#its concentric pattern and little fish inside

[bubble-you]

what’s the point of conversation if you aren’t verbally penetrating each other or devouring the other. yes i know you’re probably maintaining friendly and lightheartedly supportive relations with other people and yes i know i regularly am like i WISH people TALKED to me and yes i would be creeped out if i was probed in questions or overshared at by a stranger as if vomiting bile.

i’m just… feeling frustrated.

[pingutats]

For the “ways to say i love you” prompts, 43 please!

thank you for the request! from this list, prompt 43: "I picked these for you."

warnings: none! this is just fluff!

word count: 1.8k

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This is definitely Harry’s domain.

Y/N hugs her shoulders as she stands in her bedroom-turned-dressing-room, staring at the rack of expensive clothes that have been left for her. Through the door, she can hear the noise of the crew bustling around her living room. This house has, of course, been the site of many Harry-hosted parties that had packed in a lot more people than there are present here today — despite that, this smaller group is threatening to become overwhelming for her.

She’s doing this for Harry. A couple of months ago, he was approached by AnOther Magazine to do a big feature with them — a kind of sequel to the one that he did when they were still called Another Man — and he’s been pouring his heart and soul into it since then. It feels like every single day, he’s been off chatting with a writer or meeting with the creative director. He dragged boxes out of storage to rifle through for mementos of his life as a solo artist last week. Y/N knows that some of their friends have been interviewed to talk about Harry. She’s pretty sure Stevie Nicks is one of them.

The centrepiece, though, is a photoshoot more intimate than he’s ever shared before. In the same way that the shoot set in his hometown years ago illustrated where he came from before he rocketed to stardom, this one will reveal who he is underneath all the make-up and glamour of fame.

Harry as he exists in private: in his home, with his girl, sharing this image of himself for the very first time.

Y/N was apprehensive at first — hell, Harry was too — but they’ve discussed it at length. He’s always been a private man, but his ethos is that honesty is integral to his art. He sings in detail about her in his music and puts that into the world with minimal censoring. This magazine feature, at its core, is just another artistic venture. He doesn’t want to hold back. When she understood it like that, it was easy for her to agree.

Her conviction that this is an important thing to do for Harry doesn’t stop the nerves, though. She’s never been a model, or even remotely a figure of interest beyond her connection to Harry. It’s his limelight that she’s stepping into. She can’t help but feel nervous about it.

The first outfit she’s wearing is a boldly patterned dress, custom-made by Gucci at Harry’s request. This isn’t the first time she’s wearing something this expensive (there are no compromises on fashion when you’re with Harry) but it still makes her feel like a fish out of water. She holds the hanger at arms-length for a moment, vaguely anxious that she might have put on weight since the fitting and it won’t fit her anymore, then carefully slips it off. She steps into it gingerly and shrugs it over her shoulders, then reaches behind her to pull the zip up as far as she can reach. She stands in front of the mirror and looks at her reflection, frowning.

Her make-up, which was done earlier, is colourful and dramatic. The point of this home shoot is to show the dichotomy between Harry’s celebrity persona and his private life, illustrated through the elaborate costuming inside their relatively normal home. She doesn’t recognise herself in it.

There’s a knock at the door, startling her out of her thoughts. She whips around, back straightening. “What is it?”

“Can I come in?” It’s Harry’s voice, and just those four short words in his gentle tone are enough to dissolve some of her anxiety.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself into a calmer headspace. “Yeah,” she answers.

He opens the door discreetly and slips inside, careful not to reveal her to the people in the living room while she’s not properly dressed. She appreciates his caution. Although he’s apparently comfortable enough to walk around near-strangers half-naked—he’s only wearing his boxers right now—she definitely isn’t.

“Everything alright, darling?” he asks. Every step that brings him closer puts her more at ease. She’s always been an anxious person, but he’s like a drug to her. From the very first time they met, he’s been the person she feels most natural with. They just work. Things feel right with him.

She smiles at him. It’s a weak stretch of her lips, but a smile nonetheless. “Yeah. Can you zip me up, please?”

“Of course.”

She turns back around to face the mirror and reaches behind her head to pull her hair out of his way. His fingers are warm against bare skin of her back, finding the zipper and dragging it up, his knuckles brushing against her skin more than is probably necessary. He fixes the way the straps sit over her shoulders with the same attention to detail that she’s seen his stylists give for him a hundred times before. His lip is tucked between his teeth as he does so, glancing from the mirror back to her, his face the image of concentration.

Finally satisfied, he takes a step back and rakes his gaze up and down her figure. “Y’look gorgeous.”

She shrugs, staring at herself. “Thanks, H.”

“I mean it.” He plants a kiss on her cheek, holding her by the waist as they look at each other through their reflections. “Pretty dress for a pretty girl.”

Heat rises in her face and she drops her gaze to the floor. “Now you’re doing too much.”

He shakes his head. “‘M not. Promise I’m not.”

She hums, appraising their reflection with a frown. Even in his underwear, Harry is Harry, and she… She feels like she’s playing dress up in someone else’s wardrobe, dipping her toes into someone else’s life. Harry is at ease in a place like this but she certainly isn’t.

Harry seems to sense this. “Something the matter?” he asks her gently.

“No, just —“ she wrings her hands in front of her, searching for the words. “I don’t feel like me.”

He furrows his brow. “I know what you mean. ’S weird when you do all this—” he flutters his hand around the room, at the rack of clothes and towards the door where they can hear someone giving directions to shift the couch slightly to the left “—just to get a photo done. And I know you’re not used to it.” He squeezes her waist gently. “But you look beautiful. Just like you always do.”

She can’t suppress a small smile at that, bumping her head against Harry’s shoulder with a quietly mouthed, “Thank you.”

He turns his head to kiss her hair, then releases his grip on her waist and moves over to the rack of clothes. “But did y’see…” He bends down to pick up a plastic container marked Look 1 from the shelf at the bottom. He opens it up to reveal various pieces of jewellery inside, and delicately picks out a couple pieces with nimble fingers. “I picked these for you.”

They’re her earrings. More specifically, they’re the earrings that he gave her for their first anniversary. A couple of dangling pearls—he’d bought them during his obsession with the gems. They’re a sweet memento of that time of their lives, of the honeymoon phase that felt like it lasted forever, that never really fizzled out even to this day. They’re her favourites.

She realises her mouth has dropped open. “When did you sneak those in?” she asks.

He shrugs, smirking. “I have my ways. I’m sneaky.” He returns to his previous position standing behind her, nudging her hair behind her ear with his knuckles. “May I?”

She nods, trying not to shiver as his fingers brush against her ears.

“There we go,” he says, stepping back. “Is that a bit better?”

The girl in the mirror looks familiar now. Despite the make-up and the dress, she can see herself. The same face, framed by the same earrings, that has accompanied Harry through all sorts of days and nights. Today is just another one of those things. Something they’re doing, together, and isn’t that all she wants, for them to do everything together?

Being with Harry is a dream she never wants to wake up from. They’ve built a paradise together and now they get to share a tiny part of it with the world—not for the world to share in it, but to see just how beautiful it is.

There’s a little part of Y/N that hopes it makes the rest of the world jealous. They should be, she thinks.

“It’s perfect, H,” she tells him, glancing over her shoulder so she looks at his real face, not just his reflection. “Honestly. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” He looks proud of himself—his eyes are shining and his dimples are on display as he looks her up and down once more. “It’s all you.”

Y/N mirrors him, her gaze travelling down his body. She bites her lip.

Harry seems to remember suddenly that he’s only in his underwear—his hands fly to cover his thinly-clothed privates and he looks at her, his mouth open in a sly grin. “This is not the time,” he scolds, his shoulders shaking as he suppresses laughter.

Y/N rolls her eyes, grabbing him by the shoulder and pushing him to turn around. “Go get dressed, you dork.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

The suit that Harry wears is made out of the same material as Y/N’s dress, bright and bold colours. The photographer is accomodating of her nerves as he has them sit on the couch. The window is wide open to allow the natural light to illuminate their faces, and the Y/N can feel the warmth of the sun on her face. The sky is a brilliant blue. It’s a perfect day.

“Okay, look this way,” the photographer tells her, drawing her attention from the window to the camera. “A little closer, Harry.”

Harry shifts over, his thigh pressing against hers. His hand comes to rest on her knee, then lifts suddenly as if he’s remembered something. “Hang on a minute,” he says to the photographer, holding up a finger.

He twists around to face Y/N and carefully sweeps her hair back over her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear to ensure the pearl earring is on clear display. She smiles at him, which he returns in a quick unspoken exchange of gratitude and care.

“Alright,” Harry says, settling back to face the photographer. His hand finds Y/N’s and he squeezes it. “We’re good.”

The camera clicks and the flash goes off. Their hands remain joined on Harry’s lap.

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hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, a reblog & any kind of message would be really appreciated. i'm open to any requests, from the prompt list linked above or from your own imagination, which you can send here. all my other writing is linked on my masterlist. have a lovely day!

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 13

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 13 - This Venerable One's Bride

No need to remind Mo Ran. Chu Wanning had already figured that out long ago.

Those people were chatting and laughing, but they didn't know where the voices came from. Those who were sitting or standing, gesturing and toasting; their faces were blank, just like paper.

"What do we do? Do we have to go in and drink with them?"

Chu Wanning was not amused by Mo Ran's poorly-timed joke, and he lowered his head in thought.

At this moment, there was a sound of rustling footsteps in the distance. Two long lines of people emerged from the hazy fog, slowly approaching the main building from the distance.

Chu Wanning and Mo Ran subconsciously ducked behind the rocks, and the two teams approached, led by a coquettishly smiling golden boy and girl. These two people had clearly defined facial features. Their faces were colourful, and in the night light, they looked like paper dolls burned for the dead.

Each of them was holding a red candle in one hand. The body of the candle was as thick as the child’s arm, with dragon and phoenix seals entwined on it. As the candle burned, the rich fragrance of the powder wafted to their noses, and Mo Ran almost fainted again. Fortunately, the wound that Chu Wanning stabbed in his arm still hurt, and he squeezed the wound again, finally keeping his consciousness clear.

Chu Wanning gave him a look.

Mo Ran: ". . .cough, this trick works."

After a pause, he wondered again: "Shizun, why don't you need to poke holes in your body to stay awake?"

Chu Wanning: "This fragrance doesn't work on me."

"Huh? Why?"

Chu Wanning said coldly: "Good concentration."

Mo Ran: ". . ."

Headed by the golden boy and girl, the two lines climbed up the steps. Chu Wanning moved his gaze back, looked for a second, and suddenly let out a low "Hmm?"

He was rarely surprised, so Mo Ran was immensely curious. He followed his line of sight to see, also amazed.

He saw that those who swayed in the procession were all dead bodies with closed eyes. They had pale skin and kept the appearance they had before alive. Most of them were very young. They were in their twenties, both men and women. One figure was very familiar--

The Chen family's eldest son, who was seen in the coffin before, appeared in the procession again at some point. His eyes were closed. He followed the scent of candles and walked slowly. Next to him was something different from the others. Others had corpses walking next to them, he walked next to a paper mâché ghost bride.

While Mr. Chen was not a big deal, when the procession came to the end and they saw the people at the end of the two lines, Mo Ran's face drained of blood.

Shi Mei and Chen Yao had their faces hung and were following behind the dead body. Both of them had their eyes closed. Their faces were as white as snow. Their walking posture was no different from those of the dead people in front of them. They didn't even know if they were still alive or not.

Mo Ran's mind exploded. He jumped up and wanted to rush over, but Chu Wanning suddenly grabbed his shoulders: "Hold on."

"But Shi Mei——!!!"

"I know." Chu Wanning stared at the procession slowly moving forward and whispered, "Don't move rashly. Look over there, there is a martial law barrier. If you rush past it, the barrier will scream and I'm afraid that all the faceless ghosts in the yard will rush at you, and the scene will grow out of control."

Chu Wanning is the master of barrier enchantments. He recognized these enchantments well and his eyes were razor-sharp. Mo Ran found that at the entrance to the banquet yard, there was a nearly transparent film.

The golden boy and girl walked to the front of the courtyard. They gently blew on the cupped candle flame, fluttered the flames, and then slowly - passed through the layer of barriers and walked into the courtyard.

The men and women behind them followed them one after the other, passing through the transparent barrier without any issue. The faceless people in the yard drinking wedding wine turned their heads, watching the men and women who entered, laughing and applauding.

Chu Wanning said: "Go, follow them. When you cross the barrier, remember not to breathe and keep your eyes closed. Also, no matter what happens, copy what the corpses are doing and never speak."

He didn't need to say anything more. Mo Ran eagerly wanted to save the others, and immediately followed Chu Wanning into the group of corpses.

The number of corpses in the two lines stayed the same. Chu Wanning stood behind Shi Mei, and Mo Ran could only stand behind Chen Yao. The lines moved very slowly, Mo Ran glanced over at Shi Mei several times. All he could see was his pale profile and a section of white neck that was helplessly drooping.

It was hard to keep up the act all the way to the boundary. The two concentrated and held their breath, smoothly following through to the courtyard. After entering, he found out that the area inside was much larger than it looked like from the outside. In addition to the three-story main building, the courtyard was lined with a hundred or so small rooms, each of which had a red letter of happiness in their window and a red lantern.

The faceless guests suddenly stood up. Salutes were fired and suona horns sounded.

A faceless salute officer in front of the building sang in waves: "The auspicious hour has arrived, and the bride and groom have entered the garden--"

Mo Ran was stunned. What? He dared to say that these two dead bodies are the bride and groom?

He turned his head to ask for help from Chu Wanning, but the brows of Beidou Immortal were furrowed. He was immersed in his own thoughts, unable to extricate himself, and didn't bother to look at Mo Ran.

. . . Mo Ran felt that all his uncle's hard work might be in vain. Going down the mountain to gain experience, with this kind of shizun, was really more damaging to his pride than if he had gone without a shizun.

Suddenly a group of laughing and joking tufts of children rushed out from the courtyard, dressed in bright red clothes, but with white head ropes tied in pigtails. They clustered like fish to either side of the lines and began pulling one person each, leading them to the compartments on either side.

Mo Ran didn't know what to do so he mouthed to Chu Wanning: Shizun, what should I do?

Chu Wanning shook his head, pointing to the tidal wave of dead bodies that followed the boy and girl scattered in front of him. The meaning was clear - follow them.

There was no choice but to let a boy with a bun pull him forward, stumbling into one of the compartments. As soon as he entered, the boy waved his sleeve in the air, and the door closed with a bang.

Mo Ran stared at the little man, wondering what the faceless brat wanted to do to him.

In his previous life, Chu Wanning rescued Shi Mei first and then broke the illusion. He didn't do anything the entire time then he easily removed the evil spirits. And then all he did was relish in the wonderful afterglow of kissing Shi Mei. Afterwards, during Chu Wanning’s report, he actually didn't listen much.

So now the situation had completely changed. He didn't know what was going to happen next, so he could only bite the bullet.

The room was decorated with a dressing table, a bronze mirror standing upright, and a black and red suit embroidered with Ruyi patterns supported on the wooden frame.

The boy patted the stool and motioned for Mo Ran to sit down.

Mo Ran realized that the ghosts here weren't very clever. They were pretty stupid. As long as he didn't speak, they couldn't tell the dead from the living, so he sat in front of the dressing table like the child wanted. The little boy rustled over and started to help him freshen up and change his clothes. . .

Suddenly, a begonia flower drifted in from the window and landed leisurely in the water inside the copper basin.

Mo Ran's eyes lit up. This begonia was called Evening Night Northern Star, which was specifically used by Chu Wanning for silent messaging.

He picked up the begonia from the water, and the flower instantly stretched and bloomed in his palm, revealing a gleam of light gold in the centre.

He twisted the golden light on his fingertips and put it to his ears. Chu Wanning's voice rang in his ears.

"Mo Ran, I have confirmed with Tianwen that this is the illusion created by the Master of Ceremonies Ghost in Caidie Town. It was worshipped by the villagers' incense for a hundred years and gradually cultivated into something more physical. As long as there are more ghost marriages, its power will grow stronger, so it loves to organize these wedding ceremonies. Those corpses lined up in two lines should be the ghost couples that the people of Caidie Town have put together under its witness over the past hundreds of years. It likes this kind of fun. Every night, it summons those corpses to the illusionary realm and conducts another ghost marriage, and each time it conducts it, it grows even stronger."

Mo Ran thought to himself - What a pervert!

When other gods are bored, they'll at most match up boys and girls. What kind of Master of Ceremonies is this? It's said to have an immortal body, but its brain must not have kept up with it. Its only hobby was to match up male corpses and female corpses. It didn't matter if they were already matched, the dead married corpses were summoned from the grave every night, again, again, and again.

Was this group of corpses that good-looking?

This bachelor god must be lonely enough.

Chu Wanning continued: "Its true body isn't here. Don't act rashly. Follow the instructions of the golden boy and girl for a while. Since it wants to absorb the power of their ghost marriage, it will inevitably show its original shape in the end."

Mo Ran wanted to ask: Where's Shi Mei? How's Shi Mei?

"There's no need to worry about Shi Mei. He, like Madam Chen, was bewitched by the fragrance powder and temporarily lost consciousness." Chu Wanning considered the problem very carefully and made it clear that what Mo Ran might be wondering. "Take care of yourself. I've got everything under control."

After speaking, the voice disappeared.

At the same time, the child also took care of Mo Ran's attire. He looked up and saw that the face in the bronze mirror was beautiful, the corners of his lips naturally raised, his eyebrows were clean and fresh, his collars were overlapped, his auspicious clothing was a flaming red, and the hair was long but tied back with a white hairband, and he really looked like a married bridegroom.

The boy made a gesture of "if you would" and the door of the closed compartment creaked open.

Under the corridor, standing a row of corpses in auspicious clothes, both men and women, it seemed that the clay head mould of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost wasn't enlightened yet. As long as he had pairs in the hall to be married, it didn't matter, regardless of whether it was a man and woman, man and man, or woman and woman. He didn't care.

There was only one line of dead bodies standing on this side of the corridor, and the other line was on the opposite side. They were too far away, and he couldn't see if Chu Wanning and Shi Wei had come out.

The procession was moving slowly forward, and every now and then the sound of the chanting of the officials in the building could be heard. The marriage of one pair after another was slowly being completed.

Mo Ran took a look at Chen Yao in front of him and felt that something was wrong. After pondering for a while, when the line was gradually shortening and the last few pairs were about to take their turn, the dirty bastard finally understood— —

Wait! According to the procession, does that mean the woman in front of him is going to be married to Shi Mei? Wouldn't that mean he's going to be paired with that little bitch Chu Wanning? This isn't going to work!

At that moment, the former emperor of the human realm was not happy anymore. He grimaced and unceremoniously pulled Chen Yao, and cut in line and stood in front of the others.

The little boy behind him was taken aback for a moment, but Mo Ran quickly put on the expression of a half-dead hanged ghost with a bowed head, drooping down and mixing in with the corpses. Those golden boys and girls with low cultivation levels were in a daze, probably too dumb to figure out what had happened so they didn't react.

This time Mo Ran was happy. He followed the line with great enthusiasm, ready to walk to the end so that he could meet with Shi Mei on the other side of the corridor.

At the same time.

Chu Wanning glanced at Shi Mei standing in front of him, and thought for a while, not knowing what dangers lay ahead.

He has always been hard-spoken and soft-hearted, though harsh to the point of being repulsive. But, in fact, as long as he was there, he wouldn't put his apprentice in any kind of danger.

As a result, he also tugged Shi Mei and pulled the unconscious man behind him while he stood in Shi Mei's original position.

It was his turn.

The ghost bridesmaid standing at the end of the corridor was holding a black and red tray. Seeing Chu Wanning coming over, he chuckled, his face without facial features making a girl's crisp voice.

"Greetings and congratulations to the bride, she is beautiful and white."

Chu Wanning's face instantly darkened.

Br-Bride. . .? ? Do you have no eyes?

He looked at the blank face of the ghost bridesmaid again and held back a shout.

He really doesn't have any fucking eyes.

The ghost bridesmaid smiled and picked up the red gauze veil in the tray. Raising his jade-like arms and pale hands, he covered Chu Wanning's face. Then he stretched out his cold hand, gently held Chu Wanning, and said with a sweet smile: "Bride, if you would."

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[notmrskennedy]

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle 

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy. 

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies. 

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case. 

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him. 

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls. 

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets. 

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured. 

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.” 

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter. 

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.” 

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

#

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns. 

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen. 

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.  

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!” 

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt? 

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this. 

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“ 

 “Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what? 

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude. 

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled. 

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated. 

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere. 

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed. 

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

#

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with. 

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for? 

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands. 

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages. 

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

#

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude. 

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her. 

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler. 

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second.  She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now. 

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening. 

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be. 

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond. 

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin. 

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life. 

 “I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care. 

#

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about her ass. 

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face. 

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks. 

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough. 

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling. 

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

#

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action. 

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people. 

Alive people. 

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done. 

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain. 

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg. 

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids. 

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway. 

[buttterknifeee]

An Introduction Pt.3- Teen Titans x Aquagirl!Reader

Pt.1 Pt.2

Requests for this series is now open!!! You can request for ships, episode inserts, and headcanons for this series!!! More info can be found here

Summary: You guys are like the "Friends" of the crime-fighting world. Robin's totally Ross and if this was one of those episodes, it would be called "The one where aliens get their asses kicked"

Ships: none, see info above

A/N: Once again this is a reader insert for the Teen Titans 2003 show season 5 episode 10 (the one where they all meet!) I also added an epilogue for funzies.

You found yourself in a dark bubble of Raven’s magic, floating up to the alien ship. You had offered to water jet all six of you up, but you weren’t even sure if you could create that big of a geyser. Besides, a quiet bubble is much better than a large geyser. Beast Boy, however, disagreed.

“That dark energy stuff gives me the--” He was cut off by a glare from Raven. ”Uh...I mean, it's cool!” He gives a guilty grin.

Robin tells us to go to the firing control room, and you all crept through the hallway in a single file line: Robin, the pink-haired girl, Beast Boy, You, Cyborg, and Raven, who you noticed was still near the entrance. Cyborg gave you a look as if to say Keep going; I’ll handle this. You nodded and continued walking forward.

You were walking near Beast Boy, when you noticed a cut on his arm, with that part of his suit torn open. You pointed at it.

“Hey, you alright?” you asked, referring to the gnash.

“Oh this?” He replies. “This is nothing. When you’ve been a part of the DOOM patrol, a little cut is nothing.” He smiles confidently, patting his wound. You realize that he was totally bluffing when a comical tear springs from his eye and his arm tenses.

“Here I can help.” you say softly. Concentrating on the air between your hands, you condense the liquid in the air, forming a small bubble of water. You move that bubble of water onto his arm and it begins to glow. You let go of the water, revealing Beast Boy’s arm to be completely healed.

“Dudeee,” he stares in awe of your handiwork. “That's so cool-” He’s interrupted by your stumbling; healing really does take a lot out of you. He lets you lean on him, and the two of you continued walking forwards. After a few seconds, he stops.

“Uh, guys?” he says. And that's when you noticed it too. The six of you were surrounded by alien soldiers, and they seemed really out for your blood. “I think they know we’re here.” The six of you charged at the fleet of soldiers. But Robin seemed to have an idea.

“Raven!” he yelled. “Take out part of the floor!” Raven looked at him with confusion, but then nodded and did as she was told. With a large SMASH, she removed the part of the bottom of the ship, revealing the water below. The water below you realized, suddenly understanding Robin’s plan.

“Aquagirl! Now!” he yelled, holding off a soldier with his staff.

“On it!” you yell, punching another alien out of the way. (Apparently with water powers came enhanced strength, which you found out at that moment.)

Concentrating on the water below, you raised your arms, allowing the ocean to shoot up from below. Instead of blasting the water through the entire ship, you carefully controlled it to grab onto the aliens that were attacking your friends, pulling them through the hole and causing them to fall into the ocean below.

You looked at the door to the control room, which was locked shut.

“I got this.” Robin said, placing something shaped like a birdirang onto the door.

As the bidirang counted down, you heard Trogaar talking from behind the door. “The Earth scum shall learn it takes more than six juvenile heroes to defy the mighty Lord Trogaar!” he said, most likely with a smile on his face. You all looked at each other, prepared to prove him wrong.

The door exploded, and Robin was the first to get through. “We’re not six heroes,” he declared. “We’re one team.” Him considering the six of you a team sparked something inside of you. You all split up to take down Trogaar and his guard, with Robin at the lead. You took on a guard, kicking him in the stomach and sending him flying towards a wall.

You noticed that Robin was on the shoulders of Trogaar, and you sent a jet of water to his face to knock him off balance. That didn’t work and he threw Robin across the deck. Luckily, he landed on his feet. The two of you joined to fight Trogaar, taking turns to land punches and kicks. However he overpowered you and Robin, throwing you both across the room. You landed on your back, but Robin hit the wall with the back of his head and fell to the floor.

“Robin! Aquagirl!” The alien girl yelled. You got up as quickly as possible and helped Robin up from sitting position as she and Cyborg tried to take on Trogaar, only to be thrown in your direction as well.

Still leaning on you, Robin looked at Cyborg’s arm. “Can you rewire that into some sort of weapon?” he asked.

“I can try,” he said, getting up. The four of you were in a fighting stance, despite being injured and surrounded by Trogaar and his goons. Suddenly, you hear a voice, as clear as day.

“Get away from my friends!” It was Raven, supporting an injured beast boy. “Azarath Metrion Zinthos!” she chanted. Part of the ship exploded, sending it crashing into the ocean.

You found yourself standing in the ship, the roof torn off and making a slow descent into the ocean. All of the alien soldiers were groaning on the ground, but Robin, Cyborg, and the alien girl were all unharmed. The four of you watched in horror as Trogaar aimed to attack Raven when BLAM! You turned to see Cyborg standing next to you with a smoking sonic blaster in place of his arm. He grins.

“Alright I’m only gonna say this once. Boo-Yah!”

“Yo, is it just me or are some of these guys starting to move again?” Beat Boy points out, still slumped in Raven’s arms. He was right; a few of the aliens began to twitch, making attempts to get up. You turn to the other 5 people.

“You guys don’t worry. They’re in the ocean now, meaning that they’re in my territory.” You cracked your knuckles, your eyes glowing blue.

.

.

It’s the next morning and you find yourself sitting with Robin, Raven, Cyborg, and Beast Boy, looking at a view of the bay and an island

“Thanks so much for the new suit Cyborg!” you say, fiddling with your brand new outfit. You were wearing a cropped short-sleeve rash guard and swim shorts, both with deep cyan and black patterns. He also gave you black gauntlets with curved spikes ‘To protect yourself from bad guys and still be aerodynamic!’ according to him. Robin gave you one of his old yellow belts, since he figured you’ll probably need something to carry stuff in. Finally, you found some black scuba shoes from the swimwear store that allowed you to walk and swim with ease.

“Its no problem AG! I figured you needed a new outfit if you’re gonna be a superhero now” Cyborg chuckled, calling you a new nickname that he probably made up just then. Superhero, you thought. I like the sound of that.

Raven had a far away look in her eyes.“That's quite a view.” she said, still staring that the scenery

“Somebody oughta build a house out there,” Cyborg agreed, his voice now softer.

“Yeah, if you like sunshine and the beach.” Beast Boy added, making an obvious dig at Raven.

“You know, you're kind of funny.” Raven said to your surprise, smiling softly at Beast Boy. This was obviously too much for the guy’s ego.

“You think I'm funny?” Beast Boy sat up straight, looking at Raven. “Dude! I know some jokes!”

You laughed at Raven’s face of pure regret, before a familiar voice brought your attention to behind you. It was the alien girl, now in a purple outfit similar to the one before, but this time it seemed to really suit her.

“I look .. nice?” she asked, obviously insecure. You took her hand again.

“You look amazing,” you reassured her, causing her cheeks to flush.

Robin stepped forwards. “I still don’t know your name,” he said.

“In your language, it would be ‘Star Fire.’” she says with a smile.

“Welcome to Earth, Starfire.” Robin said.

She looked at you all shyly, certainly different from when you first met. “ I thank you all for your bravery and help, and I wish to ask permission...to remain here. Where the people are most strange ...but also most kind.”

“You don’t need our permission,” Raven said calmly.

“But if you want our friendship, you've got it.” Robin added.

“I could use a new friend,” you say with a wink.

“Guess we could all use some new friends.” Cyborg agrees.

“Besides, we kind of made a good team.” Beast Boy says proudly.

“I thought we might want to keep in touch, so Cyborg and I designed these.” Robin fished out four black and yellow communicators. You, Raven, Beast Boy, and Starfire each took one and observed them. They were similar to flip phones, but they were circular and had no logo on the front.

“Made ‘em outta my own circuits, '' Cyborg said proudly.

“When there’s trouble, you know who to call,” Robin said. You all smiled at one another. You were a team.

Epilogue

While everyone else was still smiling at one another, you excused yourself and walked a few feet away. You opened your new communicator, dialing in a phone number you know by heart. You waited for the person on the other line to pick up, and began to speak.

“Heyyy dad. It’s (y/n); you must have been worried sick, I’m sorry… Yeah no I’m fine, really. I’m in uhhh Jump City and I made some of the coolest friends and I was wondering... if I could stay here? I’ve been spending the whole night wanting to go back home, but I think this might be home for me. I understand if- oh? Really? You’ll let me stay? Wow, thanks dad. I-I promise that I’ll be careful and that I’ll go to school here, I know there's this high school called Murakami School I’ll try to… I love you too dad. I’ll talk to you later.”

You flip your communicator closed, and walked back to your new friends. Raven looked at you.

“Are you alright?” she asked, noticing your change in mood.

“Yeah,” you say, a smile forming on your face. “I’m great actually. Just had to call home.”

“You're going home???” Beast Boy asked, a frown falling on his face.

You chuckled, “Of course not.” You lightly punched his shoulder. “Besides, this is my home now.”

“Awe Yeah!” the green guy cheered. You laugh, feeling extra cheerful. Now that you’re in a team, you really do feel like you belong. You looked at your new team.

“Anyone up for pizza?”

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good Epilogue

Not my gif

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a   Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

[Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18]

Warnings: mentions of sex

-

The game had started as a simple distraction while Charlie slept. Back at their cabin in Romania, almost two weeks after the incident in London and receiving confirmation that Voldemort had returned, Charlie and Kate forced themselves to do something they were both terrible at: spending an afternoon doing nothing.

Charlie had managed for the first time in months to take a short nap. 

Kate couldn’t. 

With her wand she had levitated a pillow and was spinning it in the air when another one identical to this one joined in. Her partner had woken up and without saying anything, they started a fight over their heads.

At some point they turned around in bed, trying to distract each other from their target and now they were side by side, with their feet towards the head of the bed.

Every now and then, Kate would look down at Charlie’s bare legs, but it wasn’t enough to lose the fight. Luckily, he was wearing a T-shirt. Knowing this, and taking advantage of the cotton shorts she was wearing, Charlie let his right leg fall on her own.

He saw out of the corner of his eye how she shook her head and before he could anticipate it, Kate twisted her arm so that she could cover his face with the back of her hand. Neither of them lost sight of their flying pillows.

After a while Kate tried uselessly to escape from Charlie’s leg and get the hand he had kidnapped against his chest back. Meanwhile, he decided to keep playing dirty.

Releasing her arm, and taking advantage of her concentration, he slightly pinched her waist.

Her torso jumped like a spring away from him, lifting her light green tank top, but she couldn’t go very far because of the weight of now Charlie’s two legs.

He smiled to himself. Without warning, he began to pinch every exposed skin he could reach, making Kate squirm like a fish out of water.

She was laughing, against her will, and the pillow began to twirl around the room following the erratic motion of her wand. She began to slap his hands away, but it was useless. Sticking out her tongue a bit to the side, Charlie noticed, she gained control over her pillow again and with a sharp motion of her wand it fell right onto Charlie’s face.

The tickles stopped for a second, and Charlie froze in place. The other pillow fell to the floor with a soft thud and Kate held her breath, waiting for a reaction.

Her mouth filled with air, making her cheeks round, as she tried as best as she could to control the laugh that was trying to escape.

Charlie grabbed the pillow and threw it in her general direction, effectively hitting her in the face, and she couldn’t resist puffing her laugh out. It all happened so fast; he was suddenly above her, benefiting from her distraction, and the tickles began again.

Both knew that Charlie was strong enough to stop Kate from moving, yet he let her throw herself on him and anchor him to the bed.

“Stop now if you don’t want a kick on your chin.” She wanted to sound threatening, but the cheeky grin that was plastered on his face made her snort despite herself.

“You started.” She scrunched her nose and pressed it against his, a mocking expression whose sole purpose was allowing her to touch his face. “I like hearing you laugh.” He murmured.

Charlie pulled away some locks of hair that had cascaded over her eyes and appreciated how the light coming in through the window created an almost angelic halo around her head.

“Ron hasn’t written yet?” she asked.

Charlie exhaled and dropped his head back.

“Can we for once not talk about...anything?”

Kate frowned, she was tired of tiptoeing around the theme of Voldemort, of Harry, of Sirius.

Kate had proposed bringing Harry to Romania for the summer, thinking that he would take his mind off his godfather and not have to return to his horrible Muggle family in the process. Everyone refused, including him.

She moved to get off Charlie, anticipating an argument on the subject, but he grabbed her by the waist with both hands, preventing her from leaving him.

“We agreed on one evening. One afternoon without thinking. If it’s not today, you will owe me one.”

Kate reluctantly nodded, knowing that he was right, and leaned forward to rest on his chest. She plunged her face into his neck and stayed there, trying to stop her mind while Charlie hugged her to him.

Why had Dumbledore waited so long to tell her he had the list? Why did no one want her to bring Harry with her? How was he doing? Was Corentin mad at her because she left without saying goodbye? She sent a letter saying she almost died, but he hadn’t replied…

“I can hear you, you know?” Charlie whispered. He felt the faintest of smiles against his skin and then a soft peck behind his ear. 

Sorry

“I don’t think I’ll get used to this. It’s scary listening voices that are not your own.”

“Welcome to the club.” She hummed when his hands started lazy patterns on her back, and despite beginning to feel sticky from the heat, she pressed herself further against him.

His breathing, his chest going up and down, the hand that moved to massage her hair and the soft kisses on her forehead made her start to drift to that promised sleep she hadn’t been able to get that afternoon.

“Am I crushing you?” She was genuinely worried he might have been uncomfortable, but a long and loud kiss to her cheek reassured her.

“You can crush me anytime.” He grinned against her skin and she reciprocated it with a huff so lazy that couldn’t be considered a laugh.

A few knocks on the window startled them. Seeing the owl, Kate pressed her face back into Charlie’s neck and grunted. The bird was insistent and began a series of angry taps to the glass. With a sigh and little desire, he untangled Kate’s body from him, leaving her face down on the bed.

“Katie.” Charlie closed the window after seeing the owl leave and sat down on the edge of the bed. Slowly, and with her eyes closed, she rolled over a few times until she made contact with his back. She came up behind him and on her knees wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss on the top on his head.

“News from London?”

“No. From Durmstrang. And it came with this.” He handed her the letter and a small package with the school’s emblem on its seal. “Maybe it’s from your friend.”

She used her nail with most delicacy, trying to keep the beautiful seal intact, and smiled when she saw Corentin’s signature at the end of the paper. When she finished, she left the letter on the bed and unwrapped the package.

“He says he sent me ‘something that always comes in handy’. What could that be?”

“Hm, I don’t know… I hope hair ties” Charlie raised his forehead challenging her, and she flashed an innocent grin.

Kate took out a delicate bottle with a label from a small cloth bag. It looked empty and foggy, but as she moved it, the contents swayed with it.

Bottled ghost breath.

She threw her head back with her laugh, leaving a stunned but appreciative Charlie staring at her.

“An inside joke?” he asked with a small chuckle. She simply nodded and crawled to her bedside table, where she left her wand and mail.

Taking advantage of her back to him, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled until she was sitting between his legs.

“Hey!”

After some giggles, they sat like this, chest to back, swaying to the rhythm of non-existent music. Kate rested her head back and stared at his lips, asking for something more.

He smiled before the kiss, the kisses, and hummed in contentment.

“In spite of everything... Do you miss Durmstrang? Being a teacher?” he inquired after a while.

“It was fun, yes...”

“I’m sure you were brilliant.” Kate scrunched her nose at that and shrugged.

“I always thought you’d be the teacher... and write a thousand books about dragons, and people would line up to get into Professor Weasley’s lecture and you’d have all the girls behind you...”

“Don’t talk nonsense.” He snorted, making her laugh too.

She put her hands on his forearms and caressed her way to his hands. She placed them over his, aligning their fingers, and started swaying their arms.

“And you will open a hospital, which will have your name and a huge picture of your face. And you will discover cures for rare diseases, and everyone will want to work with mediwizard Williams, and the young trainees will drool over you.”

“Wow, now who’s talking rubbish?” Charlie pressed his face against her neck, silencing his laugh.

Kate looked away from her scar, the souvenir she had brought back from the trip to Durmstrang, and her smile broke. Charlie didn’t see it, but he could feel it so he interlocked their fingers and drew their arms to her middle, hugging her closer to him.

“Do you think we’ll have any of that?” She asked.

He rested his head on her shoulder and nodded. “I don’t doubt it. Although...” She turned her head, a frown forming between her brows. “Although I wouldn’t mind if not that way. My only request is that we’re together.”

She inhaled, letting her heart grow and make even more room for the man behind her. After turning around, she kneeled between his legs and placed her hands on either side of his face.

Charlie grabbed the back of her thighs, pulling her a little closer, and stared up at her.

After searching his eyes for a moment, and satisfied with what she found there, she drew his face near and pressed her lips firmly against his. It ended with a chaste sound that the next shorter kisses imitated.

She moved her hands to his hair and gave a light tug that ignited something between them they had lacked for half a year. And the hasty night in Grimmauld Place didn’t count, they considered, for they weren’t really safe and it only served as a reconnection more than a time to feel with abandonment.

Their lips found their way to each other again, this time allowing the start of an exploration. She hummed into his mouth when the pair of hands that balanced her legs moved to squeeze her bum.

Sensing that the advances were evolving into an inevitable outcome, Charlie ended the kiss.

“I’m hungry.”

Kate started placing small kisses along his neck, “Please don’t mean food…” Charlie chuckled then, and patted her butt cheeks for her to move.

Rolling her eyes, she stood up, murmuring complaints about wasting time cooking all the time.

“No need, there’s some pie left and I’ll make some tea, now come on.” Kate yelped when he lifted her and put her legs around him for support.

“Put me down, you’ll hurt your back.” She still wanted to devour the lips that were now smiling, and she stared at them all the way to the kitchen.

“You don’t think I can carry you? You weigh as much as a fairy.”

“Not true.” She giggled when she untangled herself, and with a small jump she sat on the counter.

She looked around at her home. From the counter, she could see the wooden table where they sat to have their meals and share their days; the two small couches that faced each other, where some tears and laughs had been spilled; the chimney, the place where he last saw her before leaving.

It was their nest, their safe place, and she couldn’t believe she was finally back.

Her father’s letters mocked her from the coffee table. He had sent money, true to his word, but it had remained untouched since Charlie received it.

Dumbledore refused to give her another mission, not that she complained, but a dark voice inside her head told her it would be preferable instead of facing unemployment again.

Now she saw that money with different eyes.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She said when he felt Charlie put a hand on her knee.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t want to use that money.”

“Then don’t. We don’t need it, anyway.” She heard him put a kettle on the stove. “Also, that woman, Rhode, paid you for the time teaching, didn’t she? You could use that for your mediwizard training.”

Kate hummed, agreeing, but not entirely convinced.

“I doubt Nougal would accept me in the hospital now. It’s been too long. And I can’t go back whining after resigning.”

She looked at him when he didn’t answer. He was left staring at the about -to- whistle kettle.

“What?” She demanded. After a moment, he talked again.

“I was just thinking that there’s a vacancy in the reserve…”

“No.” She said firmly, shaking her head.

“Just… listen to me.” She crossed her arms, but he was fast enough to grab her wrists, preventing her from shielding herself. “You could apply and work there. Yes, in a tent, don’t look at me like that. It would be less stressful than the hospital, and sure you are overqualified for it, but…”

He brought her hands to his chest and searched her eyes. “But you will have time to study for the mediwizard training, so when you actually take the tests it’ll be a piece of cake.”

Letting go of her arms, he rounded her waist and got as close as the counter allowed.

“Besides, and this is the important part, I’ll have my own sexy healer.” She smirked then, avoiding his stare and making circles on his arm with her fingers.

“The kettle…”

Charlie shook her head and went to the stove. She thought the conversation was over, but he didn’t intend to give it up.

“Imagine: we wake up, we go there together, I kiss you before parting, and then we meet for lunch. You tell me how many burn-healing paste jars you used that day and after working in the afternoon we meet again to go home together.”

“Sounds very good…” She accepted the plate with some pie that he offered and smiled, “I’ll think about it.”

“And who knows, maybe we can get a mission for the Order together this time. Bed or couch?”

“Bed!” She hopped off the counter and followed him to their bedroom with cups and plates in hand.

They ate in silence, each with their own thoughts and blocking the other from hearing them.  Still not speaking, Kate fed him her last bite of pie left on her plate and left it on the nightstand. She closed her eyes.

“Do you remember the Quidditch World Cup?”

Charlie huffed, accidentally spitting some crumbs “How could I forget…”

“You were injured, and I… cured you. Afterwards… I felt terrible…”

“For saving my life? You flatter me, love.”

Kate snorted and turned to her side. Instead of looking up at him, started caressing the hairs on his arm absentmindedly.

“No. After everything calmed down, it hit me… I could have made a mistake with your wound. I could have mispronounced the spell or make a wrong wand movement…”

He let her think her next words but seeing she was struggling he asked, “That’s why you always refused to work at the reserve? Because you’re afraid to harm me?”

“Well, it’s more complicated than that. I shouldn’t be your healer… It sounds dumb when I say it out loud. “

“That we agree on.”

“I think about it more than you could imagine. I’m always torn between ‘I shouldn’t be his healer in case something goes wrong’ and ‘if someone other than me touches you I’ll start blasting hexes’.”

He began laughing then, at first just a cackle, but after a while he had to cover his eyes with his palm. Kate moved into a sitting position and stared at him.

“You are… the most absurd woman I’ve ever met.”

“Well, thanks. You flatter me, love.” She repeated his earlier words, leaving a particular sparkle in his eyes.

“You were Madam Pomfrey’s youngest apprentice, you were the brightest healer trainee in St Mungo while mourning a loss and escaping from your controlling grandfather, you got a job in the best hospital in Bucharest, you just came from the most demanding school in Europe, having worked as a healer and as a teacher.” He counted with his fingers, his voice steady and warm.

“You are many things, love, but not incapable or incompetent. If there’s anyone I’d trust with my health or my life, that’s you.”

Kate sat speechless, digesting his words. A tear threatened to spill, but she didn’t let it.

“You are a treasure, Charlie Weasley. But I can’t be your healer.” She said as softly as she could, hoping he would understand and respect that decision.

“The offer is there.” He paused, a question behind his eyes, she felt, and Kate waited for him to speak. “But let me ask you something: what do you want to do?”

“I want to become a mediwizard.” She stated. Charlie broke into a giant smile and she reciprocated it.

“Then if you know the goal, I’m sure you’ll find the way.”

Charlie sighed dramatically then, and she smirked, anticipating some kind of remark.

“It’s hard being so wise.”

Kate chuckled. “And you?” She practically whispered.

“What about me?”

“What do you want to do?”

He closed his eyes and pretended to think about it. A silly question, she considered, knowing that he knew what he wanted to do with his life from the moment he learned what a dragon was.

“I would... I would love to be a good dragonologist. A real one.”

“You are already that.”

“No, not yet. But someday.” She pursed her lips and with a sharp nod she added, “I think you always have been.”

“Oh, and it would be fantastic to go to China some day! The sanctuaries there are wonderful...”

“Didn’t you mention a story about some secret papyrus?” The sparkle in his eyes made Kate want to shower his face in kisses.

“The Lost Scrolls of Quong Po! Can you imagine? His discoveries about dragons could change how we see the magic world…”

“An adventure for another time.” They were pensive for a while, enjoying the pleasant silence that had been created around them.

Kate considered fondly from where she sat; his arms rested at his sides, shoulders relaxed, his muscular legs were stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. The light coming through the window made the copper curls of his thighs stand out. She didn’t resist the temptation and placed her hand there, feeling his muscle towards his knee, and then caressed her way back to the top of his thigh.

Charlie tilted his head and squinted at her imperceptibly, observing how she played with his soft hairs, her mind drifting away from the moment and sinking deep into herself.

“What are you thinking?” he murmured. Kate inhaled, opening her lips to tell him, but the words she wanted to express were so tangled with each other it was impossible to reorganise the sentence. She lifted one shoulder just an inch, tilting her face towards it in an adorable gesture that Charlie had seen plenty of times before. It lasted no more than a moment, and it was usually followed by a deep and heavy thought.

“I could have reacted the same way as Mer Yankelevich did. I know her pain and her desperation. If I had suspected, back then, that there was a chance, a minuscule one, to bring my brother back… how far would I have gone? We’re not so different, aren’t we? Her and I.”

She looked at him then, searching for an answer. Charlie’s brow furrowed and shifted his eyes towards her gentle hand.

“It’s interesting how everyone around us live the same experiences as we do… and yet we choose very different paths.” Leron Angelov invaded her thoughts. Then Jorgensen appeared next to him, followed by Sheyi Mawut and Mer Yankelevich. Astrid Rhode and Cassandra Steiner materialised at the ends of that line up she’d created, and finally Libor Marek. All of them, so different in shape, sizes and set of mind, were bonded to each other by one single thing: grief.

She didn’t know their backstories very well, and they didn’t know hers, but she was certain now that she could look anybody in the eye and say with conviction: I understand.

“Well, that’s what makes everybody different, isn’t it? Our choices.” Charlie’s voice brought her back to Earth. “I don’t think you would have gone crazy. You already were.” The corner of his mouth raised, and she tsked, lightly swatting his leg. She tried to hide the smirk, but he had already caught it.

I saw that.

“We’ll never know.”

“Oh, I know.” Charlie interrupted, “There’s a possibility, right? Those Deathly Hallows, they mentioned. You figure out if they’re real or not, you find them, and you use them. Would you do it?” That made her frown.

“No.”

His forehead raised, point proven, and interlocked his fingers on his lap. “You are different.”

Kate tilted her head, a soft smile playing on her lips as she stared at him, getting perilously lost in his brown eyes.

“To have decided that it was our free afternoon, we’ve been thinking a lot...” Charlie commented. Kate just nodded. “How about switching to other kinds of activities...?”

“Something that doesn’t require... thinking?”

“Exactly.”

“I’d love to, but now that you mentioned that you want to be a real dragonologist, it reminded me that I’ve yet to see your finished work!”

“It’s a draft.”

“Yes, but a 214- pages -draft. Come on… read it to me.”

Charlie shut his eyes closed and shook his head. “When it’s finished.”

“You’re no fun. I bet you get accepted in that new program in the Apuseni mountains you’ve been dreaming of for months. They didn’t even ask for a whole dissertation, and you did it, anyway. Remember my Christmas gift?”

Charlie smiled then, remembering the night they spent at her grandfather’s house celebrating the holidays, and the exact moment she gave him a letter… a letter from the one and only Newt Scamander, saying that Kate had sent him parts of his unfinished project, he had read them, and he had liked them!

It was still unreal.

Charlie moved then, getting on his knees, and crawled over to Kate, getting close enough to make her lay down. She placed her hands on his biceps and caressed the scar there before going up to his neck. “I’ll read it to you… later?”

“Deal.”

With a smirk forming on her face, she reached down to grab the hem of his shirt and pulled upward just an inch.

“I don’t think you will be needing this.”

She didn’t need to say it twice. In one move he threw his T-shirt across the room. “Where were we?”

“Hm... I don’t remember, we should start from the beginning.”

From that day on, things did not improve, however, their conversation remained engraved in their minds. They would not fight in vain, they would fight for each other, for their future and for the greater good they believed in.

This mission was over, maybe not in the way Kate would have preferred, but that night, with Charlie’s arms around her as he read, she decided she should close this chapter and replenish her strength for what was to come.

--

A/N: Do you want to know what happened that Christmas? Or maybe at the Quidditch World Cup?

Tag List:

@eldritchscreech​

@meteora-fc​

@cazreadsstuff

@the-navistar-carol​

@am-i-space​

[toovirgins]

March, 1964

Summary: John and Paul (but mostly John) find studying their lines for A Hard Day's Night a drag. John finds other (PG?) ways to pass the time.

The air was still inside the cozy dressing room. A faint scent of cigarette smoke clung to the thick atmosphere, but not enough to ring unpleasant. John gazed at the cigarette as it dangled loosely from his fingers, and deciding against taking another drag, put it out in the ashtray beside him. He tugged at the neck of his black sweater—despite the chill of the winter air persisting outside the window, the room was quite warm. Without much thought, John lazily traced a finger along the window sill, feeling chills spread up his arm at the temperature shock.

It really looked more like an upscale office than a dressing room. Sure, there were four distinct mirrors and hairdresser chairs, as well as a rod near the doorway with an array of suits, sweaters, and trousers for the boys to rotate in and out of. But the room itself was decorated quite elegantly. A soft glow from the floor lamp mingled with the diminishing brightness of outside to coat the room in a honey-like aura. Deep red curtains framed the enormous window, grazing the velvety paisley-patterned rug that covered most area of the room. The rest of the floor was a deep hardwood, without the slightest trace of dust—an unfamiliar concept, John mused. This was much nicer than what they were used to. Immediately upon entering, he had thrown himself onto a long, floral-patterned couch by the window. Paul knew he fancied observing nature while they studied.

Paul was seated a few feet away from him, his long legs draped over the armrest as he slouched sideways over the enormous armchair. His body was facing John’s, and he could see his eyebrows knitting together in concentration as he studied his script. His lips moved wordlessly, repeating his lines to himself without speaking at all. He reached up mindlessly and tousled his hair, and John watched as the dark locks fell directly back into place. They had been sitting like this for over an hour now, and John was beginning to feel restless. He had turned his gaze to his friend once he figured he could not possibly watch the nothing going on outside the window for a second longer. Going over his script one more time was always an option, but the thought simply did not interest him. Despite being constantly begged not to do so, John figured he could improvise some lines if they fell blank on his mind. He had a quick wit, and knew that some of his lines would come off better (read: more authentic) than the portrait that the writers had painted of him. He didn’t know how Paul could concentrate for so long, especially seeing as the man had relatively few lines in the upcoming scene.

Almost as if hearing his name appear in John’s thoughts, Paul’s eyes jumped up to meet John’s. He swung his legs over the arm of the chair until he was sitting in an upright (albeit, poorly postured) position and set his script down on the quaint table between them. John pulled the ashtray a bit closer to himself, fearing the disaster that would ensue if he and Paul accidentally burned down the dressing room. They had had their fair share of slightly arsonist run-ins in their youth, and John was too tired to deal with the legal ramifications of an incident like that again.

Paul sighed loudly, bringing John back to present. He hoped this was a sign of his friend’s boredom and restlessness, so he could stop pretending like he was studying his own script. The younger man leaned forward and put his head in his hands, letting out a strained groan as he rubbed his eyes.

“I don’t think I can take any more of this studying, mate,” Paul muttered. “I close my eyes and all I see is ‘No, actually, we’re just good friends’. Why do I have to say that, like, a dozen times? It’s only hardly clever.”

“Quite the realistic portrait, then,” John replied lazily, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips when Paul shot him an irritated glance. “I’m bored. Let’s do something.”

Paul checked his wristwatch. “When do you think they’ll be back? I thought Ringo was just going to wander about the town. How long could that filming possibly take? It’s not even scripted. Plus, he’s got that massive hangover. I figured they’d be back around by now.”

John shrugged. George had gone along with Ringo to provide some moral support for the dreaded scene (every scene was dreaded for Ringo today, as Paul was right—he was sporting a massive hangover), leaving Paul and John behind to study for their next appearance. For Paul, it was out of necessity; the poor lad struggled with keeping up with his lines, a fact that made him irritated and anxious. Paul typically wasn’t poor at things. For John, the desertion was more punishment for disappearing on set the day before to explore the city a bit. He didn’t mind, though. It could be worse; Paul could have left him as well. At least he had some company.

“We could go to the pub we passed yesterday,” John observed. “I could use a quick drink. Or two.”

Paul frowned, but John could see him shake his head in slight amusement at his friend’s remarks. “No, we won’t be doing that. Could you imagine how much trouble you’d be in with Brian if you disappeared again? To drink, no less? Sometimes I don’t know what goes on in your daft mind.”

John chuckled at that. He quite enjoyed teasing his friend, pushing forth this Teddy-boy persona that he sported when they first met seven years prior. Though he had no intention of actually going to get drunk in the middle of a work day, he knew that the boy wouldn’t tell the difference. He was aware that his behavior gave Paul a bit of a superiority complex, the feeling of being “the good one”, and the thought of that amused him. The public had yet to see how mischievous Paul McCartney actually was, his puppy dog eyes betraying him at every turn.

Of course, John was one of the few people that saw past Paul’s angelic front. The times they’d shared together had proved that even Brian and George Martin were fooled, as John often fell victim to blame for things that Paul had done. He didn’t quite mind the dynamic, though. He was hardly in real trouble, and it felt nice to have a part of Paul that the others didn’t. He was so hard to read at first, so hard to get close to. The intimacy was welcome to John, in a comforting, familial way.

“What shall we do then?” John mused. He huffed as he struggled to pull himself into an upright position, his joints popping at the sudden movement after being a puddle of nothing for so long. “Go for a smoke? Go for a stroll? Go fetch a bird?” He winked at the last suggestion as heat rose into Paul’s cheeks. Last night, John had also unintentionally taken the blame for a girl that Paul had snuck into the dressing room. Paul had been mortified and profusely thanked him, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t have a little fun with the knowledge.

“Actually,” Paul replied, rubbing his temples, “I’m quite exhausted. Might have a go at a nap.”

“Paul,” John whined, feigned desperation in his voice, “You can’t. I’m so bored. If you leave, I’ll have nothing.”

“Oh, all right,” the boy sighed. “Then you think of something to do. My mind is strained. And,” he jumped, as John opened his mouth to say something, “we’re not going out. I feel like I’m responsible for you right now. Don’t make me put you in time out.” Paul slouched back as the chair engulfed his figure and closed his eyes, humming softly to himself as he let fatigue overtake him.

John’s stomach flipped Paul’s words, though he almost cocked an eyebrow at the absurdity of the feeling. He quickly shook it off, feeling sure it was nothing more than the delight of knowing he could pester Paul endlessly, now that he was aware how Paul felt of the situation. If he was John’s babysitter, then John would act… well, like a child.

John stretched his legs just far enough as to where he could kick the other man’s foot. Paul half-lidded eyes looked up at him with a slightly annoyed expression, but he was met only with the amusement that twinkled in John’s. This seemed to irritate him further, not feeling at all in the mood for physical banter. So John kicked him again.

Paul’s eyes flew open. “Christ, lad, would you knock it off? I’m not in the mood. If you won’t let me leave, at least let me rest here.”

“But I’m bored,” John whined again. “I want to do something.”

“Look over your script,” Paul muttered as he turned his back on him, shifting to curl up into the armchair. “I don’t want to have to deal with you going on about fish and finger pies again next take. I have enough to worry about with my own lines.”

“You don’t own me, Paul,” John shot back. “You’re not in charge.”

“I bloody might as well be,” came the muffled voice that now felt far away.

John fell back on the couch himself, defeated. He gazed out the window again, eyes following an adorable little bird that hopped from tree limb to tree limb. He felt for that bird, or rather, he felt the need to be that bird, happily hopping on without a care in the world. It was so simple and innocent. He wanted to reach his hand through the glass and stroke the little bird, with its enchantingly dark feathers. To John, it looked like midnight, when the sky was still and the world was quiet and there was nothing but yourself and the atmosphere, high above you. Was it a blackbird? A crow, maybe? Its tiny black eyes were empty, devoid of emotion, but not threatening or eerie. Just… there. Being. Existing. It lived only to live, not to please, or love, or conquer. Oh, to be the little bird.

John continued to marvel at it for a few more moments before it fluttered out of sight. He was left with nothing again, his mind grasping at something else to attend to. The script fell out of his hands onto the floor with a thick thud, making Paul twitch in his barely-there state of consciousness.

Paul! A wonderful thing to capture his attention. John nudged his foot against the chair, hoping to shift it just slightly. When that didn’t work, he pushed a bit harder, sending a croaking sound through the room as the chair leg slipped off the rug and onto the hardwood.

“Piss off, Lennon,” Paul growled, his voice thick with the beginnings of sleep. But John couldn’t let him drift asleep. He would be so dreadfully bored.

John got to his knees on the couch, facing Paul’s chair. He gently pushed the stand with the ashtray and Paul’s script out of the way, and leaned forward, interlacing his fingers on the arm of the couch and resting his chin atop them. He could see Paul’s side rising and falling rhythmically, the stiff fabric of his dress shirt crinkling with every inhale. He hadn’t changed out from earlier, and was still wearing the pressed white button down, black tie, and black trousers. The only thing he had removed was his suit jacket, which lay draped across the back of the chair. John assumed Paul had noticed the warm thickness of the air in the room as well.

Paul’s side stared back at him, open and inviting. He knew exactly what to do, to piss Paul off to the perfect degree while also keeping up the good spirits. He removed a hand from under his chin and stretched ever so slightly before jamming two fingers—hard—into Paul’s soft side.

Paul yelped in surprise and jerked awake and alert, trying to comprehend what had just happened. John watched him smugly as his brow furrowed in confusion, then annoyance. “For fuck’s sake, John, is it so hard to keep your hands to yourself? You’re a child.”

John said nothing, just watched in anticipation as Paul turned away again, muttering something under his breath. He was cranky now, and John wanted to push his limits. He had nothing better to do, anyway. He tentatively reached back over and, in one swift movement, pinched Paul’s side again and retreated into the far side of the couch.

Paul swung blindly, nearly missing contact with John’s extended forearm as he jumped back. John suppressed a giddy grin, knowing that he had succeeded in his mission. Paul was now wide awake and visibly frustrated, taking a moment to rub his tender side while muttering a string of unflattering curses.

“You wanker,” he shot at John, his eyes burning as he massaged his sore spot. Paul knew that John knew that’s where his weak spot was, his ticklish spot. He was only lucky that John had poked and pinched instead of lightly grazing and prodding. They shared a look, both of them well aware of that fact. John couldn’t help but cock a knowing eyebrow at him, as if to say, I could if I wanted to.

Suddenly, Paul’s eyes darkened. John’s breath caught in his throat as he watched a mischievous glint overtake Paul’s gaze. He watched Paul’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, running his tongue between his lips in anticipation. John wasn’t sure what the transformation was, but it couldn’t be good. He felt in a moment that he had lost control of the situation. He opened his mouth to speak, willing himself to come up with something spectacularly witty, until—

Paul had lurched on top of him in a matter of seconds, digging his fingers into John’s sides. John initially gasped as ticklish tremors ran through his body, the sounds of pure, unfiltered laughter soon filling the air. John twisted under Paul’s iron grip as tears began to spring to his eyes from the hysteria, gasping for breath and unable to keep himself from breaking into a fit of giggles every few seconds. He weakly attempted to reach up and grasp at Paul’s weak spots, trying to give himself the edge again, but Paul caught his wrist with one hand, pinning the other down with his knee. “Uh uh uh,” he chastised, pushing John’s wrist into the couch and underneath his other knee. He was straddling him on the couch, his knees trapping John’s hands at his sides while Paul’s hands were free to mercilessly attack John’s sides, stomach, and neck.

“P-please,” he wheezed, as Paul chuckled lightheartedly above him. “Please stop, I- I can’t breathe—”

“You asked for this,” Paul retorted, not ceasing the torturous movements. His tone was light and amused, sounding as though he found himself greatly enamored with the visual of John writhing helplessly beneath him. “Next time, keep your bloody hands to yourself.”

“I will, I will,” John gasped, a tear rolling down his cheek. Slowly, Paul ceased his assault, and rocked back on his heels, letting John’s hands free. He watched as the man caught his breath beneath him, reaching up to wipe away a tear that had fallen in the hysteria. “That was not funny,” John asserted in a mock-serious tone, secretly hoping that Paul would go at it again.

The thought pulled a frown to his face as he contemplated what had just popped into his head. He was “secretly hoping Paul would do that again��? Why? Why did he feel the need to keep it a secret? Why had Paul’s devilish fingers made John’s skin feel so… electric, and tingly? And most importantly, why was he now acutely aware that the man was sitting on John’s lap?

Paul let out an airy laugh and raised himself up off the sofa. John breathed a sigh of relief, concerned over the thoughts that spilled into his head. What the fuck was going on? This was Paul. He enjoyed spending time with him, teasing him, messing with him, pissing him off and making him laugh. Paul, his bandmate. His best friend. His suddenly strangely entrancing best—

Shut up, John begged his mind. He didn’t want to follow himself down a rabbit hole of that sort.

Paul was making his way back to the armchair. He plopped into it, looking as though he was the one who had just been tickled to death. He looked at John with a grin of satisfaction and power, and John knew that the man was about to go for a nap again knowing that John wouldn’t mess with him in that way again.

He liked to prove Paul wrong.

As soon as Paul’s eyes fluttered closed once more, and his breathing became steadier and deeper, John formulated another plan. One that, this time, he would surely be in control of. He watched Paul’s chest rise and fall for a few minutes, waiting for his eyelashes to stop twitching, willing the man to fall just enough asleep to where he would be slightly delirious upon a quick awakening. That way, he couldn’t catch John with surprise force as he executed the first step of his plan.

John waited the tiniest bit longer, until he was sure that his friend wasn’t just pretending, and went for it. In a quick movement, John jumped up and pulled at Paul’s wrists, thrusting him onto the floor forcefully but not painfully. The man blinked wildly as John held both his wrists over his head with one hand and began to aggressively tickle Paul’s exposed armpits. He jerked away from John’s touch, still in a faint haze about what was happening, before he began to come to his senses and bite back a cry of laughter. John knew that Paul was far more ticklish than he, and that the quick prodding and nudging wouldn’t drive him nearly as crazy as light, barely-there touches.

He began to cry out on the floor beside John, who was lying on his side, holding Paul’s hands with one arm and attacking him with the other. “Jesus, John, you bastard,” he wheezed, trying to force himself up but unable to do so. His wrists strained against John’s grip.

This struggle continued for a few more minutes, before John’s own stomach hurt from laughing so much. He released his friend and collapsed on the rug beside him, both of their laughter dying out softly as they caught their breath. A silence of about five minutes ensued, neither speaking but both acknowledging the comforting warmth of their shoulders pressed against one other.

After a long recovery, Paul tentatively lifted a leg and crossed it over, placing it in between John’s. Shooting his friend an inquisitive glance—not that this intertwining or personal touch was a strange posture for them, as they had had countless sleepovers in John’s far-too-tiny bed in his Mimi’s home growing up—John nudged Paul’s foot with his own to encourage him to speak what was on his mind.

“Thank you,” Paul said, the tint of laughter still coloring his voice.

“For what?” John replied noncommittedly. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, which was a rather putrid tile, almost like the ceilings in grade school—something that was jarring against the rather royal layout of the rest of the room. He trained his gaze on a particular patch of water damage shaped a bit like the bird he had watched earlier, through the window.

“I know you could have done worse in that little fight,” Paul mused. “I think I would have peed me self. Or died. Whichever came first.”

John hummed in response, now aware that the little leg movement was almost a thank you in and of itself. That simple search for physical contact, a gesture of appreciation, made John’s heart swell. He liked feeling appreciated. It was almost as if John was a girl, and Paul had reached down to interlace their fingers together and offer a quick squeeze, but John wasn’t a girl and instead Paul had thoughtlessly interlaced their legs. It was a nice feeling, one that spread warmth across John’s chest. As much as he wore Paul down, he was so thankful for him. It was a genuine admiration and appreciation (that he hoped was mutual), an experience that was rather foreign to him throughout life so far. He supposed much of that was brought on by himself—if he hadn’t been such a naughty child in school, if he’d been a bit better behaved for his parents, if he hadn’t been such a dick to the girlfriends he’d had. But with Paul, things were different. There were no expectations of being a son, a pupil, a lover. They could just be. Just like the bird.

John smiled to himself at the thought.

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Tagged by: @rhubarbdreams @cactusdragon517 @morallygreywaren and @ceraunos (I’m so sorry this took so long! Thank you for thinking of me, it is so flattering <3)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

This was SO FUN. It was so nice to go through my old stories... I’m really proud of my writing. That’s something I never thought I’d say, and it’s something I’ve decided I’m going to do unabashedly from now on. <3 Happy almost April, everyone! 

Gaining Heart (Spartacus) 

The days following the defeat of Glaber had been a flurry of activity.

Agron found himself not only leading on field of battle, but leading organization and defensive strategy. Those fucking Romans had moved into the temple as if it was their own home, claiming all that they saw— but they had also brought much of their own. Food, wine, supplies— it was a gift from the fucking gods, and needed proper inventory.

Agron knew not how to do that. Nasir and Naevia were invaluable, cleaning each chamber of any evidence of battle, cataloguing lists and categorizing everything from barrels of grain to rolls of bandages.

Tangles and Roots (The Old Guard)

He was covering Andy.

The hangar was dark, shadowed by the last of the night while dawn crept up over the skyline outside. The plane was set to land any minute now, and Nicky’s eyes flicked from corner to corner, finger on the trigger of his gun and his jaw grinding hard. He could swear he saw shapes moving along the roof— the banks of high windows above them left eerie patches of weak blue light, flickering with little flashes of darkness.

It was probably just birds. He was out of practice— they had done nothing but sit around in the six months since Merrick, trying to heal the deep wounds left in their minds… and bodies, in Andy’s case.

Nicky swallowed, stepping that much closer to his friend’s side as they took their places in the shadows.

Still Awake? (The Old Guard)

He pretended to sleep. His eyes were closed, and his muscles were stiff, tying themselves into knots where he laid in his cot between Andy’s empty bedroll and Joe and Nicky’s snuggled up bodies. Booker refused to be comfortable— he refused to rest. The day had been rough, and the fighting had left a bone deep ache inside him, even while the physical wounds had healed.

All the Time in the World (The Old Guard) 

The first time Nicolo and Yusuf bathed together, it was by the river— he wasn’t sure which river. It had probably changed names and countries a hundred times by now. All he remembered was that, by the time they heard the steady rush of water and cleared the brush and trees to the bank, he was half mad with annoyance.

If that man made one more grumbled complaint— one more clearly telegraphed grimace— about the supposed smell of him, Nicoló might have to break their truce and run the bastard through.

Kissed by an Angel (The Old Guard)

Nicky felt his lips flicker into a private smile, setting the pot on the stove to simmer and turning to look out the window into the garden. Joe’s garden.

He was humming to himself— Nicky couldn’t quite hear it, but he could tell by the set of the other man’s jaw under his beard and the purse of his lips as he concentrated. The weeds wouldn’t rip themselves, the overgrown shrubs wouldn’t miraculously be already pruned and waiting for them.

They were finally back in Valletta. Finally home.

Patron Saint of Satisfaction (The Old Guard)

It had been a long, long few weeks.

Joe’s shoulders were tense and knotted, and his whole body still ached from the train ride he and Nicky had taken all that day. There was a stifling, choked sensation in his gut that would rise in waves, up his throat to the tip of his tongue until he was ready to scream. The whole way to their safehouse, he brushed shoulders with his lover— practically leaning on him— and let himself take refuge in the feeling of Nicky’s warm hand entwining their fingers.

Waking Dreams (The Old Guard)

At first, they could’ve been anywhere for all Joe knew.

There was nothing in the world but Nicky— his scent, his body, his quiet sleeping breaths. Joe felt himself hover on the edge of sleep and wakefulness, the familiar thrum of pleasure making up the backdrop of his thoughts.

He nuzzled into his Nico’s neck, pressing sloppy, half asleep kisses to the back of his neck.

Here There Be Monsters (The Old Guard) 

The morning had been blustery and hot. The scent of ozone made the sea air thick as it blew through his hair where they all stood, crowded around the lower deck. They all squinted against the bright sunshine, but Joe knew better than to trust the blue sky.

”If I’m getting in, I’ve gotta do it soon—“ he spoke up, cutting into some conversation that he hadn’t been listening to, “There’s a storm coming in from the East.”

Nile— still so young, so far from the American Midwest, and in her first field season— raised an eyebrow at him from behind her sunglasses.

He smiled at her bemused look, shooting his gaze over to Andy. Andy smirked, huffing a laugh. “If anybody knows, Joe knows.”

In Loving Memory (The Old Guard)

The wind whipped up off the water, cold and salty despite the way the sun beat down on them. It was alright, honestly— refreshing after all those stuffy hours in the car.

These immortals were highly resistant to normal modes of transport. Like a plane— a real passenger plane, not a Russian cargo plane full of drugs. It was all cars and boats and trains, low to the ground, literally under the radar.

Nile understood why. She didn’t want to end up strapped down to a lab table like the one they escaped all those months ago. She’d just rather take a nice plane from the closest airport to Provence and get to Valletta in a matter of hours, rather than drive through three countries and all the way down the Italian boot, just to bribe a fishing boat.

Feed My Soul (The Old Guard) 

Malta looked good on Nicolò.

Joe leaned on the railing of their balcony, looking down into their old, old walled garden where his Nico shuffled around in the herbs. He was looking for something particular, the bridge of his nose scrunching as he peered at the mess of overgrown pots.

Joe beamed, the familiar, all-encompassing warmth of loving that man filling him up and making him feel expansive and bright. There was a cathedral ceiling in his chest, airy and golden with the light of dawn through its tall, jeweled windows. There was a house of worship where his heart should be, and he traced the lines of the other man’s body like he was devoting a painting to him.

Sono Qui (The Old Guard)

Andy left Booker on the beach.

She felt his gaze follow her, but couldn’t bring herself to look back.

It wasn’t as if they had never separated before— as if the four of them had been constantly attached from the time they finally found the Frenchman, even after months and months of dreaming and searching. There were plenty of times where they spent months, or sometimes years apart. They took breaks from each other, they traveled. Just a year ago, Andy had declared that she needed a break— was that last year of being alone the thing that led Booker to betray them? Maybe they should’ve stayed together. She never should have left him. She understood how it felt to be alone in the world… to lose someone so precious that life loses its color.

Andy had left Booker plenty of times. It wasn’t something she liked to think about now, but she had… She had assumed he was handling it like her. Somber and drunk, wishing for some type of release. They’d talked about it enough times. But not like this.

Brother of My Heart  (The Old Guard)

Joe clenched his hands on the steering wheel, flexing his fingers to feel the stretch in the tendons, even though any injuries from the fighting had long since healed.

While driving away from the ruins of Merrick’s car, the adrenaline was still rushing in his veins, and all his self control was devoted to staying reasonably within the speed limit. The last thing they needed was to get stopped by some bobby cop while covered in blood and dust, with a bullet through Andy’s stomach.

Right now, they needed to blend in. So, Joe didn’t press the gas pedal into the floor.

Care and Feeding (The Old Guard) 

Nile couldn’t ever remember liking the cold.

Even at home in Chicago. Sure, her memories of warm Christmas masses, bright lights on the tree, and gently falling snow outside the kitchen window made her throat dry with that familiar, wistful grief. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to seeing pine trees or twinkle lights without thinking of her mom’s mac n cheese, or how early her brother would wake her up on Christmas morning.

But loving Christmas, and loving snow? Those were two completely different things.

Going Underground (Star Wars) 

Poe wasn’t sure what it was like when they broke through the atmosphere into Yavin IV. He didn’t watch through the Falcon’s wide front window as the familiar jungles passed by in a blur of green underneath them, and he couldn’t pick out the roof of home from the surrounding grasses as they came in for a landing.

The first thing he saw as he came to, bleary and aching, was Finn. They’d fallen asleep right where they were, pressed shoulder to shoulder at the holochess table, Poe’s head on Finn’s shoulder. It took him a sluggish moment to recall why his hand had its own throbbing pulse, and why Finn’s soft, dark skin was pockmarked with strange cuts, glistening with bacta.

The second thing he saw, swallowing against the rush of memories filling his fuzzy mind, must have been a hallucination.

STAR WARS VIII: The Battle of the Force (Star Wars) 

“General, I don’t know how much longer we can hold ‘em off—”

Poe’s voice crackled from the shoddy reception, nearly engulfed by the constant bombardment in the background.

“Commander, the Resistance depends on taking down this dreadnought.” Leia kept her voice steady and strong “Stand your ground.”

Beyond What We Can See (Star Wars) 

If he was being honest with himself, he supposed that he’d been feeling the Force his whole life. He’d always just brushed it off as basic intuition— he thought everybody felt this way. It wasn’t until he started seeing the way the Force was treated in the First Order—as a myth, a fearful, distant thing—that he realized how much he needed to keep his head down. Even though he only felt it in small ways, he was different. He buried the feelings, tried to ignore the nagging dread that said that he didn’t belong there in his platoon. That none of them did.

But that wasn’t something he was allowed to feel. The Force wasn’t supposed to be something any of the troops knew firsthand.

Like She Always Did (Star Wars) 

The first time she left was barely a memory. More of a dream. He didn’t remember the fight they had, but he knew in hindsight that they must’ve had it for much longer than the tail end that he saw. Maybe it was what got his little feet out of bed in the first place. Daddy’s eyes were rimmed with red and Mama was pacing out her anger into the sitting room rug. Poe’s eyes were wide as he watched from the threshold to the hall, his little hand gripping onto the pillow that he’d tugged along with him from his room.

Love Will Help You Heal (Star Wars) 

Every inch of him throbbed, the last dregs of whatever the interrogation droid had injected him with still pumping through his bloodstream. He was so tired. How long had it even been? Getting captured on Jakku felt like a hazy dream, as if it was weeks ago.

No one was coming for him. He knew that much—he’d probably be mad if they endangered the resources to try—but he couldn’t help but wish anyway. Death seemed so close, like a cold hand on his shoulder, by his side in the recirculated air of the Star Destroyer.

He wished they’d just hurry up. His drug-addled, sleep deprived mind didn’t know if he was asking for rescue or death. Maybe they were the same thing now.

Dying a martyr. At least it suited the image—Poe Dameron, Poster Boy of the Resistance.

Ghosts of Future and Past (MCU/Captain America) 

His head was throbbing. His back ached. Everything in him pulsed with agony like he’d been hit by a train.

A train. Bucky.

“Bucky is alive.” 

He could feel the winter cold at the memory, his eyes snapping open as the past few moments came flooding back to him.

There had been another Steve. Even without the mask, he’d looked just like him. It must have been Loki playing tricks again, it had to be.

Sweet as Honey, Gold Like the Sun (Stranger Things) 

Steve was drifting after high school graduation. He drifted right out of the halls of Hawkins High and into a desk job at his dad’s office. If he was being honest, he’d been drifting since the Gate closed— maybe even since Nancy broke it off.

He wasn’t mad. She was his best friend. He and Jonathan were even friends now. No, he hadn’t been mad for a long time— but he was lost. The kids were going to high school. Dustin would be getting his license one of these days, and Steve’s last function to his little gaggle of brats would become all but useless.

The idea of not serving a purpose left the bitter tang of anxiety in his throat. Once the kids didn’t need him— and Joyce and Hopper and even Nancy— Steve would be left behind. Again.

Okay... Some of these may have been more than just what is considered “Opening Lines”, but I can’t just leave something feeling unfinished, and I’m a little tipsy, which means I am bending the rules <3

**EDIT** i forgot to look for patterns and pick my favorite! I mean, I think all storytelling/creative expression (anything from developing a recipe to composing a painting to writing a story) follows a distinct formula. And the best way to establish the story is by starting it with the most important element front and center— I almost always start with my main character. A thought or a feeling, a situation or a sensation. They’re the focal point from which everything ripples out. Those first ripples (the 2nd, 3rd or 4th lines) are usually about building the setting. It’s an equation that works so well for me, and though I sometimes shake it up by adding immediate dialogue or flipping the positions of setting and main character, it has served me well ❤️ i think my favorite has to be Brother of My Heart. It’s the first really, immediately big story Ive ever had. So many comments, so much warmth, so many kind people— it grew my confidence and helped me make friends. It reminds me of how truly wonderful fandom can be, even just with the first few lines.

I’m going to continue to bend the rules by not tagging anyone immediately-- it’s giving me weird anxiety levels, so I’m gonna wait and do it later maybe. If, in the meantime, you see this and want to do it, write me down as the one who tagged you! <3 Feel frrrreeeeeeee! 

[nissakii]

Scent. a Haikyu!! Fanfiction pt.16

[want to read all chapters right now? Our fanfictions get updated every monday on our blog, click here to continue reading!]

“Why don’t you tell me something about omegas and how you react to them”. The phrasing maybe wasn’t that ambiguous, but the words were spat out with poisonous intention. Words that should enter your head and linger for a while not until one realizes they consume you. At least that was my intention on that day. I’ve heard enough times that those kinds of mind games were allegedly ‘horrible’ and ‘insulting’, but I never understood what the big deal was. It’s not like I’m taking away a toy from a child. We are all adults here, and life isn’t about who is the nicest. It’s about who succeeds. And if some little mind game is what gives me the head start. I’ll do it. Albeit possibly that I lost my chances to be friends with Oikawa, I must admit my words to him were pretty harsh, I felt like he took it well. Which isn’t good. He wasn’t fazed by it at all, I had noticed his smile maybe twitching a little but he only retorted with a smart explanation of how natural pheromones worked and made me look like an idiot country bumpkin. I still remembered his smile as he asked me if I understood what he meant, and maybe I was just angrier than usual but I could swear he was being all smug about it too. So I found someone who was willing to play the same game as me. Hm. The other interesting thing on that day, which keeps replaying in my head, was that omega girl. It was honestly shocking to scent an omega for the first time. My curiosity ran with it and I was glad she was fine with me being so close, I have heard stories in which omegas retorted with less ‘accommodating’ ways. I even caught her gaze after a lecture of mine, but she didn’t budge and I wasn’t up for conversation. Still, the way she looked at me after coming for Oikawa was insane. She didn’t yell or tried to fight me, she didn’t shy away either. She just looked at me. And it was terrifying. Her eyes were piercing through me as if to provoke me to continue, her scent had doubled up in intensity which I wasn’t expecting at all, and her sweet caramel scent suddenly burnt to crisp. Her voice was sharp but not too emotional, it was distinct for me to listen to. “I would ask you to mind your own business”. Stone cold, I gotta say. It made me take a step back and raise my arms in defense with a smile and the situation immediately deescalated, Oikawa had caught her scent and was just as aggravated and I realised the rumours I had heard were partly true, but the incident seemed a lot more severe than I had imagined. I mean it was the first thing I heard when I came here, it was on social media and every other first year told me the same thing. “It’s good you’re an alpha, the rest don’t have it easy here”. Maybe I really shouldn’t have meddled too much, it’s still a school I really wanted to go to and Osamu is here as well, so I really shouldn’t destroy my own chances that much. The caramel girl was technically right, I should mind my own business. But was that fun? Nah. The door creaked open as what I would assume could only be my brother entered the dorm room I was in. “Samu!”, I chimed excitedly. … I only pushed in the door a little bit and already heard my brother squeak my name. “Samu!”, he chimed and I entered the dorm with a greeting. “Ossu”, I placed the plastic bag with some utensils I needed for my classes on my bed and looked at Atsumu sprawled on his side. The dorm room we were given was actually quite small. I was used to having a bit more space to myself, but with the scholarship I was glad I atleast got a twin room with my brother. Although when I looked at him I sometimes thought differently. The two beds were pushed to the far end of the room and to the walls on the sides, a desk separating the space in between. In front of Atsumu’s bed, which was the one on the right, the other desk was situated which was supposed to be mine. I remember when we moved in here the dorm looked horrendous, but with enough cleaning and the right duvets and covers it felt a lot better. And of course my side was a lot neater than his. “S’that my

shirt?”, I recognized the pattern on the front and he merely scoffed at me. “Uh, no?” “Really?” “Uh”, he intelligently mused to himself and I sighed. “Nevermind, you take what ya want anyways. Make sure to wash it later, I gotta head to the library”, I left the bag with the supplies on my bed and instead fished out a list with the literature I had to get. “Alright, see ya” “See ya”, I retorted and headed back outside. I grabbed the list in my hands and tried to check which building I had to go to. “Why are there multiple libraries?” Linguistics? Human sciences? Okay I definitely don’t have to go to the law department. With at least twenty minutes of running around campus I finally went up to someone outside and asked for help. “Oh yeah that’s pretty confusing I guess, uh so you need to search for building 4, the library should be the glass building right next to it!” Nodding and bowing with a slight smile I made my way to the mentioned building. The way over there was very pretty, the pathways went under huge trees and the ambiance felt really good, but I had no time to walk around exploring. Finally, I looked at the beautiful building in front of me. Still belonging to the campus, but it was obvious that it was either newly built or otherwise rebranded. The walls showed a tinted version of the life inside, the higher stories dimly shining in a warm light. I approached the entrance and two huge doors slid open when I wanted to step inside. Murmuring was to be heard everywhere, and for the fact that it was a library I was a little shocked at the rumbling noise. As if I was entering a mall, tall metal gates that I had to go through demanded my student ID. I saw other students move swiftly between the poles and swish their ID quickly at a screen and I tried to emulate the gesture, completely overwhelmed with all of the technology. With I beep the gates opened and I stood still to admire the interior of the building. Standing in the middle, and elevator right in front of me lead to the different levels of the library. When I looked to the right I saw a reception and an information center, and to the left the toilets and another gate leading to a cafeteria where to be found. Stepping into the elevator I looked at the signs that signalled me which level I had to go to and I pressed the button. Floor 7 out of 12. This crap is huge! More and more students entered and left the elevator again, stopping at every floor to change its inhabitants. After some minor bumps in the road, I finally got to my desired floor. When the metal doors opened, I finally felt the silence. Shelves and more shelves of book were to be seen, students rummaging through them to find what they were looking for. Maybe it was the fact that the library was so huge, but i didn’t see too many people here. Looking up at a sign that read “Arts and human sciences” I knew I was at the right place. Walking inside I started to look for my books. Big mistake. The labels on the books were highly confusing, and I had no idea where to look. I peered at my list again. Introduction into Culinary Arts vol.1 – [1998-TR-CA-54] Huh? What about the good old alphabetization? I had no idea what those codes meant, and after only finding books on history and other weird subjects, I had to check for help. I went back to the entrance of the library and followed the arrow sign that said ‘reception’ until I found a desk with a young woman sitting behind it. She was focused on her laptop, quickly typing away as I approached her. “Hi”, I whispered and she shot up in her seat. “Oh, sorry, uhm can you help me find these books please?”, I whispered again as she visibly relaxed and smiled lightly. “Yeah, sorry I’m a bit jumpy today. What books are you looking for? Wanna read them here or rent them?”, she asked in a hushed voice and I realised I didn’t have to whisper all too much. “Rent please, but I have no idea where to find these. The codes are really weird”. She stood up from her stool and walked around the desk towards me. “Are you new

here? The codes are confusing at first but you’ll get used to it”. I nodded and handed her my list, and she concentrated on that for a moment before showing me something. “See that code? It’s made so you can narrow your search. [1998-TR-CA-54] means you look for the shelf number 54, then for CA which stands for culinary arts, then the authors initials which are ‘Tatum Rebecca’ and then the release year 1998”, her fingers pointed on each letter combination and then to the shelves around us. Puzzled, I still looked at the myriad of shelves in front of me and she must’ve caught my expression because she stifled a laugh and took a step towards the shelves. “Want me to help you?” I nodded and she replied with a hum as she started walking. “The library gets a little confusing at first”, she mused as I walked next to her, “I think I might’ve seen you on a library tour before? Are you new?” I nodded, “I just moved here, so everything is a little weird to me still”. Her eyes crinkled shut as she stifled another laugh and suddenly looked a bit taken aback, she looked to the floor and back up at me but not fully, “Yeah I felt the same when I came here for my first semester”. She turned around to face me and I looked down at her nameplate. Asami. Beta Committee. I pointed at the name plate with a cocked brow, “so you’re a beta?” She stopped in her tracks and gave me a look. “Uh yeah, I am”, she followed my gaze and suddenly started talking really fast, “Oh my god! I didn’t even introduce myself. You’re new you must be taking everything in still!” “It’s fine, I mean I saw it on your nameplate. Is Asami okay?”, I inquired and she nodded lightly with a shy smile. “I’m Osamu Miya, nice to meet you”, I slightly nodded my head as well and she beckoned me closer to follow her. As she walked through the shelves and pathways she explained more about the library. There were way too many faculties and abbreviations to remember, but luckily they hung up a lot of flyers that showed which abbreviations stood for which topic. I only needed a couple of these, but after finding the first two books my head started to buzz with all the information. “And here you have the department of culinary arts, its quite remote from the rest of the library but I guess you’ll have your peace and quiet here!”, Asami chimed happily, her voice raising a little bit as there were almost no students here. It was actually quiet nice to have no background noise. It reminded me of home, when I walked to school and I left a sleeping Atsumu behind. The breeze catching my face as I made my way to school. I hummed and looked around to locate the last books on my list. For my business and economics classes we had already found the book I needed, well Asami found them, but this time I tried to get the book on my own. Walking towards the shelves before the beta could even move, I already found the correct number out of sheer luck and started to check for the right letter combinations. I felt Asami roaming behind me, I could smell her rosey scent behind my form but she didn’t budge. “Ah”, I exclaimed as I pulled out the book I needed with a little too much excitement. She clapped quietly and nodded proudly. “You caught on really quickly! We could use a bit of help from someone like you in the committee!” “The beta committee?”, I asked with my index finger pointing to her name tag again. “Yeah! We always have a place for new students, and you could even work here in the library”, she concluded and I smiled a little. “Well I am flattered I guess, but I am not a beta”. She staggered for a moment and looked at me confused, until I saw her nostrils flare up and she held her hand to mouth as she realized her mistake. “Uh, uhm I- I’m sorry I-“, she started stuttering and I cut her off with a relaxed shake of my head. “No worries, I actually get that a lot”. “Ugh, no it’s not fine, I shouldn’t have assumed your secondary gender that so weird”, she slumped a little and took a step back, her eyes not even reaching my face anymore. “It’s no big deal, I get

this often even at home. People think my scent is a bit more subdued so” She nodded but still looked away, a weird silence brooding between us now. It’s really not that big of a deal though. “Oi!”, hushed yell came from the door and we both looked towards it to find a lean man leaning onto it. “The reception was empty, what are you doing?” “Oh, no”, the beta mused and clasped her hands together anxiously before looking back at me, still more distant than at the beginning of our conversation. “I’m sorry, that’s Akaashi I have to go back to the reception!”, and she turned around to meet the other guy before I could say anything. She was so jittery all of a sudden. “Uh, yeah”, I mumbled back as I watched her interact with said Akaashi, before I turned back to my list. They both left soon after that, and I was left alone in the silence of the shelves trying to find the few books I had left. After a couple of minutes and endless shuffling, I counted off my list and stopped with a satisfied huff when I realized I had everything I needed. The books were actually quite bothersome to carry, so I snagged one of the book trolleys that were laid out to help with transporting the literature and leisurely pushed it next to me as I approached the reception again. This time, there were a couple of students standing around the computer, and I curiously walked closer. “No way, I can’t take Thursday. I have extracurriculars there!”, another male beta I assumed argued with Asami who was typing frantically on her computer. “Well I don’t have any other slot for you, I’m sorry. It’s either Thursday for you or Akaashi, and Akaashi is already taking Friday this time”, she mumbled a bit more annoyed than I expected. She really was different when calm. I already released when she assumed I was a beta that she felt comfortable, but when she suddenly drew back I felt her environment must be very precise for her to relax. Good thing Tsumu isn’t here. “I can take both days”, Akaashi mumbled, and I took another step and cleared my throat to interrupt. “Sorry, can I just check these out?”, I asked and Akaashi immediately nodded and typed up something into the computer even though Asami was still sitting in front of it. As a result she retreated into herself with a squeal and grumbled when Akaashi slightly pushed away her swivel chair. “Can you give me the books you wanna take with you?”, the aloof beta asked politely and I pushed the books towards him. As he scanned every item on the list, I felt the eyes of the other male beta on me. I wasn’t sure if I had seen him before somewhere, but he looked at me with slanted eyes before scrunching his nose and inhaling my scent. He suddenly calmed down a lot and even smiled a little, as if his cause for concern was suddenly gone. “You’re new here aren’t you? What’s your name hm?”, he tilted his head and leaned forward on the counter. “Uh, yeah. I’m Osamu Miya, nice to meet you”, I prompted back and the beta nodded, like he was pleased with the answer. “Any interest in joining the beta committee? It’s very-” Asami nudged his arm and furiously shook her head to signal something and I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. Is it really that ambiguous? “What Asami? I’m trying to recruit fresh meat here! We need the help!” “Actually I am not a beta. I’m an alpha”, I retorted lamely, and I felt a twinge of surprise when Asami’s eyes shot up to me in fear. “What is it?”, I asked and felt annoyance crumbling up slightly. “Oh”, the beta I was talking to shot back with venom in his voice and Akaashi only sighed while typing in codes for the books,” and alpha are you?” I nodded with scrunched eyebrows. What is he getting at? “Well, then you can leave”, she kissed his teeth and looked to the side as if disgusted. “Futakuchi! You can’t say that! It’s borderline discrimination at this point!”, Asami pulled at the guys sweater and he broke away but kept looking at her as he spoke. “No way! We have enough alpha’s strolling around terrorizing us! What about us hm?!” “Don’t mind him. He’s very”,

Akaashi looked at Futakuchi and then back at me with disdain written in his features, “passionate”. “It’s about beta’s not getting the recognition they deserve! Beta supremacy!”, he whisper yelled at Asami who only sank her head into her hands. Beta supremacy? Somehow that didn’t feel right to me. Personally I didn’t take much care into being an alpha, the whole secondary gender thing wasn’t of much interest anyways. I generall talk to the people I wanna talk to, and when it comes to more serious relationships, I tend to not have a type. Although most Alpha’s go for omegas and vice versa, and most beta’s tend to stay in their own bubble, I felt it was almost restricting to think about that when choosing somebody. “Pay them no mind please”, Akaashi pushed the rented books towards me and I pulled them towards the small trolley with a nod. “You can take that one to your dorm, but please bring it back as soon as you can”, the calm beta continued and I thanked him with another nod. That Futakuchi guy still kept on glaring at me, while Asami swatted at his arm when she realised I stared too. “Yeah I’ll bring it over later, thank you”, I looked at the beta girl until she finally looked back and thanked her as well. She nodded and I turned around to get back to the dorm. My phone buzzed before I could even start moving and I checked my text messages. Tsumu: bring me pudding pls? You’re insufferable… Tsumu: thx o3o With a sigh I pushed the phone back into my jeans pocket and left the library behind.

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[jurassicsunsets]

Pachycephalosaur domes: Function

Welcome back! We last left our heroine (that’s me!) as she gave a brief overview of the history of interpretations of pachycephalosaur domes. We now return to your regularly scheduled program.

However, little discussion was had of the function of the pachycephalosaur dome in this early work, with suggestions limited to the broad category of “armour” (ex: Gilmore, 1924). 

(Image: A skeletal restoration of Stegoceras validum showing pachycephalosaur anatomy as known in 1924. Outlined parts are inferred from comparison with Hypsilophodon. Image from Gilmore (1924).)

The first worker to propose a functional use of pachycephalosaur domes was Edwin Colbert in 1955, who compared the domes to the cranial “bosses” of artiodactyls and suggested that they may have been used similarly in head-butting battles - here used to mean head-to-head smashing contests -  over mates. 

Galton (1971) thought this was a pretty boss idea, and pointed out that the domes of pachycephalosaurs were made of very thick solid bone. Bone takes a lot of energy to maintain; despite looking like a static, dead rock, it is in fact a living tissue that is constantly remodeling itself (hence why you can repair after a broken bone!). If the domes were just for display, Galton argued that it’d be much more beneficial for them to be hollow. (This would also make them lighter to carry around.)

This still left the suggestion of the dome being used as an anti-predator weapon. Galton argued that this also was unlikely — after all, if something is trying to kill you, why not have a sharply pointed head instead of a dull, rounded one? Finally, Galton pointed out that the neck articulation was rotated to the bottom of the skull, a condition that we’ve seen is extremely rare among animals. He argued that this was an adaptation for transferring stresses away from the brain and into the body after two pachycephalosaurs bonked heads.

(Image: *Bonk*. <Drawings of pachycephalosaur skulls bonking into each other, with arrows showing his interpretation of how forces would be transferred>. From Galton (1971).)

Sues (1978) agreed that the thickening of the skull functioned to reinforce it for use as a battering ram. In order to see whether it had any structures that indicated special adaptations for bonking heads, he cut a pachycephalosaur dome open and looked inside it.

Modern animals that butt heads with each other are, of course, in danger, because the skull contains the brain, which is a part of the body that you generally don’t like getting sloshed around. A completely solid dome, while very durable, might thus not be the best way to go if you’re bonking into things. This is because it would lead to all forces traveling directly into the brain, without absorbing any of the impact. A more springy dome that keeps its strength but can deform would mean that that stress gets reduced. It’s the same reason why modern cars are designed to crumple to keep you safe. 

So in order to counter that, modern head-butting mammals have hollow areas on their heads that are reinforced on the inside with bony struts. Here’s an example of that in a Cape Buffalo:

(Photo: The skull of a Cape Buffalo (Syncerus caffer), which has broken open, revealing a complex series of sinuses and body struts under the horns. Source)

 So what did Sues find when he cut open the skulls of pachycephalosaurs? See for yourself:

(Image: A thin section through the dome of a Stegoceras validus - this section is cut from “ear to ear”, if that helps you imagine it (though note that their ears weren’t quite in the same place as ours; this is just to help clarify what’s being shown here). I’ll describe anatomically what’s going on in the next paragraph. Image from Sues (1978).)

First things first, those big cracks are not anatomical features; so far as I can tell, they are just cracks in the specimen. What we’re really looking at here are the much smaller bony struts and cavities that radiate away from where the brain would be towards the outside of the skull. Sues termed these radiating trabeculae, and argued that they served a similar function to the sinuses in buffalo. They are not nearly as big as the ones in buffalo, but Sues suggested that differences in brain size and structure might have meant that such protection wasn’t as necessary in pachycephalosaurs.

This idea that the pachycephalosaur skull could resist stresses was elaborated on by Snively and Cox (2008), who, using computer models, demonstrated that point stresses applied to higher-domed skulls would diminish rapidly with distance from the point of contact. They found that flat-headed pachycephalosaur skulls would propagate stresses through their structures far more. Based on these results, they predicted a high occurrence of injury to the surface of the dome. 

(Image: Biomechanical computer models of the flat-headed Homalocephale and the dome-headed Pachycephalosaurus. The former shows high stresses throughout the “dome”, while the latter shows stresses diminishing near the point of contact.)

Their predictions were confirmed by Peterson et al. (2013), who examined domes across pachycephalosaur diversity for evidence of injury. Fully 22% of specimens observed showed injuries to the frontoparietal dome, and 7% of specimens had 6 or more lesions. This is an insanely high frequency of injury, and lends some support to the idea that they were hitting their heads against something. Injuries were concentrated near the peak of the dome, as might be expected were domes used in butting behaviour; all flat-headed specimens examined lacked head injuries. 

(Image: Six different pachycephalosaur domes, all with surface injuries (indicated with white arrows). Image from Peterson et al (2013).)

Snively and Theodor (2011) offered comparisons to modern head-butting mammals including giraffes, musk oxen, and duikers by examining bone density. Their results showed that pachycephalosaur cranial domes exhibit particularly dense bone superficially but much less dense bone as one moves deeper into the dome, a pattern seen also in head-butting artiodactyls, and suggested that this supports them using their heads to hit things with. 

(Image: Scans through the skull of Stegoceras, showing higher bone density in red and lower in blue. Higher-density bone is concentrated towards the outside of the dome, with lower-density bone inside. Modified from Snively and Theodor (2011).)

Modern animals that butt heads typically have broad-flat surfaces (as in bighorn sheep) or otherwise branches or structures to maintain contact (as in ibex, for example). Pachycephalosaurs have neither of these, instead having rounded domes; if two ran at each other, it is easy to image how they might glance off each other and injure their necks. Sues (1978) thus argued that the domed shape might indicate flank-butting (in which animals would ram each others’ sides). 

(Image: Problems with pachycephalosaurs bonking heads. Modern bighorn sheep skulls have wide surfaces of contact, while pachycephalosaurs would have only a very small point on the top of a round dome. Image from Carpenter (1997))

 This was elaborated upon by Carpenter (1997), who noted that the head-butting hypothesis supposes that the skull and vertebral column act in a straight line to transmit forces through the body (rather than into the neck). Carpenter observed that, though no complete neck is known from a pachycephalosaur, the orientation of the back vertebrae and of the socket on the skull necessitate a gently S-curved neck and back, as in most ornithischians. As such a curved neck would transmit stresses diagonally on the spinal column, it risks breaking the neck. Today’s head-butting mammals solve this problem by having tall spines on their neck and back vertebrae, but these are not present in pachycephalosaurs. 

(Image: Schematic drawing of a pachycephalosaur skeleton, showing S-curved neck and transmission of stress shear-wise to vertebral column. Modified from Carpenter (1997).)

He agreed that flank-butting was a more likely use of pachycephalosaur domes, pointing to similar behaviour in modern African antelope. Finally, Carpenter pointed to the wide ribcage of pachycephalosaurs as possible evidence of thickening the torso to better protect against butting behaviour. 

(Image: Drawing of two pachycephalosaurs butting each others’ flanks. Modified from Carpenter (1997).)

Goodwin et al (1998) agreed about flank-butting, and also believed that the structure of the dome would not have offered protection against stresses as the trabeculae were not interconnected. Instead, they interpreted the structures instead as artefacts of rapid growth of the dome.

Bony reinforcements of the tail are pretty common in dinosaurs; they are most extensive in the “duck-billed” hadrosaurs, in which the tendons of the back have turned to bone and effectively make the entire back and tail stiff and unable to move. 

Pachycephalosaurs have similar-looking structures on their tails, and Goodwin et al. suggested that the reinforced tail of pachycephalosaurs may have served a role in flank-butting behaviour, offering that it may have been used as a defensive weapon against other pachycephalosaurs.

(Image: Skeletal drawing of Stegoceras. Note the complex “basket” of bones reinforcing the tail. Image by Scott Hartman @skeletaldrawing​.)

However, the idea of the tail as a defensive weapon was rejected by Brown and Russell (2012). These authors demonstrated that, amazingly, the “basket” of bones reinforcing the tail are not tendons, but instead the divisions between the individual muscle blacks that have turned to bone! This is a condition that’s unknown in any other tetrapod (though it’s present in some fish). Due to the location of the ossifications within the muscles rather than the skin, these authors argued that it would not be useful as a weapon. These authors instead suggested that the the tail served to brace the body in a tripodal stance during flank-butting, an idea first proposed by Maryańska and Osmólska (1974).

The first major objection to be raised against generalised butting behaviour in pachycephalosaurs was by Goodwin and Horner (2004), who sliced into the domes of pachycephalosaur skulls of different ages. Building off of work done by Goodwin et al. (1998), they argued that the “radiating trabeculae” that had been cited by previous authors as being adaptations for reducing strain on the brain are instead temporary features associated with the rapid growth of the skull and disappear as the animal ages, and that the shape of the adult dome was ill-suited for dissipating stress. 

(Image: Thin sections of two pachycephalosaur domes, the left from a younger individual, the right from an older individual. Stage II (the less dense, spongier bone) is propotionally thicker in the younger individual. Images are not to scale. From Goodwin and Horner (2004).)

The authours instead argued that pachycephalosaur domes functioned as species-recognition characteristics, as they were apparently not sexually dimorphic (to be discused in a future post, which will be linked here).

This idea received criticism for failing to address why animals would evolve such thick and dense structures if they were just for display, and I confess I don’t buy the idea at all. . Lehman (2010) also took issue with the characterisation of the dome histology, concluding that the radial structure of the bone was present even in the most superficial, densest bone zone, albeit with a decreased amount of vascularity; and that the less compact, vascular bone was maintained at least until the individual attained adult size. He further noted that trabecular struts of a form similar to those found in pachycephalosaur frontoparietal domes are strongest against compressional stress along their long axis, consistent with high strength in pachycephalosaur domes. 

Longrich et al (2010) argued that the dome could not possibly have functioned in species recognition, because dome shape is not significantly different between different species — an observation that, to my view, is an extremely convincing argument against the “species recognition” idea. These authors also pointed out that some degree of asymmetry was not uncommon in pachycephalosaur domes, and noted that this is a common trait of featured which have been sexually selected (both in display structures and intra-specific weapons).

This was a bit of a longer post this week, but I wanted to make sure I had a good overview of different proposed functions of the dome. This series will conclude next week with a look into who had the dome, and finally what I think they were doing with it! A link to that will be >here< once it’s up.

[vicunaburger]

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 15/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,784 Warnings: M for Mature Content, TW: Brief mention of previous injuries (not exactly self-harm, but similar in tone)

Notes: Naked house guests abound

Chapter 15 - In Which the Future Doesn’t Exist

It would be another few hours before Holidae gathered enough energy to pry herself away from the ghost’s hold on her; muscles and joints popping with effort as she sat up.

The discomfort had nothing to do with their activities, but everything to do with the fact he slept on a past its prime sofa bed. The rusty springs creaked loudly as she swung her legs over the side, causing her to wince at the sudden noise, and turn to check on her companion. He didn’t seem bothered; laid out flat on his stomach completely naked, but not moving around as though he had woken up. Admittedly, it wasn’t the most graceful pose he could have adopted, but it was entertaining to see him stark naked without a care in the world.

Did he even need to sleep, or was it just a habit to act that way around other people?

The sight of him so… vulnerable almost made her rethink her plans, wanting to just crawl back into bed and stay there for the rest of the weekend. However, the dried blood on her shoulder and other… fluids that had dried on her skin were not the most pleasant sensations for long periods of time. A shower was her goal for that morning, and then maybe she could treat herself to sleeping longer in her comfortable, soft bed.

Holidae gathered her clothes from the floor, tiptoeing across the room and down the stairs in the bright light of the late morning. Since no one else was home, she decided to have a little fun and commandeer the Deetz’s master bathroom, as it was the fanciest in the house. It had been recently refurbished, she had been told, with a double-length walk-in shower with multiple faucets. Not that she needed anything more than a basic bathtub on any given day, but it was nice to take advantage of the luxury while it was available.

Turning on the showerheads, she waited for the water to warm up a little, examining herself in the nearby vanity mirror. The bite on her shoulder looked nastier than it felt, but there were clear rows of teeth visible underneath the initial bruising. Luckily, it wouldn’t be difficult to hide it under sweaters and coats for the winter season. She gently ran her fingertips around each small puncture, her face growing red at the memory of them being so close in that moment.

Holidae stepped into the shower, carefully closing the clear glass door behind her, hissing as the warm water soaked into her aching body. It was such a delightful sensation; she closed her eyes and let the water run over her face and hair, eager to relax after such anxiety the night before. The more she thought about it, the more she felt silly for thinking the worst of him. Of course, the standard image of all demon creatures were ones of vile, nasty beasts hellbent on snatching the soul of the unsuspecting human. The thought always stayed in the back of her mind, but she never let it grow any larger than a passing notion.

She doubted he would go to do much trouble for her soul anyway. Probably wasn’t worth much.

Tap Tap Tap

The sound of a nail on glass caught her attention, and her head snapped around to the shower door, her hands grasping the safety bar to keep herself from slipping. There, pressed comically against the glass - still naked - was Beetlejuice, who smiled widely when he got her attention. Instinctively, Holidae tried to cover her more intimate parts, her whole body flushing red from the heat of the water and the embarrassment at being so startled.

“Hey babes~” He chuckled, squishing his face against the door. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I could’ve missed the floorshow! Awww, don’t cover up like that… it’s nothing I haven’t seen. Licked. Stuck my-”

She chucked a wet washcloth at his face, watching it slide down the glass a bit before hitting the ground, “What the hell are you scaring me like that for? I could have cracked my head open and died.”

“Well, then, it would have been lucky for you since I’m an expert at handling the newly-dead.” Beej stuck his lengthy tongue out, licking the glass in an obscene manner.

“Ew! Don’t… don’t lick that! You don’t know what’s on there!” Horrified, she tapped on the glass by his face, “Germs!”

Beetlejuice gave her a look before putting his whole mouth on the door, looking like one of those sucker fish on the walls of fish tanks. Holidae squealed in disgust, opening the door and pulling him inside the large shower space with her, pushing him under the spray of one of the water jets. Within moments, he looked like sopping, wet mess. His hair, normally tamed in a care-but-don’t-care fashion was plastered against his skull, the length covering the points of his ears and blocking out his eyesight. It was funny to see just how long his hair was without the signature fluffed appearance.

With a grumble, he jerked his head back, successfully moving his hair out of his face and splashing the whole of the shower space like an unhappy dog.

“…Holli-baby. Holly-Jolly. Babycakes. Babydoll. I’m dead.” Beetlejuice tilted his head to the side sharply, “I can’t get germs.”

She mirrored his expression, “The fine layer of dirt and mold you’re sporting on your birthday suit would suggest otherwise, Juice.”

He waved his hands dismissively, “It’s part of the package. Didn’t hear you complainin’ about germs when you were smothering me in the middle of the night. You were all arms and legs like a squid.”

Holidae grabbed the washcloth off the floor, lathering it up with a nearby bar of soap, “Me? I’m the squid?”

Beej made a show of sitting down on… nothing. There were no built-in benches or anything in the shower stall, but his body still conformed to the shape of sitting on a chair. Ignoring him, Holidae busied herself with gently cleaning around her shoulder, wincing at the sting of the soap, but managing to navigate the tricky path of irritated nerves. All the while, Beetlejuice remained silent, content in the fact she hadn’t gotten too angry at him for invading her private time. In truth, he would have been happy to be outside of the shower door, as was his original plan… but he didn’t mind the change of location.

Besides, he was not about to argue the amazing view he was getting of his breather soaping herself up. He knew for a fact that he hadn’t done anything to deserve such a treat.

Once she was finished, Holidae rinsed out the washcloth thoroughly, turning around and holding it out for him to use.

“…you can’t hang it up yourself?” He asked, confused by her gesture.

“Huh? No, you can use it. You know… for… washing up?” She sighed heavily, “Don’t. Don’t even say it. I know you claim not to be dirty and stuff but there’s nothing wrong with smelling like soap for a while.”

He hesitated, watching her with a raised eyebrow, “You gonna help me get the hard to reach places?”

“No.” Holidae’s tone was deadpanned to match her expression. “But I will let you sleep in my bed.”

Not wanting to push his luck, Beej reached out to take the washcloth, but stopped and wrapped his hand around her wrist instead. It was a quick, snappy action; like a snake darting out to catch a mouse. Startled, Holidae instinctively tried to pull her arm out of his iron grip, unsure of what he planned to do with the appendage. Keeping her in place, Beetlejuice tilted his head, inspecting the skin of her arm with a quizzical look. Thin, pale white stripes lined the surface area between her mid-arm and her elbow; some crisscrossing each other without a pattern.

“Lose a fight with a weed whacker?” The ghost let her arm go, taking the soap in hand, and attempting to make himself as clean as he could to her standards.

A muscle twitched in the corner of Holidae’s eye, “Used to have a cat.”

Slowly, he turned his full attention to her, the strange tone in her voice contradicting the perfectly reasonable answer she provided. It was… flat. Dull, but instantly falling out of her mouth like it was a programmed response.

Rehearsed.

“Tch, nasty cat.” He replied, giving his cleanliness the attention it needed.

The rest of their shower was spent in peace, Beej offering a slew of lewd jokes and breaking the tension between them almost immediately. He refused to let her dry herself off, stating it was his solemn duty to make sure she was dried enough to not slip on the tile flooring. Of course, he concentrated his efforts everywhere but her feet, causing Holidae to squirm away when the fibers hit the more ticklish parts of her.

By the time they managed to make their way into Holidae’s room, it was getting closer to sunset. She knew it was a bad idea in the long run, but Holidae couldn’t be bothered to make her way downstairs to find something to eat. The allure spending more comfortable hours in bed with her ghostly paramour was too tempting to ignore.

Beetlejuice was already settled in her bed, lounging in the “sexiest” way he could, fully nude with only part of a bedsheet draped across his thigh, “What’re you doing over there? Don’t get dressed! You’ve got all this sexiness waiting here just waiting for you to ravish it. I’m helpless, Holly-Jolly, powerless to stop you from devouring my body like a fine cut of meat.”

Holidae popped her head out of the neck-hole of her sweatshirt, rolling her eyes at the display, “I dunno, that side of beef might be past its prime.”

“Uhhhhhggggg, you’re killing me, babes.” He rolled over, stuffing his face into the pillow dramatically.

With a soft sigh, she climbed into the bed next to him, holding her arms open toward him, “You’re already dead, Juice. Now come here and stop complaining.”

With a pointed and loud huff, Beej wriggled his body over to her side of the bed, letting himself be enveloped by the warmth of her body and the softness of her sweatshirt. It wasn’t too long before he could hear her soft heartbeats within her chest, her breathing slowing to a crawl as she drifted off to sleep. He mind wasn’t about to let him relax along with her, far too preoccupied with their awkward exchange in the shower.

He made a mental note to ask Lydia about the cat.

Writing Tags: @hoodoo12 @mr-geuse @paxenera @leiasolo77 @go-commander-kim @a-subconscious-manifestation @asriells @missihart23 @heknowshisherbs

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 344

MIRACULOUS ANIMALS: SENSES: Part 1

Animals are spectacular creations. Not only do they have their unique shapes, sizes, colors, and attributes, but also they have incredible senses that enable them to survive and communicate in this world, in a very different (and superior) form than human beings. There are hundreds of thousands of different animals, and each type have a different level of sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch, along with what scientists call "super-natural senses." All animals and insects were created with those senses that best suits their size, attributes, and habitat for their survival. In this article, I will attempt to give a brief description of the different amazing senses animals have to create a better awareness and appreciation of these wondrous creations.

Sight: When we look around, we see several shades of colors and hundreds of thousands of images. Human beings, and several animals, are able to see images when light enters the eye and releases an electrical signal through our the nerves to the brain. These signals are then transformed into the images, or pictures, that we see. All creatures see these images differently; some see images in different outlines in shape, color, clarity, circumstances, and distance.

Dogs, because of their hunting needs, see twice as much as do human beings. In addition, dogs have an outstanding ability to follow movement and to perceive direction, speed, and trajectory. Trajectory is what gives dogs the innate ability to plot an angle and predict an angle of movement. For example, dogs have an astonishing ability to know the exact spot where a moving object will land and know from which angle it will be coming. This is the reason why dogs are such good ball and Frisbee catchers; because they visually know the exact point of impact of an object as it falls back to the ground. Cats, on the other hand, have a different reason for being such good jumpers. Cats' faces are flat between the eyes, a rare feature in the animal world, which makes it easier for them to work together. As a result, a cat can focus sharply and three-dimensionally, an ability that allows it to visually judge distances with great accuracy before jumping.

Rabbits, for example, are one of the few animals that can see all around them (front and back) without turning in either direction. Their eyes are located on the sides of their head, which enables them to see in all directions. Rabbits, frequent preys for predators, are always on the alert, and their eyes are located in the best place to help them see their enemies.

Human beings and wildlife animals have two kinds of vision cells that are located inside the back of the eye: cones and rods. Cones detect colors in bright light, including black, white, and gray. Rods provide sharp vision in dim light, but do not detect colors. Night creatures have more rods than cones, which provide them with sharper vision at night-but with only shades of gray. Also, to assist these creatures in the dark, they have a special layer in the back of their eyes, called the tapetum, which acts as a mirror when light passes through it. If the rod does not detect the light during the first passing, the tapetum reflects the light back to the rod, thus giving the rod a second chance to pick up on the light and see an image. It is this layer that makes some animal's eyes shine in dim light.

An owl's eye, for example, is so sensitive in picking up light, that research shows that an owl can follow a trial lit up by a candle 1,000 feet away (3,600 meters).

Another amazing sight feature is found in predator birds: "telescopic" eyes that allow them to see by making a far away distant object appear larger. Birds such as the hawk and eagle have the sharpest sight of any animal. These birds have about 1.04 million vision cells in the back of their eyes, which that enables them to see a mouse from as far as one mile away. (Human beings have only about 130 million vision cells.)

Although animals are believed to see colors similar to the way humans do, scientists are not sure how bees and insects see color. Scientists believe that, among some other creatures, bees, birds, and insects can see a color that human beings can not: ultraviolet colors. In addition to red, blue, and yellow, flowers often have ultraviolet patterns that show these birds and insects the way to the plant's nectar and pollen. Such sight makes it possible for these creatures to find and feed on the flowers' nectar and pollen.

However, not all animals have only two eyes. Jumping spiders, for instance, have eight eyes. There are two big eyes in the front, and six smaller eyes on the top of the head slightly toward the sides. The two front eyes are very well developed and act as a pair of binoculars that give the spider a clear image of objects up to one foot (30 cms) away. The little eyes are called secondary eyes. These eyes can spot moving objects and have a built-in reflecting layer that helps the spider to see objects in dim light. The secondary eyes are the eyes that actually measure the distance the spider needs to jump to catch its prey.

Hearing: Just as with other senses, human beings and animals have different levels of hearing. Most animals have only two ears, which helps all of us locate the origin of a sound. Having two ears helps us locate where a sound comes from. Since sound reaches the ears at slightly different times, this makes a sound louder than in one ear. This difference in volume and arrival time in one ear is an indication as to the origin of the sound. Sound is expressed in hertz (cycles per second), which are repetitive vibrations per second. Adult human beings, with a normal hearing ability, can hear from twenty to twenty thousand cycles per second. Amazingly, wolves can hear up to eighty thousand cycles per second, and dogs can hear up to thirty-five thousand cycles per second, almost twice as many as humans.

Cats have a surprising hearing of between fifty to one hundred thousand cycles per second-three to five times than what human beings can hear. In addition, a cat's ear has thirty muscles that control the ear muscles that can rotate 180 degrees. This give cats the opportunity to hear its surroundings without moving its head.

An owl's ear, however, are located at different heights. The difference in height enables an owlit to determine if a noise is coming from a high distance or from the ground. Another interesting feature of many owls is a flat heart-shaped face. The shape of its face functions as a reflector that makes faint sounds louder. These two features enable owls to be the great hunters they are and helps them to hunt in the dark.

Not all animals and insects have "ears"; some have holes in either in their head or in another part of their body, and others have eardrums, such as birds, insects, and fish. Fish's ears, for example, are located under its skin behind its eyes. This way, a fish can pick up on vibrations that pass their skin under the water. Other fish makes some of these noises by vibrating an internal organ or by rubbing their fins together. Fish use these vibrations to communicate with other fish, to mate, to warn other fish, or to swim together in groups.

Smell: Animals with different smelling needs have been created with different noses and different smelling abilities. Among the different abilities and noses, an elephant's nose stands out in many individuals' minds; at least mine. These animals' noses are so amazingly equipped with different functions, it is surprising. An elephant's nose (trunk) and upper lip weighs, on average, 300 lbs. (136 kgs.), and can take up and hold more than one gallon (3.7 lt.) of water at a time for spraying on another animal's back. The trunk is also strong enough to pick up large logs, yet functional enough to gather thin blades to eat. In addition, an elephant can raise its trunk high in the air to smell if any predators are in the area. Another function that I grin at, is that elephants weighing so heavy sink to the bottom of a rivers when they try crossing it; however, they use their noses as snorkels when crossing a deep river by lifting their noses high above the water line to breathe.

Dogs have an astounding sense of smell; they are one of the animals with the best sense of smell. Dogs can pick up odors in concentrations of one part per trillion. A book called Scent, published by veterinarian Dr. Hugo Verbruggen, and dog trainer Milo D. Pearsall, mentions an experiment that illustrates how well dogs can pick up odors. It mentions that if a single gram of butyric acid, a chemical constituent in human perspiration, were released in a ten-story building and evaporated, a human being might be able to smell the odor for a very short moment by sniffing at a window. A dog, in comparison though, would be able to pick up the odor in the same amount if it were to spread over a city the size of Philadelphia anywhere within the city up to an altitude of three hundred feet (90 meters).4 It also mentions that if humans had only ten percent of a dog's smelling ability that dogs have, we would have a totally different understanding of our world we.

Camels are desert animals that have been created with special channels that can hold moisture in the dry desert. Also, when the wind blows, a camel can close its nostrils to keep out the sand and dust.

Ants also fascinate me. These tiny creatures use odors to identify if an ant belongs in their colony or if it is an intruder. In addition, when an ant dies a certain odor is released, and other ants in the colony will carry the dead ant to a burial site. An experiment has been performed by scientists that placed this "dead" odor on a healthy ant. Although the marked ant was struggling and kept returning to the nest, other ants constantly carried this marked ant to their burial grounds in the belief that it was dead.

[notmrskennedy]

Likeability

(GN!Reader x Spencer Reid)

A/N - I’ve rewritten this thing like six freaking times but oh well - I hope it at least goes over better than the last - please be gentle 

Summary - The team meets a very dislikable scientist that Spencer seems to fancy

W/C - 2.8k

Warnings - brief anatomy/bones/etc mentions (our scientist is a forensic anthropologist-ish) & a dash of swearing

Important! - this is the FIRST ending and the alternative ending that you’ll like a lot more will come along in the next day or so

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy. 

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies. 

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case. 

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him. 

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls. 

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets. 

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured. 

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.” 

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter. 

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.” 

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

#

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns. 

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen. 

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.  

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!” 

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt? 

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this. 

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“ 

 “Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what? 

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude. 

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled. 

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated. 

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere. 

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed. 

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

#

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with. 

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for? 

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands. 

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages. 

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

#

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude. 

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her. 

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler. 

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second.  She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now. 

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening. 

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be. 

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond. 

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin. 

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life. 

 “I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care. 

#

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about her ass. 

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face. 

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks. 

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough. 

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling. 

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

#

Emily is pulling on her coat when the commotion starts. Penelope, JJ, and Luke are clamouring all over you and Reid, all asking a million too many questions for you to answer. She smiles as you hold your ground next to Reid, arms crossed and relatively relaxed. Emily hasn’t been asked to weigh in on the debate, but she likes you. 

And she hopes the reason will come out in the next five seconds. 

Penelope ensures that it does. She cuts through everyone’s chatter with a flourish of her hands. “Y/N, Spencer,” she demands, “you have to tell me: are you dating or what?”

It takes all of half a second for the pair of you to break out into laughter, fumbling over each other, bent up in hysterics. Emily hopes her own chuckles are well hidden. You elbow Reid hard, barely breathing enough to get the sentence out, “Tell ‘em, Spence.”

Reid shakes his head, elbows you back. “Siblings, guys, we’re siblings.”

“But—!”

“That can’t be—!”

“Biological?”

Penelope shakes her head, throws herself physically into the conversation. “Wait! No! I looked you up! You aren’t the other Dr. Reid, you’re Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Did you change your name?” JJ coughs. Her eyebrows can’t possibly get further up into her hairline as you nod. “Why? Why would you do that?”

You snort. “You don’t want to know.”

Readjusting her scarf, Emily doesn’t bother to hide her shit-eating grin. “Do something illegal, Y/N?”

“Of course not, Special Agent Emily Prentiss. I, a very upstanding citizen and Spencer’s lovely younger sibling, would never do anything that caused me to change my name lest I be arrested in six different countries. No, of course not.”

[floralelu]

Le Fleuriste: Episode VIII

WARNINGS: minor alcohol usage

Word Count: 2,096

Summary: Lucas talks to Eliott about what Idriss said, but will it be forgive and forget?

———————————————————————

The silence between the two was thick with tension. Lucas couldn’t tell if Eliott was going to turn around and walk away, completely ignoring him or if he was going to hear Lucas out. Eliott was fighting his own internal battle, listen to Lucas or walk away like Lucas did last night. There was a strange look in his eyes, one not even Lucas could figure out.

Finally, Eliott broke the silence, “Why? You didn’t want to talk last night, why should I listen to you now?”

Lucas didn’t know what to say to that. Eliott was right, Lucas didn’t give the other man the chance to talk, so why should he give Lucas a chance now?

“You’re right, it wasn’t fair. And I’m sorry. I should’ve let you talk. I was so caught up in my head about everything and I got scared-”

Eliott cut him off, stepping closer to Lucas, “Scared of what, Lu?”

Lucas sighed, looking down at the cobblestones, “That’s what I want to talk to you about. Someone said something to me about you and it freaked me out. So I did what I’m best at and pushed you away.”

Eliott looked confused again. The two stood in silence for a minute before Eliott spoke again, “What did you hear about me?”

His voice was quiet, almost like he was afraid to speak. Eliott felt vulnerable, exposed even though they were the only two in the shop. Lucas realized his mistake, his eyes widening as the words came tumbling out of his mouth.

“No, oh god, no. That’s not what I meant. Idriss said something to me at the party a few days ago-”

Eliott cut him off again, “Idriss.”

“Yes. But he didn’t tell me-”

“Idriss just keeps sticking his head into places that it doesn’t belong. Fuck, you think he’d learn from last time. I don’t need him to babysit me, I’m not a little kid. I know my episodes can get bad sometimes but I don’t need him hovering over every aspect of my life.”

Eliott was yelling now, the quiet voice from earlier had been quickly replaced with anger. His arms were swinging wildly all over the place. Lucas took the few steps forward to close the gap between them. He put his hands on either side of Eliott’s face, making him look at Lucas.

“Eli, that’s not what freaked me out. Idriss had said that if we were together, I would be a distraction for you, that he just got you back and you needed to settle back in. I didn’t know anything about you being bipolar until this morning when Imane mentioned it over the phone. And while it wasn’t her place to say anything about that, I want you to know that it doesn’t change my view of you. Or us, if you still want there to be an us.”

Lucas still had his hands on Eliott’s when he started to shake his head, “You don’t mean that. It always changes something.”

It was Lucas’s turn to shake his head, “Not this time. I’m not going to become your babysitter or your “keeper. This is not going to be what keeps us apart. I promise.”

“You can’t just promise something like that. You don’t know what my episodes are like. Some days I won’t get out of bed, some I won’t even talk to you. Or there’s ones where I feel like I’m completely invincible and I won’t listen to anything you say. I don’t want to hurt you, Lu. God, that’s the last thing I want to do, but you can’t make a promise that big.”

Eliott put his hands over Lucas, getting ready to pull them off and walk away when Lucas tightened his grip just slightly. Lucas looked right into Eliott’s eyes as he spoke “You’re right. I might not be able to make a promise that big, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try. The future is scary, so let’s not think that far ahead. We can take everything day by day, yeah?”

A small smile made its way onto Eliott’s face, “Day by day? That sounds alright.”

Lucas was grinning now, happy to have made Eliott smile when something else popped into his head,  “How about minute by minute?”

“Minute by minute?” Eliott let the idea settle in his brain, “I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eliott was staring at Lucas again, “What are we going to do in this minute?”

Lucas hummed, “I’m not sure, what were you thinking?”

Eliott let his gaze go down to Lucas’ lips before sliding back up, “Can I kiss you?”

Lucas nodded, “Yes.”

Eliott leaned forward, his lips meeting Lucas’. Lucas slid his hands to the back of Eliott’s head, fingers running through his hair. Eliott moved his arms towards Lucas’ waist, tugging the smaller man as close as he could get him.

Lucas was the first to pull back, but Eliott leaned back in for another quick peck on the lips. Lucas laughed as he wrapped his arms around Eliott, pulling him into a hug. Eliott squeezed back. They stood for a few seconds before Lucas surged backward out of Eliott’s embrace.

“I forgot! I set something up for us, c’mon.” Lucas grabbed Eliott’s hand and entwined their fingers, leading Eliott out the door and back towards the garden.

Outside was a picnic spread, similar to the one Eliott had made at the botanical gardens in Paris, although this time Lucas had added 2 blank canvases on easels with labels on them that read “PROPERTY OF KING’S GROVE ART STUDIO”. Lucas didn’t steal them, but he did manage to talk Louise, the owner, into borrowing them for the day. She was a sweet old lady with white curls nesting on her head in a bun and always wearing a yellow apron that was stained with a rainbow of colors of paint. When Lucas asked how much it would be to use them for the day she replied, “Don’t worry about the money, worry about what you’re going to say to the love of your life”.

The two easels sat on top of a blanket that was covered in a striped plaid pattern. In front of the easels was paint pallets with an assortment of paint bottles to go around, there was every color you could think of. Lucas knew he would have to thank Louise for her helpful expertise on what colors to buy. At the edge of the blanket laid a picnic basket, with a bottle of wine that was left over from one of Daphne and Basile’s dates as well as a variety of lunch meat and freshly baked bread that was supplied by Disco Danish. Ginger was curled up underneath one of the easels, napping peacefully as the warm sun shined upon her fur.

“Lucas, this is-” Eliott began.

“Amazing? I know,” Lucas looked over at Eliott who was grinning from ear to ear. Lucas missed that smile.

Eliott sighed dramatically before taking a seat.

“I suppose.”

Lucas began pouring the wine into the glasses he brought from home. Once the wine was poured Eliott raised his glass to clink with Lucas’. They sipped their wine silently.

“So, what are you going to paint?” Lucas asked as Eliott removed the lids from the tubes of paint, putting a pea sized amount into each bowl of his paint pallet.

“You’ll just have to see,” Eliott said. Turning the canvas away from Lucas so that he could concentrate.

Lucas nodded and blushed slightly. He couldn’t believe he had another chance with the boy he loved.

Lucas began putting paint onto his pallet, trading tubes with Eliott from time to time when Eliott needed them. Lucas began painting a sunflower, even though he didn’t know a single thing when it came to art. He knew flowers would be easy to paint and he knew that they were Eliott’s favorite.

He began with the background, painting it a dark green to really contrast with the yellow colors around it. He then started painting his hands multiple shades of yellow and stamping them on the canvas.

“What are you doing?” Eliott asked, gazing up from his work.

“I guess you’ll just have to see,” Lucas said, Eliott laughed at the response.

Lucas then began painting his thumb a dark brown and stamping it into the middle of his circle of handprints. He made continuous circles of thumbprints until the middle was complete. Once he cleaned his hands of the yellow and brown paint, he painted his hands green and pressed them to the canvas. He soon had two leaves coming up from below the flower and with that his painting was complete.

“Done!” Lucas said.

“And…” Eliott trailed off, he was concentrating hard on his canvas. “...done!”

The boys both removed their canvases from the easels and showed each other. Lucas gasped at the sight of Eliott’s painting. He painted a honey bee that was among a smattering of pale pink flowers. It was beautiful and by far Lucas’ favorite painting of Eliott’s.

Lucas was drawn out of his trance when Eliott gently reached for Lucas’ painting, staring at each individual print of his hands and fingertips.

“It’s beautiful, Lu,” Eliott whispered. “It’s oddly intimate.”

Lucas looked at the painting and gazed up at Eliott, smiling slightly.

“That reminds me!” Eliott stood up quickly. “I have something for you.”

Eliott ran back inside to the flower shop, grabbing his backpack and setting it onto the blanket. He sat down with his backpack between his legs, searching every pocket for whatever he was looking for.

“Aha!” Eliott said, pulling out a tiny box from the front pocket of his backpack. He opened it to reveal a small gold honey bee hanging off of a matching chain. Lucas stared at it and grazed his finger over the small body of the bee.

“Well,” Eliott started. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

Lucas grabbed the box out of Eliott’s hands and fished for the necklace. He grabbed it and undid the clasp.

“Let me,” Eliott said, grabbing the small chain from Lucas. He moved his backpack and pulled Lucas toward him. Pulling him so that he was seated between his legs so that he could have easy  access to his neck.

Lucas was aware of every cell of Eliott that was touching him in this moment. He got chills all over his body. Eliott did the clasp and kissed the back of Lucas’ neck.

“Done.” Eliott murmured, sliding his arms around Lucas’ middle and placing his head one Lucas’ shoulder. They sat there for a while in a warm embrace. Ginger crawled into Lucas’ lap and Lucas touched her fur lightly and kept smoothing it over.

“Why did you get me this necklace?” Lucas questioned.

“Look,” Eliott removed his arms from Lucas and pulled a similar gold chain from under his shirt. Lucas gazed at the matching necklace that had a sunflower charm on it. “I got it for the both of us after our first date. I was going to give yours to you but then everything got messed up.” Eliott paused. “And I never had the heart to take off mine.”

Lucas’ eyes filled with tears. Lucas couldn’t help but feel ashamed after thinking that all this time that Eliott didn’t care about him.

“Did you know that honey bees will fly about 90,000 miles in order to make one pound of honey?” Eliott said.

Lucas laughed. “Where did you hear that at?”

“In a book I read.”

Of course. Lucas thought to himself.

Eliott started grabbing yellow paint from his pallet and started putting lines of paint around Lucas’ face.

“What are you doing?” Lucas asked.

“You’ll see!” Eliott said excitedly. “I got these necklaces because bees and flowers can’t live without each other. They need each other to stay alive, and I know I can’t live without you.”

Lucas smiled at him as he placed the final dot on Lucas’ nose. Eliott opened up the camera on his phone and showed Lucas what he had created. Eliott had made a sunflower of Lucas’ face with 8 lines of yellow 3 being on his forehead and 4 being on his chins and cheeks. His nose was dotted with a brown dollop of paint. Lucas chuckled at the sight.

“We need each other, Lu. I don’t want to lose you.” Eliott placed his hands on Lucas’ cheeks, streaking the paint.

“And you won’t,” Lucas said, placing his hand on top of Eliott’s. “Never.”

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty One, “Timing”

Find all chapters to this story here! 

Check out the character survey from Becky’s POV I did recently! :-)

Warnings: Very brief mention of IVs (needles)

Song Inspo: My My Love by Joshua Radin (Click to listen)

                                    Sneaky Peeeeeeeeeky!

“A spark ignites on my cheek, almost like a tickle. And when I look over, his eyes are glued to me. The tip of his calloused finger brushes a ghost of a touch under my eye. “I neva knew ya hadda scar there,” he murmurs, running the tip of his finger over the oblong light brown shape.

“I-It’s not a scar,” I say quickly, but at the same time, at a loss for words. He’s so close his breath smelling of chamomile tea passes by me within a second. And God, those pouty strawberry lips are so decadent, and tempting. “It’s a birthmark. I usually cover it up with makeup, that’s probably why you’ve never seen it.” Finished, I turn my head back to the telly, his finger dropping from the barely one inch mark.

“Wha’? Why d’ya do that? ‘s lovely.” As much as I try to drown my thoughts in the scene unraveling before my eyes, I can’t. Because his words, and the tingling under my eye consume my thoughts. The devil and angel inside my head bounce up and down in their seats.”

“No. W-what are you doing here?” I stutter, unable to control my words. Or my thoughts. Or my emotions.

At the drop of my words, Harry’s face falls. His eyebrows. The budding smile on his lips. And the brightness in his eyes. But he masks it quickly. And it escapes my mind when he crosses the distance between us. His black slacks, teal geometric-patterned button down, and curls are a blur in the seconds that follow. Suddenly, his arms are around me and pulling me into him. With sleep still clinging to my mind, and unsure of what to do, I freeze. 

“Please don’t tell me you left work to drive 3 hours to come to Madley,” I confess quietly into the damp shoulder of his black peacoat. Shivering, his fingers run trails up and down my back. 

“Shuddup, I ‘ave a case t’morrow nearby in Wolverhampton . . . Jus’ lemme do sumthin’ nice fer ya,” he says, his soft words drifting over the top of my head. 

“I-I’m sorry. I just woke up and you caught me off guard,” I apologize meekly, feeling myself relax. My arms wind around his waist and lace themselves together over his coat. 

“‘s okay,” he hums. His hands pause and I feel them brush my hair away. “I know ya hadda rough night- well couple o’ days,” Harry murmurs, his lips brushing against my hair. My lungs still and I wait, wondering if he’ll kiss my head. But it doesn’t come, and I try to will away the disappointment beginning inside of me. I’ve become so accustomed to it that it doesn’t want to leave this time. Then it’s joined by the happy disbelief appearing wet in my eyes. 

“Couldn’ stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, an’ figured I had t’ come up ‘ere t’morow mornin’ anyways. Wha’s an extra night hurt?” The first few words do it for me, and there I am spewing tears all over his shoulder. They’re not a waterfall, but the emotions growing inside of me feel that way. And they’re here, because he is. 

He holds me tighter against him, and I feel his cheek rest on my head. Holding on tight to his coat, I let myself and everything I’m feeling melt against him. “You don’t know what it means to me that you’re here,” I confess in a trembling voice interrupted by sniffling. 

“I think I do do, ‘coz you were there fer me tha day o’ tha funeral when I needed a friend. An’ at tha hospital. Ya showed up fer me, Becks, an’ I wanted t’ do tha same fer ya,” Harry reveals softly from above me. My lips bend into a happy smile amongst the tears that come harder at his words. “I brought dinna, ‘cuz I knew ya prolly hadn’t eaten. ‘s luck that I found ya atta vendin’ machine.”

His precious laugh greets my ears as his fingers tickle up my back. The bunches of fabric leave my hands, and I step away to search for those green eyes. After a few seconds, I find them staring down at me. They’re blurry behind the tears, but soon his smiling face sharpens. 

“No mo’ tears, ‘kay? Le’s go eat some dinna an’ find  sumthin’ good on tha telly,” Harry whispers, running the pad of his thumb along my cheeks. Nodding, his hand envelopes mine and we go to find a sitting area.

The halls are deserted besides a few nurses checking in on patients. Familiar medical-sounding beeps sound throughout the hallway. After guiding the way for Harry as I wipe my cheeks, we soon find our dining table. Or rather a sofa with a little table. 

“I hope fish an’ chips ‘s alright,” he says, doubt filling his words. 

“Of course they are. Did you get them from Maggie’s over on Fifth?”

“Yeah, I think so. Li’l shop with photos coverin’ tha walls?” he questions as he unpacks the brown paper bag. 

“Yep, that’s the one. They make the best fish and chips I’ve had. And I would know, because I grew up eating these ones my entire life.”

“Well I guess ya would know then,” Harry relents, shrugging his shoulders with a toothy smile. 

Whispered ‘thank yous’ float between us as we pass each other food and napkins. With two cups of water from the cooler a few steps away, we dig in. 

“No kiddin’, these are good. ‘s always tha family owned shops that make tha best ones, innit?” Harry mumbles with a mouth full of food. I reply with an ‘mmmhmm’, trying not to laugh at the crumbs speckling his chin. 

The crispy, buttery cod melts on my tongue. With my free hand, I grab hold of the gray remote sitting on the table beside me. 

“Hey, ‘s my turn t’ pick what we watch,” Harry whines, stealing the remote from me. 

“Rude!” I retort, but any words I had left to say collapse into laughter. Licking his thumb, he peeks over at me. A sly grin stuck to his lips. 

Shaking my head, I look away and pick up a chip from the paper tray in my hand. When my eyes return to him, a ketchup-covered chip sits in his hand. Meanwhile, his face is screwed up in concentration at the telly. I smile, and then notice his reflection in the dark window on the other side of him. Kicking his foot with my right, he turns to the left to look at me in confusion. 

“Just pick something!” I tell him, my palm turning up to help me talk. His dark curls dance atop his head as it goes from side to side. 

“Oh hush, you. Cantcha letta man think?” he quips before feeding the chip past his cherry lips. 

“No, not when it takes you an hour to pick what to watch,” I reply, yanking it from his hands. 

“Heeeey! I was jus’ gonna pick that episode o’ Friends!” 

“Wait, you like Friends?!” I nearly yell, my head snapping to look at him. 

“O’course! Who doesn’t? I grew up watchin’ that show with me mum an’ sista,” he answers. With those words, my heart does a somersault in my chest. Oh my fuck, I’m falling again. “Wha’? Do ya not like it?”

“No, I-I love it. I grew up watching it, too. It’s like my comfort show - I watch it when I’m happy, sad, mad, excited- you name it,” I reply slowly, engrossed in gathering ketchup onto my chip. When I hear his murmured ‘me too’ from a mouth full of food, the devil and angel inside of me go crazy. For once, they seem to root for the same team. 

“Favourite characta?” his words greet the air effortlessly. He licks the salt and grease from his thumb, and I suddenly regret looking up. The things you do to me, Styles. 

“On the count of 3?” I ask, and his chestnut ringlets bounce with a nod. 

“1 . . . 2 . . . 3.”

“Phoebe!” we both say in unison, sending us into fits of giggles. 

“There’s nuthin’ betta than her on dat show. She’s hilarious, plays guitar, ‘s a surrogate fer her bloody brotha, an’ ‘s gorgeous,” Harry explains, and I’m following with every word. And with each one, I feel the butterflies in my tummy flutter again. For possibly the tenth time already tonight. 

“All of the great jokes and catchphrases from the show are from her: Regina Phalange, Smelly Cat, Princess Consuela Banana Hammock, ‘I don’t even have a pla’, Gladys the framed doll, and that stupid taxi. She’s blunt and so funny, but she’s so sweet and would do anything for her friends,” I continue, watching him nod emphatically as he picks up another chip. 

“Couldn’ ‘ave said it betta meself. Oh I love dis episode where they’re stuck at tha beach house. Poor Phoebs findin’ out tha truth ‘bout her mum dat way, tho’,” Harry comments, his mouth falling into a delighted and then sad O. My eyes follow his to the screen of the telly where our attention is held for the next twenty minutes. 

My shoes only stop squeaking when I stop in front of the garbage bin. After tossing the greasy paper bag, I rub a pump of hand sanitizer into my hands. I wince at the awful sounds my shoes make as I try to walk quietly down the tiled hallway. The snoring greets my ears before I see him, but when I do, I smile. With careful steps, I pluck my backpack from the couch before leaving the room. 

“He still sleepin’?” Harry asks, looking up from the Friends marathon from the telly. We scored! 

“Yep,” I answer, plopping down onto the sofa beside him. 

“Good,” he answers, slumping down further into the gray cushions. My backpack drops with a thud to the floor after I got what I needed. “What’re ya doin’? ‘s eleven-thirty, love. Tha’s no time t’ be doin’ homework.”

“I know, but I need to submit an assignment before I forget. It’s due at midnight,” I answer, seeing his nod out of the corner of my eye. 

My laptop wakes with its usual jingle, and I watch my browser load. The audience laughter fills my ears at a humorous line from Chandler. Surprise, surprise. The maroon and navy blue colors of my uni’s website appear in front of me. Within a few moments, I’m on the web page for my course. 

“Wha’s tha assignment?” Harry inquires, his eyes never leaving the telly. A laugh creases his cheeks, making me smile. But I’m not very sad I missed what’s so funny, because he makes up for it. 

“Um, it’s an essay about Thomas Cromwell and his theories and stuff,” I reply, opening the page for assignments. 

“Ah, I see they ‘aven’t changed coursework much from my day. Cromwell ‘s bloody obvious when ya start talkin’ ‘bout British law.”

“I know, it’s like the professor didn’t even try when drafting this assignment,” I comment with a small titter. Relief washes over me when I get a message saying my submission was successful. And something else too from being able to talk to him about law so easily. Something akin to how a hot chocolate makes you feel on a winter’s day.

I glance up and find Harry losing it with laughter. There’s a fleeting temptation to ask him to clue me in. But a laugh tingles on my lips when I find what he’s laughing at. Monica’s crying as she holds onto Chandler’s arm, an ocean scene in the background. 

“Can’ believe Joey actually peed on Monica.” The words leave Harry’s mouth in between chuckles rather sloppily. 

“He was just trying to help!” I comment, unable to stop laughing either. 

“But it doesn’t even help! They say it makes it worse even,” he laughs, rubbing his forehead.  

Shaking my head, my eyes fall to my laptop screen. After a few clicks, lines of text cloud my eyes. My eyes roll into the back of my head at their appearance. I find it nearly impossible to hold back a groan. 

“What’re you gripin’ ‘bout ova here?” Harry questions with teasing in his tone.

“I have to read the entire case of Haughton v. Smith for a test, and it’s so confusing. I mean, working with you brushed me up on a lot of legal mumbo jumbo. But still, a lot of it doesn’t make sense to me,” I huff, my chin falling into the palm of my hand.  

“Alright, lemme see what part yer at,” he says in a quiet voice. I try to ignore the regret budding inside of me at what I said about working at his firm. And how it makes me feel, and probably him, too. I don’t know why I ever bring it up, because sometimes it feels like when somebody else brings up the ex-boyfriend, or something. The sofa cushion dips as he closes the space between us. The angel and demon inside of me erupt into synonymous cheers when his arm goes around me. 

“God, did you forget your glasses or something, Grandpa?” my question sputters from my lips in a cackle, watching him squint at the screen.

“Oh shuddup, an’ I mean it,” Harry quips, looking away for a moment. When I see the reason why, instead of a laugh consuming my thoughts, something else does. For some fucking reason, my heart warms at the sight of him unfolding a pair of mottled brown Pantos glasses. He tucks the brown case into the inside of his blazer, his peacoat on a chair. “Ya ya, laugh all ya want at me an’ me readin’ glasses.” 

But when he looks down at me with them settled on his nose, I don’t laugh. “Why aren’t ya laughin’ anymo’, hmm?” he questions. 

“I think they look really nice on you. They make you look handsome and sophisticated,” I tell him slowly, and it’s undeniable the pink that pinches his cheeks. 

“Well ‘s ‘bout time fer dat t’ happen, only took me twenty-nine years,” he jokes, bringing a smile to my lips. My head goes from side to side as I close my eyes, my cheeks bunching from happiness painting my lips. Yeah, it’s about time for a lot of things right about now. “Alrigh’, lemme look what part yer at fer real now.”

I nod, trying to get comfortable on the sofa. Pitching my head back, I feel it bump into his arm. Nevermind my fucked neck, I return my eyes to the screen to try and forget that his arm is around me. But they immediately refuse and slowly trail to Harry, his face mere inches away from mine. 

Okay, no, stop thinking about his lips and what they could do, I tell the demon inside of my head. 

Becky, you could. You so know you could do it. 

Shut up! He’s just helping me with my homework, that’s all this is. 

Oh yeah? And when are you going to let yourself think about the real reason he’s here, huh?

I can’t do that right now. 

Yes, you can! Maybe if you think about it, you’ll realize how good of an idea it would be to let yourself kiss him. I’m sure he’s thinking about it too.

Just stop!

His thumb and forefinger knead his bottom lip. It bunches together in little waves as his eyes flit across the screen. Whiskers the shade of his curls are scattered across his face. They’re dense atop his upper lip and around his chin. And God, I can’t stop thinking about them. Wanting to touch them. Feel them on my face- okay stop it, Becky. 

“Well yer mostly at tha end, so wha’ doesn’t make sense t’ ya?” Harry finally says, turning his head ever so slightly to look at me. 

“I know, but I feel like I don’t know what I just read. And the verdict is contradicting to me,” I answer with a shrug of my shoulders. 

“Well maybe it’d make more sense t’ ya if ya weren’t lookin’ at it at almos’ midnigh’, love.”

“Yeah, well it’s kind of the only time I have lately with everything. I’m afraid to email my prof again saying I need an extension when it’s due tomorrow. I’ve needed a lot of them lately. I just wanna get it done,” I respond quietly, looking to the telly awkwardly. It’s always hard when the truth comes out, and the emotions that hang on to it. 

A spark ignites on my cheek, almost like a tickle. And when I look over, his eyes are glued to me. The tip of his calloused finger brushes a ghost of a touch under my left eye. “I neva knew ya hadda scar there,” he murmurs, running the tip of his finger over the oblong light brown shape. 

“I-It’s not a scar,” I say quickly, but at the same time, at a loss for words. He’s so close his breath smelling of chamomile tea passes by me within a second. And God, those pouty strawberry lips are so decadent, and tempting. “It’s a birthmark. I usually cover it up with makeup, that’s probably why you’ve never seen it.” Finished, I turn my head back to the telly, his finger dropping from the barely one-inch mark. 

“Wha’? Why d’ya do that? ‘s lovely.” As much as I try to drown my thoughts in the scene unraveling before my eyes, I can’t. Because his words, and the tingling under my eye consume my thoughts. The devil and angel inside my head bounce up and down in their seats. 

“Kids used to make fun of it when I was little. They’d call it a worm under my eye, because of its shape. It used to be more pronounced and bigger when I was little, but it’s still pretty noticeable,” I answer, adding in an eye roll that he laughs at. 

“Aww, poor Becks. But if it counts, I don’ think it looks like a worm. ‘s cute on you,” he adds seriously, pinching my cheek. That makes me look over at him, and I already know that I’m blushing. 

A small ‘thanks’ leaves my lips before my eyes dip to my laptop. Close to a minute of silence grows between us before he breaks it. “‘Kay, so Haughton vs. Smith found that ya can’t commit tha crime o’ handlin’ stolen goods, if tha goods they’re talkin’ ‘bout weren’t actually stolen. ‘s an important case t’ know, cuz it was ‘ventually ovaturned by tha Criminal Attempts Act o’ ‘81. Ya’ll neva be able t’ forget tha connection between tha two, issa given. Ya don’ need t’ worry ‘bout that law now tho’, they basically mean tha same thing.” 

“Thanks for explaining it, I hope it’s enough to help me pass the test on it,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest stubbornly. 

“Open tha test, an’ ‘ll help ya with it.”

The second my eyes land on Joey’s body covered in sand on the telly, they whip back to Harry. “Really, you’d help me?”

“‘Course I would. Tha’s what ‘m here fer. An’ it wouldn’t hurt t’ see if I still got it.”

“You’ve been a lawyer for years, and this is pre-law, so of course you do. And not to mention, ranked as one of the best in London,” I reply smiling, clicking open a new tab. I suspect how my words will make him feel, because they fill me with the same emotions. Pride. Happiness. Astonishment. And more pride. 

“Well, I do me best,” Harry titters proudly. A cocky hum leaves his lips as he brushes off his chest. A laugh sputters from my lips that I can’t contain. “Heeeey, don’ be laughin’ at me.”

“Sorry, I just can’t control myself when you start dropping dad jokes,” I respond nonchalantly, clicking on the tab labeled ‘Assessments.’

“Just pull tha bloody test up an’ le’s get it ova with,” he huffs, amusement still lacing through his words. 

“Awww, is it past your bedtime already?” I pout, turning my eyes to him. His lips smush together and I hear the smallest of squeaks get past them. “You know you like my grandpa jokes, don’t lie.”

“Shuddup, li’l one, an’ open tha goddamn test already,” he huffs. If anybody else heard him, they’d think he was mad at me. But even as my eyes cast over the column of tests from this course, I know different. I can hear it in his voice - the joking, the molasses, the affectionate teasing, and the friendship. 

Wow, nice choice of words there, Ms. Denial. 

Shut up, devil. 

“I am not little!” I retort in a high voice, making my two tabs appear as two windows on my screen. Side by side. Cheating time!

“Becks, yer like 5’5, if that.”

“No, I’m not! I’m 5’6, you liar!”

“Ya, cuz that one lousy inch really does a whole lot, doesn’t it?” Harry counters, his voice melting into a goofy one. I respond to it with a hearty laugh that is soon accompanied by his. “Yer still a li’l one t’ me, love.” 

“Fine, Grandpa Harry.”

+

The annoying sound of a laugh track pricks at my ears. Blinking hard, the room around me is blurry. But after a groggy minute of blinking, it begins to sharpen. I don’t remember the lights getting turned off, but the telly screen burns my eyes. Rubbing them, I moan from tiredness. Dropping my arm, I feel it hit something. Looking down, I’m confused. When I lift my head from whatever it was resting on, I find what I was laying on. And well, what was also laying on me. Still is. Her face scrunches adorably before relaxing, nuzzling her head against my shoulder once more. 

Becks. 

After combing my hair off of my forehead, the lock screen of my phone wakes me up a little more. Especially when I see that it reads 1:18 am. Fuck, I need to get to my hotel and go to bed. I have my case tomorrow. But when I hear a noise and find the culprit, all of those thoughts wash away. An incoherent sound runs off of her lips, ones that are so close to me. Fuck, again. But when my eyes scan the rest of my body, I realize that she’s all over me. Well, almost. Her right hand rests on my chest as she leans against the back of the sofa. But her pretty little head of dark hair is laying on my shoulder. My arm is around her, holding her close to me. I can feel her other arm tickling my side. 

Memories float to the surface, and suddenly I’m back at the hospital in London. In December. A phone call woke me from my slumber beside her on the sofa. The both of us curled up on opposite sides. Sleep clinging to my eyes and begging to me to return to it. Her shoulders rising with every soft snore, but it was the most daintiest one I’d ever heard. It felt like my heart was being squeezed tighter with every move I made to leave her. When I draped the second blanket over her. And how much it hurt to move the hair off of her face. To press a kiss to her unknowing head. But nothing compared to the anguish I felt grow with every step I put between us. 

Blinking hard, the dark room materializes around me again. Her precious snores welcome my return to the moment. A smile brings my lips upwards as I watch a crease grow between her eyebrows. She’s too goddamn adorable. And that’s why I came, isn’t it? Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t resist her. I can’t say no to Becky. When she called me crying and a mess worrying about her dad, I didn’t know what I was doing until I was putting the town of Madley into my GPS. I guess The Beatles were right with that one song, and plenty of others. She’s really got a hold on me. And before I could begin to stop myself, her skin is like velvet under my thumb. I rub the crease away with the pad of it, and suddenly my head dips. My lips barely brush her hair when she groans below me. 

“Harry?” she murmurs, lifting her head from my shoulder. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.”

She yawns, moving away to look around sleepily. But soon she returns back to my arms, cozying up to me once more. And I couldn’t be more thankful, or conflicted. The latter word drills into my mind as I rub a hand down her back, sleep trying to coax me back in, too. 

“We fell asleep,” she mumbles, her honey voice coated in that very word. Fuck, does it make me feel things. Things that I’d much rather not. 

“Yeah, ‘s one in tha mornin’.”

“Shitttt,” she sighs, sitting up fast. Her growing locks pour over her shoulders covered by a crewneck jumper. Faded pictures of balls from different sports are scattered across the heather gray fabric. Like something my dad wore when I was a tot. “You have your case tomorrow.”

“‘m fine, I already dropped me stuff off at tha hotel an’ got me key,” I tell her, missing the warmth of her against me. And I miss the fact in those words alone of what I’m missing. Her in my arms. “But ya should prolly get sum sleep, too. Seems like ya’ve been missin’ it lately.”

“I’m okay, just lots of homework,” Becky says, running her long fingers through her wavy hair. 

“‘d offa me hotel room, but ‘s half an hour ‘way in Wolverhampton. An’ there’s only tha one bed,” I tell her, unsure of why. I blame it on the sleepy brain. 

“Thanks, but I’m okay. I’ll just sleep on the couch in his room. It’s not too bad once you get used to it,” she assures me. Her arms crack as she stretches them toward the ceiling. I can’t help myself when the baggy jumper rides up, exposing the slightest of her milky white tummy. Fuck. But just like that, it’s gone in a flash. If only my feelings worked that way. 

It’s like she has some sixth sense that I’m thinking about her, because her eyes cast over to me. It’s hard to make out their ocean blue in this dark, but I know they’re there. I can picture them if I need to, because I do it all the time - trying to make myself remember what they look like. The exact shade. The speckles of darker blue amongst the color. 

“Yer welcome,” I return. The tired smile I get in return melts my insides like butter. But that’s how I feel when I’m around her, and that’s how much of a hold she’s got on me. 

Shocks of electricity dance across the back of my hand. I don’t need to look down to know her hand is on top of mine. And how it’s making me go crazy. She’s only a few inches away. I could do it. Before I stop myself, I begin to lean in, and she watches me do it. But with only a few seconds left, we jump apart at the sound of a ringtone. 

Embarrassment covers me like a dark cloud, among other nasty emotions. My head falls, hiding the heat rising to my cheeks. Pulling out my phone to distract myself, it doesn’t do that great of a job as I hear her talk to somebody on the phone. Dammit, I was so close. With a hand in my hair, I scroll through emails. Deleting some and saving others. 

“Sorry, that was Robbie. Just checking in, since I forgot to update him, I guess,” Becky tells me, lifting my head with her voice. 

My head only goes up and down, avoiding eye contact. Because I can’t muster it after what just happened, or what didn’t. 

“‘s late, ya should get sum rest,” I announce, getting to my feet. Picking up my coat, I slip it on before I dare to look at her.

She smiles shyly at me, sleep hanging around her eyes. Even rubbing her nose with the sleeve of her jumper is precious. And her legs jittering in her faded blue jeans. Vans the shade of her favorite color donning her feet. 

“Yeah, you too,” is all she has to say.

Suddenly, I don’t know what to do. For a mere second, I entertain the thought of trying again. But fuck it, she’s so far away right now, figuratively and literally. I can catch a hint of her scent sticking to me, and it makes me sad to realize. 

“Go get sum sleep, ‘kay?” Are the only words I can think of as I walk up to her and pat her arm. 

“Yeah, you too, Harry. Careful driving.”

“Thanks, Becks, I will. Sweet dreams, love,” I mutter, looking at her over my shoulder. 

And I keep walking, and leave her behind. Regrets coursing through my ears, and emotions tugging at my seams. The tiredness coating my every thought and action, only make it all the worse. I’m not sure if I want to wake up more for the car drive to the hotel, because then it will all feel even more real. And discouraging. 

“Harry?” stopping in my tracks, I hear her call my name. Spinning around, I feel her before I see her. Her arms surround around my waist and her head comes to lay against my chest. All within seconds. “Thank you . . . for coming.”

A pain sounds in my chest when I hear the emotion in her voice. And it takes all of me to not echo it, because I know I could. And that I would. Instead I say, “Yer welcome, Becks,” and I do at least one thing I wanted to do tonight. Dipping my head, I smooth down her hair and press my lips to her hair for more than a few seconds. 

The sweet smell of orange blossom greets me, and my smile is havoced by pain. Her warm breaths tickle the skin at my neck as my hands lace together at the small of her back. Her arms squeeze me around the middle before releasing, and she lets go of me. I think about trying again, but the thought is fleeting when she begins to walk away from me. 

And I let her do it. Once again. 

+

The burbling of the running water fills my ears. Well, besides the sound of the football match. Surprise, surprise. And the next sound. His cheering. It makes me smile as I wipe my hands with a paper towel. 

“What’s the score now?” I ask, walking back into the room. His eyes don’t go to me at the question, instead they remain on the screen. 

“Six-two. It doesn’t look too good for ‘em,” my dad replies snarkily, a devilish glint in his eyes. But it’s there, and that’s all that matters. It’s what makes the smile stick to my face. 

“Don’t let your food get cold,” I say, bending over to dig into my backpack. 

“I’m done eating. You can have the rest, Ree,” he replies just as I feel the smooth handle I’m searching for.

“I’m okay, thanks. I was probably going to check out the special in the cafe.”

“Oh so only I have to eat the hospital food?” my dad whines, pouting at me when I look at him. 

With a laugh, I remark, “I’m eating their food in the cafe too, you dork.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry, chemo brain,” he replies, tapping a finger against his head. A striped green hat keeping it warm. His arm returns to the white blanket pulled up to his waist. Light shines in his eyes and his arms lift into the air when they make yet another goal. 

Whoops and hollers leave his chapped lips. But this morning, they’re pinker. And so is his skin. If only in the slightest, I notice them. Running the brush through my knotted hair, I yawn as I watch him. A patterned hospital gown covers his upper half, with the sleeves just coming to above the IVs in his left arm. Fluids and meds. The antibiotics. Yippee. 

But the thoughts are mulled over when I look to his plate sitting on the moveable tray beside him. It was scrambled eggs, toast, applesauce, and milk this morning. And he ate nearly half of it, even if it took about half an hour. But I want to blame part of that on the football match his eyes are stuck to. 

“I’m going to see if I can find your doctor. I had a question,” I tell him, dropping my hairbrush back into my backpack. 

“Ree, don’t worry about it. He’ll come by later,” my dad insists, but I stand from my chair regardless of his answer. 

“It’s fine. I need to stretch my legs anyways.” 

He hums a reply I can’t decode, but I hear his teasing about blocking the telly when I walk by. Over my shoulder, he flashes me a small smile before returning to yelling lazily at the referees. Nurses and doctors pass me, going to and from rooms to the nearby nurse’s station. Tucking a strand of wet hair behind my ear, I search for the shock of white hair of my dad’s doctor. 

But no such luck. 

As I approach the nurse’s station, sounds of beeping, call lights, and murmuring voices fill the air. But another sound stands out from the rest. And I hear my name, or well my last name. It takes me a second to locate where it’s coming from, but when I do there’s a flutter in my chest. And I know I’m in trouble, or maybe that I’m just realizing it now after all of this time. 

But I don’t save him right away, and instead I observe. Confusion sews his eyebrows together over those misty green eyes. One lone curl tickles his forehead, breaking free from his damp hair. His black peacoat is draped over his arm clad in a warm violet blazer. A dusty rose button down peeks out from its collar, and I smile. I don’t even know why. But as the seconds tick by watching him talk to the nurse, I think I know why. 

“Looking for me, Styles?” I pipe up, stepping forward with my hands hidden away in my hoodie.

Harry’s eyes fall from the nurse and pan over to me. A lazy smile works its way onto his face quickly, only interrupted to thank the nurse. 

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, turning to walk towards me. 

“What are you doing here? You have your case today, you said,” I respond, playing with the sleeve of my black hoodie. The cracked decal of Robbie’s old band covers the front. 

“Came t’ bring ya out t’ brekky. Me case doesn’t start ‘til tha aftanoon, bug,” he responds with half of a smile, pinching my arm affectionately. And there’s that nickname, again, I think as my insides turn to mush. “Well jus’ down t’ tha cafe if tha’s alright. I saw sumthin’ ‘bout biscuits ‘n gravy, an’ sumthin’ smelled mighty delicious when I came in.”

“That sounds great,” I say, a smile inching its way up my lips. The wet ends of my hair knock against each other, and my chin. “I’ll just let my dad know,” I tell him, turning around to walk away. 

But after only a few steps, a sudden thought brings me to halt. It wills my feet to turn around and look at Harry. “Would you like to meet him?” I ask tentatively in a meek voice. “He’s doing a little better this morning, but I think that’s thanks to the Arsenal match on the telly.”

With what appears to be a shaky smile, he replies, “‘d love t’. Hope ‘s not me Manchester United boys playin’ ‘gainst ‘em.”

Waving a hand towards me, he closes the distance between us. His leather boots squeak from the last bits of melting April snow. It’s only a few moments before I peek my head into his room, and low and behold, he’s still transfixed by the match. 

Rapping my knuckle against the door, I get his attention before saying, “Hey, can I steal you away from your precious game for a few? There’s a friend of mine I’d like you to meet.”

“Yeah, sure,” he responds, adjusting his blankets before the telly’s volume falls. Over my shoulder, I shoot Harry an encouraging smile. He returns it, but I can see the nerves showing through. 

Pushing open the door fully, I walk in and he follows from behind. 

“Dad, this is Harry Styles. My uh, former boss I’ve told you about,” I fumble for words, giving a magician-like wave to him. Well, the right words. “He stopped by last night and brought me dinner. He has a case today in Wolverhampton, and we’re going to get breakfast downstairs before.”

A weary smile curls at the corners of my dad’s lips. Nodding, his dusty pink lips part, “Ah, so this is the fella you were with until all hours last night,” he jests, pulling nervous laughter into the air. “Yes, it’s about time we met. I’ve heard a lot about you, son. Thanks for everything you’ve done for Becky, and for your well wishes. It’s meant a whole damn lot to me, and I know for her too.” 

Okay, dad, let’s not board the emotional bus yet. Or maybe, ever.  

Happy laughs float around the room as Harry steps forward, rubbing hand sanitizer into his hands. “‘s a pleasure t’ meet ya as well, sir,” he rasps, reaching out to shake my dad’s hand firmly. 

“Call me Chuck, Harry. I’m not that old yet, although sometimes it feels that way,” my dad jokes, widening the smiles on all of our faces.

“Yes, ‘course, Chuck. I’ve also heard loads ‘bout ya, all good things, so no worries. Ya’ve been in me prayers an’ thoughts ova tha last 7 months. Sure raised a great daughter, ya should know.” 

A permanent smile warms my cheeks as I shyly look over to Harry. He meets my eyes and smiles back at me. Winking, he shove his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Thank you, son. That’s mighty good to hear, although I’m not too sure about that son of mine sometimes,” he laughs, soon getting a scoff from me. 

“Oh I mean Robbie, too. I’ve only met tha bloke once or twice, but I was impressed. Certainly since I was surprised t’ find out Becky hadda twin,” Harry comments, his eyes burning a hole into my cheek. 

“Yes, I think I’ve heard that story. Their mother and I were pretty surprised to find there was two, also,” he chuckles. “But Ree likes to do that sometimes.”

Shaking my head, I look away and to the Spring sunshine. It seeps in through the cracks in between the window shades. Their soft laughs fill my ears before Harry’s voice does again. 

“Yeah she’s a spitfire, alright,” he comments, and finally I meet his smirking eyes before they return to my dad. “But ‘m glad t’ hear yer doin’ a bit betta. Hopefully they can get a good handle on dis soon, an’ you lot can go home.”

“Thank you. We hope so too,” my dad nods, running his thumb along the buttons of the tv remote. “I truly appreciate you taking the time to be here with Becky . . I know it means more than words to her.” 

Looking away to the floor, his words find the chink in my armor. I feel the lump rise in my throat along with memories of last night. Luckily, the tears stay away and I get away with it. 

“‘Course, ‘m glad I was able t’ come an’ be with her. Dunno if she told ya, but she was there fer me when my grandad was in tha hospital befo’ he passed. An’ well, I know how much it means t’ ‘ave sumbody there,” Harry murmurs, almost giving a reason for the tears to make an appearance. But they don’t, and I’m repeating ‘thank yous’ inside of my head. 

“I’m pretty proud of my little Rebecca Ann, and it only grows more every day,” my dad comments, flitting his eyes over to me. His words make my cheeks tingle with a new blush and because I know another pair are on me, too. 

“Yeah, she makes it ratha easy,” Harry agrees softly, pulling my attention to him. The gentlest smile sits atop his lips, and a sad sweetness twinkles in his eyes. 

“Well, we’ll let you get back to your match. We’re going to grab breakfast before everybody else gets the same idea,” I pipe in, unsure of when and how to sever the moment. But the look in Harry’s eyes does something to me, and I don’t know what to do with it. 

We exchange short goodbyes before I’m following Harry out of the room. The rising volume of the football announcers voices send us on our way. 

“Rebecca Ann, huh?” Harry smiles beside me, the nurse’s station in our rearview mirrors. 

“Go ahead and make jokes about it. It doesn’t even sound like my name, I don’t know. I’ve only ever went by that for forms, when I got in trouble, or like on the first day of school and graduation. And the Ann is just my middle name, I don’t have a two parter,” I explain hurriedly, surprising myself when I don’t hear one of his delightful giggles. Tearing my eyes away from the poster at the end of the hallway, I look to him. And he isn’t laughing, which confuses me. 

“There’s no jokes t’ be had. I think ‘s pretty, yer name. Figured ya were a Rebecca, but wasn’t sure. Nor did I know yer middle was Ann. Tha’s my mum’s name, ‘ve always loved it,” he tells me, coming to a stop in front of the gunmetal colored doors of the lift. The sickeningly sweet look on his face sends the butterflies in my tummy to flight. Again.

“Oh thanks,” I almost blurt, pressing the button to go down. But then as we step into the welcoming lift, more come to me. “It was my grandmother’s name. It always made me feel closer to her, like I always had a piece of her with me.”

“Tha’s nice. ‘ve always liked it when parents carry on family names like dat. It makes me think ‘d like t’ do tha same with me own kids one day,” Harry continues as I watch the doors shut, cutting us off from the rest of the world. If only for a few minutes. But still. 

“Me too.”

“So nobody ever calls ya Becca?” Harry inquires, catching my attention. 

“Eh, not really. Maybe Skye sometimes, and my grandma Ann did, but not much anymore.”

“Hmm maybe ‘ll hafta use it then,” he quips, but then he wears a confused smile he pulled out of thin air. “Eh I dunno, actually. Ya’ll always be me Becks,” he finishes, making my heart do a dance. And fueling the angel and demon having a party inside of my head. 

“Yeah, I agree. Anything else would sound weird.”

“Ya look like ‘im, ya know. Tha eyes, tha hair, and tha shape o’ yer face - bloody spitting image ya are. ‘Specially Robbie,” Harry acknowledges.

“We get that a lot, but thanks, I like to hear it. Sometimes I can’t see it, though,” I recall. “Which parent do you look like?”

“Um, dunno. I get comments ‘bout lookin’ like both o’ me parents. I guess I mostly ‘ave people say I look like me dad with sum o’ my mum’s features. Which sounds wild.”

“Yeah, I can relate with people saying I look like my dad. It’s like, oh thanks for saying I look like a boy,” I laugh. Turning to look at him on my left, a small one sputters from his smiling cherry lips. 

“I know, ‘s weird.”

“I can see it, though. How people think you look like him,” I tell him. When I watch his lips settle into a silent, straight line, I feel instant regret. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, ‘s okay. Jus’ hard hearin’ people say ya look like sumbody ya don’ like.”

A small ‘oh’ passes over my lips before I can stop it. My eyes leave him and go to the changing red number above my head. Words bubble up inside of me, and I tell them to stop. But then I can’t. 

“I think I know how you feel,” I murmur, daring to look over at him, her face flashing in my mind. His far away eyes lift from the floor and pan over to me. 

I try not to lose myself in their infinity of green, but it’s worthless. And soon I am, and thoughts of last night leak from my memories. 

I know it’s at the back of his mind too. That almost kiss. The one he tried to initiate, and the one I want so bad. Five months ago, I don’t know if I would’ve. But now in this moment and in this elevator, all alone with him, I couldn’t want something more. 

Or somebody. 

[shardweavers]

Chapter Eight - Creative Thinking

Shoto and Angel got up from the table where they'd been sitting. The Scholar peeked into the room as she slowly opened the door…

And found the Ascian was sound asleep on the bed. He was still recovering from his injuries, after all. The female Miqo'te carefully stepped into the room, thought for a moment, then looked back to Angel; he'd followed her inside just as carefully.

"I wonder... Where did he get most of those injuries? I checked for external wounds, and I only found," she frowned as she paused, "...I only found the scar... from where I struck him through…" She trailed off. 

"Were there internal injuries?" Angel asked, frowning. "I-I mean, given--"

"Yes, both Eos and I could sense the internal wounds, but they didn't feel...connected to the last battle," Shoto mused. The two Miqo'te spent a long, silent moment in thought... 

"You're both aware that I am not deaf, correct?" came Emet-Selch's voice, cutting through to interrupt; he sounded more than a little annoyed. Angel gave a squeak of surprise, and Shoto jumped slightly.

"W-well, look, we thought you were asleep, and--!!"

"I might be, but there were two noisy felines just now, mewing on and on," the Paragon replied, opening one eye fully, studying her with it before glancing to Angel and heaving a loud sigh as he shut his eyes again. Shoto pouted and looked away.

"Fine, we apologize for the disturbance. Were we too loud for Your Radiance out on the terrace, too?"

"Perhaps, but the Emperor shall forgive that indiscretion," Hades said with faux imperiousness as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, waving his hand for extra effect. "I'll concede it's hardly fair to chase you out of your own living quarters, and I'm sure at least one of you doesn't trust wicked old me alone in here." He smirked.

"How generous," Shoto grumbled, crossing her arms as she went over to the edge of the bed. "So, you're going to stay awake?" "For the time being. The night you so generously returned to Norvrandt hasn't settled fully yet, and the evenings here are abominably bright." 

'From his tone, you'd never guess that he had any role in bringing the Flood of Light about,' Shoto thought, a little bitterly.

"If you intended to ply me with further questions," Emet-Selch continued, interrupting her train of thought, "why, that might help ease my boredom, just a tiny fraction." His amber eyes bored into Shoto, and she felt almost compelled to speak. "...What did you mean when you said…'eight times rejoined'?" The Ascian blinked and then gave another overwhelmed sigh, leaning back against the headboard of the bed and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Or, I suppose, you could attempt to ask me a question so stupid it permanently kills me." "Wh--You--!!"

"Or counts as a form of torture. Aren't heroes supposed to be against torture?"

"It's a legitimate question!" Shoto sputtered in embarrassed fury. "It's an incredibly disappointing question," Hades quipped back, his own expression disgruntled. "I was given to believe that you understood word one of what I said regarding Amaurot? The Final Days? The Great Sundering, and how our world was shattered into the Source and its thirteen reflections? Yes?" "Yes!" "Then ‘eight times rejoined' means exactly what it sounds like it means. There have been seven reunions, what you call the ‘Umbral Calamities', of shards unto the Source. Each time, the soul of those who lived in the time of Amaurot comes closer to wholeness. You are, like it or no, one such soul. Ergo…" He trailed off with a languid gesture.

Angel bit his lip. It couldn't be that simple, could it? 

...Hadn't the Seventh Umbral Calamity been when they first began to really experience the Echo…?

"This time is different," Shoto argued. "Or...it feels different, at any rate! Angel and I have been...causing...things to just, just appear out of thin air!"

"...What?" Now Emet-Selch had a turn at looking surprised. "How do you mean--wait, no--"

"I mean it like it sounds," Shoto growled petulantly, even if she found she didn't really enjoy the wince on the Ascian's face. "Alright, alright, I deserved that." The Ascian brought a hand to his chin, fingers partially covering his mouth, in thought. "...I wonder...These appearances, are they linked to intense periods of...concentration?" "Yes. In both our cases." "...Curious. Very curious." Amber eyes looked to the floor, then back up to track over both of the Miqo'te before him. "Tell me, when you were traveling...my Amaurot, did you chance to hear about…'Creation Magic', perhaps...?"

Angel almost leapt into the air as he listened to the answer the Ascian gave, and he felt his tail puff up, his ears flickering violently. 

"The...The Bureau of the Architect," he whispered, almost involuntarily…

What he was leading into matched almost perfectly to what the Amaroutine shade at the Bureau had told the Warriors and the Scions when they asked about that same term. 

"Picture a bouquet of fresh, fragrant flowers, all the colors of the rainbow. Now picture those selfsame flowers formed of delicate crystal, impossibly fragile and radiating hues beyond the visual spectrum."

That was, in fact, exactly what they had described to one another, wasn't it? 

A fish he hadn't seen before; but had thought about very clearly; had just appeared in his empty aquarium. A flower that wasn't there; that she could very clearly see in the vase; was then suddenly there. The Keeper of the Moon's eyes were wide as saucers, and his ears pinned back as he realized Emet-Selch was staring at him, had definitely heard his whisper.

"Crrreation Magics...? A-Are you trrrying to say... one soul sharrrrd can make... such... a difference...?"

He trailed off again, staring back at the Ascian, his mouth open slightly in shock.

"It's quite possible," Hades replied. "The Bureau existed because that sort of gift wasn't at all uncommon in Amaurot. Certainly, one needed quite the level of talent at manipulating aether, but we rather prided ourselves on our ability to forge it into a concrete form."

"But…" Angel shook his head, wanting to argue against this...this whole sequence of ideas, even without evidence. "Shouldn't it be the same for all of us, then? I mean, Ice only felt like his soul was...stronger…"

Emet-Selch smirked and arched an eyebrow...his expression was almost kind, or as kind as his smirk got. "Why would it be the exact same, pray? Despite our unity and the commonality of our dress, we Ancients were hardly all identical drones. If that came off as the case, perhaps my re-creation of Amaurot really did err." 

He shrugged. "More than likely, in his own way, your compatriot possesses something similar, but it manifests differently, the way a warrior differs from a magus. In his own way, he was quite observant. If this is, indeed, Creation Magic, it's not some alien power bestowed upon you, you know. You're re-learning it as a result of your soul becoming, well, stronger."

Angel looked down to the ring on his left hand, resting it on his chest. His mind felt like he was caught in a vortex of some kind; his thoughts swirled. He was shaking, he realized.

Amaurot, and the Final Days...The Bureau of the Architect…

His husband's words, and his cheerful smile...

"Aside from feeling a bit stronger, I don't really feel that different! Sorry to disappoint, Angel, heh."

His father's, Kohji's voice, harsh and cold…

"Mages are weak. Worthless. They can't do anything without a warrior to protect them. Are you saying you intend to be weak, boy…?!"

"...It's like the Echo," Shoto interjected, looking over at Emet-Selch with a bit of a cryptic stare. "Isn't it? The Echo feels like it's always been with us, but it only really awakened after the Seventh Umbral Calamity."

The first time he'd ever felt the Echo, Hydaelyn's voice reverberating in his mind like a crystalline orchestra…

He could almost hear it now…

Hades sighed and spread his arms, a wide-ranging, insincere "who can say???" evident in his gesture. "It's possible, certainly? I can't speak to it being the full truth, dear hero. Our understanding of the Echo is so much different from yours."

Hear...

Shoto's lip curled. "This is going to be like when Lahabrea went on about how we knew nothing about it and were worms before him, right?"

Feel...

Emet-Selch's eyes narrowed and his smirk became more devious. "Heavens, no. I meant more that we use it for its full and noble purpose, whereas your use of the Echo seems limited to prying into others' personal business."

Think…

"Now see here, you--"

Even as he stared at his ring, the room spun. His head hurt, suddenly, a violent, piercing pain; there was something like a sound, like a too-tinny bell at the edge of hearing. 

Speak not the name of the Voidsent, or it shall appear before thee; apparently this applied to the Echo, in truth.

And yet, as he gripped at his forehead, and saw Shoto similarly overcome...Was it his imagination, or was Emet-Selch also…??

There was no time to question. The room in the Pendants disappeared, everything instantly felt distant and muted as though they'd all been suddenly pulled underwater.

The quiet sound of gentle bells followed a young Amaurotine through the long hallway. The cowl of his robe pulled up, and positioned just so; his white mask precisely centered on his face. The boy's pace hurried to keep up with the far taller people that led him through the Words of Lahabrea, deep within the Bureau of the Architect...the very heart of Amaurot's magickal engineering program. 

The foremost users of Creation.

The only sounds in the wide marble halls were their footsteps, and the rhythmic, gentle bells behind them. The boy, who was distracted from these sounds by the thunder of his own nervous heartbeat, glanced back to the bells, briefly, to find a fluffy, three-tailed mammalian creature, with bright, golden eyes; the soft glow off of its fur indicated this was an arcane creation, no kind of natural beast. It casually hopped along, at pace, back and forth in a zig-zag pattern. 

At last, all of the Amaurotines stopped before a pair of large double doors; their leader, the tallest of the four surrounding the boy, turned to their young companion first, regarding him seriously.

"You are ready to assist, correct, Asopus?"

The boy felt his throat dry instantly, but he closed his mouth, then took a breath through his nose...releasing it, he managed a resolute, calm reply, despite still feeling shaky. "Yes, Chief Researcher Telemachos."

The tall man nodded and went over to the doors, placing his hand on a security mechanism; lines of light quickly flowed across the surface, and the doors opened wide.

The young man squared his shoulders and turned his masked face to look up at the woman closest to him, the one who had asked him here. He opened his mouth to ask her a question…

But no sooner had he done so then there was the sound of clicked teeth from a third member of the four.

"Really, Xene. This is the help we were promised? This is your ‘savant'?"

"Chrysanthos," she shook her head, then took a step forward, "don't start in, especially not now. This concept is very large and very intricate, thanks in no small part to you, and the Concordance reassigned Vaseilos to a pressing matter in the field. As much as you might not--"

"Don't try and make this about him! This is your failure! You said we would have someone of equal skill. This," Chrysanthos looked down to him. The white mask hid most of his face, but his tone dripped with contempt and his mouth was a sneer. "child still depends on a Familiar, Xene."

"As though that's proof he's incapable? Faidon, Aristotelis, and Eftychia all delegate a measure of their aether to their own Familiars," she crossed her arms over her chest, "Especially on large, intricate projects where we need the extra willpower. Like this one."

"They are peers of the Bureau, Xene! You haven't even brought us an Akademia graduate, you've brought us Prorektor Apollo's spare son!" Chrysanthos snarled. "Need I remind you the cost of errors in this Summoning? If there's even a minute flaw in the concept, it could--"

"That's enough," came Telemachos' calm, quiet voice, the leader sweeping his hand as if to swat Chrysanthos' words out of the air. "Our guest is here to assist, to learn, and to demonstrate why Master Lahabrea favors him, not to serve as linchpin of the summoning. If you must worry about something, Chrysanthos, worry about your own role."

The boy flinched. That was why he was really here, wasn't it? Lahabrea's favor. His father's role. Not his own talents.

Chrysanthos hissed through his teeth but seemed to drop the matter as they stepped into the summoning chamber, Telemachos striding into the center and removing a pair of crystals from his robe, which he slotted into pre-configured places on the altar.

Xene seemed to notice the young Amaurotine's distress, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. You're here because of your own capabilities, not High Speaker Lahabrea's preferences, I promise."

"...I…"

"She's right," another woman spoke up, removing the Conceptual Pattern and Matrix scrolls from a set of filing drawers. "Favor or not, Chief Researcher Telemachos would send you packing if he didn't think you could do it, youngster."

"Artemisia, I'm not sure that's helping him feel better," Xene chided. "It's a compliment!" Artemisia insisted, giving a small smile to the young man as she unfurled one of the scrolls. "I need him to believe in himself just as much as you do, or I won't get my early lunch." She stuck out her tongue and laughed good-natured even as Xene sighed in exasperation.

"Artemisia…! Augh, she's impossible sometimes. Pray, pay no mind to them. Show them your skill, and even Chrysanthos will be silenced."

He opened his mouth to reply, then stopped.  He nodded instead, then turned to the altar and its subsidiaries. Telemachos had unfurled the Matrix and now set it on the altar, adjusting the crystals...the pattern of the matrix began to write itself in aetheric light in the engraved magic circle of the summoning chamber. Artemisia unfurled the Plan with a flourish.

"This is the concept we're to create for testing, but the caveat is it has to be perfect upon creation. Can you tell why?" Xene explained, then gestured to the Plan. The boy read over the Concept Plan carefully, as the orange creature climbed up onto his shoulders.

He blinked then looked up to Xene and Telemachos in surprise.

"It's..."

* * * "An immortal bird?" Hades repeated as they made their way through the restricted area of the Bureau of the Architect.

Hythlodaeus nodded. "To be precise, it is not a living being, but magick woven in the likeness of a bird. One possessed of puissant healing powers. And as befits a masterwork of the Words of Lahabrea, it is a thing of beauty."

"I don't doubt it. So what, then, is the problem?"

"As I said, it is not a living being. The concept proposed was...well, to give a very basic outline, a magick in avian guise. With this in mind..."

* * * The doors opened soundlessly, but the change in light drew their attention. 

Artemisia knelt beside the boy who cowered in the corner. His mask broken into pieces, his cowl torn and around his shoulders. Pale, blue hair was tinged red with blood from visible injuries on his face. His orange Familiar stood defensively before him; it watched the flying bird above them, but it seemed a bit scared. 

The boy was holding his hands over his ears as the fiery bird screeched horribly, then rammed itself into the wall with a sickening sound; the young man flinched visibly each time. 

Artemisia was the one trying to comfort him, the others seemed to be missing. There was debris and destroyed furniture all over, which made it hard to tell who had entered. The woman strained to see around, but recognized the shape of the one Hythlodaeus had called, even as that shape changed and grew, warped to massive size. Her voice seemed relieved when she said his name.

"Hades! Oh, praise the Cycle." she turned to the boy in the corner, "You can breathe now," she reached up to his head, gently. He shook his head and whimpered.

"It's my fault. It's my fault. I...I did this, if I hadn't…"

"You did just fine," she softly reassured him. Hades' transformation completed, and Artemisia looked excited to see the sorcerer's full form, "Look now, and see something grand!"

But the injured boy was too frightened to look up, "The bird... H-He... He blames..." 

There was one last, terrible screech, which made the boy cry out in fear. His Familiar turned, and immediately leapt onto his lap. Then all was silent for a moment. 

Hades slowly returned to his normal form beside the highly impressed Hythlodaeus; who was quietly clapping.

"A wonderful first impression from the most eminent Emet-Selch," he teased.

Hades sighed at his friend, "Stop that." He turned to leave, but noticed Hythlodaeus had yet to move. "Is there aught else?"

"I say, dear friend, I think we may now be quite finished…!" 

"Another cre--?" Hades turned, as the dust and rubble finally settled. A softly glowing, orange creature drew his attention first. Then the smaller black-robed figure, being comforted by a taller woman, one of the researchers. For a moment, the High Councilor was confused as to Hythlodaeus' meaning, but then…he saw the dark, malformed creature beside them, the failed Concept that had been hidden by smoke and mist.

It was no bigger than a large canine, like a hound or wolf, but had three heads, and a thick, long tail. It was focused on the taller figure, as it bared its over-sharp fangs, and breathed steam. 

"You'll be alright. We should get you back to the medical ward in Anyder," Artemisia was saying--she put an arm gently around her young compatriot's shoulders. 

The boy jumped, and the canid creature pounced…!

Snap!

A sharp sound cracked through the room. Artemisia had turned in time to see the creature nearly take her head off... then vanish with a snap. Hythlodaeus calmly walked over to the boy, then Hades followed to check on the woman beside him.

"Calm, child, everything is as it should be," Hythlodaeus knelt down, then spied the broken mask nearby. He calmly picked it up, then put his free hand on the boy's head.

"Hades," Artemisia said, shakily, "Or, I suppose I should call you Emet-Selch now, hm?" She smiled a little, then stood up. "Thank you for all the help. This was--"

"An accident. I understand. They happen. Though," he looked over to the near-unconscious child, as his friend put his arms around him, "Pray tell, why is he here?"

"His innate skill at creating creatures," Artemisia replied, then looked to where the canine had been only a moment ago. She reached up to her neck, then looked back to Hades. "Since Vaseilos was reassigned, Xene thought we should bring him in to finalize the balance of the summoning. I agreed, because I thought if we could showcase his talent to the rest of the Bureau, they might let go of their prejudices, and Telemachos approved of it, even, so--"

"Does Lahabrea know he's here?"

"Of course he does, he was over-excited to hear that we'd recruited Asopus, he all but insisted we make him part of this particular concept-summoning." She sighed and bit her lip. "I must help with recovery efforts and trying to get the summoning chamber in less of a...state. I beg you, tell our Emissary that his brother performed perfectly well, the accident was not his fault. Master Lahabrea will be pleased with his progress...and I will attempt to calm the others' nonsensical ramblings about curses while he recovers."

"You were very brave, Ambrosia, I'm certain Asopus will give you a treat when he wakes," Hythlodaeus smiled at the little creature as he gathered the slumped, unfighting Asopus into his arms. 

Hades made a face at all the information he'd been given. He nodded in reply to Artemisia, then swept from the room, and followed his friend out to the streets in silence.

Once outside, Hades broke off, then headed back towards the park he'd come from.

"Hmm? Are you off to sleep again?" The question gained no response, to which Hythlodaeus grinned, "Should I inform her of your news on the way to Anyder?" 

Emet-Selch stopped, then glanced over his shoulder with an unreadable expression. 

Hythlodaeus turned to head off, "Go rest, my friend! I'll let Perseph--"

"You'll do no such thing, I can handle that myself," Hades responded with a very deep sigh. His friend had prodded him intentionally and it had worked. He'd go find her and tell her of today's events himself. 

Hythlodaeus chuckled, clearly pleased with himself, and away towards Anyder's medical wing he went, the boy in his arms drifting away from consciousness...and as he did, the vision, too, faded away, the room in the Pendants flowing back into sudden focus.

When it seemed like the room was stable again, Angel and Shoto opened their eyes, the grip of the Echo loosened. The female Miqo'te shook her head sharply, to clear the aftereffects from the Echo away, causing her teal-flecked hair to bounce in and out of her face. She spied the male Miqo'te, now kneeling on the floor. He shook his head much more carefully... 

Was he crying? The Keeper stopped, then reached up to wipe at his eyes, which confirmed that she hadn't been seeing things. She frowned. How hard had the Echo been on her friend…?

Wait! Emet-Selch!

They both immediately looked around the room, only to find that the Ascian was still right where they'd left him, his golden eyes staring sharply at them both, piercingly. Gone was any of his usual affect; the look he gave them was almost that of a lion staring at smaller animals.

"...What did you see?" The question was more or less a demand. 

Angel felt his stomach flip-flop. The Ascian must be furious. That scene had been torn from his memories, after all, hadn't it? 

He bit his lip before he quietly replied, "I...w-we...saw... a young boy," he trailed off a bit, then looked over to Shoto; he was after reassurance that she'd seen something similar. "It seemed like... he was a parrrt of... some sort of... summoning...? I-It was…" 

The White Mage gripped at his robes, up near his neck. He was at a loss of words on what it was they witnessed. The feelings of unease that had come from the boy felt too familiar, more so than just a simple Echo vision; his mind began to wander in the silence. 

《Hm~? When was the last time the Echo hit you this hard...?》

Angel stayed silent, but the voice's question was still accurate--when was the last time he felt completely exhausted just from a vision...?

"The Bureau summoned something...Not a Primal, some sort of bird…?" Shoto's words seemed to bring the male Miqo'te back to the present, though he still seemed slightly distracted. He nodded as she continued, "It was supposed to be pure magick, life given to aether, but...something went terribly wrong. It almost felt like Phoenix, and what went wrong...With..."

She trailed off. 

While he did his best to relax his expression, Hades couldn't help how tense he felt at her positive identification of the memory.... The day when young Asopus had first been brought into the Bureau, an attempt to uncover the full depths of his potential. Lahabrea's idea, of course; the Speaker had been practically obsessed with both of Prorektor Apollo's sons.

Poor Asopus. The boy had been talented, true, but he was timid, his skills imprecise, and he was a great ball of unrefined aether. The results had been predictably tragic. By Hythlodaeus' request, he had cleaned up the ugly aftermath of the experiment, and saved the other Bureau researcher from being savaged by a rogue concept summoned from the boy's terror and the still-active matrix. 

How curious that the Echo dredged up that particular memory? Perhaps it was simply an object lesson, he thought, relaxing a little at last. 

"Well, then, I believe I understand what you saw; one of the Bureau's mishaps with the very creation magic we were just discussing. Just as it was commonplace for concepts to be summoned forth, it goes without saying that creation magic is quite dangerous for those who don't properly understand it, hm?"

Shoto simply nodded mutely, and Angel didn't respond; the Ascian let out a long, drawn-out sigh. "Perhaps it'd be best if we dropped this particular subject, for now." He glanced curiously over to the nearby bag Angel had brought with him.

Angel followed the Ascian's gaze, 'Right! I brought that here to help!' he thought, as he carefully stood. His ears flicked as he hurried over to the desk, pushing aside some lightheadedness. The Keeper shifted the jumbled sandwiches around, and tried to put the previous topic; and the swirl of confused, violent emotions he was still feeling; out of his mind. He removed the sandwiches that were still edible from their packaging, then pulled out the slightly bruised fruit. Lastly, he pulled out a smaller; now crumpled; bag, and held it out to Shoto as he leaned on the desk.

"It's a few days worth of herbal medicine for a bird, but... it should be about two doses for a person. We could mix it with food or drink or," he looked to Emet-Selch before he continued, "...he could swallow the bitter medicine on its own." 

It was hard to tell if Angel had worded it intentionally or not, but Shoto, at least, knew how much Angel hated bitter things... so... maybe it was just a coincidence. 

The Ascian raised a brow at the mention of food and drink; he didn't know how he felt about the medicine. 

"I'm surprised," he drawled. "So far, that's two Warriors of Light willing to play at being my nursemaid, without anything asked in return. Has my wicked charm really become so devastatingly effective? Aren't you afraid I'll suddenly take the advantage, turn the tables on you?" 

Shoto glared at him with a somewhat serious expression as he said that, and stepped forward, pointing at Emet-Selch. "For one, we haven't said we trust you. For another, you were the one who offered ‘peace in our time', as I remember it, not a little while ago, due to your injuries! And for a third thing, you probably should've taken the time to go after us while we were crippled by the Echo just now, because--"

Emet-Selch laughed and put his hands up, though he seemed surprised, at least a little, at Shoto's vehemence. "Alright, alright, goodness me! You take my jests so poorly, Hero." His shoulders slumped a little and he gave a wry smile, spreading his arms into a shrug again. "I will note for you both that my goal, even now, has not changed. I wish to bring about the Rejoining. But," he added, noticing Shoto visibly tense up further as he spoke, "do calm down. I want to investigate...different approaches. After all, despite the lack of a Calamity and its attendant aether, your souls have been rejoined quite successfully. So I now wonder...what other options might be present, though I still desire Amaurot's resurrection? That's not so terrible, is it?"

"...Hmph. No, I suppose not," sighed Shoto. Hades allowed himself a small smile, which allowed him to hide the growl of his stomach, thankfully audible only to him thus far, though his amber-eyed gaze followed the food without him consciously willing it. Damn this mortality! He was above base urges like hunger!

"I-I can... make some tea... to go with the food," Angel offered, as he carefully handed the sandwiches and fruit to Shoto, then headed over to the little kitchen area of her quarters, still clearly troubled by...everything. 

As he removed the teapot and three cups from the cupboard, that familiar voice entered Angel's thoughts, as he started to prepare a quick, hot tea.

《Are you gonna try to ask Ice about this little Echo vision...?》

'Anubis,' Angel thought in reply, as he put the kettle on the stove to heat the water. 'I... I don't know yet.'

《Something felt different that time. I don't think you've had a reaction like someone kicked your kitten before...》

The voice trailed off, as Angel gripped the hot pad he had meant to set on the counter. 

'Perhaps... a different... metaphor,' Angel growled quietly, then released the hot pad and shook his head a bit.

《Oh, right~... Your 'Stray Problem'...》

The White Mage glared at the teapot in silence. He chose not to respond to what felt like a pure taunt. The lack of response didn't seem to stop the voice, though. He continued as Angel reached over to get the canister of tea leaves.

《...Y'know. The Paragon's right about you being too kind. Too trusting. You take in every stray you find, without ever questioning anything...》

'S-So...?' Angel fumbled with the lid of the canister. Anubis paused, then spoke a bit coldly, his question heavy with implication.

《...Isn't that how you always end up getting hurt...?》

"Shut up!" The White Mage hissed as he dropped the canister with a quiet clatter. The lid had stayed attached, but he didn't pay attention to that. Angel instantly covered his mouth as his eyes widened; he hadn't meant to respond out loud. 

Shoto had walked over to put a sandwich and one of the fruits on the nightstand for Emet-Selch; she turned her head to look at Angel. The Ascian was blinking and looking at him as well.

"Angel? Is everything okay?" She tilted her head a bit. The male Miqo'te blushed, then uncovered his mouth as he turned his head to reply with a slight nod. 

"Y-Yes. I-It's fine. I'm f-fine," he then turned back to the teapot, hurriedly stuffing tea leaves into the strainer...after a moment of watching this and looking between the two, Hades cleared his throat, deciding upon another change of topic.

"I do hate to pry, but given the current state of my clothes, might I bother you in particular, dear Keeper of the Moon, for any spare clothing beyond this?" He put his head on his palm rather dramatically, glancing to Shoto and affecting a theatrically put-upon tone, though he grinned as he spoke. "I'm aware, of course, that the lady of the house prefers my current attire, but it's so dreadfully exposed, don't you think?"

Shoto growled in her throat and pinched the bridge of her nose as her cheeks flushed red again; she had put out of her mind that the Ascian was still in the bathrobe from before. Ugh. Of course he'd choose to be a pain about it! She looked to Angel herself as Emet-Selch finished the question, the other Miqo'te catching her gaze even as he processed Hades' words.

"Well... I have a... sparrre," he flicked his ears, then shook his head to clear it a bit with a frustrated pout. "I have a spare traveling robe... I-I keep it here, in the Pendants, in case it's too cold," he frowned, "but it's in Ice's and my room... at the other end of the hall." He made a face as he looked to Emet-Selch for a moment, then realized how tall he was compared to him. "I-It's made to reach my ankles, so I think... it would still... be a little short... on you." The male Miqo'te tilted his head a little, "But it would probably cover you... more... than a bathrobe would?" He trailed off a bit.

《An Ascian, wearing your clothes, in Shoto's room...?》Anubis spoke up once more, as he pointed out the problem with this situation; albeit with a slightly mocking mental tone. Angel hadn't thought about that... but he'd already offered. 《By the Twelve, Angel... What will Ice think about this scandalous turn of events...?》

A heavy, guilty feeling sank into his stomach, and his throat tightened a bit. His heart pounded a bit faster as he suddenly wondered how he would even begin to explain any of this to his husband. 

The kettle started to boil and interrupted Angel's thoughts with a quiet whistle. He hurriedly turned to pour the water into the prepared teapot, looking away from Shoto and Emet-Selch again. The White Mage was grateful for the sudden distraction. 

After a few moments, Angel carefully brought the tray over to the desk, the three teacups, some sugar cubes, and a small container with cream all placed around the pot in the center. He spoke as he headed over.

"J-Just so you know... Sh-Shoto and I help, because th-that's just... how we arrre." He stopped to sit the tray on the desk to let the tea steep, "You... You knew that... back then... so... I-I think," he looked back to Emet-Selch and finished his sentence, "..th-that's why we'rrre... all in this mess... togetherrr." His tail flicked, to accentuate his point, even as he pushed aside quiet mental snickering from the voice of Anubis in his mind, and fervently wished he could better quiet his nervous purring habit in times like this. 

Shoto thought for a moment, looking over their Ascian guest herself, who seemed to be digesting Angel's speech.

"Wait. I have an idea." She once more walked over to the armoire from where she'd gotten the fresh linens earlier, and carefully dug around for a few moments before she exclaimed, "Aha! Here we go!"

Emet-Selch's attention drawn, he watched her closely as she returned to him with a folded set of dark-colored, silken clothing, which she held out to him rather proudly. Rolling his eyes for melodramatic effect, his smirk became a genuine wince as he moved to get up, instantly catching the headboard with one hand to steady himself. Without thinking, Shoto immediately moved over to help steady him. 

Her hand braced his arm, and the feeling of connection, that shared aether between her and the Ascian, lit up like a firework. She very suddenly felt his pain; the pain of the wound that radiated through his core. Her ears flattened as she mirrored his wincing expression, gasping with the sudden agony…

And then they had separated again, and the feeling was gone.

"Are you okay…?!" Angel had hurried to her side, all concern for Shoto's well-being; she simply nodded. Hades, too, looked worried...but then his eyes darted to the side, he took the clothes, and he hurried into the bathroom to change. Shoto stood there in a daze, willing the sensation to pass and the room to stop spinning, which it slowly did.

'There it is again...But I didn't feel this way when the Echo overtook us earlier…? What is this connection…?'

After a few minutes, Emet-Selch returned, now wearing a black dress shirt, the sleeves short with a bellow accompanied with a simple white vest, and a pair of dark gray dress slacks.

Shoto blinked and couldn't quite help herself from staring at him, her mouth a small ‘o' shape of surprise. She'd picked out the clothing, yes, but she hadn't expected him to look quite so...dashing in this outfit! It lacked the regal arrogance of his Garlean robes; instead it seemed to let him present an almost gentle...confidence...what was she thinking?! Her cheeks red as dragonfire, she quickly looked away.

Emet-Selch raised an eyebrow as he realized she'd been giving him the once-over, but shrugged nonchalantly, deciding to let her off the hook this time.

"It's not my normal attire, but it shall do." He headed back towards the bed, but had to pause once more, as pain shot through his body again after the quick movement. Shoto looked back to him, then shook her head, biting her lip.

"You should lay back down. We can bring your tea over to the bedside." 

Emet-Selch made a face at that; he'd always hated exposing weakness, and there were very few he wanted to show vulnerability to, let alone depend on the aid of. Stubbornly, he trudged back to the bed on his own, then laid back on the bed with visible reluctance as he watched them. 

Angel moved aside to let him pass, and then retrieved the tray of tea; it was well-steeped by now, and ready to serve. He picked up the teapot, and began to pour the tea into the cups before looking to their Ascian guest.

"H-How do you like it?" Angel blushed, then quickly added. "Th-The tea. Yourrr... tea." He sat the teapot down before he dropped it, he'd only gotten two cups poured. 

"I will take it as is." Emet-Selch waved his hand at the fuss. 

Shoto nodded to Angel, then picked up the first cup and saucer. She brought them over to the Ascian, and sat them beside the sandwich and fruit she'd placed on the nightstand while Angel was making the tea; to his credit, the Ascian quietly picked up the cup and sipped the tea. He seemed to appreciate it, wordlessly, then began to eat and drink in silence, allowing Shoto to walk back over to Angel. 

She stood with her back to Emet-Selch, and spoke to the male Miqo'te in a low whisper, "We can not let Ice know about this just yet. You know how he'll react," she frowned at the thought.

 Angel matched her hushed whisper as he responded with a shaky nod.

"I-I do... He'd be down here in a hearrrtbeat." He flicked an ear in annoyance at his purrs, but was focused on his concern for Shoto. He glanced to Emet-Selch, then back to Shoto, "But I--," 

Shoto shook her head slightly, and immediately interrupted his argument as she continued.

"It's getting late. You should head back." She looked over her shoulder towards the Ascian, "I can keep an eye on him." 

Angel again glanced to Emet-Selch, then back to Shoto; his expression was still worried. The White Mage bit his lip, then pinned his ears back. "...I don't really want to leave you alone with him either. I'd feel just as guilty if something happened to you than I would not telling my husband about what we just did." Angel heard the hissed snicker from the back of his mind, which didn't help the tightening knot in his stomach. 

"I understand," Shoto nodded, "but I should be fine. I'd rather not leave him alone." 

As they spoke, Emet-Selch finished his tea, sat the cup and saucer on the bedside table, then cleared his throat. "My thanks for the meal, but while you two conduct your...private business, I'm going to rest. I'll need my strength if I'm to keep up with you two." 

Both Miqo'te jumped at his response, ears perked as if they hadn't heard correctly, then looked directly at the Ascian. Shoto spoke first, a bit of panic in her tone.

"What do you mean 'keep up with us'?!" He lazily turned his back to them laying his head against the pillow.

"Hoh...? I mean what I say. Someone has to keep your decisions from becoming dangerously poor, no? Especially given what we've learned today. On the morrow, dear heroes.

The Ascian yawned and gave a lazy half-wave as he finished speaking, then closed his eyes with a small, triumphant smirk on his face... 

Shoto and Angel both took a moment to process his proclamation-- he clearly meant to follow along with the party in the morning. 

Shoto looked back at Angel, to see that the look on his face said he had realized it too.

"Well, I," she gestured to the door, "I guess we should... get some rest?"

Angel curled his tail as he nodded to Shoto, still worried.

"If... If that's," he trailed off and pinned his ears back, "N-Now I have to tell Ice... If only to warrrn him... It would be farrr worrrse if he's surrrprised by him in the morning." The White Mage frowned at the thought, then shook his head a little. He moved to leave, still visibly hesitant to leave her alone. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, then made a face. "Shoto," he turned back to her, "If you need us, forrr anything, y-you know... wherrre ourrroom is... o-okay...?" He winced at the slurred purred words. The thought of trying to explain all of this to Ice without him barreling right back here in five minutes was wreaking havoc on his already frazzled nerves. 

Shoto simply nodded as she opened the door for the White Mage to head back. She gave him as reassuring a smile as she could so he'd feel okay leaving her alone for the night. 

Angel paused just outside the door, "Just please...be safe…" With that, the Keeper headed back to his room, his thought trying to parse far too much from just the last few hours... and still no clue where to start explaining any of it. 

The little voice in his head was not helpful at all in his silent trip up the darkened hallway.

Notes: Artwork this week was done by @angel-lockhart​. :3

[Emet-Selch joined your party without your consent.] Really leave the room? [Leave] [Cancel]

This week we referenced the 4th story of the Tales from the Shadows. If you haven't read the side-stories, and are interested in doing so, you can do so here: https://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/special/tales_from_the_shadows/sidestory_04/#sidestory_04