#its like. OH i drew that No one else would draw like that. but simultaneously its not consistent in the slightest. yet theres smthn about i

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil. 

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough​ 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund. 

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative 

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe! 

 He knew where she would be. 

 The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of. 

 It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day. 

 It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits. 

 It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation. 

 Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God. 

 But sometimes he struggled with just being a man. 

 Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity. 

 Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights. 

 To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness. 

 And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation. 

 Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them. 

 And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone. 

 "Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress. 

 "I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

 "Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

 Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

 "I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

 She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

 "You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

 "I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

 A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

 She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him. 

 But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.  

 "If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves. 

 "Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him. 

 "I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet. 

 The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers. 

 "Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

 She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

 "I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should. 

 Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other. 

 Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. 

 "Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out. 

 "Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?" 

 "Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know. 

 Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured. 

 His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of. 

 After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand. 

 "Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station. 

 "Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip. 

 They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished. 

 Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel. 

 *****

 With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York. 

 Captured by heathens. 

 Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

 Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils. 

 What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine. 

 When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her. 

 They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her. 

 *****

 "You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

 "There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue. 

 Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

 "They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

 "What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone. 

 Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper. 

 "You slaughter when it suits you." 

 Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

 But it was all in vain. 

 He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

 "Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you." 

 "But not you."

 "No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God. 

 There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead. 

 The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

 The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound. 

 "I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself. 

 The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement. 

 A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

 That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong. 

 He prayed his nightmares were wrong. 

 Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind. 

 The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested. 

 As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive. 

 "You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them. 

 She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded. 

 "Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

 Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding. 

 "Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip. 

 "Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him. 

 "Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal. 

 "Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze. 

 She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

 "Are they treating you well?"

 Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup. 

 And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her. 

 His nightmare coming to pass. 

 He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

 She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

 Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings. 

 "I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

 She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation. 

 Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again. 

 "Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly. 

 Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her. 

 "Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

 She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

 Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

 "Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

 "Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do. 

 At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him. 

 Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

 She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered. 

 "You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin. 

 Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew. 

 "I said leave, thrall." 

 As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away. 

 The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her? 

 "Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

 The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good. 

 "Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

 Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

 "She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

 "No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

 "You love her."

 "How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.  

 "Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

 "I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering. 

 "Aren't we all."

 He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.  

 *****

 The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts. 

 The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains. 

 Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament. 

 Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

 Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips. 

 All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

 He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets. 

 Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'. 

 He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

 As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone. 

 Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

 Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

 For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment. 

 "Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

 The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also. 

 Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

 Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

 "Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

 The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently. 

 Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking. 

 Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

 Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby. 

 He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile. 

 "He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory. 

 The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him. 

 Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize. 

 Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

 "You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

 Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled. 

 His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe. 

 Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that. 

[brawltogethernow]

So, I don't think I've ever asked you this... what IS the whole point of the Spider-Sense? It really seems like something that only exists for writers to ignore or work around when they want to inject Legit Tension into a story.

I’ve thought about this power so much, but never with an eye to defend its right to exist, so I needed to think about this. The results could be more concise.

Ironically, given the question, I have to say its main purpose is to ramp up tension. But it’s also a highly variable multitool that a skilled creative team can use for...pretty much anything. It does everything the writer wants it to, while for its wielder always falls just short of doing enough.

I went looking through my photos for a really generic, classic-looking example to use as an image to head this topic, but then I ran into the time Peter absolutely did not reimburse this man for his stolen McDonald’s, so have that instead.

A Scare Chord, But You Can Draw It

That one post that says the spider-sense is just super-anxiety isn’t, like, wrong. It’s a very anxious, dramatic storytelling tool originally designed for a very anxious, dramatic protagonist. I find it speaks to the overall tone of the franchise that some characters are functionally psychics, but with a psychic ability that only points out problems.

Spidey sense pinging? There’s danger, be stressed! Broken? Now the lead won’t even KNOW when there’s a problem, scary! Single character is immune to it? That’s an invisible knife in the dark oh my god what the fuck what the fU--

Like its counterpart in garden variety anxiety, the only time the spider-sense reduces tension is in the middle of a crisis. But in the wish fulfillmenty way that you want in an adventure story to justify exaggerated action sequences, the same way enhanced strength or durability does. Also like those, it would theoretically make someone much safer to have it, but it exists in the story to let your character navigate into and weather more dangerous situations.

For its basic role in a story, a danger sense is a snappy way to rile up both the reader and the protagonist that doesn’t offer much information beyond that it’s time to sit smart because shit is about to go down.

Spidey comic canon is all over the board in quality and genre, and it started needing to subvert its formulas before the creators got a handle on what those formulas even were, and basically no one has read anything approaching most of it at this point, so for consistent examples of a really bare bones use of this power in storytelling, I’d point to the property that’s done the best job yet of boiling down the mechanics of Spider-Man to their absolute most basic essentials for adaptation to a compelling monster of the week TV series.

Or as you probably know it, Danny Phantom. DON’T BOO, I’M RIGHT.

DP is Spider-Man with about 2/3 of the serial numbers filed off and no death (ironically), and Danny’s ghost sense is the most proof in the formula example of what the spidey sense is for: It’s a big sign held up for the viewer that says, “Something is wrong! Pay attention!” Effectively a visual scare chord. It’s about That Drama. And it works, which won it a consistent place in the show’s formula. We’re talking several times an episode here.

So why does it work?

It’s a little counterintuitive, but it’s strong storytelling to tell your audience that something bad is going to happen before it does. A vague, punchy spoiler transforms the ignorant calm before a conflict into a tense moment of anticipation. ...And it makes sure people don’t fail to absorb the beginning of said conflict because they weren’t prepared to shift gears when the scene did. Shock is a valuable tool, too, but treating it like a staple is how you burn out your audience instead of keeping them engaged. Not to go after an easy target, but you need to know how to manage your audience’s alarm if you don’t want to end up like Game of Thrones.

The limits of the spider-sense also keep you on your toes when handled by a smart writer. It tells Peter (everyone’s is a little different, so I’m going to cite the og) about threats to his person, but it doesn’t elaborate with any details when it’s not already obvious why, what kind, and from what. And it doesn’t warn him about anything else-- Which is a pretty critical gap when you zoom out and look at his hero career’s successes and failures and conclude that it’s definitely why he’s lived as long as he has acting the way he does, but was useless as he failed to save a string of people he’d have much rather had live on than him.

(Any long-running superhero mythos has these incidents, but with Peter they’re important to the core themes.)

And since this power is by plot for plot (or because it’s roughly agreed it only really blares about threats that check at least two boxes of being major, immediate, or physical), it always kicks in enough to register when the danger is bearing down...when it’s too late to actually do anything about it if “anything” is a more complex action than “dodge”.

Really? Not until the elevator doors started to open?

That Distinctive, Crunchy Spider Flavor

The spider-sense and its little pen squiggles go hand in hand with wallcrawling (and its unique and instantly identifiable associated body language) to make the Spider-Person powerset enduringly iconic and elevate characters with it from being generic mid-level super-bricks. Visually, but also in how it shapes the story.

I said it can share a narrative role with super strength. But when you end a fight and go home, super strength continues to make your character feel powerful, probably safer than they’d be otherwise, maybe dangerous.

The spider-sense just keeps blaring, “Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong! God, why aren’t you doing something about this!?”

Pretty morose thing to live with, for a safety net! Kind of a double edged sword you have there! Could be constantly being hyperattuned to problems would prime you for a negative outlook on life. Kind of seems like a power that would make it impossible for a moral person to take a day off, leading them into a beleaguered and resentful yet dutiful attitude about the whole superhero gig! Might build up to some of the core traits of this mythos, maybe! Might lead to a lot of fifteen minute retirement stories, or something. Might even be a built in ‘great responsibility’ alarm that gets you a main character who as a rule is not going to stop fighting until he physically cannot fight anymore.

Certainly not apropos of anything, just throwing this short lived barely-a-joke tagline up for fun.

One of my personal favorite things about stories with superpowers is keeping in mind how they cause the people who have them to act in unusual ways outside of fights, so when you tell me that these people have an entire extra sense that tells them when the gas in their house is leaking through a barely useful hot/cold warning system that never turns off, I’m like, eyes emojis, popcorn out, notebook open, listening intently, spectacles on, the whole deal.

It also contributes to Peter Parker’s personality in a way I really enjoy: It allows him to act like an irrational maniac. When you know exactly when a situation becomes dangerous and how much, normal levels of caution go out the window and absolutely nothing you do makes sense from an exterior standpoint anymore. That’s the good shit. I would like to see more exploration of how the non-Parker characters experiencing the world in this incredibly altered way bounce in response.

It’s also one of many tools in this franchise hauling the reader into relating more closely with the main character. The backbone of classic Spidey is probably being in on secrets only Peter and the reader know which completely reframe how one views the situation on the page. It’s just a big irony mine for the whole first decade. A convenient way to inform the reader and the lead that something is bad news that’s not perceivable to any other characters is youth-with-a-big-exciting-secret catnip.

Another point for tension, there, in that being aware of danger is not synonymous with being able to act on it. If there’s no visible reason for you to be acting strange, well...you’re just going to have to sit tight and sweat, aren’t you? Some gratuitous head wiggles never hurt when setting up that type of conflict.

Have I mentioned that they look cool? Simultaneously punchy and distinctive, with a respectable amount of leeway for artists to get creative with and still coming up with something easily recognizable? And pretty easy to intuit the meaning of even without the long-winded explanations common in the days when people wrote comics with the intent that someone could come in cold on any random issue and follow along okay, I think, although the mechanic has been deeply ingrained in popular culture for so long that I can’t really say for sure.

It was also useful back in the day when no artists drew the eyes on the Spider-Man mask as emoting and were conveying the lead’s expressions entirely through body language and panel composition. If you wiggle enough squiggles, you don’t need eyebrows.

Take This Handwave and Never Ask Me a Logistical Question Again

This ability patches plot holes faster than people can pick them open AND it can act as an excuse to get any plot rolling you can think of if paired with one meddling protagonist who doesn’t know how to mind their own business. Buy it now for only $19.99 (in four installments; that’s four installments of $19.99).

Why can a teenager win a six on one fight against other superhumans? Well, the spider-sense is the ultimate edge in combat, duh.

Why can Peter websling? Why doesn’t everyone websling? Well, the spider-sense is keeping him from eating flagpole when he violently flings himself across New York in a way neither man nor spider was ever meant to move.

How are we supposed to get him involved with the plot this week???? Well, that crate FELT dangerous, so he’s going to investigate it. Oh, dip, it was full of guns and radioactive snakes! Probably shouldn’t have opened that!

Yeah, okay, but why isn’t it fixing everything, then? Isn’t it supposed to be why Peter has never accidentally unmasked in front of somebody? ('Nother entry for this section, take a shot.) That’s crazy sensitive! How does he still have any problems!? Is everything bad that’s ever happened to characters with this powerset bad writing!? --Listen, I think as people with uncanny senses that can tell us whether we are in danger with accuracy that varies from incredible to approximate (I am talking about the five senses that most people have), we should all know better than to underestimate our ability to tune them out or interpret them wrong and fuck ourselves up anyway. I honestly find this part completely realistic.

*SLAPS ROOF OF SPIDER-SENSE* YOU CAN FIT SO MANY STORIES IN THIS THING

The spider-sense is a clean branch into...whatever. There is the exact right balance of structure and wishy-washiness to build off of. A sample selection of whatevers that have been built:

It’s sci-fi and spy gadgets when Peter builds technology that can interface with it.

It’s quasi-mystical when Kaine and Annie-May get stronger versions of it that give them literal psychic visions, or when you want to get mythological and start talking about all the spider-characters being part of a grand web of fate.

Kaine loses his and it becomes symbolic of a future newly unbound by constraints, entangled thematically with the improved physical health he picked up at the same time -- a loss presented as a gain.

Peter loses his and almost dies 782 times in one afternoon because that didn’t make the people he provoked when he had it stop trying to kill him, and also because he isn’t about to start “””taking the subway’’””’ “‘’“”to work”””’’” like some kind of loser who doesn’t get a heads up when he’s about to hit a pigeon at 50mph.

Peter’s starts tuning into his wife’s anxiety and it’s a tool in a relationship study.

It starts pinging whenever Peter’s near his boss who’s secretly been replaced by a shapeshifter and he IGNORES IT because his boss is enough of an asshole that that doesn’t strike him as weird; now it’s a comedy/irony tool.

Into the Spider-Verse made it this beautiful poetic thing connecting all the spider-heroes in the multiverse and stacked up a story on it about instant connection, loss, and incredibly unlikely strangers becoming a found family. It was also aesthetic as FUCK. Remember the scene where Miles just hears barely intelligible whispering that’s all lines people say later in the film and then his own voice very clearly says “look out” and then the room explodes?? Fuck!!!!

Venom becomes immune to it after hitchhiking to Earth in Peter’s bone juice and it makes him a unique threat while telling a more-homoerotic-than-I-assume-was-originally-intended story about violation and how close relationships can be dangerous when they go sour.

It doesn’t work on people you trust for maximum soap opera energy. Love the innate tragedy of this feature coming up.

IN CONCLUSION I don’t have much patience for writers who don’t take advantage of it, never mind feel they need to write around it.

[mirrorforevers]

heavenly nobodies (or “the fog”) • graham/reader

this is a bit heavier than usual, ladies. proceed w caution. tw for mentions of abusive relationships, drug abuse and reader has no self-esteem at all. nothing too descriptive in that sense though

on a lighter note, reader n graham are basically two lost adults acting like petty children

a quick disclaimer: its not my intention in *any way* to glorify or romanticize drug abuse or basically anything any of these characters do - its messed up shit. this is fiction, don't take it seriously, please

if this fic was a song, even though its titled after a lush song, it would be lark by angel olsen i guess. might have a sequel someday i dunno

+18, as always. contains smut. this is sososososo long and has went through so many rewrites im sorry. but i do think its my best fic yet!

set in the mid 90s

word count: 3.780

You still remember the day it began.

A nasty fight took place between Graham and Alex. You only got involved because your relationship became one of the topics of the heated debate. Long story short, Graham basically screamed at you two that you, Y/N, were wasting your life away by dating someone like James.

At first you were blind with rage and defended your decadent relationship while insulting Coxon until your throat burned from the screaming match, but afterwards, after you caught yourself thinking a little too long about how James' eyes sometimes seemed to hover over you with an indifference Coxon's never, ever showed, and how it hurt to see Alex in the arms of an entire sea of more attractive women than you - and how shallow you've become for even trying to excuse his behavior with something as empty as the fact you weren't as stereotypically beautiful as the other girls he screwed, you noticed something wasn't quite right about the entire situation, but you still felt shivers at the prospect of telling him you were sorry. He also had a lot to apologize for.

The fog. That's what's been messing with your mind lately. And Graham's. And everyone else's.

It's hard to think about things clearly as they happen in your life when all you feel during most of it is hedonistic, empty bliss. Everything moves in slow motion. The regret, the harsh words, always come afterwards, like a sudden car crash, after people realize the very real consequences of what they said and done while they were immersed in their own very temporary, elusive, pleasures. The fog also made you bitter - not only you, but Graham, Alex and the other boys as well; your relationship with them as a group of friends and individually, each in a different way, consequently turned into a toxic, resentful mess of chaotic feelings and unresolved conflicts. Your relationship with Graham was by far the most affected.

You grew up together. You went to the same college. You very briefly had a thing. He drew you lots and lots of times, you haven't lost a drawing. You realized you didn't love him like *that* and he was okay with it. You were still as close as ever.

Then you met his other friends. In the beginning, he was so excited about this whole "band" thing. The boys were funny, compelling, undoubtedly hard to deal with sometimes, but you got them quickly. Their music very gradually became successful - they deserved it. They sounded so good together. You noticed Graham was a bit jealous of how you interacted with the other boys sometimes. Damon and Dave were the first ones who tried (hard) to bed you, but Alex, effortlessly, was the one who got to.

One night turned into two, three, fifteen. Then into a fucked up prototype of a relationship around the time their stages got bigger, more packed with screaming teenagers and all of you met her – heroin. Graham got proportionally and gradually more distressed and anxious each day. You didn't know which one of these things disturbed him the most, after all, he didn't speak to you (or anyone, for fuck's sake) like he used to. Thousands of little things began to intercalate and swallow everything you've built together.

You've started to hate him - he refused to speak to you about what was bothering him, and you barely talked outside of the inevitable circumstances. Meanwhile, Alex dragged you even deeper into his questionable lifestyle and you shrinked into it until you could pretend it fit you like a glove. You felt so small. Invisible to everything and everyone who truly mattered, even to yourself. You tried to reach out to the one who mattered most plenty of times, but every time you tried to reach out to him it would end up in screams and even more resentment. It seemed like there was no way back - he hated you as well because he thought you were just like Alex. It felt like a knife was twisted in your stomach when he said it the first time. You pretended it didn't hurt the other ones - those were the nights your binges were the worst and you'd vomit yourself to sleep, though.

Everything was leading you to one of those nights again, until you heard a knock on your door. At this time of night, it was definitely Alex.

You tried to tidy yourself up as much as you could in a matter of a few minutes. You thought you weren't as effortlessly beautiful as the other women in his life - as if cheating had something to do with appearance and not with his character, but oh well - and you felt like you had to at least try to keep up with their pace. You washed your face, smeared some foundation on some old stretch (and track) marks and tried to pretend his presence was the brightest spot on your day. He disguised so much criticism under the pretense of worry, leaving you feeling so bad about yourself, but you needed his approval like you needed air on your lungs (or opioids on your veins) for some reason you couldn't quite explain.

You open the door, holding your breath while you tried to ignore the pit that grew on your stomach just to find out that...

"Graham?" You were simultaneously relieved and revolted to see him on your door. Adrenaline ran through your veins. You didn't realize how afraid you were of him - you've only hurt one another with words, but still, you were afraid to cross eyes with him just because you felt like it would start another fight and you would simply never speak to each other ever again, not even to fight. You were afraid of how deep your friendship has corroded.

He was visibly hurting, just like you. It comforted and hurt you to see it.

"You were waiting for him, weren't you?" He noted, vaguely motioning towards the lipstick on your lips. You felt pathetic.

"What are you doing here?" You quickly wiped the lipstick off your lips while he looks around, not really knowing what to answer. His eyes, puffy, somehow indicated he wasn't there to say he was sorry. At that point, you didn't even cared who was in the wrong. You just wanted to know why he was there.

"Just came here to tell you that... I'm leaving Blur, and... I'll be moving to Germany with a friend. Tomorrow."

"What kind of joke is this?"

"I wanted to tell you because... I felt like we got so used to each other's presence t-that... even if you're relieved by the news, uh, I think you should know in advance."

There was no mischief in his eyes. There was no point in joking with something like that. It's not like you were comfortable enough with each other to joke with each other nowadays anyway. That realization crushed you and anchored you to the very confusing and tragic reality just laid out in front of you.

It was so uncharacteristic. You knew of his tendency to run away from these types of situations and this time he simply didn't. Your mouth refused to close. "I-I don't understand. You... You can't... You can't just do that. You have a fucking gig tomorrow!"

"I won't justify myself to you. Just... take care of yourself and... don't let that leech suck the life out of you more than he already did."

"You don't understand. You don't understand anything. Is this about him? Again?" In yet another wave of adrenaline, you pulled him inside your flat and he just lets you. "Are you moving to bloody Germany because of what went on between us today?!"

"I don't care that you don't love me. I care that I can't go for a fucking day without seeing you waste away your life with him. If he was someone that made you happy... but he's just killing you. I can't deal with that."

Still in shock, you pulled him in a desperate kiss. It was not an attempt of making him stay, but something else entirely new. He had to say he was leaving so you could really know, in a matter of a few seconds, how much you needed him there.

His reciprocity simultaneously broke your heart and filled it with hope - you knew how far your relationship with Alex went and how tough it would be to break free from the chains he's got your heart tangled in, but at the same time, Coxon kissed you in a way no one else ever did. He loved you like no one else could. And that's how you noticed how easily you clinged to any sign of true affection given how much Alex's been neglecting your emotional and physical needs lately. Everything was about him all the time, it was a monologue. Graham and you had a conversation.

(A conversation that lasted all night. Thankfully, Alex didn't show up. He must've been talking to someone else.)

Instead of sweet nothings and love confessions, funnily enough, you and Graham exchanged soft "I hate you"s after the deed was done. You both hated the situation you were in. Hated that even though the passion burned hot as fire between you, you were stuck in a mess bigger than everything that just went through both of you. But never each other. You just couldn't name the feeling right.

Perhaps needless to mention, he stayed in the United Kingdom. Instead of sitting and talking like adults about what you felt about each other though, the bickering somehow became even worse.

Of course you started to take his side on fights more often. Mock Alex's behavior together more often. Something definitely changed between the two of you, but it still wasn't enough. Graham was still furious that you wouldn't give up on James. You were still furious that he wouldn't take your relationship with Alex seriously. It had its many faults, yes, but it was special in a way no one else grasped and you were raised to think that people shouldn't give up on others that easily, a convention that no modern deconstruction of social norms could take out of you out of a sudden. Not even Graham. But instead of raising your voices and breaking things around you, you've found other means to release the tension between you. Usually in dark corners of untidy pubs, his flat or yours. It became so frequent it didn't need any planning anymore.

Following the opposite path of the earlier days of your animosity, the more intense the fights got now, the lower your voices got. Instead of distancing yourselves from each other in the middle of screams, your bodies got closer like magnets. He could be so tender somehow even when his words stung like venom.

You were living and breathing contradictions. Him in the way he conveys his hopeless submissiveness to you in the way every touch of yours breaks him and the way he just isn't able to cum if he sees you're not having enough pleasure, yet he fucks you like he wants it to hurt and pretends nothing happened after you're done; and you in the way you cling to him like he's your lifeline when he's deep inside of you but isn't hesitant to not look him in the eye on some other nights.

The night of one of the parties thrown by Blur's record company following the release of The Great Escape wasn't one of the latter.

While the lower floor of the venue is frenetic with people immersed in different levels of ecstasy caused by all sorts of different substances, the upper floor is reserved to the lovers, or people who were looking for a calmer place to talk or to relatively safely de-escalate from their highs. You, on the other hand, just wanted to run away from the view of Alex kissing another woman in the event he brought you to. You were almost falling asleep in one of the tiny, dimly lit and cramped rooms when a small, familiar voice woke you up. "Why aren't you downstairs with your future husband?"

You feel aloof. The slightest mention of the one you think you love disgruntles you. "Ugh. I should have known it was you," you grumble, giving him room to share the sofa with you. "You know why."

"I don't. Someone once told me I don't understand anything." He accepts the offer almost unconsciously. It's so interesting to see how his actions contradict his words and posture, just like your actions contradict yours.

"I'm still right about that. Why did you come here? To mock me?"

"You're lost."

"And so are you. Don’t talk. I don’t want to hear it."

"Do you want me to leave?" he asks, calmly, knowing what the answer will be.

It's always a no.

You instinctively move closer to him, as if he's about to disappear in a cloud of dust in any moment. You don't ever want him to leave.

He notices your eyes are glistening when your lips touch, so smoothly and in such a tender way. His hands enter your hair, just below your ears, and you melt at his touch all over again.

The kiss starts out slow, then becomes more and more intense. His tongue slides against yours and you whine, clutching at him like he’s the only thing tethering you to this earth. It becomes so easy to let him settle between your thighs. He runs one of his large hands through your hair, fists it, and pulls your head so he can have easier access to your neck, filling it with open-mouthed kisses. “Why the fuck,” you manage to murmur in between heavy breaths, “do you care so much about me?”

He doesn't answer. His fingers trace the hem of your dress instead, skimming up the side of your leg. You whimper as he moves them over the sensitive skin to the apex of your thighs, his lips finding the side of your throat again. He sucks a mark into your skin just as his thumb caress your core so lightly above your underwear and you whisper, voice trembling with desire: "You're so much better than him."

He's not sure if you're just leading him on, and neither are you. He doesn't even know if he has heard it right. The fog really blurs every line. Reason, feelings, motives. "You never cried over me", he answers, seeking to turn that reality around, it seemed. Your hips buck into his touch, and a moan escapes you when his hand coyly seeks direct contact with your clit, stimulating it with precision from the start. "You truly... don't know shit," you gasp, grinding harder against his touch and losing yourself to his ministrations, the fog of an earlier hit helping in enveloping you in a state of so much bliss.

"Do you want me to lock the door?" His raspy voice takes you out of this world. You nod, a little disappointed by having such a great feeling interrupted for the sake of privacy. Your lips were spit-slick and pinkened, your eyes half lidded. The sight made Graham breathe hard through his nose, but he somehow kept his composure. When he goes to lock the door, you couldn't help noticing the tent you helped build in his jeans. You feel proud of yourself.

He returns with the hungry kisses and eager touches, slowly driving you crazy all over again. His kisses lower down, down... and you pat his shoulders, motioning for him to stop. "I want to make you feel good tonight." He accepts the offer.

You scooch downwards, just above his hips, and you pull his pants and the waistband to his briefs down in one swift motion. He's painfully hard, but that was hardly a surprise. Graham straightens his back just in time to watch you take the reddened head of his cock into your mouth. He claps a hand over his mouth, hips bucking upwards into the wet heat instinctively, your warm breath enveloping his dick and clouding his mind.

Wrapping your fingers around it, you gently jerk him off, slowly sliding your hand from the tip back to the base. He groans, watching you as you fill his senses with a dull warmth. You stare back at him, smiling as he groans at your warm breath.

You run the tip of your index finger tentatively along the underside of his cock, watching with fascination as his cock twitches and reacts to your presence. You lean forward, breathing on the head before planting a soft kiss on the tip. Coxon whimpers, his dick aching from your attention. Tired of the teasing, you begin stroking it, your soft fingers loosely bouncing along his shaft. He leans his head back to the ceiling when you kiss the tip again.

You eye his cock excitedly, before you lean forward and lick his head, swirling your tongue around the crown and flicking it across the tip. His hips thrust forward before you can even react, his mind reeling as your tongue slowly traces along a vein you followed from the head all the way to the base. He groans, and was about to say something when his mind went blank. He sees pure white, his brain shutting down almost completely as you wrap your mouth around the end of his cock and set a steady rhythm to the oral stimulation. His chest rumbles as a deep growl of satisfaction leaves him, shaking through the air, the vibrations in your mouth punctuating his growl with a hiss.

He cracks his eyes open, his glazed eyes staring down to find you staring directly at him. The sight of his rigid cock vanishing between your soft lips made his skin crawl. He groans heavily, grasping your head on instinct and thrusting forward.

You gasp lightly as he shoves himself deeper inside your mouth, pushing against your throat. He moans your name desperately, panting heavily as his hips automatically thrust against you. You stand firm, keeping only the front half of his cock in your mouth, slithering your tongue against the crown and watching intently for his reactions. He was close, his mind firmly on fire as his body reacted on autopilot, trying to extract as much pleasure as possible. He could feel his climax approaching, your soft lips and gentle eyes coaxing him on. You look into his eyes and give an experimental bob of your head, taking him further into your mouth. Feeling the characteristic salty taste of precum on your tongue, you take your mouth off his cock, and before his mind is able to form a cohesive sentence of protest, you take off your underwear and sit on his lap. His hands now squeeze your hip, pulling you closer. Your wetness leaves a bit of a trail on his legs before you sink on his hard, already lubricated cock.

"You're addicted to my cock, aren't you," It's fascinating how Graham's behavior changes when he's drunk. In the best and worst ways. He would never say something like that while sober. You nod in agreement, face flush with arousal and need. "He can't even fuck you," he punctuactes with an especially hard thrust, "like I can." he envelops you in a sort of hug as his broad shoulders and arms now dictate the rhythm you both follow.

"He--c-an't, fuck--"

"Do you think," he takes his entire cock out of you just so he can go even deeper when he says, "he'll hear us... if you say my name out loud?" he smiles when a loud moan escapes your lips, feeling completely in control of your body. You can't even talk anymore, just nod, like a marionette.

"So say it." Another thrust. And another. And another. You follow his pace with your hips religiously, not even slightly ashamed of making the name of the one who's giving you so much pleasure public, as he commanded. You take the last atom of control on your body and direct it to your pussy, clenching your walls tighter around him, an action that successfully tears his thoughts apart, making his eyebrows furrow and his mouth, agape. One of his hands move to the middle of your bodies and, as he looks down at where your bodies meet, begins to stimulate your clit to the rhythm of his thrusts. His groans turn louder when your body moves towards his again, and the sound of your moans, along with the sound of skin against skin and your ragged breaths were the only thing you were able to hear, along with the distant sound of It Could Be You playing in the background.

In a daze, he says your name in that unique way that only he knew how to - like it was part of a prayer and your body was his God(dess). You dig your nails into his back while he fucks you without a trace of mercy. You close your eyes, losing yourself in all those sensations as Graham continued his movements. When he punctuates his now even faster thrusts with a string of "fuck, fuck, fuck" - that's when you know he's close, a suspicion confirmed true as he comes hard inside of you, closing his eyes tightly as he reached his climax. You follow him seconds later.

When he recovers enough to be able to breathe calmly and control his heartbeat, Graham rests his chin on your shoulder. Neither of you say anything for a long time.

And when the spasms of pleasure are gone, Graham's brain decides to go back to work and he realizes what had just happened - again. Suddenly, the sensation of bliss is accompanied by that weird sensation of "What do I do now?". He carefully removes his dick from you and pulls his jeans up, zipping up his pants while you straighten your dress and search for your panties in the middle of the dark. Both without saying a single word.

Graham clears his throat, glancing at the mirror behind the door and seeing his state was deplorable. His face reddened by the heat and his hair a perfect mess. You were in no better situation than him.

“Uh,” Graham said a long time later, breaking the silence. “How long is that arrangement supposed to last?”

"I won't count the time." You responded calmly. 

He nods, mystified by you. 

[sisterofleatherfrog]

Star Wars Kinktober day- 3

Prompt: Under-clothes bondage 

Fives x Sub! OC (AFAB)

Orla is another one of my OC’s that I sometimes play around with in my fandom daydreams. She’s very tall (think around 6’10), and her appearance is non-human (I’ll definitely have to elaborate on that in art form later), and she is Five’s big-titty goth gf. She has some self-confidence/worth issues, but Fives is literally so goddamn smitten. 

Some art as a sorry for missing day 4!

Tags: Bondage, collar, bf chooses gf’s clothes and dresses her, pre negotiated kink, safewords, cunnilingus, dirty talk, daddy kink

Words: 2440

🖤💜🖤

“Fives? Do- do you, could you help me?” Orla asked, a tremble present in her voice. They’d planned this outing the previous week, going out to a beer garden to have lunch and meet with a few of Five’s brothers and their significant others. She’d made friends with a few of the troopers and their partners and was definitely looking forward to having a few drinks with them. That wasn’t all though, after confirming the date and time Orla had got to thinking. They’d been playing around with a lot of things recently in the bedroom; the collection of ropes, binders, among other things in their special little place was a testament to that. They had yet to try and bring it out of the bedroom, but it had been teasing Orla’s mind all week, and maybe…

Footsteps came up to the ajar bedroom door and it swung as it opened, her lover’s head peaked in. “What’s the matter Meshla? The dress zipper stu-” Fives abruptly stopped as he saw her, kneeling nude in the middle of the bedroom with a several meter length of red rope before her. The door lightly knocked the wall as he came fully into the room and looked down at her from a few paces with no little interest in his eyes. “What’s all this then,?”

He didn’t sound like he was upset in any way and Orla felt confident in explaining: “Well, remember us speaking of trying more adventurous things?” Fives nodded, eyes shining with that impish edge she knew so well as they roved her lush body. She bit her lip, “I must confess I’ve been thinking more on it since these plans were made, and maybe… Could you tie me up, daddy? I want to be your good little slut wherever we go together.” She lowered her head, but still her eyes stayed on Fives where he looked down on her. 

For a moment he was quiet, seemingly stunned as everything, her nudity, the use of THAT word, and the begging all came together to short-circuit his mind. Before she could start to regret her decision though, he drew in a shaky breath and drew a hand down his face until the wide grin on his face was revealed to her. He shifted his weight, the movement catching her eye and bringing it down to his crotch where he was beginning to stir. “Shit meshla,” he breathed. “Do you mean it? Do you really want to do this with me?”

Orla nodded, a desperation that surprised her causing heat to lick throughout her abdomen and fill her head. Fives came and knelt before her, now looking up to her dark eyes, partially shadowed by her coal black hair. “I need your words Orla, I need to know you really want this and aren’t doing something just to please me. Maker, do I want you like this, but not at the expense of you being miserable.” The corner of his mouth lifted, revealing one perfect dimple. “I want this to be good for you too.” 

A different warmth suffused her, she knew he loved her, and the amount of care he always gave her made her feel like a princess. Leaning her head down into a keldabe with him, she smiled before moving her lips to brush over his tattoo and down to his ear. “I want this, daddy, I truly do. I want to be extra good for you.” Orla punctuated her words by sliding a hand over his thigh and up to cup the bulge at his crotch. Fives groaned and grabbed the both of her wrists to stop her hands from wandering any further.

“You win this one, and you’re the best girlfriend ever!” He punctuated his sentence with a quick smooch before dragging her to stand with him. “Turn around meshla and lift your hair, let's see about getting you into this.” He started by placing the rope around the back of her neck, making sure that even halves were on either side of her neck and going down her front. Coming around he gently but confidently gripped it, already knowing the alignment of loops and knots he had to do. Within the valley between her breasts he made one knot and left a kiss on her left breast, below he made another and gave her right breast the same treatment. Just above her belly button he made one more knot, then dropped to his knees and started to trail kisses down from there, taking a moment to dip his tongue into her belly button and making Orla giggle, before he went lower and transformed it into a gasp. Five’s tongue followed the curve of her lower abdomen, trailed along her upper thigh, before he pulled back, his right hand taking its place before moving in and parting her labia with two strong, skilled fingers. 

Fives looked into her intently, studying the configuration of sensitive flesh at her apex for a moment before coming forward to kiss her lips, making out with her slit as his tongue made love to her clit. She gasped down at him, hand coming to clutch at his shoulders and the top of his head, whatever she could reach to steady herself. He was- “Oh, Fives, right there love!” He moved deeper into her heat if that was even possible, both hands having moved to her ass cheeks to pull her closer. His lips were locked around her clit, alternating and simultaneously sucking and licking with that tongue of his, that said such alternatingly inflammatory and jesting words, skilled and silver now on her. Often he would move, delve into her, kiss along her thighs and tease, build her up to a wholly satisfying end. This was something else though, a hunger both desperate and wild, focused on one goal alone, tracing along that lone and narrow path with a single minded purpose. He went on, groaning into her and holding her still as she shivered writhed, her size making no difference in his ability to hold her right where he wanted with his strength. 

Orla’s breath was escaping her in gasps and high whines, keening her need to him and she was drawn further and further up that path by him, his desperation infecting her as well. Oh he wasn’t taking his time at all, but she was adoring this direct and needy side to him. Her legs were turning to rubber and Five’s hands slid into the curve below her ass to hold her even more firmly, surely leaving marks that would be seen there later. He kept licking and laving, latched on so firmly it was as if he was feeding from her all the while she fed off the pleasure she got from him, creating a self-sustaining organism in a perpetual state of bliss and ecstasy. She felt him tying a new knot and keened into the otherwise quiet air of the room, her head tilting back and chest arching as she felt it winding ever tighter within her womb. Tighter and tighter, lick by suck, she was on the edge and just had to stretch a little further-

With a wild cry she fell, the knot unwound with a blinding intensity and she shook as her cunt clenched over nothing again and again. Fives kept at her throughout her orgasm, firmly pressing his tongue to her as she danced against it in order to carry her down. When she was passing pleasure and entering into the territory of too much, Orla put a hand on his head and gently urged it away from her and he released with an obscene pop sound. He gazed up at her, eyebrows drawn down into an expression of yearning and his eyes shining as bright as her slick on his chin. The sight was enough to draw an honest whimper from her.

“There, there meshla, you’re alright,” he cooed, now rubbing her legs and sides in order to sooth her. “You did so well, coming for me like that all wet and sweet. I was so happy when you told me how much you wanted to try something public that I just couldn’t help myself. I love you so, so much my beautiful Orla. ‘Want you to always feel good.” He rambled against her lower stomach as he rested his forehead there, praise spilling out of him like water from a too full cup. They stayed like that for a little while until she felt like she had more control over her body, the shivering and shaking dying down with her leveling breath. Finally he lifted himself and stood, hands coming to rest against her lower back as he delicately pressed her to him. “Are you good? I didn’t mean to be too much, especially before we got somewhere to be.”

Orla smiled widely, “It wasn’t too much Fives, in fact it was very much appreciated.”

He smiled back, “Well that’s good, I’d hate to have to tell the boys we had to cancel because the pussy was just too good.”

She snorted, “Oh I’m sure you would, lover.” Suddenly feeling a little shy, she continued, “Now, can you please help me finish getting ready? I don’t think I can do all these knots and twists myself.”

He reached up to cup her cheek and draw her down for a quick kiss, “Oh meshla I’d be more than happy to assist. Though, after that, and this being your first time trying this, how about we put some panties on you so the rope won’t rub as much?” 

This man- “What pair should I wear then daddy?” always so considerate of her. 

His grin was downright feral as he looked at her before taking her hand and leading her over to her wardrobe and pulling out the proper drawer, said drawer full of a rainbow of lace, cotton, satin, and mesh. Orla loved fun panties and Fives took full advantage of that, loving whenever she would ask him to choose for her so that he could picture what lay under her clothes all day. She was partial to a few pairs, but he most always chose the pair he plucked from the bunch now, a royal and baby blue number dyed in a marble pattern with ‘Want some?’ written across the ass in aurebesh. He ducked down and she again steadied herself with his shoulders as he now lifted each of her legs to fit into the slip of fabric, before drawing them up to her hips and smoothing the hems.

Then, after checking with her once again, he returned to the previously forgotten rope and from the last left knot, drew the tailings down to her apex. Twisting the ropes together some so that they’d sit between her labia, he drew them between her spread legs and went to her back to draw it up to the initial loop at the back of her neck. Pulling so it was snug but not tight, he brought both halves to come out to her hands, “Hold onto these for me love.” She complied and he came back around the front of her, taking a moment to admire what he’d done already. “Oh, yeah, it’s all coming together.” Orla snorted and lightly slapped his chest, he raised an eyebrow, “Is that the sort of game you want to play right now?”

“Maybe later.” She teasingly promised and he grinned back at her, now looping the rope from under her arms and between the first and second knot, the rope turning back on each side to return behind her back the way it had come. He followed and looped each side around the lengths that ran up her spine before indicating she should hold the rope again. He did the same process between the second and third knot and around her back before bringing up what was left of the rope and tying it off on the third knot. He stepped back then, eyes roaming up and down the planes and curves of her body, now decorated with blue and tied off with red, like a present just for him. He looked for a long, long while.

“You know what to do if this gets to be too much and you want to stop, right?”

She nodded seriously, “Five taps to your thigh, or say ‘Zillo’.”

He smiled like the sun, “Now how are we going to cover all this up?”

“Oh I really don’t know daddy, maybe you could help me with that too?”

“Orla, I have no idea what I did to deserve you but I love you so much, and I mean that with my whole ass.” He confessed with all seriousness.

Laughing again, she pressed against him and leaned down to kiss his wonderful mouth. Breaking apart again they went to inspect her clothes hanging in the closet. He reached in and pulled out a black dress with a halter top and flowy skirt that would fall about halfway down her thighs. He grinned, “Feeling like being a little risky today as well by any chance?”

“Yes please my love!” Slipping it over her head, Fives did up the three clips that secured the neck. Leaving the last bit up to her, Orla found a top to layer over it to better obscure the bondage beneath, and finished it up with a traditional self-tying corset from her people, quickly done up by pulling the two cords to either side of her and tying them in front. Meanwhile, Fives had quickly gone to change his shirt and give his face a wipe, both having been soaked by her earlier. Returning in a casual purple button up with red stitching along the collar, he looked like a treasure to be found in her people’s queen's harem.

“Looking good lover.” She told him as she bent to pull on her boots, the three inch platforms bringing her height to a full foot above his own. 

“Quacta, stifling.” he simply responded. 

Walking towards the door he asked, “Are we all ready to go meshla?” he turned and she 

smiled shyly again, feeling a blush turning the purple shades in her skin darker.

“Maybe not quite?” she intoned, moving back to the closet she opened it and pushed aside a few of his shirts to reveal a certain rack of jewelry, consisting of leather collars, some with rings on them, others otherwise decorative. “Which one do you think I should wear out today, daddy?”

In the end, they were a little late getting to the beer gardens.

🖤💜🖤

Oh I really liked writing this one. I know so far all my works have been coming out early in the morning the day after they’re supposed to be posted but I am going to try and fix that! Like the Tup and Aurelie work on the 1st, I feel like this one may come back with a part 2 because I’m really vibing with these two (and I hope y’all are too just as much as I am). 

Kinktober works

Masterlist

[the-sympathetic-villain]

Chaos Reigns

Prompt: The Light Sides react to Logan becoming a dark side.This one-shot is a continuation of my one-shot ‘Choking In The Dark’ inspired by the animatic, "Wires" by Anna Midnight. I would recommend reading that one before reading this one in order for the context to make sense. Prompt from iheartsolangelo

AO3 | First | Next | Masterpost

Word Count: 2955 Chapter Warnings: Food, All of the characters have some less than sympathetic moments, DarkSide!Logan, Horror Elements, Somewhat graphic description of rotting food/bugs, Spit/Wet Willy, Threats, Angst, Unwanted physical contact (non-sexual), Anger, Mentions of Death, Lashing out, Electric shock, Passing out, Swearing (Let me know if I missed anything!)

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    Patton bustled about the kitchen, shifting between his various dishes as he prepared dinner for his family. Warm, humid air carried the scent of his fresh, baked bread down the hallways of the mindscape and Patton smiled knowing the lovely scent would start to draw out its residents as they sensed dinnertime approaching.

    “Virgil, could you please set the table?” Patton called out at the sound of a soft shuffling behind him. A soft groan behind him let him know that his shadowy friend had heard him.

    “Why’s it always me that gets stuck with the chores, padre?” Virgil drawled grumpily. “Can't you get princey to contribute every once in a while?”

    “Now, Virgil.” Patton started, pulling out his best dad voice. “You know we all have to do our part to contribute.”

    “Yeah, right.” Virgil groaned, pulling his headphones back over his ears as he moved towards the cupboards. “When was the last time you saw Roman wash a dish?”

    “Silence, foul demon.” Roman's voice echoed against the walls as he appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. “How dare you besmirch my royal name in my absence! Where is the honor in such a cowardly action?”

    “Cute, princey." Virgil rolled his eyes, pulling a stack of plates from the shelf. “How about you defend your honor by taking these while I grab the silverware?”

    “Oh, no.” Roman deflected his attempt to hand him the plates as he flitted over to Patton. “I can't do that.”

    “—and why not?” Virgil let out an exasperated sigh as he brushed past Roman and dropped the plates on the table with a loud clattered.

    “Why not?” Roman smiled, flipping his hands towards Virgil. “Well, because that’s peasants’ work, of course.

    “You’re insufferable.”

    “Now, boys.” Patton interrupted as he brought the steaming casserole to the table. “I need you to play nice at the dinner table.”

    “Patton, this isn't fair.” Virgil muttered, gesturing to Roman’s smug expression as he stared at him across the table. “He's just standing there watching me work.”

    “Patton asked you to set the table Virgil.” Janus' hiss made Virgil jump as the man came up behind him. “Surely the task is not too labor intensive for you to handle on your own.”

    “It's about the principle, Janus.” Virgil muttered, slamming open the drawer as he grabbed the silverware. “He could be helping, but he's not.”

     “And yet, by some miracle, you seemed to have finished all by yourself.” Janus drawled as Virgil set out the silverware on the table. “Outstanding.”

    “You’re the worst.”

    “I do make an effort,” Janus replied dryly, frowning as Roman snickered from across the table. “but don’t worry, Virgil. Your complaints have been noted and Roman will be doing the dishes after we eat.”

    “What?” Roman’s jaw dropped as Virgil’s face lit up. “Doing the dishes is twice the work of setting the table!”

     Janus rolled his eyes, dropping into his seat at the table. “Well then, I guess you should have helped Virgil when you had the chance. Shouldn't you have, Roman?”

    “I'm sorry, Janus.” Patton smiled empathetically as he came up behind Janus, leaning over to place the last steaming dish on the table. “I'm sure this wasn’t what you signed up for when you decided to move up here with us.”

    “Oh, please.” Janus smirked up at Patton as Roman and Virgil took their seats. “Neither of them has started throwing food yet, so this is already a step up from handling Remus.”

    “Good. I'm glad you’re fitting in okay, kiddo.” A smile twitched at the corner of Patton’s lips as he glanced around at his family. “Now, let's eat. I'm sure everyone is starving. Has anyone seen Logan?”

    “Geek's been quiet for a few days.” Roman muttered impatiently. “He's probably in his room making a schedule for when Thomas is allowed to breathe.”

    “Roman, be nice.” Patton chided him quietly. “Those kinds of words are hurtful.”

    “Come on, pops.” Roman pressed. “You know the Microsoft Nerd can barely function when he's not micromanaging the rest of us. Guy sucks pretty hard sometimes.”

    “I know Logan can be a little overbearing sometimes, but you still don’t get to call him names.”

    Roman sighed, muttering under his breath. “I didn’t hear a disagreement in that statement.”

    “Maybe I should go grab him—”

    “Do you have to, Pat?” Virgil asked, absently sipping at his water. “Can’t deny it's been nice to eat a few meals without a lecture.”

    “Both of you are done speaking until you can say something nice.” Janus snapped with a quick hand gesture, silencing them both simultaneously. “I don’t know what’s gotten into either of you but I've had enough of it.”

    Patton shifted nervously, feeling an uneasy chill run up his spine as he took a step towards Logan’s room. “I'll be right back. I'm going to go get him.”

    “Oh no, Patton.” The lights flickered and dimmed as an echo of Logan’s voice chilled the air, sending shivers down Patton’s spine. “I really think you should sit.”

    All eyes turned to the head of the table as the air seemed to be sucked from the room, leaving them breathless as they stared at Logan. His now jet-black hair was perfectly gelled back. Not a hair was out of place as his eyes glimmered with a danger fire as he straightened the tie on his charcoal-grey suit.

    Roman was the first to shake his shock, turning back to the rest of the table. “Will someone explain why the professor is trying to out-edgelord our own resident killjoy?”

    “Lay off, princ—”

    “Oh, Roman.” Logan’s threatening drawl filled the air with an ice-cold chill, stopping Virgil’s protest in its tracks. “You have such a pretty face. It's too bad you have to ruin the illusion with the words that come out of your mouth.”

    Roman stalled for a moment. “We have the same face—”

    Logan grimaced, sending a sudden shudder of fear straight to the hearts of the other sides. “Truly, what an awful, grating noise you make.”

    The other sides watched in horror as a unsettling grin spread across Logan’s face as he held up his hand and snapped. In an instant, Roman jumped out of his seat knocking his chair back as he batted at his arms. The creative side immediately looked to Logan for mercy as a bright, red crystal crept up his arms but his eyes were cold as he ignored Roman’s pleas for help. Within moments, he was completely frozen in place, completely encased by the crystal.

    “Would anyone else care to interrupt me?”

    Logan stare turned to each of his former friends’ faces. Silence quickly dampened the room as his empty stare crept up into an unsettling smile.

    “I thought not.” Logan continued in a hushed tone. “There are going to be some changes in the way Thomas operates and I don’t particularly care whether any of you like what I'm doing or not.”

     Silence hung in the air between them for a long moment before Janus leaned forward on his elbows, bringing his hands together in front of him as he stared down Logan from across the table. “What about Thomas? Surely, you don't believe our creator is going to support your little coup.”

    “I'm so glad you asked, Janus. I intend for keep Thomas distracted until it’s too late for him to change anything.” Logan’s white teeth glistened in the dim light as his dark eyes locked onto Janus. “Fortunately, I have a little help in that department.”

    A sudden gasp and a shriek for Virgil and Patton respectively surrounded Logan on both sides as the room dropped into darkness. The darkness only lasted a few short seconds but reprieve did not follow as a subtle green light started to radiate from the table. Logan let out a hollow chuckle at Patton and Virgil’s horrified expression as their beautiful dinner turned to rot. Maggots curled in the casserole and the plate of vegetables Patton had spent so much time on oozed a steaming green liquid that seemed to be creeping closer to its maker as Patton edged away.

    “Remus, enough.” Janus reached his hand up and snapped, expecting  the illusion to fade away. The look of shock on Janus’ face was met with a knowing smirk from Logan across the table as the feast of horrors remained.

    “Oooooh,” Remus cooed in Janus’ ear, coming out of the shadows. “Looks like the dirty light-sider doesn't have control of me anymore.”

    “Don't underestimate me.” Janus scoffed nonchalantly as Remus leaned over his shoulder. “Controlling you was always about more than just my powers.”

    “Oh yeah?” Remus purred into Janus' neck. “If that was true, could I do this?”

     Janus flinched as Remus popped his pointer finger in his mouth before shoving it in Janus' ear, still glistening with spit.  “Remus, you undignified ball of waste. I’ll kill—"

    “Don't touch him.” Logan’s calm voice distracted Janus' rage as he attempted to shove Remus away.

    Remus smirked as Janus hesitated, side-eyeing Logan as he gauged the situation. The moment's hesitation drew a giggle from Remus. “Well, what do you know? I might like it when Logey-Bear gets possessive.”

    “I'll give you a chance, Janus.” Logan stated plainly, rested his hands in his lap as he ignored Remus’ statements. “You still have the potential to be of use to me. Join us and you can spare yourself a lot of trouble.”

    “I don't think so.” Janus stated, glaring at Remus as he stood up out of his chair. “In fact, I think I'll go have a word with Thomas about your actions and see what he thinks of your attempt mutiny.”

    “That’s an unfortunate choice, but not unexpected one .” Logan smirked leaning back in his chair as he shared a knowing glance with Remus. “I'm sorry, Janus, but I forbid you from speaking to Thomas.”

    Janus turned his cool gaze back to Logan. “Don’t play with me, Logan. I'm the only one with the power to prevent sides from reaching Thomas.”

    “Not anymore. You should have taken my offer.” Logan sneered back at Janus as his eyes darkened and he raised a hand up in the air. “Look like this is a benched trial for you, Janus.”

    Logan snapped his fingers and the others jumped as Janus let out a yelp. The logical side’s face was void of emotion as the wires that had bound him for so long jumped at his command, dragging a swearing Janus into the hallway.

   “Patton, don't!”

   Virgil’s worried voice drew Logan’s attention to Patton as he jumped out of his chair. Logan let out a long breath as Patton glanced back at him nervously.

    “You’d do well to listen to Virgil, Patton.” Logan muttered darkly, lifting his eyes to Patton in a subtle warning. “Unless you want to share Janus' fate.”

    “Why are you doing this to your friends?” Patton started to shake as he turned back to Logan’s vacant stare. “Logan, you’re better than this.”

    “You’re not my friends.” Logan whispered, ignoring Patton taking a step back as if he'd struck him.

    “Logan—”

    “Keep my name out of your mouth.” Logan snapped, pushing his chair over as he rose to his feet. He stepped forward, looming over Patton as he backed into the wall. “I should never have given it to any of you."

    Patton flinched, making himself smaller as Logan slowly raised a hand to his face.

    “Don’t touch him—”

    Logan glanced over his shoulder lazily as Remus shoved Virgil back down into his seat.

    “Ah, ah—” Remus grinned, wrapping his hands around Virgil’s collar as the anxious side squirmed against him. “The adults are talking right now.”

    “Logan, please.”

    Logan turned his gaze back to Patton as his wide eyes lifted up to him.

    “You don’t have to do this.”

    Logan scoffed, tucking his hands in the pockets of his dark suit. “What exactly don’t I have to do?

    “Hurt people, Lo.” Patton whispered, glancing around at the trail of destruction left in the new dark side's wake. “This isn’t you.”

    “You’re wrong, Patton.” Logan muttered, taking a step forward as he crowded Patton into the wall. “This is necessary for my survival. Not that you would care about that.”

    Patton whimpered as Logan hooked his chin with his finger, guiding his face up.

    “I tried to be nice—to let everyone have their say, but I won't take your abuse any longer.” Logan let out a long breath as he leaned in, inches from Patton’s face. “I lost so much of myself to the rest of you that the subconscious tried to tear me apart.”

    “Oh, Lo—” Patton’s expression softened as his eyes glistened in the dim light.

    “I almost died, and not only were my so-called friends not there to save me, you were the ones who led me to the gallows.” Logan’s eyes glittered like fire and his face twisted into a snarl as a raspy laugh passed his lips at the sight of the sudden guilt on Patton’s face. “Congratulations. Your friend is dead and you were the one to kill him.”

    “Logan, I'm so sorr—”

    “Stop. Your apology is too little and too late, Patton.” Logan cut him off, baring his teeth at Patton as waves of anger radiated off of him. “Now, I've had enough of this conversation. So, if it’s all the same to you, I think we’re going to skip the rest of this dialogue.”

    The lights flickered as his statement finished and in the blink of an eye, Patton was gone.

    “Patton—No!” Virgil’s cry rang out behind him as Logan turned to watch him struggle in Remus arms. “What did you do to him?!”

    “I sent him into his worst nightmare.” Logan muttered. His voice held a bitterness as he nonchalantly brushed off his sleeves.

    “Which is what?” Virgil muttered, shuddering and squirming as Remus licked a long strip up his neck. “Get him off me—”

    “No.”

    “No? What the hell is wrong with you?” Virgil hissed as Remus pulled him to his feet, curling an arm around his waist to hold him in place. He hissed, spinning on Remus with bared teeth. “Why are you even helping him?”

    “Are you kidding?” Remus ran a hand through Virgil’s hair as he breathed into emo's ear. “Dr. Doom is the most interesting thing to happen around here in years. Of course, I wanted in on that action."

     Virgil let out a breathy whine, relenting to Remus' grip. “Just—Fine. Where’s Pat?”

    “Our dear, pun-loving father figure is in a place of my own creation, deep in the outer regions of the imagination. He's wandering the forests of guilt.” Logan whispered with a sense of finality. “Now, if he was capable of growing a spine and confronting his own feelings, I might be worried he would simply walk free, but I think we both know he'll be walking in circles trying to help the lost souls in the trees forever.”

    Virgil sucked in a breath, closing his eyes as Logan stepped toward him. “Where are you sending me?”

    “Oh, Virgie.” Remus purred. “What makes you think you get to leave?”

    “What?” Virgil blinked, looking up at Logan. “Y-you got rid of the others.”

    “They've served their purpose, Virgil.” Logan smiled, feigning innocence as he ran his fingers along Virgil’s jaw. “You still have so much to give.”

    “No.” Virgil muttered, staring at him incredulously. “I won't help you.”

    “Don’t misunderstand me. I'm not giving you a choice.” Logan whispered, gripping his chin as he forced Virgil’s chin up. “In fact, you’ll only become more useful the harder you choose to fight me, so go ahead and resist with all your might. You’re nothing if not persistent, Virgil.”

    “Why me?” Virgil’s shoulders slumped. “What could I possibly do for you?”

    “Without Roman's dreams or Patton’s misguided attempts at morality, Thomas will need another reason to stay motivated.” Logan whispered, gripping Virgil’s collar as electricity flickered on his hand. “So, I think we're going to get those neurons firing and stir up a little panic. What do you think?”

    Virgil’s eyes widened as the electricity crept up his body, pulling a groan from his lips as his body lit up in a blue light. His knees collapsed as the light flickered and faded, barely held up by Remus' arm wrapped around his torso.

   “You won’t get away with this.” Virgil moaned, feeling his vision start to fade. “We won't let you hurt Thomas.”

    Remus' giggle in his ear made his heart drop. “You better focus on surviving first, edgy boy.”

    Virgil shivered, feeling himself sinking in Remus' arms.

    “Don't worry, Virgil.” Logan’s ice-cold voice drew his attention up to the bitterness in Logan’s eyes. “At least I haven’t threatened to prohibit you from breathing yet.”

    “I didn’t mean it, L—"

    “Too little, too late.” Logan interrupted as Virgil’s eyes fluttered closed. Letting out a long sigh, he turned his eyes up to Remus with a devilish smile. “Are you ready, Remus?”

    “You better believe it, white and nerdy.” Remus grinned, flipping Virgil over his shoulder. “I'm ready to wreak a little havoc on Tommy boy's brain.”

    “Good.” Logan smiled as he straightened up, adjusting his glasses. “Then, we move on to phase two. Your particular set of skills will be essential for our plan to succeed."

    Remus grinned. “That's a lot of fancy words for you to say you’re excited to see me fuck things up, teach.”

    “Indeed.” Logan’s devilish grin widened as he glanced around the abandoned meal, letting out a chuckle as he turned to follow Remus as he carried Virgil out of the room.

---

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

[luulapants]

Happy 4/20 - here’s a Hannigram ficlet

(Read it here or on AO3)

Will tolerated their dinner parties. Or perhaps ‘tolerated’ was too strong a word. Endured, perhaps. Weathered them. He hated the pomp of them, the social performance. Remembering the right names, smiling at the right moments, riding the line between clever verbal sparring and outright rudeness. (He often failed in that last regard.) He hated having having so many people in their home. He hated the risk of discovery and what he scathingly referred to as Hannibal’s ‘showboating.’

(When Hannibal protested this characterization, Will would only move his lips in an exaggerated fashion as he enunciated, bit out the words “Show. Boating.”)

Hannibal knew all of this, and he appreciated the sentiment, be it tolerance, endurance, or weathering.

He appreciated that Will never asked him to stop hosting dinners, though he would often greet their announcements with a whining, “Another?” or perhaps, “You just had one!”

He appreciated that Will always attempted to dress the part, though Hannibal had never insisted upon this. As far as he was concerned, Will had the right to dress however he wished while in his own home. This policy of wardrobe liberty often resulted in careless nudity while the two of them were home alone, so Hannibal regarded it as a resounding success. And perhaps Will forewent a tie or jacket, on occasion, when none of their guests had, but he always looked presentable, at the very least.

Above all else, Hannibal appreciated that Will always attended these loathed dinners. For this, of course, was also entirely his choice as well. He could have gone elsewhere for the evening or even hidden himself away in their bedroom, pretending to be away until the last of their guests left. Hannibal might have felt disappointed about that – he did love to have his husband at his side, to show him off to their fellow society members – but he would not have begrudged it.

Hannibal loved a crowd.

Will did not.

Hannibal reminded himself of this as he glanced at his watch, then the front door. Will had taken the dogs for a walk, about half an hour before guests started arriving. Now more than fifty minutes ago, and still no sign of him.

“Bernard,” said Mrs. Salvatierra, placing a well-manicured hand on his elbow. Hannibal, wearing one of ‘Bernard’s most charming smiles, turned to her. “We’ve been discussing this lovely portrait you have beside the entryway,” she told him. “Could I bother you to tell us a bit about it?”

He let himself fall into the rhythm of hosting. These social events were a performance for Hannibal as much as they were for Will. However, Hannibal adored the act, donning his role with the relish and comfort of a practiced thespian. He did not have Will’s seemingly boundless capacity for anxiety, so while his husband sweated and mumbled and chewed aspirin at the slightest hint of scrutiny, Hannibal merely delighted each moment that he played his part and found himself believed.

Shortly after appetizers began to circulate throughout the room, the front door opened and closed, drawing Hannibal’s attention. Will bent to unhook the dogs from their leashes and glanced up with a sheepishly apologetic expression. Before Hannibal could draw Will to his side, though, the caterer interceded with an urgent question about their main course, which diverted him to the kitchen for some minutes.

When he returned, Hannibal spotted Will, sitting alone on an armchair in a corner of the room. One of the dogs – Angus – had its head on his knee, eyes closed as Will stroked it in slow motions. Hannibal frowned. Will was often anxious at these events, but he never secluded himself so, never failed to mingle and make a bare amount of conversation. His body seemed simultaneously tense and oddly slack, eyes half-lidded as they darted about the room.

Hannibal approached, doing his best not to draw attention to himself or Will as he did so. From just a few feet away, he could scent the beginnings of a theory on this new behavior:

Marijuana.

Will didn’t like it when he called it marijuana. “I’m smoking a joint, don’t make it sound so clinical,” he had laughed after the first time Hannibal said it to him.

So, Hannibal had tried, “Smoking weed,” and Will had broken down laughing so hard he nearly slipped out of his chair.

“No,” he had gasped through his hysterics. “Oh my god, no, you absolutely can’t say that.”

All other alternatives he had tried resulted in more or less the same result, so Hannibal stuck with the word Will didn’t like, for lack of any which suited him better.

Hannibal stepped up beside Will’s chair and asked in a low tone, “Are you high?”

Will’s eyes slowly drew away from the bustle of the party and up to Hannibal’s face. He looked a bit like one of the dogs might, after they had done something they knew they would be scolded for. He nodded quickly.

Pressing his lips together, Hannibal tried to parse through this development. Obviously, Will had done it while he was on his walk with the dogs. Alone, most likely. He had yet to find anyone he might call a friend, here in their new life. “Can I ask why?” Hannibal asked carefully.

After another quick glance at the party, Will murmured, “I thought it would help with the anxiety.”

The thought, in theory, made sense. However, Hannibal did not get the sense that practice had been so forgiving. “And?”

Will’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “This is… so much worse,” he said.

[dokoni-mo]

Far Away, Together || Darth Vader x Reader (Chapter 6)

(A/N: I had originally planned to do post this friday, but I was just on such a roll last night that this bad boy practically wrote itself! Im very happy with the turnout as well :)) I hope y’all like it too!!! I also realized while writing this that the series will have to be one chapter longer than I had originally intended, but that’s just good news in my book!! As always, please feel free to ask to be put on the taglist for anything or send me asks about anything!! I love interacting with yall and making content for yall!! enjoy more time with our favorite sith ;) ))) 

WARNINGS: cursing, old man kinda creeping, breif mentions of violence, otherwise none!!! 

Key: (F/N) = first name 

Word Count: ~5600

Chapter One: [x]

Chapter Two: [x]

Chapter Three: [x]

Chapter Four: [x]

Chapter Five: [x]

Chapter Five and a Half: [x]

~~

You hadn’t meant to be late that morning, but nonetheless, you were. Unquestionably so. 

Waking up in the silk sheets that morning had been one of the most difficult things that you had ever had to do. For one, the bed was quite comfortable compared to the cot that you normally slept upon in your quarters back on the Super Star Destroyer. The cot that the Empire provided you was almost exactly like the Empire itself. Cold, hard, and not comfortable at all. The bed there on that planet, however, was the opposite. It was warm, inviting, and very comfortable. You would have simply cocooned yourself back in the covers and fallen back asleep were it not for you remembering your duty. 

Alongside leaving the comfort, waking up that morning meant that the time you had spent with Lord Vader the night prior was officially over. For a brief moment in your groggy, freshly woken-up state, you had thought that the dance you shared with Lord Vader must have been a dream. A wonderful, yet cruel dream of what you knew could never be. However, contemplating it a moment longer, you knew that it was, in fact, very much real. Sitting up to look sleepily at your surroundings, you felt the phantom touch of Lord Vader’s arm around your waist, his hand within yours. Going back further, you replayed the conversation you had had with him in your mind, cementing the thought within your memory. 

You smiled to yourself then. You knew that you would cherish that moment forever.

After picking up your uniform and pulling it's cloth upon your body, you decided that it would be best to simply just cut to the chase and go downstairs instead of stalling in your room for an indefinite amount of time. As you opened the door and clacked your boots down the hallway, a yawn escaped from behind your lips, making you raise your hand to your mouth to muffle the sound. As you drew closer to the stairs, you started to hear muffled voices from below you, your ears unable to decipher what exactly the voices were saying. 

Your curiosity taking over you, you slowed your steps so that you could concentrate on the voices, your ears perking as you honed in on what they were picking up. After a moment of investigation, your mind was able to process the tone of the voice you heard, but not necessarily the words of which it was speaking. Your brow furrowed as you searched your mind for where exactly you had heard that voice before. The memory seemed so distant from your conscious, yet so very close. 

The face that matched the voice hit you like a ton of bricks. 

That face was old and nasty. 

That face had blue eyes. 

Shit. 

You were late. Very, very late. 

Adrenaline pumping through you, you bounded down the stairs faster than you had ever before on any set of stairs. You cursed how loud the sound of your boots stomping quickly on top of the surface of each step sounded, eliminating your chances of joining the meeting quietly and undetectably. Drawing quickly down the stairs, you were greeted with a sight of confirmation of exactly how late you were. About 50 feet away from you stood a handful of palace guards, another handful of stromtroopers and officers, one king, and, of course, one extremely tall sith lord, looming above the rest as he always did.

Walking quickly over to the group to assume your position at Lord Vader’s side, it was extremely difficult to not notice the stares you got from the officers and, more-so, the king. Meeting his blue gaze for a moment, you felt your cheeks rush with embarrassment. It was only then that you had allowed your mind to go back further into the events of the past night. 

The king’s hands on you. 

The conversation you had. 

The broken glass. 

You should have been ashamed to show your face. But, you weren’t. You were proud that you had put that old man in his damn place. 

You were ashamed, however, of exactly how much you suspected you would be chewed-out by Lord Vader for being late two days in a row. 

Oh well. 

Standing with your arms crossed over your chest, you found your position by Lord Vader’s side, shooting up a small, quick smile at the sith Lord. He turned briefly to acknowledge your presence before returning to his original position of staring down at the old king. This made you puff your cheeks slightly, disappointed that he didn’t do anything else. Thinking it over a moment longer, you decided that you shouldn’t be too upset. This was technically a meeting, to be fair. 

Returning your gaze to face forward, you were met by the sight of the king’s gaze trained upon you. The look he gave to you was one of an odd flurry of amusement and daggers, his lips in a slight smirk. Your eyes hardened in return, refusing to let you submit to the old asshole’s gaze. 

“Well,” the king said, a breathy chuckle in his voice, “Look who has decided to join us! Good morning, Miss (F/N).” 

You put on the best half-friendly smile that you could before formulating your response, “Good morning, your majesty.” 

If you had simply trained on his words, you would have convinced yourself that perhaps the king had decided to continue on like the previous night’s actions had never occurred. However, you knew that his eyes had told a different story. Yet, you were confused. It was hard to tell what exact game he was trying to play

 Furthermore, it was hard to tell if you really wanted to play. 

“Well,” the king said, clapping his gloved hands together, “Now that everyone is here, allow me to guide the way.” 

Turning on his heel and walking the other direction, you figured that you must have missed the details of the day while you were getting ready that morning. Sighing silently to yourself, you picked up your boots to follow the king, as well as the barrage of guards, stormtroopers, and officers that tailed him. 

This had been your original plan, until it was sharply and swifty interrupted by a large weight throwing itself upon your shoulder, simultaneously pulling you back and keeping you in place. Your mouth opened to let out a yelp, but your lungs prevented this with a moment's more worth of constipation. 

You recognized this weight. 

“You are late again.” You heard the weight’s owner say from behind you, your cheeks turning pink.

Turning your body to face the sith lord behind you, you crossed your arms again as you looked up at him, a small smile on your features. 

“I like to think that I’m just fashionably late again, my Lord.” You quipped back at him, “What do we have to do today?” 

He gave you a strong pat on the shoulder before walking past you, slow enough for you to keep up, “Our host will be showing us what his planet has to offer the Empire, along with its natural resources.” 

 You walked to catch up with Lord Vader, letting your arms fall to your sides. 

“How exciting…” you mumbled out. 

You continued to walk in silence for a long moment beside the sith lord, unsure of what to say. You desperately wanted to say something, anything, but the words just would and could not come to you. Every now and again, you would open your mouth to say something, but would quickly second guess what it was, causing you to shut it again. You began to grow somewhat frustrated that you couldn’t find the words. You hoped that you didn’t look as dumb as you felt. 

Lord Vader must have sensed the frustration growing inside of you as he looked down at your small frame, noticing how your brow was furrowed as you stared at your feet in compilation. He would never admit it to anyone, but he found it to be… 

Amusing. 

Returning his gaze to it's original position, you heard the sound of his respirator pick up in rhythm before he spoke. 

“(F/N),” Lord Vader said, “I sense that you are frustrated.” 

You felt your gut sink as you processed the words, shooting a look up at him. Damn, you thought to yourself, is it that obvious?

“I… I don’t know what you mean.” you responded. This was a half lie. You had known exactly what he meant by the words, but not what exactly he was trying to say. So what if you were frustrated? Every time he came to visit you while you were working on his TIE you were frustrated. What made now so special? 

Lord Vader paused again before rumbling out his response, the metal of his armor gleaming in the light of the day. 

“I enjoyed our night together as well.” 

Oh. 

That’s what made now special.

Your heart had skipped multiple beats at his words. Your nerves were firing off a mile a minute as waves of joy rippled through you. You had not realized that you were nervous about whether or not he actually wanted to be with you last night, or if he was simply doing it to get away from the mingling he had to do. Your doubt quieted, you looked up at Lord Vader’s mask, a big smile painted on your features. Sensing your gaze, Lord Vader pointed his mask to look down upon you. 

“I’m… glad. Really glad.” you said up at him, your eyes crinkling in delight, “I… hope that it wasn’t the last one.” 

You shot your gaze down back to your feet after you finished talking, your smile fading into a soft, faint stretch of your lips. You were surprised how bold you had been just then, admitting your true feelings to the sith. Where you should have felt embarrassed, you felt instead… content. You didn’t regret your actions at all. You felt comfortable even. If you had been anyone else, you knew that you would have been sliced in half or choked to death right then and right there. Yet, by some grace that was far bigger than you, you knew deep down, you were lucky enough to be excluded from that fate.

You thanked your maker above silently and unconsciously. 

Lingering his gaze upon you a moment longer, Lord Vader drank in the sight of your flushed face before turning his armor-clad head to face forward again, as if he were looking something very, very far away. His words came a moment filled with nothing but the sound of birds, the breeze, and his respirator allowing him to inhale and exhale later. 

“As do I.” 

~~~

The places that the King had taken you, Lord Vader, and the posse of troopers and officers were pretty, but not all that interesting. A tour of the city, a look at the forest, a look at the sea, and a look at the sports colosseum. Again, all very beautiful to look at, but not too interesting to talk about. 

You had been able to avoid any sort of contact with the king as you trudged through the sights of the city, keeping your mouth shut and your eyes trained on the view around you. Every now and again, your group would begin to walk without you even realizing. You were always broken from your trance by Lord Vader, either by him calling out your name or leading you on by the small of your back for a brief moment, his giant hand nearly taking up the entire expanse. Both would always make you smile up at him, and the latter would make you blush. 

You were currently atop of a platform that looked over a medium-sized waterfall, the sound of the water falling off the edge filling your ears. The air was thick with the smell of salt, and the dew that emanated off of the falls making the atmosphere humid, but pleasantly so with the breeze that fluttered your hair. Across the stretch of rock that you stood upon was the entrance to one of the largest mines on the planet, the cave so large you had to crane your neck to look atop it. The few stalactites and stalagmites that stuck out of the entrance gleamed and littered in the sunlight, emanating many hues of the rainbow. If you weren’t here representing the Empire, you would have almost thoroughly enjoyed the setting. 

“I will give you a few moments to look around, my Lord. I have to discuss something with my advisors for a brief moment.” The king had said to your boss after blubbering on for a long while about the history of the mine and the resources that were found inside. With a nod of approval from Lord Vader, the king gave one last snake-like smirk and walked off, giving you some sort of look. You felt a sour taste on your tongue as you rolled your eyes, making sure that the king’s gaze was turned away before you did so. 

You had hoped to take a short walk with Lord Vader while the two of you were on break from mingling, but you were disappointed to see his attention be taken away by an officer who demanded his attention. You would have been saddened, were it not for you remembering that the visit to that damn planet wasn’t just a get away for you and Lord Vader to hold hands all day and walk into the sunset together. There was work to be done and deals to be made, and that always seemed to involve him in some way.

Awesome. 

Deciding to not try and make friends with the guards or strike up a conversation with the stormtroopers, you placed a hand on your hip as you started to slowly walk around the stone platform. You had eyed some of the members of the posse as you walked by, quietly wondering what their daily lives were like or what their thoughts on Lord Vader’s visit. Sighing to yourself, you realized that they must be just as boring as your own. 

As you continued to stroll about the platform and gaze absentmindedly at the people that littered it, a certain sight had caught your attention. You didn’t mean specifically to look at the king, but your eyes had somehow fallen upon him. Just as he said he would, he was currently talking to a few guardsmen who seemed to have a few more matches and medals than the rest. Captains and generals, you took it. 

Lingering your gaze a moment longer, you felt a jolt rush through your spine as your lips parted. While the king was whispering to his guards, he had taken a moment to look over his shoulder at you, a glint of venom in his eyes. This glint quickly dissipated, however, once he realized that his blue eyes had made sudden contact with yours. With this, he quickly let his gaze fall as he continued to talk quietly with his advisors, as if he had hoped you did not notice this action. 

However, quite the contrary, you had noticed as plain as day. Processing what had just happened, you allowed your brow to furrow.

What was that for? You wondered to yourself. The obvious answer, the one you wanted so desperately to believe, was that the look you had exchanged was by pure accident, the tone of his look being from the king’s residual loathing from the night prior. However, as much as you wanted to believe that, you gut told a different story. You felt… odd. 

You decided to do something about it. 

Marching past all the other people dispersed in the crowd, you only stopped when you were within conversation distance between the king and his huddle of guards. You had noticed that their voices had grown quieter and quieter as you had approached. 

“Did you want to speak with me, your majesty?” you asked, raising your voice so that you could be heard over the bodies of the guardsmen as you placed a hand on your hip. 

A moment of awkward hesitation loomed over the air as the king exchanged a few glances with the guards, causing you to raise a brow. Smirking and stepping forward, the king placed his hands behind his back as he looked down at you. 

“Now where would you get that idea, my dear?” the king asked you, his tone so sickeningly sweet it made you wince. 

We made eye contact, dumbass. 

“I saw that you were looking my way, your majesty,” you responded, “and I just figured-” 

“What? That I would ever want to speak with the likes of you again?” 

Your mouth opened slightly in shock at his sudden change of tone, your legs moving to shift your weight. Excuse me?

“W-What?” you stammered out, the shock still in your veins, “no, I just-” 

“Don’t get smart again with me, missy.” the king hissed out, stepping forward and glaring down at you, his finger in your face, “Don’t think that I have forgotten how you embarrassed me in front of my entire entourage last night.” 

Oh. 

This was what this is about. 

Not letting yourself back down, you placed both hands on your hips, your brow furrowing again as you shot up a glare right back at the blue-eyed old man. 

“Embarrassed you? How about when you embarrassed me?! Looking at me like that, talking to me like that, are you out of your-” 

“Shut up,” the king spat, cutting you off. Suddenly and without warning, he reached out and grabbed you by the collar, making your eyes widen. You wrapped your hands around his wrist and tried to pull away, only for him to pull you closer to his glare. 

“Do you really think that you could pull that sort of stunt and get away with it? I swear, I will-” 

“Is there something wrong, your majesty?” 

The voice that came from behind you was comforting to you, but only sparked fear within he eyes of the king. Letting you go almost instantly, you stumbled backwards, your back bumping against the hard, firm surface of a panel of buttons. Before you could look up at the owner of a panel, a pair of hands wrapped themselves around your shoulders, grounding you and making you feel safe. Looking at the king again, you had noticed that his face had morphed from one of anger and hate to one of fear, only masked by a forced friendly smile. You smirked softly to yourself as you noticed the beads of sweat starting to form upon on his old, wrinkly brow. 

“O-Of course not, Lord Vader!” the king said, a waver in his voice, “Miss (F/N) and I were just having a, erm, little… chat.” 

“Is that so…” Lord Vader rumbled out. You opened your mouth to object, but you were quickly cut off by the old man before you. 

“Y-yes! Yes of course!” the king chuckled nervously in response. 

“Good,” rumbled Lord Vader, taking his hands off your shoulder and stepping closer to the king ever so slowly, his head tilting to the side, “It would be quite the shame if my prised mechanic were to be harmed.” 

Gulping silently and taking a few steps back, the king responded, “Yes… quite the shame indeed.” 

Clearing his throat, the king placed his hands on his hips, assuming a new look of attempted friendliness. 

“Well, I assume that we are all done here, yes? Excellent! Let us head back to my palace now, my Lord. There we can talk more about our entrance into the Empire.” 

Before Lord Vader could do anything in approval, the King pushed past both  you and the sith lord, the cape on his shoulders fluttering at his pace. As the troopers and officers began to follow suit, you began to mimic their actions, only to be stopped by a familiar hand upon your shoulder. 

“(F/N),” Lord Vader spoke to you, making the pair of you linger behind the group, “Are you… alright?” 

You didn’t know how to respond instantly.

Were you alright?

You frowned slightly as you thought about what your response should be. You didn’t know whether or not to tell him about your interaction with the king, or how you had seen him look at you and whisper with his guards. The feeling in your gut had not dissipated, and it plagued the back of your mind. You wondered if that was worth telling Lord Vader, however, since he already had so much to worry about. Was that just normal behavior? Lord Vader did do similar things with the officers on the Super Star Destroyer… 

“Yeah, I’m fine… thanks.” you decided to respond. Shooting up a small smile at his mask, you lifted up your own hand to rest upon his own briefly in order to cement your gratitude. 

He looked at you in silence for a long moment after you responded. You wondered if your answer had satisfied his curiosity. His pause said no, even the aura around him said no, but he did not poke the subject any further as he removed his hand from your shoulder. 

Deep down, you really wanted him to question you further. 

~~~

The walk back to the palace was excruciatingly long. 

You didn’t realize just how far you and the little posse had gone until you passed by literally everything that the king had taken you to see. By this point, the sun was starting to set, and your feet were starting to ache in your boots. You were somewhat grateful for this, however, since it meant that the second day on this planet was finally drawing to an end. 

Just one more day of having to deal with this shit, you thought to yourself, then I can go back to my station. Funny… I never thought I would miss that place. 

But there I can be by myself, and not worry about having to deal with creeps. 

There I can be with…

You shook your head to dislodge your thoughts. Now was not the time nor the place for you to indulge in such things. 

Staring to grow bored with your walk alongside Lord Vader, you began to let your eyes wander once again for some people-watching. You watched as the stormtroopers marched along with their guns held tightly to their chests, and how the officers walked with their heads held high. There was no doubt that this was an empirical entourage. 

Looking deeper into the crowd, you allowed your gaze to fall upon the king’s guardsmen. Their uniforms were somewhat silly to you, but you figured that you must be biased in that regard. Training your eyes on them a moment longer, you started to notice small things that the guards would do. 

Every so often, one guard would whisper to another, then another, then another. Sometimes, the guards would even steal glances of you and Lord Vader as you were fixated by his side. Your brow furrowed again at this, making your mind try and piece together what you were seeing. 

He must have sensed your shift in mood since he looked down at you without warning, his respirator as loud as ever. He took note of your facial expression before he spoke. 

“You seem on edge, (F/N).” Lord Vader said, making you look up at him a brief moment. 

“Yeah,” you said back quietly, your fingers twitching in a faint sense of nervousness, “It's just… Do you see them looking at us? It’s… weird.” 

Lord Vader looked at you a moment before responding. 

“Yes, I am aware.” 

“Should we… do something about it? Or is this normal?” 

“It happens periodically upon my visit to certain systems. Besides,” he continued, “Any attempt to conspire against the Empire shall result in failure.” 

You would have smiled at that if it weren’t for the pang of nervousness that still resided in your gut. Instead, you looked down at your feet and frowned to yourself, your lips stretching into a brief line. 

“If you say so, my Lord…” 

You desperately wanted to believe him. But, a pit of doubt and anxiety in your stomach kept you from doing as such fully. You hated the feeling. 

It’s just me wanting to get off this damn rock… you tried to tell yourself. 

You didn’t fully believe yourself, either. 

You didn’t know which feeling to hate more. 

~~~

Upon your arrival back to the palace, you were allowed 30 minutes to yourself to freshen-up before the day’s closing meeting. Relieved to get a moment to yourself, you headed up the stairs almost too quickly as you were relieved to go by Lord Vader. 

‘Do try not to be, how do you put it… ‘fashionably late,’ again this evening, (F/N)’ he said to you. 

‘No promises, my Lord.’ you had giggled back to him. 

Locking the door and kicking off your boots in your room, you sat down gingerly upon the freshly made bed, a wave of relief washing over you, so strong that it made you lie back upon the plush surface. Reaching your arms above your head, you arched your back as you let yourself have a big stretch, your muscles turning cold from the rush of blood-flow. Letting out a big breath, you closed your eyes as you let relaxation flow over you. You figured that since you needed energy to continue on with the night, now was as good a time as any to get in a quick cat-nap. 

Just as you had settled into your quick nap, a startling yet soft sound made you snap your eyes open, because of course something had to take your relaxation away from you. Laying there silently for a moment, you tried your best to hone in on the sound. Your ears prickling, you heard the noise again, only this time it made you sit up in your bed at attention. Finally able to decipher where the noise had been coming from, you snapped your head over to the knob on your door. 

Sure enough, it was twisting and turning at a feverish pace. 

Someone was trying to come in. 

Oh hell no. 

A sense of anger and frustration washing over you, you quickly marched over to the door, throwing it open as quickly as you could. 

“WHAT THE HELL-” 

Nothing. And no one. That’s what meat your gaze as you looked out in the hallway. 

Your face fell from one of anger to one of sad confusion as you stood there a moment, your hand sliding down the surface of the door. Sighing to yourself, you slowly went back into your room and closed the door behind you. You closed your eyes and pointed your head at the ceiling as you leaned your back against the door, allowing yourself to slide down into a kneeling position. 

Great, you thought, now I’m going crazy. 

I just want to go home. 

I hate it here. 

~~~

Deciding to humor Lord Vader a little, you had arrived at the night’s closing meeting on time. This had proven to be the correct choice, since you didn’t get any stares from anyone upon your arrival. The gut feeling from that morning still inside you, and this did little to appease it. However, it made you wonder if the king had given up on whatever he was trying to pull with you from earlier. 

But, of course, you had no way of knowing. 

The meeting was just as boring as all the other ones you had been to. Again, you were sit speechless by Lord Vader as he discussed the topics at hand with the king or one of his advisors. As he did so, you would try and find anything you could do to entertain yourself. This often involved counting tiles or trying to play back a holovid you had seen long ago back in your mind. 

This meeting, however, had a big surprise in store for you. 

“Miss (F/N),” you heard the king’s voice call out to you, sending a shock of get your head out of your ass down your spine, “You look dreadfully bored over there, my dear.” 

Looking over to the king, you hid your scowl as best you could as you tried to ease your sense of deja-vu. 

“Well, there isn’t much I have to add to the conversation, your majesty…” you responded back. You hadn’t meant to sound snarky, yet you couldn’t help yourself. 

The king laughed, an odd glint in his eye, “Yes, of course, my dear. I understand perfectly. Yet, I feel so bad just watching you sitting there. Here, how about we have my guards here escort you to the mechanical department for the time being? You can get a good look at the place whilst me and Lord Vader discuss, hm?” 

Your lips parted in confusion as you looked into the king’s blue eyes. What the hell? Did he suddenly feel bad for being such a dick to you? Or did he simply just feel bad? Or could he just not stand the sight of you anymore?

Deep down, you didn’t care. Enticed by an opportunity to leave the boring meeting behind, your mind was fuzzed from any thoughts of doubt that plagued your conscience. That offer did sound… appealing. 

However… 

“I… I would love to, your majesty, but…” you began to say, turning your gaze to fall upon Lord Vader for a moment, “I wouldn’t want to go against my Lord’s wishes if he required me to stay.” 

This was a silent plea, but you wouldn’t know it yet. 

“Oh, I’m sure that our dear Lord wouldn’t mind at all! Am I right, Lord Vader? Won’t you allow our dear Miss (F/N) to be relieved of our boring conversation?” the king asked, propping his boots on the table. 

You shot your gaze over to Lord Vader, unable to tell what emotion your eyes emanated to him. The sith looked right back at you, the sound of his respirator allowing him to inhale and exhale filling the room. 

Deep down, you wanted him to say no. 

Deep down,you prayed he would say no. 

He spoke after one of his trademark pauses. 

“I will allow it.” 

Why did that sting so bad? You should be relieved… 

“Excellent!” the king exclaimed, “Guards, please take Miss (F/N) to the mechanical department for the time being. I will comm you when she is to return.” 

The guards grasped their blasters tightly in response, standing at attention. Slowly but surely, you stood up from your chair and pushed it in. As you turned, mumbled out a quiet thanks, and began to walk past the dark lord you knew too well, you felt something large and leathery wrap around your fingers. Sure enough, when you looked down, he saw his hand wrapped there, making you look up at his mask. 

“(F/N),” he said slowly, just enough for you to hear, “be… careful.” 

You smiled and nodded at him like you didn’t need his caution.

Why did it feel so wrong? 

With Lord Vader eventually letting you out of his grasp, you walked over to your guard escorts and gave them a nod to signal to them that you were ready. Nodding in return, they turned on their heels and escorted you out of the room. 

You gave one last glance over your shoulder at Lord Vader before you exited. 

Deep down, you prayed that this wouldn’t be the last time you saw him.

~~

The palace was eerily quiet with no one else but you and two guards walking the halls. Even though you had never been to a palace before, something inside you told you that this was wrong. 

You ignored it. 

The sound of footsteps echoing off of the walls made the goosebumps raise on your arms. It was so eerily quiet. And so eerily cold. You thought about striking up conversation with the guards, but you took them as not the type for conversation. 

Looking past all the doors that you saw on your walk, you took brief moments with each to see the contents inside all of them. You felt a lump in your throat as you saw a door with half-broken ships and blasters in the doorway. A feeling of unease washed over you. 

You ignored it. 

There must be some other way into that room. 

You held your biceps as the guards led you down a long hallway, only for it to end with two long, dull, menacing doors. A pit bore itself into your stomach. 

You ignored it. 

“Is this… it?” you asked. 

“Yes.” One of the guards responded. 

“But…” you said, “I-I saw some ships back there and-” 

You were swiftly and rudely cut off by an action you barely had any time to process. 

The guard had lifted his blaster, pointed to butt-end at you, and slammed it against the side of your forehead. 

Instantly, your vision blurred, your brain just barely able to process what was happening as your sight started to fade to black. 

You heard the doors to the room in front of you open. 

You felt your weak body being dragged inside. 

Your body weak, you felt yourself roll onto your side to face the fall without you even telling your body to do it. 

You were met with one final sight before everything went black. 

There was no mistaking it. 

You had seen it countless times before. 

From news briefings.

From posters. 

From propaganda. 

That brilliant crimson.

The symbol of the rebellion. 

~~~

TAGS: @spaghetti-666 , @soullesstaco , @arsonistvoyager , @robin-obsessed , @glitter-rian , @captainrexstan , @easterncryptid , @deviatedwinter , @roseangel013bf , @danicalifxrnia , @dartheldur , @finest-trashbag​ , @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii​ , @elongatedmusk-rat​ , @shads121​ , @muffinbeliever​ , @sakuramadae​ , @padme-parker​ , @missmannequin​ 

[recurring-polynya]

@trulytaka​ asked: um i’ve always dreamt about a tattoo artist!renji falling for a client AU. it’s okay if you can’t come up with anything, just a suggestion!

How is it even possible that I have never read a Tattoo Artist! Renji AU?? (If there is one, please, send it to me immediately). Anyway, I got way too enamored of this idea, this is not even remotely a drabble, it is 4400 words and it is incredibly self-indulgent, I am absolutely not sorry.

It takes place in America and everyone is Japanese-American, because I am way more comfortable writing about American tattoo culture. I have never actually read a Tattoo Artist AU, I don’t know how they are supposed to go, this is just based on my own experiences getting inked. It’s mostly a story about Rukia and Renji being incredible nerfballs, there are not nearly enough stories about Rukia being a nerfball around Renji.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀     🛹     💕

Izuru Kira found Renji Abarai in the break room, simultaneously trying to cram a burrito into his face and read a Hellboy comic. He was holding the comic open with his elbow in an attempt to avoid spilling guacamole on Abe Sapien.

“Your two o’clock is here,” Izuru informed his distinguished colleague.

“Oh, great!” Renji replied, creasing the foil wrapper into a spout so that he could pour the last of the salsa drippings into his mouth.

“She’s waiting in the consult room,” Izuru went on, watching Renji toss the crumpled foil ball across the room, completely missing the trash can. “Look, have you met her before? A Miss Kuchiki?”

“Just exchanged a few emails,” Renji replied, as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. “Why? Is she scary?”

“Not in the usual way of Abarai clients,” Izuru replied. “I was just… wondering if she was... in the right place.”

“Her request was very specific,” Renji replied, scooping up his comic and the manila folder underneath it. “In fact, I am quite proud of what I came up with for her.” He whipped the folder open.

Izuru stared at it for a moment. “That is so specific.”

“I honestly think this is one of the best tatts I have ever designed. I hope she’s a real weirdo, because not just anyone deserves a masterpiece of this caliber.”

“Mmm,” Izuru agreed. “Yeah. Anyway, if there’s been a, uh, miscommunication, see if you can just… redirect her. Both Momo and I are in today, okay?”

Renji scoffed and stuffed his comic in Izuru’s hand as he marched down the hall toward the consult room. A miscommunication. Renji wondered what was wrong with her. She was probably mousy and wore glasses. Izuru always assumed girls like that would rather have a sad poem about the sea or a sprig of herbs inked on her wrist (conveniently, his specialties). Plenty of mousy girls with glasses would rather rock some fangs or dripping daggers, in Renji’s professional experience.

“Knock knock!” he announced, as he slid the door open. He took one step into the room and stopped dead.

Rukia Kuchiki was not mousy. She did not wear glasses.

Renji didn’t know much about suits. He did not happen to own one himself. But he guessed that Rukia Kuchiki’s suit was expensive, in part because it fit her perfectly, despite her tiny frame. It was jet black, and didn’t have a single speck of lint or cat hair on it. Her perfectly manicured hands were folded neatly on top of her crossed legs. She was wearing very tall, very pointy heels. Their soles were bright red, which Renji had learned from television meant that they were super expensive. He realized that he probably shouldn’t be looking at her legs, even though they were very nice to look at. His eyes snapped up to her face, but that honestly wasn’t any better.

Renji wasn’t often attracted to women, but she had probably the most interesting face he had ever seen-- heart-shaped, with big, dark eyes, a sharp chin, the cutest little nose. Her make-up was subtle and professional, and her hair was swept up with a clip, although it must be fairly short, because a few pieces hung down in front of her ears, and a thick lock dangled between her eyes.

She looked like a mean lawyer from a movie, one that would drive a fancy sportscar like an act of violence. Scary, for sure. But not in the usual way of Abarai clients, who tended toward the large and beefy, not that sharp and sharklike.

That nose, though.

Suddenly, her face split into a big grin. “Hi,” she announced brightly. “I’m Rukia Kuchiki.” She had a deep voice, a very beautiful voice. “You must be Renji Abarai.” Her eyes flicked to his arms. “I mean, of course you are, who else would have those arms? They’re so cool.”

“My arms?” Renji said stupidly. “Are they… famous?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, well, I follow you on Instagram, and you don’t have any pictures of your face, but your arms are in a lot of the shots and they’re, well, they’re kinda distinctive. Do you think, um, would you mind if I looked at them?”

Renji’s eyebrows shot up. It’s not like he wasn’t used to having his arms checked out, but most people were more… subtle about it. Oh, well, it was her dime. “I didn’t do them myself, obviously,” he pointed out, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt so she could see the baboon skull on his left shoulder. A skeletal arm traced down the rest of that arm, complete with an outline of his own hand bones. On the right side, a snake spine coiled around his bicep, ending with a hissing skull. “I mean, it was my design, but my friends-- the other three tattoo artists here-- all helped ink me up.” He plopped down in the chair that sat catty corner to the couch where Rukia was sitting, and held his arms out. “We’re sort of a full-service studio. I’m the skeletons and monsters guy. Izuru, the guy you met on desk duty today-- is good at calligraphy and watercolors and little, itty bitty tattoos. Momo is our nature girl, she specializes in flowers and animals, and she’s great with bright colors. The snake skull was all her. Shuuhei is really into classic tattoo art-- you need a hula girl or a heart with an arrow through it, he’s your man. He’s also incredibly talented at revamping old regret tattoos, there’s good money in that.”

“Mm,” Rukia agreed, finally tearing her eyes away from his forearms to look up at his face, and abruptly turned even pinker. A lot of people fantasized about getting a tattoo and then got a bad case of nerves when it was time to make the leap. Maybe all this was way out of her comfort zone. Renji was trying his best to be friendly and chatty, which usually helped, but he was not used to dealing with this class of lady. He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too familiar.

“Actually,” Rukia went on, pulling on her fingers nervously. “I picked this place specifically because of you. For your work, I mean. I’m kind of a big fan. I saw some of your paintings at an exhibition over at the Fine Arts College, and I just, you know, fell in love. I’d always thought I’d like to get a tattoo someday, and when I found out that you were a tattoo artist, I knew it had to be you. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, and I’m babbling and I’m really sorry, I’m just very excited.”

Renji blinked. “You’re not babbling,” he replied slowly. He was sort of hoping she might say some more things about how much she liked his art in her beautiful voice. “Wait, an exhibition at the art school? That must have been at least three years ago, when I was doing my MFA.”

“Er, right,” Rukia looked a little sheepish. “A friend of mine had some work in the same exhibit, you probably don’t know her. My favorite one of your paintings was the one with the Black Lagoon creatures eating hamburgers at a diner, but I also really liked the one that was like a huge monster with a big bone mask stalking through a city, the way you did the shadows was just incredible.”

That particular painting was currently wrapped in brown paper and stuffed behind Renji’s couch. His last boyfriend had told him it was “creepy.”

“Uh, glad you liked it,” Renji managed. “Who was your friend?”

“Her name is Inoue. Orihime Inoue.”

“Oh, the robot girl!” Renji exclaimed. “Er, I mean she drew robots. Constantly. For every assignment. I didn’t mean to imply she was… robotic. In any way.” Jeez, Abarai, pull it together, he chided himself. “Yeah, I remember her. I didn’t know her well, but she sure could draw some tight robots. Is, she, uh, doing well?”

“She’s doing storyboards for a stop-motion animation studio,” Rukia replied.

Renji smiled. “That sounds perfect for her.”

Rukia bit her bottom lip and Renji’s throat went dry.

“So, um, you said in your email that you would have a design for me to look at?”

Renji realized that he was gripping the folder like a doofus. “Right! I did a couple of variations,” he explained, passing it from one hand to the other. “But you explained the concept pretty clearly, and I’m really happy with how the first one came out. I mean, obviously, it’s your tattoo! Please give me any feedback you have, you won’t offend me, even if you hate it! Tattoo designs often take a few iterations, it’s very normal, don’t hold back.”

She was staring at him, those big eyes wide and sparkling. “Can I… see it?”

“Oh! Right!” He shoved the folder at her.

Rukia opened it up and gasped.

“I especially love the way you draw skeletons,” Rukia’s email had read. “Do you think you could tattoo a grim reaper doing a sick kickflip on a skateboard onto my outer bicep? I do lift, so I am pretty jacked, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” Rukia sighed in a tiny voice.

“Um, in the first variation (that’s page 2) I added some sunglasses, and in the second one, the grim reaper is flipping the bird and also its head is on fire. I guess I thought that grim reapers should be gender neutral but now I’m wondering if you would have preferred more of a… lady grim reaper?” Renji yammered absently.

“Oh, no,” Rukia murmured softly, flipping through the pages. Renji wasn’t even sure she had listened to a word he had said. “These are amazing. I love the sunglasses, but I also like the way you put little flames in the eye sockets in the first one…” She waved a hand absently. “Oh, and don’t worry, I like a non-binary skeleton.”

A small problem had just occurred to Renji. “Hey, um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I… may have overestimated the size of your arms.”

“Oh?” Rukia asked, and abruptly shucked off her expensive suit jacket. She was wearing a pale purple sleeveless silk blouse underneath. She held one arm out experimentally, and then flexed. The muscle definition on her bicep made Renji take an involuntary swallow, but the fact that she was wicked cut did not buy him much in the way of real estate.

“I’ll just shrink it down maybe 25%,” he reassured her. “I’ll have to simplify some of the detail on--”

“No,” Rukia frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t do that.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not committed to having it on my arm.” She uncrossed her legs and hefted one high-heeled foot onto the coffee table in front of her. “What do you think? Is my thigh big enough?”

Renji tried to make words come out, but it just wasn’t happening.

“Er… sorry,” Rukia said slowly, tugging at her hem. “I forgot I was wearing a skirt today.”

“Huh?” Renji scrambled to recover. He needed to say something. She looked really embarrassed. Say something! Say something professional about her leg! “Sorry, I was, uh, thinking!” Good, good, now keep going. “Don’t be self-conscious, I see people’s bodies all the time. Bodies are no big deal, we all got ‘em, right?” This was true in the abstract sense, but he knew these were blatant lies as they exited his mouth. Most people’s bodies were no big deal. He had only known her for five minutes, but was certain that Rukia Kuchiki’s thighs were a very big deal. He studied her leg, stroking his chin, like he was some kind of anthropologist of thigh tattoos. Mostly he was trying to figure out what would seem like an appropriate amount of time to look at a person’s thigh, a person who was your professional client that you most definitely did not have the hots for. “There’s certainly plenty of room,” he declared. “But, you know, people are going to see it less. Which is a selling point for some people! It’s just a personal decision that you’ll have to make. It sounds like you had a big vision.”

Rukia gingerly placed her foot back on the floor. “I had actually been wondering if maybe the upper arm was too public, anyway,” she admitted. “The fact is, I just got full access to my trust fund, and this is sort of a celebration, but I may have been a little overeager to piss off my big brother. He’s very stodgy.” She contemplated the area of her leg that was covered by her pencil skirt. “But so are a lot of people in my field. I can wait until I’m running my own company before I get started on the full sleeve of my dreams, right?”

“Worked for me,” Renji replied, utterly lost by whatever she was talking about. “What… field are you in?”

“Oh, finance,” she dismissed.

Finance. Of course. Renji tried to shoo away the weight of disappointment that was settling in his stomach. He was talking to a friendly client who was clearly loaded, loved his work, and was contemplating thousands of dollars worth of future business. He should be thrilled. He should probably be trying to sell her one of his old paintings-- they were only gathering dust, anyway. Renji would never break the studio policy about hitting on clients. The fact that she would surely laugh at him if he asked her to his favorite burger joint ought to make things easier, right?

“This is so hard!” Rukia declared, and Renji was shaken from his reverie. She was just contemplating his draft designs again, though, flipping back and forth between them.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he reassured her. “You can think about it and email me. If you’re happy enough, we can schedule your session, and we’ll work out the details between now and then. Chat it over with your pal MechaHime, she’s got good opinions.” He paused. Momo always said he was too nice during consults, they were running a business, but he couldn’t help it. “Or you can just call back when you’re ready. No pressure.”

Rukia slammed her fist down on her knee. “No! Let’s schedule it! Do I pay now?”

“20% deposit. Let’s go out front, Izuru will ring it up.”

“Perfect.” She looked longingly at the drawings again. “Can I take these with me? You’re absolutely right, Orihime will know what to do.”

Renji wrinkled his nose. “It’s actually against studio policy but…”

Rukia’s face suddenly became very serious. “Then it’s against policy.” She winked at him and smiled. “You should take care of your intellectual property, Mr. Abarai.”

“I never get over to this part of town, to be honest,” Rukia admitted as they walked back up to the front. “Is the taco place across the street any good?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great,” Renji agreed. “Momo and I painted a huge mural on their wall, so they give us free churros.”

“Are tacos a good post-tattoo celebratory meal?” Rukia asked curiously.

“Well, you actually want to eat beforehand,” Renji pointed out. “It’s important to keep your energy up. I don’t estimate yours should take very long, I’m gonna book you a two-hour slot.”

“Ah, okay,” Rukia agreed, and Renji realized belatedly that...maybe… she had been asking him out? No. Surely not. His brain scrabbled for a response, but then he stepped into the reception area and his brain shut down entirely.

“It’s DONE!” Shuuhei bellowed. “Behold my work, ye mighty, and despair!”

Tetsuzaemon Iba, serial client, yakuza enthusiast, and assistant manager at a doggie day care, was flexing. He was not wearing a shirt.

From behind the reception desk, Kira was wearing a dour frown and shaking his head.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Renji declared. “I admit I was skeptical, but it looks fantastic, man. You happy with it?”

“It” was a massive tattoo, covering the wide landscape of Iba’s broad back. It featured a lucky cat, grinning maniacally, its paw held high. It was on fire. The kanji for “lucky charm” was incorporated somehow. It was a disaster. It was perfect.

“How could I not be?” Iba boomed.

“Whoa,” a tiny voice behind Renji said.

Iba’s face went pale when he realized that he was being Peak Iba in front of an elegant, professional woman whose shoes probably cost more than his entire net worth. “Gimme me my shirt!” he demanded of Shuuhei.

“That’s… amazing!” Rukia exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Wow, how long did that take?”

Shuuhei blinked slowly as he passed Iba his shirt. “Five sessions.”

“Well, it’s so cute!” Rukia announced. “You must love cats.”

Iba lifted at the same gym as Renji and watched Momo’s Pomeranian on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He was a regular fixture at the tattoo studio, and all four of them liked to drag him, but no one, none of them, had ever roasted him this hard. Renji cursed that no-asking-out-clients rule, because he wanted to buy Rukia Kuchiki her own body weight in tacos and then ask her to be his wife.

“He’s more of a dog person,” Shuuhei supplied.

“Great with dogs,” Izuru added.

“Shut up, you jerks, I am a lover of all animals,” Iba grumbled as he pulled his Hawaiian shirt over his shoulders. “Is this your lawyer, Abarai? Did you finally get arrested for that hairstyle?”

“I have an MBA, actually, not a JD,” Rukia replied matter-of-factly. “And I am his client. Can you show that large man my tattoo design? Is that allowed?”

Renji chuckled, and pulled out his drawing.

“That,” Iba declared, “is a wicked tatt.”

“Oh, you showed me that email!” Shuuhei recalled. “It came out great.” He regarded Rukia. “He was really excited about that one, you made his day.”

Rukia just beamed proudly.

“Are we booking a session, then?” Izuru asked hopefully.

“Yeah, two hours,” Renji nodded.

“Let me just finish ringing up Iba, and I’ll see when you’ve got an opening,” Izuru replied.

“This your first one?” Shuuhei asked Rukia conversationally.

“Mm-hmm,” Rukia nodded.

“Well, you made a good choice. Clean design, mostly black with just a few color pops, should go on quick and easy, and it’ll hold up really well, too.”

“This is Shuuhei, the one I was telling you about, who fixes a lot of bad tattoos.”

“I have never had to fix an Abarai tattoo,” Shuuhei declared. “He’s great with first timers. Very gentle. I’ve fallen asleep while he was inking me.” Shuuhei pointed to the pair of crossed scythes gracing his upper arm. “This is one of his.”

“Oooh, neat!” Rukia agreed.

“You’re being embarrassing,” Renji informed his friend.

“Always,” Shuuhei agreed. “Nice to meet you! I hope I get to see the finished product.” He waved to Iba as he headed off toward the back. “Don’t forget to moisturize!”

“Everyone’s so friendly here,” Rukia said softly to Renji. “This isn’t at all like I pictured it.”

Renji stretched his arms behind his head. “Nah, we’re just a bunch of goofballs who like drawin’ on people. Very lowkey.”

“I guess I’ve thought a lot about the getting tattooed part of getting tattooed, but I never thought of it as… a job. That people have.”

“It’s a great job,” Renji replied. “I love it. I’m just lucky that Izuru over there has enough business sense to keep the other three of us from running it into the ground.”

“That’s certainly the truth,” Izuru agreed, as Iba headed out the door. “Two hours, you said? Renji’s got a 4-6pm block open on a Wednesday, three weeks from now. The 24th, how does that work for you, Ms. Kuchiki?”

“Do you think that’s enough time to settle on a design?” Renji asked. “If you come up with changes, it should only take me a day or two to incorporate them.”

“Oh! Yes, three weeks should be fine. I thought… it might be a little sooner,” Rukia replied, sounding a tad disappointed.

“Abarai’s a busy man, three weeks is actually pretty quick,” Izuru explained.

“Right, of course!” Rukia nodded. “Yes, I’ll take the 24th!”

She then paid her deposit, a process which involved her taking approximately ten thousand items out of her purse, including a full-sized drawing pad, a single fingerless glove, and a Pez dispenser with a duck head. She was the most contradictory person Renji had ever met, and he just wanted to know everything about her. But instead, they were going to exchange a couple of emails about a grim reaper on a skateboard, he was going to spend an hour and a half two inches from her naked thigh in a state of intense, non-sexual concentration, and then he would likely never see her again.

“Okay, I guess that’s it!” Rukia said, stuffing the last of her worldly belongings back into the purse. “Three weeks, then!”

“Three weeks it is,” Renji agreed. “Unless we happen to run into each other at the taco place.”

Rukia blinked. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Right. Ha, ha, of course!” She’d been walking backwards toward the door, an impressive feat in those heels, and she spun suddenly to pull it open.

“It’s a push,” Renji and Izuru chorused together.

“Ha, ha, of course it is!” Rukia laughed nervously, and ducked out.

Izuru stared pointedly at Renji. “Wow,” he said.

“I don’t know what you have against her,” Renji scowled. “So she’s professional. She was really nice. She’s a big fan of my work.”

Izuru cocked his head. “She’s clearly also a big fan of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Renji said.

“Look, I’m sorry I implied that a person who drives a Lotus Exige would not be interested in having your weird skeleton doodles permanently placed on her body,” Izuru held up his hands, “but did you really not notice the little hearts and singing birds floating around her head every time she gazed longingly at you?”

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Renji snapped.

“It looked fancy and I asked Shuuhei what it was, okay!”

On cue, Shuuhei burst back into the reception area, Momo close on his tail. “Are we talking about the hot client who has a crush on Abarai?”

“Did you ask her out?” Momo asked breathlessly.

“She’s not really his type,” Izuru mused. “Very corporate.”

Renji frowned. Did he have a type? If his type excluded people like Rukia Kuchiki, he might need to get a new type.

“Who cares, she was adorable!” Momo insisted. “I woulda asked her out.”

“Renji, if you go out with her, can you get me a ride in the Exige?” Shuuhei added.

“I’m not gonna ask her out!” Renji protested. “What happened to the no-hitting-on-clients rule?”

“The rule is no creeping on clients,” Shuuhei correctly. “This is different. She’s clearly into you, big time.”

“Also, she seems non-terrible, unlike the questionable human beings you usually take up with,” Izuru pointed out. “We could relax the rule if it netted you an actually decent partner for a change.”

Renji scowled judgmentally at Izuru, as if his own dating history had been remotely better before he and Shuuhei finally hooked up.

“Oh!” Momo waved her phone. “Speaking of which, I googled her, like you told me to, Izuru--”

“Izuru!” Renji protested.

“--and you were right! She’s not just one of the Kuchikis, she’s the granddaughter!” Momo thrust her phone in Renji’s face. It was some article about some fancy charity event, complete with a picture that was clearly Rukia, dressed in a dramatic black and gold evening gown.

Renji wanted to push Momo’s hand away, but he also didn’t want to stop looking at Rukia in that dress. “The who?” he asked.

Izuru and Momo sighed dramatically in synchronized exasperation.

“Embarrassingly rich old money family? I don’t know what they actually do, but they’re always in the newspapers, donating money for something or other--”

“Billionaire philanthropists,” Shuuhei intoned in a fake deep voice.

“--I heard they’re descended from some famous clan of samurai back in Japan,” Momo ignored him. She jerked her phone back and started tapping at it frantically. “I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of the grandson-- Rukia’s brother, I guess. He always makes those lists of top ten hottest bachelors.”

“He’s dreamy,” Shuuhei seconded.

“Impossibly dreamy,” Izuru thirded.

Momo flipped her phone around again, to reveal a picture of a very serious, and very handsome man in a classic three-piece wool suit. Renji supposed “impossibly dreamy” was not an inaccurate description.

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen pictures of that guy before,” Renji shrugged. “He’s okay. Rukia has a more interesting face, I think.”

Momo and Shuuhei exchanged raised eyebrows.

“You do like her, then?” Izuru asked, his face brightening. “You’re wrong, by the way, Byakuya Kuchiki has the face of an angel.”

“Rukia says he’s stuffy,” Renji shrugged. “And fine. I like her. She’s cute and nice and had good taste in tattoos. What’s not to like?”

“Are you gonna ask her out, then?” Momo pressed.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied. “She’s my client. Besides, as you just pointed out, she’s loaded. What’s she want with a scumbag like me?”

All three of his friends groaned.

“You have good delts and sexy hair,” Izuru pointed out.

“You give amazing hugs!” Momo declared.

“You draw fantastic skeletons,” Shuuhei added. “Which, apparently, is relevant to her interests, and not a thing you usually find on Tindr.”

“Also, we’ve already established that she does like you, regardless of whether she has a valid reason for doing so,” Izuru concluded. “So, if you’re at all interested, you really shouldn’t let that stop you.”

“I think you should go for it,” Momo encouraged.

“Me, too,” Shuuhei agreed.

Renji grimaced. She was an amazing girl, too good to be true probably. If she had any sense at all, she would certainly turn him down. But maybe… just maybe… she didn’t have any sense. “Okay,” he grudgingly agreed. “I’ll do it. But not until I’m finished the damn tattoo!”

[tloujm]

Part XII: Jackson Manor

Author’s Notes: Here’s my attempt at horror that I promised! Its roughly a week until Halloween, so just in time I guess! MY GOD, DOES TIME FLY. It was just the beginning of October a minute ago, wasn’t it? It’s a long one, just under 9k words, so grab a snack. It features some continuity on the main plot, but really its a stand alone chapter. Because there are multiple other characters mentioned, there is less focus on you and Joel as a couple, but there’s definitely some fluff and angst (grumpy Joel) hidden in there. I know I’m no James Wan or Stephen King, but bear with me. I only did it as a seasonal thing. The next chapter will go back to focusing on you and Joel’s relationship. 

Genre: Cheesy Horror

Summary: Maria puts together a specially curated group for the next patrol outing that includes you and Joel. The group of five are sent on a mysterious treasure hunt of sorts. The “treasure” is inside of a creepy, abandoned house that plays tricks on the group, fueling into the already existing tensions. 

Ship: Joel x Reader

Joel watched on with tired eyes as you sat with the newcomer at the daycare. You got up early so you could talk to her. So far, the girl remained silent, but her body language was responsive. Joel just stood there, unsure of when a good time to interrupt and steal you away would be. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait too long as you finally caught his gaze. After a moment, you excused yourself and walked over to him standing in the doorway. 

“Maria has us scheduled to patrol today.” He said.

“Us? Together? Well, that’s a treat. You usually do the tougher routes. Am I going on one of those with you, or are you doing an easy one with me?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not quite sure. Maria didn’t say much after she told me to come fetch you.”

“Maybe they think I’m ready for something more challenging.”

“I think so, but what’s strange is that she’s got us goin’ out with a couple other people who I don’t think are.” Joel said, scratching his beard.

“Who’s all going?” You asked.

“Tim, Rhonda and uh, Jesse.” He replied. He was less than enthused with the last name that exited his mouth. While he was civil with Jesse, he still couldn’t help but feel like he had a thing for you, whether you acknowledged it or not.

“Jesse’s a veteran, but Tim?” You made a face. “And Rhonda?” You made a slightly more exaggerated face. “Did Maria say why she chose all of us to go together?”

“Didn’t get the chance to ask. We’re meant to meet her at the stables. That’s where she’s debriefing us.”

*****

“Thank you all for meeting me for this patrol on such short notice. I know this is everyone’s day off.” Maria began. You and the others were seated on bales of hay as she paced in front of the stable doors. “I hand picked each of you to work together and complete the task at hand. I drew up copies of a special map that came into my possession a little while ago.” She handed them out. “Outside the city of Jackson, there is a little village...smaller than that really, that is not located on any published map. I want you guys to check it out and report back on it. Note everything. More specifically, I want this team to sweep through a large house over that way. You’ll know it when you see it. According to the original map, ‘the exterior is dark, almost black, three stories high and overshadowed by a massive pine tree’. I was tipped off that the house was used as a supply cache for the Jackson Frontier Faction, a recently extinct group of survivors. Bring back anything you can. Leave what you can’t and we’ll come back for it. Update the map if need be during your journey. Any questions?”

“How long do you think this mission will take?” Jesse asked.

“I don’t want you to spend too much time out there, but I estimate no more than three days. That’s including the time to get there and back on the horses. If you are not back by then, I will send a search and rescue team.” Maria responded confidently.

“No offense, but why did you pick us? We’ve never worked together as a group before.” Joel spoke up.

“True, I do not have the advantage of seeing your group dynamic, but there is method behind my way of thinking. Each of you have a specific skill set that I believe would simultaneously compliment each other as well as make the group superior to our previous patrols. Joel, you are an excellent shot and an exceptional tracker. Jesse, as well as your combat skills, you have a great sense of direction, even in the most foreign of environments, and you think outside the box. (Y/N), I know you have trained under both Joel and Tommy and I have seen your melee combat in person. I trust that you are ready for a more difficult route such as this. I also appreciate your level headedness. Keeping calm during dangerous situations can be the difference between life and death. Now as for Tim and Rhonda. I know the two of you have never been on patrol before, so I especially thank you for agreeing to this. I wish I could have introduced you to this job with a more novice route. Tim is our medic in training and has been Dr. Carson’s right hand and apprentice for over a year now. He will be there to aid in any medical relief.” She turns her attention to Tim. “If you ever need any assistance, (Y/N) is trained in first aid.” He looks at you for a long moment. You return the gaze, realizing that you’d never formally met him before. “Rhonda, you are great at your job taking inventory at the pantry. Now, you are the group’s official scribe and your job is to take inventory of the things collected. I’ve also seen how good you draw. I would like you to note the environment and work with Jesse in drawing up a new map. Also, I want you to record things of interest through writing and drawing.” Maria gives her a journal. “I would have had you all wait until the first sign of spring, but we are in desperate need of certain supplies. To be honest, this is an experiment, having all of you in a group together, but I still have high expectations. Please, do not disappoint me. We are all counting on you. Have a safe trip.” Maria left to tend to some business at the main gate.

“I think we should go over this map she gave us so we can all be on the same page.” Jesse suggested.

Joel grunted in agreement. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” You began to push the bales to form a circle. The others followed suit and Jesse placed his map in the middle. Before you could take a seat, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi, I’m Tim.” He began to laugh nervously. “I’m sure you know that because of Maria, but I wanted to introduce myself. I didn’t want my asking you to apply pressure on somebody’s wound be the first time I talk to you.”

“Nice to meet you, Tim. (Y/N).” You shook his hand.

“I’ve heard a lot about you actually.” He responded.

“Oh?” You questioned genuinely.

“Yeah. Everyone knows about that bloater you and Joel ran into. And I was there helping Dr. Carson handle the bodies when the two of you found Sid and Adam. I just want to let you know, I think you’re very brave.”

A grin slowly grew on your face. “Thank you. I’m sure you are too, having to deal with blood and whatever gory things you see in the infirmary.”

He brushed past the compliment. “No more gory than what you guys see on patrol when you run into clickers and bloaters. The way the Cordycep fungus disfigures the body is something from a nightmare.” You nodded in agreement. Joel watched on from his seat as the two of you conversated. Eventually, he cleared his throat, causing you to turn and see that everyone else was seated and ready to go over the map. Tim’s cheeks turned red as he gave you a small smile before sitting.

“Nice of you to join us.” Joel whispered after you sat next to him. You nudged him in the shoulder and focused on Jesse’s words. 

After agreeing on a specific route in accordance to the weather conditions, the group picked up their respective horses and headed to the main gate. Maria and Bill from weaponry passed out a plethora of guns and knives. Joel and Jesse led the way out into the open with a couple clicks of their tongues. Everybody's horses galloped behind. It was cold and the snow was fairly high, but light enough to dredge through. 

Tim gently kicked his horse in the rear to gallop faster and catch up with you. “So how do you think Maria found out about this place?”

“I don’t know. Must have been one of the merchants who passed through a few weeks ago. If this place was discovered by someone inside Jackson, all of the patrol groups would have known by now. For Maria to be the only one who knew and had a map?”

“Do you think it actually exists?” He asked.

“The house?”

“The whole village.” He confirmed. “Maybe a merchant made up the location with the hopes of convincing someone of a known cache supply, like a treasure map, and had the intentions of charging a high price for it.”

“Maria is smart. She wouldn’t have let anyone get over on her, especially a merchant.” You defended her. 

“I’m sure you’re right. What do you think is going to be in there?” Tim asked casually. 

You shrugged. “Food. Hopefully not molded or eaten through by rats. Medical supplies. Seeds for the spring. Could be anything.”

“So long as it’s worth it.”

“She wouldn’t have sent us if it wasn’t.” Things fell silent between the two of you. You thought about riding off to the front next to Joel, but figured it was rude to just leave him.

“You and Joel,” He began before clearing his throat. “You guys patrol a lot together?”

“We used to. Not so much anymore. Matter of fact, this is the first time we’ve been assigned to the same group in about a year.”

“Why is that?” Tim questioned.

“It was this whole thing.” You explained it away, not wanting to get into detail. He kept looking at you as if he was waiting for you to expand on the response. “We just got busy doing different things. I help out at the daycare too, you know.”

“Yeah? I know Wendy. She brings the kids by the infirmary from time to time for check ups. I traded for a pack of stickers a while back. I give them out to help put a smile on the kids’ faces when they come in. You know, a lot of them get nervous around doctors. My stickers don’t stand a chance against Joel's wooden toys though.”

“You know about those?”

“Of course. They come in holding the little horses or race cars kind of like a blankie. So...speaking of Joel, you two are together, right?”

“Yes, we are.”

He nodded. “He’s more than lucky, I’d say.” He waited until you turned and held his gaze before bidding you a goodbye. He slowed down his horse to ride alongside Rhonda. After a moment, you rode up next to Joel. You offered him a small smile, to which he returned the same.

“What did he want?” Joel nodded his head back in Tim’s direction.

“He was talking about Maria and this mission. He seems skeptical about the whole thing.”

“I don’t blame him, but I trust Maria. What else did he say?” Joel inquired.

“We were just getting to know each other. Small talk really.” You responded. You seldom saw Joel jealous, but you didn’t want him to get into a funky mood when there was a mysterious task at hand to focus on.

“The winds picking up, you feel that?” Jesse chimed. The two of you nodded.

“Yeah. I hope we find this place soon.” You shouted over the howling winds.

“According to the map, there's still a ways to go. Let’s just hope the weather doesn’t get any worse than this.”

Unfortunately for the group, not only did the winds pick up, but it got cloudier, blocking the sun’s warmth. It was hard to tell whether it was snowing or if the wind was just blowing around what had already fallen. Either way, the visibility got progressively lower by the second. At one point, you had become separated from Joel. The only people you could see were Tim and Rhonda. Joel was alone; nothing but white around him. He shouted your name over and over, but the frigid air entering his lungs began to hurt. His horse started to slow down as it became harder for her to gallop through it. Joel had been separated from the group for so long that he thought he was going crazy when he heard crunching in the snow from behind. He heard his name, but it wasn’t from your voice. Jesse came up from behind him. Despite the cold air whipping his face, he seemed happy to see Joel.

“Where are we?” Joel shouted.

“I don’t know, but we have to find somewhere soon. These horses won’t make it.” Jesse replied.

“Did you see (Y/N)?” Joel asked.

“I don’t know where anybody is.” Jesse pulled his hood back over his head. “The storm’s getting worse. Should we turn back?”

“No!” He shouted over the winds. “We came as a group, we leave as a group.”

“What if they already turned back? They’re probably assuming that we’re going to too.” Jesse pleaded.

“I’m not leaving without (Y/N).” Joel retorted. “We just need to find cover to wait out the storm and go on from there.” Jesse quietly followed his lead. There seemed to be no shelter in sight. If there were, they were masked by the white wall of snow directly in front of them. Joel was contemplating pulling out his map and risking it against the wind to estimate how far they rode from their last known point. Just as he began to pull it out,  a big dark building came into view.

“That must be it!” Jesse exclaimed.

“This way!” Joel noticed a large opening on the side of the house. As he galloped closer, he realized it was the opened door of an attached shed. The men ducked their heads as the horses walked them inside.

“Joel!” You exclaimed, voice laced in relief. He immediately looked your way and his heart skipped a beat. He was so worried. You approached his horse and waited for him to dismount before you attacked him with a tight hug. “You’re so cold.” All you wanted to do was strip him down and warm him up.

“Well, it is cold outside.” He responded sarcastically. You lightly slapped him on the arm before moving onto Jesse. You gave him a quick hug and helped tie down both of the horses.

“We’re glad you’re back.” Rhonda announced as she entered the shed. Tim followed close behind her.

“Good. The gang’s all here.” Jesse said.

“We wouldn’t have been if we hadn’t convinced (Y/N) to stay.” Tim began. “She insisted on going back out for you guys when we saw that you weren’t here. We told her that it was too dangerous, but she insisted. Practically had to hold her back.” He chuckled.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” Joel said flatly to Tim.

Breaking up the tension, Jesse spoke up. “Did you guys clear the house?”

“Only the first floor. There’s two more floors, not including the basement.” Rhonda responded.

“Alright, Jesse, Rhonda and Tim. Y’all sweep the top floors for Clickers. Me and (Y/N) will board up them windows over there.” Joel points to the wind entering through the broken glass. Jesse nodded and pulled out his gun. The others did the same.

“Y’all know how to use those things?” Jesse questioned them. Joel didn’t see or hear their answer as he was focused on you.

“Are you okay?” You asked him.

“I’m fine, darlin’. What about you?” He asked with a soft tone.

“I’m good now.” You smiled. He tilted your chin up with his still gloved hand and kissed you. He let his forehead rest on yours for a moment before straightening back up.

“Alright, let’s find some wood or somethin’.” Joel’s body was weary, but he didn’t want to rest until the house was secured. You couldn’t find any tools to board the windows up with, so the two of you settled on barricading them with large furniture. It wasn’t until you were done, did you realize how big the house was. 

“This isn’t just some house, it’s like a manor.” You commented. “Almost reminds me of that hotel.” The last part you said almost in a whisper.

“This ain’t gonna be like the hotel.” Joel tried to comfort you.

“How do you know?” You furrowed your brows.

“Well, how about this, I’ll make you breakfast in bed the morning after we get back if there are zero bloaters in this house...I’m sorry, manor.”

“Well aren’t you naughty, implying that I’ll stay the night when we get back.” You teased, changing the mood of the conversation.

“I’m implying that you’ll consider moving back in.” He gazed at you, all playfulness left behind.

“If you still agree to make me that breakfast in bed, I will.” You replied coyly.

“It’s settled then.” Joel smirked. 

The two lovebirds had just begun to feel each other up when the rest of the group came back downstairs. They would have been caught if it weren’t for Jesse’s heavy footsteps. He gave the all clear but claimed he saw something of interest upstairs and wanted Joel’s opinion. Rhonda, wanting to take note of whatever it was, tagged along with them as they went up to the third floor. With just you and Tim left alone, the two of you agreed to scavenge the second floor.

“Oh wow, look at this!” You walked up to a bookcase in one of the bedrooms. It was tightly stocked with classical literature with matching book spines. 

“Lord of the Flies, The Secret Garden, For Whom The Bell Tolls, Tinker Taylor Soldier Spy…”  Tim followed your voice into the room and read some of the titles from over your shoulder. “Quite the eclectic collection.”

“Oh look! One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” You pointed out.

“Ah, Nurse Ratched. She creeped me out. Almost didn’t finish it because of her.”

“You read it?” You asked.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He chuckled. “I’m a well read man. It's funny, I’ve read more after the outbreak than before.”

Turning back to the bookshelf, you crouched down and ran your finger across the spines. “Look how dusty these are. They look like they haven’t been touched in years. That Jackson Frontier Faction, or whatever Maria said they were called, probably never even touched these.” You continued to read the titles before eventually picking up a book that peaked your interest. “Charlotte Bronte.” You breathed out her name as you flipped the cold, leather book in your hands. “Jane Eyre is one of my favorites. I never wanted to like all that mushy, gushy romantic stuff, but in the end, it appealed to me. You know, sometimes I think of Joel as kind of like my Mr. Rochester because he can be so grumpy at times. Don’t tell him I said that, though.” You chuckled as you turned to face Tim, but he was no longer there. 

The large bedroom was empty and you began to notice just how eerily still the air was. You calling out to him was the only sound. You waited for an answer to no prevail. Turning back to the bookshelf, you placed Jane Eyre back in its slot. With a light, barely there click, the door behind you closed. Slowly, you turned to face it. A sense of dread washed down your body as you got up and walked to the door. Your eyes cautiously bounced around as you did, looking for anything abnormal. It was wide open when the two of you walked into the room. Your hand reached out for the door knob and, barely touching it, the round thing of metal fell onto the floor and rolled around your feet. 

“Hey.” You exclaimed as you banged on the door. “Tim, the doorknob broke off. Let me out.” Your brain allowed you to think that it was all just a prank masterminded by Tim. “You got me, but it’s not funny anymore.” You began to bang louder. You heard the echoes of your fist against the wooden door, but again, he did not respond. “Tim?” You banged harder. “Help!”

“(Y/N), step away from the door.” You heard Joel’s voice on the other side. He gave you a few seconds before kicking the door in. It only took him one try before the door swung in and you were revealed to him. He pulled you into a tight hug. “You alright?” He kissed the top of your head. “How did you get locked in?”

“I’m ok---” 

As soon as he heard that you were fine, he began to bombard you with questions. “You sure? Weren’t you with Tim? Where is he?”

“Yeah, Tim was there for a moment. Look, it was probably just a draft that closed the door on me.” You wanted to believe that. 

“That still don’t change that he should’ve been with you.” Joel sternly said. Jesse watched and waited in the hallway until Joel took your hand and led you out the room. “Tim!” He called out as he sped down the stairs.

“Hey, we’ve been waiting on you guys.” Tim casually stated.

“Well, guess who’s been waitin’ on you.” Joel retorted. He glanced at you before glaring back at him.

“Wait, I don’t get it.” Tim said, confused.

“(Y/N) was locked in a room upstairs. A room both of you were meant to be in.” Joel’s voice became more aggressive.

“I don’t know how she got locked in. I didn’t do it, I swear, if that’s what you’re saying. I left it open when I walked out.” He shifted his gaze to you. “I thought you were right behind me, (Y/N). I heard Rhonda call out from downstairs and---”

“Yeah that’s true,” Rhonda began as she leaned back on an end table. “I went downstairs to look for my pencil sharpener because my tip broke and I called you guys down to keep me company. I don’t know if it’s just me, but this place kinda creeps me out. I didn’t want to be down here by myself and I know Joel and Jesse were busy upstairs so...”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I swear I thought you heard her too and were following me.”

“She was up there for God knows how long. You didn’t notice when you got downstairs that she wasn’t behind you? Did you even tell her that you were leaving the room?” Joel questioned him.

“Well, I mean no,” Tim began to stammer. “But that was because I thought she heard her too! I didn’t notice that she wasn’t behind me until about a minute after I got downstairs. She was having a good time looking at those books in the room, I figured maybe she ignored Rhonda and kept looking or maybe went upstairs with you guys. Look, she’s an adult! I assumed she made the decision herself not to come down. It’s not like she’s some lost child that I have to look out for!”

“She may not be a child, but we look out for each other beyond them gates. You may not be used to how patrollin’ works, but they put us in groups for a reason. Anythin’ can happen out here!” Joel explained.

“Ok, let's take a breather.” Jesse spoke up to relieve the tension. “(Y/N) is fine and that’s all that matters.” Jesse was not immune from Joel’s heated glares either. 

“You didn’t hear me calling for you?” You asked Tim in a low tone.

“No.” He simply said in an apologetic tone. You didn’t know what else to say. It was probably really all just a harmless mistake. You concluded that you didn’t hear Rhonda over your own voice when you were rambling on about Jane Eyre.

“Let’s just make sure we communicate better next time, huh?” Jesse suggested, focusing in on Tim.

A sudden, blood curdling shriek cut through the air. It belonged to Rhonda. She flailed about the living room, shaking tiny black dots off of her hand. It was hard to see as she moved quickly, but the black dots were crawling up her arm. Jesse stepped in and began swatting her with a blanket off of the couch. Her feet hopped up and down from the floor like a choreographed dance. Even after Jesse asked her to stand still to inspect her, she kept moving. Joel stepped in to gently hold her still. She whined in protest, claiming that they were still crawling on her. Tim took the time to thoroughly look over her body for anything that moved. He even raked his fingers through her hair. Jesse walked over to the end table that she was leaning against and investigated.

“There’s a sac of spider eggs directly behind one of the table’s legs. You probably broke them when you leaned against it, releasing all those baby spiders.” Jesse explained calmly.

“They could have crawled anywhere! Why did they have to go for my hand?” Rhonda asked rhetorically.

Still Jesse answered. “Maybe they were crawling toward the scent of their mother.”

“Are you saying they thought I was their mother?”

“I’m saying that the mother must still be around here close by.”

“God! I hate spiders!” Rhonda exclaimed. “I told you this house gives me the creeps. I can’t be the only one who thinks this.”

“Spiders are everywhere, Rhonda. I didn’t see any bites, so you should be alright.” Tim chimed in. 

“What were you guys checking out on the third floor?” You asked Jesse and Joel as a way to change the subject. 

“It ended up bein’ nothing.” Joel said curtly. He saw your dissatisfaction with his answer and sighed. “It turned out to be a couple of dead rats. They were frozen.”

“We haven’t gone down to the basement yet. I think we should make sure it’s clear before we start really scavenging.” Jesse made notice of the oversight. “It’s really cold in here. Can’t we make a fire first?” Tim spoke up.

“I’ll stay and make one here.” Jesse volunteered. “Tim, since you want one so bad, you can stay back and help me with it.” He turned to Joel. “Y’all can go ahead. Let us know if you run into trouble.” Joel nodded and led you and Rhonda down the basement stairs. The temperature dropped almost immediately after making it to the sub level. 

The three of you pulled your respective weapons out and cautiously walked across the cold cement floor. The large basement was divided by metal shelving units. There was no space left on any of them. It seemed like whoever owned the house before the outbreak was a hoarder. The snow blocked out any light from peering through the narrow windows. The only thing guiding the three of you were your flashlights. 

“What’s that?” Rhonda spoke up. It fell silent, but everyone heard it. It was a drawn out creaking followed by a deep rumble that sounded as if it moved across the whole basement.”

“It’s just the house settling.” Joel simply said.

“That’s what they all say. Feeling a draft when there’s no wind. Hearing doors slam in the next room. Oh, but it’s just the house settling.” Rhonda responded.

“Well, did you hear a door slam or feel a draft?” Joel inquired, almost wishing he hadn’t.

“No, but now that you mention it, it’s colder down here than upstairs. This is probably one big cold spot.”

“It’s always colder in basements.” You tried to reason.

The creaking sound occurred again. “Look,” Joel flashed his light up toward the ceiling and moved it along the direction of the pipes. “Whatever water is left in the pipes from when they were last used is freezing which means it’s expanding. As the ice grows, it’s pushing against the walls of the metal pipes.”

Rhonda looked up at the frost covering the illuminated pipes. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Come look at this.” You beckoned them over. You had found a table covered in a sheet and after whispering some encouraging words to yourself, you pulled it off.

“What is it?” Joel asked.

“It’s an orrery.” You breathed out. Despite your amazement, he was no closer to knowing what it was. As a matter of fact he was more confused. Rhonda took out her notebook and began to draw it.

“Its a mechanical model of the solar system.” You explained. To Joel, it just looked like different sized spheres positioned in a circle.

“They don’t look like planets to me.” He said.

“This isn’t the most extravagant one I’ve ever seen, but it’s something.” You walked around the table, studying the spheres. “See, right here, this one is the sun,” You pointed. “Which makes this one Earth.”

“Really makes you feel small, don’t it.” Joel chimed. 

“I know we won’t be able to take this now, but this would be great for school. The kids would love this. Teach them about how space works.” You said.

Joel studied it a little bit longer before moving on to see what were on the shelves. As soon as Rhonda was done drawing, she did the same. You threw the sheet back over the model before continuing on as well. Most of the items were either junk or rotted with mold. On one of the lower shelves, you found a small hand mirror. The base was ornate in design, but the glass itself was dull and cracked. You held it up to your face, angling it in your hands. Something moved in the corner near the crack. You didn’t pay the occurrence much mind until it happened again. You saw something in your peripheral vision that couldn’t be explained away by the house settling. Turning around, you inspected the area of interest in the dark. Everything was still. Whatever it was that moved, maybe it knew that you were watching it, so it stopped. You stood still, hoping to blend into the darkness as well. Maybe you could catch it moving before your very eyes if you just waited long enough. Your heart thumped in your chest as you began to fiddle with the switch on your flashlight. Quickly, you illuminated the space in front of you only to reveal nothing but boxes stacked up against the wall and another item covered in a sheet. Carefully, you approached the cloaked object and ripped the fabric off. You jumped out of your skin at the sight before you. 

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you turned around. “You scared the shit outta me!” You told Joel. He was standing behind you when you pulled the sheet off of a standing mirror. Your light reflecting off the glass masked some of his features and for a moment, you didn’t know exactly who was standing behind you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, darlin’.” He said. This time it was your turn to glare at him. You knew it wasn’t his fault, but your heart was still beating out your chest. “I just came up to check on you. I saw you wandering around in the dark.”

“I’m fine. I just...I thought I----” You stammered through your explanation before being cut off by a loud thump. It went eerily silent. “Rhonda?” 

“Rhonda.” Joel called out as well. There was no response. The two of you searched up and down the makeshift aisles that the shelving units created. You called out for her again. 

“She has to still be down here.” You mentioned.

“Think she pulled a Tim?” Joel suggested.

“No, she wouldn’t do that. God, how is this basement so huge?” He led you to a tunnel-like portion of the room. “Rhonda!” Your light shone on her unmoving form on the ground. You and Joel kneeled beside her. Upon closer inspection, you found blood slowly dripping out from the back of her head. The back of her hair was matted in a mixture of gravelly dirt and the dark red liquid. Joel got back up and flashed his light around the narrow space to see what could have happened.

“Looks like she hit her head on this.” Joel commented. You followed the direction of his light and saw a stack of cement blocks against the wall. The top block had fresh blood painted on the side of it.

“Go get Tim. He needs to help her!” You were scared for her. The blood wasn’t coming out at an excessive rate, but there was still a lot more than you wanted to see on the ground underneath her head. 

Joel began to leave in a hurry, but stopped in his tracks. “Be careful, (Y/N). This is what she must have slipped on.” He said as he shone his light on a patch of black ice on the ground. He moved the light higher and inspected the pipes directly above his head. A frozen over droplet formed around a tiny crack in the cylindrical piece of metal. 

You were scared as you sat alone with her in the basement. Her lips were turning blue and you couldn’t tell if it was because she was dying or because it was really cold down there. You wanted to believe the latter. Either way, she needed to be moved. After what felt like five long minutes, Tim came rushing into the narrow section where you waited. You screamed for him to be careful around the ice. He hopped over the patch and knelt down by Rhonda’s side to assess her head injury. He managed to wake her back up, though she was slipping in and out of consciousness. Tim gently picked her up and walked her upstairs to where the fire was going. Jesse laid a blanket down on the floor in preparation for her. 

There, in the middle of the living room floor, Tim treated Rhonda. He diagnosed her as having obtained a severe concussion. He elevated her bandaged head and gave her a pain killer to swallow. He practically swaddled her in the extra blankets to discourage sudden movement. 

“I’m going to help her eat so her medicine can digest properly. After that, I’m going to ask her a set of basic questions just to see where her brain and motor functions are. Nothing major; her brain definitely needs some time to heal. Despite falling unconscious, the blunt force trauma doesn’t seem to have caused any swelling or permanent brain damage, but like I said, I still have to evaluate her and see where she’s at.” Tim explained. The four of you were huddled together on the other side of the living room to make sure she was out of ear shot.

“If you’re gonna look after her, I reckon the rest of us should finish scavenging. The faster we do this, the faster we can get back home where she can better rest.” Joel stated.

“Given the storm ends soon.” Jesse spoke up.

While the three went up the stairs, Tim went over to his backpack to review his medical supplies. As he rummaged, a drawn out creak sounded from the kitchen. He glanced in the direction of the room despite not being able to see inside. A few moments of silence was followed by a loud bang. Tim glanced back toward the kitchen again. This time, he moved closer to the fire, giving him a better view into the room. His heartbeat quickened as he peaked around the corner. From his angle, nothing suspicious could be seen. He exchanged a worried glance with Rhonda before looking at the staircase. He wanted to see if anybody upstairs had heard. If not coming down to investigate, he figured they would at least shout out to them and ask if they were ok, but there was nothing. 

“I’m going to go see what that was.” Tim said to Rhonda.

“Please don’t.” She replied weakly.

“It’ll be fine, I promise.” 

“No, no, no.” She profusely shook her head. Tim read her face, he knew that she was sincerely frightened, but if there was an impending danger, he needed to know where it was. I would only be gone for a moment, he told her in his head. He pulled his gaze from her and turned the corner. The kitchen appeared completely normal. He was confused. The sound was so close; it had to have come from the kitchen. As a precaution, Tim went into the laundry room located right off the kitchen. 

“(Y/N)? Come here. Wait with me.” Rhonda spoke up, barely above a whisper. She didn’t hear you come down the stairs, but you were in the living room nonetheless. It was good timing as she was too scared to be by herself. “Please?” You hadn’t so much as looked in Rhonda’s direction. You just walked from one end of the room and down the hallway, disappearing from her view. “(Y/N)?”

Rhonda waited for you to come back down the hall. This time you’d be facing her and surely she’d be able to get your attention. Despite calling out again, you never did. Left to her own devices, Rhonda began to think about what you wore when the group left Jackson. She couldn’t completely remember, but the more she thought on it, the more she realized what you wore just a moment ago was different from what you wore earlier today. She never did get a good look at that woman’s face, but she thought it was you by the color of your hair and the height. She wanted it to be you. A wave of shivers ran down her spine as the realization sat in. 

You, Jesse and Joel split up the rooms upstairs to cover more ground, but decided to stay on the same floor to avoid a repeat of what happened earlier. As soon as you were done searching your room, you moved on to the next only to find Jesse. He called you over from the doorway but shushed you as you walked in. You noticed that it was a grand bedroom, similar to the one you were locked in on the second floor. You walked past the four post bed and stood next to him. His ear was to the wall.

“Tell me if it’s coming from here.” Jesse whispered. You heard a faint scratching sound, but it could have been from anything inside the old house. Standing next to him, you mirrored his position and let your ear rest against the cold wall. The scratching sound became more clear as it mingled with a slow, yet distinct clicking sound. The two of you stared at each other. You silently expressed to him that you did in fact hear what he was hearing. You read the question in his eyes, unsure of how to answer: what was behind these walls? This was the last room in the hallway, so there wasn’t much space for anything else. You began to walk backwards with your ear sliding against the wall to follow the sound. Jesse followed your footsteps. When you stopped, there was no more than a half foot distance between you two.

“It’s right here. Right on the other side.” You whispered. Jessed nodded. Subconsciously, you held your breath and stayed like that for a few moments. Suddenly, you jumped at a new sound echoing through the room. It was Joel clearing his throat as he glared between you and Jesse from the doorway.

“What’s this?” Joel asked in a less than impressed tone. His arms were crossed as he walked in further. You hadn’t realized how the proximity in which you stood to Jesse looked from another view point. You knew Joel wasn’t the happiest camper around Jesse, but you also knew that you hadn’t done anything wrong. Quietly, you placed a finger to your lips and pleaded for his silence with your eyes. As he walked closer, you could tell by the curiosity in his face that he heard it too. He made a move to stand in between the two of you, prompting the other man to walk away from the wall. “It’s probably termites or rats. This house is old and falling apart. There’s no tellin’ how many little openings there are.”

“With all due respect, I don’t think it’s rats this time.” Jesse disagreed. “I think we should investigate.”

“What good would that do? There’s nothing beyond these walls! You’ve seen it; there's nothing but the outside. If it ain’t rats, then what is it? We ain’t here to play ghost hunter, alright? We’re meant to be lookin’ for them supplies.” Joel argued. His attention was geared at Jesse, but when there was no rebuttal, he turned to look at you only to find a hint of disappointment in your face.

“Who knows how long we’re gonna be stuck in this house. We may as well while we’re here.” You said. Much to Joel’s dislike, you sided with Jesse. With an exasperated sigh, he agreed under the condition that it wouldn’t take long.

The three of you walked around the room, looking for clues such as holes in the walls for rodents to scurry through. It didn’t take long for you to find a draft coming from behind the armoire. It was as if the large piece of furniture was blocking an opening. The two men moved it out the way to find that it was blocking a crawl space. With the opening exposed, the scratching and clicking became clearer. The three of you were hesitant, knowing that whatever it was making that sound, it was through that small, dark space. You glanced between the two men before volunteering to go in first. You were the smallest, you argued, and could best fit through. Crouching down, you saw that the large hole in the wall was like a tunnel to something deeper in the house but that it also passed the interior of the wall. You let out a deep breath and began to crawl with a knife in your right hand.

With your body only 3/4ths of the way in, you came face to face with the origin of those sounds. You removed your flashlight from your waist and shined it on the clicker. It was so disfigured that you concluded that it had turned many years ago. Remaining completely still, you watched as it slowly clawed at the wall. The scene before you was so abnormal. Never had you seen a clicker move so slow. You eyed the way it was positioned between the walls. It could have found its way out easily if it wanted to. Living for years after the outbreak, you observed how the fungal parasite used its host cleverly to spread its disease. It had probably been there for so long, blocked by the armoire, that its blood lust fell dormant. You continued to watch as its mouth slowly opened to release a few clicking sounds before closing again. You were afraid that as soon as any sudden movements were made, a switch would flip in whatever was left of the  clicker’s brain and it would begin attacking you. While silently weighing your choices, Joel and Jesse noticed that you hadn’t moved for minutes and asked if you were ok at the same time. He gave the younger man a glare before refocusing on your well being. Your eyes immediately went back to the clicker to see if it was disturbed by the sudden sound. Normally, all it took was the tiniest sound of a human voice to activate their savage nature. You watched and waited, but nothing different happened. You let out a deep breath and told the guys you were ok. Despite the thing being closer than you would have liked, it was an easy kill. You told them what had happened before carrying on through the crawl space. The tunnel spilled out into a secret room. It was as big as a walk-in pantry closet or a janitor room. Before you stood up, you shouted behind you for them to follow. It was a tight squeeze, but they did it.

The group had already scavenged valuable odds and ends throughout the house, but this was the jackpot. The walls were lined with nonperishable foods and cases of bottled water stacked up as tall as Joel. Jesse broke the lock on a heavy duty trunk to find it full of weapons and ammunition. There was another trunk with other survival tools like batteries, matches and medical supplies raided from a hospital. The three of you donned huge smiles at the amount of supplies that was discovered. With Rhonda injured, you pulled out your own notebook and marked everything that was inside the room while the other two filled their bags up to the brim to take what they could.

Downstairs in the laundry room, Tim found nothing out of the ordinary. It made no sense to him. Was it all a prank; something the rest of the group was doing to initiate him into the patrol job? Or was it all in his head? He knew it wasn’t that; he wasn’t crazy. Just as he turned to walk back into the kitchen, he heard the loud bang again. It came from the same place he investigated just moments ago.

“Rhonda, did you hear…” He shouted out as he walked into the kitchen. He stopped mid sentence when he saw the disarray before him. All the drawers were pulled out and all the cabinet doors were opened. His body froze in fear. The only thing that moved were his eyes as he watched a mouse scurry between the cupboards. For no good reason at all, he was overcome with a feeling to not look behind him as if there was something there waiting to reveal itself in the laundry room.

“Tim!” Joel shouted from the living room. He was still scared, but hearing his voice snapped him out of that debilitating fear. Quickly, he made his way out the kitchen. Without warning Joel pushed him against the living room wall and held his arm against Tim’s throat to keep him in place. “Where the hell were you?” Joel asked aggressively. “We come down here to find Rhonda crying and bleeding through her bandages.” Tim’s eyes, bulged out, danced across the room before landing on the wounded woman. You were holding her in your arms.

“C’mon. Ease up. He gets it.” Jesse gently rested his hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“No, I don’t think he does.” He replied over his shoulder before looking back at Tim. “When you said you were gonna look after her, I figured you meant it. I thought we’d been over this, Tim.” He glared daggers into the medic’s eyes, but he was only met back with fear. Assuming that he was the cause, Joel finally let go. Tim scurried to another corner of the living room to gather himself. 

“I saw her...it...whatever that thing was!” Rhonda spoke up raspily. “I called out to her, thinking it was you. I thought you’d left me, but then she came back. Not once did she look at me, but she paced the living room and each time she walked back, she got closer to me. I told her to stay away, but she didn’t listen; she kept coming closer. I tried to crawl away, but I got dizzy and my vision got blurry.” She began to weep again. “So I closed my eyes and counted to ten, like my Nana taught me when I was little. Then I heard you guys come down the stairs. When I opened my eyes, all I saw was you. The real you. She was gone. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rhonda.” Tim hoarsely apologized. “I...I was gone because there was this sound. A huge bang. You guys didn’t hear that?” Joel only offered a blank glare while you and Jesse shook your heads. “It had come from the kitchen. It was only right there, so I figured it was close enough for me to see what it was. Just in and out.”

“Well, it wasn’t in and out was it?” Joel questioned.

“That’s the thing. When I went into the kitchen, I couldn’t find anything out of place; nothing to have made such a noise.”

“I told you not to go in there.” Rhonda said in a low tone.

“I saw that there was another room right off of the kitchen. I decided to investigate that while I was in there. I meant to be quick.” Tim explained, meeting no one’s eyes in particular. “I...I...I swear to you, my back was to the kitchen, and when I turned back around, the whole thing was a mess.” You continued to hold Rhonda as she shivered while Jesse and Joel rounded the corner into the kitchen. Things were a mess, yes, but in the way a house this dilapidated would be.

“I don’t get it.” Jesse whispered to Joel.

“I know you couldn’t have expected this place to be immaculate.” Joel said to Tim. The medic followed them into the kitchen and looked around with his mouth agape.

“It wasn’t like this. The...the cabinet doors were open! All of them! And the drawers. All pulled out! I mean what could have done that all at once in the matter of seconds?”

“Your mind maybe.” Jesse answered. 

Tim shook his head. “I saw it with my own eyes.” He whispered. 

“Whatever it was, it’s gone now.” Joel concluded.

“Yeah, I vote we call it a night and settle around the fire. Tomorrow morning, we will collect as much as we can upstairs and prepare to leave.” Jesse suggested.

“Right, we meant to tell you guys, we found the cache!” You began excitedly. “You should have seen it. It wasn’t as extravagant as when the kids found the pirate ship in The Goonies, but it was just as special. Everything in there is everything we need.”

Rhonda’s weeping quieted down into whimpers as she was comforted by the idea that they would get to leave soon. Tim acknowledged your words with only a nod. His mind was still on the house and all the tricks it's played since the group arrived. Was the woman that Rhonda spoke about all in her head. He was quick to think so on account of her head injury. For her it was easy to explain away, but what about himself? He wasn’t a doctor of psychology, but he was familiar with the idea. He felt fine and had no idea how he could have made something up that played with more than one of his senses. 

Tim volunteered to take the first shift of keeping watch, determined to catch whatever was messing with him. His plan was to wake the others up as soon as something happened so they could see what he had saw. The exhaustion he felt, however, played against him and he dozed off. When he came to, the living room was shrouded in darkness. The makeshift pit in the middle of the living room floor was nothing but ash. His mind raced as his thoughts went back to that elusive woman Rhonda was haunted by. He was so engulfed with fear that he couldn’t tell if what he was hearing was the whistling wind seeping through the cracks of the barricaded windows or the whispers of a woman. He looked at all the sleeping forms and wanted so badly to wake someone up to keep watch with him, but selflessly chose against it. Sitting there, his eyes flickered to every corner of the room, waiting for something to happen. He waited for so long that he forgot to wake Jesse up for his shift to keep watch. It wasn’t until the little rays of sunshine poked through did Tim realize how long he’d stayed awake for. There was something about the light that comforted him. He mustered enough courage to get up and stretch his legs before waking up the rest of the group. 

Joel peaked behind one of the barricades and saw that the blizzard had finally passed. Despite that, there was a significant amount of snow left on the ground. The group wasted no time in doing as they agreed last night. The bad feeling that each of them got coupled with Rhonda’s injury, quickened their pace. After packing what they could carry, the group grabbed their horses and made a slow trek through the snow back to Jackson, leaving the dark manor in their wake. 

[atiny-ahgase]

Sweet Dreams

Author’s Note: I started this with no direction but I somehow still really like it. IDK I think it’s kinda cute. I intended for it to be more like a drabble but I don’t really think that it is...oh well. Also, I tried my best to make the reader both gender-neutral as well as to remove any words that would cause you to assume the ethnicity and race of the reader. I’m still really new to writing so if I slipped up on any of these attempts please let me know. I’m trying my best.

Side Note: This will be my first work since my 2 week-long Writer’s Block. I honestly still have it but I also really wanna write something...It’s soo frustrating.- Gabby.

Summary: Feeling overwhelmed and stress from work threatens to rid you of your sanity your only source of calm in this otherwise hectic world, Mingi, is busy at work preparing for the Ateez comeback. You don’t want to burden him but what are you to do when the breath easier beside him?

Pairing: Mingi x Gender Neutral reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Contains Fluff, Angst, Idol x Reader, Gender Neutral Reader, (Not really sure what else).

-----------------------------------------

You lightly hissed as the warm water cascaded down your aching body, engulfing your muscles with liquid bliss. Work had been the most demanding this week than it had been in a while. The workload wasn’t that much but you were already understaffed as it was and your demanding boss wasn’t helping to soothe the stress and anxiety brewing within you with all the work that still needed to be done. You needed a break but with the deadline fast approaching, no way was that going to happen.

Softly sighing you turned off the steady stream of water before grabbing your towel; relishing in the feeling of the plush fabric embracing your body. You walked out of the restroom entering your bedroom before collapsing on to your bed; the plush mattress beginning to absorb the moisture from your shower. As you sink into your mattress your mind begins to wander to your only spark of light in an otherwise seemingly dismal world; formally known as Mingi. How was he doing? You hadn’t seen or spoken to him in a while and it honestly showed in your demeanour. You were always much calmer after speaking with him. Each laughed that slipped past his lips took with it all of your worries.

You had both met at a coffee shop not too far away from your office building. After ordering your drink you scrolled through your phone waiting for your order to be called. Not long after your order was called and you approached the register extending your hand to retrieve your coffee. Unbeknownst to you, the stranger beside you seemed to be doing the same thing. Both of you appeared to be unaware until you grasped his hand over the coffee cup.

“Sorry”, you shakily replied pulling your hand away from the beverage while looking up at the man standing beside you. The warmth from your hand seemed to spread to your cheeks in a matter of seconds. You felt like you were looking up at the sun. His existence alone seemed to brighten up the drab and dull decor of the local coffee shop threatening to blind you if you looked too long. How could one person be that bright? 

A cluster of gentle curls adorned his head landing lightly across his forehead. He wore round-rimmed glasses which just drew your attention straight to his warm brown eyes, they looked so welcoming. They reminded you of the homemade toffee you would make with your grandparents, soft, sweet and warm. A small chuckle escaped his mouth directing your focus to his lips which immediately curled up into a bright smile forcing his eyes to all but disappear. The sight alone causing you to smile in response.

It was strange, the smile felt so natural to you although you’ve rarely found a reason to smile lately. The weight of the world had reshaped your once bright smile into a frown that even your greatest efforts could not mend so you decided to give up. To stop wasting your time on the happiness that somehow always seemed to evade you.

But now you where you are in a crowded cafe, smiling like an idiot at a complete stranger who didn’t even say anything remotely funny. That’s it; your boss had literally driven you to madness. That was the only sensible explanation for your unwarranted happiness.

“You can have it; I’ll just wait for the other one,” he spoke, bringing you back to reality. “Oh no I couldn’t ask you to do that,” you responded arms raising in protest.

“What kinda gentleman would I be if I let a gorgeous person like yourself wait in line?” he defends while sliding the cup over to you. Failing to keep your heart in check you can already feel your ears heating up much hotter than any coffee you’d ever consumed. Cheezy pick-up lines like that had never made you react this way before so why now?

Maybe because it didn’t feel like a pickup line, it felt more like he was just talking to you, no strange ulterior motive he was authentically being nice. Yet another interaction that you were not used to. Deciding on taking him up on his kind offer you mumbled a small “Thank you” before taking a sip of the coffee, the liquid feeling cold in comparison to the warm feeling flooding your cheeks.

“You know waiting in line is a lot more fun when you have someone to talk to”, you smiled up at him, enjoying the warm feelings you got from his interactions. You wanted to hold on to the conversation just a little while longer. With so many conflicts currently going on at work, it felt nice to have even a semi-decent conversation with someone whether it was with a stranger or not.

Somewhere along the line, that chance meeting turned into planned meetings which turned into him showing up at your apartment unannounced with snacks and now you don’t know what to do with yourself. You’ve gotten so used to seeing him that these past few days have been absolute torture. He and the rest of Ateez were working on their comeback and you know that Mingi must be just as exhausted as you if not more exhausted and you don’t want to burden him with your problems. But you miss him so much. 

Everything in your apartment reminded you of him. From the collection of hoodies that you’ve “accumulated’ in your closet to the faint smell of lavender that seemed to have remained on the cushion, he would usually sit on. They all just served as constant reminders that he was not there. A loud sigh leaves your lips as you will yourself to get dressed not wanting to be consumed by your own thoughts.

-----

Your entire evening just consisted of you dragging yourself all over your apartment in a futile attempt to be productive when in reality all you wanted to do was curl up beside Mingi on your couch; head nuzzled into his neck, hands grasping his shirt which would always smell like fresh Lavender. He’d hold you tightly as if you were the most precious person in his life, one arm around your waist drawing gentle circles while the other gently stroked your hair.

You close your eyes remembering all of the sweet nothings he would whisper in your ear and with every word you could feel the stress and anxiety leave your body and in its place would be that warm feeling that somehow always seemed to accompany you whenever Mingi was around.

His presence was like that of a storm; washing away the debris that seemed to settle on your heart, nourishing the withering roses of your soul, revitalizing the rivers that gave life to your otherwise dull eyes. His smile alone provided the single ray of light you needed to see your way through whatever you were facing, guiding you back to his warm embrace. And now that he wasn’t there you wondered how you ever walked on your own. Every step that you took felt ten times heavier because he wasn’t there beside you.

You sink further into the couch simultaneously diving deeper into your head when the blaring of your cell phone ringing forces you out of your thoughts. Not bothering to look at the caller ID you press the answer button just glad for a distraction to keep your mind occupied.

“Hello,” you answer in the best fake cheerful voice you can muster up. “Hey y/n”, you hear a sleepy Mingi grumble on the other line. His voice was a lot deeper when he was tired but even with that, you could still sense the hint of happiness that laced every word that escaped his lips. He truly was the personification of sunshine. “Sorry to be calling you this late I just really needed to hear your voice”, he continues. 

You feel a ping in your chest as you try your best to steady your breathing, his words always went straight to your heart. Mingi was always the honest type, he would never shy away from anything he had to say and even though you really loved and admired that about him; you couldn’t help but blush anytime he said things like that to you. “Will you tell me about your day?” he inquired before some faint shuffling was heard on the other end.

“I’d rather hear about yours,” you reply; not wanting to ruin his mood with your problems. “But if I do all the talking how will I get to hear your sweet voice?” he whines into the phone. You chuckle softly to yourself, imagining the way he would wave his arms in the air when he didn’t get what he wanted. You sighed before muttering a soft “You asked for it” before taking him through your entire day. You couldn’t help but give in to his every request, his childlike glee made you want to spoil him. He softly hummed listening to you recap the events of your day only speaking when he was sure that you were finished. Feeling a weight lift off your shoulders you laid on the couch, exhaustion quickly replacing the stress that once filled your body.

You always did feel the most at ease when Mingi was with you, and even though he wasn’t physically there didn’t stop your mind from melting into the calm sea that was his voice. Each word he spoke crashed on to the shores of your heart retreating only to remove the pain and frustration left there by others. The rhythm of his cascading waves sang a song straight to your soul; like a gentle lullaby, it cradled you until you were consumed with sleep. As you laid there falling deeper and deeper into a much-deserved slumber; you could faintly hear the slow and subtle breathing of the idol on the phone.

Sweet dreams Mingi.

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Word Prompt #10 - NSFW

Word: Honorific WIP: Thriving series CW: 18+ only, my fellow humans(?), for this is…not in any way safe for work whatsoever. Word Count: 1,922 Additional Notes: This is directly following up another WP piece of mine, Beard, and uh yeah. Also, I’m kinda glad I originally pulled this cuz I made a few minor changes to it.

***

Possibly two feet from the bedroom door was when Warren realized he was in the midst of experiencing the most difficult anticipatory moments of his life, and he glanced from his bags in Thrive’s arms up to the beautiful beard growth over the sharp angles of his jaw, the silver pin keeping the small bun of hair in place, and wanted so badly to knock the luggage out of his clutches and throw himself at him right in the middle of the hallway.

Thrive, however, had slightly different plans. He allowed Warren into the bedroom first, kicked the door closed behind him, and set the bags on the floor at his feet. Then from all but nowhere shot his hand to grab Warren’s throat and shove him back into the wall with barely restrained effort.

“Oh, fuck,” Warren managed to gasp before Thrive silenced him by claiming his mouth, the urgency of their kiss very apparent right off the bat. Warren pulled him closer by the hips, slid his hands up his back, clutched him around the ribs, weak in the knees from letting Thrive run his tongue over his bottom lip while simultaneously giving his mind permission to curl around his psyche, to return home where it was familiar and warm.

Warren reached up to remove the pin holding Thrive’s hair together, and he couldn’t even pull away to get a look at it as he was too busy reeling from the thigh that had made its way between his legs and the fingers creeping their way into his hair. Somewhat luckily, their mental connection allowed him to foresee it when Thrive decided to grip his mahogany locks and tug his head to the side, grazing his teeth over his throat and inhaling deeply.

“Hmm,” he murmured, and Warren could feel his husky timbre vibrating in his sternum. Thrive pressed his mouth to Warren’s ear. “This smell is unfamiliar.”

Heat roiled in Warren’s stomach and all of the blood in his head made a quick and terrible nosedive in the complete opposite direction. “This smell is possibly a whole month of being in the wilds of Logoryt.”

“We’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?” Thrive said, his voice barely a whisper as he deftly moved down the succession of Warren’s shirt buttons with one hand. “You and I both know the only scent that should be on your skin is mine.”

He’d growled the last word and Warren’s knees nearly buckled, though the thigh between his legs did a good job keeping him upright. “This is…probably the most functionally deficient I’ve ever been in my life—”

Thrive kissed him again, his beard barely scratching against his face, and it only became clear that he’d finished unbuttoning Warren’s red and gray flannel when his fingers found the strained zipper of his jeans and he dusted his knuckles across the swollen shape.

Warren, who’d been touch-starved for about an entire year, quickly pressed Thrive’s hand to himself and kept him still, biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. “Ah…careful. I’m a bad gust of wind away from ending this whole thing.”

Thrive’s eyes glittered with a thought. “Is that so….”

Warren didn’t even have the chance to confirm before Thrive sank to his knees, popping his jeans open and releasing him in one fluid movement. He curled an arm around the underside of Warren’s thigh and pinned him against the wall.

“Hey, now, wait a minute, wasn’t I supposed to be the one—OH! My fucking god—” Warren’s head smacked the wall upon Thrive’s mouth enveloping him, and it was all he could do not to buck forward, though that proved moot once Thrive’s other hand gripped his hip to keep him still. “Yeah, shit, I can't—”

“You can,” Thrive said against him, tightly squeezing him and inciting an inconsequential amount of pain to keep him in check. “And you will.”

Warren took a few deep breaths through his nose, his legs already shaking. “I’m gonna die here and it’s your fault.”

Thrive slid his hand up Warren’s stomach and stroked him slowly, angling a crooked grin in his direction. “What a way to go.”

Warren ran his fingers through Thrive’s chin-length hair and cradled the back of his head well into finding himself back in his mouth, screwing his eyes shut and simultaneously enjoying the sensations and doing his absolute best to keep himself going for just a little longer.

“Okay,” he panted, cupping Thrive’s face as a warning. “Okay, okay, okay….”

Thrive pulled back, but instead of stopping, he continued to stroke him, watching him intently. He used his other hand to flip his hair to one side and made direct eye-contact with Warren. “I don’t think you realize who’s in charge this morning.”

With a loud groan and a sharp cant of his hips, Warren writhed against the wall, full-body shivers overwhelming him and practically uprooting him as Thrive encouraged everything out of him. His limbs turned to jelly and he didn’t notice Thrive had begun to remove his jeans for him altogether.

“God,” Warren said forcefully. “I think I gotta leave home more often….”

Thrive stood. “Bed.”

Blinking away his lightheadedness, Warren glanced at him. “I dunno if I can walk, babe.”

Thrive curled his fingers around him again, causing him to inhale sharply and hiss through clenched teeth. “…You will address me by my honorific.”

Warren groaned again. “Mm…sorry…Your Majesty.”

“Get on the bed.”

He sat on the edge, watching Thrive carefully remove his cape and peel off the few layers of his robes and flushing a deep crimson when his hair caught the light of the sun through the window.

“On your stomach,” Thrive ordered.

Warren shivered again, doing as instructed. “Wanna get this thing out of the way?” he asked, tugging the collar of his shirt.

Thrive rummaged around the drawers of Warren��s dresser. “No.”

The fabric of his bedspread made Warren’s sensitive skin tingle. “I gotta say this is kinda hitting on a fantasy of mine,” he said sheepishly. “I’ve spent years daydreaming about you, uh, dominating me and….” He scratched his temple. “The choking thing was really doin’ it for me.”

“The idea of me breaking you in half arouses you?”

“Fuck yes,” Warren laughed. “Yeah, exactly. The fact that you could is like…combined with the fact that you’re super smart is just….”

Thrive had meandered back over to the bed. “Talk more of what turns you on about me.”

“So many things,” Warren said, fully aware of the snap of a bottle opening and the scent of synthetic peach filling the air, and his gut tightened in response to the bed sinking beneath his knees. “Your eyes are so gorgeous, the way you talk to me sometimes is so hot, and your body….” He dropped his head to the mattress when he felt a hand at the small of his back. “…Is incredible.”

“This is not my body, Warren,” Thrive murmured.

Warren clutched the bedspread with tight fists as Thrive’s coated fingers found their target and sent a wave of electricity through him. “Yeah…yeah, I know that….”

“If I were to become natural at this very moment, would you still feel as unraveled and vulnerable as you do now?”

Warren couldn’t hold back the laugh that burst forth from him again. “If you became natural right now while you’re doing what you’re doing I would actually explode without further prompting.”

There was a curious pause from Thrive as he continued to touch Warren, hot palm caressing his back and the curve of his backside as his other hand prepped him. “…That is good to know.”

Warren’s grip on the bedspread only tightened when Thrive pulled him back by the hem of his shirt, then his hips and sheathed himself within him. “Ah, god….”

“Up,” Thrive grunted, and with his help Warren pushed himself upward so Thrive could wrap an arm around his midsection and hold him tight to his chest, finding a pace that drew the most sounds out of him. He tugged on Warren’s earlobe with his teeth. “Right…I’m not letting you out of this house again.”

Warren’s head dropped back onto a broad shoulder, his emotions swirling together with Thrive’s. “I…can’t see myself arguing with that at the moment….”

The sun eventually reached its peak in the sky and Thrive flipped Warren onto his back, his hand once again tight but safe around his throat, and Warren hooked his legs around Thrive’s waist for leverage, and between all of that and the fact that they were in full view of anyone who happened to fly by the window at that time—

“Oh, fuck, Thrive,” Warren groaned, overwhelmed with heat and the rise of pleasure in their mental connection.

“Say it,” Thrive growled.

“Your Majesty—!”

Thrive arched himself over Warren and threw a dark leg over his shoulder, rolling his hips into him a few times before Warren couldn’t contain himself any more and let go, pulling Thrive’s face down to kiss him hard and dig his nails into the flesh of his back, releasing cries of ecstasy that he was suddenly glad no one else was in the house to hear.

Slowing to a stop, Thrive smoothed Warren’s hair down on his head and instantly collapsed beside him, holding him in his arms as Warren came down from his euphoric state.

“Holy shit,” Warren panted, throwing an arm over his face to hide the tears streaming down the sides of his head. “That was so fucking amazing….”

Thrive stroked the side of his face. “You’re alright?”

“I’m shaking….” Warren held his hands up to look at them and chuckled. “God, yeah, I’m great.”

“Was it too much for you?”

“No. No…no, you could’ve even pushed harder, to be honest.”

“I worry about hurting you.”

Warren turned his head to look Thrive in the eye, a bit taken aback. His chest heaved with his efforts to catch his breath. “I mean, everyone’s got a limit, but…a little pain isn’t too bad. Is it?”

Thrive linked his and Warren’s hands together and brought his knuckles up to his lips. “As long as you’re fine with what transpired here.”

“Are you?”

“Truthfully, I only had you in mind.” Thrive shook his head to keep his hair out of his face, and he smiled when Warren raked his nails through his beard. “I only ever have you in mind.”

He dropped his head low to meet Warren in another kiss.

“Damn,” Warren whispered. “I’m so glad to be home.”

“Well,” Thrive replied, “I very slightly meant what I said about keeping you here. It’s always a ruin to contentment without you at my side at all times.”

They lay in quiet for a moment, gazing into each other, and Warren held his face in his hands.

“Let’s do this again,” he murmured. “But keep looking at me just like that.”

Thrive obliged him, and they spent the rest of the day in bed, making up for lost time, until Warren had nothing left within him to spend, and the start of the sunset called for a long nap in each others’ arms with the view of the three moons of Tournaltis curving across the sky and the waking desert lights bobbing over the distant shore.

“Love you, Your Majesty,” Warren mumbled sleepily beneath Thrive’s jaw.

Thrive tucked a hand comfortably into the waistband of Warren’s sweatpants at the small of his back. “Love you as well, Your Highness.”

Warren smiled against his skin.

***

NSFW tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @pertinax--loculos @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @biscottibitch @drabbleitout  @holidaysong

[shmisolo]

I wanted to post the things I’ve made this year in one place.  I haven’t posted most of them over here—largely because I’m not tumblring a lot these days.  But I made a lot this year—both visual and written—that I’m proud of and wanted to share it out.  You can find this post also in tweet form here!

Happy 2020, Reylo friends!  It’s been a wild ride of a year, and mine couldn’t have been what it has been without you.

Visual

Alternate TROS Ending Gifset | World Between Worlds Graphic | Padmé quote gifset | Hadestown AU |  Alfa Gifset | ManDADlorian Video | Rey & Dark Rey Gifset 1 | Rey & Dark Rey Gifset 2 | Rey & Padmé Gifset | Rey Gifset 1 | Rey Gifset 2 | Rey Gifset 3 | Rey Gifset 4 | Rey Gif | Trailer Gifset 1| Trailer Gifset 2 | Trailer Gifset 3 | Kylo’s Karaoke Night Playlist | Graphic for lwaboc for @kylorenvevo | Graphic for Heart’s Flight | Graphic for YTCShepard | Gifs for Sugar, Honey, Honey for YTCShepard | Gifs for @sciosophia | Game of Thrones AU Graphic | Luke Gifset

Oneshots

Investiture for @misscoppelia

In which Ben goes to daven for his father’s yahrtzeit and manages to prove to himself once again that he is both a terrible person and a terrible Jew.

Oh and he sort of falls in love.

baby you can drive my car for @talltig

They call them “soulmates.” Probably because it leaves less of a sting in their mouths.

The Kitchen for flypaper_brain

Rey and Ben, hunting for their first house.

alone with a heart meant for you for @nuanceismyjam

Ben orders Grubhub; Rey's car breaks down.

myosotis for @rissanox

Ben picked the flowers for their wedding.

and beyond for @lilithsaur

“Please?”

For a moment, he thinks it will be like the first time, him begging, her crying and saying no and him not knowing how to protect his crushed heart.

But she doesn’t cry, she doesn’t say, “Please don’t go this way,” she doesn’t look horrified or disgusted. She just grabs him by the front of his shirt and tugs his lips down to hers before reaching down to cup his cock.

You, Me, and He for @rissanox, @persimonne, and @misscoppelia

When they say that Kylo's brain is in his groin, they're not far from the truth.

Alternatively,

In which Kylo Ren is his own penis.

Bliss, Balance and Birth for @selunchen​

Ben teaches their daughter to read.

💦💦💦💦

In which Ben accidentally implies that he gets his cardio from having sex on national television.

Favorites for @lilithsaur

In which Matt is preoccupied in getting Daisy the perfect token of his love on this, the two month anniversary of her agreeing to be his girlfriend.

A Trash Triplets AU.

Gotta Get Up, Gotta Get Out | Moodboard

“Listen asshole,” Rey says as she steps through the door of Poe’s deli. “You have exactly as long as it takes me to buy these cigarettes.”

Ben doesn’t waste a second breathing. “Metaphysically speaking, you and I are intrinsically and inexplicably linked,” he starts because there’s no time for beating around the bush and besides, Rey can sniff out a lie like no one else. “And I'm convinced our true purpose is to to connect with each other, if not help save each other's lives.” She’s opening her wallet and handing Poe a ten. “In another world, hopefully you are doing the same for me.”

The Other Thing for @persimonne

That’s what they don’t warn you about, he thinks idly. In his DesEd class, they’d warned him about knots, and heats, and ruts, and nesting. But they’d never warned him that her home would smell so much like her, like everything he’s ever wanted, that he would be unable to extricate himself.

“Can you make it a little more interesting in like...thirty minutes?” he asks her.

She pulls away and he immediately regrets saying a damn word.

“I could make that work,” she replies dryly. “I’ll pencil you in.”

A for... for @loveofescapism

Rey’s seeing double by the time there’s food on her plate. Oh. There’s food on her plate. That’s good. That’s unexpected at this point. “Eat,” Ben tells her.

So she does. It tastes good. Very good. She likes this food a lot.

“I’ll make sure she knows,” Ben says.

Oh she’s at that point of drunk where she’s just saying things out loud instead of keeping them in her internal monologue.

“You are,” Ben says, looking very amused.

She hopes she doesn’t say anything embarrassing.

“I promise, you haven’t yet, but oh boy, I’m looking forward to this.”

She shoves food into her mouth to keep herself from thinking out loud about his dick in her ass at his mother’s Passover seder.

do or do not (do the do)

In which Ben, in an effort to improve his stamina (look he's making progress, ok?) after reading some articles that he'll never be able to unread, receives some coaching (that he very much did not ask for).

(Very much did not ask for.)

(Not) Interested for @thewayofthetrashcompactor, @monsterleadmehome, @destiniesfic, yuktipatipriya

We're bringing Speed Dating back to Space Battles Bonanza! Register online for one of our special Bonanza sessions of 15 three-minute dates so you’ll no longer have to look for love in a galaxy far far away. Choose from one of seven speed dating sessions, two of which are queer focused. If the Insurgents can blow up the Doom Moon in 11 minutes, let’s see if you can make a love connection in only three.

There’s a history of successful Speed Dating at Space Battles Bonanzas, with long-term couples, engagements and marriages now among the alumni.

--

In which Rey & Kylo meet at their fancon's speed dating.

Never Die for @avamarga

Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise? I thought not. It’s not a story the Jedi would tell you.

Forged for @reyloner

There are several reasons that Ben would never have dreamed he’d ever receive this text. The first is that he’d be invited to a Halloween party. The second is that he’d never in his life expected to be in a serious relationship, much less the sort of serious relationship where his partner would suggest matching Halloween costumes. And the last is that he is dating someone who’s show only and they’ve only almost murdered one another twice. Because he’s an A Song of Ice and Fire fan. He hates Game of Thrones.

and getting caught in the rain for @kylorenvevo

What's the point of going to a family wedding if you're not going to hook up with your newly rediscovered brother's baseball coach?

A Picture's Worth for @selunchen

reyjay: hiya your art is amazing

reyjay: it’s a big ask but could you draw me for my art final tomorrow? i’m shit at drawing people and i can’t fail this. can you help?

He stares.

And stares.

And stares.

kyloren: is this some kind of a joke?

reyjay: no?? why??

kyloren: you’re asking me to help you cheat your exam, but you’re not even offering me money?

Bang for your Buck

“We ready?” he asks her, sounding huffy.

“Nice to meet you Ben, I’m just familiarizing myself with your training,” she replies.

“Ok, well I don’t have all day.”

“No, you have,” she checks her watch, “another hour.” Because of course he’d booked an extra long session. Bless that sweet, sweet overtime pay.

“And you’re sure you know what you’re doing?” he asks her and she glances up at him, sure that her eyes are flashing because that’s fucking rude. She’s a professional. Amilyn wouldn’t have hired her if she didn’t know what she’s doing, and just because he apparently thinks he’s the center of the universe doesn’t change that fact.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your bang for your buck,” she tells him icily.

Two to Tango

Rey: I need to ask you something awkward. Ben: What’s up? Rey: Can I give you a blowjob? Please?

atlanta > all atlanta > community > missed connections for @sand-its-everywhere

In which Rey meets a cosplayer at DragonCon.

Sonsick (I'll fall for you soon enough) for @jeenonamit & YTCShepard

Sheev and Snoke share a moment at the country club.

A Thousand Words for @monsterleadmehome | Moodboard

In which, some years later, Ben encounters someone he drew for nudes.

Truth and Death written for this year’s @reylofanfictionanthology

Ben opens the box. Inside, he sees the charred remains of a helmet.

------------

She is made of sand-turned-clay, where other moving creatures are made of flesh and blood. Their skin cracks in the dry Jakku sun just like hers, but they are alive in their organs.

Rey is alive in a different way.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year written with @jeenonamit | Moodboard

Rey convinces Ben--and his sentient penis--to go with her to a Halloween party.

What could go wrong?

(Working title: "Dicklo 2: Electric BOO-galoo")

Shalom Rav! for @jeenonamit | Moodboard

In which Rey comes to terms realizing that she is attracted to the rabbi.

when the stars and moon align just so for @capaldisrighteyebrow

Songs spoke of red stars on nights that blood was shed. Stars bled too when the great fell. There were no red stars tonight. The stars did not bleed for Snoke.

Would they bleed for Ben?

She swallowed.

Because despite his own words—that he served his master (master, as though he were a draft horse to be yoked and plow the fields of men), that he would give everything to his master, she had seen doubt in his eyes that night, three years ago, when the stars and moon had aligned just so.

oh, my love, don't forsake me (take what the water gave me) for @reyloner and @loveofescapism

Their sabers clashed, humming in the spray, and Rey's heart was in her throat the entire time.

it’s you and me (i know it’s our destiny) | Moodboard

It’s just a kid’s game, he thinks when jealousy pangs in his heart. But it’s more than just a kid’s game.

It’s Pokémon.

It’s the only good thing in his life.

will you come when i call you (i’ll come when you call me) | Moodboard

Surely when Snoke had connected them, he hadn’t connected them like this.  

—

@reylo_prompts: “Due to the Force bond Rey and Ben always come simultaneously. Now they need to figure out how not to do that since it can result in awkward situations.”

The Sweater Curse for @jeenonamit & @commandercrouton

She’s never made a sweater before, but she saw the pattern on Ravelry and who cares if she’s only made (lumpy) hats before—she has to try it.  She has to make it. She has to make it for Ben.

“You realize that Hannukah isn’t an important holiday, right?” Ben asks as she makes eye contact with him.  His eyes are big and brown and—at this moment—mildly annoyed.

“Really?  Is it a giant conspiracy theory?  Part of the war on Christmas?”

“More than you realize,” Ben says and for the life of her she can’t tell if he’s joking.  He does this thing sometimes that’s confusing—where he’ll say something that sounds mopey but is actually snarky and it disarms her every damn time.  “In any event, ugly Hanukkah sweaters definitely aren’t a thing the way ugly Christmas sweaters are.”

“Well, they are now,” Rey says firmly.  “I’m making you an ugly Hanukkah sweater.  Deal with it. And stop moving.”

Ours Is The Fury for @reyloner & @commandercrouton

Rey was tasked with taking Storm's End for her king. She defeated the Storm King Snoke in the Rainwood, but when she proceeded to the castle itself, preparing for a long siege, things did not go to plan.

Seen ✔️✔️ for @ever-so-reylo | Graphic

His lock screen has three texts from Rey on it:

Rey Wife: Babe I know you’re probably busy right now, but you sent that pic to the wrong chat. Rey Wife: Bennnnnnn Rey Wife: Call me when you’re done processing your trauma.

And then about ninety chats from the Skywalker Ranch WhatsApp thread.

--

In which Ben sends a picture to the wrong chat.

With you, Always for @jeenonamit, @nuanceismyjam, and YTCShepard 

Rey's boyfriend is now a Force ghost but they're sure as fuck gonna try fucking anyway.

Chaptered Fics

we decided not to kill the wolves (we wanted to be wolves) for @nerdherderette | Complete | Moodboard

A pack of wolves lives in the woods to the north of Raddus and as winter looms, they have their eyes set on Leia Organa’s stronghold. Rey may be new to Raddus, but she’s not about to do nothing while it may be in danger. And besides, Poe must be exaggerating about wolves the size of bears. She’s not afraid of monsters.

Carry In My Core (That Voice I Adore) | Complete | Moodboards

Starring in her first opera would be stressful as is, but Rey, always one to outdo herself, just had to go and make things even more complicated with Kylo Ren. It’s hard enough looking him in the eye, much less pretending to be in love with him. She can make it through this. She has made it through worse. She can make it through this.

shadow boxes | Complete

Just because they aren’t together, doesn’t mean they’re not in love.

anyway you want to (anyway you've got to) | Complete

But you know she's getting something other Than the love from her mother

A Porn Challenge in which your author makes Rey and Ben bone their way through the month of February.

words like tomorrow (or future, or fate) for @haloren1st​ & @staticcatfish​ | Complete

One day, Rey wakes in a body that's not her own in a town she's never been to before. Who is Ben, whose body she seems to be possessing, and who woke up in her body? Why are they connected this way?

---

A Your name. AU.

Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations. for @valsansretour​ | Complete | Moodboard

Ben woke, but Luke’s saber wasn’t ignited. Instead, he saw a master who had shattered his trust, who thought he was a monster, and—worse—he was probably right.

So he fled Yavin IV, to Skywalker’s dismay, and no one heard from him since.

Years later, on a wasteland planet, a girl and a fugitive stormtrooper board a Corellian YT-1300 light freighter in desperation to find they are not the only ones trying to steal it.

Why Don’t You And I Combine for @ever-so-reylo | Complete | Moodboard

Rey’s phone rings while she’s at the farmer’s market. She lets it ring. They have a line and it’s only a few hours, and the girls are at school and it’s just her today, so she doesn’t have enough hands. Rose and Finn and Poe are helping Ben move furniture out of his apartment and into the house. They’re probably calling about something silly, or Ben’s calling to say he’s fully moved in and he’s lying in their bed—possibly with his hand on his cock—and that he’s thinking of her.

— 

In which life continues, grows, and Rey and Ben continue to rebuild their relationship.

A sequel to Let’s Get Together.

The Love Committee for @jeenonamit | Complete | Moodboard

In which Rey, tired of her bad luck with dating apps and failed relationships, enlists her friends' help in determining who she should date next.

They take it a little too seriously.

A Year of Me and You for autonomee | Complete

“After you move in with one another, give yourself six months to like one another again,” Maz says, looking at Rey seriously through her bottlecap glasses.

“I’m not going to fall out of love with—”

“No, no. Not love. Love’s not got anything to do with it, child. Like.”

--

Non-linear vignettes of various length, set during the first year Rey and Ben live together.

Hanging by a Moment for pillar-of-salt | Complete | Mix

There are many things that Ben could have tolerated about his parents’ divorce. That his mother had finally had it with his father’s borderline illegal—or rather, as he liked to put it, borderline legal—company, the shady activities it covered that would doubtlessly end her political career if a reporter got hold of them; that his father had finally had it with the way his mother nags, because sure, he’d thought it was hot twenty years ago, but he is in fact an adult who can actually keep his shit together—all that he would have gotten. He’d have been wrecked, but he’d have gotten it.

His dad leaving his mom for a nineteen-year-old gold-digger though, and his mother not even putting up a fight—that had caught him by surprise.

That had hurt.

Be nice to her, Ben, his mother had said on the phone when he’d spoken to her for the first time in five years. She just lost your father.

Yeah. So did I.

Cupcake Wars | Complete | Fingerpainting + Playlist

Entirely by accident, Rey ends up fucking someone who works for Snoke's Cupcakery. She's just blowing off steam. It doesn't mean anything at all. It certainly won't come back to bite her in the ass.

in nobody's eyes but mine for @ever-so-reylo | Complete | Moodboard

Rey had spent too much of her life feeling as though permanence could only be transient so why bother with it. What was long-term? What was mating? What was home?

the water won’t have ya if the devil’s too blind for @thekesselrun | Complete | Moodboard

That water’s too dirty to wash away your sins.

“They’re not sins. I didn’t commit them against god. There is no such thing as god.”

Then whatever you want to call them. Crimes don’t get washed away by a river.

“It’s a cursed river,” Ben points out.

No, it’s a polluted river. Curses aren’t real. Not like that, anyway.

“Are you really well-actually-ing me?”

Yes, I am. Because you’re an idiot. Some extremely oily and not remotely potable water is not going to be able to remove the guilt you feel about killing your father, turning your back on your mother, murdering hundreds of innocents, and helping the First Order destroy the world. Especially when you knew I wasn’t going to let you die.

–

In which Ben Solo washes up on shore, very still alive and unsure of what to do next until a passing scavenger offers him a lift on her boat. Who is he now? Who does he want to be?

Apples & Honey for @peaceblessingspeyton | Complete | Moodboard

When Ben catches wind that his mother is planning to foist a potential girlfriend on him when he comes home for Rosh Hashanah, he takes matters into his own hands: specifically, he runs to Rey and asks her to pretend to be his girlfriend.

There Is Another for @kylorenvevo | Complete | Moodboards: Ch 1 | Ch 3 | Ch 7 | Ch 9 | Ch 11 | Ch14

“Mission success?”

“You will be interested in this.”

“Oh?”

Kylo glances back over his shoulder. The girl he had found on Takodana is still deeply unconscious, and will remain so for a long while. He had knocked her out as deeply as he could. She had fired at him the moment she’d seen him, resisted him tooth and nail. He does not want her waking up until he has her properly restrained, and he had not come to Takodana prepared to take any prisoners.

A shiver runs up his spine as he tries to shove away how it had felt, carrying her through that forest.

“Yes.”

“How so?”

The trouble with helmets is he can’t look Kira dead in the eye anymore. He can’t watch her face closely to see what will happen when he tells her,

“She’s you.”

Dear Mr. President | WIP | Moodboards: Ch13

Dr. Dameron shifts and slides a manilla folder across the desk to her. “Under ordinary circumstances, I’d let you keep the folder. I hope you’ll understand why I can’t do that this time around.”

She opens it and stares.

She stares and stares and stares.

Dr. Dameron has to be kidding. There have to be hidden cameras here, this has to be some elaborate prank. That’s why it’s him here and not Dr. Wexley—that was his name. Dr. Wexley.

But instead of getting to her feet and tossing her hair and saying he was cruel for playing with her heart like this, all she does is ask, blankly, “So...Ben Solo is my soulmate? Our new president is my…”

She swallows.

And Dr. Dameron nods.

so long lives this and this gives life to thee | WIP | Moodboard

His smile fades and he falls to the ground, his head hitting the ground with a sharp crack.

“Ben!” The yell echoes around them in the darkness and Rey lurches forward, her hands scrabbling over his face, his neck, trying to find a pulse.

She bursts into tears when she finds it. She doesn’t know why she’s crying. He’s alive.

———

In which Ben's Force Sensitivity—and not his life—was given to save Rey.

a little death (goes a long way) for @talltig | WIP | Moodboard

“That’s good of you,” he replies. “Especially with the O-Negative.”

“It’s a good deal,” she says and he glances up. Yeah, because Omega blood is harder to find. A taste of life, because they almost never survive the turn.

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

A Game

Very random. Probably the most random ever... I have no idea how or why this happened. (Yes, I do, I was forced into a Super Bowl pool and I know nothing about football...) So, this is my revenge. 

-----------

The automated double doors to the living room split open. And the resident sorceress emerged. She made her way down the stairs and trekked silently over to the television.

"Raven!" The pale girl turned around with a start. Her back went rigid. Purple hair moving around her face.

"Well, hello to you too." She replied with a cool purple brow directed at Beast Boy.

"Hello, Friend Raven." Starfire smiled. Beckoning her from her spot on the floor with Silkie.

Raven gave her a nod. She had come here with a different agenda. "Raven, girl, come on." Cyborg moaned as he moved his head to try to see around her.

"Raven!"

And this time she had a ready glare.

"What?" She snapped, feeling her temple start to throb.

"You're trying to walk in front of the TV!" Beast Boy exclaimed, his voice increasing in pitch as he threw up his arms. No pretenses or subtlety. Of course it was about television.

What was new?

"I'm just going to walk over and get my book." Raven explained calmly. "I left it here last night." Though she hardly needed to explain herself to a sports obsessed idiot. But here she was.

And as expected, the green man launched into a tirade. She inhaled and exhaled, as she waited for it to pass.

"This is the Super bowl, Raven." Garfield told Raven as if she didn't understand.

"So you've been saying all week in anticipation of the event." Raven had to point this out.

"The Super! Bowl!"

At this, she couldn't resist rolling her eyes. Raven almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous he was acting. About a sporting event. Although, it was Garfield, after all. "You're repeating those two words like they're supposed to mean something."

Cyborg's jaw dropped. "The culmination of a season of football is a celebration! It has it all: drama, incredible commercials, a half-time show?!" Cyborg explained ecstatically. She knew how much football meant to him. It was particularly special given his past. Though, it was still not her first choice to dedicate hours of her life watching men toss a ball around a field.

The curly, red-haired alien smiled as she interjected. "I do greatly enjoy the commercials and the musical act." Starfire admitted. "Though, I must confess, I do not entirely understand the mechanics of the game." Beast Boy gave her a strange look. She blushed sheepishly and glanced at the mechanical Titan. Cyborg shook his head with a smile, and took the tanned woman under his wing. To explain the rules of football - again. This time with charts and diagrams.

Beast Boy turned back to Raven with a sigh. A muscular green arm moving, as he drew a hand down his face. "The point is we need to optimize viewing time," his emerald eyes were insistent. "This only happens once a year."

DVR and modern conveniences aside, she failed to see the point of the fanfare. "Well, so do major holidays and I don't see you making as big a deal about them..." Raven pointed out. "You actually make a bigger deal about fake food related holidays than real ones." National Croissant Day came to mind.

"The Super bowl is a holiday!" Beast Boy and Cyborg exclaimed simultaneously.

Raven's tone went completely devoid of emotion. And her pale face became grave. "How sad for the rest of the world to not have this particular sport on their roster." Not like America had rugby or cricket.

"Wait a minute, you have powers, you couldn't just magic it?" Beast Boy and his one-of-kind logic. He really was a special kind of a human being.

"You mean move it with my mind? It's called telekinesis." She held out a palm. Using her dark energy to draw the book to her. But not before pausing. To linger for three seconds longer than necessary in front of the flat screen.

"Raven?!" Beast Boy and Cyborg yelled. With the way they had just acted, one would have thought it was life or death. Not just another sporting event in an endless cycle of seasons. It was marketing. And it was consumerism at its finest. And it was America.

"Sorry. Lost focus." She tapped her temple and sauntered over to the open floor kitchen. "Enjoy your holiday." She called over her shoulder. Behind a purple shoulder length curtain, she could see Star had leapt up and tackled Cyborg with a loud laugh. And a louder, resounding thud. Her teammates were something else. Though, one didn't need to look too close to see the tiniest of smiles had taken up residence on her face.

Tiny, but it was there.

The Titans. As it was, they were her team.

-----------------

"Hey, Raven." A deep voice called out from behind a laptop. And she could feel a calming, pleasant wash over her. Even though he was working, instead of watching the game.

"Dick," Raven offered in greeting. She made her way to the fridge. Perusing the shelves, she noticed that the fake meat and fruit never seemed to deplete as quickly as everything else.

Sharp blue eyes lingered on her body, bent toward the refrigerator. "Sorry about them..." There was a long pause in the typing, as a hand ran through tousled black hair.

"Please." The rush of cold air stilled. As the door closed. "It's the Super Bowl." Raven reminded him, imitating Beast Boy. With a mock-outraged tone. Before a flat one returned. But with a witty edge that seemed reserved for their talks. "They do this every year, so I do this every year. It's tradition."

Nightwing smiled at this. "Well, traditions can change." He looked away from the computer completely for a moment to take her in. "One did."

"The fact that you're here and not in Gotham?" Raven quipped sardonically.

"No - not that." He replied, with another bright grin. "You're actually the one who did."

"I... did?" Raven placed the piece of fruit on the counter-top. He paused for a long moment. Regarding her with his cerulean orbs. A familiar warmth flooded the air. She could feel strands of his brilliant aura reaching. Stretching out like webs to catch her own. But, at the last moment, it hesitated. Then, pulled back, tight to his body.

"It's... the first year you participated in the Teen Titans Super Bowl Pool." Nightwing offered. And shook his head at her, as if finding this hard to believe.

"That is true." She gave him the faintest of smiles. "But, so did you." She nodded at him.

"Yes, I usually do." He coughed. "Though, I saw that you had the same team to win as I did." That was surprising. She hadn't noticed. Raven didn't really care for the choices, having little interest in the outcome of the game. And she suspected Dick didn't either.

Raven tucked her arms over her navy blue shirt. She didn't know why she was explaining all this to Dick, but she wanted to. "You know... I don't normally get invested in the game." He nodded. "But Cy insisted... Plus, I don't have to actually watch football to participate."

"Cyborg is right, Raven." Nightwing agreed. "And thankfully, you don't have to watch the game to eat the food he made." She could tell Dick was grateful for that fact. "Were you actually in here to sneak some?" That sounded downright conspiratory.

Raven gave him a flippant stare. Pausing for several breaths, she glanced at the trays of greasy wings, burgers, and nachos.

"Hmm." She drew in a breath as if finding it difficult to decide. "Probably just this." She held up an apple.

"Okay, yeah..." The vigilante sounded slightly disappointed. Almost as if he wanted her to eat with him. "Right. Of course."

"I'd offer you one, but..." She pointed at the plate in front of him.

"Oh, this? This... is for Beast Boy." Dick said. He watched her closely. The corners of his mouth coming upward, as he dared her to refute that statement.

"Uh huh..." She mentioned nothing about the burger that was clearly made with ground meat. His humor was very off-brand at times. She certainly didn't mind it - though she could never tell him.

"You're not the only one who can do sarcasm around here." Raven watched the sparkle of bright blue. She could feel some more emotions rolling off him in waves. Strong ones.

"Noted, Boy Wonder." The pale girl shook the apple after she rinsed it. "At this rate, I'll have to find a new thing..." She shrugged. "Later, Dick."

There was the barest bit of regret in his voice. It was masked by the easygoing tone he managed to muster up, as he bode her farewell. "Bye, Raven."

-----------------

Dick knew she didn't want to be bothered. But, he still had to try. He stared at the name plate labelled RAVEN as he knocked. At least when Raven opened the door, she didn't seem irritated. She almost looked relieved that it was him, and no one else.

"Raven," Dick tried. "I was wondering if you were coming back to watch with us."

"Probably not," She said bluntly. At times, he admired how blunt she could be. It did make for an interesting challenge.

"Oh. That's too bad." He blurted.

Her eyes flashed with the faintest amusement. "Dick - what's up?" She could most certainly tell what he was feeling. He wasn't hiding it very well. The fact that he was longing for something. For her company.

"I wanted to watch the game with you." He told her. His eyes sliding over the floor, before they came up to meet her own.

It was a lie.

He only wanted to watch her. To get lost in her - in this.

"I may be in the pool, but I still don't do sports." A very Raven answer. But, he anticipated it. Dick just hoped she wouldn't say no.

"Then... I'll do whatever it is you do during the Superbowl." Truthfully, he didn't care much for the actual game. So much as spending time with his team. And Raven. His team did include Raven. He walked into the dimly lit space, hearing the door close behind him.

"But, Dick, it's once a year." She said sarcastically. Her eyes glimmering in the dark.

"I know." Dick took another step closer.

"And the rest of your team is currently in the living room consuming enough grease to flood the city."

"I know."

"Alright. But I should warn you - you should know..." Raven started in that vague mysterious way of hers. "There is one thing you should know about this 'American holiday'."

Oh?

"I've heard stories, and I don't think you could shock me." Dick told her. "But you're welcome to try."

He could swear he saw her blush for a moment. But then, it was gone."There is an overwhelming amount of testosterone in the air on this day."

"I... don't follow." He didn't expect her to say anything like this. What was she getting at?

She elaborated in her low voice. "On this day, the concentration of testosterone in the city - and most of America reaches a fever pitch."

"Raven what are you saying - exactly?" He watched her closely. Still not understanding. Or perhaps understanding too well.

"We empaths have a holiday of our own. We call the Superbowl a Nexus... Save for the fact that it gets relatively untapped." She raised a brow. "Partners typically don't reap the benefits..."

"That isn't Valentine's Day?" Dick came back to himself for a moment to mumble stupidly.

"No." She gave him a light chuckle. "Surprisingly not."

"Doesn't it depend on whether a particular team loses or not...?"

"Touche, Dick... But, no." Raven's hands moved to her hips, as she shifted her weight. "On such a day, there is a risk of tapping into the Nexus. Channeling it - directly or unconsciously. Usually I am not concerned. But with you here... In my room... "

"I want to stay." He said without pause.

"You can say that, but you don't know. I'm not going to be as in control as I usually am." Raven replied. Though she didn't seem bothered. He could swear she wanted him to stay. "I'll be a bit more aggressive than you're used to. And you'll feel it too."

Dick took a step closer and shook his head. "I'm staying with you."

And that was all it took for things to turn.

Her emotionless expression shifted. The purple depths stirred. As the eyes that held but an occasional flicker of daring. A hint of mischief. A tiny tinge of sadness. They turned as a thirsty stare took over. Her pupils dilated. She watched his body movements openly. "And I'm..." She traced his face and weaved his hair between her fingers. She gripped it, bringing him closer. Her tone sultrier and raspier than normal. "I'm going to kiss you now, Dick."

"Oh..." Dick whispered. Unable to take his eyes off her. "Raven..."

"I want the taste of your lips..." Her porcelain nose caressed his own. The words brushing over his cheek.

"Yes..." He looked like he was in awe. Under a spell. "I want to kiss you." He licked his lips.

Her hands escaped the strands of night. Raven fingered his neck, as she drew her body into him. Right up to his firm chest. The pale lids started shutting and a steady journey to his mouth started. A deep, desperate inhale as they touched. He groaned into her fullness. Those soft, incredible lips moving with his. Her cool hands were fondling him over the tight black t-shirt he was wearing. Dick's hands tried not to stray too far from the middle of her back.

And of course - they failed.

It wasn't long before they ventured. They were exploring her waist and hips. Touching the space where her shirt rode up, feathering the sliver of skin. When Raven finally stopped, for a breath, she blinked to refocus the hazy purple. And gave him a little smile. He could see just a bit of smugness on her part, as she could tell how much this was affecting him too. But she didn't mention it.

"Wow, we've..." He panted, staring at her. She was now laying on her side on the mattress. "Never done that before."

She whispered, "I know." Nibbling his bottom lip, naughtily. "It's true we'd never really kissed before. Not properly..." Her hand cupping his cheek as she stroked his lips sweetly. It took everything he had to stop. Yet, he only managed to steal back an inch.

"I know... But... I wanted to." He had wanted to kiss her properly for ages. They'd a few close calls. Several. And then there was Christmas... Nervous, obligatory pecks under the mistletoe, with their teammates around. Watching and judging. But that hardly counted.

"Wanted to?" The pale fingers gliding down his earlobe. He shivered. And sighed. He took a deep breath. "Are you not enjoying this?"

"Of course, I am. It's great. So great... Too great." And then a shaky, wavering smile took up residence on his face. This was such a contrast to how she normally was. "I know why, but sometimes you just feel...distant. More than distant - removed."

A hand was on his face as she spoke. "This goes without saying, but it's not you." Raven told him in a soft voice. "If anything, I've probably been more so... because I do want to - be around you. Often."

Dick kissed her hard, until they were both panting and shaking. "Then, promise me."

"A promise?" Raven asked, her eyes flickering playfully. "What do you propose?"

"Promise me when the Nexus is over - we're not." He urged her. Dick wanted her to need him for something. To seek solace with him. In him. "Come find me, when you want to talk. Or when you need me." Sliding his fingers through her hair. "Please... I can't imagine not touching you like this... Not kissing you."

He groaned gutural, as her mouth took him over. "I promise, I'll find you for another talk." Raven's hands stroked up and down his abdomen, as her lips parted. In wonder. About his body. She was wondering about what lay beneath. He didn't want her to wonder anymore. Dick caught the cotton fabric of his shirt in his fingers and stripped it off. Cool hands were on his skin immediately. Followed by her lips on his. And the stroke of a skilled tongue.

She was straddling him on her bed, as they kissed. His palms were lost in the sea of her shirt. He was longingly fingering the indents right above her butt.

But then...

"Raven?!"There was a knock at the door.

Starfire squealed. Informing her, animatedly. "Raven - the pool, you have won!" And then, she paused. "Raven?"

Dick grinned, as she rolled her eyes. Raven and Nightwing stared at each other. He knew she hadn't won, because he had. This push and pull between them. Between their lips and bodies. Their connected souls... It was the only game he had ever been intrigued by. 

The enigma that was her.

[tenshiscientia]

I’m Sorry...

*Click Click Click*

The heels to my boots moved quickly and precisely down the hall. I had one destination and I was not going to falter from it. When Ravus had returned from the Alter of the Hydrean, I had only caught a glimpse of him. But the glimpse I had caught terrified me. I quickened my pace and rounded the corner.

I was close to his quarters now. I happened to look down and I saw wet boot prints leading themselves out before me. My fears were confirmed. Reaching Ravus's quarters, I knocked on the door and waited for him to answer. The door cracked open and I saw a small glimpse of him.

He must have realized it was me, because before I knew it the door was flung wide open and I was yanked inside. Slamming the door shut behind me, Ravus paced to the other side of the room and picked a towel up off the back of his desk chair tossing it over his head. He was soaking wet just as I thought he had been.

"Ravus, you need to get out of that coat too or you're going to catch cold..." I started.

"I'm fine." his voice was icy as he replied, not even bothering to turn around to face me.

I recoiled in shock from how he spoke. He had never spoken to me like that. His voice was always gentle and kind when he spoke to me. He would always smile at me. This Ravus in front of me, the cold tone, the way he wouldn't look at me...I didn't know him.

"Ray, please..." I started, my voice pleading and soft.

"STOP IT!" he yelled as his body moved lightning fast across the room to press mine against the wall beside the door, the towel fluttering to the ground, his heterochromatic eyes burning into my own pale lavender.

His Magitek hand took hold of my right wrist tightly, drawing it up level with my head. I glanced over at it, noticing that his hand was tightening more and more finally becoming painful.

"Ray, please...you're hurting me..." I whimpered out finally.

His forehead dropped to my shoulder, slowly moving to press his face into my throat.

"Hurting you..." his voice was barely a whisper, his breath ghosting its way across my throat.

His hand loosened but drew my wrist down so my hand rested over where his heart was.

"Do you feel how I am hurting, Angel?" he asked.

A confused noise left my throat. I didn't understand his question. Did he mean that he was hurt? Or had something else happened?

"I-I don't understand Ray."

He pulled my hand back so that the other could undo the snaps to his coat. Slowly, a thin black singlet stretched over taught muscles was revealed. He pulled my wrist back his chest so once again, my hand was pressed over his heart.

"Now do you feel?" he questioned once more.

Ravus's heart was pounding a staccato rhythm under my hand. Hard and strong, fierce in its intensity.

"You hurt me whenever I hear your voice beg me for something. You hurt me when you won't listen to me when I tell you to stay safe. I lost Luna today..." his voice faded away as he confessed something that greatly pained him, then came back as he confessed something that had always been in his heart, "I don't want to lose you, Tenshi. I can't lose you. For I love you far too much to do so."

My breath caught in my throat, my own heart beating fast as well. Ravus Nox Fleuret...Ravus, High Commander of the Imperial Army...my Ray...loved me. Just an ordinary, everyday girl, that had come to Fenestala Manor when I had taken a fine blow to my head. I had wandered out into the sylleblossom fields though I had been told not to, and had become dizzy. Unable to walk back to the Manor I had gotten stuck out in the field.

To my surprise and wonder, a young man in white found me sitting out there. Even more to my surprise that it was the Oracles brother, Ravus. And that was where everything had started...and thus led us to right here.

"Ravus..." my voice was barely there, no more than a breath of air, and I felt a shiver run through Ravus's body, then warm wetness dripped its way down my chest.

"Oh Ray..." my voice came out stronger this time.

My free hand drifted up and entangled itself deep into his hair, locking him against me. I didn't want him to move, didn't want him to pull away. I just wanted the world around us to melt away and let us stay like this forever. But cruel reality came back to the both of us too easily as I felt his body begin to tremble beneath my fingers.

"Six Ray, your trembling. You need to get changed and warmed up." I whispered, pushing him back and looking up at him, "Please Ray, I don't want you to get sick."

Finally, the smile I was used to seeing from him spread across his face and he let me lead him across the room to his ensuite.

"Get in there and get dried off. Don't worry about your hair, I'll get to that. I'll bring you some clothes and leave them next to the door. When you come back out bring a towel and brush so I can deal with your hair." I shoved him in the room before he could say anything, "By the way, I'm stealing a shirt to wear since you decided to soak my uniform by pinning me to the wall."

I heard a soft, low chuckle as the door shut, knowing he would be fine with whatever I brought him and whatever I decided to steal out of his wardrobe. Walking over to the closet, I pulled it open and started rifling through it. I really hated all the things that the Imperial army had given him and wished he had been able to find things of his own. But it really didn't matter. I pushed through a bunch of of dress shirts and the like until I came upon a shirt that I actually recognized.

It was one that he had worn back in Tenebrae, before the Imperials came and the fires had consumed it. Pulling it out, I brought it down against my chest, gazing at it in wonder. How had he managed to save it? Burying my face in the fabric, I took in a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of sylleblossoms. It even still smelled of Tenebrae...

Reaching back into the closet I pulled down another hanger with a pair of sleep pants on it that I thought would be okay for Ravus to sleep in. Pulling open a drawer below, I reached in and randomly picked up a pair of undergarments as well. I doubted he would like me rifling through them for a specific set, though the look on his face if I told him I had would have been worth it and entirely priceless at the same time. Carrying the clothes back over to Ravus's ensuite, I placed his set of clothes on a chair just outside the door. I turned and walked to another door that led to a different room and slipped inside that so I could pull my clothes off and pull on the old shirt from Tenebrae.

Walking back out into the main room, I found Ravus dressed in the sleep pants I had pulled from his closet, trying to hang his coat up properly. He was making slightly frustrated noises as his coat refused to cooperate with him. A small giggle escaped me as I walked over to help him. Slipping up beside him, I added my hands to the mix of straightening out his coat and within a matter of minutes we had the cumbersome thing all fixed up. It would need to be cleaned and pressed later, but at least it wouldn't be as bad.

Ravus still had a towel around his neck, so I gently grabbed a hold of it and pulled him over to the bed and pushed him down onto it. Pulling the towel off his shoulders, I threw it over his head and started to dry out his hair as a mother would a young child.

"Gah, Tenshi! What are you? Stop, right now!" he insisted from under the towel, his voice slightly muffled.

I shook my head and rubbed the towel against his hair a little harder as I laughed.

"Sorry Ray, you were the one who went and got yourself soaked. Now I have to get your hair dried off. Just think of how cross I would be with you if you ended up sick." I teased him.

His hand reached up and yanked the towel out of my grasp, and he turned to glare at me over his shoulder. I blinked my eyes at him for a moment before bursting out in a fit of laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" he tried to sound angry, but I could tell it was fake.

"Y-you...pfft...you look like haha, like a wet, disgruntled chocobo, ahahaha! Pfthahaha, with all its, hahaha its feathers ruffled! Hahahahaha!" I started rolling side to side on the bed, tears pooling at the corners of my eyes from laughing so hard.

A scowl plastered itself onto Ravus's face. Reaching his hand up, he ran a hand through his hair...or at least he tried to. As soon as his hand met the silvery-white strands, he understood what I was laughing about. His hair was a tangled mess and was ruffled up in almost every direction.

"You fix this mess this instant, Tenshi!" He huffed at me, grabbing his brush off the bedside table and thrusting it into my hands.

"Pfft, hahaha! Okay, okay Ray. I'm sorry! You just look so cute with your hair puffed up like that!" I giggled, taking the brush.

"I am not cute!" he hissed, turning his back on me and sulking until I started to brush his hair out.

"Oh Ray. You would never understand..." I whispered as I smiled, slowly running the brush through his hair, "The day I first met you back in Tenebrae, I thought you were cute. As we got older, you were still cute. Though you did get more and more handsome by the day. Even now, you are still cute to me. Hell at times, you are adorable.

You will always be cute to me, Ray. Nothing you say or do will change that. No matter how much you deny it, no matter how much you hate it. You're my cute Ray-Ray. My Sun, the Light in my dark sky.

Nothing will ever change that. Nothing could ever change that. When you found me out in the sylleblossom fields back in Tenebrae, I had been stuck out there. I lied to you that I had just decided to stay out there. You saved me, and when you did, you simultaneously stole my heart in the process.

What I'm trying to say Ravus, is that I can't lose you either, for I love you as well."

A twitch ran through Ravus's body. He silently turned, pulling the brush from my hand an setting it on the night stand. Dragging me to lay down on the bed beside him despite not being covered by the sheets of the bed, he pulled me against his chest so his chin rested over the crown of my head. His Magitek arm rested over my hip, his hand palming my lower back, the metal cool for now but it would warm up soon as the heat of my body melted into it.

"One day, Tenshi..." I heard him whisper, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn't identify, and he wouldn't let me look at his face so I could see his expression, "One day, I will reclaim Tenebrae as its rightful king. And you will stand beside me crowned as Tenebrae's queen, dressed in the most beautiful of silks of all Eos has to offer, the most beautiful gems will adorn the crown you will bear. The sylleblossom fields will bloom again...and perhaps if you are willing to bless me with the privilege and honor, our children will run through those fields. Enjoying them as my sister, my mother and father, and you and I once did. This I swear to you."

My breath hitched. I knew Ravus meant this. He rarely said things with such conviction, such determination in his voice. He was going to reclaim Tenebrae for the two of us, I knew he would. We would be together, the two of us, and we would be able to start over.

"Yeah, We can do that. We'll go back to Tenebrae. We'll rule it together, and we'll both watch our children run through the sylleblossom fields. It's a promise Ravus, one I'll help you keep." I whispered back.

I felt the gentle press of slightly chapped lips to my forehead and I smiled. Yes, finally I was happy again...and so was Ravus.

[politeanarchy]

Probably Explode or Something

This is the beginning of a story that I may or may not ever finish. It’s more or less completely silly. I’m putting it here (and a bit more of it on AO3) in case anybody wants a brief distraction from the big important stuff going on in the real world. It’s rated E, although this first chapter is pretty vanilla so far.

Chapter 1: In the beginning was the word, and the word was 'Oops'

Aziraphale was reading cookbooks and wondering if he should attempt foccacia when there was a jarring twang from the aether.

Normally, this was the kind of thing he would notice and ignore, as being background noise similar to the Soho traffic outside the bookshop. But this had been quite loud, and judging by the harmonics, it concerned Crowley in some way. Aziraphale closed his cookbook thoughtfully and reached out with non-human senses, as though sniffing the wind.

Hmm. Yes, something occult had been done to Crowley. It hadn't originated with him, and didn't seem strong enough to have come directly from Heaven or Hell, therefore the chances were good that he had been summoned. Probably by a human. Some foolish mortal hoping to liven up their isolation in quarantine?

No doubt he could cope with it adequately by himself. In fact, he would probably welcome the interruption to the hopeless boredom of the past several weeks. There was really no reason for Aziraphale to think he needed to get involved.

Aziraphale picked up his cookbook again and tried to focus on it. Did he have enough olive oil on hand? Plenty of sea salt, so that was all right. If Crowley had been summoned by a human, would they have used sea salt or just the regular kind? Would that make any difference to how difficult it was for him to get himself loose? All salt was sea salt, when you really got down to it, even the discount kind in the least-interesting box.

The cookbook was proving wholly inadequate as a distraction. He snapped it shut, and allowed himself to notice a series of agitated rippling twinges in that part of the atmosphere perceptible only to angels, demons, and the occasional witch. Aziraphale wondered if he had become more sensitive to Crowley since they had borrowed one another's bodies, or if he was only imagining it. In any case, he had to admit to himself that he would really like to investigate what was going on, rather than wasting the rest of the evening wondering. He could tell that whatever-it-was was no more than a few blocks away.

Besides, if a human was summoning demons in the middle of a pandemic, they were probably up to all sorts of no good. If nothing else, it probably counted as a breach of quarantine. It was therefore in line with both his celestial and earthly responsibilities to stop whatever was going on, before it caused trouble. Whether Heaven approved of his efforts or not, if there were demons were involved, he still considered it his job to thwart them.

"But I'm not going to set a bad example by just wandering the streets!" he said firmly, and instead, transported himself to the vicinity of the disturbance with a quick snap of his fingers.

It appeared to be a modestly-sized flat, with a general atmosphere of unwashed dishes and inadequate laundry. Furniture and miscellaneous clutter had been pushed against the walls to allow space for a large circle of occult symbols to be drawn with chalk in the middle of the room. Inside the circle, Crowley was sulking. Outside the circle there were a few candles; whether these were for ritual purposes or merely for setting the mood was not immediately clear. There was also a set of speakers playing music that Aziraphale couldn't identify.

"Crowley, are you all right?"

At the sound of the angel's voice, Crowley turned with an irritable flounce. He was wearing a black silk bathrobe over some kind of abbreviated undergarment, and was a much different shape than Aziraphale was used to.

"Oh, my dear, what has happened to you?"

"Nothing much, yet. Relax, angel. I'd be fine if I didn't look like Jessica Rabbit."

"Jessica who?"

"A character from a film. Not one you would have seen, I'm sure." Crowley shrugged, not his usual angular movement but a sultry undulation. "Don't worry about it."

Having satisfied himself that Crowley did not appear to be in any imminent danger, Aziraphale turned his attention to other important questions. "Who did this to you? Was it a human?"

"Yeah, some wannabe wizard who's evidently feeling a little lonely in lockdown." Crowley gave a derisive snort. "He ducked into the next room when you turned up. I imagine he wasn't too thrilled at the idea of more company. I hope he's putting some pants on."

Aziraphale's mind reeled a little at the possible implications of this, and then his attention was caught by a furtive suggestion of movement in the doorway. He made a sudden lunge in that direction, there was a brief scuffle, and then Aziraphale reappeared, frog-marching a pale, sullen young man in front of him. Fortunately for everyone concerned, the young man was wearing pants, however grubby and unflattering they may have been.

The angel walked him firmly across the room until he fetched up against a desk, on which was a book open to a diagram of the circle chalked on the floor. At the sight of the book, Aziraphale made a choked-off sound of astonishment, and bristled with righteous indignation.

"This is my book! You were one of the people who tried to rob my shop!" he spat furiously. "You must have picked this up when I was giving cake to your compatriots!"

The young man was clearly not prepared to deal with any of this. This was not how he had anticipated his evening turning out. He merely stood there, gawping helplessly.

Aziraphale was examining the diagram in the book, and the drawing on the floor, while simultaneously continuing to berate the human. "Look, you can see where he's used this set of runes to charge the circle. You should be extremely ashamed of yourself, young man." Aziraphale located the chalk and began scuffing at some of the marks on the floor. "I'm pretty sure I can do this and reverse the charges." He drew busily on the floor for a minute. "The idea of summoning occult entities all willy-nilly, for the purpose of...of...carnal gratification!" He nodded reassuringly at Crowley. "There, once I re-activate the circle it should send you home again. And I trust I will never catch you doing anything of this sort, ever again!"

The pale young man nodded feebly at this, then changed his mind and shook his head vigorously instead.

Aziraphale finished altering the chalk marks, tucked the book firmly under his arm, snapped his fingers decisively, and several things happened at once. The circle activated, with a faint glow and a low hum. Crowley started to shout "Angel, no!  Don't step in the—" and Aziraphale stepped into the circle.

Angel and demon disappeared as the aether did its twanging routine again. The young man exhaled slowly and sat down on his floor, vowing to be content with internet porn in the future.

Crowley and Aziraphale re-materialized in Crowley's flat, just as Crowley finished saying "...circle. Oh no." He slumped sadly onto his couch, pulling the silk robe around himself.

"I wanted to make sure you got home all right. I suppose it is breaking quarantine, although there shouldn't be any way for us to infect that human, or for him to infect us."

"It's not that." Crowley's robe had transformed into his more usual clothes, and he slouched into something approximating his usual sprawl, but with an undercurrent of more than the usual tension.

"I suppose I shouldn't have interfered at all, really. Presumptuous of me, to assume you need help extricating yourself from an, er, unsolicited booty call."

Crowley choked on whatever it was he'd been about to say next. "Angel! You can't just— How do you even—"

Aziraphale shot him a knowing smirk. "I work in Soho. I hear things."

"No, but the point is, I have a bad feeling you may have inserted yourself into the summoning ritual, when you did that bit of chalk-work back there."

"Oh. I hadn't thought about that."

"You didn't think about it, did you? You just filled in those runes with your own hand, then powered up the circle. Which, if I'm not mistaken, is what the ritual calls for."

"So? I sent you home. Here you are." Aziraphale sat down on the section of sofa opposite Crowley, and waved his hand in the general direction of the rest of the flat.

"You sent me home, and then transported yourself here as well. The part you're missing is that that particular ritual compels a demon—or other supernatural entity—to go to some specified place for a specific purpose. As you have so helpfully pointed out, it's a booty call. And, as a convenient little part of the deal, it fills said supernatural entity with raging uncontrollable lust. While also transforming them physically to make them attractive."

"Oh my. I suppose that explains your unusual appearance, earlier. Um. You're looking much more your normal self now. More, er, streamlined." Aziraphale gestured with one hand, indicating some sort of bodily contour.

Crowley winced, then grinned, or at least adjusted his mouth in such a way that his teeth were visible, tightly clenched together. "Yes. That got reversed, when you swapped the runes around. I'm well out of it, and glad of your interference in this particular case. But then. You summoned yourself. Here."

"Wait," said Aziraphale, as the penny finally dropped. "Are you saying that the spell is still in operation, only I'm meant to be the, well let's say the subject of it?"

"Yes," answered Crowley patiently. "That is what I am saying. I am also saying this might count as a problem."

(Read the rest of the chapter on AO3)

[aswallowssong]

Second Child, Restless Child

Chapter 5 - The Devil in Me

@valkyrie-5583

Read on AO3

The second part of a gap fill for 1x13, Poison. TW for illness, hospitals, and drug mentions. Also super minor character death? 

After JJ, Reid, and Hotch learn a little more about Kit's family, the nurse-out-of-water feels the effects of the field crash over her. As she and Gideon continue to butt heads, she wonders how this is ever going to work. She's helpful in her own right, but if she can't get the respect and the support of the whole team, how will she ever belong?

The ride to the hotel was comfortable enough. Reid and Kit sat in the back while JJ sat in the passenger seat, and the communications liaison took her chance to pick and pry when Kit couldn’t escape her questions. She’d been trying since the moment Kit had been shuffled onto their team, but Kit had been able to avoid it thus far. She hated ‘get to know you’ questions, as they reminded her of terrible high school teachers and their lack-luster ice breakers.

“So, Kit, do you have siblings?”

Kit nodded, though the woman couldn't see her. She’d play along, of course, and this was an easy question. She loved talking about her siblings.

“Oh, yeah. There’s nine of us.”

Reid made a sound next to her that sounded like choking, but when she looked he wasn’t dying. He was instead, astonished.

“Nine?”

“Yeah,” she said easily, “nine.”

Hotch knew that, he’d read her file, but he asked anyway, “What number are you?”

“Five,” Kit said before smiling, “sort of? There’s Wash, and then Ginny and Seese. Ari, and Monty, and I. Then George, and Alex, and Lina’s the baby.”

“That puts you sixth,” Reid said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Kit was suddenly ten years old.

Didn’t we just have a pseudo heart-to-heart about being treated like a child?

Kit tried not to roll her eyes before she remembered that the only one who knew about Ari and Monty was Morgan. And, probably Hotch, of course.

“Ari and Monty and I are triplets,” she said evenly, “and technically, I was born second of the three of us.”

“Wow,” JJ said, “triplets? I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

“It’s great, actually,” Kit assured, not being able to stop the spreading smile on her face. “We get along really well. Monty and I are actually monozygotic twins, which means-”

“Monozygotic twins, often called identical twins, are the result of one egg fertilized by one sperm that experiences postzygotic division.”

Reid’s voice was rougher than before, telling of the fact that the medicine she’d given him had worn off, as he effectively cut her off. She tried not to take offense at him interrupting her and telling her about her own fetal development. He’d interrupted others in several conversations. Regardless, she felt her lips tug into a frown.

“Exactly. My Gran used to say that Monty and I have twin souls, though my mam and dad have always said that Ari was one half of the soul, and we were the other half, you know, together.”

JJ turned all the way around in her seat, grinning as she listened to Kit speak of her family.

“So, Ari and Monty are nicknames, right?”

Kit nodded again, frown dissipating.

“Right. My parents immigrated from Ireland, and they spoke Irish, or Gaelic, better than English. They wanted to stick out less, or so they say, so they, well,” she thought for a moment before she couldn’t stop the small giggle forcing its way up her throat. “They thought it would be a really good idea to name their kids after the states. Like, literal American states.”

“Like Dakota,” Hotch offered, and Kit wrinkled her nose. 

“Yeah, like Dakota. My family all call me Kody, but I prefer Kit.”

“And Monty is, what? Montana?” JJ asked, now looking determined. As if it was some kind of game.

Kit nodded again, saying, “Exactly. The thing is that some states, like thankfully Dakota, are names. But some…” She shrugged lightly, “Not so much.”

“Can I guess?”

JJ, not surprising to Kit, was giving off a competitive energy that would rival the one she got off Morgan the few times they’d raced at the track.

“She could just tell us,” Reid offered, but JJ just scoffed.

“No way, Spence. You’re just afraid you’re going to lose.”

Reid narrowed his eyes at her, and though Kit could feel his slight trembling next to her, fever burning once again, she knew he wasn’t going to back down. He even gave her and JJ half a smirk before saying, “You’re on.”

In the end, it was Hotch that came up with a surprising upset. Reid was vehemently denying that ‘Seese’ was a nickname for Tennessee, and JJ was still upset that Reid won the “guess what number I’m thinking of” game and got to go first.

“No way that’s fair,” she’d complained when Reid gave a small, raspy noise of victory and guessed that Wash was short for Washington, obviously.

Hotch had gotten lucky and gone second, securing that George was actually Kit’s younger sister, Georgia, and had gotten that Lina was Carolina, the baby of their very large family.

“You went after Carolina right away, Hotch,” JJ said, laughing at Reid’s dejected mumbling. That was the second time he’d lost a game that day.

“Familiar territory.”

“Is that so?” Kit asked, raising an eyebrow at the stern man in the driver’s seat. “Did you work in their field office?”

“No, I worked in their Walmart,” he said simply, turning into the parking lot of their hotel. He didn’t add or give any more about it, and they didn’t pry, though Kit had to fight a grin at the idea that their stern unit chief could be secretly southern.

-----

Hotch checked in and passed them their keys, Kit taking hers with slightly wide eyes. She’d only stayed in a hotel a few times, and the idea that she was now left to her own devices in a hotel she’d never been in, in a state she didn’t know, really got her mind racing. She realized quickly that no one else was feeling the anxiety she was. They were all familiar with this, and it seemed to be easy for them to turn off the part of their brain that was working on the case.

Instead, she was running her brain, trying to think of anything she knew that could help them catch the unsub that was hurting these people. She dealt in people. People were her thing. People were the reason she had been assigned to the pilot position she was in. The reason she was in New Jersey when she could just as easily be home, getting ready for bed while she listened to Ari sing around their apartment as he got ready for his shift. 

They would give the profile. The team would give the profile and she would watch with JJ. She would try to help however she was asked, and she would keep an eye on Reid while being sensitive to not treat him like a child. 

She followed JJ and Reid up to their floor, Hotch having stayed to give the others their keys, and nodded and responded politely when JJ had wished her goodnight. Reid hadn’t done as much, though she had missed his attempt to get her attention before she’d closed her door behind her.

Once inside she drew what could have passed for her first real breath all day. Between Reid’s sniffling, apologizing to Morgan, the jet, the hospital, taking care of Reid without making him feel like a child, and tiptoeing around Gideon- Which didn’t even work! - Kit was stretched too thin. With the door shut, the only emotions she could pick up on were her own. Which, honestly, we’re never just her own.

Ari and Monty called them Big Feelings; them being the swelling and surging of her own emotions that were kept buried to grow as the day went on. She could tend to the needs of others and keep her own feelings in check, but the thing about Kit was that the more she dealt with others, the more the feelings being buried in her chest compounded. Try as she might, she couldn’t really differentiate between what she created herself and what she took from others. 

Most days were perfectly fine. It wasn’t like everyone around her was melting down simultaneously, every single day. But some days, when there’d been so much and there were so many people and so many situations, she absolutely crashed.

In retrospect, she held on for longer than she thought she would, the deep, even breaths she was drawing distracting her from the energy that built. Her fingers working to unzip her go bag. She pulled out her pajamas, shedding her jacket and cardigan before making her way to take a shower. 

She took out her contacts. Shed the rest of her clothes. Took her shower. Brushed her teeth. Braided her hair. 

She kept her breathing even through every motion, changing into her pajamas and settling cross legged on the bed. Her fingers of her right hand tapped lightly on her thigh while the fingers of her left pulled tightly at her braided, sopping wet hair. The right braid was dripping clean shower water onto her shoulder, the left sending a slow cascade of water down her arm. She sat for five minutes that way, breathing evenly, staring at the blurry white wall in front of her and willing herself not to crash. Not to crash. Not to crash.

And then, she crashed.

All at once, everything in her body felt like it was vibrating. Her breaths came in hitches that were shallow and choppy, her chest heaving sharply with each one. Nothing like the pace she’d been trying to keep for that last fifteen minutes. They sputtered and cut each other off, tears running down her cheeks and falling in large drops, adding to where her braids had already left dark wet spots on her pale yellow tee shirt. 

It wasn’t loud. It had never been loud, regardless of the way her mind seemed to be screaming. She was way too warm, warmer than she had been in the steaming water of the shower. Her chest ached with a flurry of feelings that flashed and passed so quickly she couldn’t hope to name them. It left her helpless, hands clenching and unclenching, fingers occasionally scratching up and down her arms or thighs. The emotional overload left her with internal mania and, other than her fingers roaming and tears flowing, external shutdown. She didn’t have to bury anymore. The emotional zombies of the last eighteen hours could come to light.

Ari always let her come down on her own time. Sometimes he held her tightly, and sometimes he left her to her own devices. Most of the time he stayed in the same space. On the couch opposite her. Sat at the kitchen table as she sat on the counter. Cross legged at the end of her bed.  He didn’t try to have her put the thoughts or emotions into words. He didn’t press her or tell her it would be okay. That she was okay, because really, she wasn’t. He just let it pass. 

She knew it could be as short as ten minutes or as long as forty five. One time, an hour, but that was the first time she’d lost a patient. The time didn’t matter as much to her. Ten or sixty, the number of minutes always felt like an eternity. She didn’t know how long it would take this time, sat in a New Jersey hotel room. Especially when on top of everything else, she felt so completely alone.

As far as Kit was aware, it could have been seven minutes or seven hours when the thing that finally grounded her back to the real world was a steady three-wrap knock at her door. Her hands stilled instantly, the deepest breath she’d taken since the wave crashed over her almost making her dizzy. 

Her head swiveled towards the door, and it was a moment before her mind could catch up. She was in her hotel room. Someone was knocking on the door.

Get up and open it. Come on, Kody. Stand up and open the door.

She swallowed thickly, wiping a shaking hand down her face. The bed was close to the door, and while she sat staring at the door, the knock came again. Three wraps in rapid succession. Her brain started to catch up, the distraction pulling her out of the waves she was drowning in.

Hotch? Could it be Hotch? Did someone actually get poisoned this late at night? Gideon was right, she shouldn’t have said anything. Now it was going to be her fault and there would be disappointment and anger and annoyance and-

Stop.

It took longer than it should have for her to pull herself off of the mattress, shaking her head quickly as if to expel the internal debate. Everything in her chest told her not to get up, but her head won and allowed her to quickly scramble from her spot and pad across the room. 

In hindsight, she should have checked to make sure she didn’t look like a complete disaster. She never had to worry about that at home, so it hadn’t crossed her mind how she might be perceived as she stood there; pajamas on, wet hair, flushed, tear tracks and red eyes against shaky pale skin. 

She squinted at the person on the other side of the door once she all but flung it open. Tall. Dark hair. Tee shirt. Skinny. To her untrained and straining eyes, she was unsure who she was looking at.

Before the other person could speak she held up her hand, still trembling, and turned to dig in her backpack. The glasses she pulled out were seldom used, but she had lost a contact on three separate occasions in the last year, and she wasn’t going to fly half-blind into a crisis. 

She turned, unceremoniously shoving the thin frames onto her face, and looked at her offender.

Spencer Reid. Pale as ever, clearly fever flushed, and looking at her with glassy-eyed concern.

“Are you crying?” is what he ended up asking before stifling a raspy coughing fit into his elbow. 

Kit narrowed her burning eyes at him, but there were no lasers in her stare. Confusion, and exasperation, but not the lasers she’d set on him all those hours before.

“Do you need something? I thought you went to bed.”

He cleared his throat and winced, swallowing as if it was physically painful before he came up with, “I did. I was. Um, I mean, I was try-trying to? I, um.” 

His hands came up to wring together at waist height, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. Uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable. Probably from having come into her personal space where she was very obviously having a very private meltdown.

“You were trying to… oh.” It took longer for her to piece together than it should have. Her mind was still foggy, trying to stay above the waves she’d just been so jarringly pulled from. “You were trying to sleep and you couldn’t.”

“Yes,” he supplied quickly, “Because, well,” he sighed, a hand going to run through his hair. He curled his arms over his chest then, clearing his throat again. “Because my head is pounding and I’m freezing and my throat hurts. And the stuff you had earlier helped. And I was… I was wondering if-”

She did cut him off now, having been careful not to up to that point, but she could feel his discomfort growing the longer he tried to explain himself. He was struggling to be vulnerable, and she wasn’t going to make it worse by allowing him to trip over himself longer than necessary.

“If I had more.”

“Yes.” 

“Of course I do, sit down,” she supplied, gesturing awkwardly to the bed she’d just been sat on, taking a breath and straightening her shoulders. 

She never had to turn back on after she’d let herself shut down. It was always, always in times where she knew she could be either asleep or a zombie for the rest of the night, and she was trying to fight back to functioning as she dug through her backpack once more.

She heard him take a moment before settling down on the bed, sniffling a few times in a way that made Kit want to scream, but instead just caused her to dig more frantically. 

Blue pills. Blue pills. Come on, Dakota, where are they? Why is your bag such a mess? Why are you such a mess? Reid probably thinks you can’t handle this, and how he’s going to tell Gideon, and they’re going to tell Hotch, and-

“Are you okay?”

Her hands froze in between a wrist brace and a bottle of ibuprofen. 

“Yes,” she said evenly, though her whole body tensed, “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he said quietly, “You’re breathing picked up, and when you answered the door, you were crying. And the longer you look through your backpack the more agitated you seem.”

It was quiet for a moment. Kit didn’t resume her digging, but instead turned to face Reid at his spot atop her bed. 

“What happened to not profiling one another?” She asked after a moment. 

His eyebrows pulled together, searching for a moment before his head tilted, tongue flicking over chapped lips before he offered, “It’s okay if this is hard. Gideon always says that-”

“It’s not,” she said, effectively cutting him off for the second time in the five minutes he’d been in her room. She didn’t care at all what Gideon always said.

He looked unconvinced, suspicion flooding off of him, in addition to the sick feeling he’d already been sending her way. 

She could feel her hands clenching, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

He has no idea. He has no idea so you can’t be upset with him. He doesn’t know anything about you. He probably thinks you’re just as incompetent as Gideon does. Don’t give him any fuel for the fire.

“It’s not hard,” she said, just a bit softer than before. “I’m perfectly capable, and I’m tired. Here.” 

She turned and pulled the blue blister pack out of her backpack, hand suddenly knowing exactly where it was.

Naturally.

“Take these. I’ll give you the other ones in the morning.”

Reid looked down at the pills for a moment before he worried at his lip, eyes nervous as he asked, “You’re really not going to tell Hotch?”

“No, Reid, I’m really not going to tell Hotch. And I won’t tell Gideon either. No one knows. Go to sleep.”

She watched as he took a moment before nodding at her, standing up and heading for the door. He was halfway through before he turned and shifted his weight on his feet.

“Dakota?”

I might kill this one. Just this one.

“Reid?”

“Thank you,” he said softly, “again. I’m sorry that I intruded.”

She watched him for a moment before she shook her head. She realized that the trembling had stopped, and she didn’t feel as foggy anymore. Having a distraction, even if the distraction sniffled and asked probing questions and used her first name, it had helped.

She let herself give him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s okay, that’s why I’m here. Get some sleep.”

He nodded gently, returning her half smile with one of his own.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She watched as he closed the door, the room becoming isolated again. She settled back on the bed, only allowing herself to be lost for a moment before she shut the light out.

-----

“We believe whoever poisoned these people was motivated by revenge,” Hotch was saying. They’d met early to give the profile, but it was later than they’d wanted when they were finally able to gather all the officers. 

They were all pushed to one side of the room, sitting on various surfaces or standing in the middle where they could easily be seen. Kit had sat on top of the desk Reid was sitting in, wordlessly pressing a cup of tea into his slightly trembling hands. They’d found a moment when they weren’t being watched for her to slip the pills into his hand, but she’d only been able to find a drink just before Hotch had begun.

Morgan was continuing what Hotch had started, and Reid took the moment to slip the medication into his mouth, chasing it with a too-large sip of too-hot tea. Kit had to hold her snicker at the face he pulled.

“The randomness of the victimology - average people in an average-sized town... All points to a local resident.”

“We know that people who poison for the purpose of revenge primarily act alone,” Elle continued. 

“However,” Hotch added, “he may have manipulated someone close to him to assist him. The unsub usually disposes of these accomplices when they're of no further use to him.”

Kit listened as they bounced around, all taking a part of the profile to deliver. She paid attention as closely as she could, taking in everything that was being said, and wishing that she could be able to see what they all saw.

She focused on Reid saying, ”This individual was savvy enough to use rohypnol to obstruct our investigation, erasing the memories of the victims of how they were poisoned,” and she felt herself nodding along with him, listening closely to his voice and watching to see if anyone had picked up on what she’d been trying to help him mask. 

So far her efforts seemed successful, and she let herself feel good about that. She could take care of this team. Hotch���s faith was well placed.

She focused back on the profile again, her heart sinking when the emotions in the room shifted dramatically. Gideon had said that a lot of people could die, and everyone had flooded the room with varying levels of anxiety. 

A lot of people could die, and they had limited time to find him.

JJ came up behind them, drawing the attention of the profilers around her. She whispered quietly to Hotch, though it was quiet everywhere now, and her words caused quick movement in every body that filled the small room.

“We have a leak.”

The small television in the station was turned on immediately, grainy and nearly not loud enough for them all to hear. 

“That's right, Steve. Neighbors became aware something was wrong when a local Beechwood restaurant closed early. From inside sources, we learned that representatives of the CDC began testing food inside the restaurant.”

Gideon spoke over the woman for a moment, a wave of agitation flying off of him. “If you're gonna report the story, name the restaurant.”

“Unconfirmed, we were told that some of the food had been tainted with hallucinogenic drugs,” the reporter continued, and Kit understood exactly what Gideon meant. 

“Name the restaurant,” he said again, and Kit found herself standing from her spot atop the desk. Spencer raised an eyebrow at her, but she gravitated towards the TV wordlessly.

“Until we do confirm all of this, we will not release the name of the restaurant. We'll only say it's a Beechwood area favorite. This is Suzanne Whang reporting live from Beechwood. Back to you, Steve.”

“Damn it,” Kit said forcefully, surprising herself a bit at the venom in her words. She rarely swore in English, and she went a bit pink at the thought that Irish would have probably been a more appropriate choice. 

Gideon was glaring daggers at her, not really looking like he cared much what she had said, but that she’d spoken at all.

“They didn't name the restaurant,” JJ said, not paying attention to anyone else. She sounded dejected, but kept her tone more even than Kit had. 

“What is it?” Detective Hanover said, looking confused.

“Call the local hospital, make sure they know what's coming. Excuse me,” Gideon said. Kit started to move before she realized he had been talking to JJ. 

Heat welled inside of her. He was asking JJ to contact the hospital when she was standing right there. She understood, of course, that JJ’s job was communication, but she was the one that had been running point with the hospital. Especially the day before, when she and Reid had nearly spent the whole day there. The pink of her face flushed to red, and her hands clenched.

“Where do your 911 calls get routed?” Hotch asked Hanover. His calm determination set her straight back into the throws of what was happening. The restaurant. No name given. People were going to freak out, no doubt in her mind. 

“There's a county phone bank. They contact first responders, the fire department.”

“Alert them, too. They're going to need additional personnel and any other backup you've got. Auxiliary cops. You're going to have to call them.” 

“But, why?”

Though Hotch was stoic and calm, Kit could feel the tense energy he now had. It would be a mess to get everything under control once the storm hit. 

“Because we're going to have a heck of a time just calming people down and we really don't need the confusion to interfere with our investigation,” Hotch answered, calm never failing. 

“Do you want me to start making those calls?” An officer asked readily, and Kit watched as that set Hanover right off the edge. 

He moved to the center of the room and started yelling, hands in the air.

Here we go.

“No, no, no, no. Hey, hey! Everybody please shut up for a minute. Tell me what this is all about.” 

There was a moment where everything stopped. JJ stood with the phone at her ear. All eyes were on Hanover, mostly surprise and confusion around them. 

Then the phones started. They all rang, loud and overlapping, deafening almost everything else in the air. 

There was a moment before Gideon simply said, “Panic.”

It took a moment for there to be any sort of control. People were answering phones left and right, including Kit, who was back at the desk she and Reid had started in.

“We can’t comment at this time, thank you,” she said for at least the fifth time, hanging the phone up and looking at Reid.

“How are you doing?”

“I’ll be far better when this is over,” he said, taking a sip from the tea she knew was probably now lukewarm at best. He got up and they moved to where JJ and Hotch were, following the lead of Elle and Morgan. 

“I just got off with the hospital. They're swamped with over 50 potential poisonings from local restaurants, but no hallucinations,” JJ said, hanging up the phone and looking around.

“Another poisoning?” Morgan asked.

“Or maybe more hysteria,” Hotch

“We've looked into any civil or criminal complaints from employees, ex-employees, Suppliers, regulars at the cafe. Not one good lead,” Hanover said. 

He was dejected. The inability to control what was happening to his own town was what Kit guessed had him giving off such a feeling of hopelessness.

“There's got to be somebody connected to that cafe who pops as a suspect,” Gideon said, rifling through some papers.

“Morgan, you wanna go back there, see if we can find another angle?” Elle suggested.

“Couldn’t hurt,” he said. 

The two of them turned to leave, and Hotch looked at the three still standing there. “JJ, you, Colghain, and Reid go to the hospital. See if any of the poisonings seem legit.”

-----

When they got to the hospital, JJ and Reid both waited for a moment outside the door. Kit stopped in her tracks, following their lead. There was an awkward moment before she said,

“What are we waiting for? Is someone meeting us?”

JJ shook her head, giving Kit a small smile.

“We’re following you. I made contact with the hospital, but I’m not sure exactly who is the best point of contact in an ER overrun like this. I assumed you do.”

Kit couldn’t help but give a small smile at the warmth that flooded her chest at those words. She and JJ hadn’t talked a lot, but between their guessing game in the car the night before, and the even temper and apt social skills she showed, Kit really respected and liked her. She was good to work with, and clearly knew how to read a room.

“I do. Stay out of the way as best you can and stay close, there will definitely be gurneys going in and out.”

They walked in, flashing their badges as they crossed back into the busy ER. There were gurneys as Kit had predicted, and she was almost overwhelmed by the amount of panic flooding the small ER hallway they found themselves in. She could feel JJ and Reid close to her, and she stopped the first nurse she saw.

“Hi, I’m Nurse Colghain with the FBI,” she said quickly, using a different title than she normally would. The nurse was holding a file, she didn’t have the moment Kit needed to assure her competence.

“The FBI has nurses?” The young nurse said, clearly a little skeptical, but antsy as she glanced towards her assumed destination.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kit said, speaking as she would to any of her nurses back at the clinic. “Where can I find your Head?”

“Nurses’ Station. Nurse Leah. Tall, dark hair. Excuse me.” She scampered off, but Kit had all she needed.

She led JJ and Spencer to the Nurses’ Station and spotted a tall, dark haired woman who was exuding calm, though just beneath it was clear uncertainty. 

“That’s her,” she said to Reid and JJ without turning around. “Excuse me,” she said louder, “Nurse Leah?”

The woman turned, searching for a moment before she spotted the out-of-place agents.

“Yes? Who are you?”

“I’m Nurse Cloghain with the FBI. This is Agent Jareau and Doctor Reid. Can we have a minute?”

Nurse Leah shook her head quickly, scowling a bit as the three agents bellied up to the Nurse’ Station wall.

“I really can't talk right now. We just got hammered,” she said, starting to walk away.

“Listen,” Kit said, moving to follow her, “most of these food poisonings are probably psychosomatic.”

“What makes you think that?” Nurse Leah said, her attitude changing to one of skepticism and annoyance.

“A news broadcast just reported a local restaurant was poisoned. Now, it would be a huge coincidence if there was another poisoning right after that aired,” JJ said, her voice shifting from the friendliness she’s used outside the hospital door to the political tightness she used with reporters.

“So what do you want me to do?” Nurse Leah said, her eyes darting between them.

“Help us find out which cases, if any, are real,” Reid said, posture straight, not a tremble in sight. He either felt great, or he was masking incredibly well.

“People are coming in with all kinds of complaints,” she said, “But, there's at least one case that isn't psychosomatic. She's barely breathing.”

Reid’s eyebrows pulled together, “Can you take us to the doctor that's treating that patient?”

Nurse Leah nodded, moving to take them with her. Reid and Kit moved to follow, but JJ started to walk away.

“I'll call Hotch,” she assured, and the two others nodded, letting her disappear down the hallway.

The doctor they were passed off to took them down the hallway and towards the patient’s room, talking all the while.

“When the patient got here, she didn't remember anything about her day. And her speech was so slurred, I could barely understand her.” He said. His body language was favored toward Reid once he’d been introduced as “Doctor,” but they hadn’t gotten to clarify that he was not that kind of doctor. Still, Kit hoped his genius brain could make connections faster than her medically inclined one could.

“It sounds like rohypnol,” Reid said, “Did you test her?”

They walked into the patient's room and Kit’s eyes went wide. She was coughing desperately, the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth doing little to prevent it.

“She was positive for rohypnol, negative for LSD. But, we're running more tests because rohypnol alone doesn't explain her symptoms. She presented with nausea, difficulty swallowing, labored breathing. She was also having trouble moving her legs.”

“How long had she been sick?” JJ asked.

“She didn't know. I could barely understand her when she first got her. Now, she can't speak at all.”

“And she’d been coughing like that the whole time?” Kit asked, glancing to the bed. Her heart ached at the panic she felt coming from the ill woman.

“Yes, consistently.”

“Do you know any biological agents that have similar symptoms: Ricin, Sarin gas?” Reid asked quietly, his back turned to the bed.

“You think this is a biological attack?” The doctor said, keeping his expression even.

“We can't rule anything out,” Reid said, eyebrows raised and arms crossed firmly over his middle. 

The doctor took a moment before he said, “I'll order a few more tests.”

Hotch arrived not very long after, meeting Kit, Reid, and JJ outside of the patient, Lynn Dempsey’s room. They bounced around ideas, but nothing seemed to stick. At one point Kit used “finding the restroom” as an excuse to dig out more pills for Reid, and the two of them did a seamless pass off in front of the decrepit coffee machine. 

It wasn’t twenty minutes before there was a call for Hotch, the unit chief pulling the phone to his ear.

“Morgan, it's Hotch. What's up?”

JJ’s voice came out sharp, having been looking into Ms. Dempsey’s room. “Guys, I think she's trying to say something.”

The three of them flooded into her room, getting close to the bed as she leaned towards them.

“The en,” she said. Her voice carried almost no weight, though the urgency was obvious. 

“The end?” JJ asked, looking at Reid and Kit. Kit shook her head, and Reid leaned forward.

“She may be incoherent from the lack of oxygen,” he said, eyes scanning. Kit moved closer to the bed, leaning in just a bit.

“Can you say it again, Ms. Dempsey?” She said gently. The tone and pacing she used with patients came second-nature to her, and it didn’t take any effort to shift from self conscious BAU draft to Head Nurse. 

“It’s the en-” Ms. Dempsey tried again before being cut off by coughs that sounded as if they were already choking her. 

“Doctor!” JJ called quickly, panic flooding from her, and Kit turned towards the other two agents. 

“Give her some space,” she said, not allowing wiggle room in her tone. She started moving back herself, drawing the other two with her. “Here, let’s give some room.”

The doctor came in, setting down the new tox screen and working quickly over Ms. Dempsey. It was a few minutes before things calmed enough for Kit to ask calmly,

“Doctor, do you mind if I look at that?”

She gestured to the tox screen, to which he nodded quickly. Kit picked it up and started rifling through it, listening as JJ asked, “So, what are the chances that she's not poisoned, that maybe she just got some bad food?”

“Highly improbable. Chances are basically nil,” he said. 

Hotch came to stand beside Reid.

“What is the rate of survival?” Reid asked.

“This dose,” the doctor said, “without anti-toxin... Zero.” 

“What is it?” Hotch asked.

Kit’s voice came quickly and quietly, eyes darting up from the tox screen. “Botulism.”

There was a moment of quiet before a Nurse said with seriousness, “Doctor, her BP is dropping rapidly.”

“It's sepsis. Give another amp of epi,” he said.

“She's going into defib.”

“She's crashing! Get the paddles.”

Kit watched as the nurses and doctor worked over Ms. Dempsey. She’d been on her share of crash teams, but she’d never just watched and done nothing as a patient started to code right in front of her. They were paging a code blue, starting CPR, and everything in her screamed that she should be helping. She should be doing something. She should be moving, or speaking, or reading charts and screens and percentages. Something. Anything.

The problem was, she didn’t know if she was allowed. She had no idea what the rules were about jumping on a code in a hospital that wasn’t yours. She’d never had to. She’d never talked to Hotch about anything like that. Her job was with the BAU, only assisting on cases that were medical. 

This case was medical, but where was the line?

“The test run is over,” Reid said, swallowing hard and heading out of the room.

He jarred her from her thoughts, and her eyes went to follow him as he walked out.

JJ followed immediately, but Kit stood there for a few extra moments before she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She turned away from Reid’s receding frame, looking up to see Hotch. His eyes held the same soft kindness they always did, and he gestured over his shoulder wordlessly. 

Kit took one last look at Lynn Dempsey, the doctor and nurses performing CPR on her lifeless body, before turning and following Hotch out of the hospital room.

Kit tried not to think of Lynn Dempsey as a patient dying in a hospital. She tried to think of Lynn Dempsey as a person outside of oxygen masks and heart monitors and charge paddles. 

It wasn’t helping that they went back to the police station, where the profilers sifted through her life in an attempt to see if she was a murderer.

“Lynn Dempsey was an executive assistant. She has no expertise with chemicals. She doesn't fit the profile of the unsub,” Gideon said, leafing through some of Dempsey’s information.

Morgan didn’t quite agree. “But the CDC found both LSD and rohypnol in the candy she was replacing at the bank.”

“She must have been an accomplice,” Hotch said, “and when the unsub finished using her to further his attack, he killed her with botulism.”

“So, what does that tell us about the unsub?” Gideon said, finally looking up and around at the team.

Reid leaned forward on the desk, furthest away from them all. “He's far more sophisticated than we realized,” he offered. 

Elle was getting frustrated, and she looked at Reid as if she was lost. 

“Why is that?” 

Reid looked as if he was going to respond, but suddenly cleared his throat in a way that made Kit’s eyebrows pull together. It sounded to her like he was trying not to cough, a small bit of anxiety rolling off of him as she connected the dots.

“The botulism toxin is the deadliest substance known to man,” she said, biding time and giving every bit of information she knew about what exactly the toxin was. Maybe it would help somehow. If anything, it would buy Reid some time. “It blocks acetylcholine receptors, paralyzing the body until it’s essentially choked death.” She looked around, watching as all eyes were on her. Reid had gotten himself back under control, and she gave a small shrug before she ended her spiel. “Without an antitoxin, a lethal dose will kill you in thirty six hours.”

The quiet that followed her information was nearly choking to Kit herself, and she could feel the variety of reactions to her speaking up. Morgan was surprised, but that was all. There was nothing hostile there. Hotch and Elle were processing and spinning again, trying to connect it all together. Gideon was either annoyed or unimpressed, neither of which made her feel any better. 

But Reid was grateful, which helped.

“How many people have access to this stuff?” Elle asked seriously, looking at Kit with anticipation.

“I don't know,” Kit said, and she turned her eyes to Reid.

“In New Jersey, quite a few,” he said, “It's the pharmaceutical and chemical capital of the U.S., so that the toxin can be ordered in the form of botox through any chemical or biological lab or botox clinic. It has to be purified, but any chemist or lab assistant has that capability.” 

“So, we're looking for chemists and sophisticated lab assistants?” Elle asked.

Reid nodded. “Basically.”

Morgan spoke up from the side of their group. He was the closest to Kit, and she was thankful that he had taken station there. While she tried to stay one step away and isolate, taking as infrequently as she could, it was reassuring that Morgan would choose that spot and keep her in the loop.

“Okay, wait a minute. If the unsub is a chemist with access to the toxin, what'd he need Dempsey for?”

“Well, we don't know yet,” Gideon said, “But, she worked for a, she worked for a company, called, uh,” he started rifling through the papers, “Hitchcock Pharmaceuticals. I think there's a good chance the unsub worked there, too.”

Hotch nodded. “Well, let's start with people who fit the profile who've had a recent stressor.”

Morgan called Garcia, and she found them some names to work with. Kit tried to pay attention, but Reid had settled himself down in one of the desks again, fingers trembling slightly, but nothing else giving him away.

While the team spoke she found herself walking to make another cup of tea, eyes darting to her backpack as she steeped the bag. She retrieved what she was looking for quickly, the honey stick having been tucked in there by Monty as a “just in case” item. Kit had laughed at her then, but she was glad for it now. 

When she came back and set the tea down next to Reid, making sure the rest of the team was distracted by the case, Elle was saying, “All those innocent people at the bank.”

Gideon didn’t seem concerned, and that bothered Kit to no end. 

“They meant nothing to him. He'll take out anybody to forward his cause.”

There was a moment that Kit wasn’t in the precinct anymore. She was at the hospital, watching Lynn Dempsey die before her very eyes. Her chest constricted, like she was being squeezed in the grasp of a snake. Grieving a woman she had never known.

“Like Dempsey,” she said.

Gideon didn’t seem to feel the weight of her comment the way she did, continuing on as if she’d barely spoken. 

“Like Dempsey, and eventually, even himself. Until he finishes taking out his primary targets.”

“We have no idea where he's going to strike next,” Morgan said, expressing the frustration we all had, “For all we know, he could poison the local reservoir.”

“Elle, the local cops haven't gotten any leads out of Dempsey. Why don't you go to Hitchcock and see if you have any luck,” Hotch said, causing Elle to perk up a bit.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding and moving out of her seat.

-----

“This is my job!” 

Kit was not yelling. She was speaking to Hotchner with a whole lot of heat, hands clenched by her sides so they wouldn’t tap. Wouldn’t tug. Wouldn’t give away how frustrated she was.

“Colghain, this is going to end in arrest, or suicide. You aren’t needed on this takedown, the profile doesn’t state that he will do anything to hurt anyone but himself.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” she said, “What if the profile is wrong and something happens.”

“The profile isn’t wrong,” came a voice over her shoulder. 

Kit closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Gideon was not going to make her lose her cool. Not like in Delaware. She was having a conversation with Hotch, and Gideon could think anything he wanted, but she would ignore him if it meant keeping her words and tone relatively professional.

“I would never forgive myself if something happened to any of you.”

She meant it, and Hotch knew that. She knew he could see it in her. He was the best profiler of them all.

“Nothing is going to happen. I appreciate your dedication to your position, but this is my decision. We’ll have local SWAT with us, and we’re going in last. This will end in an arrest or a suicide.”

Hotch spoke as if to say “and that’s final” once he was done. His tone wasn’t demanding or forceful, but she knew he wasn’t going to give in. 

Her shoulders finally relaxed, one hand coming up to rub at her opposite bicep.

“Please be careful,” she said finally, to which Hotch nodded.

“We will. I’d like you to check in with Reid. He’s looking… off.”

“I already did,” she said simply, full intention to keep her promise. “He’s okay. Said he hasn’t been sleeping well.”

Hotch didn’t look convinced, but let that be her answer without more pushing.

“Alright, well, maybe check again. He won’t ask for help.”

“Don’t you have an unsub to go face without me?” She said, and though she was still frustrated, she allowed herself to push it down with the other emotions, giving him a small smile.

He nodded, turning on his heel and setting off down the hall. 

Kit took a moment to breathe before she turned back to the precinct. Gideon wasn’t standing behind her. She had no idea where he’d gone, actually.

Wonderful. He wants to be confrontational and Hotch isn’t here anymore. He didn’t let you go on the takedown. Did Gideon get to him? Does he not think I’m capable?

“What are you thinking about?”

“Cac!” Kit jumped, turning towards the slightly flushed assailant behind her. “Reid! That’s the third time you’ve done that.”

“What does that mean?” He asked, voice nasal. 

She tilted her head, pulling her eyebrows together as she thought about his question. It felt vaguely familiar.

“What?”

“What does that mean? You spoke Gaelic.”

“Oh,” she said, smoothing out her pants that were not wrinkled, and ignoring the fact that her tongue itched to correct him. Her parents called it Irish, and most people called it Gaelic, but she wasn’t going to get into linguistical nuances with Reid. “I don’t know what I said. You scared me, I reacted.”

“Cac.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, jaw dropping slightly. “What?”

“Cac, that’s what you said. You said ca-”

“Stop!” She all but yelled, her hands coming up in front of her as if to physically stop him from talking. “Okay, yes. I got it. That’s what I said. Please stop saying it.”

He looked confused by her outburst, sheepish even. “Tell me what it means.”

“It’s…” She trailed off, feeling the embarrassment creep across her face. “It’s rude. It’s a rude word.”

“Like a swear word?”

“No, a rude word. Like, that a child would say.”

“Are you trying to tell me that it’s a… bathroom word?” 

Kit watched as Reid’s face morphed into a smirk. Was he teasing her? Reid could tease? She hadn’t been involved in any kind of situation that would warrant Reid teasing her. Was he being friendly?

Don’t think too hard about it. He’s Gideon’s protégé, and Gideon doesn’t like you. 

“No more questions!” She snapped quickly, turning back into the precinct and stalking as far away as she could. Maybe she could find JJ and be of use somewhere with no Reid and no Gideon until the others got back.

-----

“He let us take him,” Hotch said. “He didn't kill himself. Doesn't fit the profile of a workplace killer.”

He, Gideon, Reid, and Kit were standing in the viewing portion of the interrogation room, the four of them staring through the glass at Hill. Kit hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Hotch why exactly she was needed. She figured Elle or Morgan would have been a much more appropriate choice.

“Sometimes you miss the mark,” Gideon said, hands pressed firmly on the top of the room’s table. “Let's be glad we did. He's our best chance at stopping the next attack.”

“Well, his lab had traces of botulinum toxin, but no clues as to what he's up to next,” Hanover said, walking in the room to stand near Gideon. He sounded listless, and Kit could feel the shift in the room when he entered. He was in over his head and he knew it.

Hotch didn’t look towards him, instead staying trained on Hill. “Our only chance is to make him tell us.”

Hanover didn’t seem convinced. “You think he will?”

“Once caught, these types usually do. They want the whole world to know about their brilliant plan to destroy their enemies,” Reid offered him, not sounding very impressed by Hill’s archetype. 

“In case he doesn't give it up, let's play every angle,” Gideon said, angling his body away from where Kit stood at the wall. He wasn’t talking to her, that much was very clear. “We need to re-examine everything we know about this guy.”

Reid shifted on his feet, pressing his hands into his pockets. “I'll check witness reports, forensic evidence, anything that might be a clue to this guy's plan.” 

Gideon nodded as Reid turned to him for approval. “A lot of lives could be at stake,” he said softly.

“I can help you,” Kit offered, keeping her voice level. She wanted to check her notebook for Reid’s medicinal distribution times more than she thought she would be helpful with his paperwork search, but she didn’t want to be in the room with Gideon anymore, and she wasn’t really doing anything just standing around.

“No,” Hotch said, now looking away from Hill and towards her isolated spot. “Colghain, I want you here while Gideon and I speak with Hill. Watch from this side of the glass. I’ll need your input when we’re done.”

“Hotch-”

“Sir-”

Gideon and Kit went to speak at the same time, causing Reid’s eyes to widen. He took his leave from the room quickly, and Hotch raised a hand to stop both Kit and Gideon before they could continue their grievance.

“Colghain will stay here and listen in while we interview Hill. Watch him closely.”

Kit hadn’t even been able to look at Hill during their short time on their side of the glass. He was a killer, and to her knowledge, she’d never been in the presence of one before. How one person could feel they were above so many others, that their feelings and their lives were more important, was lost to her, and she had no desire to look at him at all. Let alone watch him for the duration of his interview.

The room suddenly felt very cramped, though they had lost both Reid and Hanover in the moments of situational discomfort. Hotch’s eyes darted between Kit and Gideon, narrowing slightly as the physical tension in the far-too-small space between the two.

“Colghain,” Hotch said again, now gaining her attention more fully. “I want you at the window. Feel him out.”

She took a breath that seemed to catch in her chest, not able to get deep enough to make the feelings of discomfort go away. Her head nodded of its own accord, and her feet seemed to follow suit, moving towards the window and finally looking at the man sat there.

He wasn’t much. Not remarkable. He looked like a dad she would have seen at afternoon pick-up in grade school. 

But he isn’t a dad at school, Kody. This man hurt people. Killed two of them, and was trying to kill others. He was using drugs and toxins to harm people. What sort of sick person could do that? Not much of a person at all. 

The hatred sat like a weight in her gut, and while it was obvious Hotch and Gideon had no benevolent feelings for Hill, it didn’t belong to either of them. It was all her own. 

Her eyes narrowed through the glass, and she took a breath.

“Okay. Yes, sir,” she said. She heard even footsteps pad out the doorway. Her eyes didn’t move from Hill as she continued mumbling, now directly to Hill though the glass, even though he couldn’t hear her. “Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú.”

“What did you say to him?”

Gideon.

“Sorry?” Kit said, eyes never moving from the window. She’d thought Gideon had left as well and was following Hotch, not staying behind to watch her.

“What did you say? To Hill.”

She took a breath and turned, eyes narrowing at the older man in front of her. He didn’t want her there anyway, she might as well tell him.

“Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú,” she said, now louder. Each word was enunciated clearly, eyes not moving from Gideon’s. If he wanted to know, she’d tell him. “It’s something my Gran used to say to people with tattoos after she came to America.”

“And what does it mean?” He asked, mouth in a hard line, eyes searching her for an answer.

“May the devil choke you,” she said simply, voice never wavering. 

There was a moment of silence between them. Kit didn’t shift. She didn’t fidget or rock her weight. She didn’t move her eyes from his.

“Where’s yours?” He finally asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him, eyes never becoming less severe as she tried to gauge his question.

“My what?”

“Your tattoo? Where is it?”

She let out a breath, shaking her head. She hated the way Gideon felt so smug. How it seemed to circle in the air and choke her.

“There it is,” he said, not waiting any longer for her answer.

“There what is?” she responded, not able to keep the bite from her tone. 

“Trouble,” he said simply. His eyes never left hers.

For a moment she considered pushing. Considered defending herself, and telling him that she wasn’t trouble. That she was doing her job, and that he should just let her be.

She didn’t get the chance, though, as he turned on his heel and followed where Hotch had left the room.

Kit stood, staring at the spot Gideon had just been for a long while before she heard Hotch’s voice through the speaker. 

She turned back to the glass, watching now as Hotch and Gideon spoke to Hill. She took in his facial expressions. His body language. The feel of his emotions, though it wasn’t easy through the glass.

She did her job.

When they finished and reentered the room Kit was in, Hotch stood next to her, looking in at Hill.

“I called JJ. She, Morgan, and Elle are headed to the party now.” 

Kit nodded once, eyes still searching Hill as he sat across the glass.

“What did you notice?”

She took a breath, calmer now that Hotch was there, and that she’d had something productive to focus on. “He’s really… sweaty. That probably sounds stupid, but it’s strange to me. He didn’t give me a feeling of regret. He seemed sure of his decision, I guess, until you started to talk about taking his case. Then less sure, but he was sweating before that.” She waited for him to stop her, but he didn’t, so she continued. “He started fidgeting a lot there at the end. I don’t think it was guilt though. More like… discomfort. Like there was something else bothering him other than the two of you doing your interrogation.”

Hotch nodded, turning to look at her now. “He was sweating before we started?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m sure of it. That’s one of the things I look for when I’m watching for patients in distress.”

The three agents watched Hill for another minute before Hotch spoke to Gideon, saying, “What is it?”

“You're right,” Gideon said, “It doesn't make sense. Why didn't Hill take his own life when we had him surrounded?”

“Guys, I think we have a problem.”

Reid walked into the room as he spoke at a brisk pace, all sense that there was something wrong with his health pushed aside by his serious demeanor. “I've been looking over the victim reports. One of the victims that was originally dosed was severely diabetic.”

Kit’s eyes went wide, though Hotch didn’t seem to see the issue.

“And?” He asked.

“He wouldn't have taken any candy from the bowl at the bank,” Kit said, eyes flicking to her, and then back to Reid.

He nodded at her and said, “All of the victims were there. We know that, but how were they poisoned? I started looking at the security footage.”

He turned the laptop he was holding. On the screen was the film from the bank, in which Lynn Dempsey was meddling with the candy bowl.

“We know Lynn Dempsey replaced some candy from the bowl. Look how close that jar is to the deposit envelopes. Now, watch this.” He clicked a button, and the film zoomed in to show Lynn Dempsey’s hand on top of the stack of envelopes, right next to the candy bowl. “See that? Her hand is directly in the stack of envelopes.”

“So, you think the envelopes were poisoned as well as the candy?” Hotch asked. Kit took a step closer, eyes looking carefully at the picture.

Reid continued. “As Lynn Dempsey was dying, she kept saying something like "the end, the end." I think that what she was saying was "the envelopes." I mean, what was Hill actually testing? The rohypnol? The LSD?”

Gideon took a moment before saying, “The delivery system.”

“Exactly,” Reid said, “Botulinum toxin and LSD are the only two substances in the world toxic enough to be effective in doses as small as thousandths of a gram. Small enough to fit on the glue strip of an envelope.”

Kit found herself nodding, though no one was looking at her. She might have added more to Spencer’s finding, but Gideon’s words from earlier stopped her. 

Trouble. 

She wouldn’t prove him right.

“But, the CDC didn't find any evidence of poison on the envelopes,” Hotch said, face slightly scrunched in confusion. Grasping at straws, just like they all were.

“They wouldn't have. The envelopes were destroyed after the checks were deposited and processed,” Spencer explained. He started to sound a bit hoarse now, and Kit shifted her weight in sympathy of his discomfort.

“So,” Hotch said, clearly needing to process out loud at the speed he took his words. “like the rohypnol, Hill was using the candy to throw us off. To cover his tracks. To distract us from the fact that he was testing the envelopes.”

Reid was still working it over as well. “What I can't figure out is why would he poison the envelopes to test the punch?”

“Because the punch is a decoy just like the candy,” Hotch offered.

Kit turned to look at Hill. There was something they were missing. Something right there, but they just couldn't see it.

What could he still be hiding?

She watched for a moment as he started to go a bit red, Hill’s breathing seeming strained. She heard Gideon speak behind her.

“He's not finished.”

She felt her jaw go slack as she realized what was happening. Hill was choking. He’d dosed himself with the botulism toxin before he could be captured. That was why he didn’t kill himself. He’d already done it. He was dying.

He’s dying.

“Hotch!” She yelled, moving quickly out the door of the room and around the side. She was pretty sure she didn’t have the clearance to be doing whatever she was about to do, but she didn’t really care.

She heard Hotch call, “Gideon!” behind her, but she didn’t stop. 

She threw the door open, pulling desperately at the chair Hill was sitting in. The chair was heavy, and with Hill sitting on it she struggled.

Hotch came up behind her, helping pull the chair out.

“Get him down on the floor!” She called. She could feel Gideon behind her, trying to move into her space and take control.

“Get his head back!”

“Shut up!” She yelled, pulling at Hill’s arms to release the hold he had on himself as the toxin paralyzed his diaphragm. 

It only took a few seconds before Hill stopped breathing, tongue going slack inside his mouth as his life ended before their eyes. 

“He's dead,” Hotch said simply. 

Gideon was quick to respond. “He killed himself before we even got to him.”

Kit stood to her feet, slamming her hand onto the table, “Damn it!” She yelled, rounding on Gideon. “What the hell is wrong with you?! What the hell-” she slammed her hand on the table again, “-do you think I’m doing here?!”

“Colghain-” Hotch started, but Kit was already making her way out the door.

“I’m calling EMS!” She yelled angrily over her shoulder, pushing past a dumbfounded Reid standing in the hallway, and leaving all three agents in her wake.

Kit was pacing in the hallway once she finished the call. She expected Hotch to reprimand her, or Gideon to be angry with her. Reid hadn’t even said anything, though by the look of him after his revelation about Lynn Dempsey, he was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to try to unpack what had happened.

She considered trying to help him some more. Pump him full of cold medicine and send him to bed. She didn’t. She just continued to pace, infuriated by the way Gideon had tried to take over. He had no respect for her, that much was clear.

Why am I even here? Why am I here with these people who think I’m a joke? Who have no respect for my job or for me? They don’t care about what I’m doing or who I am. They’re stiffs. They’re all stiffs.

“Colghain, come on.”

She looked up to see Gideon and Reid already setting off down the hallway, Hotch in their wake. Gideon’s body language suggested he was frustrated, but Kit genuinely couldn’t have cared less.

“The victims need to ingest the anti-toxin within four hours of the time they were poisoned,” Reid was saying. 

Kit caught up to Hotch, right at his heels. They were moving in a way that suggested action, and she couldn’t pace and fume in the hallway anymore.

“You found the real targets?”

“They’re in the woods.”

“Do we know where in the woods?”

The SUV flew down the highway, and when they got there they were out of their seats in seconds. The four of them vaulted the wall between the car and the campsite, and Kit only slowed when she saw Reid nearly topple over. Was he dizzy? She’d have to check later.

They got to the officers waiting there out of breath, but entirely focused. Nothing but the victims mattered.

“These guys are in bad shape and getting worse by the minute,” the officer that greeted them said.

Hotch almost didn’t let the officer finish before he was asking, “Who's the sickest?”

“That one over there,” the man said.

Gideon didn’t let the officer finish before he was already yelling. “Medic!”

“He’s having trouble breathing. Hyperventilating, I think,” the officer continued, and they moved quickly. 

“What time did he lick the envelopes?” Reid asked, just behind where Kit was walking. Gideon and Hotch were already near the man that was sweating heavily, his breaths wheezing with exertion.

“They said around 12:30,” the officer assured.

Kit let out a breath. They had time. They would be okay. 

She came upon them as Gideon was starting to speak to the man. His tone was gentle and understanding. Not at all anything like he’d ever used towards her. 

The tone she associated with him was scathing. Questioning. When he spoke to the victim, she could have confused him with one of her clinic nurses.

“I’m a federal agent. You're going to be fine. This is gonna make you feel a hundred percent. Relax and breathe. You're gonna be fine.”

“Thank you,” the man said, his voice weak, but the panic flooding off of him reduced to worry. 

Kit moved to another one of the executives, speaking softly and assuringly as they were administered the antitoxin. She wished she could be of more help, but the EMS workers had it covered. That was their job. At that moment, she was a federal agent. Just like Gideon.

She settled in the seat across from Morgan on the jet. He put on his headphones and crashed almost immediately, and Kit envied his ability to sleep so easily. 

Her mind kept drifting to Hill. To the way he died on the floor of the interrogation room. To Gideon trying to get in her way, or take her job as she attempted to help the dying man. To the way she’d yelled at him.

Ari and Monty would never believe it if she told them she’d lost her temper that way. Monty was their spitfire, at least at work. In the clinic there wasn’t a cooler head than Kit’s. But something about the way Gideon treated not only her, but those all around him, bothered her deep in her gut. She watched as he was gentle with Reid, and people he didn’t know, but never with other members of the team.

Now, she figured he probably didn’t tell everyone else they were trouble. She was trouble. Just her.

Her hands moved to help tuck her legs under her, brushing gently on the tattoo just higher than her ankle. A sprig of holly. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. 

She waited a moment before pulling her backpack onto the seat with her. She grabbed the blue pills from where she’d purposefully stashed them that morning, and then sat up taller, leaning over the back of her seat to where Reid had all but thrown himself.

Gideon was sleeping across from him, but she could see that their youngest wasn’t asleep at all.

“Reid,” she said quietly.

He opened his eyes and blinked up at her. “Um, yes?” His voice was rough again, sounding almost congested.

“Here. Before Hotch finishes making his coffee.” She passed over the pills and a bottle of water she’d snagged from the nurses station at the hospital the day before. She’d saved it for this exact purpose.

Reid looked surprised for a moment before sitting up, sniffling before accepting the offering. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, turning back to sit in her seat correctly without another word.

She wasn’t mad at Reid. She was mad at Gideon. He made her feel small, and unimportant, and stupid. That wasn’t Reid’s fault.

But Gideon was Reid’s mentor, and she had no room in her emotional baggage to be friends with the pseudo son of her antagonizer. 

She scratched down the medication in her notebook before shoving it back into place in her bag. A moment passed before she heaved a sigh, glancing to Morgan and pulling out her own iPod. It wasn’t a long flight. Soon she would be back in her apartment, maybe even before Ari left for the day, and she could process about Gideon. She could process about Reid. She could process about Lynn Dempsey, coding in her hospital bed. She could process about Hill dying on the floor, right in front of her.

-----

Kit got to the metro station in record time. The redline had only three minutes until it was supposed to pick up for the night, and Kit pulled her coat tighter around herself. She’d left quickly, only going up to the sixth floor to grab her thermos from two mornings before. She’d wash it before she was due to be in the BAU the next morning, and Hotch had even told them they could have a soft start, since they got in so late.

She was wondering if she should have given Reid the nighttime version of the medication she offered. She didn’t really think about him having to drive home, and drowsy was probably not the best choice for driving across DC on a Tuesday night. 

“Do you have any more water?”

“Cac!” 

Kit spun around, hands at the ready, only to find Reid standing two feet behind her. His eyes were wide, nose bright red, and fever flush covering his cheeks. 

“Reid! What the hell!”

“I thought you said that was a rude word,” he rasped. No one had really spoken after they got off the jet, and Reid definitely sounded worse for wear.

“What?” She said, eyes narrowing. “It is. What are you doing here?”

A wave of confusion came off of him at that. “Um, what do you mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the metro tracks. “What are you doing here at my metro stop?” She scoffed quietly, not letting him have the chance to lie to her. “You can tell Gideon that I take the metro just like any other person. Monty and Ari and I share a car, and normally I’m leaving the office before eleven. You don’t have to, like, spy on me.”

She watched as his eyebrows hit his hairline. He was confused, but she didn’t care. She was tired and her emotions were starting to creep back up on her. She wasn’t going to meltdown on the metro, and she was not going to meltdown in front of Reid. 

Not after what he’d already seen.

“You… what?”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you’re doing,” she continued. Thankfully, the metro pulled up at that moment. She stepped onto the train and turned to face him again, gesturing to his general being. “Also, you look terrible. Don’t come in to work tomorrow.”

“Wait, no, Dakota-”

“Stop.” She said, putting every bit of force into her words, but making sure she didn’t sound aggravated enough for someone around them to try and jump in. The last thing she needed was a good samaritan to misunderstand their situation. “Just stop. Goodnight, Reid.”

He didn’t get a chance to reply before Kit moved away from the door and took a seat. She put her face in her hands and took a deep breath. 

She didn’t notice him step through a door farther down, sinking into his own train seat, fevered forehead pressed against the cold redline glass as the train pulled away from the now empty stop.