#it feels VERY comfortable and it fits SO WELL

[sunderwight]

Moshang establishing a weird degree of intimacy (for two people who are at least ostensibly not dating or anything) even early on in their relationship due to having known one another since their teens and both being, y'know. Weirdos.

Like Shang Qinghua has definitely dressed Mobei Jun. Toweled him off after a bath and put clothes on him because Mobei Jun is royalty and he just expects servants to do that, and Shang Qinghua was like, well, okay I guess we do this now I guess this is happening, and decided to just enjoy the view.

Mobei Jun prefers to sleep in beds that smell like Shang Qinghua. It just feels safer, and no he's not interrogating that impulse very deeply. He has food tasters who check his food for poison, and he's heard the term "bedwarmer" thrown around he's pretty sure this is just the same idea, a bed that's just all sterile sheets which don't smell like anyone but himself feels isolated and vulnerable and unsafe. So he'll nap in Qinghua's bed on An Ding, and whenever his servants wash out his sheets at his palace he'll drag SQH over and work him to exhaustion and then make him "warm his bed". Shang Qinghua thinks maybe Mobei Jun prefers a warm bed at night, the way that some humans prefer cool sheets? Like an ice demon thing? Whatever, his king's bed is still more comfortable than his, it has soft pillows and furs and everything so he's not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Shang Qinghua has treated Mobei Jun's wounds. MBJ used to watch him like a hawk at first but after years of this happening with zero issue he stopped bothering, so between that and the "sometimes dresses his king" thing Shang Qinghua can basically move his limbs around and put stuff in his hands or even his mouth and smear ointment on him and etc and MBJ will just go with it. Sometimes Shang Qinghua worries about the amount of access Mobei Jun's servants apparently have to his person, but honestly none of the regular staff could actually get the same kind of uncritical compliance out of him. Just Qinghua.

Mobei Jun also sees no issue with physically picking Shang Qinghua and moving him around. He will literally throw him at problems he wants solved or carry him to situations he needs examined. Shang Qinghua is very portable and it expedites the process of him begging not to be asked to do something, to just toss him at it and make him sort it out right away instead.

Mobei Jun would also steal Shang Qinghua's clothing if there was any remote chance of it fitting him. Throwing his cloaks and things onto Shang Qinghua works fairly well though, it makes them smell like him which is still good. Shang Qinghua is rarely bold enough to steal Mobei Jun's clothes on his own, but if it's especially cold and no one else is around he's been known to grab part of Mobei Jun's cloak (often while he's still wearing it) and wrap it around himself.

[silenzahra]

Welp, my beloved @bberetd... You asked for this 😌💖

✨ Bliss ✨

Mario places his umbrella over his shoulder while extending his other hand, imitating the demure and modest pose of his princess. He smiles, feeling very comfortable in his new, custom-made pink dress, although he can't help wondering how Peach manages to keep the crown from falling off her head. He can only admire her even more for her elegance and grace.

He turns around and the skirt of his dress, as well as the petticoat he’s wearing underneath, get tangled around his legs. When he stops, his brother, for whom Daisy's outfit fits like a glove, including the crown, stands in front of him with a radiant smile on his lips. With his fake freckles glistening on his cheeks, Luigi winks and gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“You look great, bro!”

“Really?” Mario's smile widens and he holds the skirt to lift it a little and extend it to the side. “Does pink suit me?”

“Wonderfully!” Luigi assures him, applauding him. “You look stunning! Besides, you seem to be quite comfortable, and that's the most important thing.”

Mario laughs and rubs the back of his neck, feeling a bit shy at his twin's compliments. He’s glad that Luigi has encouraged him to finally take the plunge and, together, try dressing like their princesses, and not leave one single detail out. While his younger brother has always been more open about wearing dresses, skirts, heels and all kinds of typically feminine clothing, he, too, has always felt an unusual curiosity about such garments. It was only a matter of time before Luigi managed to convince him to finally try them on.

However, just as he was about to praise his twin's outfit too, the door opens at that very moment. The brothers turn their heads at the same time, startled, and only then does Mario remember that they had arranged a meeting with the princesses this afternoon to have tea together...

Only they had counted on having time to change back into their classic overalls first.

Even though he isn’t looking at him, Mario can sense from his brother's tense posture that he feels as caught out as he does. And it’s no wonder, since Peach and Daisy, standing in the doorway and carrying shopping bags, have been rendered speechless and are watching them in silence. The first one seems bewildered, completely taken aback, while the second one clearly judges them with her gaze as she examines them from top to bottom.

As if they had rehearsed it, the twins swallow at the same time. Their shoulders brush as they begin to back away, cowering, intimidated. In a reflex action, Mario brings his hands to his chest and begins to bring his index fingertips together and apart over and over again, while desperately searching for something to say...

But Daisy is faster than him.

“Hey, Peach,” she begins, nudging her, “don't you think it’s funny? We came to visit the brothers, and it turns out they have a couple of portraits of us in the hall...”

Peach lets out a low giggle and immediately covers her mouth with her hand.

“Indeed. What a surprise!”

“And hey...” Daisy starts.

“Don't you think that...” Peach continues.

“We look amazing!”

The princesses shout the last sentence in unison as they raise their arms above their heads, startling the brothers. Then they both pounce on them and wrap their arms around them. Mario notices the delicacy with which Peach hugs him so as not to ruin his dress despite her excitement, but he can't help but notice how Daisy, without any hesitation, hugs Luigi with such energy that she almost takes his breath away.

Suddenly, the brothers find themselves receiving praise and admiration for their beautiful dresses, their crowns, their gloves, Mario's parasol, Luigi's freckles and even the earrings adorning their ears. Feeling increasingly confident and relaxed, the two start posing, each copying a princess: Mario is delighted to represent the graceful and elegant Princess Peach, and Luigi is, no doubt, enjoying every second he gets to pretend to be his daring and sassy Princess Daisy. In fact, it is he who places his back against Mario's and brings his hands to his chest with his index fingers joined and extended, adopting one of the famous Charlie's Angels poses, which Mario hastens to join.

The girls then remember that they have just been shopping and hurry to rummage through their bags. Peach takes out a striking feather boa in a shade of blue somewhat darker than her earrings and, without a moment’s hesitation, places it around the plumber's neck. Mario smiles and adjusts the garment, thrilled to share this moment with her and to have her support.

In turn, Daisy takes out an enormous purple boa, her favorite color, and approaches Luigi with a solemn step. As if she were awarding the prize for the most beautiful princess, Daisy places the boa around the neck of Luigi, who has stood up straight and closed his eyes, very much into the role. Still, as soon as Daisy finishes, Luigi gives her the most radiant and brightest smile, his cheeks standing out so much that his fake freckles almost disappear under his eyes.

Next, the princesses go to put on their dresses too, as they were wearing more comfy clothes for their shopping time together. There’s always clothing for them in the brothers’ home, as they’ve stayed for the night many times already, so in the meantime the boys prepare the table for tea. Luigi has also baked a cake that looks so delicious that it’s taken all Mario's willpower, and a few scoldings from his brother, not to sink his teeth into it before time.

Soon, everyone is sitting around the table, the brothers in the center so that they can show off their beautiful dresses and their flashy boas. Daisy is even more talkative than usual and can't stop looking at Luigi, her eyes filled with a mixture of pride, affection and amusement that makes Mario smile. His little brother, knowing that he’s loved and admired, also laughs and chats non-stop, which makes Mario extremely pleased.

And he feels elated when he notices the quick looks that Peach gives him between sips, not only of approval, but also of mutual understanding and, like Daisy, affection and pride.

Despite his blushing, Mario feels his heart fuller with infinite bliss than ever.

He can’t think of a better way to spend the afternoon.

always follow after your role models

[beifong-brainrot]

One thing I love about tlok more as I age, is that it actively veers away from pitting women against each other.

While atla wasn't awful on this front, Toph and Katara's arguments often took on the flavour of Toph talking down to Katara for her percieved feminine qualities. Pairing this with Toph's insults towards male characters, specifically Aang, often having an emascualting "Don't be such a girl" type of vibe, it paints a good picture of Toph's strained relationship with femininity, and other girls, most likely due to her past, both in her family and in the ring. Katara and Toph's tale in Ba Sing Se was a nice step away from that rule, but the Runaway sorta circled back towards this argument. As much as Toph seems to secretly enjoy "feminine expression" she will still talk down to it in public.

But we can talk about Toph's internalised misogyny later. We see the phenomenon of women tearing each other down elsewhere in atla too, especially in the relations of the Fire Nation girls, like in how Mai and Azula lash out at Ty Lee in the Beach.

And I'm not saying it's bad that atla portrayed these interactions, they're a part of life and many of us are trained to talk down to other fem folks.

But it is so refreshing to see tlok subvert that trope in B1. For all the complaining about the love triangle, I really love the arc it gives Korra, who has probably barely interacted with girls her age.

When she first meets Asami, she's a little intimidated, but falls a little into that 'not like other girls' streak.

With Korra falling into more of a 'tomboy' category, similarly to Toph, it wouldn't be very unexpected for her to be portrayed with a more tumultuous relationship to femininity and people we percive as fitting into it better. This is something a lot of girl, women and fem folks go through irl.

Korra: [To Asami as she swims over to her; somewhat dismayed.] So, what do you have planned for us today? Let me guess, shopping, makeovers ...

We see that Korra has a set idea of what Asami is like based on her presentation and mannerisms, and doesn't think she can find a common language with her. But this expectation is quickly subverted when Korra and Asami race together and we see that they do get along very well.

And I like that Korra not only apologises for writing Asami off, but also attempts to partake in something feminine, makeup, showing that she's become more open to finding a 'common language' with girliness, something she previously saw as alien.

Korra: I gotta admit, I had you pegged wrong. I thought you were kind of ... prissy. [Raises hand; quickly.] Eh-No offense!

And throughout the show, although there is plenty of drama, Asami and Korra stay on relatively good terms, which is a relief. A lot of shows tend to stoke drama between its female leads, but Korra and Asami stay friendly, and more, throughout the show.

Korra: [Chuckles in relief.] Well, whatever happened with Mako, I'm glad it hasn't come between us. I've never had a girlfriend to hang out with and talk to before, except for Naga. This is nice.

And it's not just Korra and Asami's relationship that fosters an air of women supporting each other. Tlok shows us many women of different backgrounds helping each other become stronger, encouraging them to realise their potential, comforting each other in dark times and so forth. I also think it's nice to see so many older women who support and encourage younger women, as atla did not deliver on that front.

And I know it feels like such a low bar, but I think it's so important to highlight in shows, especially shows starring women and female characters.

[ichordrinker]

ASTRO NOVALITE HCS!!

Warnings; passing out/narcolepsy

Type: Headcannon. Not proof-read, and done on mobile.

Authors note: tysm to whoever sent the first request!! I hope you like it, it’s my first time writing headcannons for him. Also creds to @strangergraphics-archive for the moon banner

His posture is absolutely HORRENDOUS. Pretty popular headcannon, but it for sure fits him.

He prefers Tea over coffee any day. He’ll have at least 3 cups of tea a day, without fail. Every time he does have it, he uses a pretty big amount of honey too.

Astro has pretty bad narcolepsy. He’ll pass out randomly out of nowhere, no matter the time or occasion. (Drabble below)

Astro and dandy were having a casual conversation while on their way to the kitchen. Dandy turned his back for just one second to check out some commotion, and the next he looks back to see Astro passed out on the floor.

Dandy was worried sick! He did the best he could to make sure Astro was okay. For example, picking him up and setting him down on the closest chair. Dandy was about to go call someone for help, but just minutes later he woke back up and acted like almost nothing happened. (Astro had to explain to him what narcolepsy was when he mentioned he had it)

He bites his nails often whenever he’s nervous/alone, which always leads to most of them being short. Some of them grow a decent amount, before he shuts that down and bites them too.

There’s a little stuffed animal in Astro’s room that he sleeps with every night. He’s grown attached to it, even giving it a name and everything. He keeps it safe and tucked in whenever not sleeping or outside of his bedroom,

Speaking of his room, Dandy made a drawing of him and Astro on a piece of paper, and ever since then it’s been hung up on the wall of his room. He loves when anyone close to him makes little crafts/gifts for him, even if he insists he doesn’t want any.

Under his blanket is a corny pair of sleep shorts. He’s had them since about a year ago, but they still fit him well and he finds them very comfortable. REFUSES to tell anyone though, the design of the shorts is embarrassing.

Boxten caught him sleepwalking in the middle of the night once, and freaked out because he thought Astro was possessed and was gonna attack him. Astro doesn’t sleepwalk often, but it definitely happens from time to time.

Bisexual, but male leaning. He loves em both!!

Astro wears fluffy hello kitty socks with no shame at all. He finds them cute, and even showed them off to dandy.

HORRIBLE liar!!! He can’t lie to anyone without feeling bad, so he’ll end up telling whoever he lied to the truth after a certain amount of time(always apologizes like crazy afterwards)

Unlike goob, Astro has a great memory. Ask him if he remembers anything, and he’ll immediately remember whatever you ask unless it was too long ago.

he’s extremely patient with stubborn kids. Sometimes he can get a bit aggravated if it goes on for too long, but he’ll never show it and is extremely gentle sounding.

He can’t for the life of him figure out modern slang. Some kid told him he was Skibidi, and he thought it was some sort of slur.

He hates the dark. Not the same from dim areas btw, he loves those!! Im talking about pitch black, to the point where you can’t see. That’s why he has a little moon night light next to his bed.

Lmk who I should do next!! Reqs still open 💙

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day eighteen: a forgotten date

ᰔ pairing: din djarin x reader

ᰔ summary: the bounty hunter is good on his word— on his own terms. you try to stop holding out hope, but that's easier said than done.

ᰔ author's note: din babe please don't go be a space cowboy i need you too bad 😮‍💨 anyways this took a bit longer to write because SOMEONE (read: pedro) is out here doing his job and keeping us well fed. oof. big weekend for us.

ᰔ content warning: 18+ /// MDNI!!!! slight slight smut mention, alcohol consumption, drunk!reader, hurt/little comfort. no beta— we die like men

The cantina was alive and well, patrons from all walks of life gathered to enjoy the festivities of the night. A jaunty little tune filled the air as a band played in the corner.

You glanced over your shoulder at the sound of the door 'woosh'-ing open. Your shoulders sunk when you realized it was another unassuming patron. Before you focused on them for too long, you turned back to your drink.

'This is so stupid,' you thought to yourself. 'He's not going to come. What is Chaos was I thinking?'

As each patron entered, you felt your hope sink deeper and deeper into your stomach. It wasn't much help that you had ordered a second drink, then a third.

You waited for hours. Hours before you finally pulled yourself away from the table. As your feet landed on the floor, the scene before you swayed, your head light and void of your usual clear judgement.

"You alright there?" An Octolan asked as you took tentative steps towards the door. All you mustered was a nod before you managed to find the exit.

No one seemed phased by your miscalculated steps, a frequent sight to be seen around the cantina. You ignored each glance and kept your head somewhat low— All you needed was the ability to not run into debris in front of you.

Easier said than done. You closed your eyes for only a moment, the loud noise of a bang nearby disoriented you. One slight sway and you went tumbling over a cargo box.

You laid in the mud, a soft groan from your lips. Heartbroken, drunk, and covered in mud. Just how you wanted today to go. From the moment your eyes opened, you held this childlike hope in your heart that he would come. You knew better than to hold it so close, but there it sat, a kindled fire in your chest.

In the back of your mind, what logic you had held on to prattled on and on about what would happen. The Mandalorian was a bounty hunter, and a very busy one at that. Just because he promised to come back didn't mean he meant it. There was no price, no credits you offered that guaranteed that he would come back.

"Need some help?"

You hadn't realized you had closed your eyes until you felt a looming presence over you. With a deep sigh, you shook your head. Truth be told, you had no desire to move. With the ache in your chest, it felt fitting to lie in the mud, drunk and with a wounded heart.

"You've got mud in your hair. We both know how you feel about that."

That voice.

Your eyes popped open, only to be met with the Mandalorian stood over you. A rush of emotions, relief and anger swelled in you as your vision focused on him. He was here, as you had hoped. Yet he had to arrive while you were six drinks deep and covered in slop.

"You came. I, what are you..."

Fuck. You even sounded drunk. Before you were able to get another word out, strong hands grabbed your sides and lifted you off the ground. You held onto his arms, his armored plates cool to the touch.

"I told you I'd come back. I always keep my promises to you," Din said. He kept a hand on your side as you stood up, the other swiped some of the mud off of your clothes.

"Couldn't have come before I decided to wallow?" You muttered under your breath. The anger that had boiled inside of you was left at the wayside, down to a simmer that settled under your skin.

The Mandalorian was right. He did keep his promises to you, even if they weren't in the ways you wanted. The hardest pill to swallow was the fact that he did his best, but you wanted more. It was selfish, but you wanted all of him. It took everything in you to not hit his chest and beg him to stay. Beg him to choose you and settle into a quiet life.

That wasn't him. If it was, he would have chosen you the first time. Maybe even the second, but he chose to leave. He chose to take those bounties and promise to return. What good was a promise?

"Let's get you home." You didn't protest as he led you back to your abode. His stayed at your side, an anchor as you pushed through your drunken haze.

Once inside, you abandoned the bounty hunter to use the restroom. You left without a word; he had been in your home enough to settle without you. As you cleaned yourself up, you looked in the mirror. Of course there were tears in your eyes. Just what you needed right now.

After a while, there was a slight knock at the door. You changed the last of your clothes before you opened it slightly.

"What, Mando?" You held onto the door, slight hope that you were still able to hold yourself up right. It was sobering, the Mandalorian's presence in front of you.

"You were taking a while. Got worried you were hurt."

You rolled your eyes, a bitter laugh bubbled out of you.

"Like you're the one who should be talking about taking a while," you huffed. "I'm fine."

There was a beat of silence between the two of you. The bounty hunter finally spoke up.

"It was the Crest. I was tailed by—"

You stopped him, a hand held up.

"It's always something. You're getting tailed, or the Child is sleeping— you always give me an excuse, Mando," you argued. "I don't want an excuse. I want a reason. A real reason."

The bounty hunter gave a slight nod of the helmet. You were right, he owed you that much. Din took in a deep breath before he spoke.

"I put off coming in hopes that I wouldn't see you again."

If you hadn't known better, you would have left it at that. Your heart would be shattered and you'd be chasing him out, calling him every bad name in the book.

Instead, you waited. Your expression urged him to continue before you said something he didn't want to hear.

"Every time I see you, it gets harder to leave. I, I get this idea in my head that I don't have to walk out of the door," he explained. "I can take off this cursed beskar, and not look back. When I'm with you, it's hard to look forward and keep towards my goal."

You took a step closer to him, a hand on his bicep once you were close enough.

"I want you to stay, Mando. Take off the beskar, please. Stay," you practically begged. "I can take care of you. I have enough credits for us to be okay. It's not a lavish life, but I can take care of you."

"It's not the credits, or being taken care of," he sighed. "What it is— it's beyond the simplicity of what we could have."

You thought you had felt enough heartbreak for the night, but there wasn't a limit when it came to the bounty hunter. That logical part of you knew you had been right. Whether the Mandalorian wanted to stay here or not was never the issue.

What you loved about him was also his catalyst. The bounty hunter lived and died by his honor, what he had promised his people so long ago. As badly as you wanted him to change, wanted him to find a new path, it wasn't going to happen. His dedication was fierce, even as it clawed at him and dragged him into the depths of Chaos.

"Will you at least stay the night? Please," you asked. "Just tonight."

There was no point, dragging it all out. It was a fight you had before, and you were sure it was a fight you'd have again. Maybe it was the alcohol, but something in you had subdued for the time being. The fact that the bounty hunter had even shown up at all was enough right now.

The Mandalorian tipped his helmet. You took his hand and led him to your bedroom. As promised a long time ago, you covered your eyes with a silk slip you kept just for his visits and turned all the lights off.

Without another word, you found yourself lost in his touch. You didn't know his name or his face, but you had come to recognize his voice, the way he said your name. His hands were familiar on your body, his cock buried deep inside you as if it had always belonged there. Everything about him had become a sort of home to you, this comfort you chased time and time again.

When you woke the next morning, the bed was empty. You didn't bother to call for the bounty hunter, or grab for the note he left by the bed. You already knew what it said. Another day, another time, a promise that he'll show up on time.

Maybe one day you'd stop believing the lie.

[windwenn]

Oookay here are my final thoughts written out a little clearer than they were late last night lol:

- it feels pointed and a little sad that silna's name is only revealed in the final episode. The men are content to just assign her an identity and dont think further of it, which i think speaks to the wider attitude towards the land itself, and its people.

- expanding on that point i love how we see crozier latch onto her real name immediately. I think at some point close to the end it becomes obvious that he's abandoned his previous identity/life, his sympathies seem to lie with the inuit and he understands that killing the tuunbaq is cause for sadness. I think the fact that he's irish (so as i pointed out a few times his relation to the empire is a little different) is relevant here and to his general development.

- again relevant to the last point, it sounds crazy to say bc it was SO bleak but i also think episode 10 was just as full, if not moreso, of kindness. In the end crozier is motivated almost entirely by an unselfish desire to remain by the sides of his men - who are less his men at this point and more his friends, beloved companions. Brothers even, in fitzjames' case. Im not sure if at that point he truly thought they would live through it but not once does he think of letting someone die alone or abandoned. He sits with the final man alive as he dies, and comforts him. Goodsir dies thinking of the beauty of the world around him, and an unfailing belief that the world is good. I said before that the men think the land evil for rejecting them, but goodsir manages to surpass this. Even though jopson dies thinking crozier betrayed their friendship ('friendship' lol that man was in LOVE) - which transcended their naval positions, crozier DOES go back to him - we spend time watching him mourn, and that matters. The show chooses to focus again and again on the intimacy - in contrast to the animosity - that develops between certain characters, an intimacy that provides them comfort at the end. Crozier goes through what is almost a symbolic death - telling the men who come after that everyone is dead and theres no passage through, sacrificing his old life to stop any more men from following in their footsteps and causing further damage to the people living there, as well as themselves. That being said at this point he is a different person, and i dont thinm he could have returned even if he had wanted to. His end is gentle, and contemplative.

- through crozier and hickey we see the two directions you can go in after having made such a fatal error of hubris; you can learn from your mistakes, let it shape you and make you a better person, or you can remain blind, and let pride consume you (in the form of a bear ha ha get fucked mr hickey). And that idea of letting go of pride and allowing yourself to be shaped by the world around you is relevant i think because the terror and erebus were like thorns in the side of the land they were encroaching upon, because the expedition was about conquest for the british empire, about bending the land around you to your will. Until you get to a place that refuses to be bent. And so the choice is either to throw away pride or die. So in a way this environment is kind of perfect for examining empire, how it impacts identity, and what these men decide to define themselves by in the face of death. So its very fitting that it end with the swan song, that was a super cool detail.

- Not showing what happened to the men left on the boats is kind of worse because you just have to imagine based on what you've already seen🧍‍♂️

- on the topic of kindness again, i love the way they killed hickey so much. It strips empire (the values of which it seemed to me he came to represent) of its power, saying you can beat down and damage this place (the tuunbaq) all you want, but it will never be yours. And his actual death is so quick, like a footnote to the rest of the episode. The highest punishment for a man like him is inconsequence.

- not analysis but if anyone has any thoughts on jopson's death i would be very interested to hear them bc i was WEEPING. It felt very much informed by class commentary to me which definitely lines up with the other stuff but i just loved the imagery of him crawling across the table so much OUUGHH that poor man. Sir john franklin i hate u so much.

- I think its so hard to watch also because you know that they - for the most part, though some of this was the unfortunate result of a single man's actions - did it to themselves. THEY did this and there's so much shame in their deaths, so much waste. Leaving each other behind out of cowardice and desperation, taking the easiest route out only to end up dying just the same. Causing yet more suffering and all for nothing (thinking of jopson again 💔). But a lot of them learn to be better, and thats worse! Its so much worse because this is what it took and its too late!

- i was kind of getting the impression of some parallels to satan/god(or christ) in terms of the hickey/crozier dichotomy? Like crozier 'loves his men more than god' and forgiving everyone and just sort of being a neverending well of love in the end vs. hickey turning the men against each other through fear, literally whispering evil shit in their ears, inciting them to violence. Murdering everyone within arms reach. Im not religious so i dont really trust my judgement on this but it felt like kind of an interesting point? Idk

- the fact that its the british empire sending a bunch of guys (mostly working class sailors) to the arctic and as a result fucking up the natural food supply and being forced to cannibalise each other is just so good like its SO good. This is one of those stories that would probably be harder to fuck up than to get right bc of how much it just objectively works. Like the titanic. Imagine failing to make the titanic story into a warning about the evils of hubris and wealth.

- small detail but when crozier first got to the netsilik camp there was a shot of a child running scared into a tent. The last time we see crozier there is a child lying contentedly at his side as he hunts seal (previously mentioned as taking years to learn), which is such a lovely contrast.....He let himself be shaped.........

- i will be watching this vicariously through my sister as soon as possible like i need to rewatch this within the week or i'll go crazy probably

- i just remembered today it was fitzjames' jawbone they found with evidence of cannibalism congrats to 'The Terror' (2018) for having the gift of prophecy i guess

And that wraps up all the notes i made! This has definitely become one of my favourite shows of all time, i've been thinking about it all week and also i have some cool ideas for artworks jotted down so keep your eyes peeled👁👁

THE TERROR LIVEPOST HAPPENING NOW🫵🫵

[cosmicplexus]

Mars In Men Part 1

11 January 2025, 22:02(Gemini Moon transits make this so much easier)

Note: Based on my experiences of heterosexual men, but I'm quite positive there are similarities with queer men🤍

🥀I often get questions from friends regarding how to know if he's truly attracted to you and what he's attracted to. While I do love sharing my knowledge and observations and wish I could share this knowledge with every girl, I advise you guys to not use this to force yourself where you are not wanted. You are worthy and deserve better and you should use this to avoid getting your time wasted. Without further ado, let me share...🥀

♂️Aries Mars ~ He's attracted to confident women; your go-getters, bold and daring kind. He loves women that are sexually expressive and he may be the type to like women that live a lifestyle centred around fitness, sport or some sort of physical activity. He likes fit women and is attracted to women that are body conscious and constantly work at maintaining their body. Meekness may turn him off, which is ironic because he seeks submission, but prefers to tame more dominant women.

♂️ Taurus Mars ~ He's a beauty digger. If beauty is the magnet then he's the coin. He likes conventionally attractive women. He's moreso into curvier women and just like the cancer mars, he may like his women on the really thicker side(There is obviously exceptions to this). He tends to look for beauty first then everything else after. He's the type to fall in love off looks alone. He likes a woman that constantly adorns herself, more than the libra mars man contrary to popular belief. He prefers for the woman he chooses to be more than easy on the eyes. He's impressed by a good dressing style. He's impressed by women with something going on for themselves as he values having money and people with money. Another way to his heart is through good food.

♂️ Gemini Mars ~ While he's an intellectual and may lean more towards brainy women, this man has an air of superficiality. He prefers a conventionally attractive woman, but may create an exception if he finds her mind attractive. Overall this man likes to be mentally stimulated and literally does get turnt on from intellectual conversations. He's attracted to knowledgeable women, the witty kind and he likes for his women to have a youthful side to them, keep up with the trends and be cool.

♂️Cancer Mars ~ This may sound weird to some, but he's attracted to women that model after the maternal figure he had growing up, could be his mom or other figure. He's attracted to nurturing women that he feels have a maternal thing to them, but he attaches a look to it. He's a sucker for plus-sized women and while there may be exceptions, I don't advise slim women to entertain this man. He automatically perceives your more curvier women to be maternal and nurturing regardless of whether it's true or not. He has a breeding kink, but may be all over the place about it which may result into him planting his seed in multiple gardens.

♂️Leo Mars ~ He's the flamboyant kind so he gravitates towards those he feels he'll be proud to show off. It could be in their looks, dressing sense or even accolades. He's attracted to a woman that represents herself quite well in public merely on the basis of appearances. While he wants to be at the center of the spotlight, he wants someone that'll look good sharing some of the spotlight with him. He's attracted to self-assured women and may be the type to want you to have some clout to your name. He may not be comfortable with women with more buzz than he does.

♂️Virgo Mars ~ This man is very picky and more judgemental than the usual. He looks for cleanliness in a woman more than the average man. Any sign of disorder may turn him off. He's attracted to ambitious women with something to their name. He likes women who make their own money. He's attracted to a woman who's put together. He wants to be able to brag about your accolades. Determination and hard work are a turn on to him more than the usual man. He may not be too particular about the physical specifications, but neatness will always do wonders with this man. He's also quite the intellectual, but for more practical reasons and a woman with a sensible mind is someone he wants by his side.

We're at the end of part 1...stay tuned for part 2

~cosmic plexus ©🌻🌻🌻

[sadistic-kiss]

🐺House of Alphas🐺

(Jujutsu Kaisen Omegaverse )

Summary: Waking up in a world that was not your own was problematic enough. Being the villainess was another. However, the possessive alphas might take the cake.

Disclaimer: Angsty but I ain’t Gege

Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sukuna x Alpha!Gojo x Alpha!Toji x Alpha!Nanami x Alpha!Getou

Chapter 66: Pride ~

...

You don’t remember their names and you didn’t want to know either. Your mind was the only safe place you had control. So you just went with your own names, hag one and two. One had white braids that were pulled up into a bun and the other, hag two, had short wavy white hair that framed her face.

Then there was Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Tweedle Dee had long gray hair while Tweedle Dum had a pointy beard and all his hair pulled into a low rat tail braid.

The white robes were very deceiving, as well as the sunroom. It gave off kindness and acceptance but in reality, this room was probably filled with the most judgmental people on this continent. The sun that was supposed to feel comforting was more like a magnifying glass exposing you and all your sins.

Judgment.

You felt as though you were being judged by the way you walked, talked, and breathed.

You were starting to feel as though these holy people weren’t as good as you thought they were.

“Prime alphas?” hag one questioned. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”

“Our prime alphas have urgent news.” The grand priest informed while walking to the center chair.

“Very well then, please sit.” The woman nodded as everyone moved to take a seat.

Nanami grabbed your hips and pulled you with him. You could feel the slight pressure, almost like he was giving you a warning. You didn’t understand the signal until you realized he was pulling you into his lap. It may have been something to do with the fact that you yourself cannot (not allowed to) have a seat at such a big and bad table meant for big and stinky alphas. Your blonde probably realized you were going to pitch a fit if you had to kneel on a cushion, and therefore seated you with him.

You can tell your alpha was trying to keep you from getting in trouble. However, you are surprised it is that bad. So bad you can’t even sit at this damn table? Like seriously? You couldn’t believe the sticks that were far up the priests’ asses. Not even the other alphas you came across behaved this way. Hell Hakari applauded your attitude. Maybe Kirara and you could inspire a bit of change.

You kept your lips pressed tight…keeping silent as your blonde began.

“Our first discussion is the Chi Village.” Nanami nodded toward Toji as he slid the scroll to the elders. Their eyebrows furrowed while they read the message together. Your blonde alpha continued during their examination. “We believe they have been cursed…Getou.” Nanami gestured for the man to speak next.

Getou seemed caught off guard by the sudden pass, he had thought you were going to showcase your findings. The alpha wanted these crusty dusties to understand that it was you who was the mastermind. But with a hidden nod from you he understood what was going on. The elders were much too outdated in their ideals. Getou cleared his throat as he adjusted himself in his seat. “When I look at them with the spell Vizi, I can see a dark spot upon their bodies… each in different places.”

Gakuganji rubbed his beard, “A curse…and you do not know how to dispel it?”

“That’s the problem.” Getou had a slight tick of annoyance, “We don’t know what the curse is. Our omega…” He spoke with a bit of prominence,”…can see what the symbol is. She had drawn it out...”

Right on cue Toji pulled out the piece of paper and slid it over.

Some eyes glanced at you before they were redirected to the symbol that was drawn.

“…We had never seen anything like this. Perhaps you might.”

There was a long pause as they stared at the drawing. Then they sat back in silence.

“Well?” Gojo questioned with impatience.

The grand priest smacked his lips, “How did your omega see something that you yourself could not see Getou?”

You lowered your eyebrows, lips in motion but, Nanami squeezed your thigh gently. You grit your teeth, swallowing the heat that threatens to escape you. You could feel that familiar scorch… it was like bottling in your anger was physically burning you within.

Sukuna’s bored tone boomed loudly, “Our omega has dark and light curse energy...” He made sure to emphasize that you had both. With how the information seemed to take the group by surprise you understood why Sukuna had decided to make sure they were aware that you had light magic as well. “…only someone with dark energy can see the mark by using a different form of Vizi, but I’m sure you all knew that already.”

“Hm…indeed…some scriptures can only be read by the purest gaze…” Hag Two’s proud voice shifted as she looked toward you. “…but dark and light energy? That cannot be. Only a select few can walk such a fine line.”

Well, bitch believe it.

...

~Read More~

[theyoutubedork]

dealer with benefits

Eddie Munson x gn!reader blurb 18+ MDNI!

word count: hell if I know…

“I don’t usually give out free pre-rolls, but you’re no usual customer,” Eddie croons, his hands cradling the rolling paper with a fine-tuned finesse. He carefully brings up the paper to his lips. He sensually drags his tongue across the paper, his dark gaze trained on you. Your eyes can’t decide where to land, flitting between his stare and his tongue, both sending tingles all the way between your thighs. You don’t mean to bite your lip, but the smirk Eddie gave you mid-lick almost made it worth it. His lips curled up devilishly, and finally after what seemed like hours, he put that sinful tongue back in his mouth. You finally snap out of your trance, and you realize that you never responded to Eddie.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You prod, trying to give the most oblivious look you can give. Eddie sees right through it, chuckling under his breath. He takes a moment to finish rolling the joint, twisting his fingers to tie it off. He takes out his lighter, coats the joint with his mouth..and–oh. He flicks his eyes up to yours as he closes his lips around it, insanely hot for some reason. He then runs the lighter underneath it sealing it proper. He places it inside the plastic bag along with the other pre-rolls he had already made, and seals it expertly, with little air left in the bag.

Eddie leans back into his pillows, arms crossing behind his head. His toned arms flex slightly, and you cant help but get distracted for a moment. He looks at you smugly before finally clearing his throat to speak,

“You know exactly why, sweetheart,” Just the way the pet name falls from his lips makes your whole body shiver with excitement. You let a teasing smile pull on your lips.

“No I really don’t, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You grin, your tone dripping with a coquettish honey. You see Eddie chew on his lips for a moment. He utters a quiet “c’mere”, and you take the opportunity to crawl into his lap, straddling him. You feel his excitement between your thighs, and you playfully grind into him, feigning the appearance of you just trying to get comfortable. He places a hand on your hip in warning, using the other hand to grab your chin, bringing your face above his. Even on top of him, it’s hard to do anything but let Eddie take control. He just fits the role so well, you thought.

Eddie ghosts his lips over yours, his fingernails digging into the plush of your ass, jiggling it playfully for a moment before finally saying the words you’ve been wanting to hear.

“None of my customers turn me on like you do, pretty thing. Just from fuckin’ sitting there, doing nothing but starin’ at me like you wanna ruin me.” He growls, and you close the distance, finally having your lips meet.

Despite the aggressive hold Eddie has on you, the kiss is very soft and full of tenderness. As if words weren’t enough, it felt like he was pouring every single thought he had left into kissing you proper, to show that he likes that you’re the unusual customer. An unusual that somehow ended up on top of an unusual like him. You break the kiss after a few moments, placing your hands on his chest.

“You’re right, I do wanna fucking ruin you,” You admit, and Eddie laughs at your blunt tone. You couldn’t wait any longer, shimmying down his frame enough to where you can reach his belt, undoing it with an expert ease. Eddie doesn’t stop you, lifting his hips to help you bring his pants and boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free. It slaps against his stomach, and the impact is enough to make Eddie let out a small hiss of pleasure.

You have enough in you to pause and admire, your hands settled on the dips in his hips. 
“God, such a pretty cock. I’ve been wantin’ to suck on it all day.” You grin, laying your head playing on his thigh, looking up at his dick with a look full of wonder. Eddie lets out a annoyed groan, reaching one of his ring-cladded hands down to grab your hair. He pulls enough to bring your mouth above his cock, but giving you the courtesy of sucking him off when you were actually ready. His words slightly differ, a desperate growl, already breathless,

“Just shut up and suck my cock” You oblige, finally letting his shaft sink into your warm, wet mouth. You go slowly, all the way down to the base with no difficulty, and you hear Eddie’s sounds of approval.

“Shit, that’s it. You take my cock so well, sweetheart.”he whines, and you look up at him, your lips curling into as much of a smile you can give when Eddie’s cock is still in your mouth. You spread your legs apart and wiggle your ass in the air, and he grips your hair tighter. Unable to hold back, Eddie pushes you down a little further on his dick. You choke ever so slightly, your throat clenching around him in a way that makes him nearly cum right then and there.

“Fuck that’s it baby, you know how good you are, don’t you?” He groans deeply. You look up at him through your lashes and hum in agreement, and you Eddie shake from the pleasure. You quickly bob up and down his length, relishing the way the metalhead, crumbles underneath you. His head flops down onto the pillow beneath him, letting filthy pleas and curses fall from his pretty pink lips.

“God—fuck. You know just how to make me feel good..s’perfect.” He mumbles. Feeling pride fill your chest, you pop his cock out of your mouth, replacing it with your hand. You quickly jerk him off, letting your tongue glide on his balls eagerly. You feel him clench beneath you, his ankles slightly digging into the ratty matress. You can tell he won’t last long.

“Lemme know when you’re close Eds, want your cum down my throat so bad.” You plead, and Eddie can only give you a whimper and a nod. You start quickl stroking his sensitive tip, and you take one of his balls in your mouth and begin to suck, and nearly moemnts later Eddie is gasping for air.

“Fuck—sweetheart I’m—nngh! I’m cumming!” He cries and you quickly get your mouth back onto his cock. You feel the first few spurts of cum shoot onto your tongue, and you hum happily. Eddie has shot up, curling you into his lap, gripping your hair harshly as he cums into your mouth.You massgae his thighs reassuringly, as he tips his head back in ecstasy, letting sweet nothings float into the air,

“Take all of my cum baby, that’s it,” He encourages, his grip on your hair loosening, now petting your head softly as you finish cleaning him up with your mouth. You swallow every last drop, even looking up at Eddie with your tongue out as proof. He smiles, helping you settle into his lap once more, letting his hands circle around your waist.

“God, you are filthy,” He chuckles.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” You retort with a smile, fixing his hair absentmindey. He just smiles back as a response.

“Just for that, I’m going to make sure my good girl cums as many times as she wants tonight.” He whispers, finally giving you a deep kiss. You quickly retreat, slight worry lacing your features,

“You sure? Aren’t you tired?” Your eyes glance down to his softened length, but Eddie catches your chin making you look at him. His hand travels down to your throat, making you gasp when he gives a tight squeeze.

“Just get me a coke and one of your pre-rolls and I’ll be ready to go again in ten minutes.” He offers and you imediately spring up, stumbling to the kitchen to grab a coke, with Eddie’s laugh following you out the door into the kitchen.

[softblesses]

Part 3.

The rhythmic knock at the door meant only one thing… Mozzie had arrived to drop some essentials from Neal’s apartment off at the Burke residence. El went to the door, not surprised to greet a masked up Mozzie, who was holding a box of things in his hands. 

“I can’t stay for long,” he announced, walking in and taking one look at Neal. “You look terrible. Here’s your things!” He set the box down by the coffee table, before taking five, large steps back. 

“Thank you, Mozzie. Neal appreciates you coming.” El stepped in before Neal could retort back at the comment on his appearance, and goes to look through the box for him. She stopped as her hands grasped something, and opened up a glasses case. 

“Are these yours, Mozzie?” El asked, turning to see that their visitor was already lingering by the door. 

“Oh! You’ve unlocked another Neal secret! Good luck, see you when the plague passes!” He smiled, giving a wave, before opening the door and promptly leaving; all before Peter can even come back from where he’d been making more tea in the kitchen. 

Elizabeth just about managed to bid Mozzie ‘goodbye,’ before taking the glasses over to Neal. “Neal Caffrey wears glasses, huh?” She smiled, turning as her husband’s footsteps sounded behind her. 

“. . . You’re wearing your smart undercover disguise?” Peter hummed, carefully handing him his tea, “Did Mozzie rope you into something? El? Are they scheming? Sick people can’t scheme, y’know.”

“You don’t know everything about me, Peter Burke.” Neal muttered in a raspy voice — it sounded like he was about to lose any voice he had left. And, with that, he leaned against his cushion and closed his eyes. 

“That was uncomfortably ominous,” Peter muttered, before turning to kiss his wife. “I’ll see you soon, I’ll stop by the pharmacy and the store to get more supplies.”

“Okay, Hon. I’ll hold down the fort — me and Satch. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Later that day, after Peter had gotten back with supplies from the pharmacy, things seemed to settle a little. El was in the kitchen, making vegetable soup, and Peter was looking over case files at the table. Neal was propped up on the couch, holding the portable nebuliser to his face with one hand, and doodling in a notebook with the other. He seemed content, and the coughing fits had somewhat subsided since earlier on. Drawing helped calm him, gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the aches and pains or tickle in his throat. Peter was just thankful that he was staying put, and doing so quietly… Well, for the most part. 

‘hu—ggGKKch. . . kkcHew.’ Shortly followed by a small coughing fit. Peter looked over, with no doubt that Neal’s throat had taken a hit from that. 

Peter stood, momentarily going to the kitchen, before walking over to Neal. Now, he didn’t know how else to make him feel physically better; they’d made him tea, soup, gotten him an array of medicines. But, maybe he could make him feel a little more content, at least. Whenever Peter was sick, he’d watch old baseball games and wear comfortable clothing. He doubted Neal would like that very much, but it’s all he could think of. So, he took a seat beside Neal, watching as he moved his legs for him. 

“It’s alright, stretch out. May I?” He gestured to the remote, very much wanting to sanitize it before picking it up, but deciding not to offend Neal just yet. 

Neal was hesitant, but he stretched out his legs a little more, but eventually rested them atop of Peter’s thighs. He didn’t seem to mind. He nodded at the request for the remote — he’d barely been paying attention to the random show on the screen anyway. He placed the nebuliser mask back upon his face, and leaned back a little.  

“Is that helping?” The agent asked, turning to face him again. 

Neal nodded. Neal without a voice was much more unsettling than Peter thought it would be. “Good, good… do you need anything?” He asked next, still looking at him. 

A shake of his head this time. He hated not being able to talk, but after the amount of times he’d tried to in the past few hours and caused himself to cough, for once he was happy to stay quiet. He was grateful, at least, that Peter wasn’t teasing him about it anymore. It was only a moment until El brought in the tea Peter had requested she make for Neal — extra honey for his throat. He watched as the CI turned off the nebuliser, placed it down and took the tea. He tapped his chin afterwards with the tips of his fingers, before moving his hand towards her almost as if blowing a kiss, and Peter frowned. 

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” El smiled, glancing at her confused husband with a soft chuckle. “Sign language, hon. I had a client last year whose son was deaf — learned a little.” She walked back into the kitchen where soup was simmering away, leaving the pair together on the couch again. 

“Gonna put on a classic,” Peter assured, turning the TV onto a channel that primarily showed old baseball game reruns, delighted as he saw a personal favorite of his that they were just beginning.

“My classics and your classics are two different things,” Neal whispered, sipping at his tea. 

“Yeah, maybe. But give it a shot—maybe you’ll change your tune.”

He, in fact, did not change his tune in the slightest in the next 20 minutes, slumped over against the couch, bored out of his mind so much that it felt like his brain was melting.

“Okay, maybe this isn’t your kind of classic,” Peter admitted, receiving an exasperated eye roll in response to communicate the age-old sentiment of “ya think?” or perhaps even a “no shit, Sherlock.”

“Well… what do you usually binge when you’re sick?” 

That earned a small shrug from Neal. “I don’t,” he eventually whispered, surpassing a cough that was threatening to hurt his throat again. “I just… sleep.” He attempted to continue, but was quickly beaten by a fit of coughing. 

“Alright, no more talking — here.” Peter reached for the nebuliser, turning it on and holding it out for Neal. Maybe he needed to find him a notebook or something similar to write in whenever he had to talk, or he’d end up not being able to speak for days to come. 

Somehow, the coughing led to sneezing, and all Peter could do was awkwardly wait for him to be finished. It didn’t take a genius to see that he was miserable… nor would it need to take an FBI Agent and a very expert caretaker to realize either, because the look on the CI’s face was quite the sight as Peter held out a tissue box toward him. Neal nodded in thanks and blew his nose softly.

Poor guy. Peter got up and sifted through some drawers in his desk, until he returned with a simple, medium-sized navy blue notebook and a black ballpoint pen. “Want to try writing things down for a while since your throat’s too roughed up to talk?” he suggested, holding the items out to him.

Neal raised an eyebrow in hesitation, but relented since it did seem like the best solution and honestly sounded sort of fun anyways. After a few moments of writing, he turned the open page to Peter to show him the elegant, cursive calligraphy, lavished with grand swirls, that read: “[Sure.]”

“Drama king,” Peter scoffed with an amused huff.

Pen returned to paper and scratched softly against it, until a message in an even more intricate script was finished: “[Correct.]” He flashed his handler a winning smile—or, as that handler might interpret it, a shit-eating grin.

“Soup’s ready, Neal,” Elizabeth announced as she brought the meal from the kitchen and set it down on the coffee table, “try to eat as much as you can stomach, okay? Some nutrients and fluids will be good for you.”

Perking up immediately, since her cooking was frankly phenomenal, Neal put his notebook aside for a moment to try a few spoonfuls, savoring the tides of flavors. Then, he wrote, “[Delicious as always, El. You’re the best.]” The notebook was set on the table once more so his hands were free to form a heart. El returned both the gesture and the smile.

“You’re still flipping through channels, Hon?” Elizabeth asked, glancing over at the TV.

“Yeah, well, Neal’s not really a baseball guy—” Peter began.

“Ooh, shocking,” she teased fondly.

“Hey, to me, it is,” he defended, matching her playful tone. “But, yeah, I think we’re both kinda stumped about what to put on.”

“Ooh, let’s seeeee…” Elizabeth hummed, drumming her fingers against the counter in thought. “Oh, how about something like The Princess Bride? I feel like you’d like that movie, Neal.”

“[Haven’t seen that in a while. Sounds good!]” Neal wrote after mulling it over for a moment.

“Works for me,” Peter chimed in, hands raised slightly in surrender as the other two turned their gazes towards him for confirmation.

“Sounds like a plan then,” El announced, starting to search up the movie on the TV.

It was a rather peaceful, cozy atmosphere: hot homemade soup, warm tea with honey, a comfortable couch with a soft blanket, caring friends, and a nice little fantasy comedy with a compelling romance. Their small little corner of the world was only interrupted by the buzzing of a phone, soon followed by Peter having to stand and take the call. Neal’s frown clearly stated that he had indeed ruined that cozy atmosphere they had going on. 

“How’re you feeling, Neal?” El asked gently, ruffling his hair a little as she came to sit down next to him on the couch.

“Lil—” Neal rasped quietly, clearing his throat and coughing wetly a few times into his fist. “Lil better.”

“You don’t really sound it,” she chuckled, “but I’m glad to hear it!”

“I thingk the—” he tried to continue, but his poor voice gave out again, breaking pitifully. After coughing again, he wrote, “[Warm soup & steam’s helping w/ congestion & throat.]”

“Mission accomplished then,” she hummed contentedly. 

“Hh-hehh…”

“Aw, bless!” Elizabeth chirped preemptively.

“Hihhh… hehh!! Hhhihhh! Ihdktschhhhiew!!” After a few seconds of being teased by the sensation waxing and waning, he was able to sneeze—and quite dramatically, to be frank. Not only did it send him doubling over into an open tissue held in both hands, but that sudden motion was enough to knock his glasses off of his face aaaand into his bowl of soup below. Oops. Hearing the clink! and splish! sounds of glasses frame meeting ceramic and homemade soup splashing, he kept his eyes shut for a moment, too embarrassed to meet Elizabeth’s gaze.

“Are you okay?” El giggled.

“Depends,” Neal replied hoarsely, clearing his throat twice and writing down, “[Physically?]” followed by a checkmark. Underneath, he wrote “[My pride?]” followed by an ‘x’ that was then underlined at least five times.

“Awww, it’s okay, dear. Silly moments like this happen sometimes! One of my first events I worked at, I managed to knock over an entire champagne tower. Only reason I didn’t get fired was because it’s Burke Events.”

Neal’s demeanor relaxed and softened, an amused glint in his eyes. “[That definitely sounds like a memorable experience.]”

“Trust me, it was,” El confirmed. “I don’t think I’ll forget it for the rest of my life, though that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I learned to be very vigilant of the physical space at an event. There’s a lot of things that are breathtakingly beautiful, but also very fragile.”

Neal nodded back at her, scrawling something down on the paper. “[Like art!]” he turned the notebook around, just as Peter re-entered the living room, pocketing his cellphone as he did so. 

“Like the art you steal, y’mean?” He questioned jokingly, waiting for Neal to reply with… “[Allegedly.]” 

“That was Diana — there’s been a development in the case,” he explained, taking a seat inbetween Neal and Elizabeth. Neal nudged him with his elbow. 

“And, they need you back at the office?” Elizabeth guessed, from how her husband was acting hesitant all of a sudden. 

He nodded, scratching at the back of his neck; a sheepish sort of guilty look on his face. 

“It’s okay, go get dressed; I’m fine down here.” She smiled, gesturing towards Neal. 

“Fine. But, I’ll try make it quick. I’m sure they can continue without me after and —“

Neal finished scrawling something down, and held it up so that Peter could see. [go get the bad guys. Elizabeth is better in the doctor compartment. No offence. :-)’

His handler chuckled at that, moving to stand. “None taken… you’re right.” He leaned to kiss El’s forehead, before making his way towards the stairs and up to their bedroom. 

•••

“Honey, we’ll be fine. Go. Or you’ll burn a hole in the floor from pacing so much.” Elizabeth stood from her place on the couch, and walked over to her husband. 

“Are y’sure? I can work from here — I can ask Diana to bring some files and —“

“Peter, please go,” a scratchy tone came from underneath the little blanket pile that was Neal Caffrey. “You’re doing the over worrying thing.” 

El reached up on her tiptoes to kiss her husband on the forehead, before straightening up his tie. “We’ll be fine, I promise. I have some work to do, and I’m sure Neal has some napping to do, too.” She chuckled slightly, envisioning the frown from behind her right now. 

“Alright,” Peter eventually muttered, shuffling his feet and fidgeting slightly with his hands. “If you’re sure.” He leans to kiss Elizabeth on the cheek, and then once on the lips just for good measure. 

“I love you,”

“I love you too,” she hummed. “Now, go. Before we make you watch sappy romcoms on TV.” Elizabeth grinned as he kissed her, and made his way to the door. 

She turned to Neal afterward, a hand upon her hip, “I hope that’s okay with you — I mean, you can’t really beat them when you’re sick.” A frown crossed her features as she noticed him rubbing his temples, before trying to sniffle. He sounded uncomfortably stuffed up. 

“Hey, how about I steam the bathroom for you first? You can have a bath, if you want. I’ll set you out some clean clothes.. might help your voice feel even better, but I still don’t think you should talk too much.”

He smiled up at her, giving a small nod. She was right — it would probably help his voice, his throat and his sinuses. And, god knows he needed that right now. 

•••

Elizabeth stood outside of the bathroom door, the sound of the water from the bath she’d drawn up for Neal almost an hour ago finally rinsing away. “You okay, in there?” She called softly, waiting for a moment and busying herself with putting away some laundry whilst Neal blew his nose. 

Upon returning, a freshly bathed Neal wearing Peter’s plaid pyjamas (the ones he’s forced to wear at Christmas with her family, usually) was standing in the doorway before her. 

“Oh, good,” El hummed with a small smile, “I was starting to get a little worried about you.”

“‘Starting to?’” Neal teased, giving her a doubtful yet amused look; both Burkes had been watching over him like mother hens since the moment he first got fairly sick. “Yeah, I’m good, I just was enjoying the…” He trailed off as a prickling sensation in his sinuses caused his eyes to unfocus and his breath to stutter in his chest. After a hesitant sniffle, the feeling intensified and sent him pitching forward into his—or, well, Peter’s—sleeve. “Hihhh… hhKTSCHH!”

“Bless you!”

“Ugh, thanks,” Neal replied, still sniffling a bit. “But, yeah, I was enjoying the steam. It really helps to loosen everything up a bit,” he continued with a sheepish gesture to his face.

“Oh, I can tell, sweetie,” Elizabeth dismissed with a slight chuckle. “Happy to hear it though. Your voice sounds a little better too!”

“It’s… audible at least,” Neal decided hesitantly, only half in agreement, with an amused huff.

“C’mon downstairs, and I’ll get you some DayQuil and a fresh box of tissues. I think you might be needing both.” She smiled, gesturing for him to lead the way. 

It took almost an hour for the DayQuil to set in, and by now Neal was sat with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders on the couch; his eyes half closed, and the tickle in his nose by no means extinguished. In fact, it might’ve even gotten worse. 

The sound of a liquid sniffle came, before he managed to untangle his arm from the blanket just in time to (a little haphazardly) cover his face with his sleeve again. 

“HhHh’tTshhOo! … nghhhh. Snfff.”

“Bless you,” El murmured softly beside him, her gaze concentrated on the notebook she’d been hitting things down in for the past twenty minutes or so. 

She glanced up for a moment, a sympathetic crease in her brow. “You okay, honey?” El hummed, putting her notebook down for a moment, to reach over and feel his forehead — he looked a little flushed, and was clinging to the blanket a little harder than earlier. 

“Yeah, m’just… cold,” Neal mumbled under his breath, a shiver running down his spine as if to validate his words.

“No, you’re pretty warm,” Elizabeth corrected gently. “Fever probably went up again.”

“I think you’re right…”

“When aren’t I?” she joked with a slight shrug.

“… Y’know, I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Neal replied with a grin. Jokes aside, there honestly weren’t many examples that could come to mind, which was impressive. To be fair, his mind was somewhat foggy with fever, but still. Impressive.

“Are you up for checking in on that temperature of yours again?” she offered, already standing up. Receiving a nod in confirmation, she left to grab the thermometer.

A couple of minutes later, she returned, hearing a few coughs from the other room on her way back. “Here,” she hummed, holding out the thermometer.

Neal took it with a slightly shaking hand, tucking the metallic end underneath his tongue.

“Oh, Neal… you’re shaking,” Elizabeth fretted as he shivered again. She reached out to steady his hand with her own, murmuring a soft, “Here, give me.”

Neal only sniffled and let her take the thermometer, glad to be able to envelop himself more fully in his fluffy blanket. Then, more sniffles followed as that passive irritation that had been lingering near constantly in the upper reaches of his nasal passages began to burn a little more actively, like tinder catching a spark. He scrunched up his nose against the brewing itch, but that only seemed to fan the flame. 

“Ihhhh…?”

“Awh, do you have to sneeze again?” El asked with a slight chuckle. The only response she received was a dazed nod and another ticklish stutter of breath. “Do you want me to take the thermometer out for a sec?” She hesitated to believe him when he shook his head, since the way he pressed his knuckles firmly up against his reddened nostrils was not exactly very convincing. Nevertheless, she relented. 

Every second felt practically like a full minute to Neal, his poor sinuses aching with need. He blinked against the sensation, irritated tears welling in his crystal blue eyes.

“Should be almost done, Neal,” Elizabeth reassured, a small smile of amusement still tugging at the corner of her lips. “Let me know if you need me to take it out. It’s really no trouble.”

Stubbornly, Neal shook his head again in dismissal despite the way his eyebrows drew together in a twitchy sort of unsteadiness. Even though his damp eyelashes fluttered shut, he switched to pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger in, frankly, foolish hopes of quelling the prickling tickles that ravaged it.

“Allllllmost there. Should be any second now,” Elizabeth reminded.

Unfortunately, Neal had run out of seconds to spare, and his flu-ridden nostrils flared impatiently, refusing to keep teetering on the precipice any longer. Regardless of his best attempts to keep his poor nose in check, that extraordinarily fragile semblance of control he had barely managed to hold over himself shattered. He sucked in a small, shaky gasp and any pretense of being able to delay the reflex any longer went out the window.

“H-hiehh—! HH’gkkt!” Well, at least he managed to stifle that one quite effectively. He tightened his grip on his nose to prepare for the next sneeze he could feel following close behind. Once the dam was broken, it was nigh impossible to stop the flood.

“Oh, bless you,” Elizabeth offered with sugary sympathy dripping from her voice. 

Neal nodded in thanks before his features crumbled once more. “Ihh’kXXT!” While he succeeded in containing that sneeze as well—unsatisfying, to say the least, doing nothing to alleviate his discomfort—he had a bad feeling that his body wouldn’t allow him to do so again, rebelling against him in search of the much-needed relief he had been denying it. “… Hh… mhhh… hhgk—!” He tried to suppress the risky breaths that his lungs shuddered with, but they grew awfully desperate, and he couldn’t help but—

Beep!

Oh, thank fucking God. Neal’s nose took the beep of the thermometer as permission to let loose entirely, forcing him to suck in an urgent, shivering breath and pitch forward with a fit of overwhelming sneezes. “HehHhHHT—! EHHDKTSHh’uhh!!”

The sudden jerk of movement downwards was more than enough to knock the thermometer out of Elizabeth’s hand and onto his lap. In fact, now that he was sneezing unrestrained—whether he liked it or not—said hand was not safe from being misted slightly with the faint spray that escaped him. Luckily, he was able to bury his face into the crook of his arm before the vast majority of his fit over took him.

“Hah-aahdtschhh! Shit, I’m so s—IHDTSCHhh! —kDTSH! —ihpstch! —ihdtsch! So sorry, I-I—huhhh’KDTSCHhh!”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize,” El insisted gently, a little surprised but mostly unfazed—she had a feeling this might happen. She placed the thermometer down on the table so it wouldn’t end up falling off his lap onto the floor. “You didn’t mean to. Just let it out, sweetie.”

“S-stihhhll—” Neal tried to protest, heart sinking in embarrassment and guilt. “Eihh’kHPTSCH! —IHTSCH! —tschh’ah! Ohgod— EHptschhh’huu!”

“Bless, my goodness. Making up for lost time, I see,” Elizabeth teased.

“Ahh-hahhpparently— IHHGKTSCHh! Ugh… h-huhh… hiiih…! EH’kDTSCHhh!!… Nguhhh…” Sniffling thickly in the aftermath, Neal plucked several tissues—only one would be nowhere near enough—and blew his nose into them.

“Bless you. You okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, m’fine, sndff. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.”

“What’s it say?” Neal asked, still tending to his running nose.

“102.3,” Elizabeth announced, worry clear in her voice. “No wonder you’ve been feeling so cold.”

“Yeahh, that sounds about right,” Neal sighed with a clear of his throat. He wrapped himself up more thoroughly in the blanket once more now that he had stopped sneezing.

“Just rest for now and take it easy. You’re gonna feel better soon,” El assured with a click of her tongue.

After a little while, Neal’s eyes were finally beginning to grow heavy with the warmth of the blanket over his body, the TV playing an old crime drama on a low volume, and the scratch of El’s pen on paper as she jotted down notes for work. He was almost asleep… in fact, he’d love to be asleep right now. But, his body had other ideas, clearly. 

“Hhih’tschhh! —Ihdtschh! —kTSCHH!” He just about managed to haphazardly cover into what may have been his arm… or the blanket. Or both? He just wanted a nap. 

“Bless yoooh-hh-hih!” Elizabeth trailed off into sudden, soft hitches, before ducking forward into cupped hands with a sneeze of her own. “Ih’tschieww!” She blinked in surprise and rubbed at her nose to rid it of any residual tickles. “… And me too, apparently,” she joked with a small chuckle.

“Oh, I’m… sorry. You catchin’ this too?” Neal asked with a guilty pout and concern glittering in his eyes.

“No, no, I feel fine, sweetie,” El reassured, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes other people sneezing just tricks my body into joining in, I guess. Trust me, I know how it feels when that happens.”

“Mmmm… okay, if you’re sure,” Neal conceded hesitantly, still looking her over with a wary gaze in case somehow it would reveal her health. “That’s a fun party trick,” he teased with a playful grin.

“Not really,” she giggled, “it’s just a weird thing that happens sometimes.”

“Should I try to not trigger it or…?”

“Oh, no, it’s not a big deal, Neal. It’s just a sneeze here or there, maybe two. It’s nothing to worry about, I promise.”

“Okay. But you’ll tell me if you do start feeling sick though, right?” Neal’s brow was still furrowed, which was shortly followed by a scrunch of his nose; he could already feel his own tickle starting to return, and no matter how much he scrunched or willed it to leave him alone… swiped his knuckles underneath his nose, and sniffled? It just wasn’t going to work. 

“Of course.” Elizabeth’s audible promise drew him out of focusing on his temporary plight, but the lapse in concentration was apparently all his nose needed to act. 

“Hehh! Hihhh’ktschhh!—eh’tISCHH!”

“Hihhh…”

“Hedt’kschhh!”

“Ishhhiew!”

“‘M sorry.” Neal’s voice was muffled by the tissue held as firmly against his nose as his fatigued self could manage, and his watery eyes were also full of guilt. 

“Honey, I told you it’s completely fine. I’m completely fine. Here, look—” With that, she grabbed the thermometer and placed it under her tongue, folding her arms and fixing Neal with an intent look to verify that he was watching her be proven right.

“S-sorry, I think I got one or two more left in m-me,” Neal warned as his head tipped back slightly and his eyelashes fluttered shut once more before his lips parted with a wavering breath. “Hhihh—! Ihdktschh!… Hhkt’tshhh!… Ugh, there we go.” Sniffling, he looked back at her and froze when he saw what she was doing.

After a second or two passed, the thermometer beeped, and Elizabeth brought it up to her eyes to inspect. “Yeah, see? 98.5°! Hell, that’s even a tenth of a degree less than average. I have a negative fever, if anything.”

“El…” Neal sighed simply with a knowing, sympathetic pout etched into his features.

“Hm?” El hummed before her smile drained from her face.  “Oh… I… didn’t clean this…” El murmured slowly through a wincing grimace.

“Nope.”

“… After you used it…”

“Nope.”

“… Did I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“… Well… shit.”

“Yeahhh,” Neal confirmed with a hissing inhale through his teeth and a few small nods.

“I’ll be right back,” Elizabeth muttered quickly before bolting out of the room without another word.

“Where are y—?” Neal tried to call after her, realizing halfway through that he wouldn’t get a response and giving up. “Okay, never mind, I guess,” he mumbled under his breath, resigning himself to wait for her to return.

His confused frown only deepened as he heard the thundering thuds of footsteps sprinting up the stairs and across the room above him. Then… the sound of a sink running briefly?

Although he wanted to keep listening for signs of what she ran off to do, his attention was demanded elsewhere as his lungs informed him rather cruelly that they didn’t exactly appreciate all the energy-consuming sneezing fits he had, unraveling him into a seemingly never-ending string of coughs so intense that he had to use the nebulizer again.

Ever the punctual man, Peter managed to arrive home with perfectly terrible timing, opening the door to find Neal alternating between hacking his lungs out and taking hits from his nebulizer. A concerned pout flooded his features as he shut the door behind him. Before he could even say anything or move to sit next to his partner in crime(-stopping), his partner in life came hastily running to the top of the stairs holding a bottle of mouthwash with a panicked look on her face.

“Oh, honey, you’re back!” Elizabeth exclaimed, a little out-of-breath. “You got it handled in here with Neal?” she asked.

“Uh, I… guess so?” Peter faltered in confusion.

“Great! I’ll join you guys soon,” she promised, immediately followed by taking a swig of mouthwash that she swished back and forth in her mouth as she ran back out of view, assumedly to spit it out in the bathroom sink.

“… What the fuck happened while I was gone?” Peter asked, almost unsure if he wanted to know the answer. Regardless, he sat down next to Neal on the couch and rubbed soothing circles into his CI’s back as the poor guy struggled to stop coughing.

Once he finally caught his breath, Neal clarified, “It’s fine, just, um. Elizabeth wanted to prove that she wasn’t sick, so she took her temperature with the thermometer I just used. Didn’t realize for a second, trying to disinfect her mouth now I guess.”

Honestly, not the answer he was expecting… although, Peter wasn’t really sure what he was expecting. But, he did know that Neal’s breathing sounded a lot more uncomfortable after that coughing fit, and he was worried about him. Again. 

“Hey, maybe you should use this for a little longer. Don’t give me that look, you sound like you smoke cigarettes on the daily, Neal.” Peter muttered, still holding out the nebuliser towards him, before his attention was momentarily diverted to his wife coming back down the stairs. 

“Sorry about that,” she chuckled sheepishly. “How’d working on the case go? Everything okay?”

“We made some plans, put out some hooks and bait. Just gotta wait and see if we get a bite.”

She turned to Neal after that, a sympathetic pout worn on her face. “Hey, Sneezy.” El teased a little, earning a smile from behind the nebuliser mask. 

“Hi, Sneezy by proxy.” He mumbled, voice a little shot from all that had been happening. 

“Touché,” El hummed with a chuckle, sitting next to her husband on the couch. “I’ll go look for the cough syrup for you… and, prep soup for dinner. Why don’t you lie down, sweetie?”

“I’m good, I’ve been sleeping 12 hours a day or more lately, I really don’t think I need to…” Neal trailed off with an ill-timed yawn into his hand that he couldn’t quite fend off. Before either Burke could comment on it, which they seemed damn ready to based on the way they were trying to pretend that they weren’t grinning or snickering a little, he backpedaled, albeit with an accusatory finger pointed at Elizabeth preemptively. “All right, fine, I’ll lay down for a little bit after downing some cough syrup. But you better wake me for dinner, okay?”

“Oookay, okay. You got it,” El chuckled, putting her hands up in mock surrender. As Neal started coughing and wheezing a bit more heavily again, her smile drained into a sympathetic frown. “Keep that thing on at least until we get that cough syrup in you, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Neal sighed, placing the nebuliser back up to his mouth and pausing for a moment… leaning against Peter’s shoulder with a small huff. Peter wrapped an arm around him, giving his shoulder a little pat. 

“Neal, you gotta sit up for me. Cough syrup!” Elizabeth turned the bottle to read the label. “It’s cherry flavour. Is that okay?”

“I guess,” he murmured, removing the nebuliser and switching it off, making himself sit with a grunt of effort. 

Elizabeth poured some into the cap, carefully handing it to him… only for Neal to just, wordlessly hand it back again. 

“I’m fine, actually. I think I’ll stick with this.” He held up the nebuliser, scrunching his nose at the liquid medicine. Liquid medicine is the worst. 

Peter turned to Neal, thinking for a moment. “I’ll take you to any art museum in the city, even if it’s outside your radius. If — if you take any meds El brings you.”

The offer was clearly too good to even try and negotiate with, as Neal reached for the medicine cap and downed it in one… trying hard not to gag afterwards. He fell sideways after that, landing against Peter’s side with a soft ‘oof’ as the older man steadied him, wrapping an arm around his side. 

It wasn’t surprising to either El or Peter that Neal fell asleep shortly afterwards; his congested snores background noise, as the couple quietly whispered conversation together about what to do next.

What Safe Feels Like.

This fic has been a long time in the making! I have partnered with the talented bean, @rosieknows to create a lovely W/hite Co/llar, N/eal C/affrey centric fic for the winter season <3. The events that take place consist of our favourite conman getting lots of tender care at the B/urke's residence.

Part 1.

Word Count: Just under 5k.

CW: illness, snz (duh), contagion, a little later on in the fic. A tiny bit of mess, medical talk/topics.

Don't reblog to non-kink blogs. 18+ only, thank you! <33

Earlier in the week, Peter Burke had told Neal Caffrey to start wearing a coat outdoors — “weather’s changing,” he’d said, “you’ll catch a cold!” And, obviously, Neal had informed him that fact was merely a myth. Besides, the autumn sun was still shining two days ago and he was only walking a short way to the coffee shop and back. How bad could it really be…?

Perhaps the universe picked favourites that day, and, for once, Neal’s charm couldn’t save him. It could have been much worse, certainly, but as much as Neal tried to focus his mind on that belief, he couldn’t quite get himself to fully deny that it was very, very bad. 

It was as if the second he’d gotten far enough away from the bureau, the heavens had opened above him and soaked him from head to toe before he’d even arrived at the coffee shop door. Which, by the way, was closed for the first time ever. And, so, Neal had to hurry across the street to another. The icing on top of the cake, though, was the taxi that drove through a puddle and splashed him when he finally reached the other side. 

To say Peter got amusement out of all of this later on would’ve been an understatement. 

Neal had been forced to wear some ancient-looking FBI training clothes for the rest of the day, and the scowl on his face didn’t falter for quite some time. He had eventually dried off and warmed up — Peter even started to feel a little bad, and gave him his suit jacket as a blanket at one point. When the day ended, the sun was shining and Neal felt right as rain again. Although, the same couldn’t be said for the morning two days later.

The first sensation that struck him was how utterly cold he felt, even wrapped up in his own bed and blankets, which he sleepily pulled tighter around himself. Perhaps the fickle autumn weather had turned for the worse during the night as it was so prone to do. The next feeling he was able to process was pure weariness like gravity had decided to be particularly insistent that his limbs stay firmly on the bed and lashed out in punishment when they did attempt to move. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well or had worked himself harder the previous day than he realized.

The third — or, well, the third, fourth, fifth, and so on for quite a few — sensations Neal felt were the nail in the proverbial coffin. An urgent, almost burning tickle budded in his upper sinuses, causing him to blink in irritation. Soon enough, the itch found its way to spread through the entire reaches of his nose. His eyebrows knitted together in slants, his breath caught in his throat, and his soft lips fell open before —

“Hihh! Hehhdtschh’uh! Hahh… hiht-ktschhh—tschhh!… Ugh, god,” he sneezed, ducking forward sleepily into his blanket since he had neither the time nor alertness to cover with anything else. Sighing in a mixture of relief and dread, he came to the conclusion that he was likely getting sick. Maybe if he was tired enough, felt cold enough, and pouted long enough, the cold would just take pity on him and leave. Unfortunately, to no one’s surprise, he still felt sick, which meant it was time for Plan B: work through it because it was a busy week and hope it didn’t get any worse. And, most importantly, hide it from Peter. 

The warm shower seemed to help a little, but it didn’t take long for the aches to start creeping back in and for his sinuses to grow irritated again. Once he was dressed, with his hair styled and shoes tied. . . Neal was ready. Ready as he’d ever be, at least. Besides, he felt fine, for the most part. Downing some water should help his throat, and a couple of Tylenol should stave off the headache that he could feel brewing behind his eyes. Peter should be here any minute to pick him up, and Neal placed his hat — one of his favourites, both for comfort and in the hopes that looking well-dressed or put together enough would dissuade any suspicion — upon his head with a sigh. He can do this. 

“Morning, Neal,” Peter greeted in his usual tone, toying with the heating in the car. “‘S cold out. I told you the seasons were changing!”

“Morning,” Neal muttered, climbing into the car and buckling up. “Y’know, you really missed your true calling as a weather boy.”

“That’s funny,” Peter remarked back, beginning to drive now. “But, I think my assets are best settled within the FBI. Criminals are more predictable than the weather if you know what you’re doing.” He chuckled to himself. 

Neal stared out of the window at the passing cars and orange and yellow leaves on the trees that rolled by. He was still tired and quieter than usual, Peter noted mentally, watching him unbeknownst to the criminal consultant himself, who was still focused on their outdoor surroundings. He gave a slow blink, directing his attention to the heating that was uncomfortably too warm all of a sudden. Pushing the vent closed, he glanced sideways. 

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just quiet, that’s all. Quiet usually means up to something.”

“I can be quiet. It’s early. I thought you liked quiet, anyway,” Neal retorted, shifting slightly in his seat. He couldn’t get comfortable despite moving, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

The rest of the journey was left without questions, and they made it to the parking garage without any more issues. Neal got out of the car, rubbing at his nose whilst Peter couldn’t see him. He paused. This really wasn’t the time, but he’d have to play it off somehow because this discomfort wasn’t going to let up. Reaching down for the leg of his trousers, Neal stifled a well-silenced sneeze.

“Are you coming?” Peter called out, and as Neal raised his head again, he sniffled. 

“Patience is a virtue, Peter! My anklet was stuck in my trouser leg. Appearance matters, you know.” 

“Everyone here knows you’ve got the ankle jewellery, Caffrey. I’m sure you wouldn’t cause mass hysteria with a flash of your leg.”

“You’d be surprised,” Neal grinned mischievously, keeping up with Peter as they made their way toward the elevator. 

The agent only rolled his eyes in response and pressed the button for the elevator, still none the wiser. For now. Neal had let Peter step in first, scrunching up his nose behind him, and then —  somehow and with great difficulty — he managed to resist the urge to sniffle the entire way up to their floor. When the elevator dinged to a stop and Neal exited it, he was immediately hit by everything all at once: the brightness of the lighting, the overlap of voices, and the general sounds of the morning bustle. Usually, it was like white noise to him, but today it hurt his head, and the lighting did nothing to relieve the itch in his sinuses.

He pressed his wrist against his nose, haphazardly managing to prevent another sneeze before he followed quickly behind Peter. “I’ll be right there! Just grabbing something from my desk,” Neal called across the bullpen, ducking down behind his desk as if he were looking for something. 

But, instead. . . “Hh—ushcht!” He buried his face into the crook of his elbow, frozen for a moment longer. “Hheh—htchht!”  Followed by a series of long sniffles.

“Lost something, Caffrey?” Diana’s voice interrupted his small recovery period, and Neal flinched so hard in surprise that he bumped his head underneath his desk with a small thud. Damn it. He paused for just a second before swiping a pen from his pocket. Then, he stood up straight again, flashing the pen in her general direction, with a scowl crossing his features. 

“Dropped my pen. Not a crime, last time I checked,” he muttered, placing it safely back into his pocket. After straightening his hat, Neal moved past her to get to the conference room. 

Peter looked up at the sound of footsteps and silently wondered what Diana had said to the CI to make him look so disgruntled. “Nice of you to finally join us,” he dared to jest, waiting for Neal and Diana to sit before starting his talk for the day; they had to find a new case, as well as complete the paperwork from their last one. Of course, Neal wasn’t exactly amused by the briefing topic. Yet, he didn’t seem to audibly complain for nearly as long as he usually did. Huh. 

Neal simply took the selection of case files that Peter slid towards him across the tabletop and found the one that he had to finish up. He opened the file slowly, tapping his pen against his forehead. He stared at the page for so long that he barely noticed Peter watching him from across the room. 

“Neal. . . You good?” His voice snapped the CI from his daze, who was quick to shake himself out of it and flash a signature smile the agent’s way. 

“Always. You know how much I love paperwork!” Neal responded, sarcasm evident in his tone. 

“Wonderful, you’ll have plenty to enjoy,” Peter retorted with a dry smirk, placing another file in front of his partner. “Focus up; we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“How do you sound so happy when you say that?” the younger man groaned, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.

Still, focusing was easier said than done in this situation. Despite his best attempt at listening attentively, his mind felt fuzzy. Additionally, his nose still itched, causing him to scrunch it up slightly. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand in what he hoped was a casual gesture. Unfortunately, the touch seemed to be ineffective at best and intensifying at worst. Either way, he quickly tipped past the point of no return and crumbled forward into his fist with a sneeze, stifled into near silence as usual.

“Hihh—kKTtsh!” After a few blinks, he dared to peek at his coworkers’ reactions, hoping that the others had been as distracted as he was himself. For a moment, he thought he was lucky enough.

“Bless you, Caffrey,” rang a deep, feminine voice. Damn it. Diana was perceptive even in the most hectic of times, so it was only natural that she would notice a disturbance — slight as it was — during a particularly slow and dull meeting.

“Thanks,” Neal muttered softly, if a bit shyly. He saw Peter’s gaze flick to Diana and back at him. Clearing his throat, he examined the documents in front of him intently to prompt the continuation of the meeting.

Peter continued to talk about the writing they had to do, but Neal stopped listening some time ago and was mostly focused on trying not to sneeze again. He glanced at his handler every now and then to keep up the facade that he was listening, and turned a few pages of the file in front of him. As soon as Peter had finished talking and a small hubbub started up, Neal saw his chance, standing up and using the file as a shield to hide his face. 

‘HnnKxt. . Heh’ngxt.’  Well, at least he’d gotten away with that one. 

He even almost made it to the door without anyone saying anything about it until Peter spoke up from behind him. “You going somewhere?” He questioned, and Neal stopped. So close. 

“To my desk…?” Neal replied, thankful for the fact that his voice barely sounded congested for the moment. “You can’t deny that I’ll get distracted in here.”

Peter frowned slightly before nodding. “Alright, but don’t try and get out of this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Neal murmured, hurrying to his desk; his nose was beginning to run, and he didn’t exactly want anyone to witness that. He pressed his silk handkerchief to his nose after sitting down, keeping his head held low and sniffling quietly. He went to the men’s room a minute later, waiting until it was empty so that he could blow his nose and splash some cold water on his face. This was going to be a damn long day. 

He kept a low profile for as long as possible, dismissing Peter’s questions when he’d come over to see how he was doing and sneaking off to the men’s room whenever he could; by lunchtime, the congestion was worsening, and he had to keep sniffling to stop his nose from running too much. He barely even noticed Diana wandering over. 

“Caffrey?” Her voice made him flinch slightly in surprise, but he managed to pull it off as a stretching motion. 

Neal glanced up, blinking a few times. “Hm?”

“You’ve usually begged Peter five times to go on a coffee run by now… it’s already lunchtime.” Her eyebrows raised. “What gives?”

The CI shrugged, turning back to his papers and picking up his pen. He’d barely done anything yet, but he needed to keep up appearances. 

“So, are you gonna go get some?”

“Huh?” Neal just really wanted her to go away because he wasn’t really listening, and his head was starting to ache. 

“The coffee — Neal, are you okay?”

He plastered on a signature smile, hopping up to his feet. “I’m just messing with you, Diana. The usual drinks?” Neal asked, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair. 

He made his way to the doors, turning when Diana called his name again. “Caffrey, do you want a sandwich? From that place down the block? Jones is buying!” 

“No, thanks! I’ll get something at the coffee place.” Neal called back, only somewhat lying. He was getting something, and that something was coffee. Or maybe tea, actually. 

•••

He was gone for slightly longer than usual, but nobody was going to question it. Neal ensured it didn’t take too long, however, or Peter would start to get antsy and probably call or text him a few times. He got everyone’s drinks and opted for green tea for himself — he could feel the buzzing in his sinuses worsening, not to mention the congestion was starting to properly settle in and clog up his nose now. Going outside hadn't exactly made it any better, either, and he was sniffling in the elevator the entire way up. 

He carried the drinks into the conference room, setting them down on the table and exhaling slowly through his mouth as he stepped away.  Nobody seemed to pay much attention to him — they were all busy eating their food, and Neal had to stop himself from audibly gagging. Did he really feel that bad all of a sudden? His hand reached forward to grab his cup whilst everyone else began helping themselves to their drinks. It wasn’t until he took a sip that he realised he hadn’t taken his own cup at all, and from Peter’s confused expression, he’d gotten the tea. 

“Neal…” his voice started, and the CI wasn’t quite sure what would come next, so he butted in with a quick, haphazard excuse. 

“Hey! You said it yourself, the weather’s changing. Tea will do you good.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the little white lie seemed to satisfy him for now, and everyone got back to what they were doing. To keep up appearances, he sipped the coffee for a while, trying to ignore the way it made his stomach turn. After around five minutes, he snuck out of the door and headed back to sit at his desk; if anyone were to question it, he’d make up the same excuse about needing to concentrate. The coffee was thrown into the trash the second he sat down, and a heavy sigh came afterwards. 

•••

“God damn it,” Peter grumbled under his breath as he looked around the office. “Diana, Jones, have you seen Caffrey anywhere? It doesn’t look like he’s even so much as glanced at any of his work today.”

“Not in a while, no,” Jones answered, looking behind him to verify the absence, though if the CI had simply been standing in the middle of that open hallway, he probably would have been noticed by now. “He seemed kind of tired, though. Maybe he went home early?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Something feels off. I don’t think he’s just slacking off again,” Peter dismissed, forehead wrinkled in those signature frown lines and lips pressed firmly together in a mixture of concern and disapproval.

“Peter, your blood pressure’s high enough as it is,” Diana deadpanned, earning an offended head tilt from the man in question. “Go back to what you were doing; I’ll find your missing dog,” she reassured, already standing up without waiting for a response.

“I… all right. Thanks, let me know if you find him,” Peter relented.

“You gonna put up fliers?” Jones joked with an entertained smirk as he watched Diana beginning to leave.

“Nah, not yet. If I don’t see him, I think I’ll start with treats to draw him out. Maybe a nice Bordeaux,” she quipped in turn with a thoughtful expression. The clicks of her heels against the firm carpet seemed to echo more than usual as if the room felt emptier and quieter somehow. Though she tried to play it off, she had to admit to herself that she was worried; she’d felt that sour twist in her gut far too many times in her work and personal life to ignore it. She hoped he was all right, particularly since he wasn’t responding to texts or calls, and that she’d be able to find him soon if not.

It took less than 15 minutes, not due to any detective skills as an FBI agent either. While the office was large, it didn’t really take long to traverse, especially if you were familiar with it enough to avoid getting lost. Besides, the floor plan was quite open, and the majority of rooms had large glass panel windows, so they were easy to check. It was an older conference room, though, one without any indoor-facing windows or glass doors, where she found him.

“You good, Caffrey?” Diana asked, the light from the open door illuminating the scene before her just enough to see the CI in question asleep, lying on his back in the centre of the long, rectangular table. Seemingly, to cushion the otherwise flat, hard surface, he had rolled his suit jacket into a makeshift pillow to rest his head on. “Caffrey,” she called again.

“Hmmn?” Neal hummed groggily, stirring at the sudden noise. “‘M sorry… ‘s still on…” he mumbled almost entirely incoherently, fumbling around to pull his left pant leg up enough to reveal his anklet.

“Neal, you’re dreaming,” she offered in a gentler tone, heart twisting in concern. Fortunately, that seemed to bring him past the threshold into the waking world.

“Oh, hey, Diana,” he muttered, rubbing at his bleary eyes and blinking them open.

“We were looking for you,” she began, finally flicking on the ceiling lights of the room. “Are you—”

The sudden influx of light directly above him sparked a buzzing sensation deep in his sinuses that caused him to immediately crumple forward into his elbow. “Ehdt-ktschhh! H-huhh… ihdtsch! Heh’tischhh—dtschhh! Ugh…” Sniffling pitifully, he sat up properly and got off the table.

“Jesus. Bless you?” Diana said, scanning him over with her eyes.

“Thangks. Sorry, it’s, uh, the lights,” he replied sheepishly with another wet sniffle.

After a moment, she pulled out a travel pack of tissues from her pocket and handed them over to her coworker with a soft “here.” He flashed her a grateful smile and blew his nose quietly. “You, uh… get too tired to head home?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You could say that, I guess,” he muttered in embarrassment before the next words caught in his throat, sending him coughing into the tissues in his hand.

“You know you could just go home sick, right?” Diana prompted with folded arms.

“Yeah, sure, if I was sick, but I’m not, and we have work to do. Just needed to rest my head for a minute,” he insisted with his usual winning smile, though it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes as much as it typically did.

“World’s greatest conman’s off his game, huh?” Diana prompted, folding her arms. “Do you really think that sounds believable?”

His lips opened with a lie about his health on his tongue, but he sighed in defeat instead. “It wasn’t that bad earlier, but it kinda just hit me all at once… sorry for disappearing out of nowhere.”

Diana hummed in acknowledgement before asking, “You have a fever?”

“Uh… probably a mild one? I’m not 100% sure,” he replied, touching his hand to his forehead and neck despite knowing it would be a fruitless examination.

“All right, c’mere,” she beckoned, though she closed most of the gap herself and began to feel his forehead for fever with the front and back of her palm. 

“Heh-hh…” Neal’s breath caught softly, blinking before pressing his knuckles up against his nose.

“If you sneeze on me, I swear to god,” she warned.

“Hh-huhhh… hh!!” The pressure was quite clearly not enough to suppress the reflex any longer, so he turned as far away from her as he could—her taking a step back was likely still a wonderful decision—and ducked into the crook of his arm. “Hihhtschh! Huhhhhkdtsch! Ugh…”

“Bless you.”

“Thangks,” he replied, swiping a tissue under his running nose again and discarding it in a nearby trash can. “So, what’s my prognosis, Doc?”

“You feel warm.”

“If your career in the FBI doesn’t work out, you should really think about going into the medical field.” Neal sniffled, scrunching his nose in a poor attempt to stop it from running. 

“Watch it, Caffrey. One doctor in the house is enough already—not that it would take years of medical training to know you need to go home and rest.” Diana pointed a finger at him, spending a moment assessing the situation. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” With that, she simply turned around and left.

“Okay? I-I thought we both wanted me to go home right now? Diana?” The confused, half-hearted reply was not granted the slightest form of acknowledgement, except for the door closing behind his coworker.

Neal blinked slowly, unsure of what to do for a moment, before hopping down from the table and, noting how horrible standing up felt, taking refuge in one of the spinny chairs. She said to wait, so… something in him took the instruction to heart. Still, he was impatient to the very end and soon curled up in the chair for comfort, eyes blinking slowly and heavily, and maybe just having them shut for a moment would be nice—

“Did you fall back asleep again?” 

The rhetorical question was from Diana, he was pretty sure, but he only really registered the presence of the words, not processing much else. Regardless, it quickly roused him from his short-lived respite of slumber, prompting him to sit up straight and rub at his drowsy eyes.

“Hmmn?” Neal mumbled with a small yawn, “Um, I might have dozed off a little?” He took another second to think about it. “Probably, yeah.”

“No shit,” Diana monotoned.

“Sleeping on the job, eh, Caffrey?” Peter teased.

“I doubt he’s been getting much work done with whatever plague he picked up from cold and flu season,” Diana shot back.

“Hey, I’m right here, you know?” Neal pouted. “It’s just a little cold, I’m fine.”

“If this is just something little, then I’d hate to see you with a full-blown flu,” Diana muttered, looking from Neal and then to Peter. “Peter’s taking you home.” She added, watching as her Boss’ expression turned to one of confusion. 

“I am?” A pause. A ‘look’ from Diana. “I. . . Am.” He looked at Neal, properly looked this time. He did look pretty awful, and it was doubtful even the best of con men could manage to hide whatever it was he’d managed to hide up until now; his nose was red, he looked exhausted, and his cheeks were starting to flush. Not to mention how uncharacteristically unkempt he was looking. 

“C’mon, Neal.” Peter stepped forward, holding out his hand.

It took them both a lot longer than usual to get downstairs and into the parking garage because a feverish Neal had decided to press multiple elevator buttons at once… and then tried to get into the wrong car once they finally did arrive, but they were eventually buckled in and ready to go. 

“Never a dull day with Neal Caffrey around, huh?” Peter muttered, mostly to himself, as he started up the car engine. 

“Never a dull… day with P’ter Burke… and his car..” Neal mumbled, sniffling and leaning to toy with the radio. 

“Hey, no touching. Sit back and don’t meddle.” He began to drive towards the exit, ensuring to press the child lock button. Just in case. 

No sooner than they were out of the building and driving into the sunshine, Neal shielded his eyes with his wrist and groaned. 

‘Nnn’gxChht… xXchhht—oo.’ He sneezed into the wrist previously used to try and hide his eyes and sniffled thickly. 

“Gesundheit,” Peter muttered, already stopping in a slight queue of traffic. 

Neal didn’t answer, leaning his head against the window with a heavy sigh. Now that he was caught, he couldn’t pretend he was fine, and he hated the sense of looking… weak. Especially to Peter, which was a whole thing to analyse in itself. He just wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t now, and Elizabeth certainly wasn’t going to let him. Of course, he was grateful to have people in his life who cared about him like that, but it was new and it was different, and Neal Caffrey liked it when things went his way. 

“You know you’re allowed to call in sick, right?” Peter spoke up again as the traffic started to move. 

“You’re allowed to call in sick.” Neal sniffled, still leaning his head against the window. 

There was a pause whilst Peter thought about Neal’s behaviour throughout the day. He was pretty good at hiding things. But… 

“Did you even eat anything today?”

“Mhm.”

“And, I’m guessing the tea you brought me was not for me…?”

“Wow, real FBI agent over here,” Neal grumbled, lifting his head slightly to glance at Peter, only to be once again blindsided by the sun. 

His handler sighed as they stopped at another red light. “There’s sunglasses in the dash,” Peter said after a moment, “they’re El’s. Blue eyes are more sensitive, right?” He questioned, watching Neal shrug out of the corner of his eye. The CI placed them on, seemingly relaxing a little more. 

“Thanks,” Neal mumbled, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. 

As Peter started driving again, he knew he wasn’t going to take Neal back to June’s. He’d only hide himself away and pretend everything was fine — while making himself worse in the process. Nope. Neal Caffrey was about to experience Elizabeth Burke’s expert bedside manner and Peter’s on-point tea-making skills. 

•••

“Honey, is that you?” Elizabeth’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “You’re home early; it’s only three o’clock! Is everything—” The footsteps came to an abrupt halt as she joined the pair in the living room. “— oh.” The moment she laid eyes on Neal, she immediately understood why her husband had come home so soon. 

Peter gave a sort of glance towards her that clearly said, “Help me,” and El chuckled softly. She pointed at Peter before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You, kitchen. And you,” she paused to tap Neal’s chest with her index finger. “Upstairs. Let’s get you something comfortable to wear.”

He just sort of looked at her, crystal blue eyes a little glazed over. “Hi, Elizabeth. Peter’s supposed to take me home, but he took a wrong turn,” Neal mumbled, watching his handler walk away. 

“I think he took a very well-planned turn. Come on, honey, upstairs.” She ushered him towards the staircase, following behind. “You go to the bathroom to blow your nose, and I’ll get you some clothes. Neal, don’t give me that look. You sound terrible, and you can’t pretend you don’t.” Elizabeth sighed, reaching to help him with his suit jacket. “All that sniffling will give you a headache,” she chided gently. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She fetched some of Peter’s pyjamas, a blue plaid set he only tended to wear during particularly cold weather, and placed them outside the bathroom door. “I’m going to get you some blankets for the couch, okay? I’ll be downstairs; the clothes are right here. Neal?” Elizabeth frowned, reaching to tap against the bathroom door, awaiting an answer. 

“Mhm,” came the stuffy, sleepy reply. 

It wasn’t long before the CI was curled up on the Burkes’ couch, wrapped in blankets and resting his head against a pillow. He looked exhausted and much more dishevelled than Neal Caffrey would ever dream of looking in front of someone else. Both El and Peter stood by, watching as their house guest snored and exhaled congested breaths; he’d fallen asleep just minutes after resting his head down. Turns out that masking your symptoms all day was pretty tiring work. 

“You can’t deny that he looks adorable like that,” El whispered, resting her head against her husband’s arm. 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Peter muttered back quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. He sighed.

[atchamcrepin]

A still frame from the animatic I'm working on. The japanese text is just a lyric from the song～ 😺

[hplonesomeart]

Hey. Sorry about the inactivity, but pretty sure no one cared that much anyways lol. Been a looooong time since I kept that distant from Tumblr…at least now I know I’m able to survive without checking posts every day/being chronically online! I’ve got an intense love-hate relationship with this lifestyle I’ve dug myself into. Think I’m getting a little bit better with the balance even if school isn’t really giving me an option. Got a load of work I need to keep catching up on if I don’t want to disappoint my professors. We’ll survive somehow. Here take a quick batch of Puzzle doodles k bye

[bigtreefest]

Should I have told you guys I’m going to a gala tonight? It’s going to be filled with many lawyers and posh donors…. Gonna play ‘spot the mob boss’ with myself during cocktail hour…

[vitalphenomena]

MARGOT IS GOVERNED BY RAPID, CRITICAL THOUGHT. Barely one conscious acknowledgment is necessary, though, for her to uncross her legs, press the inner parts of her knees to the outer parts of Frederick's—and the outer of hers to the inner of his, and so on. His motivations and intentions are still somewhat hazy, but she does not require perfect clarity to increase their points of contact.

Focus only on me.

Her lips part; a sound, miserably timid from the get-go, dies in her throat. She has nothing clever to say. Perhaps more importantly, and certainly as intended, she has nothing frantic and anxious to say about Maximus's mind games—and the literal game of chess that looms before them later tonight. Her hands—folded so primly in her lap—can't help but reach for him, curling into where his shirt fabric covers his abdomen. Still coming down from her own kinetic nature, she pulls back; her fingers, gnarled, press into the hotel bed's comforter instead.

Focus only on me.

His eyes are green—obviously. She loves his eyes. Smaller details. His brows are dark but manicured. His beard frames his face well; lines defining its edges are sharp and clean, and not a hair is out of place. He is not wrinkled—especially not now, when he is poised and placid and focused. Focused entirely on her.

His class ring is heavy and frigid, though she does not feel the metal against bare skin. She feels nothing on her goosebumped flesh, actually (her loose-fitting button-up constricts and tingles), but she is hyper-attentive to his movements, the rhythmic and inexorable nature of them, all the same.

(She thinks about how she's wanted to steal similar rings from her victims before. She spasms, shudders—eyes bulging.)

Smell.

"I—"

An ugly thing, to have a thought she cannot finish. An arm seizes forward; she balls a handful of his pants' fabric into her fist, near his knee.

The room smells like fresh linen and clean carpet. It is a well-kept hotel; focusing on her senses in this room does not disorient, distract, or disgust.

Still, at this distance from Frederick, slight yet torturous, she has to close her eyes to isolate him amidst it all.

"—spice. Some spice. Leather, certainly. Cinnamon?" Are there wrong answers? She holds her breath, then lets it out in a groan when his massaging fingers undo a spot of tension in her shoulder.

"I'm alright. I'm alright, really." And yet she sounds as quiet and uncertain as she ever has. Her eyes open slowly. "You're good to me. You're very good to me. Strategy, though, is important—"

Frederick drags a wooden chair across from her and sits. Their legs seam together. He will ground Margot using only stimuli on his person. In this way, root her to him. She will think of him during every remitting high. Ache for him when that is not sufficient. In short, need him.

A direct gaze. Instructive: "Focus only on me. Strive to notice the smaller details you would normally filter out." Both of his hands grip her trapezius muscles (the exact middle of her shoulders). As he begins to massage there, arms rocking pistons, shadows pooling dark then arid-empty along the curved ravine of his flexing forearms—sure, slow, soothing: "Touch." The first, favored sense. He watches her. Attentive to his affect. "Feel the pressure of my hands. Their warmth. How they wrinkle your shirt. The hard, cold spot of my ring." Touch will stay throughout. It is easily pliable and elicits the strongest response in her. His hands continue massaging as he moves on: "Smell. I have cologne on my wrists and inner elbows. Can you detect the notes?"

[rempyz]

small brain: ren is the husband and stimpy is the wife

average brain: theyre both husbands

huge brain: they take turns being husband and wife or sometimes theyre both husbands or wives or both individually husband and wife at the same time or simply neither and just are spouses

galaxy brain: gender roles do not apply to them they are beyond any shred of a comprehensible gender identity they just do as they please without any labels they simply just are ren and stimpy

[good-beanswrites]

hi hi ! i hope requests are open ? i wanted to request something with 05 - any trial ( but if in t2 , id lme it if it wasnt about 06 or 03s injuries if thats ok?) and with any prisoner just not 07 06 or 03 ... maybe more on the angsty side..? i hope this is ok aknskdnsñ

Ah thank you for the request!! Shidou my beloved... It makes sense, but it's still a shame how often he's paired with all the others, seeing as he has enough angst all on his own ;---; I placed this kind of between trials/beginning of the second -- Shidou's one interrogation question always made me think he was trying to quit smoking that trial, but I always wondered if he succeeded. TW for brief mention to his suicidal mindset.

Shidou remembered being the envy of his coworkers, always praised for such steady hands. The thought came to him bitterly while he cooked. His trembling fingers fumbled with the knife. He asked himself again why he’d decided to quit smoking.

It isn’t as if quitting now can save me.

But that’s what he was hoping for, wasn’t it? That one good decision after so many misguided ones could change his fate? That the path to atonement didn’t need to involve any more death?

He couldn’t count how many times he’d repeated the list of symptoms to patients, yet he found himself frustrated with each new consequence. The sleepless nights, the shakiness, the dizziness – even his cool temper was tested by the irritability of withdrawals. 

After snapping at Yuno for something harmless, he’d offered to take her place as cook for the night as way of apology. He assumed taking on her chore would help keep his mind off of things. He prepared a familiar meal, one with many fond memories attached. 

The task only succeeded in aggravating him further. 

Since removing his gloves, the sensation across his palms had driven him mad. Objects felt foreign between his bare fingers. The herbs weren’t cut as precisely as he liked. The vegetables didn’t cook correctly. He had to rush the timing. Things spilled and splattered more than usual.

Shidou swiped some hair away from his face, glowering down at the countertop. He may not be in his best shape, but surely he was better than this? As much as he tried to avoid it, a thought wouldn’t leave his mind.

I usually have another pair of hands helping me out.

Cooking continued in a heavy silence. Not even the simmering from the stovetop or the gentle clink of utensils could lift it. 

When everything had been added and stirred, Shidou dipped a spoon into the pan. He tested his creation.

Not quite right. I followed the recipe perfectly. What’s missing…?

He went back to the scattered ingredients. A little of this went in the pan, a little more of that. He took another taste. Then another, a few minutes later. No matter how he adjusted the meal, the result was the same.

He grasped the edge of the counter, trying to curb his frustration.

“Sh-Shidou?” 

Haruka peered his head into the kitchen.

“What are you doing in here?” He straightened. His voice came out with its usual coolness; if he wasn’t careful, people often mistook it for harshness. Seeing the way Haruka flinched, he tried to speak easier. “Is dinner late? My apologies, I must have lost track of the time.”

“It’s just, the others were, uh. You’ve been in here a long time, and… I’m s-sorry to bother you.” Then, a moment where he studied Shidou’s tense expression. “W-what’s wrong?”

It’s not like hers. It’ll never be like hers again.

“Nothing at all.” Shidou mustered up a smile for him. It wasn’t his fault the others had become impatient. And, it could hardly be called impatience – it was long past when dinner should be ready. “Go tell the others it will be ready momentarily.”

“O-oh. Okay.”

Shidou took a long breath. He had already lost so many pieces of her. He had nothing of any of them, in fact. There wasn’t anything he could hold close – no photographs, no possessions. He had no familiar rooms to sit in, or paths to walk along. Most mourners are haunted by a house full of reminders of their loved ones, but Shidou would have seen that as a luxury. Now, he couldn’t even have this.

Once he finished cooking, he made a plate for everyone but himself. He slipped out of the dining hall unnoticed. Everyone was too excited with his finished product to bother with him.

That’s nothing new…

The panopticon was quiet. His cell was quiet. With his gloves back on, the soft touch on the smoking room door barely made a sound. Shidou pulled a lighter from his pocket. 

He’d rid himself of all cigarettes when he first quit, but it had been easy enough to find a stray one tucked somewhere in his room. Maybe he’d left a few on purpose – something in his subconscious knew he’d break down eventually.

It took a few tries to get it to light in his clumsy hands. He couldn’t help listing off the reasons his hands could be trembling. Nicotine withdrawal, general hunger, bodily fatigue, emotional distress… it could go on. 

It was a relief to take a deep inhale. He felt his chest unwind a bit. His mind finally slowed. 

He shouldn’t let himself feel so relaxed. In a place as dangerous as this, one good decision may not save his fate, but one more misguided decision may seal it.

He’d never admit it out loud, but –

That thought is a relief, too.