they are tricking you and these eggs are poisoned and you never wake up again, it would be nice to go with this fairy tale family as your last memory. But you get to enjoy a delicious breakfast and the remaining hours of the day without issue.

The same thing happens the next morning, and the one after that.

Emil's prowess with the frying pan drastically improves as the days go by, and soon he starts waking up ahead of Ada to surprise her. Some days include you, with him gently nudging you out of bed, eager smile on his face as he teaches you all the cooking tricks Ada taught him. He also shows you a notepad he keeps, with lists titled: Ada favorites. Good food for a bad day. Restront menus (make at home). And a new addition: What (Y/N) likes.

[notmedicine13]

Why did you Join RED?

"Good evening Mr. Torres, my name is Gregory Mason, a representative of Reliable Excavation Demolition. Now, before we can let you in, I'd like to ask you a few questions, is that all right with you?"

Bat: "Yeah, that's fine"

"Good! Now first things first, why are you joining RED?

Bat: "Well, I never really knew what to do with my life. I finished School, went studying and applied for a job. But it didn't last that long. I quit after some time, the job really didn't appeal to me. I tried several other jobs, but none of them really clicked with me. I was also struggling with paying rent in time. Always felt like I was hanging on by a thread for when I do manage to pay. So I'm hoping that maybe this is the job that is for me."

Hawk: "I was really fond of watching military movies as a kid! Something about fighting for your country just really stuck with me y'know? I remember I'd often get into fights as a kid, my parents always had to keep me under control. Anyways when I got older I wanted to join the military, managed to get in boot camp, but I had to resign after something happened there, so I thought that this would be the next best thing"

Howitzer: "Isn't it obvious? Money, duh! And this job seems like easy pay. I also really enjoy fighting and hurting other people, used to be in a gang too, but that also meant that I often had encounters with the cops, so this job was obviously the right one for me, getting paid to kill people? count me in!"

Iron Clad: "I used to work in the British military back in my day. But I had to leave because I accidentally blew up the captains quarters. My father still wanted me to be out there fighting for my families honor so I thought that this job could do.

The Don: "I had to find a way to escape from my family. Everyday felt like a nightmare, constant arguing, always getting punished for the littlest things. They always told me to go get a job so I wanted to apply to this one so that I wouldn't have to deal with my life back at home"

NG: "As a kid, I was always fond of tinkering with things. I made all sorts of contraptions, from building a small car out of scrap to making my own little rube goldberg machines, all the way to making my own machines. Wanting to put my mechanical skills to the test, I thought applying here would be a good idea.

Not Medicine: "I wanted to study to become a doctor. I was making some good progress early on, but I caused an accident which lead to a classmate being severely injured so I got expelled, which is also how I got the nickname "Not Medicine". I still wanted to work in the medical field, and since I accidentally caused harm, what if I healed while also causing harm on purpose?"

Operator06: "Mostly to support my wife. We are currently struggling financially, and I was scouring through multiple well paying jobs, but none of them were enough to support us both. Which is why I'm applying for a job here at RED, I'd work here, while I'd send money to my wife so that she can have a roof over her head and a good meal. My wife was against this because she didn't want to lose me, but I assured her that I wouldn't put myself in great danger, which is also why I'm applying for the sniper position.

Kaard: "My father used to work for RED before I was born. He always told me about stories about his time as a mercenary and the many battles that he has thought. So I want to follow in his footstep in being a mercenary for RED, to see if I could not only be on the same level as him, but to also surpass him in order to make him proud"

[egghoundboss]

INTRODUCTION: Tsuki Aoki is a young and proud dog who takes immense pride in her work as a mechanic. She loves her machines more than anything and always strives to emulate her idol, "Dr. Ivo Eggman Robotnik". With her peppy spirit and determination, Tsuki is committed to doing her best and making her master proud. She aspires to lead as an Egg Boss, overseeing weapons and machinery. CHARACTER INFO: Gender: Female Species: Anthro/Mobian Dog (Spaniel breed - English Springer) Date of Birth: February 6th Age: 19 Sexuality: Bisexual Occupation: Egg Army Mechanic Affiliation: The Eggman Empire Other hobbies: Baking/cooking, Gaming, Sight-seeing PERSONALITY: Tsuki may come across as naive, but don't let that fool you. She has a strict attitude and can be quite determined when things don't go her way. She will do whatever it takes to remove you from the equation if you stand in her path. If you harm anyone in her team, including the boss himself, you can expect more than just a verbal warning! One measly bark isn't all she's good for...

COMBAT INFO:

Tsuki is skilled in using weapons but has limited knowledge in physical combat. Her primary weapon is "The Power Energy Ball" cannon (Power E-Ball for short). It fires a powerful sphere concentrated by raw energy powered by the Power Cores taken from Eggman's pawns. While she lacks physical power, her gadgets and machines provide coverage in the areas she lacks. However, the real obstacle hindering her path to victory is stubbornness. Once you have her frustrated, it's a win for her opponent.

Voice Claim:

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BACKSTORY: Tsuki has always been obsessed with technology since her childhood. During the events of Sonic Battle, she used to watch the news about the latest robot rampages. Her mother was okay with it as long as she did her schoolwork. One day, she witnessed one of the Phi robots attacking her hometown, Central City. She was fascinated by its advanced technology and decided to bring it home by dismantling it. Figuring out who the mastermind was behind it inspired her even more. How Eggman mass-produced such amazing robots and gadgets was beyond her wildest expectations! She continued her extensive research on the man, studying every badnik, battleship, and gadget he ever built. She decided to become a mechanic and began tinkering with all sorts of machinery to prove her worth in the field. Tsuki left her home one day at fifteen to join the Empire. When her mother found out, she was furious. She even tried scolding Tsuki. However, Tsuki was determined to pursue her passion for mechanics and believed joining the Empire would help her gain more knowledge in the field. Whether or not it was a wise decision remains to be seen. Only time will tell.

[turtlethon]

“Donatello’s Duplicate”

Season 5, Episode 13 First US Airdate: October 12, 1991

Pinky McFingers teams up with an evil clone of Donatello to generate an army of rats.

The fifth season of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles continues with “Donatello’s Duplicate”. This is the first episode of the series credited to the husband-and-wife duo of Jack and Carole Mendelsohn, who have both contributed to the show individually in the past.

Donatello finds himself burdened with fixing all of the Lair’s electrical equipment, including the faltering TV and the malfunctioning pizza oven (a small call-back to Carole Mendelsohn’s debut episode, “Raphael Versus the Volcano”). Leonardo steps in to defend the team’s genius, pointing out how hard he works, only to turn around and ask for his electric toothbrush to be repaired. This is the final straw for Donnie, who declares himself to officially be “on strike” and storms off.

Later, Splinter finds Donatello tinkering in his workshop, and remarks that he’s “reconditioning [his] old cloning device”, although it’s the first time we as viewers have seen it. Donnie reveals that he plans to create a clone of himself that will perform mundane tasks around the Lair, freeing him up to focus on loftier pursuits. Splinter cautions his student that “it’s not nice to fool mother nature”, and when Donatello points out that he’s referencing a slogan from a TV commercial – a long-running campaign for Chiffon margarine that began in 1971 - he goes on to add that “wisdom can come from many places”. 

Elsewhere in the sewers, the Rat King is seen meeting with Pinky McFingers, returning after his debut last season in “Raphael Knocks ‘em Dead”. Pinky, voiced today by Cam Clarke instead of Peter Renaday, strikes a deal to have the Rat King’s minions descend upon the city, driving out its residents and leaving them free to “take the gold, the jewellery, and the cash”. The emptied-out city will then belong to the Rat King and his rodent army, becoming a “Ratropolis”.

Back in the Lair, Donatello tests out his cloning device on a rat, assuring the small animal that he won’t do it any harm. While firing up the machine, Donnie manages to get his own hand caught in the ray. Things seem to work out as planned regardless, with one rat becoming two, and the two rodents being released back into the sewers.

While wandering around, the cloned rat discovers that he can talk, sounding exactly like Donatello. The clone winds up among the crowd of rats listening in as Rat King continues his negotiations with McFingers, and the two humans are shocked to hear a rat talking in plain English. When the Rat King suggests this must be the work of Donatello, Pinky asks if he’s “one of them Juvenile Karate Lizards”. (I have to say that it feels weird that he doesn’t know who the Turtles are considering he captured one of them last season, though admittedly he had no direct interaction with Donatello in that go-around.) The mobster goes on to suggest that if they could obtain this cloning device, they could generate an even larger army of rats and take over the entire country.

Satisfied with the results of his test run, Donatello generates a clone of himself, immediately putting his double to work. The clone refuses to be pushed around, declaring that thanks to a glitch in his creator’s “algebraic equation” he’s ten times more intelligent. The two Donatellos do battle, with the clone adding that he also has “ten times [original Don’s] ninja skills”. After easily winning the fight, clone Don ties up his predecessor and locks him in a nearby closet.

Donatello’s clone wanders into the living room area of the Lair, his arrogance quickly raising the ire of the other Turtles. After the double points out Raphael’s lack of intellect and declares Michaelangelo to be even more of a dope, Leonardo steps in, announcing Donatello is “way out of line”. All three Turtles get into a fight with Clone Don, winding up piled up against the wall. The new Don makes his exit from the Lair, but soon crosses paths with the Rat King before Pinky McFingers and his men step in. The mobsters carry the captured Turtle away, as Pinky declares that his alliance with the Rat King is called off: “now that I’ve got him, who needs you?”

The gangsters return to their secluded hideout, where the clone Donatello insists that he’s ten times as smart and strong as the original Don. He goes on to demonstrate his power by breaking out of the chains that were restraining him, and when challenged by Pinky to build a cloning machine and generate an army of rats, insists he can do it within the space of two hours. As Pinky and his goons laugh behind his back, duplicate Don almost instantly assembles a new cloning machine, before beginning to generate a wave of rats.

While Mikey, Leo and Raph struggle to fix things up around the Lair, Pinky and the Clone Don unleash their rats upon New York. As predicted, the city’s residents soon begin making their exit. April interviews the mayor – who looks nothing like the one who kept popping up through season four, I guess they’ve had another election since then – and he urges his citizens to stay calm, assuring them that they “have nothing to fear but fear itself”. This all goes out the window as a group of rats gather around his feet, leading him to run away in terror.

April is stunned to see Donatello marching down the street, commanding an army of obedient rats. She alerts the Turtles, who are in the middle of struggling to change a lightbulb. Convinced that Donnie is actually in his workshop, they head off to find him and clear things up. Eventually, the team find and free the real Donatello, who explains that he was overpowered by his clone. Our heroes realise that they’ll need to move quickly to stop the evil duplicate.

Pinky, his henchmen and “Cloney” are seen walking off with their ill-gotten cash as the residents of New York continue to panic. In their limo, Clone Don explains to the crooks that he’s not interested in money, preferring to have recognition for his accomplishments.

The Turtles head out in their van to track down Donatello’s clone, but find their equipment is actually getting a lock on the real Donnie. Meanwhile April travels by news cycle, following Pinky McFingers back to his home. Upon arriving there, she’s accosted by the criminal kingpin’s henchmen, losing her Turtlecom as she’s carried away.

Our heroes begin their journey back to the Lair, and along the way encounter the Rat King. The team are initially hostile, but their old foe assures them he means no harm, providing them with a map to Pinky’s hideout that doesn’t look like it would be particularly helpful. (Given that it’s the same place he was operating out of in his first appearance, and Raphael had already been there, I suppose it doesn’t matter that much.) He goes on to explain that he’s out to get revenge on the mobster for his treachery by “ratting on him”.

April demands that Pinky take her to Donnie. When he complies, she’s mystified by the change in her old friend’s behaviour, and upon finding out that he’s willingly partnering with the crime boss, bemoans that “if Donatello’s gone bad, there’s no hope for the world.” Meanwhile the real Donatello confuses Pinky’s henchmen, arriving outside the hideout with the other Turtles and hurling the underlings into a trash can.

The Turtles make their way into Pinky’s home and confront the clone Donatello, who now has April locked in a cage with a group of cloned rats. “Cloney” announces that he was expecting the original Don and the other Turtles to foolishly make a move, and evens the odds by generating evil versions of Leo, Mikey and Raph. The sinister Turtles easily defeat their good counterparts before the original Donatello goads his double into making a mistake, insisting that he could never have built a cloning machine. The prideful Turtle flies into a rage, insisting that he could easily reverse its effects if he wanted to and having his machine do just that, causing the duplicates of Leo, Mikey and Raph to vanish before disappearing himself.

In a news report, the cloned rats are seen vanishing from the streets of New York one by one. Meanwhile, April reports on the arrests of Pinky McFingers and his underlings. Back in the Lair, Donatello is eager to fix the broken belongings of the Turtles, but soon finds himself face-to-face with another double of himself; this turns out to actually be Raphael, wearing a purple mask over his own. (Please ignore the fact that he briefly somehow also had a “D” belt, as well as purple elbow and kneepads.)

“Donatello’s Duplicate” comes as a welcome change of pace after the drudgery of “Landlord of the Flies”, a compelling exploration of how the worst aspects of Donnie’s personality could prove disastrous if magnified and left unchecked. Helping, too, is the fact that this is a beautiful-looking episode, the polar opposite of the one that preceded it. Donatello (both of them) and Rat King particularly benefit from some great, expressive character work here, although everyone gets at least something of a glow-up out of it, with the possible exception of Pinky McFingers, who’s so boring to look at that even this team of skilled animators can’t do much with him.

Pinky has become something of a Turtlethon running joke, a shorthand for characters that no-one likes that somehow keep coming back, but he’s at least handled well here, having the much more engaging Rat King to bounce off of in the early goings. Regrettably, this is the beginning of a run of More Pinky, with a new episode featuring this underwhelming bad guy popping up roughly every five to ten shows, from now until the end of season six. If it’s any consolation, Shredder and his bunch will be back behind the wheel of villainy next time, as we explore “The Ice Creature Cometh”.

[themirokai]

A few days ago I saw this fantastic comic by @pherre and the idea of Powder and Viktor being science buddies got very stuck in my head and I couldn’t get it unstuck until I wrote this down. Check out the comic if you haven’t already, then enjoy…

Powder and Viktor meet at the water plant (the steel oasis) and discover their mutual love of tinkering.

Vi comes along once, decides Viktor is harmless, and doesn’t bother Powder about it when she continues to meet up with him.

The events of Act 1 happen as in the show.

Sky keeps in touch with Undercity friends and family, and hears about what happens. “Hey Viktor, don’t you hang out with Powder? Vander’s kid?” She tells him what she knows of what happened, including that Powder is with Silco now.

Viktor is still in the early days of working with Jayce and it’s incredibly exciting and very hard to tear himself away from his lab but he thinks about that scrawny little kid who never quite fit in and has now lost her whole family. So one night he puts on some Undercity clothes and goes down there. Even though he never had close friends, people know him and respect him. He has no trouble getting someone to tell him where Silco is holed up.

We’re a few days after the end of Act 1 now. Silco’s headquarters has been blown up, all of his fighters are injured or dead, and he suddenly finds himself with a traumatized kid. So when this scientist who made it Topside shows up and says he wants to talk to Powder, Silco decides that this is absolutely not a battle he’s choosing. He lets Viktor and Powder talk.

Powder is scared and grieving but Silco has been kind to her. She’s not physically hurt at all. And Viktor is at a loss. He knows exactly what Silco is about but it’s not like he can take this half feral child to go live with him in his studio apartment at the academy, especially when he’s working 19 hours per day on something that he truly believes will make the world, and the Undercity, a better place. And Powder isn’t asking to go with him. She seems content to stay with Silco. So Viktor gives her a hug and tells her that she can always contact him and he’ll meet her at the water plant in a few days.

They keep meeting up. Silco decides, like Vi did, that Viktor is harmless. They tinker together. They talk. They’re friends. Viktor gets some much needed time away from the lab (which he finds helps him focus and think more creatively when he returns) and Powder gets someone who is not Silco to talk to about her grief and her life.

Powder still becomes Jinx but her friendship with Viktor helps her process her trauma and curb some of her worst impulses.

Viktor knows that the things his friend is bringing to tinker with are bombs. He knows that ultimately she is using these bombs to help Silco take over the Undercity. But ultimately he decides it’s more important to stay in her life than to push her away when he still can’t offer her a viable alternative and she shows no signs of wanting to leave. He tries to get her interested in the tools and useful machines that he brings. He encourages her to make tactical weapons that have a lower chance of harming bystanders, but he throws his energy into Hextech and the vision of a future so bright it will outshine a crime lord.

Viktor is the last person to stop calling her Powder. When she is with Viktor at the steel oasis, chatting and building things, she can almost pretend that she’s going to go home to Vander and Vi after. But eventually that pretending just feels worse. So one day she asks Viktor to call her Jinx. He looks at her sadly, nods once, and never calls her Powder again.

Viktor wants to introduce Jinx to Jayce so that his only two friends know each other. Jinx however has no time for or interest in the Man of Progress.

Over the years, as Viktor’s health starts to deteriorate there are days when he can’t get out of bed and Jayce is either working in the lab or the forge or off being the face of Hextech. Somehow Jinx always knows when Viktor’s sick and alone. She breaks into his apartment to sit on his bed and chat with him while he’s awake or just keep him company while he sleeps.

When Viktor gets a metal back brace, Jinx is the only person he shows. It’s uncomfortable and painful but he’s at the point where he can’t stand without it. She frowns at it and disappears. When he sees her again she has the leather and metal brace that we see in the show. It’s not exactly comfortable but it’s SO much better. The leather is soft and Jinx has included a number of metal fittings that he can use to adjust it as needed to accommodate what is hurting or feels weaker on any given day.

As many people in the notes to the comic suggested, when Viktor is in the hospital, Jinx goes feral. She interrogates the doctors who try to treat him, she stares down anyone else who comes to his room, and when Jayce returns after going to see Mel, she straight up pulls a gun on him. Viktor sort of asks her to stop but he’s very ill … and maybe not that motivated.

_________

So … that’s what I’ve got. What do you think? I’m never going to write this into a real story, so consider these ideas up for adoption. If you do something with them please let me know!

[micyclemorton]

4/13 TIME

So I’m a little tired at the moment and I thought I’d just combine a couple of my enjoyments [ Identity V and Homestuck ] in the interest of keeping myself sane, because this has taken a deceptive amount of brainpower due to distraction and general... analytical difficulty??? I s’pose?  These are matchups and analyses of each beta troll and the IDV survivor I believe they’re most like or who they’d get along with best. Happy Homestuck day, nerds. /aff

~

Aradia - Aesop Carl, the morbid-minded Embalmer. Both see the beauty of and beyond death. They’ve both a more-or-less twisted perception of the world around them because of how they were raised, and were unable to shift said ideals at an appropriate time. Perhaps their most prominent similarity lies in how they both had to kill those meant to protect them, believing that it was the best course of action. Via Aesop’s obtaining and following of the manor’s letter, it could be argued that they both also had a hand in driving forward their companions’ grim fates - whether it be in (perceived) good faith or not. Tavros - Murro, the Wildling - he's gentle, caring, and adores animals. Tavros would probably adore Twig - my sister's unofficial name for the boar Murro rides on. Someone who can soothe him, while also sitting at his level and not undermining his strengths where they do lie. Both have a level of empathy that makes it difficult for them to harm those they hold dear, like when Murro finally flees Hullabaloo after being unable to take it [and recognising that it was bad for Twig]. Sollux - Luca Balsa, our dearest Prisoner and alchemist friend. He can accumulate electric charges by decoding cipher machines and shock the hunter, as well as mess around with connections between machines to transfer decoding progress and such. I dunno. They're both just funky electric bitches. Both slightly insane and maniacally smart. 

Karkat - Andrew Kreiss, the Grave-keeper. Even on a surface level, they’re incredibly similar. Both were taught to physically hide from further harm and vilification, and were deemed monstrous and unnatural for something about themself they couldn’t control - blood colour and albinism. Until later, they thought their guardians were the only ones supporting them. Andrew’s claustrophobia ability can also relate to the metaphorical suffocation they have both felt in their lives [as well as the physical] in trying to mask a trait that’s harder to hide in their societies. They’re both low-standing members of said societies. Nepeta - Lisa Beck/Emma Woods, the Gardener. She's witty and smart to act in adversity, being able to damage the prospects of those trying to harm her friends with ingenuity and fast. [She can temporarily dismantle the chairs Hunters use to chair survivors]. Both are guarded by connections to a larger figure in their life - Leo Beck, her dad, and Equius for Nep - but are more than capable of fending for themself. Kanaya - Anne/Annie Lester, the Toy Merchant. She likes tinkering around, and isn't afraid to experiment and do dangerous things. Unassuming and 'pretty little things' at first, both show a hidden sharpness and intellect in the right situations. Both are also unwilling to sit and take the harm that fate's thrown at them. They forge forwards even when other people say not to, knowing better than to hold back.

Terezi - Who else but Helena Adams, 'The Mind's Eye'? Both aren't going to let their blindness define them, and have very strong connections to those who care for them - Terezi with her lusus, and Helena with her father. Helena's extremely fast at decoding cipher machines, which matches perfectly with TZ's quick-witted and forward nature. They're adaptive, too - Helena uses her cane, sure, but is known as a very resilient person. Terezi developed 'her own ways of seeing'. Helena helps her teammates by letting them know where the Hunter is, even though she could well keep her strength to herself. [Yes, I know Freddy is a lawyer, but this isn’t about that.] Vr!ska - Vera Nair, the Perfumer. Smarter than previously observed in some respects, they're both hard workers for what they believe in, but aren't without fault. "Vera" [in actuality: Chloe] took her sister's identity and used it to have her talent noticed, but in killing her sister [mistaking her actions for jealousy] instead pushed away the only one she could depend on, who loved and recognised her. Vr!ska matches this manipulation and unfortunate jealousy quite well. Equius - Tracy Reznik, the Mechanic. While it's mostly self-explanatory, as they both have a history with robots in particular, they're similarly inquisitive and inventive, pushing the limits of what they can or should do. Though this often depletes them of 'resources' - Tracy with funds, Equius with potential 'normalcy' or being cared about more - they're shown to have big hearts. Tracy's decoding speed is lowered when her teammates are hurt, and also boosts her teammates' decoding in kind. As with Equius' mechanics, she's focused on a bot she can deploy, and can take hits with it to protect her teammates or assist them in all different manners.

Gamzee - Mike Morton, the Acrobat. For the most part, I just believe they'd have a lot of fun together if they met up, but they're both reckless in their enjoyment of certain things. Although they might make efforts to socialise with their peers, both have been deeply hurt by something in their past and what society expects of them. They have certain warped views of others because of this harm, but make an effort to keep a smile on their face whenever possible if it means keeping those they care about [and the few left who care for them] close and familiar. 

Eridan - Edgar Valden, the Painter. Both wronged by society, and put on a pedestal that they don't wish to fulfil in some respect. They've done violent things, yes, but it's because they were pushed so hard that they felt they had to in order to find a way out. They're disrespected left right and centre, with their motives and what they make of themselves being taken advantage of or downright stolen in order to push them down. They're both captivating; distracting, but for the wrong reasons. They're afraid of breaking what they've made, but they've enough self-awareness to know what's right for them in the end. 

Feferi - Lydia Jones [now Emily Dyer], the Doctor. Like Eridan and Edgar, they were both meant to fulfil a purpose they never wanted - Emily performing unethical practices on patients, and Feferi leading an empire of tyranny. Both find immense freedom in doing things their own way, but it didn't come without a price. They were outcast to an extent or forced to flee, knowing that the public wouldn't approve of the changes they were making. They're both misguided in their efforts according to who you ask, but have been subjected to more than their fair share of hardship and pressure in order to do what was right for them and for others. They'll take as many hits as needed to protect their friends, equally as adept at healing, defending and fighting back against their respective downfalls.

~ :]

[wing-ed-thing]

Lab Assistant (Szayelaporro x Reader, Part II)

Synopsis: Szayelaporro takes on a complete Arrancar.

Word Count: 2,180

Tags/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Fake Science, Science Project to Lovers, Slow Burn (Arrancar are solitary and this one’s death aspect is Madness, let’s be real here), Slow Build @blankensee​

Notes: Okay but homeboi is TӦLL. Szayelaporro is 6′1, 6′1 y’all see this? Ooh boy is it getting hot in here? The Thing-Winged series bug has officially kicked in. 

You were the only Fracción that Szayelaporro allowed into his laboratory, but even as you sat on the exam table, you couldn’t help but think that perhaps you had done something wrong. You crossed your ankles and folded your hands in your lap. Szayelaporro sat at his desk, like usual, but penned down the types of notes that he would typically leave for you. A large piece of machinery reached out a mechanical arm to encompass the whole of your hollow mask. Szayelaporro had stood to observe you quite some time ago and you were left to wait, back straight and silent. A series of artificial jewels clung to you kanzashi mask, their glow casting a crimson color over the dimly lit laboratory.

He spoke your name. His soft voice cut through the air, reverberating off of the tall walls and high ceilings. Szayelaporro rose from his seat and turned to you. You could hear a faint bubbling coming from somewhere in the dimness.

“Yes, Master Szayelaporro?” Your voice could have easily blended in with the white noise of the laboratory. He stood in front of you, fiddling with the equipment above your head. His honey colored irises lazily migrated to the corners of his eyes in a disapproving glance downward. You stared forward.

“What is it that we did wrong today?” You pursed your lips but didn’t dare to move otherwise. A phantom hourglass hung over your head. Your response best be good and come quickly.

“I did not receive an order to attack Master Nnoitra. I did not believe it to be wise to.” Szayelaporro let a frown slip from his neutral expression. He continued to tinker with his device. You could feel the cool metal on your mask like dental tools on your teeth. Szayelaporro let out a hum.

“Passing the blame onto me, are you?” The claw of the machine buckled under his firm hands and caused a tugging against your outer layer of bone. You recoiled, a hand tightly gripping the table below you. You squeezed your eyes closed, in more discomfort than in any pain. Your head tilted to your far right as you leaned upwards, attempting to decrease the tension on your mask.

“No, Master Szayelaporro. I apologize for the lack of care that went into choosing my words.” The Octava Espada said nothing. You felt him continue to work the machine above you. You shifted again.

“Stop moving, I’ve almost got it.” And when the data machine finally released you, you restrained yourself from shooting up a hand to rub your head. Instead, you sat still, letting Szayelaporro’s cold hands caress your face as he inspected his work. You could sense another look of dissatisfaction.

“Have they been repaired?” He rolled the largest of your gems between the fingers of his other hand, watching it gleam as he poured in the slightest bit of reiatsu.

“For now,” Szayelaporro answered, “We’ll see how they hold up.” He gripped your chin, turning your head to meet his stare. His expression narrowed. “When I tell you to come to my side, you do as I say. When someone like Nnoitra tries to touch you, you defend yourself. These are my additional orders to you.” You nodded, your jewelry glinting a singular time.

As he turned back to his data, you slid down from the examination table. Your heels met each other. Once again, your hands rested folded in front of you.

“Shall I get back to work now?” Szayelaporro took a moment. He ignored your inquisition and continued to type in some sort of data or another into his recording instrument. He paused, and when you thought that he’d answer, he flipped through yet more papers. You stood a few feet behind him awaiting his answer, and when he finally turned you were met with a withering scowl.

“Must I really dismiss you?” He questioned rhetorically, swiftly passing by you with a few papers in hand. You did not move. “Go restock the canyon crystals and do eat something while you’re away.” You nodded to yourself and gave a quiet farewell to your master. He did not answer, per usual, and you let yourself out of the laboratory. Szayelaporro’s glare followed you. “This better work. I am sick of having disobedient Fracciónes.”

***

Hueco Mundo didn’t hold much beauty. All in all, the landscape was mostly vast, empty, and dead. Szayelaporro didn’t seem like he enjoyed fieldwork very much. You supposed that he would prefer experimenting rather than finding his own minor lab materials. You, on the other hand, preferred spending a bit of time away from the Palace and you were grateful that Szayelaporro trusted you to do even the mundane tasks. Truth be told, you excelled in gathering quality items for the lab. You had an eye for the best spots to pick from. You caught live specimens with an almost sixth sense and your speed remained nearly unmatched in the Octava Espada’s Palace. That factoid on it’s own didn’t feel very impressive to you, but you still took pride in it nonetheless.

You trudged across the sand, a field collection kit in your arms. The whole package easily encompassed the whole of your torso. Your feet sank down into the substrate. Surely by now, the grains had begun to gather in your boots. You stopped where you stood, letting the kit droop in your desperate grasp. You looked back at the Palace which still loomed over you. You had hardly made it anywhere. With a sigh, you turned back the direction you were originally headed. Szayelaporro didn’t like when you took too long.

“Can I help you with that?” As soon as you caught sight of the slender, eye patched face, your eyes went wide. You gripped the bulky kit in your arms, lips forming a thin, panicked line. You slowly turned away before immediately speeding off. A shout came from behind you causing you to trip. “I’m not here to hurt you!”

You yelled out for Szayelaporro. A cloud of sand exploded around you as you fell. A dark shadow appeared above you and you launched your equipment up in defense. Your pursuer caught the kit in his arms, his body forced back the slightest bit at the impact.

“Stay back!” You warned, scrambling up and unsheathing your zanpakutō. The fragments in your mask glowed a deep red. Tesla raised up your box in defense, his sword hanging by his hip.

“Master Nnoitra isn’t with me!” You blinked a few times, lowering your weapon slightly, but not by much. Tesla shifted his hands, maneuvering them forward to lay flatly on the sides of the container. He held it away from himself as he lowered his posture, a silent effort to show that he meant no harm. “You looked like you could use a hand. What is this all for?”

Your knuckles turned white around your trembling sword handle. Tesla remained low, calm and still. You took a step back, sheathing your zanpakutō. You tentatively approached, letting Tesla return your equipment to you. The box dropped like a weight in your arms.

“I’ve been sent to collect canyon crystals,” You answered, picking up your knee to readjust your grip before you turned on your heel to trudge away. Tesla frowned. He followed, strolling alongside you. Your back bent backwards a bit.

Wordlessly, Tesla accompanied you all the way to the canyon, about a few miles out from the Palace. He remained eerily silent, but in his defense, so did you. Fracciónes serving under masters such as yours were discouraged from speaking early on, so smalltalk certainly didn’t come easily. You kept a close eye on the other Arrancar out of your peripheral, but his posture only screamed polite and nothing more. Another fold of your lips and you turned your attention back forward. Quite frankly, you didn’t know how to handle this. You rarely got the opportunity to be in the company of other complete Arrancar, not including Szayelaporro.

At the edge of the ravine, the kit slipped in your arms and Tesla instinctively reached out an arm to catch it if you lost your grasp. You paid him no mind and instead hiked up a knee once again and continued on. You tilted your head, focusing on your footing as you descended into the chasm. Even at the surface, the space was dark and hollows of different designations howled in the depths. Tesla followed you down, his face gradually overtaken with shadows.

And in the pitchest of pitch black you saw them. Small glimmers in the darkness. You stumbled forward, the Fifth Espada’s Fracción close behind. You sat down in front of the small gathering of luminescent crystals and finally set down your burden. Tesla preferred to stand, on guard at the many noises around you. You quickly sorted through the bounty. Upon finding a quality bundle, you opened your materials box to pluck out a small pick. You felt Tesla’s stare. Arrancar were never truly creatures of companionship in your experience, but when solidarity came, it usually came quietly.

“These are Reiatsu Gems or canyon crystals. They are known to be excellent conductors of spirit energy,” You explained, voice ever-soft. The luminescence cast a faint light upon your face. You lowered a specimen into your extraction box, the glow retreating into the contained dimness. Standing, you heaved up your kit and moved deeper into the murk. Tesla followed. You passed by another gathering of crystals, then another. You felt Tesla beside you.

“What was wrong with those?” He asked, equally as quiet as you had just been.

“Not ready to be harvested,” You answered promptly.

“How can you tell?” You stopped at a small batch. The crystals grew diagonally out of the canyon wall at about waist level. You put your kit down and crouched down.

“See these here?” You gestured to the dimmest section of gems. “This place is filled with reiatsu, they should be glowing more.” You directed your attention to the brightest of the bunch. “See? These shine a little bit brighter.” And with your pick you extracted them.

You continued on, trudging around in the immensity of the ravine. You performed your field work diligently. The kit gradually began to fill with valuable specimens. Tesla came forth from the darkness, a glowing coming from his palm. He wordlessly presented it to you to inspect. You gave a grateful nod and carefully placed it in your box.

The journey up served to be more difficult than the journey down and your load had since doubled in weight. Tesla patiently waited as you struggled back up the canyon, at that point still refusing any kind of assistance. You plopped the kit on the sand at the top before pulling yourself up. Your body half hanging into the abyss, Tesla offered you a hand. You glanced at it, then back at him, and after a second of deliberation, you placed your hand in his. But a moment after you had found your footing and had your package back in your arms, a horde of adjuchas surrounded you and quickly.

Tesla scowled and flared his spiritual pressure. You looked up at him, beginning to piece together that his scowl served more as an unfortunate resting expression than any sort of intimidating grimace. Either way, the adjuchas were not discouraged. Tesla placed a hand on his zanpakutō and you sighed. He looked on in confusion at the disappointing shake of your head and curiously accepted your kit as you handed it to him.

“I have orders,” You exhaled, unfortunately not feeling any hungrier than usual. And as the gang of adjuchas lunged, too greedy for flesh and soul energy to recognize their opponents, you struck. Your blade made short work of them and your mask ornaments glowed. You tore into mask after mask, canines bared, and when you made it to the last one, you offered it to Tesla. He wanted to decline, but after some thought, he didn’t have it in him to decline a free meal.

***

“Adequate.” That encompassed all Szayelaporro had to say about the crystals you gathered. You placed them neatly at one of the lab tables as you cleaned and reorganized the field gear. Szayelaporro toyed with your gathered gems, inspecting them with a critical eye. He lifted one to his nose, taking in a slight inhale. “And why does this one smell vaguely like Nnoitra Gilga?”

“His Fracción accompanied me on my field work today.” Szayelaporro stared at you blankly, setting the bundle of crystals back down in disdain.

“You should have told him to go away.”

“And I did. I raised my sword against him like you told me to, but he did not seem to pose any threat. He was particularly interested in the Reiatsu Gems so he followed me.” Szayelaporro nodded once, appearing to be somewhat deep in thought, but his face remained expressionless.

“Let him accompany you next time as well.” The room was cast with a dull gleam.

“Yes, Master Szayelaporro.”

Notes: As much as I feel like Szayelaporro likes to make a show, I feel like he wouldn’t be as flamboyant when he thinks he doesn’t have an audience. I have too many Szayelaporro headcanons. I tried to make a single post with all of them but it’s like too many to fit. I’ll post those at some point. It’s in my drafts rn.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[lightofthemoonglow]

chapter four - my blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out

Summary: They've returned to Arkham, but things can never be like before. The tension comes to a head and things happen that can't be taken back.

This is the fourth chapter of ‘Howl: The Director’s Cut’, a fic about how the massacre turns a pair of roommates into a pair of feral idiots in an intensely intimate and kinda kinky relationship.

Written in the third person.

Warnings for this chapter: foul language, canon typical corpse abuse, blood, light voyeurism, intense organ things

series masterlist

i.

“What the hell is that?”

Herbert looks at the small creature in his cupped hands. It makes a small, pitiful sound and he looks back up at Jess. It’s early on a Saturday morning and all three of them are in the kitchen. Jess is perched on the counter, eating a muffin while having a cup of coffee. Dan is at the table, eating a hearty bowl of oatmeal, with his own mug of coffee. It’s one of the rare days when no one has work or a class, so while Herbert had plans to work in the lab, Dan had been planning on playing football in the park while Jess’ plans were to do nothing.

“It’s a kitten. I found it in the crypt.” Herbert’s tone makes it clear that this is a stupid question and before he can take another step forward, Jess hops off the counter and takes the little thing out of his hands, gently cradling it to her chest. “I wasn’t going to harm it.”

The look she gives him says more than words ever could.

It’s been nearly a month since they had moved into this house. The time in between returning and moving into the Christchurch Cemetery house had been spent living in a motel, something else covered by Miskatonic. All they had needed to do was demonstrate the assorted injuries that had been gained in Peru. It had been a relief to finally have a proper home after so long. In some ways, things were back to normal.

Others, not so much.

Class had been back in session for a week and some former friends of Jess and Dan’s had been treating them differently. People were still friendly on the surface, yes, but they were practically walking on eggshells. No one knew how to talk to the people who had been involved in a horrifically violent incident and then spent the next semester in a war zone. Some people refused to look Jess in the eye, their gaze often drifting to another part of her face. Dan was handled with kid gloves, due to his loss. Everyone was more on edge around Herbert than they had been before, due to the rumors about his involvement in the incident. The general idea was right, but the details were all wrong. Some people believed that Herbert had killed Megan himself.

Much to the surprise of all three of them, Pierce, Jess’ sort of ex, was still working at the hospital. He had kept his residency by claiming he was also a victim of Hill’s machinations, though they suspected that he had also threatened to go to the press. Pierce had approached Jess on the first day of classes and tried to beg for her forgiveness, accosting the three of them in the hospital parking lot. I really like you, Jess, and please just hear me out. She had almost punched him in the face, filled with a rage that was almost frightening. Dan had needed to drive the Delta that night, as she was too angry to even drive her own car.

Herbert had noted the other man’s propensity for caffeine pills. He had done some tinkering with an old formula that he had last used on his roommate in the foster home and now Pierce’s semen was going to be green, and the man would likely have trouble getting dates, just like his old roommate. It was the least Herbert could do to the man. Pierce was weak, foolish. He didn’t deserve to have the title of doctor. It had nothing to do with how he had hurt Jess’ feelings to the point of making her cry.

The two of them had been dancing around each other ever since that night in Peru. It had taken over a week to even speak directly to each other. One night, they had been left alone in the guy’s motel room and it had been awkward for the five minutes Jess had stayed there before fleeing to her own room. Neither of them wanted to be the one who spoke of it first, so it still hung in the air, waiting to be brought up.

Both still dream of that night. Herbert has woken up hard and aching at the memory of her in his lap, gripping his shoulders so hard that he had been bruised for weeks. Jess has writhed in her sheets thinking about how his hands had touched her with an almost disturbing expertise, as if he had been her lover for years. Sometimes, their eyes meet and that horrible, tender, knowledge passes between them.

(neither of you want to admit to yourselves that what really plagues you both isn’t memories of what your bodies had done.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

It can’t be taken back, even if you tried

But no one is trying and that’s somehow worse)

Sometimes, things remind them of the little intimacies that had sprung up in the aftermath of the massacre and then in Peru. Sometimes she still feels his fingers when she’s braiding her hair and when Herbert is overcome by exhaustion and his glasses slip down his face, for a moment, he thinks Jess is taking them off.

The worst thing is waking up and realizing that there is no one else in the bed.

Herbert watches as Jess inspects the kitten. “Dan, what do you say?” She asks, pointedly not looking at Herbert. “Are you okay with keeping this little gal?”

Dan takes a few moments to reply. This cat is nothing like Rufus. It’s snow white and a female, so there is no risk of being blatantly reminded of his deceased pet. And it would be good to have another animal. The finger creature, who had been dubbed ‘Addams’, is not much of a pet, though Jess seems to think so. Neither is Pepe, one of the iguanas they had brought back from Peru, which has somehow wound up living in Jess’ room.

“Sure,” Dan agrees, taking a sip of his sugary coffee and nodding. She smiles (more brightly than she has in weeks, Herbert notes) and goes to call the vet that Rufus had gone to. Jess is able to get an appointment for that afternoon and when she returns, it’s with a litterbox, litter, food, some toys and the kitten even has a little red collar with a nametag that reads ‘Ghost’.

And so, the Christchurch Cemetery house gained a new resident and pet.

ii

It’s Labor Day, which means there are no classes and while Herbert is going to use the day for personal enrichment, his roommates are going to parties. Dan has already left, but the noise coming from Jess’ room make it clear she’s still here, getting ready with her friends. At least this time, she had warned him people would be here, albeit not for very long, so he’s not surprised that there are other people in the house.

The door to her room is mostly open, explaining how he can hear them so clearly. As he passes, Herbert pauses to quickly observe, intending to not be noticed. There are four of them in there, one lounging on the bed with a magazine while another checks her appearance in the mirror. Jess is in her desk chair, with the third friend standing in front of her, holding a tube of something in her hand. While Herbert doesn’t quite recognize the first two, the third is someone he remembers seeing with Jess the year before, due to her distinctive curly red hair. Though he doesn’t remember her name, nor does he care to learn it.

“Hold still, Jess,” the redhead warns and gestures with the tube before she runs something along her eyelashes. “There. Was that so hard?” she asks, stepping back, as if to observe her work.

“Yes.” Though there is only playful annoyance in Jess’ voice, so it’s clear she’s not too irked by whatever had happened to her eyelashes. She stands up and the sight of her legs in shorts causes Herbert to linger a moment or two longer than he should have.

The redhead turns and notices Herbert. “Hey, your roommate is lurking in the hall,” she says casually, causing the other three to stare at him. “That how he gets his kicks? I never took him for a voyeur.”

“Amber, be nice,” one of the others, the one with the magazine, chides the redhead.

Herbert doesn’t stay to hear the rest of their conversation, choosing to continue his way to the basement before anyone tells him to go.

Once the sound of his footsteps fades away, Jess playfully flings a scrunchie at Amber. “Listen to May. I have to live with the guy.”

“He’s kind of creepy,” Bonnie chimes in, smoothing the front of her skirt for the third time in as many minutes and then finally stepping out from in front of the mirror.

“Oh, he’s not that bad. There’s worse out there.” It goes unsaid who she’s talking about. They all know who the worse option is, though no one talks about Pierce since they don’t want Jess to bring up how they had encouraged her to go on more dates and even sleep with him, which thankfully had not happened.

It’s almost time to leave, but not before Jess takes Bonnie’s place in front of the mirror, scrutinizing her reflection. The only makeup she has on is some mascara and that was because Amber had insisted that Jess spice up her look just a little bit. Though she doesn’t own much in the first. And since everyone there already knows what her face looks like, it feels pointless to put on liquid makeup to try and hide the scars for a backyard barbecue.

“You look fine. Relax,” Amber says, gently nudging her. “I did dress you.” Which was true, sort of. While Jess had picked out the shorts and sneakers, Amber had somehow found an admittedly cute red, orange, yellow and brow tie-dyed shirt in a partially unpacked box. It went with her necklace, sort of. At least enough so that the rhodochrosite pendant, which is for once not tucked under her shirt, doesn’t stand out.

“I am relaxed,” Jess retorts. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine, I’m relaxed.”

It was just…strange to be going out. A part of her feels like she shouldn’t be here, that maybe she should still be too sad to go out and have fun. And it would be the first time she would be socializing since their return. She hasn’t seen some of the people that would be attending since before the massacre. And deep down, she’s worried about how people are going to treat her, if it’s going to be weird.

“Let’s go, before I change my mind.” It’s just a party, Jess tells herself. If she can survive a war zone, she can attend a party.

--

The first thing Herbert notices when he comes up from the basement is that the lights in the entryway are on. It’s barely past dark and if past behavior is any indication, his roommates wouldn’t be home for another hour or two. For a moment, he wonders if he’s still home alone, but as he gets closer to the kitchen, the sound of the washing machine tells him the answer. Herbert has no idea what to expect when he walks into the kitchen, but a half-naked Jess is certainly not it.

They’re only a few feet away from each other and their eyes meet for a moment that seems to go on forever. When Herbert breaks the eye contact, he tries to look at anything else, but his eyes are still drawn to her, his gaze settling on her completely unclothed bottom half, taking in the sight of her body, even the curls at the apex of her thighs. Despite the kitchen light being on and shining down right on her, it still takes him a moment to see it.

There is blood all over her thighs. It looks fresh, the bright red smears and streaks commanding his attention. Herbert wonders what happened to her, how she had managed to injure herself this way, because he can’t see a wound.

“What?” Jess snaps, scowling at him. “I am not going to risk losing perfectly good clothes because my period decided to come early.”

Of course, he chides himself. That is obviously the cause of her bloody thighs, not some sort of mysterious injury. As a man of science and medicine, he should have realized that. Before he can say anything in response, she’s pushing her way past him and he’s left with the mental image of her bloody thighs, his heart racing ever so slightly for some reason.

iii

The smell of Stetson cologne alerts Jess to Pierce’s presence before the man even speaks. It was barely tolerable before and now it makes her feel both sick and angry.

(it’s too much, all wrong, she’s come to prefer the smell someone else’s soap, of someone who doesn’t feel the need to drown himself in a mix of oil, water and alcohol)

“Fuck off, Dr. Baird,” she sneers as he hovers next to her as she puts on her jacket, as it is time to go home. Just as soon as you find Herbert. It’s been a long day, but with classes and her shift at the hospital, that’s nothing new. Today, Herbert is working the same shift as her, so they’re going to go home together. Nothing unusual, though Dan isn’t with them tonight.

“Just hear me out. Five minutes! That’s all I ask. I can explain everything.”

“Don’t care. Again, fuck off.” Jess rolls her eyes and grabs her bag. His eyes follow her hands and she is so sure that he had been staring at the scars on her face face, or at least trying to. “What makes you think that anything you have to say is going to make me forgive you, much less want to date you again?” It had taken months to stop wanting to throw up at the mere thought of how his (clumsy, unskilled, cold) hands had been in her shirt. “You’re pathetic. I can’t believe that Hill pulled you into his petty bullshit with Herbert.”

“Is it West? Are the two of you-?” Pierce is cut off by her glare and he takes a step back before she even moves towards him.

“Don’t bring him up again.” She speaks carefully, clenching her fists so she won’t be tempted to use them. “And leave me alone!”

Jess’ voice is loud enough to draw the attention of some passing nurses, who give Pierce disapproving looks and distract him long enough for her to make a break for it and dash into a nearby stairwell. She rushes down to the lowest floor, towards the morgue. It’s the same stairwell that Jess and Herbert had walked up that night, which she doesn’t even realize until she’s pushing open the door leading to the morgue’s hallway.

(it’s so dark and the smoke is threatening to smother the air from her lungs

a strong hand keeps a tight grip on her arm, and another presses a thick wool coat to her chest. there is so much blood, warm and sticky on her heated flesh.

she's safe, or at least she hopes she is. maybe she’s still going to bleed out. maybe she’s going to burn

‘am I going to die?’

‘no. calm down’)

It’s cold down in the morgue and Jess shivers, wrapping her jacket tighter around her body as she walks down the hall. It looks like nothing happened here. If someone didn’t know, then they would assume that this place hadn’t been the location of one of the worst things to have happened at Miskatonic. Or in Arkham. Maybe it’ll help people forget about what happened here.

A part of her wishes that she had that luxury. But as she searches for him, memories come to her in fragments and she knows that even if she didn’t have to remember every time she looked in the mirror or at her hands, that night would always be with her.

“Are you insane?”

Jess quickly darts across the room and grabs Herbert’s arm before he can inject the corpse. He should have been ready to go already. And yet, Herbert is now back up to his old tricks less than a few weeks into the semester. Normally, she wouldn’t be this upset, certainly not enough to grab him and try to pull him away from the corpse. But this was a special case, a question of ethics and she cannot stand idly by.

“What is your problem?” Herbert snaps, yanking his arm out of her grip. It had actually been painful, but it was soon pushed to the back of his mind.

“That patient had a DNR. They want to stay dead.” She makes sure to enunciate every word, as if he is incapable of understanding her otherwise.

“Is that all? You’re making such a fuss over nothing.” Herbert begins to go back towards the corpse, but she grabs his arm again, keeping him away from the slab.

“Nothing?” Jess’ eyebrows nearly vanish into her hair, her voice becoming higher from the sheer incredulity in it. “Nothing? Were you off buying new pencils when we learned about ethics? You can’t do this! They had a DNR. They wanted to stay dead!”

“Had a DNR. Past tense. They’re dead. For now. Which means that their wishes no longer apply.” He sneers at her distress, seeing it as silly and slightly hypocritical. “You didn’t seem to mind being unethical in Peru. When my work was beneficial for you.”

“That was different.” Everything in Peru had been different, in more ways than one. Both had bent their own personal rules while down there, outright breaking a few. Though as their eyes meet in the dim light of the morgue, she isn’t thinking of the dead soldiers that Herbert had used for his experiments when their efforts to save them had failed.

(Hands grasping motel sheets, lips on skin, their bodies connected at the core, whispering those three words against each other’s mouths,

I love you; I love you.)

“We could get in big trouble just for doing this. Add in the DNR and we’d be so fucked.” Her voice trembles and cracks on the last word as thoughts of expulsion and prison time dance through her head.

Herbert scoffs at her distress and begins to move towards the slab. But this time, instead of grabbing him, Jess darts in front of him, standing between him and the body.

“Get out of my way.” His voice is low, edging on threatening. “Or I will make you.”

“Fine.” She snarls, practically baring her teeth. Before she steps out of the way, Jess takes the head in her hands and smashes it against the slab with as much force as she can manage.

Jess had expected some slight damage, enough to render the body unusable, but keep it intact. Instead, the skull explodes on impact, sending bits of blood, gore and brain matter splattering onto her face and clothing, some of it even landing on Herbert. She can feel the nausea bubbling in her gut as she steps back from the body in horror. Herbert scurries towards the table, eager to see the extent of the damage she had done. When he lifts what remains of the head, much to his shock he sees that the slab had been dented.

It comes together quickly, Herbert’s mind racing as Jess goes to clean up her face. He recalls the vivid bruises she had left all over his body, how her grip is painful when she applies force.

“Fascinating.” Herbert’s tone is nearly one of awe as he holds the head in his hands, assessing the damage. “This must be studied further.”

“No!” She rushes towards him, pushing him away from the corpse and against the wall. “You really are fucking cracked. We need to fix this here and now, not bring it home!” Jess’ hands grab his arms and hold him against the wall and when Herbert tries to wiggle out of her grasp, he finds that he could not. Her strength is keeping him pinned against the wall and the realization hits him hard enough to nearly knock the air from his lungs.

This had been his doing. His reagent hadn’t only repaired her hands, it had improved them. She can smash a skull like a melon, dent metal and could keep a grown man against a wall with very little effort. Herbert wants to see what else she can do, his eyes lighting up at the mere thought of the possibilities.

Jess feels sick, her heart thudding violently in her chest as she comes to the same conclusions. The reagent had changed her on the inside, something she hadn’t realized could happen until right now. Or maybe she had been in denial until this moment, when it couldn’t be avoided any longer. She looks up at him, fear meeting delight. They haven’t been this close since that night, avoiding each other’s personal space to prevent another foolish mistake. But right now, emotions are high, and they are so close, their bodies crushed together in this dark room…

The sound of footsteps brings her out of her thoughts and both of them realize that it is too late to do anything to cover up what had happened. Though as Jess’ eyes fall on his mouth, she realizes that there is one thing, one last ditch effort to save their skins.

When Ernest opens the door, he is greeted with the sight of those two weird fourth year med students making out right in front of him. The way the door opened hides his view of the right side of the room and more importantly, of the body with the bust open skull. All he can see was Herbert grabbing Jess’ hips and then catching sight of Ernest, his eyes growing comically large.

“Hey, don’t mind me, lovebirds. I won’t say nothin’ if you finish up in here for me.” Which includes taking a certain body to the crematorium. That is more than okay with the pair currently locked in an intense embrace.

“Sure, Ernest,” Jess manages to get out, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“Cool. Have fun and remember to lock the door next time.” Ernest winks at Herbert and leaves. As soon as his footsteps were no longer audible, they spring apart, Jess wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You take the body, I’ll clean up in here,” she says and Herbert nods in agreement, both trying not to think about how he had kissed back.

iv

Ten minutes ago, Jess had been up in her room, getting ready to go out with her friends. It’s a Saturday night and they’re going to one of the few places in Arkham that can be called a club, though only using a very loose definition of the word. She had been thinking about mixed drinks, loud music and being around normal people. She’s even dressing properly for the occasion, wearing makeup to boot. It’s supposed to a night to forget her troubles.

And now, that is the farthest thing from her mind as she’s confronted with a perversion of science as she watches Herbert handle the fresh-looking human heart. Meg’s heart, she thinks, her head spinning, a dull roar in her ears. Herbert had stolen it, somehow the organ looked like he had just ripped it out of her chest. And he has plans for it.

That’s the moment she finally reaches her limit when it comes to Herbert’s work. If it could even be called that at this point. Jess can barely him as he outlines his plan to create a new life with Meg’s heart, her mind racing, nearly screaming. But she does hear Dan’s pained, almost hopeful ‘yes’ and she can’t stop herself from speaking up.

“No. No. This is too far.” Jess had thought the finger creature was odd, but a creative exercise in its own way. That was something she could live with, literally. But this went against every possible law that was out there. They couldn’t...do that. It could only end in a disaster that would make what had happened last year look like child’s play.

“Your opinion is irrelevant, Jessabelle,” Herbert sneers, hardly even looking at her as he spits out her name like it’s a curse, the venom in his voice even making Dan raise an eyebrow.

“The fuck it isn’t, Herbert.” She says his name with equal vitriol. “I live here and this time, we’re all paying equal shares. Which means that I have an equal voice. And even if that wasn’t the case, this is still my home. This is sick, this is dangerous.” Jess casts a glance at the heart, the sight making bile rise her throat. “I refuse to let you play God like this.” Meg had suffered enough. She needed to be allowed to rest in peace.

That night needs to die as well. They can’t move on if this happens. That night will never leave them alone if some sort of patchwork creature is shambling around the house, an echo of Meg that they’re pretending is the real thing.

“You didn’t mind my playing God with your hands. I seem to recall that you were strongly in favor of my work when it would benefit you.” Herbert is smug as he reminds Jess of how he had gone out of his way to help her. After all, he could have just left her to suffer with the nerve damage. It had been his idea to use a form of his reagent to repair her hands. She hadn’t come to him begging for help, so it would have been equally ethical to do nothing. At least in theory.

“We both know why I even needed your help in the first place.” Jess slams her hands on the table, making the heart leap into the air for a moment. At least she hadn’t dented this table. “Speaking of that night, we’re the only reason you’re not in prison for murdering Dr. Hill. I saw you cut off his head with a fucking shovel. You told Dan what you did. But we helped you get away with it.”

Herbert opens his mouth to remind Jess of why she had even been able to help cover up the murder, but the words wouldn’t form. The implication disturbs him and even Herbert knew that it would...trouble the other two. So he takes a different route with his next attack, still not willing to let her have the last word.

“If Dan is willing to participate, then I do not see the problem.” Herbert keeps his voice even, his gaze unflinching.

“Because you’re taking advantage of his grief! Just because he’s not crying himself to sleep every night doesn’t mean he’s totally over it!” Jess retorts.

“Dan is a grown man. He can make his own decisions.”

“I know that you love to pretend you’re above emotions, Herbert. But imagine that you weren’t.” Jess spits out ‘love’, as if she were underlining it for emphasis. A reminder of his moment of vulnerability, even though it had been hers as well. She might have said it first, but he had said it back.

“And you love to spin fanciful tales, which you just freely admitted.” It isn’t the most logical comeback without context. But with it, it’s a cutting remark that makes Jess feel as if he had punched her in the chest. Because she had meant it, what she had said that night. The implication that it had been a lie lanced a part of her that she didn't even think existed.

With the wound still gaping and bloody, Jess goes on the offensive, hardly even noticing Dan was still in the room. “You are not a scientist. You’re a narcissist with a God complex. But you’re not God, Herbert. What you are is a scared little man.” Every word is barked out viciously, she’s going for his throat.

And Herbert is going right for hers. “As I said previously, your opinion is irrelevant.” He looks her up and down scornfully, sneering at her outfit, a short black, lacy dress and a denim jacket paired with heels that gave her a couple extra inches of height. “It seems that you have shifted your priorities.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you have chosen to spend your time gallivanting around town instead of being in the lab.”

“Well, maybe if certain company wasn’t so fucking unbearable, I would be here more often!” Jess surges forward, leaning over the table to get as in his face as possible. “Instead of trying to get away from this place and a particular person in it!”

“If anyone is making this house unbearable, it’s you!” Herbert leans in as well, nearly closing the gap between the two of them. She’s leaning over the heart and Dan swears that it is beating. Or maybe that’s his own, reacting frantically to this strange incident playing out before him. “Maybe if you were helpful, I could put up with the stench of your perfume and your -.”

“Oh, fuck you, West!” She cuts him off before he can list off other things that made her unbearable to live with.

“I’ll leave that to one of your gentleman callers.” Herbert gives her another contemptuous look, his eyes lingering on her hands, remembering how they had felt when they had been freshly wounded.

(how they had felt when they had cradled his face.)

“You need to start thinking outside the box. Maybe Hill was right-”

One of those hands, the one with the deep scar across her palm, comes up and strikes his face, knocking his glasses to the floor.

The silence was broken by the sound of the doorbell. “That’s my ride.” Jess pushes down her emotions and forces herself to smile. “Go to hell, Herbert. See you later, Dan.”

“Is there something that you need to tell me?” Dan asks once she is gone and Herbert has found his glasses, which are miraculously still in one piece.

“No. Why would you ask me that?” Herbert stomps past him and up the stairs, not even bothering to pack up the heart in his fit of pique. That was left up to Dan, who placed Meg’s heart back in the bag and into the freezer, lingering before he shut the door.

--

“I’m so sorry, Meg. You deserved better.” Jess stares down at the heart literally in her hands. “I wish I didn’t have to do this…”

The night out had gone fine, technically. She had finally been able to apply her favorite red lipstick, only worn on special occasions, in the car on her way to the bar, leaning out of the passenger side window to apply it at a red light. And then again, in the harsh light of the bar bathroom, she had been able to do it again, even looking right at her own face in the mirror.

(smeared red lipstick makes her think of something else red smudged on her face.

For a moment, she tastes it and she has to force herself to push the thought out of her head or else she’ll start screaming on the spot)

It should have been a fun night and maybe it would have been if she hadn’t gone to the family meeting in the basement. But that had put a damper on her mood. Her friends had been able to flirt, dance, have fun. But Jess had stayed at the bar, knocking back drinks. Even in the dim lighting, she had still gotten those looks from strangers. Pity and disgust, with some of them looking like they wanted to ask what happened to her face.

So she had left early, taking a cab home. Jess stumbled into the house, heading towards the stairs. But the sight of the door to the basement fills her with this impulse that she can’t ignore.

The lab is empty, silent. That just spurs her on and within a few minutes, she’s walking into the kitchen, the heart in her hands. All Jess can think about is how she needs to stop it. She needs to save them from something horrible. Her mind is racing, her inner monologue a shrieking ramble of words and images tangling together. There’s been too much destruction, too much death, and she’s never been able to stop it before.

(the little voice in the back of her mind tries to reach her to ask how she could have saved her parents

mom died in an accident, jess couldn’t have stopped the truck from hitting her car. it had been an accident, a cruel twist of fate. if she had been in the car, she would have died too.

dad died a slow death. over a decade of post traumatic stress and grief slowly consuming him until he was gone.

you can’t put a heart back once it’s been ripped out, after all)

Dan hears Jess stumbling into the kitchen and he pokes his head in just in time to see her set the heart down on the counter and start rifling through the drawers, clearly looking for something. He rushes to get Herbert right away, figuring that whatever she’s doing can’t be good news and he thinks that he might need help to stop her.

While he’s upstairs, she finds the meat tenderizer and weighs it in her hands for a few moments before she turns to the heart on the counter. Jess unwraps the heart and places it on the thick cutting board, standing over the organ with a lump in her throat. “I don’t know any prayers, Meg. So, all I can say is that I’m sorry.” Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and brings down the mallet. It misses most of the heart, the cutting board taking most of the blow. So she needs to do it again, though in her drunken state, she doesn’t use as much of her strength as she can.

The heart is in pieces, splattered all over the cutting board, when Dan and Herbert run into the kitchen. Jess is gasping, her hand is shaking, but she still raises the mallet for another strike.

“What are you doing? Have you gone mad?” Herbert yells as Dan moves towards her. He recoils when she shrieks at him, a violent cry of pure anger. Jess whirls around, facing the men, her eyes darting to and fro wildly, as if assessing who was the bigger threat.

“I’m saving us! This could only take us to a place that I don’t want any of us to go!” She grabs what remains of Meg’s heart and raises the hand holding it, a rabid expression twisting her features to the point where the men hardly recognize her. “This is crazy, Herbert and you’ll thank me later.”

Before Jess can make another move, Herbert is right in front of her, trying to get what remains of Meg’s heart out of her hand. “You didn’t think I was crazy in Peru,” he murmurs as they struggle. The look in his eyes gives away what he was actually talking about, and there is a pause, Jess taking in what he had just said.

With a wretched howl, she stomps on his foot and shoves him back, nearly shoving him into Dan, who barely gets out of the way in time. The two men can only watch as Jess raises the hand holding what remains of Meg’s heart up, bringing it towards her mouth. Before either of them could even move to stop her, her teeth tear into the organ.

It tastes wrong. That’s the only word for it. There is a metallic rawness to the flesh in her mouth, but not the sort that comes with uncooked meat. It’s like it was never alive in the first place. She wonders if it was the reagent or whatever they had used in hospital storage to try and keep it fresh. She can feel fluid around her mouth, dribbling out of the corners as she presses what remains of Meg’s heart against her mouth. Jess flings the remaining piece of the heart onto the floor and stomps on it, making sure that the heel of her shoe grinds into it. What remains of Meg’s heart is still in her mouth.

“Do you have any idea what you have just done?” Herbert yells, rushing at Jess. He grabs her shoulders, shaking her, as if that would make her see his point of view.

In response, Jess spits the remaining piece of Meg’s heart out. It splatters on Herbert’s cheek and falls to the floor, joining the other remains. An eerie silence settles over the kitchen. Meg’s heart is gone. It had been the last bit of her left on earth and now it was no more, nearly obliterated. There would be no way to fix it. Megan Halsey is now gone forever.

“I can’t…I just can’t.” Dan raises his hands and storms out of the kitchen, unable to handle what had just happened. He is going to need more than a moment or two to process this. A part of him, a part that is very deep down, is relieved that the choice had been made for him. He’s spent all night trying to decide what to do, because the idea of having her back is far too tempting. But seeing the heart reduced to chunks of meat made him realize that whatever would be created would be a collection of spare parts. It wouldn’t be Meg.

The pair remaining in the kitchen just stare at each other for what feels like eons, unable to move or speak. It’s not the first time they’ve been alone together, bloody and in shock. Maybe it won’t be the last.

Herbert moves first, taking a paper towel and dampening it before he takes Jess’ chin in his hand, bringing her face closer to his. There is so much red around her mouth that it takes several paper towels to properly clean the mess of blood, gore, lipstick and who knows what else off her face.

After he’s done, Herbert takes her face in both hands and presses his forehead against hers. It quiets the screaming in both their heads, finally bringing a moment of calm that they desperately need

(for a moment, they’re back in the hotel room

the sheets are softer than anything they have felt in months, and it’s a relief to be on a proper mattress but in all honesty, they could have been anywhere and felt the same

because what matters is that someone is there, that they’re not alone, there is a warm body moving with theirs and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts)

“I’m-.” Herbert has no idea what he’s going to say or what he feels but it doesn’t matter. Before he can finish his sentence, Jess pushes him away and Herbert is left alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the bits of Meg’s heart.

v

“You look the same.”

Herbert’s voice breaks through the quiet of the small kitchen. It’s not quite dawn yet, but Jess has been up all night. At some point, she made herself some oatmeal and managed to eat most of it. But she’s been standing at the sink for what feels like forever, staring at her reflection in the glass.

The scar is starting to enter the final stages. It will likely always be something she’ll able to feel, something she can’t ignore. They’re going to be a few shades lighter than her skin, so they’ll always stand out. Jess wonders if she’ll ever be able to live her life without noticing it. Or if the sight of her own face will always disgust her.

“Are you blind?”

Their eyes meet in the glass and Herbert doesn’t break the quasi-eye contact when he responds. “Your face is just as pleasing to look at as it was before.”

“Jesus, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.”

Jess runs her tongue over her lower lip, feeling the scarred space as she mulls over his words.

“That wasn’t my intent.” Herbert fumbles for a response and he’s not sure if it’s a smooth recovery. “I am merely stating the facts.”

But there is a moment, something soft and tender. They just look at each other and there is an understanding, something unspoken passing between them before he turns away and she resumes washing the dish, this time with a little smile.

vi.

The sound of Ghost yowling is coming from Jess’ room and Herbert can hear it from his own quarters. The only reason he even goes into her room at all is because he knows she’s not home. If the conversation he had overheard her having with Dan is correct, she has a date tonight.

The atmosphere in the house is only now starting to get back to normal, nearly two weeks since that night. Jess had stayed in bed for the entire weekend and then spent the following week with some friends, the guys only seeing her during classes/rotations. When she had returned, she would only speak to Dan for several days and even as of the current day, will only speak to Herbert when necessary.

When he steps into her bedroom, the cat’s yowling ceases, and Herbert realizes that this is the first time he’s been in here. It’s a thought that won’t go away, especially once he briefly muses about how he had plenty of time in both of her previous bedrooms, especially in Peru, and had never taken the time to explore either space.

But now that he’s in her room, taking in the scent of her, surrounded by her things and there is no one here to stop him.

The room is a decent size. It appears to have the same dimensions and layout as his room, right down to where the closet is. There are all the usual pieces of bedroom furniture, along with a bookcase. The bed is partially made, one of the pillows at the very edge of the mattress. Jess’ scrubs are crumpled on the floor next to it, likely left where she had undressed. On the desk chair is her backpack and the desk itself has several textbooks, an open notebook, writing instruments and a radio on it. Posters adorn the walls for things Herbert has never heard of, save for Star Trek.

There are several photographs taped to the wall above the dresser, though Herbert doesn’t pay much attention to them. The sole framed picture is of Jess as a small child with her parents. Coins, makeup, a cat toy, some more pens and other bits of this or that cluttering the dresser top, along with an open jewelry box. Herbert wonders why because the only jewelry he can remember Jess wearing is the necklace he had given her and a watch.

When he opens the top drawer, he spots the picture instantly. It’s on top of the garments, as if she has been looking at it before she had left.

Herbert claims he destroyed his copy of the photograph Francesca had taken of him with Jess’ finger in his mouth. It’s still in his possession, also kept in his top dresser drawer. He looks at it sometimes and wonders where it all went wrong. Much to his frustration, how he wound up under her spell, ensnared in her jaws, is still a mystery.

The sound of the damn cat rings out again, coming from the closet. Herbert sighs and opens the door but doesn’t find the beast. He’s fully inside of the closet when he hears the door opening and he can only think to mostly close the closet door rather than try to flee.

Through the crack in the door, Herbert can see Jess and another woman walk into the room, all giggles. The smell of the woman’s perfume is strong enough to reach the closet and he wants to gag. The pair speak in low voices, he can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but they move towards the bed. The sounds they’re making are soft, but what he can hear is wet and he needs to angle himself a little differently to get a proper view.

The pair is kissing messily. In less than two minutes, Jess’ shirt is off and on the floor and she’s giggling as the woman runs a hand along her side. Her bra is red and lacy, something likely chosen for a special occasion. Herbert watches as they wrap themselves around each other, bodies intertwining and rocking together. There is a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach and his heart starts to pound. Jess moans softly but it rings falsely to Herbert.

(after all, he’s made her do a lot more than that)

“What the hell was that?” the woman asks, and Herbert realizes that he must have knocked something over.

“Probably just my cat,” Jess replies as she unbuttons her jeans and her date’s arm starts to move downwards.

As if that horrid little creature had been waiting for the worst possible moment, Ghost yowls and begins to bounce around the closet, reminding Herbert of the incident with Dan’s former cat. The commotion causes Herbert to fall out of the space, the cat still shrieking, though the sound of women yelling soon joins the fray.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” Jess is smacking at him, and her date is leaving the room, muttering something and then her attention is focused on trying to get her to stay, giving Herbert the perfect opportunity to slip out of the chaos and down to his laboratory. He can still hear Jess talking to her date and even hears the woman running down the stairs just before he slams the door to his lab shut, making sure to lock it.

--

“So, do you have a voyeurism kink, or did you just want to fuck up my evening?”

Jess is perched on the kitchen counter when Herbert comes up from the basement about twenty minutes after he had gone down there. He wonders how long she’s been waiting for him. She’s still in her undone jeans and bra, lipstick smeared around her mouth, making it seem like she’s been there the whole twenty minutes. The sight of her red mouth elicits a particular twitch in Herbert, and he tries to hide the feelings she’s provoking in him. So he goes to rinse out his bowl, trying to keep that stoic façade up even as his mind works against him, putting odd thoughts in his head.

(her mouth, messy and red with his blood in the dimly lit tent, kiss swollen and wet in the motel room

those times her mouth was his

when his mouth was hers)

“Your damn cat was making a racket and I went looking for it to make it stop. How could I have known that you would be bringing some random woman home?”

“There were other things you could have done! But instead, you decided to watch like a fucking creep!” Jess shrieks, hopping down from the counter. She moves towards him, he moves towards her and soon, the gap between them is nearly closed. “Do you have any idea what you fucked up?”

The date had been with the friend of a friend and thankfully she didn’t go to Miskatonic, so that awkwardness could be avoided. Ever since the plans had been made and right up until halfway through the date, Jess had been a mess of nerves. But it had gone better than any other attempts at seeing people, right up until Herbert had decided to ruin it.

“Casual sex, if I had to guess.” Herbert rolls his eyes and manages to step around her, managing to get to the sink and turn it on before she responds.

“Bingo, four-eyes,” she snaps. “Someone was going to finally touch me, even though I look like this.” She gestures to her face and chest, as if he had forgotten about the scars.

Before he can stop himself, Herbert drops the bowl into the sink and grabs her by the hips, shoving her against the counter, unable to recover from the blow to his ego. “Someone already did.”

“So what happened in Peru counts now? Are you going to acknowledge what we did?”

There is a long moment of silence, a battle of wills. No one wants to be the one who breaks, who finally speaks of what had happened out loud.

In the end, it’s Jess, but it’s part of a ploy. “So, you’re finally acknowledging how your hands were all over me more than once?” she murmurs, grabbing his wrist and running the tips of his fingers along the scar that goes from clavicle to clavicle. “Your hands and your mouth. God, it was like you couldn’t get enough of me.” Slowly, she brings his hand to breast, smirking when she lets go of him and his hand doesn’t move. “And then in that motel room, we made love. You were inside of me because you needed it, didn’t you? You needed poor, sad little Jess and her fucked up, mutilated body. I made you come better than anyone else ever had, didn’t I?”

Despite her harsh words and the slight quaver in her voice, Herbert can feel himself start to engorge, his pants becoming tighter as he presses against her, trying not to grind his hips. “I…” he says, unable to formulate a response. He can’t tell her that her last statement is true, but only because he had never been with anyone else.

“You fucked up my night, Dr. West,” Jess hisses, the use of the title making him groan softly. After that, she hops onto the counter, sitting right in front of the sink, not paying the still-running water any mind. “So why don’t you get on your knees and make it up to me?”

Herbert hesitates for a moment and then he does it.

It stuns Jess and for a few moments, she doesn’t move or speak. She just stares at him on his knees, trying not to react. Just as he’s thinking about moving, she grabs his hair and shoves his face between her spread legs. He quickly pulls down her jeans and tosses them to the floor. As Herbert’s hands come up again and start to slide up her thighs, Jess lets go of his hair. “Use your mouth, Doctor,” she sneers.

It takes a while for him to accomplish that task. By the time he manages to pull down her plain black underwear using only his teeth, Jess had been on the verge of shoving him away to either do it herself or go upstairs to forget about this entirely.

“Do you even know-…Oh fuck!” Jess had been midway through taunting him when Herbert’s tongue was suddenly on her, wet and warm, eagerly exploring that part of her. It should be nothing new, this is far from her first time having someone between her legs. And this had been an attempt to assert dominance, so as long as he did anything, he could have gotten away with being terrible at it. And for a few moments, his erratic tongue makes it seem like that is the case, but then he finds her clit and she stops thinking entirely.

The sounds of her moans of pleasure are muffled by the running water and his head being firmly gripped between her thighs. But Herbert can hear just enough to keep going, nearly mindless in his pursuit, his tongue eagerly exploring her cunt. He’s only read about this, so he only knows what to do in theory. But he is enthralled by the smell, the taste of her, so he luxuriates in the experience.

The sink is starting to overflow when she leans down, a wicked grin on her face and for the first time in a long time, she feels powerful in a way she can’t quite describe. Jess opens her legs so Herbert can hear her properly. “Can you still smell her?” she teases him as the water begins to cascade onto the floor, neither of them noticing.

In response, Herbert hooks her legs under his arms and sucks her clit between his lips, making Jess howl. She kicks at nothing, holding onto the counter for dear life. It’s almost too much, but she doesn’t want to stop, not now, not ever. Thankfully, his mouth releases the sensitive nub before she starts crying and she’s able to get some control back.

By the time Jess is grinding against his face, gripping his hair tightly, Herbert is soaking wet from the sink overflowing onto him and she’s continuously moaning, making noises that sound like she’s rioting, her self-control is long gone by now.

“I’m gonna-…fuck you! Goddammit, Herbert!” When Jess finally comes, she forces his face to be flush with her core, coming all over his mouth and chin. His glasses are pushed to the top of his forehead, nearly falling off as her hips buck wildly.

When she’s done, Jess takes a moment before she hops off the counter and looks down at Herbert, who is still on his knees. He’s drenched, his hair sticking to his face and his shirt nearly see-through. His glasses are askew, making him look almost helpless

“That was not bad, West.” She starts to leave, grabbing her jeans off the floor and seeing him begin to get up. “I didn’t say you could move. Take a few minutes. Think about what you’ve done.”

That’s how Jess leaves him, kneeling on the water covered kitchen floor. She’s thankful that he can’t see how much she’s shaking as she walks away, eventually collapsing onto her bed and giggling madly into her pillow, still in disbelief that she managed to successfully get him under her thumb.

Herbert gets up as soon as he hears her walk up the stairs. He rises to his feet, finally turning off the sink. He doesn’t do anything else to clean up the mess, as his attention is focused on his arousal, which is practically taking on a life of its own. He storms down to the basement, slamming the doors shut and locking the one to the lab so no one will bother him and he can be alone with his work.

[weepylucifer]

Mairon is working on a circlet when the Dark Vala first makes his offer.

“What is it you’re crafting?” he asks, hovering over Mairon’s shoulder, casting a jealous, covetous gaze at his work. “Who is it for?”

“It is a gift intended for Lord Aule,” Mairon replies, abandoning all pretense of activity, tilting his body backwards from the fire of the forge, disgruntled as the Dark One grabs his project and lifts it, white-hot and just beginning to cool, to inspect it up close. The heated metal does not singe him. It seems that the most unforgiving of elements cannot harm the Dark Vala, the biting ice does not sting him, the unremitting flame does not burn him. His large, dark hands darken further upon contact with the heat, the veins beneath the skin pulsing and lighting as though filled with molten lava. Mairon admonishes himself not to stare.

(Oh, they will find out what it takes to harm Melkor’s hands. They will find out in time.)

“It is a nice trinket,” the Dark One says, his dismissive tone setting Mairon’s teeth on edge. “I have never seen Aule wear jewelry,” he adds.

“That as may be,” Mairon says, keeping his voice blandly emotionless. It is true. All precious gems and metals are at Lord Aule’s purview, and yet, when clothed in physical form, he goes in his simple, robust leather apron, adorned with a few occasional beads in his hair and beard and no jewelry besides. Aule is constantly at work, and cannot afford forging accidents caused by finery getting caught or snagging somewhere.

“It does not suit you toiling away at producing trinkets nobody will have use for,” the Dark One states.

Mairon shrugs. “My Lord will appreciate a token of his Maia’s devotion, whether he wears it or not.”

“How many Maiar does Aule have? How many tokens of devotion?” The Dark One looks at Mairon down his nose. “There are grander things to be crafted,” he adds without waiting for Mairon’s answer.

“In time,” Mairon says.

“Now,” the Dark One corrects. “If you were to come to my kingdom, you and I could begin the shaping of the world in earnest.”

“Lord Aule would hardly permit such a thing,” Mairon says dryly.

“Forget Lord Aule,” says the Dark One. “Come with me, learn from me, aid me and see your craft soaring to heights you can now scarcely even imagine.”

He goes on a rather lengthy, rambling tangent on all the things he means to build, extolling the excitements of his machinations, the pleasure of freedom to work as one wills without direction from anybody, the satisfaction of the Dark One upon getting what he perceives to be his due. To Mairon, his words sing of love of himself, and little besides. To his mind, the Dark Vala needs a speechwriter rather more urgently than a smith, but he holds his tongue and does not say so.

“I must decline,” he says.

The Dark Vala’s eyes go wide and round. He had not expected being denied.

“I am no lost and stumbling spirit you may entice to your side,” Mairon continues. “I am in good standing here. I serve my Vala well, and see no need to forsake him and the life I know for another.”

The Dark Vala looms suddenly much closer, one hand setting the circlet down, the other reaching, touching, winding a lock of Mairon’s hair around his index finger. Mairon holds himself still. Maiar do not usually disallow touches from any Vala, for who would decline the loving caress of their gods? But surely the Dark One is an exception, surely here it may be permitted to resist.

“But I have observed you,” the Dark One says. “I have seen your potential, and you are easy on the eyes as well... do you not yearn, as I do, for something more than this predetermined path, laid out for us by small minds of limited imagination?”

His voice is a dark, deep murmur in Mairon’s ear, husky and rich. Mairon remembers when he heard it first, reverberating with the Discord. He rears away before he can fluster, yanking his hair out of the Vala’s grip. “I yearn for nothing of yours,” he snaps.

---

“You are still observing me,” Mairon says, his mouth drawn into a tight frown. The Dark Vala is at his forge again, leaning faux-casually against the anvil, and Mairon has not bowed upon entering and seeing him there, has not tacked any honorific onto his statement. The Dark Vala doesn’t request it.

“’Tis so,” Melkor admits unabashedly, in a tone of voice as if he’s talking about the weather. “What am I to say? You fascinate me. Aule has many Maiar, but you... I see a fire within you that’s unique to yourself.”

Mairon crosses his arms. “I am not different from anybody else,” he says, his voice as frigid as the gales Melkor will conjure on occasion.

“Ah, but isn’t that the problem?” the Dark Vala asks.

Not wishing to look at him, Mairon busies himself donning his protective gear for the work ahead. “I do not see any problem apart from you pestering me.”

It should have earned him rage and rebuke, this open disrespect towards a Vala. What he gets is a huff of laughter.

“But you are not happy here,” Melkor then says, sobering.

“What would you know about my happiness?” Mairon asks, perhaps more sharply than he had intended.

“I watch. I listen. You keep apart from the others, you stay in the forge all day and late into the night. And you have a look about you of one driven.”

Driven, is he? Well, perhaps. “I wish to excel at my work. This is not abnormal nor unusual.”

“You strive for greatness, and they have you tinkering with jewelry. Shiny little baubles, made to be pretty and useless.”

“I like my craft,” Mairon almost snarls. Why does he feel like he’s being put on the defensive? What must he justify to the Dark One? He turns his back on Melkor and pretends to be immersed in selecting tools from his kit.

“Oh, aye,” Melkor says dismissively. “But don’t tell me you have never wished to expand your repertoire? To shape the very bones of Arda to your liking? To be instrumental to that grand undertaking? Do you not wish to be unfettered?”

Safely with his back to the Dark Vala, Mairon rolls his eyes. Is this the kind of talk that has led other Maiar to abandon Aman to stand by Melkor’s side? “’Tis no use wishing for what cannot be.”

“But it can,” Melkor husks, so clearly in love with the sound of his own voice. “If you come to my realm with me, you will taste of freedom - ah, bah, taste? You will drink deeply of it, yet never slake your thirst. It’s impossible to get one’s fill of true independence, once enjoyed, but oh, how heady...”

Mairon’s hands are gripping the edge of his workbench, fingers clenching tightly. Why is this empty prattle getting to him? “You have no idea of what you speak,” he grits out.

He turns around to see Melkor raise an eyebrow. “Oh, indeed?”

“How can you possibly? You’re a Vala.”

Melkor straightens from his affected nonchalant slouch. “That... was quite a lot of venom.”

Mairon sighs. “You cannot know what it is like. You were put upon Arda to rule it. You cannot know what it is to be created from nothing and immediately be told to serve. To get assigned a master, and a duty, and what you will learn, and what you are to devote your existence to, for eternity and beyond. They say it is a blessing, a privilege, that the Valar in their grace and Eru in his wisdom have put all Maiar in their places, adorned us with these powers... it doesn’t occur to the others to yearn for anything beyond what they were given... but all I see are shackles. Shackles the likes of which you and your ilk have never worn.”

“If you--” Melkor begins.

“You ask me to forsake Lord Aule and join your court? Why? To exchange one slavedriver for another? Here at least I get to subsist and carry out my servitude in comfort, and Lord Aule is nice to me when he remembers I exist. You wish me to forsake my standing here and join you in the wild? What can you offer me but the life of an outcast, despised by all? And what would you use me for, if you had me? Wanton destruction, or so I hear? Oh, that would certainly render me more useful than my current work. Nay,” Mairon cried, “there is nothing you may tempt me with. I will abide here, and hopefully get a chance to contribute to the shaping of Arda in some small, insignificant manner, if nothing else. So do not speak to me of freedom, when all you offer is more servitude.”

Melkor has grown quite still. He blinks. “I... had never considered this.”

“Of course not.” Mairon feels quite out of breath. A distant part of him is panicking, he realizes, his head abuzz, his chest tight, as if an iron vice is clamping down on it. He has never told anyone these deepest, most heretical thoughts of his. Why then, with the Dark One, did it seem so easy?

“Remove thyself from my workplace,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Do not approach me with thine offer again.”

Melkor steps back from the anvil, inclines his head in acknowledgement, and sweeps out of the room. Mairon sags against his workbench, his knees as rubber.

---

“Mairon.”

Mairon wonders where the Dark Vala goes, when he’s not here in the forge harangueing him. Does he have a place to stay? He hinted at some realm of his own existing on Arda. Mairon is not privy to the knowledge of its whereabouts.

He doesn’t ask. He crosses his arms, the solid and comforting weight of the anvil at his back. “I thought I made my reception of your offer quite clear. I will alert the guards if you persist.” He resorts back to a more formal mode of address. He is determined not to slip up and proclaim overfamiliarity with the Dark Vala again.

“I understood you well,” says Melkor. “You wish to remain here. Yet, my fortress will still need a smith.”

“Lord Aule has many Maiar,” Mairon reminds them once more.

“Ah, but I want the best,” Melkor replies. “I want excellence. I want that flame in you, undimmed by whatever chains you here.”

“You are going to take me by force?” Mairon asks.

Melkor snorts, as if Mairon had made a joke in poor taste. “Certainly not, no. But if you are not to be mine, at least your artifice must be. Oh, simmer down, little flame, I will not repeat my offer. I only ask to let me linger, for a short while, and observe your work. To learn from you, so as to pass the ways of your craft on to other, more willing souls.”

Mairon must admit, he had not expected this. He is taken aback. “Teach a Vala? That is... unheard of.”

Melkor shrugs. “Why does that matter?”

Now Mairon rolls his eyes openly. He is beginning to take the measure of Melkor, and suspects that he will not be punished for such impudence. “You wish your presence in my space to build familiarity. You are counting on me growing attached to you and more receptive to your offer, provided you stay around long enough. This will not succeed.”

Melkor is not deterred in the slightest. One corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a crooked grin. “Perhaps it will, perhaps it won’t. Either way,” he repeats, “my fortress will attain a smith.”

So Melkor hovers as Mairon finishes the circlet, asking questions about the process, about how Mairon would go about making other things. It takes several days, in which they meet. Melkor learns the name of every tool in Mairon’s toolbox, their feel in his hands and their multiple uses. He attempts to resist it at first, but Mairon feels himself growing bolder in Melkor’s presence, and soon entrusts the Dark Vala with little tasks: stoking the fire, compressing the bellows, fetching red-hot iron from the forge with his bare hands. Melkor should by rights complain about the menial work that is so beneath him; he never does. He watches, grows absentminded, fiddles with his fingers or the hem of his robe, hums snatches of songs, and apologizes - a Vala, apologizing to a Maia! - for his flighty attention.

The circlet is soon finished, and Mairon contemplates giving it to Aule, this work that has become of his and Melkor’s hands, and it feels wrong. For a moment, he considers giving it to Melkor, and banishes that thought.

---

Once the circlet is finished, Melkor stays away.

Days turn to weeks and Mairon wonders if it is true, if the Dark Vala has given up and rescinded his offer, if he has taken Mairon at his word and will not appear again. He feels content in that thought. He feels relieved. He feels, perhaps, lonesome. He feels as though an opportunity has passed him by. Opportunity for nothing much, he tells himself sternly, and crushes those foolish thoughts.

One night, Mairon is the last one in the forge and considering turning in for a few hours, Melkor reappears. He is carrying an object wrapped in cloth, and looks preoccupied.

“I have given thought to what you have told me,” he says, no greeting, no preamble.

“It is nice to see you too,” Mairon replies.

It actually gives the Dark Vala pause. “Is it? Nice to see me?” he asks, genuinely baffled. “Well, now. Ahem. Indeed. I was about to impart to you the thoughts I had.”

“I’m sure they will be riveting.” And not at all go on at length, Mairon adds mentally.

“I should hope so,” Melkor says. “You should sit.”

For lack of a chair, Mairon sits on the anvil. Melkor, meanwhile, takes up pacing.

“You were right,” says he. “I was wholly unprepared to see things in the way you see them. Yes, my siblings and I were instilled upon Arda with the knowledge that it is ours to rule by right. An existence for the purpose of servitude to another is different from anything I know.”

He releases a deep breath. “I can see why you chafe at it. Merely contemplating such an existence for a few brief moments rendered me disgusted.”

Oh, splendid, Mairon remarks to himself. He thinks I’m disgusting.

“Mairon, if you came with me, you would not have to live thus.”

What?

“I would see you instated in Utumno to rule by my side. Free to work and think and speak as you see fit, in servitude to no one.”

“Except for you.”

“No!” Melkor shakes his head. “I have servants enough, and I will have more. You, however, are different. For you I would have a different purpose. You see, I can sing a fortress out of the ground but I haven’t the mind to maintain it. I can persuade people to my cause, but can I see them situated, organize the many needs of a court, build and craft and make law? My kingdom needs more than a smith, it needs someone to maintain order, and I feel it might be you. Take your place by my side and rule with me whatever realms we shall have, and be elevated above all Maiar who would cower in subservience to my brethren. Be my Prince Regent, my Lieutenant, and we shall be in eternal covenant, and make our every choice together.”

Mairon had never thought to find... this anywhere, least of all with the Dark One. It is too good to be true.

He shakes his head. “Y-you lie.”

Of course. The Dark Vala has found what makes him tick, and is now looking to exploit it. He will lure Mairon to his keep with honeyed false promises, and then Mairon will be trapped. He should not have bared himself emotionally as he has. He should have been more cautious.

Melkor ceases his pacing. “Look into my mind and see that I speak true.”

Mairon rears upright to abruptly he almost topples off the anvil. “You mean... initiate osanwe? A Maia to approach a Vala? That... is against the natural order.”

Melkor shrugs. “What of the natural order? It needs reworking anyway. Look around you and tell me Eru didn’t do a rather shoddy job of it.”

A blasphemy. The arrogance of it. Mairon finds he isn’t too bothered.

He has never opened his mind to anyone, preferring to keep his own heretical thoughts closely guarded. He opens it now.

The mind of a Vala feels... different, and yet the same. There is more power there than Mairon could dream to possess, but at the same time... in some ways, it is not much vaster than his. In power, they may be unequal. In thought, in wisdom, in foresight or sagacity, they are not. Their basic make is similar, Ainur both of them. Something in Mairon settles.

There can be, for them, a meeting point. They can grow to understand one another. Know one another fully.

Yes, there is arrogance, plain in Melkor’s mind, a potent strain of self-worship, a kind of jilted entitlement towards his siblings and the realm of Arda, an inclination towards petty malice. There is chaos there aplenty, swirling maelstrom depths of thought and intuition and emotion that Melkor himself probably cannot hope to gauge, much less master.

But, in his offer to Mairon, there is no deceit.

I believe you, Mairon thinks, beyond astonished at finding this.

Melkor’s mind reacts with a sudden blinding flare of reliefhopeglee. In this mental space, he seems less guarded, because he blurts, This fills me with joy.

Mairon laughs and withdraws.

“I believe you,” he says again out loud.

Melkor nods, appearing to try not to smile. Finally, he unwraps whatever he has been carrying wrapped in his dark cloak. It is a chest sung from dark wood. He flicks the clasps open, removes the lid and lowers himself to one knee.

He kneels, and Mairon is bewildered all over again.

From the chest, Melkor takes a circlet not unlike the one they have been making together, made from dark metal, inlaid with obsidian. Clearly it is the work of a beginner, one who has not yet had time to hone his smithing, but it is charming in its crudeness. It is obvious that some thought went into it, if not (yet) the height of artifice.

This Melkor sets on Mairon’s brow.

“My Prince Regent, steward of all my realms, ought to have a crown of his own,” Melkor says. “It does not come close to what you could create, but it is a start.”

The weight of it feels unusual, but not unpleasant.

Then Melkor removes from the chest a second object, wrought from the same material. It is a hammer fit for a master smith, simplistic but elegant designs adorning the hilt. It is not gem-encrusted and ostentatious, but something he could actually work with. This he proffers to Mairon also, who hefts it in his hands. The grip is decent, the weight and balance of the head about right. This then is why Melkor was so interested in examining Mairon’s tools.

“I knew you would want something of practical use,” Melkor says. “I hope that if you come with me, I will get to see wonders wrought with it. Not in my service, but to our mutual benefit and that of those that may follow us.”

Something practical.

Mairon is not inclined to romanticism. He prefers life neat and ordered, he prefers facts, figures and useful deeds to great, gushing avalances of emotion. He prefers to take life on and mold it - smelt it down and beat it, if necessary - into a favorable shape. Melkor must have seen this, and decided to gift him a tool to do the shaping with.

That and a crown, to win his freedom.

This is what Melkor has been doing while he was away: crafting a gift in a way Mairon would, to meet Mairon on his level.

And Mairon starts to believe, Maybe I’ll be alright with him.

[lemonjoonah]

In Need of Orders (M)

Pairings: Seokjin x Reader Word Count: 15K Rating: M Genre: Kingsman AU, action, drama, romance, smut, comedy, rivals to lovers  Warnings: violence, swearing, public foreplay, slight dom/sub dynamics which interchange (Seokjin is a bratty switch), discussion of safeword, light bondage, masturbation, voyeurism, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, small amount of cum eating, sexism in the workplace, referenced death of minor character, Seokjin and reader are bad at feelings.

Summary: After a disastrous mission, which lead to the destruction of your prized invention and the compromise of his cover, Seokjin is confined to your base, and placed under your command. Now that he’s stuck with little to do, he uses his time to investigate a past you simply want to forget.

A/N: AU based off the Kingsman Series, originally written by Mark Miller. There’s a mix of tech origins, the com-glasses, and poison-pen, were from the movie and the rest of the inventions are my own creation. Members will occasionally be referred to by their titles but I try and use their actual name as much as possible, here’s a list of members/characters and their corresponding titles: Reader - Merlin | Seokjin - Galahad |  Yoongi - Percival | Hoseok - Lancelot | Namjoon - (current) Arthur |

....

“No, no, no. NO! Seokjin, what did you do to my beautiful baby?!” You circle around what was once your wondrous invention. Your masterpiece of a vehicle that had taken years to get just right. When Yoongi dropped in a couple hours ago and told you to expect an unpleasant delivery you never could have imagined this. Unpleasant doesn’t begin to cover the damage done, this is an act of desecration. 

“Merlin, titles please! Without manners we are nothing,” Seokjin chides you, paraphrasing the principal motto as if it will save him from your wrath. You’ve reached your limit with him; there's no benefit you can see in maintaining pleasantries. 

“You will get my manners when you deserve them,” you growl back. “Now why did you sink my prized creation?”

“The cloaking device was faulty.” He shrugs off the loss like it’s nothing, no harm to him and therefore no foul.

“I find that hard to believe.” You’ve run this car through every test, checked every parameter, you would never have let it leave this workshop if it posed a danger to exposing agents.

“It was! I was conducting surveillance on a target when they became aware of my presence. They retaliated, so I needed a quick escape. I was on the overpass near the river, I knew there was a small oxygen tank in the glove compartment for emergencies-”

“So driving it off a bridge seemed like the best option?” You never thought you’d regret seeing the day you installed that safety feature, one that you intended for use in case of a gas or chemical assault, but here it is. “Tell me,” You look from your precious machine back to the monster who destroyed it, “What exactly were you doing when you noticed the glitch?”

“Just driving, maybe going around eighty. Does it really matter?” He sighs. “They saw me coming so I had to take cover or they would have shot me.” 

“Oh no, it works perfectly fine.” Your voice starts to echo through the workshop as your fury bubbles over. “When the user reads the manual and understands that cloaking only works when in a stationary position. I am a scientist not an actual fucking magician Seokjin! Of course you can’t travel when cloaked. If you had at least skimmed the booklet I gave you, you would have understood that!”

The technology you created doesn’t make the car invisible, instead it projects the images behind it to make it appear that way. It can only account for and cover small changes in movement, not whole vehicles travelling. Only an idiot would think that it could compensate for such drastic shifts to the backdrop. And for some reason that moron dares to continue arguing with you.  

“Booklet? That thing was a thousand pages long! You actually expected me to read that?” He counters his voice rising to combat yours.

“Oh, I’m sorry would you like me to make an audio-book for you next time? Or better yet I could make a grade school reader complete with pictures. Maybe that’ll hold your attention!”

There’s a sudden shift in his expression, with a thick smile forming on his face. “I suppose I wouldn't say no to a recording if it was read by you.” His words ooze with flirtatious mire, intent on sucking you in. 

Seokjin’s smirks and one liners have gotten him out of trouble many times with other agents. It’s not hard to see why, the man could be considered the most attractive of all your acquaintances,  but you refuse to let this drop simply because he’s batting his eyes in your direction. You grit your teeth and continue to chew him out. “Lancelot and Percival read it, I don’t see why I can’t hold you to the same standard.” 

“Fine, fine I’ll look it over.” He huffs in surrender, but even in defeat he still carries a playfulness in his tone. “When do you think you can get it back up and running again?”

“If you think I’m going to take time out of my schedule to fix this, only for you to go destroy it again, you have some nerve.” You can barely even register the destruction let alone process how much time it’ll take to repair everything. With the dents in the body work, the flooded engine, and the electrics most certainly fried, you're looking at weeks of work just to make it drivable again. But bringing it back to its full potential? That will require months of tinkering.

“What could you possibly have to do that’s more important than this.” Seokjin is clearly trying to hold back a snicker, but when a small snort escapes him, all remaining control of your temper vanishes.

“Seokjin, so help me god if you don’t leave my line of sight in three seconds, I’ll do those men a favour and shoot you myself.”

He chuckles at your threat, “You’re not-”  

“One.” You reach for your holster and take hold of your gun.

“Serious.” The laughter in his face starts to fade. 

“Two.” You disengage the safety and take aim.

“You won’t actually shoot me.”

“Th-” 

“At ease Merlin.” Yoongi interjects, entering the room with his face buried in a file. His indifference is a true sign of how well he knows you. You were only going to relieve Seokjin of a few strands of hair, but maybe it’s better this way. The sound of gunfire would surely result in a slight loss of hearing, and Seokjin already has trouble listening. You sigh, lowering your pistol. 

“I can only guess you’ve both been discussing the...” Yoongi comments looking down at the remains of the car. “Accident.” 

“More like negligence,” You mutter, flicking a bit of mud off what was once a perfect paint job.

“Listen, I tried Percival,” Seokjin appeals to Yoongi. “We’ve been looking for this guy for months. I had him in my grasp,  I couldn’t risk losing him.”

“I know Galahad,” Yoongi rubs his brow as his gaze returns to the document in front of him “but there’s concern that you’ve been compromised, after reading your report there are worries that you might be identified and expose the operation. You’re on lock down for the remainder of the mission.”

“No! I’m so close to bringing him in. Just let me assist,” Seokjin pleads. You would probably feel bad for him if he hadn’t just gone and destroyed your life's work.

“The rest of the order doesn’t seem to agree. In fact they’ve called your work on this case,” Yoongi flips to another page of the file, “Reckless, irresponsible, and fails to even remotely represent their request for a covert operation...” He turns the file around to push it in Seokjin’s face. “And they’ve written those last two words in all caps, see?” 

You chuckle quietly, covering it with a cough but Yoongi doesn’t look convinced. His gaze shifts to you as he hands down the rest of the directive. “Due to these recent events, Galahad is to remain here for the duration of the operation. Under your orders.”

“Wait, what?! Why are they punishing me too?”

“It’s not meant to be a punishment Merlin.”

“The fuck it isn’t. Why can’t Lancelot look after him? It was his idea to allow him on the mission.” You admire Hoseok greatly, but in your opinion it was a bad decision to add Seokjin to the roster for this operation. 

“If Lancelot or I are seen with him then our cover will be blown too.” Yoongi reasons, “You’re the only one who operates completely behind the scenes.”

“But why do I have to be put under command of another agent?” Seokjin interjects.

“Because, you are clearly in need of orders until you can get your rash instincts under control. Just be grateful it’s not a complete dismissal.” Yoongi starts to step away with the matter settled.

There goes your peace and quiet. Unless... you call out to Yoongi with one last shred of hope. “Permission to put him under a gag order for every possible topic of conversation?”

“Denied, but nice try Merlin.” Yoongi smirks as he enters the elevator which will bring him back above ground.

Yep, you’re truly going to be living your own personal hell in such tight quarters. A small work den and communications relay located beneath a PC bang in the heart of Seoul. The base was never intended to host more than one for a long term stay. It’s purpose is for agents to stock up, gather their orders sent from headquarters, and then leave. The only person who actually stays on site is you. “Well then, the bedroom’s mine but you can take the sofa. Don’t touch what’s mine without my consent and we shouldn’t have a problem. Is that clear?” You lay down the rules quickly not wanting to prolong any further conversation with your new resident.

“Yes Ma’am.” Seokjin answers looking truly defeated for once.    

“If you’ll excuse me I have work to do.”You brush past him towards your computer, needing to assess what components you’ll need to order first for repairs.

“Wait, what am I supposed to do?” 

“You’re a big boy, I’m sure you can figure something out.” You respond keeping your eyes focused on the screen.

“Could you show me how to fix it?” His unusually quiet request manages to break your concentration.

“Fix what, the car?” You glance back at him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out his angle. “Why would I do that?”

“Well for starters I probably can’t fuck it up any more than it is.” He laughs but your lack of reaction kills his joke rather quickly. “It would cut down your workload. Give me a better appreciation for what you do. You would get to order me around. And who knows, you might even enjoy my company.”

He’s right, you could use the extra pair of hands, and he might learn something. “Fine, you can start by reading this.” You fling the tome of a manual at his chest, causing him to grunt from the impact. “Report to me when you're done.”  

...

“How can you even call that a couch? I’ve seen footrests bigger than that disappointment.” Seokjin comments as he enters the workshop. You slide out from under your car to find his hands tending to the muscles at the back of his neck, and heavy bags resting under his eyes. It's the first time you’ve seen him exist at a fraction less than perfection in his appearance, a gratifying perk in this unfavourable situation.  

“It’s all that would fit.” You grab a towel laying on the floor next to you cleaning the dark grease of the car off your skin. Usually you wouldn’t bother wiping it off just yet, but having Seokjin in your presence has made you oddly self-conscious. “You might have noticed space is limited here.”

“Then who’s idiotic idea was is to make a base in this shoe box of a hole?” He grills you, probably intending to roast the architect of such a small site. 

“Mine actually. After the data breach a year and a half ago we needed something more secure. There’s so much information streaming to and from this location that it makes it difficult for anyone to find our dealings. It’s the perfect spot.”

“Perfect if you’re a mouse.” Seokjin takes a seat in your straight-backed desk chair. Groaning as his fingers continue to knead, moving down to his wide shoulders.

“Are you implying I’m some kind of rodent?” You glare up at him, ready to defend yourself against the slight.

“You should take it as a complement, mice are cute.” He gives you one of his famed smiles, the type where you can’t tell if he’s sincere or mocking.

“Why are you down here Seokjin?” You ask preparing to wheel back down beneath the undercarriage of your car. “I can’t imagine you’ve finished reading the manual already.”

“I did actually. This is me reporting for duty.” He throws the book down on to the floor next to you, marked and dog-eared. “Not a whole lot else I can do while on lock down.” 

“Is someone upset that Lancelot and Percival get to have all the fun? Maybe it’ll teach you to obey orders better, rather than getting stuck here with me.”

“I can follow them just fine... when they don’t conflict with the completion of my mission.”

“Not getting spotted was part of your mission Seokjin.” Your response is dry as you state the obvious.

“Yes, but so is recovering the data from that breach, before he can unload it on someone else.”

“You don’t know that he has it. That’s why you had to observe him.”

“Listen to me, Hwang’s a fence, one whose been trying his best to stay off our grid, of course he has it. Once we find him we can track everything back to his source.” Seokjin’s confidence is admirable. You can’t deny that you would like to catch the one responsible for unleashing one hell of a computer virus that caused you and many others weeks of havoc and restless nights. The worst part is you don’t even know what they were able to get a hold of, the sooner Yoongi and Hoseok can track this man down the better.

“You still should have exerted more caution, you're not the only one on this team Seokjin, people can get hurt if you're too brash.” You’re surprised to find Seokjin nodding with his head hung low. Since when does he ever agree with you on something?  “Now that you’re done with the manual, I do have work to assign that I doubt even you can mess up. Every single electrical circuit and wire needs to be removed, it’s unlikely that any have survived the flooding so it would be safer just to take them all out. I’m going to see if I can save the engine.”

Seokjin gives you a cheeky two finger salute before he sets to work behind the dash.

Thirty minutes later he’s already back at it with questions. “Do you have any speakers set up for music?”

“No, we could have used the car radio if you hadn’t submerged it, but here we are.” You usually work in silence anyway, but getting to deliver another stab of guilt is better than admitting your regular tendencies. 

“Ah no problem, I can fix that.” At first you wonder if he intends to repair the radio, but when he proceeds to hum loudly, you realize that’s not the case. Instead he treats you to a selection of unrecognizable songs which you don’t bother to ask the title of.

You let it go for as long as you can, but thirty minutes later when you move from under the car to beneath the hood needing to drain the cylinders next, you finally raise the white flag in pursuit of silence. “Seokjin, please just stop okay?”

His chuckle taunts you, “That’s what you get for pulling a gun on me yesterday.”

“If you’re not careful I’ll do it again.” Your tone turns salty once you realize that is was his intent to torture your ears.

“Can’t believe you lasted that long, I thought for sure you were going to crack after five minutes of my melodies.”

“That’s what that was? I thought you jammed your thumb and were screaming out in pain the whole time.”

“Ha ha,” He retorts. You're almost upset when he goes quiet with nothing substantial to follow up your jab, but then he opens his mouth again. “How can you work when it’s so quiet?”

“Helps me focus when there’s no distractions.” You answer hoping that he’ll take the hint and remain silent.

“But doesn’t it get lonely?”

You slow your pace as you loosen the bolts on the gasket cover, choosing your words carefully as you make an attempt to side step that minefield of a query. “I work better when I’m by myself.”

“That wasn’t my question.” Seokjin catches on to your evasion proceeding to look around the hood of the car trying to meet your eyes.

“We all make sacrifices Seokjin. This is mine.”

“If you spoke to Arthur-”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try to cut him off quickly not wanting to get him involved in your circumstances, but he continues.

“I’m sure he would listen.”

“Drop the subject Seokjin, that’s an order.” You take a deep breath trying not to lose more of your composure again. “I chose to work in this place for several reasons. I don’t need to explain every one of them to you.”

Seokjin is surprisingly quiet for the rest of the day. It’s doubtful that you scared him off with your temper, he’s too confident for that. It’s more likely that he’s frustrated with you’re bickering. You hang back a bit more only giving direction when absolutely necessary. If you have to live with him you might as well attempt to make it bearable for the both of you.

That night you treat him to ramen from the business upstairs, they don’t usually do take-out but they make an exception for you. He sits across from you in a desk chair slurping his noodles while his eyes bore into you. “What, do I have something on my face?” You ask, starting to feel uncomfortable under his gaze.

Seokjin takes another slurp of his dish before he explains himself. “No, I’m just trying to figure you out.” 

“Please don’t.” You plead, not wanting to broach the same subject from earlier.

“You’re passionate about your work. You’re good at what you do. Your superiors trust you.” You groan with exasperation, nevertheless he persists. “You're lonely here. The order could put you anywhere and you would most likely excel, and yet you bury yourself here, in this hovel.”

“It’s not a hovel...” You mutter, but you’ve run out of energy to argue and your appetite has now vanished. Rising from your seat you bid him good night. “I’m going to bed. Clean up this mess when you're done, and try not to throw your neck out cramming yourself onto my couch again.” 

“Yes Ma’am.” He gives a muffled reply with noodles hanging from his mouth, and another fake salute.

You shake your head as you close your bedroom door behind you.

...

 “You know,” Seokjin bursts into your room early the next morning, startling you awake. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen test scores as high as these. Are you sure you’re not a magician Merlin, because these results seem too good to be true. ” 

You bolt upright in terror, “What are you looking at?”

“The start of your journey with the Kingsman.” He wanders around to sit at the foot of your bed as you drag the covers up to your chest. “I figured if there was an answer I would find it here, but I’ve never seen such an impressive resume. The last Arthur had you pegged from the beginning as the successor to your predecessor, he even recorded that his candidate didn’t stand a chance against you. You should be proud of this...” He leans to you reading the expressions on your face. “But you’re not. You’re scared. Why is that?”

“Stay out of my files Kim Seokjin.”

“Is that an order?” He asks his face still only a couple inches from yours when it pulls into smirk, looking pleased that he’s caught you off guard.

“Yes.”

“If I recall,” He closes the document in his hands, but his analysis continues, “You were moved here just shortly after Namjoon took over the position of Arthur. You were living the life before, testing and training new recruits, doling out orders and information. But then you fell into this pit. What did you do to piss him off?” 

    “Nothing, ju-just stop asking, okay? I don’t need your help, so stop trying to save me!” Your voice cracks as it reaches the point of yelling but he doesn’t back away. “Staying here alone, that was my choice. So don’t you dare try to take my one salvation away from me.” 

“I’m not trying to take it away. I just want to understand it.” He answers his tone controlled and calm while holding your gaze firmly in his. When you look away he finally gets up leaving you with your files on your dresser. 

...

A week passes and Seokjin continues to try and figure out why you chose to work in your closed off environment. Throwing out random and bizarre questions on what you might have done to Namjoon to get yourself stationed here.

“Did you expose his guilty pleasure for stuffed animals?” He asks as he helps you unbolt and remove seats, making room for the new chairs and bench which just arrived. 

“Does he have a guilty pleasure for such a thing?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.” Seokjin states with a snicker.

“No.” 

“Did you lose his glasses?’’ Seokjin inquires next as he pulls the seat from the driver side all on his own. You can’t help but notice the muscles straining through the back of his shirt as he lifts the heavy chair from its place. When he turns back around for the next you berate your pitiful self-control. Yes he’s attractive, but he’s also the current thorn in your side. God must be a sadist for creating this enticing man, with such a sharp tongue and a plaguing desire to mock you. 

“He does that just fine himself, he doesn’t need me to do it for him.” In fact, you have two pairs on backup for Namjoon at all times, just in case such a need should arise. 

“Did you sneak into his house and switch the sugar to salt in his tea set?”

“That’s just cruel,” You chuckle at the idea, making a mental note to check your own sugar before your next cup of coffee. “But no I didn’t.” 

“Well that’s it then, I’m out of ideas for today.” He heaves the passenger chair next to the other with an exhausted breath. A bead of sweat drips down his brow as he collapses on the new back bench waiting to be installed. 

“Really? I’m surprised. You haven’t asked the obvious question.” You lay the statement as bait hoping he’ll take hold so you can reel him in. To your delight, he does. 

“Oh and what’s that?” His eyes light up, with the chance that you might actually tell him something informative.

“Did I destroy his favourite vehicle? I mean, that’s why you’re stuck here isn’t it?” Seokjin glares at you in frustration, his gloom making you giggle. “But the answer to that too is no, I didn’t. I’m not a scoundrel.”

“Is that what I am to you now,” He presents a gleeful smile with a raised brow. “A scoundrel?”

“Why do you look so proud about that?” Your question is full of judgement, but his delight is not swayed.

“Because, scoundrels are sexy.” He tilts his head and bites his lip with a nod as if to make a point.

You let out an obnoxious laugh. “Maybe to some. I fail to see the appeal.”

“Then what do you consider sexy?”

“Someone who’s attentive, and dutiful. You know, an adult.” You attempt to describe the very traits he appears to lack to make your point. Though Seokjin’s looks might draw you in, you are in need of something more.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Where’s the fun in that?”

“It’s not always about the fun, I just like someone who I can depend on.” 

Seokjin’s about to respond, his mouth open with a solemn stare in his eyes when the elevator chimes. It’s doors open for you to find a haggard Hoseok with two black empty bags. You greet him with surprise, having completely lost track of time, he had mentioned that he would be stopping by to pick up supplies. 

You hurry away to unlock and ready the stock. While Seokjin rushes in, barely even letting Hoseok off the lift, launching into an interrogation about the mission and any progress they’ve made. There’s only a few short words exchanged before the man left in your charge storms away slamming the door behind him as he exits the workshop to your common room.

“Lancelot?” You call out to Hoseok with hesitation, noticing that he’s still standing in place where Seokjin left him. Stepping in you help to take and load one of his duffles with surveillance equipment he requested. After Seokjin’s barrage he looks like he might rupture if you’re not careful.  

“Please no formalities,” He sighs in exhaustion, while he too starts to pack up what he needs. “I would prefer not to be an agent right now, even if it’s just for five minutes.”

“That bad?” You wince for Hoseok’s sake, he’s usually so optimistic, it’s worrisome to see him so beaten down.  

“We know Hwang’s back in Seoul, but any time we get a whiff of a more detailed location he vanishes. Yoongi and I have brought in more agents. We’re stationed in the south end of the city now, trying to keep an ear to the ground.” He zips up his case and then turns the conversation to you. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine I guess, but Seokjin’s been looking into my assignment here. He keeps trying to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.” Hoseok is one of only a few who know why you chose such an assignment, and you would like to keep it that way.

“Maybe you should give it a smack then. Or better yet put him on a leash.” Hoseok finally breaks into a smile as he pats you on the back. 

“He’s not a dog Hoseok.”

“Really?” Hoseok raises his eyebrows as if it’s news to him. “Cause he looks at you with those puppy eyes all the time. I’m surprised you don’t see it.” 

 “I don’t need someone who doesn’t listen to me Hoseok.”

“Okay yes, that accident with the car was a major misstep on his part...”

“And the constant prodding into my past?” You groan, you were hoping Hoseok would have your back immediately. Why does he have to take the role of impartial referee when you need his bias the most?

“He probably thinks you’ve been wronged, and that you deserve better. Is it not natural to what's best for those we care about?”

You tilt your head starting to question your fellow agent’s sanity. “I doubt that’s the case Hoseok, he just likes to be nosey.”

“Fine, have it your way, live in denial. I’m sure he’ll be out of your hair soon anyway. But if I were you I would try and explain the situation. He might not be living here but you’ll still have to work closely with him in the future.” 

“You’re saying I should tell him?” You challenge his suggestion, he must be overworked since he’s definitely not thinking clearly. 

“I know it won’t be easy, but if he knows what’s really bothering you, he might try to be more tolerable.” He lugs the cases off the table crossing the straps over his chest.

“Either that or he’ll use it as ammo to really gun me down.” You curl your lip at the thought pacing behind Hoseok as he moves towards the elevator to head back above ground. 

Before the door closes between you he holds it open to give you the support you wanted along with a sigh. “I really don’t think that’ll be the case. But if he does... I’ll be your witness when you tell Arthur you shot him in self-defence.”

“Deal.” 

...

You find Seokjin on the couch with a pile of files and a coffee on the small table, his brow furrowed and his mouth pulled tight as he scans through each one at a rapid pace. 

“I take it you weren’t happy with his update?” You call out as you enter the room advancing towards him.

“No, I wasn’t. They had to pull in lower level field agents because I can’t be out there to help them. We probably would have caught Hwang by now if I was still working on the case.”

“Seokjin, I have every camera in the city looking for him, there’s not much else we can do from here. And your not going out there to track-”

“I know I’m not Merlin. I just want this to be over so I can get my shot at redemption.”

You nod looking down at the files in front of him.“What are those?” 

He lets out a panicked laugh as he tries to scrounge them together. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Seokjin.” You draw out his name with intent to reprimand, leading him to respond with a nervous grin. He shifts his hands away giving you a better view of what he’s up to. 

“Since you said I couldn’t look through your files I thought I would take a general overview of those you’ve trained or worked with.”

You shake your head, tired of this never ending battle between the two of you. “You’re not going to stop are you?”

“Nope.” He takes a sip from his mug as he looks back down to the information he’s gathered. You scan through the names and pull out the file that haunts you to this day. Dropping it in front of Seokjin before taking a seat in the armchair across from him. He reads the name off the tab. “James Paxton the third, he sounds like a pompous prick.”

“Oh I can confirm he was, and definitely one of the most hard-headed recruits I’ve ever tested, but we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” You mutter as Seokjin opens his file to find the word deceased stamped in bold red letters. He stares up at you with his mouth agape, you can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out how this fits into your narrative. 

“Why didn’t I hear about this?”

“It wasn’t really broadcasted through the regular channels, if you weren’t at the main headquarters you didn’t know about it. It happened just over a year ago.”

“I would have been in Lhasa...” Seokjin mutters.

You nod, not surprised that information flew under his radar. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but the last Arthur, he saw me as a bar for people to cross. He thought if recruits could take orders from a ‘bossy woman’ they could take orders from anyone. James Paxton didn’t pass that test, and he paid for it with his life.”

Thankfully for once, Seokjin doesn’t have a comment, instead he sits there, waiting for you to continue.

“Paxton thought me pushy, and overbearing, told me so to my face, several times in fact. I should have had him kicked out, but I was determined to prove him wrong. There was a mission to recover the stolen data a couple months after the breach. There was a lead, before we learned of Hwang.  We thought we had the location of where the data had been transferred to. I was supposed to go on the mission, but at the last minute Arthur told me to direct the team from off site.” 

Your hands start to shake as the story continues. A mixture of both anger and fear coursing through you. You shift to hide them beneath you, gripping your legs to keep your fingers steady, but they fail to escape Seokjin’s notice.

His eyes are downcast in shame. “You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to Merlin. I’m-”

“You wanted to hear this Seokjin. I told you to leave it alone, I told you I didn’t want to talk about it.” You take a deep breath trying to rein in your anger, “Either you let me finish or never question me about my situation again.” He shuts his mouth instantly letting you continue. “It didn’t take me long to realize the lead was a trap once they got on site. I ordered a retreat, everyone else followed except for Paxton”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Seokjin interjects sitting on the edge of his seat. 

“That doesn't mean I can’t be upset by it! Instead of trying to curb the discrimination the previous Arthur used it, and I didn’t even understand what he was doing until I lost someone. I found out that he enforced the idea among the recruits, that I was an overly authoritative woman, one who fails to take proper risks. Forget the fact that I am highly qualified, that I have more experience and knowledge of many of the situations than the other leaders, my lack of dick disqualified me from being taken seriously.” Seokjin falls silent again. He must realize that he too has failed to take you seriously in the past, then again, he’s that way with everyone else too. 

“When Namjoon became the new Arthur shortly after, I was able to address my grievances. He was ashamed of his predecessor and wanted to do right by me, so I requested this place as a base. I wanted somewhere I could work on my own for the most part and not have to worry about people thinking me conceited or bossy. I needed a break from giving out orders.”

You finally finish to find Seokjin with a narrowed brow and clenched jaw. His tone matching the anger in his stance, “You’ve been here a year-”

“I know.”

“You’re telling me you’ve been punishing yourself for a year?” He’s question is poised with what looks to be genuine frustration, “Over two assholes who couldn’t understand how valuable you are?”

“It’s not a punishment, it’s a safety net.” You explain.

“It’s a cell!” He gestures around him. “You’re basically living in solitary.” You shift awkwardly not knowing what to say, and definitely not expecting this reaction. “Come on, we’re going out.” He orders, getting up from his seat and pulling you out of yours. “There’s a bar I know close by. I’m taking you out for a drink.”

“You think it wise for you to leave?” You question him, not knowing how else to diffuse the situation, not when your focus is drawn to his grip which wraps your shoulders. 

“It’s only a couple blocks away. If we see anything suspicious I promise we’ll head straight back. It’s your call, but I think you could use a night out.” He pushes you in the direction of your bedroom. “Go change into something that doesn’t have oil stains all over it.” 

You should probably put your foot down, there’s no saying what could happen. But seeing Seokjin act like this... maybe Hoseok was right, he actually cares. The problem is now that you can see this side of him you don’t want to lose hold of it just yet. “Fine, but if anything at all is amiss-”

“We’ll hightail it out of there, and barricade ourselves in here for the long haul.” He rattles off the promises. “Now go get ready.” 

...

Seokjin maintains the persona of a caring companion as he drags you to his favourite bar in the city. “It’s quiet and the owner, Choi, is an old friend of Percival’s, he knows not to ask too many questions. There’s almost always at least one or two of us from the order or field agents hanging out there.”

He holds the door open for you to enter and you're greeted to the sight of a worn down ale house. A robust and stained wooden bar takes the focal point of the room, and there’s not a single other patron in sight. You can’t help but regret being forced to change out of your usual attire. You didn’t want to look out of place, but with no one here to take notice, your black dress it’s an unnecessary and uncomfortable gambit. Seokjin on the other hand looks very pleased to be back in his usual attire, a  three piece suit that’s been confined to the closet while he’s with you in the workshop.   

“Like I said, it’s quiet.” He chuckles while he helps you take off your coat.

From out back steps the barman to greet you. He’s an unexpected yet welcome gem of a sight among the rubble, a handsome face with a wide smile which he presents to you. You might have to stop by here again just to take in this view, maybe study some of the tattoos he has scattered across his arms. 

“Choi not in tonight?” Seokjin asks after seeing your reaction to the man behind the counter. He must not be the usual staff, it’s a shame really, but it’s funny to see Seokjin look so displeased. Realizing that for once he might not be the most attractive person in the room.

“Oh you know him?” Your host inquires with surprise, “No he wasn’t feeling too good, probably will end up spending the night by a toilet from the looks of him. I offered to take over tonight so he could get some rest.”

“That was nice of you.” You extend the man a warm smile.

“I like to think so.” He responds while beaming back at you. Seokjin hastily gives both your orders, allowing the bartender to leave you with a lingering stare as he walks back to grab your drinks. Maybe your efforts with the dress weren’t such a waste.

Seokjin glares at the man, mumbling a few choice words from which you manage to pull the word, ‘Flirt’. 

“He was just being nice.”

“My god you can’t read people when it comes to the way they look at you. You’ve clearly caught his attention...” Seokjin drops unexpectedly.

“I can read people just fine.” You bite back in confidence. 

“Really?” He challenges you, leaning forward with a whisper, “Then I suggest you look a bit closer.”

   The bartender hammers Seokjin’s drink down in front of him while he slides yours along gently, giving you a chance to inspect a stunning work of art on his hand, a flock of birds flying in formation following the trail between his thumb and index. He catches your stare and while you might be embarrassed at your lingering eyes he teases the skin of his lip between his teeth. “I’ll let you get back to your date.” He gives you one last flash of a grin as he backs away into what must be a stock room.

“It’s not a... date.” You start to explain but it’s reduced to a sigh once the man leaves your sight.

Seokjin presses a napkin to your mouth prompting you to look back at him in utter confusion. “Sorry, thought I spotted some drool,” He dabs the corner of your lips. “Just there.”

You steal the napkin from his hand and toss it on the bar. “Thank you for your concern.” You take a long draft of your drink refusing to look at your fellow agent. 

“Someone must be thirsty.” He snickers, not bothering to keep his laughter hidden.

“What can I say, the refreshments at the base have been far from gratifying.” Your quip might be implied but it hits its mark with flawless execution.

“Hey!” The volume of Seokjin’s voice rises to a new level to aid in his defence. “I’ll have you know I’ve been called an acquired taste.” 

“You’ll have to forgive my pallet for not meeting your standards then. I’m in need of something that goes down a bit easier.”

You take your victory in the form of Seokjin’s reddening ears and sputter from his lips. “After that confession, I’m almost sorry to be standing between you and that tall drink. Almost.” He reiterates with a wink.

“It’s probably for the best.” You sigh, finally dropping the banter. “He might be interested now, but I bet that would change pretty quickly if he got to know me.” 

“I doubt that.” He whispers right before he takes a sip. You can’t be entirely sure that he intended you to hear his comment.

“Oh really? You’ve spent the past week in very close proximity with me. How would you describe me?”

“There’s definitely a mix of frustration, with a side agitation, and a need for provocation. ” You let out a heavy groan while he continues. “Now some might find those to be unlikable traits, but I’ve come to find them very endearing.”  

You snort into your drink. “That’s the best joke you’ve told yet.”

Seokjin nods carrying the weight of a small smile on his lips. “What about me? I’d be curious to hear how you read my personality.”

“Are you sure about that?’

He nods, “Hit me with your best shot... if you can.”

He might think you unable to read people, but you can’t wait to prove him wrong. Your words spill faster than you intend, creating an improvisational soliloquy into his psyche.“You deflect with humor constantly, which in turn prevents anyone from getting close because they can tell what you truly feel about them. Can’t take an order without asking a question. You’re determined to a fault, but you also use that drive when you’re concerned that something’s wrong. Not letting anything rest until you’ve fixed what can be fixed.”

He holds your gaze, sitting there in silent disbelief before he comes to and lashes out, “Completely incorrect, it’s a wonder you became an agent.” He shakes his head with a scoff before finishing his drink in one sip.

“Nice deflection,” you counter. “I rest my case.”

He narrows his eyes and gives no response other than to call for another round. 

...

After finishing the second you’re about to suggest your return to the base, but the frown on Seokjin’s face as he looks into the bottom of his glass stops you. It should be an unwritten rule that men who look as good as him aren��t allowed to pout. How are you supposed to remain in charge when he can disarm you in seconds with a simple jut of his lip? It’s the one tool in his arsenal he has yet to use, you can only hope he doesn’t realize how effective it is on you.

You’re quick to order the next batch, and half way through the third he poses a question that he must have been holding on to. “You said in your analysis that people have trouble reading me because of my humour, how do I act when I really like someone?”

“How would I know?” You raise your brow along with your drink. 

“Then how do you think I should act? You know, so it’s not misconstrued as humour.”

“Level with the person, have a serious conversation for a fraction of a second.” It feels odd to be giving him your input on such a matter. Why would he ask this of you? And why do you mentally recoil when you start to think of him using that advice on someone else?

“If that's the case, I should probably tell you...” He leans in towards you, his face just inches away. Your heart stops as his hand reaches out to cover yours. He pauses there for a moment watching your expression, “I need to,” The gaps in his speech are big enough for your mind to flee from reality, creating a scenario where he admits... “I need to go use the facilities.” A half-hearted chuckle pours of him along with the words which break you from your daydream. 

“Then go,” You snap, your tone surprising even to you. It’s not like you wanted to have a serious moment with him, right? But the pain in your chest says otherwise.

“Are you... I was just kidding around,” he stammers.

What did you expect him to say, that he thinks of you as more than just an agent, even more than a friend? Did you want him to close the gap and kiss you? Oh god, you did. You like him. You like Kim Seokjin, and right then and there you wanted him to confess the same to you.

“Yeah I got it,” you mutter back, trying to cover your internal shock. “That’s all you ever do.”

 Seokjin gets up from his seat and heads to the washroom. Leaving you at the bar to contemplate his words. 

You feel like you’ve fallen into every trap you told yourself not to. But that can’t be right, it’s not like you fell for his fake smiles or flirtation. You must be drunk, that’s the only explanation. How else could you ever think that he might actually hold even a shred of feelings for you. He feels sorry for you, that’s all, that’s why you're here with him now. And once he’s treated your wounds, once he no longer feels guilty, he can go back to flirting with you and everyone else to get whatever he wants. 

The bell over the door chimes as a large group of people enter. You immediately look away, embarrassed by your current distress, turning your head to focus instead on the photos of the owner and his patrons pinned to the walls. Dabbing the corner of your eyes with the tip of your finger. 

Despite the number of newcomers the bar still remains oddly quiet. From a group of six you would expect the volume of conversation to be a bit more boisterous. With your instincts and suspicions now aroused, you keep an eye on them in the mirror over the bar.  Darting your eyes back to their reflection every few seconds, never wanting to linger too long. You’re about to throw away your apprehension, blaming it on your current level of anxiety on Seokjin, when something inexplicable happens. 

As the man seated in the middle leans towards one of his companions for a chat, his hand rises to rub his long nose, and in what you can only describe as a rendering problem, it passes through. You try to remain calm grabbing your glasses from your purse, turning yourself slightly you manage to edge his face in the very corner of your frames. With the tap of your finger to the rim of the specs you launch an application you created but never had the need to use personally.

When you had first designed your car, Yoongi had complained that even with the locater he had difficulty finding the vehicle when he left it cloaked. It was a reasonable request that prompted you to create a function that scans for visual distortions and creates a digital replication of what lies beneath the camouflage. And now as you activate that function you find what Seokjin and the others hadn’t been able to track down for months, the face of Hwang. 

He must be wearing what you can only guess is a variation on your technology, but instead of making his face invisible it projects different facial features over some of his own. It takes all of your restraint not to let out the swear taking up residence on the tip of your tongue. Why are they here of all places? Do they know that Seokjin is here? They look as if they’re waiting for someone. A potential mark, a seller, or maybe a buyer? 

Regardless of motive if your colleague steps out of the bathroom he’ll walk right into their view. You pull your glasses off leaving them on the bar, and call out to the keep. “Would you mind watching my stuff for me?” You gesture to your coat and specs putting on a fake smile. “Don’t want to lose my seat.”

“Don’t worry.” He confirms with a soft tone along with a grin. “I’ll keep them safe.”

Gliding off the stool, avoiding the stares of the target and his men, you slip into the hall and behind the men’s room door. Thankfully Seokjin’s already at the sink by this point. You find him hunched over hands pressing down on the counter as he lets out a long sigh.   

As he combs back his hair with damp fingers he looks up. Meeting your eyes in the mirror with embarrassment and disbelief, he lets out a small self pitting laugh. “Listen if you’re here to tell me off I get it, I didn’t mean-”

“Put your glasses on. You have them right?” You join him at the sink while his pity turns to confusion.

“What-”

“Just do it.”

He fumbles to retrieve them from his jacket pocket before sliding them on. You move in as close as you can, bracing yourself on his arms so you can speak into the receiver embedded. Seokjin looks taken aback but remains still as you encroach on his space. “Call Merlin, auto-connect override authorization 2769.” That creates a connection between the two glasses without you having to be there to answer it, allowing Seokjin to see the issue at hand.

“Fuck.” He whispers right next to your ear as you remain close, getting ready to call in for backup.

“My thoughts exactly.” You mutter, unable to decide if this is a stroke of good luck or bad.  “Add secondary line, call Lancelot.”

Seokjin leans his head down so the speaker falls next to your own ear. It’s not the best connection with the audio from the bar, but at least you can hear Hoseok. “Merlin, Galahad. What- am I seeing this right?”

“Yes, Hwang’s at our location, Choi’s bar. We’re not sure of his purpose here, but he’s brought a few friends.”

“I can see that, but why are you both there?”

“Not the time. We’re in the restroom but not in an adequate state to take on so many and secure the target. How long will it take you to get here?” You try to gloss over your lack of sobriety, but Hoseok doesn’t fall for the guise of your paraphrasing.

“Not in an adequate state huh? That’s an expression for drunk I haven’t heard before. Sending a message to Percival, I can have him and the team on site in 10 minutes. Can you maintain your current position?”

“Yeah small problem with that...” Seokjin comments.

“I heard it too, maintain cover at all cost. We can’t scare them away.” Hoseok’s voice flutters, sounding almost nervous.

“Heard what?” You can barely make out Hoseok’s words, let alone the taproom.

“Someone’s coming to check the bathrooms. They’re looking for any people of interest.”

“We could try slipping out the back door,” You offer.

Only for Hoseok to throw a wrench in your suggestion. “If it’s a business dealing they might have people posted there.”

“We need a distraction then?” You ask and Seokjin returns with a nod. Just hiding in a stall won’t do either, they’ll likely wait for the occupants to come out. You have to make them uncomfortable enough to leave without looking too close. You’ll probably regret what you're about to do later, but right now your options are limited. 

You reach out and grip Seokjin’s shirt, drawing him into you so he has you pressed against the counter. He catches on quickly, putting his hands on your waist he lifts you up and onto the marble surface. “Make it look good Seokjin. Shouldn’t be hard for you to put on a show, you’ve had so much practice with me already.” His act of concern, and portrayal of affection have shown you he should do just fine when it comes to a performance of lust. 

“It wasn’t my intent to toy with you.” He growls back before snatching your mouth with his, forceful enough to ensure swollen lips and smudged lipstick. One of his hands rises to your hair pulling the elastic out of place. Allowing his fingers to weave between the strands, he delivers a slight tug to your roots while you drag your teeth across his bottom lip.

You push his suit jacket off his wide shoulders, throwing it down on the counter next to you, before forcefully opening the top of his shirt, accidentally ripping the button off his collar in the process. He pauses his assault on your mouth for a moment, investigating the damage you imposed. 

“It wasn’t my intent to destroy your shirt, but here we are,” You explain unfastening the next two buttons with a bit more care. Your fingers dip under the crisp white cotton of his shirt, raking visible lines down his chest.  “Take responsibility for your actions for once. Tell people your true intentions or you will hurt them.” 

“You want me to know my intentions? Fine.” He unzips your dress a few inches to bare your collar and shoulders before his lips target your neck. You close your eyes letting your head roll back. “I want this.” Seokjin grabs your upper thigh compelling a gasp to escape you. “I want you.” He confesses the same time the door creaks open. 

There’s not much movement from Hwang’s lackey. Your new audience doesn’t come in far, instead he freezes in place when he spots the both of you. Seokjin addresses him in a gruff manner without turning his face away from you . “It’s not a free show buddy, take your piss and leave.” The man clears his throat, turns round and closes the door in his wake, leaving you once alone with Seokjin. Though revelling in his soft bites to your neck, gaining back your composer is a more pressing matter. “I think he’s gone.”

“We can’t be too sure,” Seokjin counters your observation as he continues to nip at the column of your throat. “He might come back.” 

“Shit, I just lost visual of the bar.” Hoseok interrupts much to your embarrassment. You somehow forgot he was on the com-line during your effort to teach your fellow agent a lesson. “We’re running blind, maintain cover for now.”

“See?” The breath of Seokjin’s laughter is felt on your skin as he wins the debate.

“You really want to keep going with this?” You’re surprised, just a few minutes ago the man was making you the butt of his joke. Why the change? 

“I wouldn’t mind. I’m just sorry we couldn’t be somewhere more intimate, or private.”

“You and me both,” Hoseok deadpans.

“Lancelot, I suggest you find something else to watch while we maintain cover as directed,” Seokjin instructs. You find his mouth back on yours before he gets a response on the com. 

He’s right though the circumstances are less than ideal for a romp. The damp counter beneath you, the flickering fluorescent lights, and the out of order stall in the corner are all enough to make you cringe. No part of this is glamorous except for the man standing in front of you, which makes him all the more appealing. “We could just lock the door you know.” You offer a logical substitute plan. “I’m sure after what they’ve seen they would understand and we could stop this charade.”

“But where’s the fun in that? I’m sorry but I am too dedicated to this cover. I want to see it through.”

“Percival’s team will be dropping in two minutes.” Hoseok cuts in. 

“Yes sir,” Seokjin mumbles against your lips while he responds to Hoseok, not dwelling on the interruption. “We should probably make the act more realistic, you know gasps, moans, they might be listening.”

You highly doubt that, but if he wants to play, fine. You’ll show him what he’s missing when he casts you aside. “You first.” You respond, tugging him between your legs, causing the hem of your dress to ride back. His cock erect beneath his pants and pressing against your clothed core. He lets out a groan of relief. “So unlike you to be already standing at attention.” You tease him.

“What can I say, you bring out the best in me,” he gasps in response.

Seokjin takes your legs in his hands driving your dress even further up your thighs as he proceeds to grind against you. He tilts his head with a smile while you react. “Too far?” He whispers. 

You shake your head. If only he knew what he would find if he pulled your underwear aside. Your cunt, committing the ultimate treason against your better sensibility, is ready and willing. If he’s not careful he might get a darkened spot on his suit pants.

As one hand slides further up the inside of your thigh, the other takes your chin directing you to meet his eyes. His fingers tease the edge of your underwear making their presence known and as he waits for permission to go further. You nod back at him. His fingers slip behind the strip of fabric, separating your sopping slit from the damp material. “Looks like you’re well prepared too Merlin.”

“I guess so,” You tease, “Do remind me to give a big tip to the bartender for that.”

“I have a hard time believing that none of this belongs to me.” Seokjin murmurs back to you, but just as his knuckles graze your slick folds and clit, Yoongi announces his team’s arrival. “Another time I guess,” Seokjin whispers with a final kiss to your cheek. He helps you off the counter and pulls down your dress to a more respectable length while he takes one last stroke of your thigh.

“I take it’s safe to restore visual now?” Hoseok asks with a hint of laughter. You’re never going to hear the end of this. “Percival’s about to enter, I do suggest locking the door this time though. In case anyone does make a run for it, we’ll catch them outback. I don���t want you two engaging in this capture if you don’t have too.”  You roll your eyes over Hoseok’s word choice. “Galahad, give Merlin the glasses. I want her input on the scene.”

Seokjin hands off his glasses to you and proceeds to lock you both in.

“Where are they stationed?” You inquire trying to get a full view of the task now at hand.

“The majority including Percival are entering through in the front, and a couple men out back, there was no one there so they must not be expecting a scene. Were there any civilians on site?”

“Just the barman.”

“Okay hang tight.” Hoseok orders.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t be helping?” You ask, wanting to distract yourself from the tension between you and Seokjin.

“Nah, Percival’s got this. Besides I saw your reflection and you’re looking a little flushed Merlin, you doing okay?”

“Shut up Lancelot,” you grumble back in a muffled tone. 

“Was it the alcohol or was it Galahad?”  Luckily Seokjin was too far away to hear Hoseok's last question letting you ignore the comment as the team makes their entrance. Yoongi’s glasses give you the full view of what he sees. Hwang, much to your surprise, actually looks interested in the presence of the new arrivals. They’re obviously waiting for someone to show, but it’s clear that they have no idea who to look for.

“Don’t jump on the arrest so fast.” You direct, looking to gain any positive out of this awkward mission. The reward very much outweighing the risk. “You might be able to get some information first. Come off as a buyer, they might be trying to move the information or the tech.”

“You heard her Percival, get as much as you can before we make the catch.” Hoseok confirms your plan back to the rest of the team.

You watch barely drawing breath as he takes a seat across from the target. Hwang opens up the conversation first, “I didn’t think you would bring so many men just for a demonstration.”

“I prefer not to take any chances.” Yoongi’s response is blase, as he beckons the barman over to give his order.  

Hwang looks uncomfortable, for someone with a product to sell he’s lacking the usual confidence that you would expect to see. “Well this should provide for your needs then. You ask me to come to the thick of their territory and as you can see I’m still here.”

“You are, but how do we know they aren’t waiting to make a strike? Have you ever seen one?” Yoongi pushes, he must be taking great enjoyment out of finally being able to pull one over on the man who’s kept them searching for so long.

“I have, once, but I’ve been able to keep myself hiding for months with this.” He taps something a bud placed in his ear. It must be what’s projecting the image overlay on his face disguising his true features. “Camera’s can’t pick up my face underneath, it’s better than any mask you can buy, as requested.”

“Where did you get the tech?” 

“You-” The man pauses, his brow furrows before his expression shifts to a blank slate. He makes a subtle reach for his jacket pocket, but Yoongi is quicker on the draw. Lunging across the table he grabs the back of Hwang’s neck and smashes his head down on the table.

It’s hard to see the rest of the fighting with only Yoongi’s perspective. You catch flashes of the scene as the target’s men retaliate. There’s a flurry of pint glasses to distract as firearms are drawn. Broken shards scatter the establishment as the bartender flees away from danger towards the back exit with a phone to his ear. 

The altercation ends rather quickly, with those who are still conscious held at gunpoint by Yoongi’s men. It’s a relief to see the target secured, and the tech recovered, but you are left with disgust after having your own work be used against your team. 

Hoseok gives you the all clear to leave, but you're not sure you're ready to face the others just yet. “Could you give me a minute?” You request from Seokjin as he goes to open the door. He gives you a nod along with your hair tie, while you hand back his glasses. 

“Yeah, I’ll just go... fetch our coats.”

“Could you find my glasses too while you’re out there Galahad?” 

He freezes for a fraction of a second before giving you a hesitant response, “Yeah... yeah sure thing.”

What, no funny retort? No rebuttal? You thought calling him by his title would cause him to taunt you a little, but nothing comes of it. “If you can’t find them, the barkeep might have them.” That’s probably why the signal went dark, he must have moved them for safe keeping.

“Great. Just who I wanted to see.” He responds with a forced smile and gritted teeth. 

“If it’s that much of a problem I’ll go get them back myself.”

Seokjin leaves you with a grunt, “No, no, I’ll go see the cowardly Casanova.”

 The second he opens the restroom door you can hear Yoongi shout a request. “Galahad can I leave the team out back in your care? I need to move out and take this thief to Arthur for questioning.” 

Hwang had apparently regained consciousness, and starts arguing in his defence. “I didn’t steal that data! I just set them up with someone to make their tech. They were supposed to come here, they asked for a demonstration here and then stood us up!”   

Yoongi chooses to ignore him while he continues to give orders to Seokjin. “Make sure they drug the civilian, and then toss him behind the bar. Shouldn’t need to do much more than that, it already looks like standard bar brawl damage.” 

“That I can do,” Seokjin responds with satisfaction as he steps out letting the door close between the two of you. It’s amazing how much one flirtatious bartender appears to have got under his skin. 

You take a few minutes to straighten yourself in the mirror. Tying up your hair and closing the zipper on your dress when you spot several smudges of lipstick across your skin. You reach blindly for the paper towel, only to knock your purse to the floor in the process. A couple items roll away. Your pen, to your frustration, makes it all the way into the out of order stall. As tempted you are to leave it, you know it wouldn’t be wise to have something so lethal on the floor of a public bathroom.

With a groaning you crouch down, peering through the couple of inches between the stall door and the floor. Finding the missing item next to a pair of well worn leather shoes. You throw yourself back in shock grabbing your pistol from your overturned clutch, taking aim at the door bearing the sign. With a swift kick you force the stall open, and there passed out on the toilet is the man from the pictures behind the bar, the owner that Seokjin was asking after.    

“Shit.” You lower your gun as you run out of the bathroom calling out for back up. The bar is deserted though, Yoongi’s team has already left, forcing you to head down the long hall to the back door alone. You slow your steps as you reach the end of the corridor, starting to pick up bits of conversation between Seokjin and the imposter. You keep yourself plastered to the wall trying to assess the situation with a narrow view through the window next to the door.

The once friendly bartender points a gun at Seokjin. The other agents, those that were supposed to be keeping an eye on the ‘civilian’ are out of commission, all laying on the ground around him. 

“Call her out here, now.” The barman still holds onto his smile as he makes his demand, but now it only gives you chills as you try to puzzle out the motive behind it.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Seokjin keeps his hands at eye level, he’s trying to play the role of innocent bystander but that’ll only get him shot if he’s not careful. 

“The woman with you, that was Merlin, was it not? She designed this tech didn’t she?” He lifts your glasses for Seokjin to see. “And created the original cloaking program. I never should have outsourced it, she saw right through their guise. Since their product was faulty, I’ve been given a new directive.”

“Merlin? You mean like the magician in the old tales? Trust me that woman is nothing of the sort.” Seokjin is actually now chuckling despite having a gun held to him.

“Very well, if you won’t comply. We’ll just have to go retrieve her together.” He gestures Seokjin to the door with his gun. “After you.”

You shift yourself into position behind the door, when Seokjin opens it you remain concealed on the other side. Your fellow agent steps through, moving backwards to keep his eyes on the assailant, allowing him to spot you once he’s inside. You raise a finger to your lips holding your gun to your chest. You can’t let him give off any indication that he’s seen you. 

When Seokjin’s a few feet down the hall the aggressor proceeds to follow, and once his arm crosses the threshold you ram your full weight against the door. There’s a howl of pain as you trap his forearm in the door frame. The gun drops from his hand and hits the floor. Seokjin moves first taking the weapon and then the arm of the man who pointed it at him. You release the door and Seokjin drags the enemy in, throwing him against the wall. There’s a sickening crack as his head meets the concrete behind him.  

Though his body is now lip and eyes in a daze he still chuffs when he spots you, “So nice of you to join us Merlin, we were just talking about you.”

Seokjin pulls back a fist  letting land on the man's face with the full force of a brutal punch, finally sending the culprit into a comatose state.

“You okay?” You ask, noting his unusually rigid composure.

Seokjin nods, straightening his jacket as he lets the imposter fall to the floor. “Looks like I was right, you did catch his attention.” He boasts, with levity returning to his voice. “How did you know to come find me?”

“Found Choi, right where he said he’d be too...” You watch as Seokjin crouches down to retrieve your glasses from the man. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt he works alone.” Seokjin comments while staring at the tattoo that had caught your eye earlier, a flock in the shape of a V. 

...

Yoong makes a return trip, picking up the new captive as well as aiding the unconscious agents. The detainees will be moved to headquarters where they’ll be held for questioning before they’re turned over to the authorities along with a list of transgressions and admissible evidence.

After returning from the bar your base is busier than ever, with everyone following standard procedure and filing reports. There’s hardly room to move, let alone have a private moment with Seokjin to discuss what transpired. A full night and day go by with you only being able to lock eyes with him across the room. As much as you want to talk to him, your duty comes first, ensuring that everyone receives their new orders after the unusual turn of events.

You retreat to your room after a long day of report processing. There are still a few statements left to grab but those can be done tomorrow. The first recordings of the interrogation have come in and you're desperate to hear what Hwang has to say about the tech you found him with. To your delight it’s that exact question which Namjoon poses first.

Hwang rattles off the information, needing little prompting, they must have already cut a deal. “I was contacted  by an anonymous client over a year ago, they asked if I might know of someone who could utilize a cloaking program they had picked up, and apply it to something else. They wanted a mask, a way to hide in plain sight. I offered up a tech company who does some backwater dealings in armaments and weapons, and became the middleman between the two parties until the project was finished.”

“And you have no idea who hired you?” Namjoon asks. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Their wallet was big enough their identity wasn’t a concern, my main contact only referred to himself as V. He called me to the bar last night to provide a final demonstration to prove it worked before his agency made the purchase.”

Seokjin was right, Hwang was just a fence. Which would confirm the other man part of the group who orchestrated the data breach. 

You switch between the video files, hoping to find the other more enlightening. In the very centre of the shot sits the man dubbed as V. He answers none of the questions directed to him. Minutes pass while he remains silent looking directly into the camera with a  jeering grin and narrowed eyes. It’s off putting to say the least, no offer or deal can sway him to spill his knowledge. He looks content almost as if this is exactly where he wants to be. While the interrogators become increasingly frustrated, his smile only grows wider. 

You close out of the recording unable to take the silent stares any more. There’s nothing in his file they’ve attached other than physical attributes.  As you search the empty pages for a scrap of knowledge, a call request comes in from Arthur. You throw on your glasses answering in haste hoping he’ll have something new to share.

“Sorry to bother you so late. It’s been quite a day.” His voice is full of cracks and weariness.

“It’s no problem. I can only imagine after seeing the footage. Any new information on who this man works for? 

“No, nothing.”

“Oh,” Your voice echoes in confusion, “Was there something else you needed? Did you get my report?”

“Yes I did, thorough as usual. But it’s not your report I wanted to discuss.” Namjoon pauses again. ”I received an unusual request from Galahad at the end of his. I wanted to talk it over with you before I gave my answer.”

“Go ahead.” You cringe fearing what he might have said in his statement. 

“I freed him from lock down, and offered a new assignment, but he requested permission to stay and assist you with the vehicle repairs until they were completed. I would permit his extension, but I don’t believe that the answer to this decision rests fully with me, so I’m leaving it to you.”

“Don’t you need him back in the field? We don’t know who this man V is, or who he’s working for.” 

“And it’s doubtful that we’ll learn anything more anytime soon unless he starts answering our questions. There’s little direction in where we can take the investigation right now. I don’t have anything that requires urgent attention, that’s why the choice is yours to make. If you need help or want assistance he’s offering it to you.” 

“Thank you sir,” You’re grateful that he has left you with the final decision on the matter. “Would you mind if I spoke to him first before I decide?”  

“Not at all.”

...

You creep out into the common area, Hoseok is splayed out on the couch while Yoongi’s curled up on the armchair, but Seokjin is nowhere to be found. Did he leave the base taking advantage of his newly acquired freedom?

You doubt you’ll be able to sleep, not with the questions you have running through your head. Looking to keep your mind busy you descend the stairs and enter the passcode to your workshop, only to find the lights already on and Seokjin’s long legs sticking out from under the car. There’s a swear and a clang of a metal tool hitting the cement floor. You hold back a laugh as you approach, choosing instead to surprise him by pulling on the roller bed to tug him out from beneath the car.  

The initial shock on his face quickly changes to a smug grin. “I guess I’ve been caught.”

“Trying to sabotage my work again?”

“No, if you can believe it I’m actually trying to be an aid rather than a hindrance.”

“I’ll alert the media.” You fire back before diving into the more serious topic at hand. “I just got off the line with Arthur. He said you’ve been cleared to return to duty...”

Seokjin’s face falls slightly as he sits up on the rolling platform, “Oh-”

“But you also requested an extension here.”

“I did.” He looks up at you with sincerity, one that’s rarely seen on his face. No deflection to humour. This is just him. 

“I need to know why.” You keep your expression even, not wanting your feelings to influence him in any way.

“I want to help fix the car.”

“I need more of an explanation than that Seokjin. A few days ago you couldn’t wait to get out of here. ” This is it, there’s no room to spare feelings. He’ll tell you he feels guilty, or that he feels sorry for you, leaving you to send him on his way and that will be the end of this trial. 

“I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before. I like working with you, being here with you. You're not afraid to let me know when I’ve crossed the line.”

“So what, you just want to use me to keep you in check? I’m not here to fix you Seokjin.” You start to back away ready to send word to Namjoon that he’s free to assign him elsewhere when Seokjin grabs your hand, he rises from his spot on the floor in a rush to stand between you and the door. 

“That’s not what I meant. You make me want to be better.”

You pull yourself from his grip backing into the side of the car, “And after you’ve used me to better yourself, what then? You’ll just move on to your next project?” 

“No, fuck... I don’t know how else I can say it other than I like you Merlin. You aren’t the plan, you’re the objective.” He pauses for a moment, watching as his words sink in to you. “If you’re not interested in what I want to offer... I get it, but stop being so blind when it comes to yourself!” 

You fall still as you hear his confession, but you’re not ready to believe or condemn his words just yet. “If that’s the case why did you mock me at the bar?” Your voice wavers as you question him. “Why didn’t you say something?” 

“I was going to, but I didn’t think you would appreciate a drunken confession. You wanted a serious conversation, here it is. I want to stay here with you. Even if you’re not interested in a relationship, I respect that, but I still think we could both benefit from working together.”

He’s right, you might have believed him right then, but later, once the effects of the alcohol had worn off you would’ve thought it another game of his. You shift against the car embarrassed by your misreading of his motives, but pleased to see that they fall in line with your own.

“I wouldn’t say that I wasn’t interested...” You mumble your own confession carefully as he shifts in closer to his mouth catching a grin when he hears your words. “But staying would put you in a problematic position when you’re required to follow my orders. If we’re to continue down this path there wouldn’t be an equal power dynamic.”

“Good.” he mutters along with a chuckle. “Is that your only objection?”

“Yes, but-”

“Arthur released me from under your command. Any order you give will be discretionary.” 

“Discretionary orders?” You scoff. “You can barely follow mandatory orders.”

“Yes but it solves your problem, doesn't it? This way you can be sure that I will only follow an order if I want to.” He leans in placing his hands on either side of you on the hood of the car. “So Merlin, do you want me to stay?”

“Yes...”

“Do you want to continue what we started yesterday?” 

You nod biting your lip at the thought of it.

“Then I await your orders.” He stands still not moving an inch while you remain caged between his arms and caught in his eyes.

“Let’s be clear on something first,” You state, trying not to focus on how close his lips are or how soft they’ll feel when they touch your skin.“I don’t want you to think you are in any way saving me.”

“I am well aware of that now. I finally realise I need you to save me.”

“From what?” You can’t help but laugh at his conclusion.

“My impulsive actions.” He lifts you onto the car just like he lifted you onto the bathroom counter. “My runaway mouth.” He closes the distance for a swift kiss. “And my very unprofessional desires.” His fingers flirt with the bottom of your shirt taking up residence underneath the garment against the skin of your waist. 

“Yet you combat every effort when someone tries to restrain those tendencies,” You scold with a smile.

“You told me yourself I don’t go down easily... If you want to put me in my place you’re going to be more commanding.”

“And you would like that?” You ask in disbelief.  

“Why don’t you find out...” 

“Seokjin I-I don’t know if I-” You start to panic, stammering at the thought of going too far and becoming what others have thought of you before, “I don’t want you to hate...”

“If I need to stop I’ll tell you to brake. But right now I really want you to take the wheel, and put your foot down. No detours, just floor it.” He tightens his hold on you leaning in next to your ear with a growl. “Don’t get shy on me now. Give me your orders.” 

The cheek in his tone at last sets off the need for retaliation in you, evoking a desire to finally see him begging you for more. He’s never backed away from you, leaving you with no reason to believe he’ll do so now. If this is what he wants you’ll be happy to try and make him submit. “You can start with losing this.” You tug on his grease stained shirt. “And these too.” Dragging your finger over the waist of his jeans. 

He strips looking eager to play along. Leaving him in a pair of black boxers clinging to his swelling girth. “Like what you see?”

“You’ll do.” You snicker back at him. You take the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss, as he moves to hold your lower back. He finds his way between your thighs once again but this time there’s nothing to stop you both from going further. 

“Do you want to take those off?” You brush your hands on the elastic of his underwear.

“Yes.” His answer is short and sweet, with nothing to misinterpret. You could get used to this side of him.

“Then you’ll have to do something for me first.” You shift your pants down kicking them to the floor. Taking one last kiss of Seokjin’s lips before pressing his shoulders down to make his mouth level with your hips. The grin he gives is something to revel in, finally seeing it as a sign of desire rather than a farce.

He pulls your underwear to the side. The first lick is short and sweet causing you to flinch from the flick of his tongue. The second he takes care in following the line of your slit but he doesn’t pull away at the end, instead he latches on to your clit taking deep drags which pull you under in an instant. 

Your hand reaches out to grip his hair needing something to hold on to and hold him back with if necessary, but once your fingers tug at Seokjin’s locks he moans into your flesh. His hands pull you closer to the edge of the car allowing him to bury himself even deeper.    

He slowly gains a rhythm with his tongue and lips, but every time you come close, when your breathing becomes shallow he starts to pull back. He’s teasing you, clearly goading you to become more strict with your desires. 

“No more games Seokjin. If you can’t get me there in the next minute, I promise you’ll regret it.”

He pulls away for a moment to draw breath while giving you a taunt. “I’d like to see that.” 

He’s about to return to his task when you push him back, no longer giving him the chance at redemption. You point to a straight back chair facing away from you , “Sit down, with your head forward.” 

He does as you ask with a smile still stuck to the corner of his mouth. You slide off the car and move behind him towards your work desk, stripping off your shirt, and undergarments as you stray from his line of sight. Grabbing something from the inventory closet before you return to him, still hiding from his gaze .

He tries to look back at you but you put a stop to that. “Did I say you could look around?”

“No ma’am.” He chuckles back.

“Since you like games so much I thought of one to play. Give me your hand, and tell me what I put in it without looking.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with-” You cut off his complaint quickly by placing the metal object in his hand reaching out behind him. “Handcuffs?” Seokjin questions with surprise. “I stand corrected, this seems like a fun game.” 

“Put them on,” you order. He complies instantly, letting you check the tightness once he’s done. “Safey’s there if you need it. Just tell me to brake.”

“Oh no, I’m quite comfortable thank you.” He grins proudly as if this is what he was hoping for all along.

As you move in front of him finally gracing him with your nude form he stares back at you dumbfounded. You reach out to the corner of his mouth, which sits agape, wiping at the edge of his lips with your thumb. “Sorry I thought I spotted some drool.” Seokjin smiles at your mimicry and jab, but he has no words to follow with.

You kneel down in front of him, your hands trailing up to reach for his boxers. “May I?”

“Please do.”

You tug them down releasing his erection from the confines of the fabric. You're careful not to touch him, not wishing to give any satisfaction or stimulation. Once they’re pulled down to his ankles you move to the uninstalled backseat of the car sitting right across from him. Seokjin furrows his brow in confusion. 

“Something wrong?” You prompt hoping to have him admit that he wants you to return to him.

“No, just admiring the view.” 

“Really?” You persist in teasing him a little more, “Because it looks like you need something.”

“Only to know the next step in this game of yours.”

“You get to watch while I play.” You lay back on the car bench resting your feet on the soft leather. Your hand moving down between your legs picking up where Seokjin left off, with a slow rub to your crest.

“That seems unfair.” He flexes his arms, testing the cuffs as he watches you. 

“That’s what happens when you don’t read the instructions, I get to make the rules.” He lets out a groan as you close your eyes ready to concentrate on your own pleasure. You know you’re wet enough already but for good measure and Seokjin’s torturous show you prep your fingers in your mouth before slipping the tip of your index finger inside yourself. 

There’s a small whine from Seokjin, you look over to him, your eyes take a moment to focus on his face, his teeth digging into his now swollen bottom lip. “Let me help you, please.”

“That’s not how punishments work Seokjin. You had your chance, and you disobeyed.”

Giving him a side profile allows your thigh to hide the sight of your fingers dipping in. The sounds though, those are his to enjoy. You continue to satisfy yourself for a while longer enjoying the little jots of pleasure you can give yourself and Seokjin’s moan every time you twitch. It’s hard not to pay attention and give in to returning to him. With his cock pulsing against his leg with a drop of precum growing at the tip. His lip must be sore with how hard he’s biting down. 

Unable to ignore his whimpers any longer you get up from the leather bench. You present your fingers to his mouth damp from your ministrations. You don’t even get the chance to ask before he takes them into his mouth and licks them clean. When you pull them from his lips, he beams back at you. “Was that attentive enough for you?” 

“Very...” You commend him, straddling his legs facing him as you lower yourself. Your hand grips his cock while the other rests on his shoulder balancing yourself as you guide him inside. 

He gasps out a swear along with your real name as you sink down fully onto his lap. You lean into him letting your chest push against his as you rise and fall on his shaft. Pressing and grinding yourself against his seated form has him throbbing inside of you. He’s quickly become a breathy mess beneath you, a sheen of sweat covers his forehead, with even more dripping down his pecs. 

Your pace increases in speed as you edge closer to your climax. The warmth begins to spread to your extremities as you continue to thrust down. When the wave finally washes over you can barely move. “Fuck-” You whisper along with a plea. “Don’t you dare come yet.” You collapse against him riding it out, clenching while Jin groans.

“Take the cuffs off.” His moaning request is impossible to deny. As fun as it was to see him at your mercy you long to have his hands back on you. 

You reach for the restraints behind his back, with a quick press of a hidden release he’s free.  Wasting no time he grabs you, helping your legs to wrap around his waist. Positioning you securely against him, he rises to move two steps required in order to ram you back down onto the car bench. 

He pulls one leg up and over his shoulder while he holds the other level with his hip. Despite your sensitivity, he’s relentless in his thrusts, pushing you directly from the wave you just finished and on to the next. 

He’s so close to his end, his muscles tense, his face stern with a clenched jaw, it takes a moment for you to realize he’s waiting for your permission. He’s holding back until you give him the okay. “You can come Seokjin.” Upon hearing this his thrusts suddenly hit harder forcing you to cry out. “Fuck, please come.”

He shudders with the last impact. Releasing your legs, he lowers himself onto you while his cock still pulses inside. His head rests on the seat beside yours, the hot air from his heavy pants flows down your neck as you lay there trying to catch your own breath.

“I think we might have ruined the new car seat.” You chuckle at him, your laughter restricted by the pressure of his body on your chest. “I should probably order another.”

“And miss out on Hoseok’s expression when he realized what the stains are from?” He nudges closer, kissing the spot behind your ear with his swollen lips. “Not a chance.”

You start to drift beneath him content with the warmth and weight of his form. He gives you a few minutes rest caressing the side of your face with the tip of his finger before he poses an important question. “You’re still okay with me staying here then?”

You turn your head to meet his eyes with a smirk. “Yes, but you still have to earn your keep if you want a stay.” You gesture to the state that he’s left the workshop in, “In addition to cleaning up your mess.” 

Seokjin briefly glances to the tools strewn along the ground and then back at you with a smirk. He then shifts his whole body down, dipping his head back between your legs. “Yes ma’am.”  His tongue takes a long stroke, cupping your cum filled cunt. “Hope you don’t mind if I start here.”

[grandinventor]

Since I do not write fanfics, I wanted to (not so) briefly share my Jindosh "verse" as in how me and my friend @divaythfyr re-write and head canon the story which might or might not be really lore friendly, but we are having fun! Also Ronny lore! Let's go!

Ronny is a Karnaca born medical school dropout that decided to stop her pursuit of education to join a gang and basically live on the streets, much to the dismay of her family. Ronny used the medical knowledge she had to patch up her fellow gang members and sometimes even members of rival gangs for a price, earning her the street title "Doctor" even though she wasn't really one. She lived this life of stealing, fighting and running away from authorities for over a decade, until tragedy struck her family.

Ronny's sister, who much like her wanted to pursue medicine, was accepted by the Academy of Natural Philosophy in Dunwall. However after couple short years at the Academy, she fell pregnant with the child of a colleague she was seeing, but due to his status and arranged marriage with an aristocrat woman, he broke off the relationship and told her that he wants nothing with the child. Heartbroken, she returned to her home in Karnaca where she gave birth to a daughter, Noa. Wanting to help her out, Ronny offered her a job at one of the shops that was a front to her gang activities, believing her gang will keep her sister safe.

Ronny was mistaken and she learned how much when the City Guard raided the shop and started a fight with the gang there, killing her sister in the crossfire. Blaming herself for it and realizing this left two year old Noa an orphan, she gave up her gang life and settled in a small apartment to raise Noa. During this time Ronny finished her medical degree and applied to work at Addermire before it was closed. She then worked once again illegally as a doctor around the neighborhood, but avoided any gang involvement.

Once Addermire is re-opened by Hypatia, Ronny manages to get a job there, helping out with the patients. That's when she meets Jindosh who is brought to Addermire because due to the electroshock, he is too unwell to stand trial. Ronny asks to work with him because she is scared working with the sick might make her ill and she might bring it back home to now six year old Noa. Also she thinks it will be easier to look after him since he was the Grand Inventor and seems to be physically well (not to mention taking him out is a good excuse for a smoke break since Hypatia doesn't let her smoke indoors).

However at one point Ronny feels bad for him, seeing him struggle to remember things or form sentences and tries to actually work with him. She also occassionally brings Noa to Addermire and Noa and Jindosh seem to be good friends and playing games with her seems to improve his cognitive abilities.

It takes a long time, over a year but Jindosh keeps improving until one day he is basically back to his former self with some residue issues left. However as he gets his mind and intellect back, so comes his mean and cruel nature and Ronny begins to dislike him due to his behavior. She tells Hypatia about this and seeing that he has become an asshole as he used to be, she concludes he can stand trial and finally leave Addermire.

At his trial, due to his injury, he get's off easy because his involvement with the coup can be written off as service to the Duke and now he can once again serve the Empire to redeem himself for his past actiond, under supervision. He is put under house arrest at his Mansion and because Ronny was his caretaker at Addermire, she is tasked to look after him for a while, much to her dismay. She and Noa move to the Mansion, where there is half of the original staff and the guards this time need to make sure to keep him inside. All of his Clockwork Soldiers are destroyed and all of the weapons at the Mansion have been confiscated so he finds himself no longer having the upper hand, but as an actual prisoner in his shifting rooms. However Jindosh is willing to cooperate and not cause harm provided that he get's some of his freedom and is allowed to tinker with things.

He and Ronny, despite having known each other for a year, are at a rough start at the Mansion, but he finds it easier to warm up to little Noa, despite claiming to not like kids. And eventually he begins to find Ronny interesting because she is smart yet openly defies him and refuses to play along his games. His interest in Ronny shifts and changes over time and he begins to find that he feels a certain way that is both new and fascinating. And most importantly during this time, he finds himself becoming nicer to the staff and no longer interested in a lot of the macabre things he once found alluring.

So here we are in the current time where I draw my art and stuff, sorry this is long but thank you to everyone that read it! Also, for the record, some minor Jindosh crimes have been retconned to mske this work, but mostly he was still an evil asshole and he is now slowly learning to change and earn his redemption. And goes without saying, but actual lobotomies IRL were one of the most terrible things and caused permanent damage, but due to the nature of the electroshock machine and there being no clear way it works in a fantasy universe, we could bullshit around and say that he recovered. It's part of the re-writing.

[justletmeplayminecraft]

this is a mini-sequel to my last space outlaws fic, set the next night. it mostly serves as dialogue practice for mumbo & wels, so don’t expect a super compelling plot. i have however realised i’m struggling with mumbo’s voice because it’s pretty similar to mine. experiment success. 

usual psa: this fic is based in @martuzzio's space outlaws universe & may not be completely canon. we out here to have fun & i hope you have fun reading!

featuring: two tired boys have a Talk. an additional dollop of comfort to the last fic.

warnings: nightmare mention, self-sacrificial mentality, broken bones, discussion of the events of the previous fic. this fic won’t really make sense if u haven’t read it so please check the warnings on the link!

Mumbo rubs his eyes as he walks down the corridors of the ship. His feet echo the path without him needing to look. There's too much to think about besides where he's going. The thoughts in his head are like static. He couldn't sleep in his room with Grian and Iskall so peaceful beside him. He's not sure if he'll be able to sleep at all.

Upon reaching the nearest kitchenette, he pours himself a glass of water. It's cool as he sips, forcing himself to relax. Walking through to the common area, he's surprised to find a lamp already on. Someone's curled up at the edge of the sofa, settled against the cushions.

"Hello?" Mumbo calls, unsure if they want company. It might be better sitting out here with someone instead of just his thoughts. The head leans back slightly, shadowed by the lamp.

"Hey, Mumbo." Wels's voice greets him, the edges of his smile just visible. "Can't sleep either?" Wels swings his legs around so Mumbo can sit down. He places his glass on a side table, tucking his robes close to him.

"However could you guess?" Mumbo replies. He sounds more tired than he'd like to. He at least tries to arrange his hair so it looks presentable. "Wanted a change of scenery."

"And you didn't end up in your lab?" Wels asks.

"I don't-" He tries to return the teasing tone but falters. He's honestly not sure how he feels about returning to tinkering. After everything that's happened, knowing his skills were almost used by someone else he just- he needs to get over himself. The others will understand. Well, they will if he ever gets the courage to tell them. "Not this late, I'm not," he finally manages.

"Guess that's fair." Wels nods in understanding. "I'd be training my energy off but-" He gestures to his arm. Mumbo frowns for him.

"Had any updates on it?"

"Stress said she'd cast it tomorrow." It's snug and secure against his chest, carefully out of harm's way. "I mean, I'm going to hate it, don't get me wrong, but at least I can worry less once it's in the cast." Mumbo can't even tease him for it. He'd feel exactly the same. Wels has always been pretty physical in the crew. Hopefully he didn't have any missions coming up.

"It's a good chance to practice with your non-dominant hand?" He offers, which gets a gentle laugh from Wels.

"I have a suspicion Stress might lock me out of the training rooms."

"Can she actually do that?" Mumbo asks, curious. She's threatened Iskall with it before, yes, but he never found out if she did. Iskall valued his life enough to not push her further.

"I'm hoping I don't find out. D'ya think I can go stir crazy on a ship this big?"

"Ask Cub or someone, I'm sure he'll make it an experiment."

"I think I may annoy him too much." Wels sounds proud of it. "I'm not easy to observe."

Mumbo can't resist replying, "I can see you just fine." It gets a disappointed groan from Wels and a kick at Mumbo's leg. Mumbo finds himself smiling at how gentle it is after watching him fight.

"Who let you out anyway?" Wels questions, his eyes glinting in the low light. "Weren't Iskall and Grian staying with you?"

"I snuck out," Mumbo replies. Wels snorts. "Weren't Jevin and Beef with you?"

"I snuck out," Wels repeats Mumbo's words with a smirk. Then he pauses, eyes narrowing. "Actually, I think Jevin let me sneak out. There's no way he didn't notice." Mumbo nods. Jevin could feel a pin drop. Iskall is too observant not to hear Mumbo moving. They likely guessed they needed space. "I spoke to Biffa, though. That was nice."

"Is he doing alright?" Mumbo asks.

"As ever." There's a distant happiness in Wels's eyes at the thought. Mumbo knows the two used to go on missions with Jevin. Perhaps they shared experiences like this after. "I didn't tell him what happened," he admits, the smile disappearing. "I think he could tell something was up, though."

"You didn't tell us what happened," Mumbo points out. "Don't think I didn't notice that in the debrief." Wels steered away from the topic quickly and nobody questioned it, because Mumbo's situation was (as far as they knew) more dangerous.

"Do you want me to?" Wels sounds disbelieving that Mumbo would even ask. But Mumbo isn't going to back down so easily.

"I would. He wasn't going to do anything to you, right?" Wels shakes his head quickly.

"No, no." Wels is firm in dispelling Mumbo's fear. "He mostly told me what he planned to do with you," he explains, leaning back against the cushions. Mumbo finds himself unsure how to respond to that. Wels- what did he think all that time? The others have tiptoed around the topic since they got back. The ones who know, anyway. Mumbo can't think about it for too long without feeling like he can't breathe.

"The collar?" Mumbo asks, knowing he doesn't need to expand.

"Yep. All the details about what it does. What he'd do." Wels sighs. He looks into his lap, head falling to the side. "I felt so useless. I couldn't do anything. I was supposed to protect you and I couldn't even do that."

"It wasn't your fault," Mumbo tells him. He refuses to let Wels place any blame on himself. "The others wouldn't have got us in time without you."

"They nearly didn't." Wels takes a deep breath. "And you were nearly turned into some mindless work machine." Mumbo swallows at the reminder. A spike of pain alerts him to how hard he's digging his nails into his hand. He rubs his thumb over the spot to numb it. "Sorry, that was-"

Mumbo shakes his head with a tired sigh, "No. I can't just avoid thinking about it forever."

"I can't think of anything else." They fall into a silence, neither having the words to reply to their admissions. Wels pushes his foot against the armrest, dragging himself over until he can lie against Mumbo's shoulder. His blue eyes are as piercing as they are exhausted. Mumbo holds himself still.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks. He can't place where Wels is in his head. They seem to be at opposite ends of the same problem. Wels sighs, heavy against Mumbo's side.

"Do you want to?" Mumbo considers it. Iskall's great, but he's still treating Mumbo like heated glass ready to explode. Whilst Grian is in the dark about everything. He doesn't want to explain it to anyone else. If Xisuma thinks people need to know, he can tell them. Not Mumbo. But Wels was there. He gets it.

"I had a nightmare," Mumbo eventually says. His voice barely carries in the near-silent room. "Where I couldn't do anything or ask for help... Nothing. It was horrible. And I keep thinking if I ignore what happened it'll be okay but- I almost had my free will taken from me. How do I react to that?" Wels watches him, sat up to see better.

"I mean, it's not like you're gonna be quizzed on it." Wels's voice is gentle, but it's a reminder Mumbo needs. "You react to it just... However you react to it. You can be angry or upset or vengeful or whatever. Nobody's gonna judge you over this, Mumbo. And if they do you can point them my way."

"I wish I didn't have to," Mumbo admits.

"So do I," Wels agrees. "But we're all here for you. No matter what you feel."

"I know they wouldn't stop looking if something happened." Even if he was nearly impossible to trace, even if he couldn't help himself. "It just scares me how easily things could've changed." Wels hums.

"Maybe focus on that first part," he suggests. "We look after each other. That's what we do." Mumbo nods. He can manage that. When his thoughts spiral (because it is a when, rather than an if), he knows they've got his back. That's been proven over and over again. The worst can happen and it'll still be true.

"Okay." Mumbo smiles as Wels tries to stifle a yawn. He returns to his spot on Mumbo's shoulder. "Your turn."

"Haven't I already talked?" Wels complains, peering at him. Mumbo gives him a look. He's not very intimidating, but Wels breaks eye contact first. He sighs. "I've always felt the need to protect people," he starts, "to an unhealthy extent. You've probably heard X get on me about it before."

"Once or twice." Mumbo remembers well when Xisuma coolly forbid Wels from going on missions until he stopped needlessly risking his life. It's hard to forget. He avoided Xisuma for about a week afterwards.

Wels scoffs, "Yeah. Right. I have an issue, sue me. See, I even admitted it." Mumbo laughs gently until Wels continues. "It really is what I said before, though. I just felt useless. I came to protect you and I couldn't even do that. If I just paid more attention, moved faster, whatever. I feel like I should've been able to do something."

"But you know it's not your fault?" Mumbo checks.

It takes Wels a moment, but he replies, "Yeah. I did what I could. Sometimes that won't be enough and I have to accept that." Mumbo smiles, leaning his own head onto Wels. It's not the comfiest but some contact won't hurt either of them. His eyelids are feeling heavier, too.

"Imagine how bad it could've been without you there. I only stayed so calm because of you."

"You need to give yourself more credit." Wels pokes Mumbo's leg. "You did great."

"So did you," Mumbo replies. "We both did the best we could. How about we agree on that?"

"You strike a hard bargain." Wels holds his uninjured arm out. "Sure." It's a bit awkward shaking hands with the two of them so close. But it makes them both smile, and that's the point. The silence is more peaceful this time. Until Wels asks, "Could you give me that pitch?"

"The pitch?"

"The one you were going to give. Or explain one of your inventions." Wels shifts against his side, burrowing into the cushions more. "Full disclosure, I think I'll fall asleep easier if someone's talking. So..." Mumbo laughs. Both of them separate to get more comfortable, keeping contact points between them.

"Want me to explain the jetpack?" Mumbo suggests.

Wels smiles, "That'll go completely over my head. It's perfect." Mumbo smiles, taking in the sight of him. Legs crossed, arm bound, a robe thrown over his undersuit (Mumbo doesn't envy Stress having to get that off tomorrow.) His hair is falling out from behind his ears. Mumbo's going to miss that if he cuts it again.

In total, it takes around fifteen minutes of Mumbo explaining before Wels's breathing falls into a perfect rhythm. He doesn't wake when Mumbo shifts into a sleeping position, only falls closer against him.

With the hum of the ship and Wels's gentle breaths, it takes Mumbo five minutes to fall asleep from there.

When Xisuma finds them, having his suspicions about the light left on, he smiles. He tucks a blanket around the pair, and resolves to make sure the others avoid this room for the morning.

[cyberwolfwrites-fanfiction]

a family's bond - chapter two

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/29878746/chapters/73715106#workskin)

words: 3717

summary:

"I hate it here," Peter whispered.

"I know," said Harley tiredly. They were curled up on the top bunk of their bunk bed together. They craved genuine physical affection after too many months of being touch-starved or physically hurt—there was no in-between—and being on the top bunk meant that they were harder to reach.

Dan was in his bedroom down the hall snoring off the alcohol. He'd gotten rejected for the promotion he'd been working towards for the past year and he'd drowned his sorrows in a bar somewhere before coming home to take out his frustration on them. He'd been too drunk and uncoordinated to cause any lasting harm—or harm that should have obviously still been there a day later—but the encounter had shaken them, Peter especially.

He'd come from a loving home, but in the matter of minutes both of his remaining family members had bled out in front of him and he'd been tossed in the system. He wasn't used to the harsh cruelties of the world—though he'd gotten a taste of it when he was four and eight, respectively—and it had left him reeling.

"I wish we could just... leave," Peter mumbled.

"Me, too."

"Ugh, disgustoso! I'm gonna puke," Harley gagged, recoiling away from the dumpster and making the lid fall with a clang. Peter chuckled to himself and sent an amused glance at his foster brother, glad that he was upwind from the dumpster. He could still smell it from clear across the alleyway—not only had his sense of smell become enhanced with the spider bite, but everything was smelling so fresh due to the snowfall earlier today—and he was glad that he didn't get the brunt of the smell like Harley.

"Stop laughing!" Harley hissed, shoving his tattered scarf against his nose. "Penso letteralmente che qualcosa sia morto lì dentro." Peter grimaced at the imagery. With their luck, something probably did die in there at some point.

"Tell me about it," he muttered as he nudged a suspicious-looking box. "I fell in there last night."

Harley winced. It had been Peter's turn to patrol last night and he had literally come home smelling like a dumpster; now he knew why. They'd ended up having to throw away his suit—a pair of old sweats and a stained hoodie—because the smell of garbage had also been paired with a six-inch gash along the side and a rip in the pantlegs. Until they completed the suits they were working on (hand-sewing was not a fast process and they were rather rubbish at it, so that lead to a lot of start-overs), Peter would have to share Harley's. It was that or use his old dancing clothes, and he was too attached to them to risk them being burnt, ripped, or blood-stained.

Harley wasn't too happy with that as that meant that they would have to clean his suit twice as often and risk Dan finding out, but it wasn't like Peter could just throw on a random pair of joggers. Their suits had to look the same because they had agreed that there would only be one Spider-Man, and they intended to keep it that way unless there was a big fight that required more than one person to show up. So far there hadn't been any big fights that they couldn't handle on their own (though Harley argued that Peter should have told him about Toomes), and it also meant that if one of them happened to get kidnapped, the other would (hopefully) be able to find them without getting the police involved.

Last night, Peter had ended up getting tossed in the dumpster during a fight and he had spotted some junk electronics that had been thrown up. He hadn't anticipated it snowing while they were at school so now they had to dig around to find the boxes he'd seen and he wasn't even sure if anything was salvageable. He hoped that since it hadn't rained and that everything was more or less frozen that nothing had gotten water damage.

While Harley rifled through some boxes next to the dumpster, muttering Italian swears under his breath that Peter had taught him, Peter toed at a box flap and nudged the box away when all it held were old newspapers. He wasn't sure where the boxes full of electronics he'd spotted last night were since he'd only gotten a glimpse and things had been tossed around during the fight.

Peter and Harley made some light conversation in Italian, though Peter had to correct some of Harley's pronunciations and fill in the blanks when Harley didn't know a word. While Harley was decent at the language, he wasn't fluent since he still struggled to translate sometimes and it wasn't automatic like Peter, and they hadn't taken much time recently to converse in it to make sure the language stuck, so Harley was a bit rusty. They mostly stuck to easy subjects like school; they had a History test in a week that they had neglected to study for—it's not that they were bad at history, it was just boring sometimes, and who had time to study when you could be catching bad guys?—and they talked some about their shared English project—they might be able to easily read complex algorithms or equations, but they still struggled with reading Shakespeare—and the conversation eventually tapered off as they tried to find the electronics so they could get back to the apartment.

It was freezing out, and ever since the spider bite, Peter and Harley had struggled to keep warm. Even through two pairs of gloves and multiple layers of clothing, Peter's teeth were beginning to chatter and his fingers were starting to get numb . From the corner of his eye, he spotted Harley shivering and he was just about to say that they should come back later—it was supposed to get warmer tomorrow—when Harley hauled up a box with a successful cry.

"L'ho trovato!" he crowed. "It was buried under a few other boxes."

Peter stumbled over and looked in the box Harley was holding effortlessly. It was full of what looked to be DVD players and radios and some other things, some of which looked like someone had taken a hammer to them. He reached in and pulled out a circuit board with some frayed wires attached to it.

"Could be useful," he muttered, dropping it back into the box. "Let's go, sto congelando!"

Harley shivered, no doubt agreeing with his statement.

They got back to the apartment in record time and swiftly changed out of their damp clothes, which they promptly shoved into the washer. They had only hung around the alley for a total of twenty-to-thirty minutes before leaving, but the stink of the garbage managed to saturate their clothing. Peter was pretty sure that their stuff stank so bad that even someone without enhanced senses could smell it. While Harley hopped in the bathroom for a quick shower, Peter got the washing machine running and began looking through the box of stuff they managed to procure.

As he'd seen earlier, there were a few old DVD players and some radios, but there were also some circuit boards and some random electronic parts like what looked to be a fan motor, as well as some remote-controlled cars, too. He sorted the items into different categories; parts, repair, useful, not useful, and trash. Some of the DVD players or radios could be fixed to sell for some extra cash, but some of them were too old or were too broken that could be taken apart for parts. The same could be said for the circuit boards and random electronic parts; some could be salvaged for future use while others were trash. The remote-control cars were staying, even the broken ones. The motors and controls could be used for webshooters or just be something to tinker with.

It didn't take long, only about ten minutes, until Peter heard the shower shut off. He pushed some of the stuff away so that Harley could have some space to manoeuvre and he grabbed his own shower things and clothes.

"I tried to be quick but hot water seems to be broken," Harley announced as he walked into the room, towelling his hair.

Peter mentally groaned, hoping that the water would at least be lukewarm. "I'll see if I can fix it after I shower, if not Dan's gonna be pissed," he sighed before pointing at a pile. "In the meantime, you strip those for parts and double-check the trash pile."

Harley looked at the assortment of items on the ground, taking in the various piles Peter had made. "Will do," he muttered, tossing his towel into the hamper.

By the time Peter finished showering and checking the water heater—one of the valves got stuck and the relief valve was loose—Harley was already a good two-thirds of the way through tearing apart the "parts" pile. The trash pile was gone, having been thrown in a grocery bag or two and tossed down the floor's trash chute, no doubt.

Peter finished drying his curly hair—it was long enough to cover his ears as he hadn't gotten it cut in a year, though Harley's wavy hair was longer, long enough to pull up into a small bun—and quietly joined Harley in pulling apart the rest of the DVD players and radios. Neither of them bothered to speak and Peter allowed his senses to fade out slightly, somewhat thankful that they were beginning to dull the longer either of them went without proper nutrition.

It was slightly worrying, the way that his senses were fading. They were still much better than a regular human's, but they definitely weren't up to par with how good they'd been when they had first gotten bit and had been somewhat healthy. Harley didn't know and Peter didn't intend to tell him because he didn't want his foster brother to worry. While he feared that his strength and agility and the other enhancements he'd gotten that made him Spider-Man would fade, too, he enjoyed the slight reprieve on his senses which had been dialled to eleven since the spider bite. (The slight blurring of his vision on bad days was a disappointment, though, he would probably need glasses soon, which meant that Harley would find out.)

The reprieve meant that he could easily ignore the cars down below or the neighbours talking, and he instead enjoyed the quiet atmosphere that was only unsettled by the sound of the DVD players or radios being taken apart and moved around. Eventually, they finished taking everything apart and moved onto completing their homework. While Peter knew that they should probably discuss their project for the Stark Industries Internship Competition—it was only a few days after they'd gotten their forms, but they only had a month to make a working prototype—he didn't want to ruin the peaceful silence and it didn't seem like Harley wanted to, either.

That calm feeling faded quickly.

The next week was full of Peter and Harley studying frantically for their history test, scrambling to finish their English essay, as well as studying for almost all of their subjects as they were all seemed to be finishing units at the same time. There was also patrolling and working on their internship project; they were staying up later and later, and instead of working together, they had to split up the project into different parts.

The only thing that stopped Peter from going crazy was the fact that Dan was on a two-week-long work trip, and he was willing to bet that Harley was feeling the same. They didn't have to worry about staying quiet in the evenings, they could take longer showers, and they also didn't have to commune to the old, no doubt freezing office building where their makeshift workshop was. Instead, they could work in the comfort of the living room and they could even stay after school to get the coding done without worrying about time. So long as they kept everything clean and made sure to put away their tools before Dan got back, then they were golden.

The second week into Dan's absence was much more successful than the first week, though no less stressful. Now that their tests were completed and their essays were turned in, they could focus completely on their project. The coding turned out to be more complex than either of them had been anticipating and Peter ended up having to order some chemicals online that he needed. He sent them to a P.O. box—because there was no way in hell was he risking Dan finding out that he was buying stuff—but couldn't afford the express shipping, which meant that he drove himself crazy coming up with various chemical formulas and ways to make the "fabric."

They ended up having to take multiple breaks via Spider-Manning and focused on the actual construction of their project to get rid of the stress. The tablet that would display the injuries was an easy fix as it just needed a new battery and screen, which were bought at a cheap parts store, and they managed to figure out how the pressure thing was actually going to work. Usually, someone just stretched the cloth while it was attached to a multimeter (amongst other things, but that was the simplest explanations), but they planned to have something that was worn and got stretched often. They also planned to monitor vitals, as well, which would be difficult if they were using a multimeter.

They did, however, use a multimeter on their first attempt. Peter basically attached a crap ton of wires to an old t-shirt and pressed on it to make sure it worked. (Spoiler alert; it did.)

By the time the first prototype was complete and some of the complex coding was done, Dan had returned and Peter had received his chemicals and had begun making the cloth in their makeshift workshop. The original idea was to make strands like his webbing and weave them together, but then he realized that the didn't have an industrial loom to weave the webbing, and so he decided to make something that was latex-like by pouring it like you would with resin. The first few test batches weren't particularly successful (one came out sticky, another was stringy like cheese, and the other turned rock solid instead of the stretchy rubbery substance Peter wanted) but he ended up with something he figured was decent enough. It wasn't his best work, and if he'd had access to SI's labs or even a loom it would've done better as a cloth, but he figured it was decent enough for a prototype.

Coding and programming everything and then testing it for bugs was as difficult as Peter and Harley expected. They had to more or less create numerous algorithms for injury identification, and they also had to find out what types of pressures and vital signs equalled what type of injury. They stuck with blunt force trauma as it was the easiest to test. It, unsurprisingly, took a lot of pressure or trauma to break a bone (while Dan had barely managed to fracture or bruise some ribs in his harshes blows, they'd been beaten on pretty badly in their starting out days as Spider-Man, even with their spider-sense to aid them (though Harley's spider-sense was less fine-tuned, for some reason)). As they would have had to do a lot of extra programming and research to know how much force broke a certain body type along with what vitals would look like at that part in time, Peter and Harley only had their pressure ensure catalogue injuries for a grown man's forearm.

By the time they managed to complete the project and make (and practise) a presentation, it was the day of the competition.

***

"Calmati," Harley muttered, nudging Peter's bouncing knee with his own. "We've gone over the presentation a dozen times since last night. Non preoccuparti."

Peter had stopped jiggling his knee at the nudge and instead began to fidget at his dress shirt cuff. Harley self-consciously smoothed down his own dress shirt. Both of them had been thrifted for pretty cheap but they hadn't fit properly, so they'd gotten the old lady down the hall to do it for them in return for them fixing her broken water heater. It was a common, if new, arrangement they had with the woman; if Peter and Harley helped her with whatever housework she needed to be done, she gave them some amateur sewing lessons in return. She'd also allowed them to use a plastic sewing machine she'd originally bought for her granddaughter, but hadn't allowed them to take it from the apartment, which meant that the old lady gave them some odd looks for making what looked like leotards.

Because Peter used to dance, he'd managed to convince the woman that they were making costumes, but that was only after he showed her a (rather sloppy) saut de chat. He used some ballet moves during Spider-Manning (mostly split leaps) but he hadn't been able to properly stretch or even dance in so long. Harley, after learning that he could dance, had managed to convince him to teach him a few moves, but they hadn't taken the time to do anything more in-depth since they were so busy with homework and Spider-Man.

Of course, even after the display, the old woman still looked like she didn't believe them for a single minute. But Peter was pretty confident she didn't know that they'd taken her lessons and had used them to make themselves super suits and to sitch up their own wounds if they ended up getting shanked. (Which happened more often than either of them cared to admit.)

Still, she'd been kind enough to tailor their shirts for them. They still didn't fit properly—they were too baggy around the middle and somewhat tight around their shoulders and chest—but they looked better on them than they originally had. They hadn't been able to buy any dress pants in their size that were cheap enough, so they currently wore their best pair of jeans. Both were black and Peter thought they matched pretty well. Well enough that they might even be mistaken as brothers, though that was wishful thinking.

Peter had always wanted a sibling when he was younger and Harley was the closest he had to one. However, they were only foster brothers and one misstep from either of them could get them separated, and the thought filled Peter with anxiety. He'd latched onto Harley as the first kind person he'd seen since his aunt and uncle died and he knew that Harley had latched on just as tight.

The doors opening caught Peter and Harley's attention and Peter looked up from his shirt sleeves to see who entered. The room they were in was packed full of people from the surrounding tech schools so it wasn't a surprise that he'd been unable to hear any approaching footsteps, and there was also the fact that he'd been so nervous that he hadn't been focusing on his senses too much.

Peter let out a surprised noise and stood respectfully as the CEO of Stark Industries, better known as Pepper Potts, entered. He hadn't known that the woman would show up and it made him tug on his clothes self-consciously. He noticed Harley doing the same.

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome to Stark Industries," Ms Potts said, causing everyone to quiet immediately. Peter was a little awed at how swiftly she managed to get the room to quiet, though he supposed that was due to being the CEO of SI and an extremely powerful businesswoman in her own right. "As I'm sure you all know, you've been invited here as a part of the Stark Industries Internship Competition, where only a select few of you who meet our specialists' criteria will be chosen for an internship here at SI.

"If you've read the permission forms you were given, and I truly hope you have, then you will know that any future interns will be given the chance to refine their project under the watchful and helpful eyes of your superiors, who will advise you in the inner workings of a tech company."

Peter glanced around the room. A good half of the projects he could see appeared to be robots—albeit cool ones—but that didn't look like they properly represented what SI worked towards, which was medical equipment, prostheses, clean energy, and equipment for the country's top authorities; mainly the military, police, and fire departments. The other half appeared to have gone for some type of prostheses or drones, though they didn't look nearly as advanced as the recent prostheses SI had shown to the public. Still, for high school kids that went to the city's top tech schools, the prostheses were pretty advanced. The only real competition Peter saw was the kids who had gone for something challenging like they had, most looking to be medical related.

Peter glanced at his and Harley's project, which suddenly looked so small and mediocre compared to all of the big robots around them. While he knew that making robots wasn't too difficult (he'd made plenty when he'd lived with May and Ben, and he'd competed in robot-building competitions with Ned and Harley before the two of them had to quit robotics club), all they had to show was a piece of cloth and a second-hand tablet. He hoped that the programming they'd come up with and their idea was enough to earn them some points.

"If you would please turn your attention over to here," said Ms Potts, gaining his attention again. She gestured to a group of several men and women, most of whom were dressed in lab coats or office-wear. "These are our heads and specialists in our Research and Development departments. They will be in charge of grading your projects and proposals. As we only have a limited number of specialists compared to how many of you there are, please be aware that not everyone will be able to present right away."

Peter counted just under twenty men and women, and compared to the number of kids he'd counting, that meant that there was something like a three-to-one ratio here. The number seemed daunting. Only a few people would get selected for an internship out of around fifty to sixty students.

"I know it may get tedious to present more than once, but all interns at SI are well acquainted with this, so please be patient," Ms Potts continued explaining. "If you need to leave for any reason, please tell our head of security Mr Hogan. He will write down your name so we can get in contact about presenting at another time."

She gestured to a man who Peter had noticed earlier. He stood silently and stared them all down, brown eyes flickering over all of them with distaste and like he was assessing them. It made him nervous to have such calculating eyes on him, but Peter knew that they'd be dealing with plenty of eyes on him once they began presenting, so he tried his best to shake it off.

"Thank you all for coming here today."

And with that, Ms Potts checked something off on her StarkPad and left, her heels clicking on the tiled floor.

[linkspooky]

Aizawa and Kurogiri

Edit by @inumaqi​

In the latest chapter we see Aizawa’s heartfelt attempts to get through to Kurogiri. To speak to his friend and search for him somewhere inside of the shambling corpse spewing black mist that might be all that remains of him. However as genuine as Aizawa’s feelings, and his pleas are towards Kurogiri they are most likely going to fall on deaf ears. Not because the power of friendship is fake, or no trace of Shirakumo remains inside of Kurogiri, but rather because Aizawa himself cannot accept his friend for who he is now. MORE UNDER THE CUT. 

 Gran Torino’s attitude towards Kurogiri is indicative of Hero Society as a whole and how Hero Society is never going to be capable of saving anyone in the league of villains as it is now. 

It does not matter who they were, or what their circumstances were. Even if they were directly created by the failures of hero society, once they become villains it no longer matters. They are no longer seen as fully three dimmensional people, just enemies to be put down. 

Shimura Tenko’s situation is literally the direct failure of both Nana’s poor decision to abandon her child, and Gran Torino and All Might following their word never to look after Kotaro and his descendants, and because of that both Kotaro and Tenko’s entire lives were destroyed by All for One. Yet, despite being directly responsible through negligence for Shimura Tenko literally being kidnapped as a five year old and raised by a villain Gran Torino insists that at the end of the day Shigaraki Tomura is just a crimminal and therefore completely responsible for his own actions. 

Those that are blind to the faults of hero society cannot see how people are hurt by hero society. They even speak of Kurogiri like he’s under brain control like they cannot possibly imagine why he would ever turn against hero society of his own free will. 

Shigaraki is not an abused child. He’s just an emo punk ass. He’s a problem to society. They don’t view Shigaraki as a person just the danger he represents to other people. Therefore, they cannot possibly conceive of why Kurogiri would have any kind of lingering attachment to Shigaraki. 

We as the audience know that the league of villain are all people, who despite being heavily flawed also have their good sides. They are capable of fighting for their friends, and have people they love as well. We’re introduced to two sides of Shigaraki Tomura’s personality. First, we see the violent manchild he is, lashing out at the world around him, volatile, unstable, constantly in pain. Then we meet Shimura Tenko. 

Tenko who is this constantly anxious kid, a crybaby who even though he’s literally constantly being punished by his father, stands up to bullies, and still wants to follow his dreams even in a household where everybody is dead against him becoming a hero. We’re introduced to a kid who’s a strong parallel for Deku, someone who cannot stand to see others be left out, because he also knows what it feels like to be alone even in a household surrounded by people and continually reaches out to others even when he himself wants to cry. 

Then we realize that Shigaraki is still that person. No matter how warped he became from his childhood self, that’s still the core of who he is. Shigaraki will always take in the outcast, he’ll accept them even when they’re not strictly useful. When twice failed to create a double of the Quirk Bullets, Shigaraki did not throw him out. 

The Tenko who will always reach out the outcast even when he himself is in pain, even when he wants to cry is still there. The Tenko that cares so much about other people’s feelings because he knows what it’s like to have his own feelings trampled on. 

He is neither Shigaraki Tomura the destructive brat who just wants to hurt others as a form of lashing out. nor Shimura Tenko the one who stands up to bullies and accepts the outsiders for who they are, but rather he’s both at once. He’s both an incredibly violent and emotionally unwell person, and also a kind one who always reaches out to others who are similiarly lost just like him. That’s the form Shigaraki’s victomhood takes, and it’s incredibly complex, ugly and hard to swallow. He’s the monster All for One made him into, and at the core of his being he’s still a victimized child. Neither of these traits cancel out the other, but hero society in its rush to categorize people as hero or victims will never understand the whole of Shigaraki. 

Aizawa genuinely cares about Shirakumo, even in his current form of Kurogiri. He still cares for his friend even knowing the sins he must have committed as Kurogiri. However, the bottom line is Aizawa is never going to be able to offer the same understanding that the league has already given to Kurogiri. Aizawa loved his friend for who he was, and for the traces of him that still remain present, but Shigaraki accepts Kurogiri for who he is right now. 

Shigarki is the central victim of the manga. He’s connected to the rest of the league. He’s even paralleled heavily to Kurogiri. They were both taken in by All for One at a young age, and both of them have been manipulated by him for a long time and were only saved by him to fulfill a purpose. They’re both ultimately tools to the man who took them in and are loyal to. Shigaraki has even now allowed his body to be tinkered with to the same degree that Kurogiri has in the past. They have both also been by each other’s side the longest, especially if Kurogiri’s sole purpose for being taken in was to raise Shigaraki. 

Shigaraki and Kurogiri are also both people who have gone by two different names (Shimura Tenko, Shigaraki Tomura) and (Shirakumo , Kurogiri). They both experienced the ‘death’ of their original selves. They both continued living on even after their own funeral. They are both former aspiring heroes who were turned into villains by All for One’s machinations. 

What Aizawa realizes is that both Shigaraki and Kurogiri are the same type of person. They are both people who could never leave a stray alone. They’ve bothspent their entire lives taking care of the outcasts. Those too dangerous to save. Those too problematic to save. Those who saving only brings in more risk and harm for others. They save the people that hero society would otherwise forget. 

Aizawa sees this quality in Kurogiri because he knew Kurogiri as Shirakumo, and he recognizes his old friend. However, Aizawa himself would never see this in Shigaraki. Even though Aizawa is a caretaker of children he would never noticed what a damaged and traumatized child Shigaraki is. However, they have essentially both gone through the same thing, Kurogiri and Shigaraki both died and were resurrected by All for One with their original personalities still in tact, if Aizawa cannot accept Shigaraki then he cannot accept Kurogiri as well. 

The point that Horikoshi is trying to show us with these people who fell through the cracks, these former aspiring heroes fallen to villainry, is that there is a reason they became villains in the first place. “Fallen” as they are, the children who once wanted to do good and become heroes are still obviously there inside of both of them. Shigaraki and Kurogiri cannot grow up because the world currently as it is would never let them grow up. That’s why Shigaraki wants to destroy it. 

Even the way Aizawa talks about Shirakumo’s death, he kind of implies it’s Shirakumo’s own fault for acting too recklessly. Not the fault of say, hero society for putting a teenager on a dangerous internship when the adults should have been handling the more dangerous elements like this. 

There’s this insistence on personal responsibility in hero society. That Shigaraki must have wanted to become a villain, therefore it doesn’t matter if he was an abused child taken in by All for One. Aizawa himself while being a very compassionate person is still a part of that society. 

Aizawa’s response to Shirakumo’s freak accident of a death was not that perhaps it’s a bad idea to put children into these circumstances into the first place, but rather an emphasis on individual responsibility. If Shirakumo had simply thought things through, if he had been more powerful, then he would have simply avoided the fallen rocks and continued living. Aizawa thinks if he can teach students adequately to be responsible personally for everything and account for those situations that they’ll never be put into harms way. 

And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with personal respnsibility, but people like Gran Torino take it too far. Obviously, Shimura Tenko must have wanted to be evil at five years old. If he were a good child he would have somehow resisted fifteen years of manipulation from literally the world’s most powerful evil genius. 

But Aizawa knows that his teaching of indvidual responsibility only works up to a point. That people can’t do everything on their own, that they will inevitably need someone who pulls them along, and someone to rely on. People are not saved by punching a villain in the face, people are saved when somebody notices that someone else is in trouble and reaches out to help them regardless of the circumstances. People are saved by people like Shigaraki or Deku who will reah out to help the outcast that cannot help themselves. 

Aizawa himself has been damaged by hero society as well. He’s traumatized by the loss of Shirakumo. Which is why he can’t see the inherent flaw that allowed Shirakumo to fall through the cracks in the first place. The attitude that lets children take on full villains, that even now is letting the Hero Commission do shady things like consider all of the students as a backup army in case the heroes were to fall. 

The same people that never allowed Hawks to have a life of his own, and instead coerced and raised him to be a hero since he was a child, and then even after taking his whole childhood away by making him be a hero, kept him under their thumbs and made him their expendable spy for the league and made him dirty his own hands. They forced him to be a hero, and then didn’t even allow him to stay the kind of hero who saves others that he wanted to be because they needed him to kill someone to infiltlrate the league. That shows how much the hero regards the ethics of using children. 

Aizawa genuinely loves his studets, but he’s also trusting them with these people because he can’t perceive the flaws. He can’t see how Kurogiri is suffering under the system, how Shigaraki is suffering, and how he himself is suffering. 

Which is why Aizawa’s pleas will ultimately fail to reach Kurogiri. Yes, he knows his old friend is still there in Kurogiri, but he also completely fails to accept the person Shirakumo has become as Kurogiri. There is already a person who has made a deep connection and brought out the best of Kurogiri as who he already is now, and it’s not Aizawa, it’s Shigaraki. The reason Kurogiri is still kind like Shirakumo was is because he had Shigaraki to care for and bring it out of him by continually treating Kurogiri like a person. What Aizawa wants is to return to the past and become heroes again. Shigaraki will accept Kurogiri as he is now, even as a villain. Aizawa denies who Kurogiri has become, but Shigaraki has already accepted him at his most broken. 

That is why the league of villains saves the people who the heroes never could save. 

[borderlandsthirst]

Flame Angel au

Koetai  

Physical 

Has a long gash going down her back at a slanted angle, it’s decorated with the twins’ snake symbol and a pair of dragon wings. 

Triple pierced ears, a small hoop for the earlobe and studs for the other holes. 

Long kinky hair kept in a ponytail, left side of her hair shaved around the ears. 

Has smaller scars over her body from years of abuse, use to try and cover them but now wears them with pride. 

Fashion since is nonexistent, just like the twins she wears an inconsistent color scheme. 

Has her own symbol she wears on the back of her jacket. A dark orange, six-winged serpent surrounded by flames. 

Has a pet Spiderantling name Natty who grows up to be a badass Spiderant Queen. 

I LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE!! 

Long post under the cut along with psychological destress and dark thoughts.

Mental 

Mostly shattered, years of mental and physical abuse has left Koetai in a state of numbness that only eases when the twins are around. 

It’s a bit unstable, can fly off the handle sometimes and takes it out on the followers.  

Has accidentally scratched Tyreen once while having a fit, it didn’t really affect her physically but emotionally she understands what it means to be treated poorly by your parents. Even if it’s not the same kind of trauma. 

Sometimes she’ll just shut down while in the safety of the Cathedral, while working with a saint or one of the twins she just stops and stare into the distance. Takes a while to bring her back 

Has stolen small unimportant items from the twins to take with her while she’s in the field so it feels like they’re with her. She needs them with her. 

Feels empty when the twins aren’t around or isn’t being praised by the followers, she’s the right hand of the twin Gods, she’s the enforcer. How can nobody see how powerful and important she is? 

Is a bit sadistic, will toy with Crimson Raider soldiers like a cat and then kill them in the most gruesome way imagine with her bare hands or a weapon that’s either her’s or theirs. All with a smile on her face. 

Takes pleasure in all pain, mostly people she knows are innocent and not fighters. Why should she care about the pain of children when nobody cared about her’s? 

Personality 

Crazy, that’s to be expected after everything that’s happened to her. 

Will fake you out in a heartbeat, one second she’s quiet and smiling real menacingly in your face, the next you’re lying on the ground bleeding while she walks off with your money and loot. 

Only when she’s with the twins can the girl she could have grown into is revealed, kinda shy in interested in music and crafting. And yoga, she has to be at ease to keep the twins at ease when they’re about to snap. 

Loves Troy and Tyreen but would never tell them (they’ll figure it out on their own eventually), because to her they are real Gods. 

When she’s focused on something she’ll get real quiet so her concentration isn’t broken. Sometime she’ll stick her tongue out the side of her mouth, Troy and Tyreen have many pictures. 

Gets along with the twins amazingly well, it’s almost like they’ve been together forever. Will let Tyreen do her hair and makeup, will let Troy do her nails. All three of them will sleep in a pile. 

Is standoffish towards literally everyone else, the bandits of Pandora remind her too much of a crazy, shitty father. 

See the cultist as demons, they aren’t even lost souls, just ants on the surface of a dry ass planet, but the twins have given them a chance to seek out salvation. She just loves the part where the follows fall out of line, although she hates seeing the twins angry, she loves the killing part.

Troy 

Physical 

Has a pretty nasty scar on his right shoulder leading down to the area across from his ribs. 

Troy protects his damaged area with a skin friendly and cushiony gel liner filled with medical beads. It hugs his shoulder and keeps his bracer in place without causing more harm to his body. 

Wishes for nothing more than to be normal like his sister, he constructs a prosthetic using stolen Hyperion tech that (surprisingly) still works and sprays it his skin tone. 

He has built up muscle mass (but is still skinny around his ribs) still has his eight pack (or is it a six pack?) 

Will cake on so much eye shadow you wonder if it's just a part of his face. And wears more eyeliner that is necessary when in front of a crowd. 

Has nipple piercings, gauges, a lip piercing, and a di- 

Still has the things in his arm (because Idk what they are) that are medical ports the pump nutrition into him. And so does his spinel connecter.  

THICK THIGHS AND ASS!! 

Mental 

Hates his body, even though he has an eight pack he loses weight at a dangerous rate, he has to eat lots of meat every day. 

Has night terrors often and usually wakes up with a knife in his hand. He wishes he could muster his powers to heal himself a real right arm. 

Tyreen usually has to come and calm him enough to get him back in bed, on especially terrible nights she’ll have him sleep with her for comfort.  

When alone he mumbles his mother’s name like a mantra, Leda Calypso. Like saying her name with keep him from going insane. 

Is angry at Tyreen for latching onto him as a fetus and almost killing him, but knows that she obviously didn’t mean to, this kind of thing happens sometimes to twins. And it’s not like she could do anything about the Leech, she was a fetus. 

Doesn’t stop him from hating what happened. Even though he loves his only family member. 

Has found himself thinking about very dark things involving Tyreen and blood. 

Making his prosthetic look like a real arm only broke him more, but even if it looks real, he knows it’s not. 

Personality 

A mask of channeled angsty goth teen energy, not as dramatic as Tyreen, but when he is it’s a fucking show. Overconfident in himself and cocky. 

Doesn’t like when the followers get too close to him, Tyreen, or Koetai. Will act like he gives a damn about his followers at a distance, but if they get too close? He crushes they’re skull with his cybernetic. 

Is a cold and viscous beast with no remorse for anyone, will stump in your ribcage just for looking at him. 

Keeps his personal saints at an arm's length, on Koetai can get close, anyone who steps out of line is, well, dead. 

Behind closed doors he’s all over his machines, he loves to tinker and build. He created the blueprints for the COV’s guns, Koetai’s buzzaxe, and countless other knickknacks across the camps of Pandora. 

Loves beatboxing, will make up some horrible beat in hopes that Tyreen or Koetai will rap or sing to it, can actually sing himself. Has sung the girls to sleep before. 

Records personal logs for himself whenever he’s in the mood, it can be about anything, personal issues, how being the GodKing makes him feel, how there’s really only one asset in his life that’s keeping him together. 

Love to bake, surprising to someone who doesn’t know him. But Troy loves sweets and it’s hard to get that on Pandora, so he makes them himself. 

Tyreen 

Physical 

Tyreen has a matching scar on her left shoulder blade where she was connected to Troy. 

She wears at least two layers of clothing to ensure it stays hidden, it doesn’t matter if it’s hot out, if her scar is covered then she’s satisfied.  

Has perfected a balanced look of dark makeup to make her look grown and sexy since she has a baby face. Sharp eyeliner, dark blue or black eyeshadow, and variety of dark lip-glosses.  

Works out with Troy (but not too much, just enough to stay in shape) so she has a nice four pack. 

Also has piercings, cute little studs for her ears, a nose piercing, nipples too, and a cl- 

Has her mother’s last name tattooed across her lower back. And has the COV logo tattooed on her right shoulder (really to match the eye on Troy’s shoulder.) 

Doesn’t wear a glove on her left had (since it doesn’t do anything nor does it really match the outfit.) 

THICK THIGHS SAVE LIVES, while big booties end them. 

Mental 

Can HEAR the Leech talking to her, trying to convince her to consume more, feed more, TAKE MORE. Has even told her to leech her brother more times than one. 

Was once teetering on the edge of insanity because of the constant whispering in the back of her head, but over the years she’s managed to push it back. But sometimes the voice breaks through again. 

Because of the voice she barely sleeps, it’s not like she needs to, but she can’t even if she needed to. 

Loves her brother with all her heart but feels like he hates her for what she’s done. Sure, she wasn’t even born yet, but she almost killed him before he was even born. 

Actually despises the fact she’s a siren, if she wasn’t a siren Troy would messed up, mom would still be alive, and dad wouldn’t have treated us so coldly. 

Doesn’t have it together as much as she likes to think, would have a mental breakdown behind closed door, Troy has only seen it once and spent hours with Tyreen as she sobbed uncontrollably into his arms. She made sure to never let him witness that again. 

Tyreen has clawed at her tattooed arm a few times, scratched thick deep cuts that immediately heal close, just to be scratched open again. 

Only perusing the Grant Vault for Troy’s sake, hopefully all that power will keep his stable for the rest of their lives. 

Personality 

Egotistical and shamelessly smug. Thinks she’s big shit and that she’s on top of the world. Lives with a shit-eating grin on her face while in front of the camera. 

Actually convinces everyone around her that she truly does care about of her followers (but is really still afraid of them.) Wouldn’t hesitate to punt-kick one in private though.  

Enjoys followers throwing themselves at her feet to offer gifts and praise, but if anyone touches her, even accidently, they’re dead. They’re not even allowed to kiss her boots, she doesn’t want their saliva on her clothes. 

When away from public she is extremely soft and sweet, kisses? She gives kisses to her brother and to Koetai, she is also pretty chill. 

While Troy bakes, Tyreen cooks. She may not need to eat real food but that doesn’t mean she can’t if she wants to. Pasta, sandwiches, a fucking baked potato? You name it, she can make it.  

Loves to sing, her mother said she had the voice of an angel, will perform a little concert for Troy and Koetai and feel flushed and proud afterwards. 

Enjoys painting like no one would believe, has a painting station in the corner of her room where she spends a good amount of time painting pictures of her loved ones, which is only three people, not including her father. 

Enjoys just, sitting outside on her balcony with the fresh air, even if the air is dry and smells like skag shit.  

First time I’ve ever written anything like this and I’m sure I did it badly, still more to come, should work on a position structure or something. Also need to make a layout of the common and working rooms.