#my arm still works! it's in pain from me repeatedly prodding at the injury and i can feel the nerves more than usual but i can still move

[lazaruscorpse]

can't believe my arm still hurts from when i had to lay on the floor to connect my router

i fucked up my nerves in a spectacular way just by having my arm against the floor while moving into a better position

[oddlovergirl]

Bruno Bucciarati/Buccellati Headcanons

Ok, so here’s my headcanons on the Part 5 Jo-Bro and our serious, stern but sweet-hearted mafioso, Bruno Bucciarati (or Buccellati; it turns out Buccellati can be a legitimate Italian surname as there is an Italian jewelry watch company in the real world founded by Mario Buccellati and his son Gianmaria, but that’s beside the point)!

WARNING: There ARE spoilers and there are mentions of death as well as the process of a body decomposing. Please proceed with caution if you haven’t got very far into the series that is JoJo and/or sensitive to certain things.

-           His parents had planned for a water birth, and as such, Bruno was born in a bathtub full of water at room temperature.

-           After his father was badly wounded by drug dealers and had to deal with chronic pain, Bruno had to live with his honorary aunt Nora and her family since he’s still a twelve-year-old boy. They are rightfully concerned when they learn about Bruno joining the mafia to protect his dad, even with the knowledge that the police couldn’t protect him or his family from retaliation. When Bruno decided to move out at age 18, they tell him to keep in touch with them as to let them know he’s ok.

-           When he decided on joining Passione to protect his father from criminals, he went to Libeccio to find Polpo since the guy is in charge of recruiting new members. Piqued in interest by the boy’s determination, Polpo agreed to let Bruno join Passione in exchange for protection.

-           He never told his mother and her new family in Milan about his new life in the mafia as a way to keep them out of danger. He’s not fond of the idea of keeping his family at arms’ length, but he has to keep them safe somehow.

-           After his father eventually died from his injuries, 17-year-old Bruno felt that something within him just died on the very same day. He joined Passione to keep his dad safe, and since he passed away, the prodding question on Bruno’s mind is “Now what?”; He felt listless and directionless for a while before seeing his fellow Neapolitans he helped out in brighter spirits made him realize that helping out his community should be his new direction in life.

-           There are times where he’ll zone out to space while working. Sometimes a simple shake can joust him back to reality, but sometimes it might take more than that.

-           On the rare occasions he is psychologically overwhelmed that he needs to vent, Bruno goes into his zipper dimension as an outlet.

-           He gets easily absorbed into method acting (he used it as a coping mechanism for his early years in the mafia as a preteen); as such, when putting up an act to deal with unfamiliar people outside of Passione, Bruno gets way into his façade of being a sly and ruthless gangster when he goes “enemy of the week” on Giorno’s ass (AND later on in Vento Aureo chapter 93 when he conducts himself in the same manner with two airport security guards), just only showing glimpse of his real personality when he noticed the drug marks on an unconscious minor (the fact that the minor is wearing winter clothes when it’s actually late March is kind of a red flag to me, really, as using drugs fucks with your body heat and make you a little older than you really are). He only managed to return back to his normally serious, kind personality when Giorno talks to him about usurping the Boss and taking over Passione.

-           Though he is indeed a stern fellow in spite of his sweetness, Bruno does have a slight mischievous streak. On the rare occasions he feels like being mischievous, he’ll use Sticky Fingers to playfully spook his comrades. He’s twenty years old, alright? Let him have his fun, gosh dang it.

-           After he died the first time at the Boss’ hands and temporarily revived by Giorno, Bruno had to deal with the fact that his body had contracted his muscles (which at least prevents him from shitting himself upon death because that would be undignified). He went through great lengths to hide his status as an undead corpse from others, such as repeatedly trimming his hair and nails, taking embalming fluid to show down decomposition, masking his stench with a secret air freshener and perfume, and keep his body  constantly moving to prevent his corpse from locking up. He doesn’t want to burden his men with the knowledge that he is on borrowed time while they were working to overthrow the Boss.

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

im thinking about that trish/bodyguard so piece you wrote a while back, and all I can think about is trish being so desperate for any sort of affection that she’s just like “okay, time to fake my own kidnapping”

Hm.  I put my Narancia piece down to bang out something for this prompt bc this is, as the kids say, a mood.  Modified it just slightly though, because that’s how I am.

love is just another kind of greed.

Trish didn’t get the appeal of dogs.

They were cute, sure.  Little silky fluffy things that yipped and yapped and tolerated being carried around in purses.  They were also expensive as hell—hundreds of thousands of lire could be invested in premium shampoos, gold-flaked specialty foods, champion breeding (why, again?  You’re not taking this dog to any fucking show, Anastasia, you don’t need it)—and those two things alone should have had her clamoring to get one.

She didn’t want one, though.  Dogs were frail, frilly little things that cried endlessly when you kicked them (even if it was an accident) and whined for attention even if you were busy, and they couldn’t do anything, anyway.  They could posture, sure.  Strike a pose and bark and bark like the silly boys playing at being gangsters she had to tolerate every now and then, but if you pointed a gun at one and pulled the trigger, that would be that.  They’d fall over with a little sigh and get all still and silent, and then they wouldn’t be good for anything anymore.

The reason she was thinking about this, by the way, was because she was bored.  You were taking forever.  Weren’t you taking this whole kidnapping thing seriously?

“How’s your ankle, babe?”

Ugh.  Trish took a breath and pulled a smile onto her lips, gently tipping her head back to look up at the man.  Despite the coiffed hair and designer shoes, he’s nothing special; some dumb kid with good looks and soft hands, partying his youth away with cash that wasn’t his.  A drop in the bucket of young hedonists.  The kind who took a pretty girl’s smile as an invitation and the light brush of hands as a blank check.  More importantly, however, he was the kind she could lure in without too much effort, too eager to get into her pants to ask many questions.

She didn’t even remember his name.  

Trish raised her foot, a languidly elegant motion that let his eyes trace every inch of her delicate skin, and after a moment’s hesitation he rearranged the pillow to better cushion the black-bruised skin, one of a handful of trophies from an ‘accidental’ fall she took down the stairs here.

“I’m bored,” she replied, as if the pain thrumming through the fibers of her muscles didn’t exist (it was that easy to ignore; she’d endured worse for less) “don’t you have anything fun to do?”

He hummed back, delicately rubbing small circles around the site of the bruise, cushioning the movement by keeping his other hand on her heel.  She suppressed a laugh; were those tentative prods supposed to do anything?  Did he think she’d shatter if he touched her?

Despite his arrogance, Rich Boy here didn’t have much initiative; the only thing Trish didn’t have to prod him into doing was getting her back to his expensive loft.  Frankly, it was a miracle the two of them had managed to slip away from you at all.

I’d love to party with you, cutie, but first we have to ditch my chaperone.  Come on, let’s go before they notice we’re not at the bar anymore.

Throwing herself down the stairs in a tangle of Versace and toned limbs had been an impulse, but wasn’t everything tonight?  So what if she’d scraped herself up, or felt a horrible snap inside her leg as she plummeted to the bottom.  It’d all be worth it soon, once you’d realized she’d been made off with and had to go find her.

You really did need to hurry it up, by the way.  Eventually Rich Boy here was going to get his nerve up and actually try to touch her, and then she’d have to just kill him and wait for you by herself.  That would be boring, too.

He probably didn’t even notice she was getting impatient, honestly.  His eyes seemed to be on a rail, tracing a line from her plush lips to the delicate hollow of her collarbone to lower still.  Typical, really.  

Rich Boy starts to chatter, some fumbling innuendo about the things they could get up to with just the two of them, but she isn’t paying any attention to that.  In the space between heartbeats, the air changed, the stale conditioned air suddenly heavy with tension that only she could feel.  The storm had rolled in.  It was coming down the hall.

Rich Boy’s voice registered, asking if she was okay, and it was in that moment Trish realized she’d been sitting bolt upright, abandoning the discomfort of the expensively minimalistic couch as she waited for the storm to draw nearer.

It knocked on the door.  Three short, sharp taps that resounded in the relative silence of the loft, a muted thunder.

“Who could that be?” Rich Boy muttered to himself, and then “Stay right here.  I’ll get it.” as he wandered off.  She didn’t reply, just listened, heart in her throat as his footsteps echoed across the tile, undoing the lock on the front door and drawing it open to meet the interloper.

“Can I help—“ the words weren’t even out of his mouth as something—your fist, Trish thought with a thrill of delight, you must have hit him—connected with a hollow-sounding thud, and his body careened into the dining table.  

“Holy shit!”

“Where is she?”  In contrast to his own panicked scrabbling, your footsteps were slow and measured as you advanced.  You didn’t even shut the door behind you; there’s no need to.  Nobody stupid enough to try to help could stop you.

Trish considers throwing herself off the couch—she wants to watch you work, and maybe seeing her sprawled on the floor would make her seem more helpless—but you’re already in view, poking your head into the doorway after the Rich Boy who staggered back in, and she knows what you’re seeing: your charge, sprawled on some pervert’s couch, visibly bruised.  You opened your mouth to say something, but Rich Boy drew your attention.

“Jesus Christ—don’t come any closer, or I’ll—“ the gun he pulled was just as flashy as the rest of him, and equally worthless; under the gaudy gold plating and filigree was a waste of metal that wouldn’t be hurting anyone tonight.

If nothing else, because the safety was still on.

You didn’t even respond, except to sigh.  The invisible blades of your Stand sliced apart the gun and the hand holding it, showering him in splintered metal as he went down with a high-pitched shriek of agony.  You strode forward, stepping on his leg to hold him in place as he started to crawl away, already deaf to the whimpering babble that might have been bargaining.  Your head turned, pinning Trish in place with your stare.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this, Miss Una.”

Your voice was soft, but with an edge, the one that always gave Trish a thrill of joy when she heard it.  It was different from your normal tone, the indulgently subservient I’m your faithful bodyguard and nothing more mask you wore when other people were watching.  Different, too, from the terrified adoration you held for her in private as she did what she pleased with you.

This was your bite.  Incandescent rage, barely restrained in the taut coil of your muscles and your piercing glare.  It was hideous, savage, implacable, the look that heralded only pain and death as you obliterated anyone who even breathed a threat in her presence.

How dare you, you said with every movement as your Stand opened the man up in a shower of blood, how dare you try to steal her.  How dare you let her come to harm.

How dare you touch my master with your dirty hands.

No command she gave could ever get you like this.  You were a killing machine she could point at anyone she chose with only a glance; you would destroy yourself for her whims, if she let you, but there was no passion in obedience.  

Your voice has turned plaintive, almost hurt, and it puts her back in the moment.  “Do you doubt my devotion?  Were you just bored?  You could have just told me to kill for you.  Look, I’ve even let you hurt yourself.  How can I face your father now?”

Don’t look away, Trish wanted to cry out, seeing you turn your glare back toward the remains of your enemy, get angry with me.  Let me see how love twists your face.

These were the moments she knew you loved her.  The uncontrollable passion of your fury, for her and only her, only shone when something threatened to take her from you.  These were the moments that Trish Una well and truly and fully felt wanted, and they were getting addicting.  Was it cruel to do this to you—to drive you to this edge of madness, repeatedly and on a whim, purely to satiate her cravings?  Perhaps, but it felt good not to care.  

You drew near to her, taking another look at her injuries, and she breathed the smell of blood and smoke that hung around you like it was perfume.  Your touch was delicate, but not gentle, and after a few seconds you pronounced it definitively broken.  She wouldn’t be walking for a while.  She was fine with that.

“Then you’ll have to carry me everywhere,” she declared, crossing her arms.  You met her eyes, searching them for something, and then raised a hand to graze her cheek.  She leaned into it a little, sure that it was a caress, but your hand came away with a smear of blood; you’d been rubbing it away.

“If that’s your wish, Miss Una,” you murmured, and then gathered her into your arms.  Her arms wrapped around your shoulders as she relaxed into you, until her lips were inches away from your own.  You didn’t incline your head in the slightest as you carried her out of the loft, just let your breath ghost across her face until she finally closed the distance and kissed you full on the mouth in the elevator.

There wasn’t any appeal in dogs for someone who already had a wolf.

[phoenixsavant]

Maid-sama Saeran

Just a quick fic because I never know when to stop with a joke.

               Vanderwood watched as the twins sparred together. Saeran had been learning quickly, but still had yet to best Saeyoung.  It was impressive though, he had improved dramatically over the past two months.  His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he stepped out of the room to take the call.  

               “Yeah, we’ll be there,” he promised, ending the call. Just then, he heard a shout and a pain-filled cry from the dojo.  He ran through the doorway to see Saeyoung gasping on the mat and Saeran standing over him, panting but looking proud.

               “Oh!  Damn! Ow!” Saeyoung exclaimed.

               “Get… over it… baby,” Saeran said, holding his hand out to his brother.  “Up… do it… again.”

               “I can’t,” Saeyoung whimpered.  “My ankle, oh god.”  He clutched his thigh and rolled to his back, dangling the ankle in question in the air.

               As he approached, Vanderwood could see something was terribly wrong.  Saeyoung’s foot just sort of dangled in the air.  There was no tension in it and it canted to the outside.  

               “What the fuck did you do?” Vanderwood growled, kneeling next to Saeyoung.

               Saeran’s expression slid from victory to concern. “I used that inside sweep you showed me, that’s all.  What’s wrong?”

               Saeyoung’s eyes were clenched shut, and his face screwed up tightly in pain.  “Is it broken?  I heard something when I fell.”

               Vanderwood could not tell for sure if it was a break or not.  It could be, given the speed with which it was swelling and turning purple.  It could just be a sprain.  He prodded gently, ignoring Saeyoung’s cries as he inspected the injury.  Ankles were the worst injuries.  They hurt the worst, and they took the longest to heal.

               “Tell me everything,” he said to Saeyoung.

               Saeyoung recounted the two attempts Saeran had made to get close enough to throw him, and then the surprise of Saeran’s foot pushing his own into the air.  When Saeyoung tried to balance on his other leg, Saeran rushed him, and Saeyoung’s ankle rolled under the force of the impact, twisting until Saeyoung had been standing on top of his foot before falling.

               “Well, shit.”  Vanderwood sat back on his thighs.  He looked up at Saeran, who had been watching closely as Vanderwood inspected Saeyoung’s ankle.  “Congratulations, you won.  Unfortunately, your brother wasn’t named Grace.”  He groaned.  “Come on, time to go to the hospital.  We need an x-ray.”  

               The fact that Saeyoung had no smart-ass response worried Vanderwood more than the now softball-sized swelling around the young man’s ankle.

               The emergency room was thankfully bare this afternoon, and the trio was in a room waiting for the x-rays in no time.  

               “We have a problem,” Vanderwood announced as the nurse left, having given Saeyoung some medication to ease the pain and an ice pack for the swelling.  “That call I had to take was about the mission we’ve been waiting for the green light on.  We’re supposed to go tonight.”

               “Shit,” Saeyoung muttered.  “I don’t think I can, not like this.”

               “I know, that’s why it’s a problem,” Vanderwood stated.  Life wasn’t so bad since they’d gotten away from the agency, but they were still taking on freelance work.  No one would show up to kill them if a job didn’t get done, but it made them look bad. They’d also have to return the money, and it was five months since the last job already.  

               “Will it be bad that you can’t?” Saeran asked. He’d apologized repeatedly.  He didn’t intend to harm Saeyoung, he just wanted to win one match.  Just one.

               “It won’t be great,” Saeyoung replied. “Don’t worry though, there’s no danger. It’s just, we needed this job.”  

               Saeran frowned.  He felt guilty, responsible.  It was because he was pushing so hard that Saeyoung was hurt. They wouldn’t even know how badly hurt until the x-ray results came in.

               “Don’t stress about it, Saeran,” Saeyoung tried to smile.  “I’m fine. Even if it’s broken, it’ll heal. You’re looking at me like you tried to kill me.”  

               Saeran blanched.  He remembered when he had tried.  No, this wasn’t him trying to do anything but win a stupid sparring match, practice.  He was angry with himself about it, too.

               When the doctor returned, the good news was that Saeyoung’s ankle wasn’t broken.  The bad news was that he’d managed to tear the tendons to hell and back. He was given a walking cast, crutches, and orders not to put his foot down for a full ten days.

               The car was silent on the drive home.  Vanderwood helped to get the twins inside and went back out to get the prescription for the pain medication filled.

               Saeran’s guilt had not abated.  He made sure Saeyoung had what he needed to rest and then sat in a chair near the couch.  He looked at the elevated foot and chewed the corner of his mouth.  He wondered if he should call MC.  She hadn’t been home to see her family in months though, and she needed the rest.  If she knew, she’d rush home and worry until Saeyoung was healed.  No, let her enjoy her vacation.

               “What was the mission?” he asked, an idea half-forming in his thoughts.  

               “Huh?”

               “The mission you were supposed to do, what was it?”

               “Ah, we were just going to retrieve some material that was being used for blackmail.  Easy in, easy out, and the client gets to stop living in fear of her ex.”

               Saeran snorted.  He knew Vanderwood and his brother were trying to make up for all they’d done while working for the agency.  He didn’t know they were playing the rescuing heroes.  

               “Is it something I could do?” Saeran asked.

               “Is what?”

               “Damn, that morphine makes you stupid.  The mission, could I do it?”

               Saeyoung sat up on his elbow, his eyes wide for a moment.  Then the excitement bled out, and he flopped back on the cushions.  “It requires dressing to go undercover. I don’t think you’d be able to pull it off.”  

               “Why not? Saeyoung asked as the door to the bunker opened.

               “Why not what?” Vanderwood asked, tossing the prescription to Saeyoung.

               “I was asking if I could do the mission for him since he can’t.  It is kind of my fault you guys are in this situation.”

               Vanderwood looked at Saeyoung.  “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

               Saeyoung didn’t look at Vanderwood, he just flopped his arm over his eyes.  “I told him it has to be done under cover and I don’t think he could do it.”

               Vanderwood nodded and Saeran felt himself getting irritated.  “Why couldn’t I do it?  If it’s just going in, grabbing something, and walking out, why not?”  He was as good as his brother at everything he’d tried, and better at some things!

               “You sure you want to do it?” Vanderwood asked. “If you say you do, I won’t stop you, but you can’t back out on me.  You have to do it.”  

               “If you’re going along, you can just tell me what to do.  I can do it. I look just like him, for Christ sake.”

               Saeyoung giggled.

               Vanderwood shook his head.  “Alright then, if you’re that determined.”  He crossed the living room, heading toward Saeyoung’s room. “Brief him, I’ll get the clothes.”

               Saeyoung smiled brightly.  “You don’t know how much this means to me, little brother!”

               “Whatever,” Saeran muttered.  “What’s the story?”

               “Alright, the client used to work at one of those maid café places.  She left because she was dating a manager there, but they broke up.  She’s moved on, and it wouldn’t look good for her new employer to know about the old job. The ex has the photos he took of her while she was working there.  He’s threatening to send them to her boss, and put them online.”

               “So you’re going after the pictures?”

               “Right, I was anyway.  The client talked this jerk into bringing the photos to the café tonight.  She’s promised to talk to him about coming back to work there, provided he gives them to her.  She knows his locker combination, so like I said, it’s in, get the goods, get out.”  

               “Sounds simple enough,” Saeran nodded thoughtfully. “You’re sure the pictures will be there and that he doesn’t have other copies?”

               “I already made sure he doesn’t.  Every time he tries to scan them in, they just go missing. It’s the strangest thing…” Saeyoung smirked.

               “Hey!  Saeran!” Vanderwood called.  “You wear the same size as Saeyoung now, right?”

               Saeran looked at his slightly smaller frame. He’d packed on weight and muscle, but he wasn’t sure about clothing sizes.

               “It’ll work on him,” Saeyoung called back. “Worst case, we just pad the bust a little more!”

               “Bust?” Saeran asked, suddenly feeling hesitant.

               “Oh, didn’t I tell you?  You’ll be playing the part of a maid tonight!”  Saeyoung smiled, looking like the cat who had just cornered the canary.

               Saeran’s eyes went wide.  “Maid?  But those are all played by…”  His words failed as Vanderwood returned carrying a hanger with a maid costume, a long wig, and a set of ladies underthings.

               Saeyoung’s grin shifted from cat with cornered canary to cat who swallowed canary, and he began to cackle.

               “Do you know how to wear these?” Vanderwood asked, tossing the lingerie at Saeran.

               Saeran managed not to drop anything.  “You’re kidding, right?  You want me to dress up like a … a woman!?”  

               “You said you were willing to handle the mission,” Vanderwood pointed out.  “I already called the client.  We are go, and you’re up.”  There was no consolation in his voice.

               “It’s alright, little brother, I can help you! The stockings are super nice, I picked them out especially for this mission.  The lace at the thigh won’t roll up on you, either!”  

               Saeran looked at the long stockings in his hand. He hadn’t noticed the lace before. His face paled.  “You can’t be serious.  Can’t I just be a busboy or something?”  

               “Sorry, we’ve already arranged everything,” Saeyoung replied.  “It has to be a maid.”

               Saeran was all too aware that his brother did not look sorry, he looked excited. With a sigh, Saeran asked, “So I just pull these on?”  He lifted the stockings with his fingertips, worried about damaging them.

               “Not until after you shave!”

               “Wait! What!?” Saeran gasped.  “Shave… what?”

               “At least your legs and Vanderwood can wax your chest for you!”

               “Oh hell no!  You are not touching my chest!  There’s no hair on it anyway!”

               “You still need to shave your legs, and your armpits,” Vanderwood stated, laying the costume carefully over the back of the couch.  “Come on, I’ll show you what to do.”

               Saeran glared at Saeyoung, but Saeyoung only smiled cheerfully.

               “Thank you so much for helping us out,” Saeyoung beamed at Saeran.  

               “I hate you,” Saeran muttered, following Vanderwood back to the bathroom.

               Vanderwood showed Saeran how to warm and soak his legs before shaving, and how to avoid cutting himself with the razor.  The angles were odd, but with Vanderwood’s help, Saeran’s legs were soon free of hair.  Once done, Vanderwood had him put on some sort of lotion that at least helped with the burning feeling.  

Saeran couldn’t get over how his legs felt without hair on them.  On the one hand, he understood why girls apparently liked the way their legs felt after shaving.  On the other hand, he didn’t think he should be feeling that sensation.

They returned to the living room.  Saeyoung demonstrated how to bunch up the thigh highs and pull them over the foot to avoid putting a hole in them.  Saeran gave him a sour look as he pulled them up.  They were soft, but this was just not okay with him.  He had no interest at all in women’s clothing!

“So, the dress, huh?” Saeran asked.

“Not yet!” Saeyoung chirped.  “First we need to do your nails!”

Saeran looked doubtfully at his hands.  He’d been doing better about biting his nails, but they still didn’t look great.  “I don’t know that there’s anything you can do to fix them,” he said, holding up a hand.

“Never fear!” Saeyoung exclaimed.  “Vanderwood, in my closet there’s a blue box.  Would you bring it out here?”  

When Vanderwood returned, Saeyoung hummed softly as he opened the box, keeping the lid just closed enough that Saeran couldn’t look inside.  

Saeran knew his brother was up to something, but when the bottle of mint-green nail polish appeared, Saeran found his limit in this whole affair.

“Oh, no!  You are not painting my nails!”

“Well of course not!  Your nails are a wreck!  I’m painting the fake nails we’re putting on over your nails.  This color is perfect!  It’ll match your eyes, and trust me, men notice eyes!”  Saeyoung pulled out a long, white box.  “We don’t have time to do acrylics, so we’ll have to make do with the press on nails.  These stick pretty well.  They’ll probably last a few days.”  

“Days!?  Saeyoung, I am NOT wearing those!”

“Yes, you are,” Vanderwood chimed in.  “You’re the reason he’s hurt, now stop bitching and sit down.”

“This is so great!” Saeyoung squealed.  “I get to paint my brother’s nails!”  

“Shut up before I make sure your foot is broken,” Saeran growled.

“Oh, now, that’s no way to talk to me when I’m just trying to make sure you’re beautiful!”

Saeran scowled as the nails were applied.  He grumbled as they were painted.  Thankfully, Saeyoung used some sort of fast-drying polish, but now his hands felt strange, and he couldn’t hold anything.  This was not what he expected when he offered to stand in tonight!

Next came the dress.  That part was, thankfully, less odd.  Saeran still hated the petticoats and the way the fabric just kept moving every time he took a step.

“Wig before or after?” Vanderwood asked Saeyoung.

“After, of course!  We don’t want any makeup in the wig,” Saeyoung answered.

“Oh god, makeup?”

“Well, yes,” Saeyoung responded.  “You kind of look like a guy in a dress right now.  We have to do makeup, the bra, and the wig still.  Then,” he squealed in delight again, “My little brother will be a beautiful maiden!”

Saeran looked at Vanderwood.  Tapping two of the fingernails together experimentally he asked, “Can these go through skin?”

Vanderwood snorted.  “I understand the sentiment, but no.  Get your makeup done.”  

Saeran flopped onto the cushion in front of Saeyoung with a disgusted grunt.

“Oh, no no, you can’t flop around like that.  You have to sit gracefully!” Saeyoung rebuked.

Saeran bit his tongue and let his brother apply what felt like pounds of goop to his face.  He couldn’t believe some women did this every day.  It was gross and made his nose itch.

“Stand up,” Vanderwood ordered after the makeup was applied.  He eyed Saeran’s chest critically.

Saeran had a moment of confusion when he felt like Vanderwood shouldn’t be looking at his chest like that.  He squeaked in horror when Vanderwood reached up and squeezed… wait, it’s not a real boob, Saeran reminded himself.

“Yeah, I’m going to have to fill you out a little.  Don’t worry, it won’t show.”  Vanderwood left the room.

“What does he mean ‘fill me out’?” Saeran asked, wondering if he wanted to know.

“He means your bust isn’t sitting right.  You need more top up top!  Vandy is great at that sort of thing.  He knows just how to make sure you have a rack to be proud of!”  Saeyoung grinned his appreciation of his partner at Saeran.

“I don’t want a rack, to be proud of, or otherwise,” Saeran growled.  “You set me up.  You knew what this mission was and you knew what I’d have to do. Don’t think I’m going to let you get out of paying for this.”  

Saeyoung looked up sadly.  “But, I thought you wanted to help, to make up for hurting me?”

“Help, not … not this!”

“Here,” Vanderwood said, returning.  “This will fix it.”  He reached into the top of the dress and shoved something into the heavily padded bra.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Saeran gasped, pulling away and covering his chest with his arms.

“Oooh!  He’s discovering his ladylike modesty!” Saeyoung crooned.  “It’s so wonderful!”

“Shut up, Seven,” Vanderwood snapped.  “We’re barely getting to pull this thing off anyway thanks to you being such a clutz.”

Saeran stood still, out of sheer gratitude that Saeyoung had been silenced for a moment, as Vanderwood felt him up like a cut of meat at the market.

Finally satisfied with the rest of Saeran’s appearance, Vanderwood slicked his hair back with gel and put the wig on him.  A little spirit glue ensured that it wouldn’t fall off.  Then the lace choker and bands were tied into place.

Vanderwood gave Saeran a critical sweep with his eyes before saying, “Turn around, see what Saeyoung thinks about it.”  

Saeran did at he was bid, only to face his brother looking like he was about to swoon.

“I can’t believe it,” Saeyoung sniffed dramatically.  “My baby brother, all grown up and looking like a princess’s maid, if not a princess himself!  He’s so beautiful!”

“When I get back,” Saeran promised, “I will kill you.”

“Bet I’m faster on crutches than you are on heels!” Saeyoung laughed.

“Heels?”  Saeran gave Vanderwood a withering look.

“No, not heels.  I don’t need you both laying around with messed up ankles.  You can wear these instead.  Just be careful.  They’re proper patent leather.  They will show the reflection of what’s up your skirt,” Vanderwood explained, holding out a pair of mary janes.

“Let them look,” Saeran muttered.  “Serves them right.”  

[letitrainletitsnowbutdontletmego]

Finally - Chapter 7: Bunny

aka: 9 times Jay tries to win Voight over (intentionally and not so intentionally) and the 1 time he doesn’t need to.

Also on ff.net and AO3.

Many, many thanks to @justkillingtimewhileiwait for all of her help, listening to me bounce ideas off her, ramble on about what I wanted to write and mostly, the beta-ing. You are awesome! :)

Jay wasn't waiting. He really wasn't. If he couldn't sleep and was instead laying on their bed, playing solitaire on his tablet, it was simply because he wasn't tired. Even if they had started the day at nearly 6 a.m. and it was currently nearing 11 at night. It definitely was not because he was waiting for Erin to get home, worried about how her meeting with her mother had gone. Or was going, if that was the case. With Bunny, Jay could never tell if she truly wanted to see her daughter or the cop she was. And with Erin being the woman she was, she would give Bunny the time of day he would not if she believed her mother might have the tiniest inkling of actually wanting to be her mother.

Not that that would be the case today. Not after Bunny had approached them whilst heading back to the precinct after grabbing some lunch together, asking Erin for some time to talk. Insisting she come over to her place that evening, which Erin had brushed off and said she would meet her at the bar she was working at again, the only decent job the fickle woman could hold down.

And especially not when the two of them knew that Bunny's new 'friend' was clearly a drug dealer, if not her supplier. As much as Jay had wanted to tell Erin exactly what he thought of her mother, something he had done so previously and numerously, he knew she still felt the primal need as her daughter to perhaps try to help her. To save her. Because if she could do it, then why couldn't her mother?

Contemplating opening up Erin's game of Candy Crush, which he knew she would kill him for but sometimes payback was a bitch when she had no need to play on his tablet, Jay froze as he heard the lock turn and the front door creak open.

He'd left the living room light on as was their tradition when one was home before the other, and he waited for her to appear in the bedroom doorway for a few seconds longer than he was happy to.

Hearing her keys being thrown onto the table by the door, her gun a heavy thump next to it, Jay got to his feet and left the tablet behind on the bed as he made his way out.

"Erin-" he began quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night. The words died on his tongue, no longer wanting to know what had happened when he saw the nasty bruise darkening her jaw, the corner of her bottom lip split.

She had spun towards him at his voice, having not heard him approach. "I'm okay, I'm okay," she assured him, heading to grab some ice from the fridge dispenser with a tea towel in her hand.

"You're not okay, Erin," Jay all but snapped, unable to control the red hot rage that burnt inside of him at the sight of her marred features. He reached her in a few strides, gently skimming his fingertips over the other side of her jawline in a complete contrast to how he felt. Somehow, she managed to bring it out in him, cooling his hotheadedness and calming impulsive actions. The injury was hidden by the makeshift ice pack she was pressing to both her jaw and lip, so he instead tilted her head up to meet her eyes. "Who did this to you?"

"Don't-" she began, but he knew the answer the second the question left his mouth.

"It was him, wasn't it? That dealer Bunny's been hanging out with recently? Is that why she wanted to see you?" he asked in rapid fire, not even giving her the time to reply to one before the next question slipped out.

"Jay, please-" Erin tried again, her voice somehow calm and soothing though he failed to hear it over his own anger. Dropping his hand from her face, he took a step back and held onto the counter behind him in an iron knuckle grip instead.

"I'm going to kill him," he stated venomously, features hardening as he conjured up the man's face in his mind from the brief look that afternoon, and imagining him even daring to lay a hand on his girlfriend, his partner. Jay had no problem with returning the favour ten-fold.

Erin stepped around him to perch on the stool, shaking her head as she did so. "I've already handled it. He got a broken nose for the effort."

"Where he is now?" he prodded, crossing his arms before he ripped their kitchen counter to pieces and earned her wrath in that way.

"Jay, let it go," she begged him softly yet strictly, the tone she used when she didn't want to deal with the subject anymore.

He had no doubt she had fumed over what had happened, giving Bunny a piece of her mind about the company she kept and once again insisting to either let Erin help her out or to get out of her life forever. Telling her how she hated having to be the one to taken the brunt of her mother's bad decisions, and how 20 years later, they were still somehow in the cycle as they had always been.

Or so Jay hoped she had, otherwise he was going to have some choice words with Bunny. Especially when he knew that Erin would never tell her mother how hurt she truly was by always being let down, and how that pain was probably fiercer than the one on her face.

Erin's pain, both physical and emotional, brought up his anger to full throttle. "I'm definitely not letting it go!"

She must have realised his adamant stance on the subject, and taken pity on him by answering his last question. "I don't know where he is. He ran off after I pulled my gun out on him," she told him with a defeated shrug.

Inhaling deeply, Jay allowed himself a moment longer to focus on that scumbag without a name and what he would do to him when he finally got his hands on him, before letting it all out with a slow, controlled exhale. It was a method he had been taught in the army to keep his emotions in check and keep focused on the job at hand. Right then, that was making sure the woman in front of him was truly as fine as she had insisted she was. She was what mattered the most right then, not whoever did this to her. And after a harrowing evening with Bunny, she needed someone to show her she came first to everything else.

Taking the tea towel from her hand, Jay swapped it for a dry one and added more ice to it before carefully resting it against her bruise, his other hand going to cradle her head lovingly. He had to give it to her when she didn't wince nor hiss at the contact, but instead grabbed his forearm and ran her hand up and down it repeatedly.

"You should have shot him," he muttered eventually. Erin glared at him, unimpressed at his opinion, not that it deterred him. "You should have!"

"He didn't have a weapon," she replied, both of them knowing the legal reasoning behind her words. Her eyes fluttered close for a moment as Jay simply stood there, unsure what she was thinking of until she squeezed his arm and gently pulled it away from her. "Let's just go to bed. I really just want to go to bed, curl up with you and forget this ever happened, okay?" she told him, taking the ice out of his hand before prompting him when he failed to reply or react. "Jay?"

Nodding, he watched her dump the ice into the sink and hang the towel on a drawer handle to dry. The light from the living room casted shadows on her features as she moved around the kitchen, making her injury look far worse than it was.

Swallowing the lump of rage building in his throats again, he waiting until she approached him again. "We're telling Voight first thing tomorrow, and I don't care what you think about it, you're not leaving anything out," he stated, leaving no room for argument though they both knew Voight would demand the story out of them when she walked into Intelligence the next morning regardless of what Jay wanted.

"Tomorrow," she agreed vaguely before grabbing his hand and leading him to the bedroom, making sure to turn the lights off as they went.

...

Silence filled Voight's office once Erin finished telling him, and Jay for that matter, everything that had happened the previous night after she had left the district up until she had returned home. Neither one of them had interrupted her, but their facials expressions said everything they weren't and didn't have to. Jay stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly with his muscles jumping every now and again when he was particularly affected by what she said, whilst Voight remained in his chair, one leg crossed atop of the other in a casual stance though by the way his jaw ticked and tightened every now and again, she knew it was simply a facade.

Finally, the sergeant turned his sight towards Jay. "You let her go alone?" he accused harshly.

"He didn't let me do anything! It was my decision," Erin snapped before Jay could even summon an answer.

"He's supposed to be your partner, Erin!" Voight seethed, still eying the man in question even as she tried to reel him back in, knowing Jay wasn't going to defend himself when he probably agreed with their boss.

"This isn't Jay's fault," she stated matter-of-factly, and she could feel the tension dissolve as quickly as Voight's demeanour changed.

"No, it's that son of a bitch's who did that to your face," he growled, planting both feet on the ground and leaning forwards in his seat. "Where is he now?"

Erin rolled her lips between her teeth, ignoring the stinging cut, before shaking her head. "No idea."

Her answer clearly rubbed Voight the wrong way, who directed his anger back towards Jay. "You let him get away with doing this to her?"

"I wouldn't have if it was up to me," he retorted immediately, holding Voight's stare for a moment before their attention jumped towards her when she scoffed.

"Considering the first words out of your mouth were 'I'm going to kill him', excuse me for not wanting you to go after him last night," she shot back, raising a brow to dare him to argue her words. When he didn't, she nodded once and turned back to Voight. "Besides, I handled him."

"Unless he's behind bars or six feet under, I don't class it as being handled," he replied, getting up and grabbing his jacket as he passed them out of his own office. "I bet you your mother knows exactly where to find him."

..

They sat in the car across the street from the address Bunny had given Voight, keeping an eye out for the man they wanted. It was a rundown building in a sparsely populated area; perfect for drug activity.

"You're meant to have her back 24/7, remember? You promised me, Halstead," Voight stated sincerely, breaking the silence they had been sitting in for almost an hour now.

It was just the two of them in Voight's car, Erin having been left behind at the district so they could 'do this by the books'. Which they all knew was a load of bull because Voight had never done anything by the books, and there were no rules against her making an arrest on someone she was going to press charges against.

But when Jay hadn't stepped in, the men both knew she had realised she was fighting a losing battle. If she had been brave and stupid, she would have followed them but instead, she had promised to back down if they promised to bring him in to Narcotics for booking.

"You don't think I know that? But you know how Erin is. She didn't want me there and I couldn't force myself into the situation," Jay replied with a tired sigh, rubbing his forehead and willing the headache he had been giving himself all day by the same thoughts to go away.

"Does what she wanted really matter right now?" Voight asked, glancing over at him with a hardened glare. Jay merely shrugged and shook his head.

"Hindsight is always 20/20," he muttered dryly, about to add that he would never make the same mistake again when the door of the building they were staking out opened and a familiar looking man exited. Only today, Jay realised with some pride, he was sporting a crooked nose with white butterfly bandages stuck across it. "That's him."

Voight was out of the car before Jay could even get into action. "Let's go."

..

True to his word, Voight hadn't worked up the dirtbag too badly, though Jay wished he could've had another hit. But, as promised, they handed him over to Narcotics for processing and to follow the case through, if there were any on top of the assault charges Erin was bringing down on him.

She had gone to give her statement in the late afternoon, brushing off Jay's attempt in coming with her with a bemused smile and telling him that the last thing they needed was for the cop who helped rough him up to make an appearance. It was a lame excuse, similar to the one they had used on her earlier in the day, and he knew she was simply giving back what she had gotten.

After following her to roll up to make sure they were good, Jay had bid her goodbye with the promise of bringing dinner home and headed back upstairs. They had a bit of paperwork left over from the week, but he couldn't get his head on straight enough to focus on it. Now they had dealt with the man who had hit her, all Jay could focus on was the cause behind it all.

Pushing away from his desk, he approached Voight's office and knocked on his open door out of custom. Not expecting a reply anyway, Jay closed the door behind him and sat in the chair opposite his boss.

"How's Erin?" Voight asked gently, his eyes jumping to over Jay's shoulder at the detective's empty desk before returning back to him.

"How she always is. Playing it off like it's nothing, like she should have expected it and doesn't deserve to feel sorry for herself again," Jay replied, pushing back the anger that came with the words as he recalled her simply brushing it all off before she had left with a shrug and a sad smile. "I want Bunny out of her life, Sarge. For good."

Voight let out a strangled chuckle, smiling wryly as if his words were familiar to him. "I've tried, trust me. But she finds a way to crawl back in just when Erin least expects it."

"She's too good to her," Jay all but spat, knowing exactly what it was about Bunny that drew Erin back in again and again.

"She's too good to a lot of people," Voight remarked pointedly, actually making Jay smile softly for a moment before he recalled where he had been going with the conversation.

"When she came home last night…" he began, trailing off at the memory and the white hot rage that flooded him quicker than he thought was possible. "I wanted to kill him, Voight. Actually kill him, with my bare hands if I had to, for what he did to her. I can't even begin to imagine what it was like for her as a kid. Did this kind of thing happen all the time to her? Is this what Bunny let happen to her children then too?"

Voight shook his head at Jay's imploring questions. "That's something you need to talk to her about."

"I know, I know. I just don't want to push her. Her past is her past; it is what it is. And I don't need to know. It would just make things easier if I did," he explained, clasping his hands together in front of him and casting his eyes downwards.

"Why?"

Jay lifted a single shoulder and looked up. "I dunno, it'd help know what I can do to cheer her up or take her mind off things right now. She's more affected about her mother putting her in this position than what happened."

Voight seemed to watch him for a minute, a contemplative look passing over his features. He nodded diminutively as if he had understood exactly what Jay was talking about before picking up a pen and scribbling something down on a piece of scrap paper. He held it out towards the younger man, who stared at it questioningly before shifting to reach for it.

On it was the name of what Jay could only assume was a place to eat, as well as the address. "It's a diner near Lincoln's Square, tiny place but it's open all hours. I use to meet Erin there sometimes when she was still my informant, grab some food."

"Okay…" Jay replied, slightly confused with what he was to do with the information and how it linked back to what he had been talking about.

Voight seemed to have noticed his bewilderment, rolling his eyes as he explained, "Take her there. She loved the cheesecake, would give up an entire meal just to have dessert."

"Sounds like Erin," Jay muttered, staring at the paper once again before folding it up and tucking it into his pocket. "Thanks, Sarge," he added as he got to his feet, only to turn back when he reached the door. "And for what it's worth, I am sorry. For not having her back with Bunny and letting her get hurt. That's on me."

"No, it's not. It was that bastard's and he got what he deserved," Voight informed him strictly, leaving no room for argument, though they both knew he hadn't gotten what the two of them thought he deserved. "You'd cross that line for her?"

Jay didn't need any further details to know what he was referring to. Erin had let slip it that morning and he had casually repeated it not a few minutes earlier about what he would do to that son of a bitch if he hadn't had voices telling him otherwise. Both voices of reason and Erin's. "Yes, sir. Without a second thought."

"Jay." Voight stopped him as he went to open the door once again. "You're good police, remember that. If nothing else, then do it for her."

That was definitely not what he had been expecting to hear, not after everything he had thought about doing for the past day. Letting out a long, harrowing breath, he nodded. "Yeah, I will."

...

"I thought you were grabbing dinner?" Erin's voice called out the second he stepped into their apartment. She was peeking out of the kitchen at him in the hallway, dressed in just one of his hoodies which she had official claimed as hers long ago and nothing underneath. Jay appreciated the look, even if she was frowning at him right then. "What's this?"

Glancing down at the bouquet in his hand, he held them out as he approached her. "Daisies. They're your favourite, right?"

"They are, thank you. But you didn't have to," she told him, taking them out of his hands and lifting it to her nose to breathe in their fresh scent.

"I did," he argued, explaining when she shot him a querying look, "I'm sorry for the way I reacted to everything. I should have been more supportive rather than-"

"Murderous?" she supplied for him. When all he could do was nod in reply, she placed her flowers down carefully onto the counter next to them and stepped right up to him. "I get it, I do. I'd have reacted the same way if it had been you," she said, placing a hand on his chest right above his heart and looking at him dead in the eye where she must have seen the hesitation and uneasiness her words had brought him. "What? You don't think I would have?"

"No, I just wouldn't wanted you to have," he explained, already knowing where this was going and the point she was going to make, especially when her eyebrows rose high and she smirked winningly.

"And now you see how I felt." Jay allowed his eyes to fall close for a second, admitting defeat to her logic. His hands fell to her waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him briefly. It was warm and familiar, and Jay wasn't sure if it was more comforting for him or for her. "Thank you for not acting on it."

Once she pulled back, he leaned in to press a chaste kiss to her mouth, smiling into it when he felt her lips curve against his own. He squeezed her hips when they broke apart, hands travelling south and under the hoodie to her bare backside to pull her tighter to him.

"C'mon, throw on some jeans. I want to take you somewhere for some dinner," he told her, much to her surprise. He chuckled at her expression, knowing his actions had purposely drifted her thoughts towards another activity they both enjoyed. However, he had promised dinner and the sooner they left, the sooner they could return and have the night together.

Erin eventually shook her head. "I don't think I'm in any state to be going out for dinner, Jay," she murmured with a small shrug.

Jay took in the bruised jaw, the marbling black, blue and green contrasting dearly against her porcelain skin. Carefully, he laid a hand against her neck, thumb barely skimming over the injury before brushing over the cut on her bottom lip. It was healing, that was for sure, but he ghosted his lips over both sites nonetheless and smiled when he felt her sigh contently at his actions.

"You look beautiful. You always do," he told her honestly, smile deepening when her cheeks tinted pink ever so slightly. "I promise, you'll love it. Besides, I didn't say it was somewhere nice."

Laughing, she gave him a dimpled smile and nodded. "Well, how can I say no after that?"

[daddyimmaru]

In Which Maestro and The Bad Guys Bond.

Maestro hadn't expected to wake up trapped. There was a dull ache in the back of his skull and he couldn't feel his fingers, but he was more concerned on where he was. It only took a moment to take in his surroundings; stuck on a table that was slightly angled to keep him from being completely flat, in a dim room. He had a pillow and it wasn't cold in here, and there was a bottle a high shelf that he believed was pain medication. Not the worse place he's woken up in, but his mask was next to the bottle. That wasn't good. He twisted, and whatever had him stuck broke with a small snap and he hit the ground with a small puff before dropping down into a sitting position. His legs hurt, and a wave of dizziness had settled over the moment he had to support his own weight.

It seemed he'd made more commotion than he'd intended, as his senses rattled in his head and he tucked himself into a shadowed corner as the door opened and two people crept inside. His eyes narrowed, confusion evident, before he gave out a low 'murr' despite himself. Kraken and Siren. Of course he would wake up here- the last fight they had sprang into his mind, he recalled hitting the ground when Siren had bopped the back of his knees with their bat, remembered tucking and dodging his way around Kraken into traffic- the rest wasn't there. His sound seemed to attract some attention from Kraken however; or, more accurately, one of Kraken's arms, which moved effortlessly towards him. He blinked when it stopped just before his face, aware it was releasing a soft humming sort of churr, and if he didn't know any better he would say it sounded concerned. Kraken and Siren turned to face his corner, and Maestro found himself using his arms to hide his face despite the fact they had already seen. The clawed machine before him clicked quietly, and tugged slightly on his sleeve- his coat was gone too. The yellow suit underneath was dotted in red, he noticed as he drew his knees up and hid his face in the darkened cave he had created. What had happened? His spidersense was still rattling, sending static through his brain while heightening all his normal senses. He could hear the churrs from the claw clearer now, could make out that Kraken and Siren were whispering to one another, his heartbeat was hitting his ribs like a fist and he was aware that his suit carried the faint scent of copper. "Told ya we shouldn't have brought him here." Siren- he recognized the slight lilt to their way of talking. "Told ya he was gonna panic." Kraken had yet to speak loud enough to hear, but the claw was now prodding repeatedly at his side to try and press it's way into his little cave and Maestro giggled despite himself. Siren fell silent, but he could feel both of their gazes on him and he quickly moved his arms a bit to allow the arm to see his face. That seemed to please it, as it stopped touching his side and instead chirped quietly. "How are you feeling?" Kraken spoke now, and Maestro shrugged slightly as he tucked himself further into the corner. "We needed to take your mask," Siren explained after a moment of silence. "You got hit by a truck and we had t' see if there was any damage up there." Ah. A good reason, not that he approved of it any more. How did he get hit by a truck though? Unless it had been on purpose, most people knew not to drive through a fight like that. And because he hadn't been braced for it at all, he hadn't been able to stop any of the injuries. It made sense, but at the same time, he was more concerned on how he got here. "Your headphones busted-" "Siren, don't overwhelm him. He just got up." His headphones? He half looked up, exposing only his eyes at the time and pointed at himself. Where was his coat? Siren and Kraken looked confused, and he tugged his sleeve and gestured slightly. "Oh! Oh, your coat?" Maestro made a note to let Siren rob a store as thanks for understanding and nodded. "It, uh, kinda got torn up. A lot. Saved you from skidding too bad on the pavement, but it'll probably need to be replaced." Maestro nodded slowly, taking a deep breath and releasing it on a sigh. Okay, that was okay. It wasn't his best anyways; still a good coat, but not his usual blue.

Siren and Kraken shared a long look, and Maestro turned his attention back to the claw like it could answer his questions. It seemed Siren did most of the talking between the two, but Kraken was more in charge? He didn't know for certain yet, though the red eye-like orb in the center of the claw wasn't exactly telling him much. Either way it seemed happy to have his attention and he carefully ran a finger over one of the thinner segments on one side. The entire arm seemed to recoil for a moment and he noticed the look Kraken threw over his shoulder- 'what are you doing?- before the claw returned to his previous place and looked at him near expectantly. Not the weirdest thing he'd ever seen, really, and Maestro hesitated only a moment before he continued his testing 'petting'. This wasn't so bad; he didn't seem to be in danger at the moment, and Kraken and Siren weren't paying him much mind, so he allowed his frame to relax slightly. "We didn't know where else to bring you." He jumped a bit when Siren spoke to him. "We kinda thought you died-" "We? Last I checked, you were the one freaking out that someone hit him with a truck and it wasn't you." Siren's face flushed and they glared at Kraken a moment. "And you decided we were bringing him here to make sure no one else killed 'em, or took of his mask." Maestro blinked, snorting back a laugh. He hadn't expected them to be this relaxed outside of their fights. "You should be okay. Your body did a lot of the healing for you, which explains why you were out so long." Kraken finished for Siren, almost looking intrigued. "I didn't know you could heal yourself." Maestro shrugged again, keeping his gaze on the claw still. (He was deciding on a name. All of them would get names if they were as cool as this one.) Another metal arm, (the two on top were the ones being the most active, he noted. The bottom two were keeping Kraken an inch or so off the ground. Interesting...) extended to grab the bottle on the shelf, before joining the one by Maestro and shaking it. Maestro mumbled a soft 'thanks,' or as close as he could get to one, and moved his free hand to take it. The mechanical limb didn't release, and Maestro blinked in confusion before the first one helped to open it and (rather daintily, actually,) removed one of the pills inside. It swivled towards him and he carefully took the oval before making a small sound of appreciation and quickly taking it. Kraken and Siren nodded slightly, seeming approving, and the second claw quickly returned to it's place by hovering over Kraken's shoulder. They waited a moment for him to settle back against his corner, before they stepped closer and peered down at him. Siren crouched in front of him, looking over his face a moment before snapping. "That's who you remind me of!" They exclaimed. He tilted his head curiously and Kraken rolled his eyes behind his glasses. "We already know who you are." He explained. "Didn't take long when we saw you without the mask." Maestro groaned, hiding his face in his hands again. The claw chirped again, not seeming pleased with the sudden lack of attention and went back to poking his arm and side. "We, uh, won't give you away, if that's what you're thinking." Maestro spared them a rather hopeful look, and Siren huffed and crossed their arms. "Just don't tell anyone we know." Maestro nodded quickly, returning his hand to the claw beside him- (He was debating between Ollie or Oliver for its name)- and flashed a nervous little smile. He could work with that.

Kraken tilted his head a bit and, with much hesitation and clicking, Ollie-Short-for-Oliver returned to his side. "You should be okay to head to your place." Siren announced. "But watch out for traffic. I would hate if a drunk driver took you out before we could." Maestro nodded again, huffing out a laugh as he rather cautiously stood. His legs weren't wobbling as bad and Ollie moved to grab his mask and drop it into his hands. Slipping it on and fixing his hair a bit, Maestro crept towards the door and watched as Kraken and Siren moved out of the way. He hesitated, made a motion like he was tipping an invisible hat, and disappeared out the door without another sound.

If any of them noticed how careful the three were with each other in their next fights, or how Siren and Kraken seemed to be getting away with a lot more and escaping the police awful easy, no one said anything.

{Hmm. I wanted to write something (originally planned for Siren and Maestro to bond over how tall Kraken is and how much they hate it) but this came and swept my legs out like my dad a few minutes ago when he threw me, in my pjs, into two feet of snow. @angerydj @funonion001 happy, uh, Monday? I think-

Lemme know if there's any mistakes! I kinda let Kraken's arms do their own things cause that's my soft spot haha}