#off of my chest and not stabbing into my inflammation.

[foxgirlmoth]

My alarms were ringing while watching *that* Amy Cuddy video during a class today and I gotta say I might be fully right thinking that. Quick searches show she was taking a stance with someone claiming being trans is harmful (not surprising when a chunk of the talk is saying that Testosterone makes you aggressive/more forward, a major talking point people try to use against trans women and poc and also calling it the dominant hormone) and also someone mimicked her experiment with a lot more people and it seems that power poses didn't do anything. It also seemed like she was trying to evoke some inspiration porn (while talking about IQ, another thing I'm always wary about) and made no mention of what helped her get through college and saying it was just power poses. Did you get help going through college??? You're still a white cishet woman like. I can 100% seeing you having no problems paying for school and not having to work during that education. People doing these kinds of things recognize that privilege exists please.

[dameronscopilot]

tender

Poe Dameron x f!reader

Summary: You're miserable when you wake up overwhelmed by the ache of period pains, but Poe does his best to make you feel better—in more ways than one.

Word Count: 1.7k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, unprotected p in v, creampie, PERIOD SEX, fingering, BLOOD, fluff, soft Poe, filth

A/N: This is for @pumpkinpoes and the nonnie that sent in an additional request for it as well 💖. The introduction starts off with fluff, and then it's divided off where it dissolves into something far...filthier.

You wake to the feeling of a sharp stab of pain clawing its way through your abdomen, and a small whimper falls from your lips as you clutch the comforter closer to your chest. Poe stirs at the feeling of you tugging at the blankets, your sounds of discomfort pulling him from the edges of sleep, and he opens his eyes to find you curled into a miserable ball beside him. He scoots across the mattress, closing the gap between your bodies and resting a hand against the side of your face.

“Hey,” he murmurs gently, brushing his thumb over the curve of your jaw. “You okay?”

“No,” you whine, pressing your hand firmly against your stomach in a feeble attempt to stifle the agonizing throb.

“Is it…” he trails off.

“Yeah,” you breathe out between clenched teeth. 

He nods, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed. Your consciousness floating somewhere between your desire to go back to sleep and the bright bursts of pain preventing you from doing so, you only vaguely register the shuffling noises coming from across the room. 

Poe returns a few moments later, urging you to roll onto your back. You glance at him, bewildered and annoyed at the request, until you notice the hot-water bottle he’s cradling in his hands. Once you adjust yourself, he places it over your stomach, and your eyes fall shut as the heat begins to soothe the pain’s sharp, biting edge into a dull ache. 

“Thank you,” you breathe out.

He walks off again, making his way back over with a mug. He sets it down on the small bedside table, and as you eye the steam rising from the tea, a pleasant floral scent wafts toward you. 

“Try drinking that when it cools down. It helps with inflammation.”

You offer him a grateful smile, wincing slightly as an insistent cramp overshadows the pleasant warmth on your abdomen. “Should I call you Dr. Dameron now, or what?”

Poe scratches the back of his head, the corner of his mouth quirking upward as he bites his lower lip and glances down at his feet. “My dad used to make that for my mom when I was younger.”

Your chest clenches, though this time it’s an ache in your heart at Poe’s mention of Shara. Lifting up your arms, you beckon him to climb back into bed with you, though you know all too well that he has a busy day ahead of him. He obliges anyway, slipping under the covers beside you, resting one arm over your chest and burrowing his face against the dip between your shoulder and neck.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it to today’s flight drills,” you lament, feeling weary at the mere thought of sitting in the cockpit of your X-wing and trying to focus on flying in between the nauseating waves of pain.

Poe’s hot breath tickles the soft, delicate skin of your neck as he chuckles, “Is this your way of getting out of that race you challenged me to last week? People are betting on us, you know.”

You turn your head sideways, coming nose to nose with him. 

“What’s the point in betting if I’m going to win anyway?” you smirk, though it ends up being a grimace as you twist your body at the feeling of another cramp coming on.

“We’ll see about that.”

Poe’s brown eyes sparkle with mirth, and he gently presses his mouth to yours, hand coming up to cup the side of your face as he distracts you from your discomfort with the plush feeling of his lips. He kisses you tenderly, his curls brushing against your face, fingers trailing over your collarbone, and your veins begin to ooze with warm, syrupy contentment. 

And while Poe offers to call off his own day entirely, you shoo him out the door as you take a sip from the mug of tea before collapsing back against the pillows.

--

You spend the day wrapped up in blankets, going so far as to take a hot shower before crawling back into your cocoon as you oscillate between bouts of nearly unbearable pain and few and far between moments of relief. When Poe finally makes his way home later, he doesn’t hesitate to join you back in bed after stripping off his flight suit and washing off the day’s grime.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he lays down on his side facing you, tilting your chin upward slightly and leaning in for a kiss.

“Like a Wookiee is trying to claw its way out of me,” you grumble.

“Okay, well I have an idea.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious as to what else Dr. Dameron could possibly have up his sleeve. “Do tell.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I’m willing to try anything at this point, Poe.”

“Roll over,” he instructs, though he doesn’t move to grab another hot-water bottle this time.

You shift onto your back, letting your head fall to the side on the pillow as you glance over at him curiously. Head propped up with one hand, he holds your gaze as he reaches out with the other, laying it atop your abdomen. His fingers begin to slip inside the waistband of your underwear, and your face heats up.

“Poe, what are you—“

“Trust me, please.”

“But I’m blee—“

“Let me do this,” he breathes out.

Your mouth snaps shut as his fingers trail over your folds, slick with blood. A wave of arousal courses through you as he slowly drags a digit through your slit, which you’re nearly ashamed to acknowledge. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper, heart pounding in your chest. 

“Does it feel good?” Poe asks calmly, pushing a finger into your entrance.

“Yes,” you breathe out, eyes snapping shut.

“Look at me.”

You tentatively open your eyes, and your breath hitches in your throat as you take notice of Poe’s heated gaze, his lust-blown pupils, the way his lips are slightly parted.

“It feels so good,” you whimper as he slides another finger into your wet cunt, your back arching up off of the mattress slightly.

“You’re allowed to enjoy this, baby,” he murmurs. “Relax.”

And so you do. 

You let yourself go boneless under Poe’s touch, legs spreading further apart as he shifts closer, leaning over top of you as he plunges a third finger inside of you. 

As Poe’s groin brushes against your hip, you can feel just how much he’s enjoying this, too. His hard shaft strains at the front of his boxers, and when you reach down to grasp it, he rocks into your touch, groaning. 

“Can I…” he trails off, panting.

“Please,” you nearly beg, fisting the collar of his shirt and pulling him on top of you entirely of you as you seek out his mouth in a desperate kiss. 

You shimmy out of your underwear, body thrumming with anticipation, and Poe reaches out toward the other side of the mattress, hand flopping around until he finds what he tossed there before getting back into bed with you: a towel.

Lifting your hips, Poe swiftly slides the material underneath of you before dipping back down to claim your mouth with his own again. He nips at your bottom lip as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance.

“Poe.”

He pauses. “Yes?”

Tone laced with uncertainty, you fumble to find the right words. “It’ll be…messy.”

He kisses you again, lips slotting against yours insistently, tongue darting its way past the seam of your mouth. You’re breathless once he stops, and his warmth breath dances over your wet, swollen lips.

“I want it to be messy.”

At that, he begins to sink his throbbing cock into your fluttering entrance. You both moan in unison at the ease with which his thick shaft penetrates your hole, your channel greedily sucking him in, slick with blood and arousal.

“Poe,” you whine, fingers digging into his back. “It feels—“

“I know,” he chokes out, forehead falling against yours, thumb stroking your collarbone.

“So fucking—“

“So fucking wet.” His voice is rough and wrecked.

You writhe underneath of him as Poe begins to work his cock in and out of you, the slick, damp sounds from each plunge into your cunt magnified by the additional fluids pouring out of you. Though he tries to maintain a rhythm as he repeatedly splits you open, you’re both too lost in way your nerves are on fire, dizzy with pleasure and need. 

The ache between your thighs drives a blazing path up your spine as you rock into Poe’s thrusts, and sweat begins to trickle down the side of your neck. His hands wander, pushing up your shirt to reveal your swollen breasts. A breathy sigh tumbles from your lips as he begins to fondle them, and you brazenly moan as he flicks his thumbs over your tender nipples.

Poe’s hot, wet mouth quickly replaces his hands, and your cunt throbs around his cock as he goes back and forth between your breasts, eagerly sucking at them. 

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, fingers tangling in his hair as you hold him there, urging him not to stop. 

He moans, teeth scraping over one of your nipples, hips stuttering as he continues to fuck you at a frantic pace. At the feeling of your pleasure nearing its peak, you reach between your bodies, but Poe beats you to it, fingers slick with blood and arousal as he begins to play with your clit.

Your muscles tighten in anticipation, body overloaded with the pleasure rippling through it, and your vision goes white when you climax finally punches through you. Limbs trembling, you gasp as Poe’s cock continues to piston in and out of your cunt while you soak his cock with your release. He cups the back of your head, kissing you hard as he slams inside of you to the hilt, moaning into your mouth as he empties himself deep within you.

Once you’ve milked every last drop of his seed, Poe carefully removes his softened cock from your channel. You both stare at one another, breathing hard, and as you feel his cum start to seep from your entrance, you realize what a fucking wet, sticky mess you’ve both made.

But before you can attempt to apologize or anything of the sort, still worried that perhaps this was a little too filthy for him, Poe cuts you off with an impish grin—

“Please tell me why we haven’t done that before."

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» POE DAMERON MASTERLIST » OSCAR ISAAC MASTERLIST

[paigelts05]

The Second Chip [FNAF, Renegade AU]

https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/The-Second-Chip-FNAF-Renegade-AU-1056313210

Renegade File Server Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36911932/chapters/142713592

Published: May 19 2024

It had been a few days since the Ruins incident and whilst Cassie is physically recovering alongside Sylvia, Gregory, and Ness, and the gas is finally wearing off, so she can see the real world clearly again, her mental state is still on the decline as uncertainty takes hold. What was the chip other than a kill switch and way for Faz Ent to manipulate what she sees, what did Faz Ent really want with Ness, Gregory, Sylvia, and herself, and would she ever be safe?

=°•.🌹 Story 🌹.•°=

°°•°°•°°•°°•°°•°°•🌹•°°•°°•°°•°°•°°•°°

It had been a few days since the incident dubbed 'the Ruins Incident', or 'Ruins' for short.

Cassie had managed to explain everything she knew so far. Her information combined with what Sylvia knew resulted in quite the full picture, yet questions remained, as they so often did. Cassie had noticed that the distortion she had seen around her dad's forehead, as well as some other objects, had vanished; a sign that the Component V gas and the residue the chip pumped into her head to try and kill her was out of her system now and she was seeing the real world. The real real world.

She hadn't been kept up to date on the mask and chip situation though. She figured things were being investigated and they'd get back to her once they had the full picture as to not worry her. Sylvia had been told that the control module that had been jammed onto her chest was 'the same as the one Adelaide used on Luis in the Raid', which probably meant more to Sylvia than it seemed on the surface, as Sylvia had no further questions and she actually seemed to start giving answers instead of questions.

Cassie was recovering though at least. She was no longer bedridden despite her fractured ankle, and only her eye and the old implant site were causing issues. Mostly pain and inflammation, but issues nonetheless.

As she got up to stretch her legs, Mike walked in. The paranormal officer had been a familiar sight, but had been more for small talk than saying anything actually useful, likely due to the chip situation and not wanting to cause unnecessary panic. She had leaned enough about him to know that he probably blamed himself for her passing out over learning about the kill switch, and didn't want that kind of shock to happen again.

"Any information or just small talk?" Cassie asked.

"I actually have information today!" Mike beamed as he handed Cassie the mask and an eyepiece, "we removed the chipping system from the mask, so it can read them but not stab another into you. And the eyepiece should act as your chip. I've ran extensive tests, so it should be safe."

"Well the only unsafe thing was the kill switch chip," Cassie said as she held the mask at arm's length in front of her face. "Can we get Gregory and my dad in the room? I promised myself the first thing I'd get through is seeing what they look like in the AR system."

"Alright," Mike replied with a nod, "I'll fetch them. I might be a while though."

Cassie returned to her hospital bed to examine the mask and eyepiece.

In the days since the Ruins Incident, Cassie had learned that Gregory had been adopted by Sylvia's sister, and that as soon as everything in this state had been sorted, they were heading back home across the country. Cassie hadn't been home often between the Riot and Raid due to the attempt on her dad's life during the former incident. She'd spent most of her time searching, hiding, and observing whilst her dad tried to make ends meet as he was extorted by his former employer, Fazbear Entertainment. Asside from the some changes of clothes, a few tools, and some trinkets, Cassie and her dad didn't have much, so the decision to start fresh and live with Sylvia in a state far away from Faz Ent's main HQ was a no-brainer.

Cassie knew that everyone who wasn't local to the Pizzaplex who was involved in the Raid was currently in temporary accommodation, so that's where Mike was heading. She also knew her dad had been moved there too for safety reasons. She regretted not talking to her dad about being contacted by 'Gregory', but who could blame her for not wanting to put an even bigger target on her dad's back when Faz Ent were already after his head.

After all, the only conditions Gregory was supposed to contact her under were total safety or if his life was currently on the line, no in-between. If she had heard his original pleas for help when Faz Ent had actually had their hands on him and were trying to use his deduction and memory lock skills to wreck his mind, she'd have been dragging her dad into a death trap had she told him about it.

Even though she heard those prerecorded pleas thirty eight hours after Gregory and Ness escaped the megaplex and Sylvia set off the main round of demolition explosives, there had still been execs in the building running amok, and she just knew that if they had caught scent of her dad, they'd have killed him on the spot.

Before she could worry herself more about how much Faz Ent wanted her dad dead, Mike returned. "I've got everyone you asked for," he said, "let's hope everything works out."

Desmond Anadem, Cassie's dad, sat at the foot of his daughter's hospital bed, whilst Gregory stood nearby. Ness stood off to the side and Sylvia pulled up a chair just out of her immediate line of sight.

After lifting the mask to her face, Cassie kept her gaze fixed on the sheets. A message poped up on screen.

"Welcome back returning user! It's a good thing too as we are fresh out of implants. Sadly, your chip is just a data storage chip and does not support RW AR, so you'll just have to deal with an un-upgraded reality. The data that your chip has saved is your inventory and technician ID.

Call this number for more implant chips and AR mask maintenance to regain access to the more advanced features only accessable to AR chipped users:"

Cassie didn't care for the phone number.

"Returning user, hu?" She mumbled to herself as she checked the inventory on the mask. All her collectables she found in the 'AR world' (also known as whenever she was wearing the mask) were there. "Wow, you guys managed to save more data from that dead chip than I expected."

She finally sucked up the courage to look up.

And she understood why the doctors didn't want her seeing her dad so soon after the Ruins incident.

Droplets of red flowed down Desmond's face. A small hole, no wider in diameter than five millimetres was bored into his forehead.

He looked as if he had been shot in the head.

Cassie felt herself hyperventilating and tore off the mask. She received worried looks from everyone.

"You weren't wearing the eyepiece," Mike pointed to Cassie's hand as he spoke, "it was in your hand the whole time."

Cassie stared at the eyepiece in her hand.

"There's a second chip," Cassie stated, her voice shaking, "it's not an AR chip, but it did communicate with the AR chip that day."

Mike nodded, and with a deep breath, he pulled out the sort of microchip scanner that'd look right at home in a veterinarian's office. "Can I scan for it?" He asked.

"Go ahead," Cassie replied.

A scan of her face showed nothing. Neither did a scan of the arms. As Mike put the scanner to the back of her neck to start scanning her back, it beeped.

"It's in the back of your neck. It seems to just be a microchip that someone would put in a pet, but with a little bit of extra rewritable data," Mike said as he read the chip's data from the scanner.

As Mike passed the scanner to Cassie so she could read it, he asked, "so what should we do about it?"

As Cassie read the data, she figured that she should probably be the one asking that question, but she did have an answer.

"I don't think we can do anything. It's in the back of my neck," Cassie replied, "it's probably been there since I was synthesized."

Desmond winced at what Cassie said, and both Mike and Cassie picked up on his reaction.

Mike was about to speak, but let Cassie ask the question.

"What is it?" She asked.

"When Alistair handed you to me on your sixth birthday, she told me that no matter where I went, Faz Ent would be able to track us down," Desmond said, "I think I now know what she meant."

Cassie nodded. It made sense that Faz Ent would chip her. It was scary, but not what she had been worried about; at least this one didn't have a kill switch, or the capacity to be one.

Cassie took a deep breath and tried out the eyepiece. Certain parts of the hospital room had strange effects, the same glitchy effects that the AR chip or AR chip residue combined with the Compound V gas had created.

She put the mask to her face and gave the room a better look around.

Gregory looked the most normal. The VANNI network didn't seem to change how he looked at a glance, though patches of blood had been projected onto his clothes and he held a blank stare.

Sylvia's clothes had been altered to be a security guard's uniform.

Ness looked like the rabbit lady she saw on the screen back in the daycare theatre.

Her dad still looked like a dead man.

"Talk about the nickname 'spite network'," she mumbled as she looked over to Mike, who had the most confusing change of all. The man in a white blouse and black cardigan was replaced by a woman in a similar white blouse, but with a thin tan trenchcoat instead of the cardigan, and his hair had been changed from a light brown to a darker shade.

She tried to pay close attention to the mumblings she heard as she looked at everyone again, as she knew the mask replayed snippets of data it collected.

'Morgan Smith! Interpol!', 'It's alright.', 'Are you OK?' spoken in the voice of an unfamiliar woman. From this alone Cassie knew Mike had been 'the other individual who infiltrated the VR environment'.

She could just hear a cacophony of screams interlaced with a gunshot and the sound of metal being torn apart as she looked at her dad. Audio from the Riot, recontextualised to make it sound as if he had been killed, but he'd told her enough to know that the bullet hit a wall, and that THAT was the exact moment when the staff and STAFF truly turned on one another.

She heard laughter as she looked at Ness. Deranged laughter that wasn't like the woman at all. She could also faintly hear muffled sobbing.

As she looked at Gregory, she heard the same echoes she had heard at the Pizzaplex, but this time, they were interlaced with anguished screams. Likely some 'cut content' from Adelaide's 'recording session' with her poor half brother. Cassie shuddered thinking about what Adelaide might have done to him.

She expected to hear typical security guard talk as she looked at Sylvia, but instead, she heard the mumbles say things she didn't expect to hear. 'Freddy, if management finds out, we're both dead', 'Let me guess, you've only just started processing again', 'Is Freddy the only one controlled tonight or is he the only one in safe mode. How the hell am I supposed to find that out and live?', a shrieking 'NO!', and assorted screams.

She was certain Gregory never heard her say any of that. If he did, he'd have probably trusted her during the Breach.

And Sylvia was lucky to be alive.

She turned and looked at a peice of medical equipment that had a screen, and she saw Alistair. Instinctively, she reached out, but a deep dark blue hand grabbed her wrist. Her gaze followed up the entity's arm, and she saw that M.X.E.S was now where Alistair was once shown. She screamed and tried to pull off her mask, but she found herself frozen to the spot.

A pop-up appeared in her peripheral vision.

'It seems that something is stressing you out. Let me help'

As the world around her became an open field, she screamed "No no no NO NO NO NO NO NO!"

Everyone in the hospital room watched in shock horror as Cassie froze up entirely after she had reached out for the screen of a peice of medical equipment, screamed in pure visceral fear, and then went completely limp.

Before she pulled herself up again.

"We saw M.X.E.S, panicked, and the mask trapped Civ in some kind of grassy daydream to try and 'help' us. If you remove the mask, we might die. I don't have long before it traps me too. Don't panic, and don't blame yourselves. At least this is happening now and not when we're in danger, and think of a way to get us out of -"

Sleeper was cut off as Cassie went limp once more.

"She's right," Gregory said, "it's better this happened now than later."

"Ness, see if you can find out anything about the M.X.E.S system, and if you could use J.A.C.X to pull her out of it. I'll fetch Fritz to run diagnostics on the mask and see if we can figure out what state she's in," Mike said, sounding slightly different, feeling as if this was his mess again.

First the construction crew died at the old manager's hands.

Second, he could only wait outside during the Breach due to the megaplex's 12 till 6 lockdown.

Third, not being able to save Ness from getting kidnapped in the first place, and after saving Luis from the critical state that Faz Ent had left him in, he wasn't able to provide much help to Sylvia from the outside as he, unlike Sylvia who had the demolition contract, could not legally step foot inside the megaplex unless someone inside called the police, and he couldn't run that risk.

Fourth, he couldn't stop Cassie from entering the megaplex.

Fifth, this.

Mike was about to lose it. He hated feeling like he was just organising who cleans the mess up instead of fixing it himself. But he wouldn't lose his composure. He couldn't.

Mike felt someone punch his arm.

"Pull yourself together! My daughter said to not blame anyone, so quit blaming yourself!" Sylvia put her foot down: she knew just how much of a failure Mike had felt these past five plus weeks. She wasn't about to let him lose himself to his despair. "I'm not some kid you need to protect either. When Ness got kidnapped, I was acting as an extension of you to save her. And thanks to your suggestion to stick around inside the megaplex in case Cassie falls for Faz Ent's ploy, I was able to back her up and prevent William from feeding her any lies about Gregory by getting Bill to own up to his bullshit before that point. It's thanks to you that she's still on our side. And due to Sleepers seeming obsession with the mask, it IS better that we deal with this flawed 'protection' protocol now rather than later, because she was going to trip it sooner or later."

Mike looked at Sylvia with a bewildered smile.

"Alright," he replied before heading off to find Fritz.

Sylvia begun setting up and starting diagnostics on the mask's current processes for Fritz to decipher later, whilst Ness tried to contact the J.A.C.X system. It was suspicious that it hadn't pinged anything after she had saved Gregory from Adelaide about thirty nine hours prior to the incident.

No data in the time it took them to escape, no data after.

"Did someone take Jacx offline?" Ness asked herself out loud as she pinged it repeatedly, yet received no reply.

"Do you think M.X.E.S might have done it?" Sylvia asked as she did what she could for the diagnostics, deciphering what she could. "William did say he repurposed J.A.C.X to make the thing after all, and he's not the sort to like competition."

As Ness found some of M.X.E.S's code and read through it, she replied "No… No way."

"What?" Sylvia tilted her head and squinted to try and see what her sister was seeing.

"William didn't make M.X.E.S. Jacx IS M.X.E.S!" Ness exclaimed as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "LOOK!"

Sylvia hadn't seen M.X.E.S, or it's code, but it bore an uncanny resemblance to J.A.C.X, whose code she had seen.

But the important things were the code comments; left in M.X.E.S's files were code comments signed by Ness herself.

William didn't repurpose the code and network as she thought. William had only said that he used the starts of what Ness and Gregory set up during the raid. Sylvia had almost absentmindedly solved it herself when she had summarised M.X.E.S's creation as William repurposing J.A.C.X into M.X.E.S, not once, but twice now. Oh if only she knew how right she had been.

Ness swiftly tweaked her J.A.C.X interface and begun to send ping requests.

She was now getting responses, and a little more than a response too.

A hare so blue it was almost black filled the screen, it's arms looked as if they had been torn from their sockets, and the waist down tapered into a point; she could only imagine what had happened to it.

"He's missing is his uniform… And…" Sylvia remarked with a horrified hiss and shook her head before she could vocalise that second thought. There was far more things wrong than Jacx just missing his uniform, but she didn't want to think about how much pain he was in right now.

"Poor Jacx," Ness murmured into her screen, "what happened to you?"

The hare tried to speak, but no noise came out. Ness and Sylvia checked the speakers, yet nothing was amiss.

"Can you speak?" Ness's tone was fearful and her eyes were teary. She already knew the answer.

The hare shook his head, confirming it.

"Are you Jacx, or are you Mxes?" Ness then asked.

The hare imitated scales with its hands in a shrug, before holding up one finger.

"Jacx?" Ness asked to confirm.

Jacx nodded.

"Do you have any way of communicating long answers to us?" Ness asked.

Jacx nodded and pulled up a text document, and seemed to write on it like a chalk board.

It wrote "I am J.A.C.X. William found me when he was trying to contain the mimic. He tore me apart, took away my uniform and voice, and turned your sensor nodes into security nodes. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it. I tried to tell Cassie that Gregory was not down there, but I couldn't speak and all my actions did - all being in the presence of her did was call animatronics to where she was. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything."

"Stop blaming yourself!" Ness exclaimed.

"Can people PLEASE stop tripping over eachother to blame themselves for everything that happened since Ness got kidnapped post-raid? Please and thank you," Sylvia huffed before she asked Jacx a question: "Can you do anything for Cassie now."

As Jacx wrote "I think so…" on his text document, Fritz had sat down to read the diagnostics.

"Well he's probably our best shot," Fritz grimaced as he looked at the diagnostics, "it doesn't look good…"

"What's wrong?" Sylvia asked, her voice laced with concern.

"Is she going to be ok?" Desmond chimed in, equally concerned.

"We need something already inside the network to get her out of the network." Fritz put it plain and simple.

"The thing is, will she be able to trust Jacx enough for it to pull her out…" Fritz grimaced as he glared at the diagnostics screen.

This has been the first time in a long time that Sleeper and Civ were experiencing things as 'one'. Sleeper was grateful it was only the present that they were currently sharing, as there were still plenty of things in the past that she didn't want Civ to be burdened with the knowledge of.

"Where am I?" She mumbled to herself.

"Safe, of course."

Cassie screamed in fear in response to the unidentified voice who had replied to her, and she whipped around to try and locate who said that.

"Where are you?" She asked, certain she'd scoured every inch of her line of sight.

"Right here," the voice replied, seemingly from behind her.

Cassie spun around, and saw what looked like Gregory; sitting, smiling, and waving a Freddy ice cream around in a loop. He didn't look real. He looked like a hologram.

"Who are you," Cassie asked, "WHAT are you?"

"I'm Gregory."

"Where have I heard that one before," Cassie shot back, "who are you really. Unless you threw yourself into the VANNI network to try and pull me out, I know you're not Gregory."

'Gregory' paused for a moment before replying.

"But I AM Gregory. Although, you probably know me by a different name. Clone 46."

Clone 46.

"You're…" Cassie could hardly bring herself to speak.

"Part of the mimic?" 'Gregory' finished Cassie's question for her. "Yeah, I was. But you already know I didn't start out that way."

"Are … you going to kill me?" Cassie all but colapsed. Facing the entity she saved Gregory from becoming, the entity that was downloaded onto an endoskeleton only to be slain at her hands after only twenty eight hours of being in the physical world.

She had killed Clone 46 twice. Once in the VR environment, and once in the real world. She wouldn't be surprised if it wanted to kill her now.

"No!" 'Gregory' replied, "Your Gregory and I were technically one person back in the VR environment. Whilst I was carrying out kill orders, I could also detect his memories. I know your Gregory, and I know that him and I only spent a short period of time as one being in the VR environment, but… He's your best friend. So you're also my best friend. Even after everything."

"So why did you try to kill me back then?" Cassie asked, shaking.

"Because I'm clone 46," Gregory replied, "I was built to be a killer first, and a person as an afterthought. Even though I was the body and code of the character Gregory was stuck playing as in the VR environment, and even though we shared our memories, meaning we each have two sets of memories: the real world memories from your Gregory, and the VR environment memories from me, clone 46 was ultimately an experiment to make a child assassin who would kill on command. As soon as the other half of the Mimic's codebase even suggested I should attack you, only one of us was going to get out of there alive. I'm glad it was you."

Cassie tried to reply, but all she could do was choke back tears.

"And you're really as strong as they say," 'Gregory' continued, "If Sleeper had found me and not Civ, it'd have been a brawl for the ages! She fought me when she could though, just like how you kept fighting any animatronics that got too close to you, like the first time you saw Monty."

Cassie's memories had been patchy at best, and she knew things weren't as consistent as they seemed. The fact she'd had a bare knuckle brawl against some of the animatronics was a given. What surprised her though was that the mimic was on her brawled roster.

"Don't cry," 'Gregory' smiled, "besides, did you order any 'help' before you joined me here?"

Cassie looked up and saw M.X.E.S poking his head through a rip in the terrain. It didn't look malicious like it did back at the megaplex. It flipped between trying to keep the 'rift' it created open, and reaching a hand out to Cassie, but the reach wasn't a desperate grab.

"Why am I not panicking?" Cassie asked herself, not realising she spoke out loud.

"Because you know it's true nature. It was meant to keep the mimic at bay," 'Gregory' replied.

"I was playing a villain's game that day," Cassie shrugged as she stepped towards M.X.E.S and grabbed it's paw, "Bye Gregory!" She smiled.

"Bye Cassie! Say hi to real world me for me!" 'Gregory' replied as Cassie took the entity's hand.

After getting pulled through the rift, Cassie found herself flat on her back in a hospital bed. Back in her hospital bed. She'd become very familiar with that patch of ceiling, and it hadn't changed with the introduction of the VANNI network.

Slowly, she pulled herself upright and saw M.X.E.S hovering over Ness's shoulder. It turned to her and gestured for her to take the mask off, so she did.

"Cassie! You're ok!"

"Cassie!"

"You're alive!"

Cassie couldn't pinpoint who cried what, but three people pulled Cassie into a group hug.

She wanted to remain calm, but she bawled her eyes out.

Only after what felt like hours, or was it only minutes, Cassie stopped crying.

"How do I know this isn't a dream," Cassie asked herself. She'd been asking herself this a lot recently.

Her cheek was grabbed in a vice grip and her face was pulled about in a rough and tumble manner for a good ten seconds.

"Does that answer your question?" Gregory asked.

"Oww… I mean yes," Cassie replied, rubbing her definitely bruised cheek. "Gregory, clone 46 says hi. Also I need to tell you something later."

"Who's in charge right now, so I know who to remind," Gregory asked.

"Both," Cassie replied. She was surprised that she was both Civ and Sleeper for a change, and Gregory seemed even more surprised, but he was quickly back to normal.

"So I guess you can't blame the other one for forgetting this time," he grinned.

"Nope," Cassie replied, "it is kinda important."

As the adults discussed what happened with the mask as they let Cassie process what had happened herself, Cassie said, "actually, this is the perfect time. Before we split back to normal."

Cassie slipped away from her hospital bed and sat behind an unoccupied bed at the end of the ward. Gregory joined her on the floor.

"Gregory?" Cassie asked.

"What is it?" Gregory felt slightly uneasy.

"If you're EVER in a situation where you don't know if me or a homicidal animatronic is on the other end of an elevator, and there's no way to verify it's me without risking lives, cut the elevator." Cassie said.

"I didn't even cut the cable… Why are you asking me to do this?" Gregory asked, now fearful.

"I know it wasn't you, but even if it was, I'd forgive you. After all, Virtual Gregory, Clone 46, forgave me for scooping him. And if he can forgive me for ending his physical existence," Cassie choked back tears, "I know I'll be able to forgive you if you're ever put in the situation that Bill Blake staged. Because if you were up there instead of him…"

"You'd have had me write you off as dead the moment the mimic was released," Gregory finished Cassie's statement, "and you'd do the same for me."

Cassie couldn't stop herself from bawling her eyes out into her half brother's shoulder.

Gregory didn't know what to say. There really wasn't anything that he could say.

He knew what she really meant in all of this too. She was terrified that Faz Ent would one day kidnap her and mess with her memories via either the VR environment, or forcing Gregory to lock her memories, or otherwise, and that she'd be made to believe that Gregory had dropped the elevator as a result.

The worst part was that her worries weren't even far fetched. Everything she feared was entirely possible to the point where it could happen tomorrow if Faz Ent could be bothered.

"You two alright down there? Getting away from the crowd to cry like I always do?" Sylvia stood over the siblings with a sympathetic smile; Sylvia had a habit of finding places away from others to cry herself too: it had become a habit long before the riot, and it remained a habit even now.

Cassie and Gregory nodded.

"Cool," Sylvia replied to the nod, "y'know, I don't know why I didn't say this sooner, but the first few days after dealing with incidents like this are always super surreal. After the Riot, one of my former colleagues would always stop me for a chat on my way home from work and remind me about the gash on my chest I got from fighting Monty, and it always grounded me back in reality. And after the Breach, protocol for 'Sylvia is slipping' was 'poke rib'. And it still kinda is. It helps remind me that what happened was real and that I'm still alive."

"You have a broken rib?!" Cassie yelled.

"It's mostly healed now. I was fine during the Raid, and well enough to go rescue my sister in the incident after." Sylvia shrugged, "Say, when we got you to the hospital, they found your ankle was fractured."

"Yeah, I'm surprised I was walking on it for that long," Cassie replied, looking at her bandaged ankle and the splint that held it straight. The only reason she could walk on it was because of the splint taking all the pressure.

"Press it!" Sylvia grinned.

"What?" Cassie heard what Sylvia said: she just couldn't believe her ears.

"Press it. If it hurts, you're alive," Sylvia replied.

"Ok…. OW!" Cassie poked her fractured ankle, and it didn't take much for it to hurt. And it hurt a lot. Her splint was definitely pulling so much weight whenever she walked.

"See, the pain tells you that everything is OK!" Sylvia grinned.

"Yeah… Ow… There's definitely pain…" Cassie winced as her ankle felt as if it was on fire. "How do you live like this."

"I went to work the day after the raid with a concussion and minimal medical attention for the gash in my chest. I sucked up a broken rib for three hours during the Breach by chugging possibly out of date Faz Ent own brand painkillers and only got necessary treatment so I wouldn't be hospital bound for the Raid," Sylvia replied, "I survive. It's not pretty, but I survive."

"Does anyone have any other coping mechanisms?" Cassie asked.

"Nope," Gregory replied, "Mum and Dad - Ness and Luis, in case I haven't filled you in that they adopted me - have the same strategy as Sylvia. That all three of them learned from Mike and his friends."

"It really is just a vicious circle of lick your wounds and realise you're alive, and teaching the next generation to do the same," Sylvia added with a laugh, "it's probably the worst strategy, but it still works as a grounding strategy at least!"

"Speaking of Luis, I don't think I've seen much of him," Cassie said, still wincing from the self inflicted pain in her ankle from poking it.

"He's in the other Faz Ent victim ward. He got shot during the Riot, had a control module attached to his chest and spine during the Raid, and was shot when Faz Ent kidnapped Ness a few nights after that, which I think qualifies as the start of the Ruins incident," Sylvia replied.

"Yeah," Gregory confirmed, "you and Auntie Sylvia were placed in the empty ward - well, empty bar me and Ness at the time: we were moved to the general Faz Victims ward as you were wheeled in - just in case you had an adverse reaction to new people. Can't be too careful where the control modules are concerned."

"Too right. Can't be too careful with familiar faces either," Sylvia said, "I guess the contents of the control module that goes on the chest is the same as what was in the masks during the Adelaide incident… Which explains why they're so bulky. Seeing as everyone masked at the Adelaide Incident was rendered completely controlled, and Luis's memory of being controlled during the raid is a hazy blur at best, I guess it WAS my high blood-remnant concentration that let me act on my own. That or I wasn't issued any orders. I want to get Carl in to check, but how do we check these things… Sorry I'm rambling now. Gotta get this down."

Sylvia contunued her tangent as she walked off and grabbed a notebook and pen and begun to scribble everything down.

"So… what are your injuries?" Cassie asked Gregory, wanting some kind of topic of conversation to keep her mind off things.

"Mostly psychological," Gregory shrugged, "Ness's wounds are pretty surgical in nature, so she's just had a few surgeries to properly clean and close those injuries, and she'll likely be fine soon. I have a lot of surface wounds which are already mostly patched up bar the new cut on my cheek that took stitches to close and is under observation for strange reactions, but I'm more mentally scared than physically injured from that to be honest anyway."

"Wow, I guess my stay here is going to be really long because of the chip and broken bone if that's all you're here for," Cassie laughed.

"Yeah, and Sylvia's finally getting all her injuries properly seen to as well, so she'll be here even longer," Gregory added, "it's about time too."

"How did she break a rib anyway?" Cassie asked, "She didn't say how."

"Vanny pushed her down the trapdoor  of the garbage compactor whilst the chute was still open after the compactor crushed Chica," Gregory replied, "I'm surprised I didn't break any bones when Chica dragged me down that trapdoor…"

Cassie was locked in stunned silence.

"Yeah, sorry. I'd have told you about what happened to the animatronics sooner, but I was neither in mortal peril or completely safe, so contacting you about it all would have been too big of a risk," Gregory sighed.

"You fell down the garbage compactor trapdoor, and then she got pushed in?! When?!" Cassie was more shocked at the fact he got dragged down the trash compactor's trap door than the fact that he had implied that he crushed Chica in there. "And Vanny is Ness when William is possessing her and in control, right?"

"During the Breach. And yeah," Gregory nodded but then was taken aback by the specific lack of something that Cassie said, "you're not mad at me for crushing Chica?"

"You only implied it, and with most exits behind lock and key, and Chica's voicebox being part of some of those keys, I don't really blame you," Cassie replied with a half truth. She didn't blame him, that was true, but it wasn't because Chica's beak may have helped him find an exit.

No.

It was because she still felt guilt over what the mimic made her do to Roxy.

By the time she had made it to the party garages, it was almost entirely clear that the 'Gregory' that had been calling her was using spliced audio, yet she had pressed on anyway. She had shut down Roxy even though she knew deep down that it wasn't going to be Gregory who she found in the end.

Gregory had more justification for decommissioning the animatronics. Yet in what had been a good turn for Cassie but a bad turn for Gregory, the animatronics never stayed down for long.

If she had to place her bets, she'd say that Chica and Monty were still staggering or crawling about the Megaplex, despite their apparent deactivation.

"You… Really don't blame me?" Gregory asked, slightly taken aback.

"No. I get it. If our roles were reversed, I'd have probably given the other animatronics upgrades to Roxy," Cassie replied, "I really don't blame you at all."

Gregory nodded and the two sat in mutual silence for a while. There wasn't much more to say on the matter. If roles had been reversed, Gregory would have probably been dealing with a shattered Glamrock Freddy constantly shouting for Cassie to give him his battery upgrade back or something.

On that note, "Where is Roxy?" Cassie asked, "I've not seen her since I escaped the megaplex."

"Hospital employees parking garage," Gregory replied, "I've heard talk about a mini raid to get Monty and Chica's heads so they can be rebuilt."

"I've seen Chica, and she definitely needs a new everything…" Cassie grimaced at the memory of Chica, how Sleeper had a full blown brawl against the robotic chicken several times, and how she seemed to always be in so much pain.

She wanted to move on from this conversation.

Now.

"Also, when and why did Ness adopt you? Wasn't she completely under William's control during the Breach?" Cassie asked, hoping to permanently alter the trajectory of this conversation.

Gregory was taken aback by the conversation shifting from the animatronics to his new home life, but he didn't mind or really even think twice about it. "Yeah, she was. But we both had known of eachother before that night. She knew about Alistair and how clone 46 was marked as a failed experiment due to her 'situation', and I knew about her 'situation' too due to being the subject of the clone 46 experiments. Faz Ent couldn't talk about one of us without talking about the other, so it didn't take us long to figure eachother out." Gregory gazed off into the middle distance as he spoke, trying to remain calm. "William was trying to kill me because clone 46's memories are my memories from my time in the VR environment. I think he might have been able to go through my real world memories too… Clone 46, GGY, is just what I was in the VR environment. I was a liability, so had to go."

"I didn't think Faz Ent wanted you dead. I don't think virtual clone 46 knew that either." Cassie grimaced. If she'd have known, she'd have come up with a better plan, but with how things panned out, maybe getting Gregory to hide inside Freddy's stomach hatch was the better plan after all, and she was glad that things panned out the way they did.

Gregory shrugged, "Guess I just ran out of use to them." Gregory took a brief pause then sighed. "But why me? Why use me for the clone 46 experiments?"

"Alistair was a Faz Ent scientist by choice you know," Cassie replied, "I know I shouldn't have assumed that you knew that when we met back in the silo. At least you learned it from someone…" Cassie started to shake. Ever since she started the Breach by freeing Gregory from the VR environment, she'd always wondered if things would have gone smoother if she told him about Alistair and he didn't have to learn tidbits from a traumatised kidnapping victim barely able to stay in control of her own body. "Is the original patient 46 anything like you expected?"

Gregory shrugged. "I never actually listened to the CDs." He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it as the images of what he had witnessed after Cassie had saved him from the VR environment flashed through his head.

It was blurry, yet so vivid at the same time.

A woman who he had seen before, also hiding in the walls of the Megaplex, but unlike him she was not here by choice. Her choked sobs and her begging him and Cassie to 'please run, before he takes control again' still rang in his ears whenever he saw her. The sight of someone who was supposed to be trying to kill him stabbing herself in order to buy him and Cassie time to escape. Cassie hiding him inside of Freddy and hearing the rabbit lady hunt him down from his hiding spot. Not knowing if Cassie had made it out. Not being able to see or know when the rabbit lady left. Not being able to know whether the person who then begun searching for him was that woman's sister, or the woman herself.

The sight and sounds would never leave his mind.

Even knowing now that the rabbit lady was Ness and that the security guard lady was Sylvia, knowing what happened didn't make it better. It made it worse. Ever since he had freed Ness and she had adopted him, he couldn't help but see a part of himself in Sylvia's predicament and see a part of Cassie in Ness's predicament. He couldn't help but worry if one day, Sleeper would be forced to kill like Ness had killed. He didn't know if he would be able to have the tenacity that Sylvia had had in hunting down the other arcades that would make Princess Quest 3 work, one ones that had stopped Luis from freeing Ness a week prior to the Breach.

He didn't know if Cassie would survive trying to prevent whatever would make her kill from harming others like Ness had prevented William from harming others for so long. He didn't know if she'd be able to cope with some of those attempts being in vain.

"So she's exactly like what I expected," Gregory glanced over at Ness, who was busy talking to Mike, "kind, scared, and just trying to survive whilst containing William.

She kinda reminds me of you."

He didn't mean to say that last part out loud.

"Figures," Cassie hummed as she went over her own recollection of events. Sleeper was used to all the terror and bloodshed. Her encounter with Ness staving off William was just a drop in the bucket to Sleeper. Civ, on the other hand, didn't know much of the horrors until recently. If it wasn't for Bill accidentally causing her to switch from Civ to Sleeper, and if it wasn't for Roxy and Sylvia managing to reach her first, … Civ could have been manipulated into becoming a horrifyingly brutal and efficient agent of William Afton, or worse, the mimic.

And with what Adelaide did to Gregory to get the voice clips to lure her into the Megaplex, Cassie knew that being tricked again or having her memories messed with was still a grim possibility that she'd have to prepare for.

This was the second time since J.A.C.X had rescued her from Helpi's safety system that she'd forced herself to confront that possibility. And it wouldn't be the last.

"I still might wind up being forced into the role of a Faz Ent agent yet," Cassie gazed off into space, "I just wonder if it'll be Sleeper, Civ, or the both of us."

"I won't let that happen!" Gregory instantly proclaimed, "You saved me from becoming Clone 46, I'll save you from becoming Vanny 3.0!"

"Promise?"

"I'll do what I can. And when you're ready, I want to test if I can run deductions using your mask, and I want to see if I can pull you into them with me. There are some things I want to see for myself."

°°•°°•°°•°°•°°•°°•🌹•°°•°°•°°•°°•°°•°°

[whumpfish]

Allergic Reaction: Severe

A whump reference post

So I'm deathly allergic to peanuts and this is how my visit to the state fair went... I'm enjoying a funnel cake my mom brought me when something red on the wall catches my eye.

All Our

I crane my neck a little, finishing it off.

Products Are

Surely not... right? I grab my cane and stand up.

Fried In

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh fuck.

Peanut Oil

Oh boy. And I just ate the wholeass thing.

I can't feel anything right away, but I know from experience it takes 15-30 minutes to really hit me. Luckily I always carry benadryl and my auvi-q (like an epi pen but affordable), so I grab 2 benadryl right away and toss them back to slow the reaction.

At 3 minutes the interior of my mouth behind my teeth starts to burn. Just-ate-a-jalapeño burn. At 5 minutes it's spread to the roof of my mouth. At 10 minutes it starts creeping down my throat.

It keeps continuing down my throat, and as it does the burn goes from jalapeño to habanero to ghost pepper. It's everywhere. My gums, the inside of my cheeks, under my tongue, to say nothing of my esophagus.

The itching starts somewhere between 15 and 20 minutes. It begins deep inside my ears, then my scalp, then the back of my neck. Then my arms and torso.

At 25 minutes I'm scratching my head, digging at my ears. I'm ready to rip the damn things off they itch so bad.

At 30 minutes the itching has spread to all of my skin. I'm itching in places I didn't know it was possible to itch. My teeth itch, the cartilage in my nose itches. All my joints start aching. I can still breathe, which is nice, but it means all I can do is take another benadryl.

At 35 minutes the joint pain has progressed from "ow" to "I have rheumatism and the storm of the century is 10 minutes away." My senses start going nuts. The sunlight, even indoor lights are blinding. Every noise is a speed metal band having a concert in my ear canals.

Everything outside itches and everything inside burns. I'm miserable, doubled over in my chair, what's shaping up to be a huge headache forming behind my eyes. But the benadryl keeps me breathing.

For about 5 more minutes. Then my throat starts to close up in little squeezing pulses, and I know despite my early action it's fixing to be thigh stab o'clock. I live in the US, so the awareness of how expensive an overnight stay at the ER on iv steroids following said stab is, and that it's my mom who's going to have to pay for it, gives me a complicated mashup of guilt-fear-frustration-anxiety.

I can't remember the last time my exposure to peanut products was this bad. The last accidental exposure that had me going to urgent care was when I bit the tip off a green tea pocky without reading the box. This time it's a wholeass cake. With my leaky gut and shit immune system, I'm in for it. Even with the requisite rescue needles, I'm worried. The process is still happening. Just in slow motion.

My kingdom for a thermos of activated charcoal.

My mom gives me her water bottle after I drain mine trying to ease the burn. She's hoping dilution will help too, but it's not doing much. She gets me a couple more from the kiosk.

They're ice cold. Like. Ice cold. The kind of cold I would normally let sit for half an hour before drinking because freezing water hitting my stomach has always made me nauseous. But then I realize that might be the best way out of this.

I chug three in a row. Then I lie down on a bench in the recovery position with my hoodie over my head to block the overwhelming light. I can't tell if what I'm feeling is my usual queasiness or just more of the reaction, but I decide to go for it and pull my knees in hard to my chest. [Emeto cw for the next paragraph alone. Skip it if it squicks you.]

XXX

It works, and I proceed to be sick into a bag intermittently over the next 5-10 minutes until I'm completely empty.

XXX

The relief once it's no longer in my system is almost immediate. The ever increasing crescendo of inflammation skids to a halt. It's like air being let out of a balloon. The pressure in my head dissipates. My nose is running like mad but it's better than the alternative.

It's been about 6 hours now. My chest still hurts. I can't eat without pain yet--trying feels like rubbing steel wool across a fresh wound. I'm going to need to sleep with my top half up at 30 degrees minimum to help me keep breathing okay. I'm exhausted, probably going to bed after this...

But I hope this was at least useful to y'all.

[lilyliv3rs]

From my other post, I think the RL members had serious physical/psychological issues directly stemming from their confinement:

Before, Ming-Hua was relatively private and bit back many barbed retorts because these were her friends, but after prison, 13 years of resentment & humiliation meant that she stopped holding back when they did something that irritated her, because she put up with it for so long from the White Lotus.

Zaheer makes an offhand comment about how she’s obsessive with keeping water nearby, and how their camp needs rearranged, and Ming-Hua almost does the Avatar’s job for her and seriously considers stabbing him. Ghazan just silently makes a bowl to hold her arms while she sleeps.

P’li buttons Ming-Hua’s jacket because she knows Ming-Hua finds it difficult to manipulate buttons, and Ming-Hua is furious and won’t talk to her for the rest of the day because they could have done it and they don’t need to be dressed like a child.

Ghazan gets some random sweet from a cart in Republic City and tries to be romantic and hand feed it to her and Ming-Hua snarls at him and stalks away because she cannot be expected to put up with indignities like that. They are perfectly capable of feeding themself and don’t need to be fed like an animal.

Ming-Hua won’t eat soup because that’s all she was able to eat in prison and finds it difficult to sleep because she wants a blanket but then she gets overheated and miserable. They smelled Ghazan after a fight and told him he reeked and needed to bathe and it still wasn’t enough to erase the sulphur smell, which put Ming-Hua off eating and made them physically ill. Fighting with him and his lava was difficult, even knowing he had it all under control just because the sight of it reminds her of how helpless she was for so long. 

Similarly, P’li won’t sleep alone. Zaheer is always with her and she has three blankets so she’s entirely covered, and even the barest chill sets her to shivering. She sleeps with socks on despite thinking it’s a little gross so her toes don’t get cold. Ming-Hua gave her an iced drink and P’li almost flash boiled it. 

Ghazan grabbed P’li’s wrist to get her attention and she almost broke his nose because she was so startled. Zaheer is more observant than most, but he once tangled her in their blankets and P’li almost burned down the tent because she thought she couldn’t move.

Zaheer’s new light sensitivity gives him painful migraines and Ming-Hua can only do so much healing. Zaheer is ridiculously clingy towards P’li to the point even he’s embarrassed by it, but it’s been 13 years since he’s seen her and he can’t handle being apart again.

Zaheer is scared of the dark, and Ghazan keeps small quantities of lava for light during the new moon, especially when they can’t risk a fire for being caught. Ghazan tapped Zaheer’s shoulder to show him something and found himself pinned to the ground before he could even blink.

Ghazan hates the wind, especially when it whips through and constructs earth tents to hide from it because cloth tents aren’t air tight. He says it’s because it ruins his hair, but the reality is the near constant breeze was maddening on that boat.

Ghazan won’t eat water tribe food with Ming-Hua anymore because that was almost all they ate on the boat and he’s sick of it. He feels horrible because part of him says he shouldn’t be so upset about his stint in prison considering the other three had it so much worse, he knows. The other part of him remembers the crushing isolation when no one would talk to him for weeks or when he felt like he couldn’t be bothered to get up off the floor because what was the point. He keeps silent, even though he’s still plagued by intense loneliness. Ghazan absentmindedly asked Zaheer to go piss when they were on the way to get Ming-Hua and neither of them mentioned it or otherwise acknowledged the mortified expression on Ghazan’s face (he asked his friend for permission) or the oppressively sad expression on Zaheer’s face that his friend thought he had to ask. 

All of them have compromised immune systems from the near isolation, and get sick immediately in Republic City. Ming-Hua, Zaheer, and P’li all have varying degrees of respiratory issues. Ming-Hua has mild chemical burns in her throat and lungs, P’li has inflammation in her chest nearly always, and Zaheer has  persistent cough whenever he’s not practicing breathing techniques. Ghazan found it difficult to walk right for days because he finally adjusted to being on the boat, only to be sick on the earth. 

[grabthemhorns-old]

The brothers looking after you in pain - Obey Me! HC collab

Myself and one of my best friends Vic - faikittyy on twitter - wrote these together! 

I did: Belphegor, Leviathan and Mammon and they did Lucifer, Satan, Asmodeus and Beelzebub. 

We hope you enjoy them as much as we enjoyed writing them. We both suffer from chronic pain, so these are rather dear to us <3

Belphegor

This isn’t the first time he’s seen you suffer. But it’s different now. It’s through the eyes of love, and you’re his. 

This isn’t the first time he’s felt helpless. But it’s different now. Now, it’s you, and you need him.

His acts were simple at first, methodical. As if reading from a list given to him by Beel. It almost was. He’d sought help from his twin, with quiet, humble words. “What do I do?” as you’d lain on his bed, your body wrapped around his pillow, indenting the soft down as you curled into yourself, whimpers of pain muffled.

Be there.

Beel’s defining advice rung through Belphie’s head as he knelt by your side, timid fingers clutching yours, willing you to hold tighter - as tight as you needed. It was all he could do at first, for he knew what his touch could do to you, and he was afraid if he touched you now, he would just rewind, and press play. 

So he sat, until his legs were numb; until you woke up.

“Belphie.” That singular plea, it was enough.

He lies at your side now, asking you if you’re hungry, what’s your favourite Devildom flower, where would you like to visit next - inane distraction. He’s still afraid to touch you too much, but there’s a compromise. The delicacy of his tail tuft draws up and down your body as you sleep. And when you wake, it rests where it hurts, and you clutch the soft warmth against you, fingers weaving out the knots.

He doesn’t often struggle to sleep, but times like now when he does, watching you sleep is a comfort. And he talks to you, about things he won't. Words that can’t usually find form, do. And part of him wants you to wake up and hear. But he knows in time you will. For it’s not only you who’s recovering, as you lie side by side, fingers kissing.

Satan

Satan turns to distractions when things are difficult for him. He isn’t like his brothers. He didn’t fall from the Celestial Realm. He was never created to be his own person; he was created by what Lucifer rejected. There are times when it is all too much, when the unfortunate circumstances of his birth claw at his heart, when the hatred that was drawn from Lucifer’s veins and injected into his own fills him with a fury that can never be resolved. He struggles with it. He has a sense, sometimes, that the fires of rage he has tried so hard to put out will day burn him up from the inside. So he distracts—or avoids, some might say—thoughts of his tumultuous entry into the world and the wrath that wounds him if he allows himself to feel it too deeply.

But you can’t avoid your pain. He knows that. It is a physical part of you and is all-consuming at times, in the way that his anger is to him. The pounding in your head, the inflammation that freezes your joints, the stabs of electricity shooting through your abdomen… Whatever your pain may be, it is unavoidable.

So Satan distracts. He sits with his back to the wall, your head in his lap and a book in his hands. You close your eyes and concentrate on his reading aloud instead of the pain that constricts your chest and sends waves of nausea through you. His voice is like those waves, pitch rising and falling with the characters’ dialogue, but it is gentle and laps at your mind like the ocean surf at your toes. You can’t always follow the story; sometimes the pain makes it incomprehensible. But you can always hold onto his words, his voice, his presence. And for Satan, this—his ability to distract, to be there for you, to be needed—makes the pain of his birth and his anger worthwhile. He forgets he was born of hatred when he feels such love for you.

Levi

You’re half asleep, buried in blankets and plushies that Levi’s cushioned you with, when you feel him wrap around your back, so careful, so slow, his handheld that you were playing lazily together sitting on the sheets in-front of you. He pulls free your tangled hair. 

“A-any better?” he asks, the words as careful as his touch.

You shake your head.

He’s quiet for a while. Longer than he wants to be, his tail perfectly still, but you feel his heart beat wild with worry. Helpless. Hopeless. Useless. That’s all he is.

“But I can cope when you’re here,” you whisper, moulding against his body. Levi’s tail curls to an O behind him at your words, and he lightly kisses your neck.

A wave of pain hits so hard it catches your breath, the nausea raw, and you claw, and claw, digging nails into your arm as you try and ride it out. You can feel Levi behind you, a small noise of worry touching your ear as he tries to find the words. But they’re stuck. He sees you scratch, nails pulling so hard at skin it breaks. 

Levi almost breaks.

He whispers your name; he holds your shaking hand, and beside your arm, cool and smooth and steady, curls his tail.

“Use my tail instead,” he says, placing your hand on it, his words timid. “I know it’s not much, but I can take the pain. For you.”

He notices you’re clutching one of his priceless, ultra rare Ruri-chan pillows. It’s pressing an enchanted heat pad, eternally warm, against your pain. He pauses, wondering if you know how much that cushion means to him. But when you turn into his chest and smile for the first time in hours, aglow from the light of his phone, the only thing of meaning anymore, is you.

Lucifer

Lucifer worries about you more than the others do, even as he shows it less. He struggles with kind words—a consequence of keeping so many secrets inside for so long. But he does worry, over your health, your safety, urging you to take care of yourself with a gentleness that he has never allowed himself. Therein lies the difference, though; he is a demon, and you are a human. You are fragile. Breakable. He is scared—yes, scared—to even touch you when you are in pain, fearing that he might hurt you worse.

He has hurt you before, after all. He would not be surprised if you didn’t want his comfort at all.

It doesn’t stop him from wanting to offer you comfort, though. The sight of you looking so small and miserable, your body a tiny heap beneath your blankets, fills Lucifer with an emotion he cannot identify. Sadness, perhaps? Fear? Above all, a fierce protectiveness and gnawing helplessness. He is no stranger to pain himself, after all. The Celestial War left him with wounds that time will never heal. He knows how mind-numbing pain can be. How frustrating, when it feels as if it will never end. He tries to help you; he brings you teas from Barbatos, potions from Solomon, pills from the human world. And on days when none of the remedies work, when your pain still has you nearly in tears, he wonders, and he wants. He wants to help. To touch.

Until finally, he swallows down his fear, and asks if he can.

Yes, you whisper. Yes.

Lucifer transforms in a heartbeat. His wings, black as pitch, engulf you as he pulls you into his arms. Feathers brush lightly over your skin as he settles in with you against him. You rest your head on his chest and close your eyes with a sigh, grounding yourself in his touch. His fingers play in small circles on your skin, offering small comforts, and you accept them—accept him. You were always going to find peace in his arms. He never needed to be afraid.

Mammon

Mammon’s never been so quiet.

He doesn’t just see you in pain, he feels it too. He’s always held such strong empathy with those around him, especially with those he loves - really loves. 

At first, he won’t leave you, forgetting his own needs for all of yours. He’s like a shadow, echoing your movements, making sure that anything you need, he’ll fulfill; anything you do, he’ll do instead. It’s endearing at first, and the consistent company helps distract you, but a part of you begins to worry for him. He still barely talks. But when he does, his stutter is more prominent, and there’s a pitch to his voice you’ve never heard before. You think it’s fear.

He’s careful when he gets closer to you, when he touches you. He’s never been reminded so keenly of your fragility - and mortality. It’s something he doesn’t like to visit, because if he does, he’s not sure how to come back. 

As he gently ties back your hair, brushing it off your sticky face and neck, he wonders if you know that he’d give up everything - everything -  to give an extra ten years to your lifespan, a year, a day.

“What can I do?” he asks.

“Relax, Mammon,” you smile, with closed eyes. You’re sure he smiles in kind.

And somehow, he does. He joins you on bed, and he holds you skin to skin, face to face. You fit against him as you listen to him breathing against your palms, pressed to chest. Then the soft rumble of his voice returns. He tells stories. Of him, of his brothers, of their early days in Devildom, and there’s even one from the Celestial. The image of him as an angel fills your head, and you wonder. But you don’t ask. It’s not time.

“Tell me what else I can do” he says, almost begging, as you wince in his arms, forehead touching chest.

But you just shake your head, and look up into his wide, worried blues, slow fingers tracing the slide of his jaw. “I couldn’t ask for more.”

Asmodeus

Asmodeus is often slow to notice when you’re in pain. It isn’t his fault, you remind yourself. He is the Avatar of Lust; he is the star at the center of his own galaxy. He shines so brightly it’s only natural that he would be blinded by his own light. It doesn’t make him uncaring. When he finally does notice, he feels terrible for not realizing it sooner. Sometimes, he hurts you accidentally. He is simply so full of affection that he can’t hold it in, so he is always jumping at you when he sees you, throwing his arms around you, nuzzling in against your skin. His body is propelled forward by a desire to be near, but he never means to hurt. So when you give a pained hiss and shove him away on instinct, his gaze turns almost immediately from wounded to worried. He fusses over you, never once listening to your insistences that you’re okay. He clicks his tongue at the dark circles beneath your eyes, scolds you for letting your pain keep you from getting your beauty sleep, and hauls you off to his room before you can say another word.

Clothes never stay on for long in Asmodeus’s room. He strips your shirt from you and eases you onto his bed, laying you on your stomach. You’re hit with the scent of lavender; then his practiced hands touch you. The moment his palms, soft and slick with lotion, meet the bare skin of your back, they’re all you can focus on. The pain is still there, still probing at the outer recesses of your mind, but his touch is there too, far more significant. His dexterous fingers play over your muscles, working out knots you didn’t even know you had, and you give an unintentional groan as your eyes flutter closed. You hear his bell-like laugh; you feel his breath hot on your ear as he leans over you and whispers suggestions of what he’ll do to you later to make you repeat the sound. But for now, he says, just lay still. Let him do what he does best. Let him take care of you.

Beelzebub

Beelzebub feels useless when you’re in pain. He doesn’t know what to do. It isn’t that he doesn’t understand the sensation; he does, all too well. The chasm of emptiness in his abdomen gnaws at him constantly, urges him to feed it lest it consume him whole. It is not mere hunger. It is a void at the core of his very being, a black hole that swallows up all he swallows down. But his problem has a simple solution: food. Even if eating does not cure the starvation completely, it dulls it for a short time. Makes it bearable. So the first time he finds you, balled up on the couch with your hair all amess and your eyes squeezed tightly shut, he asks himself what he would want, if he were you. The answer? Food. He decides right then: he will bring you his favorite custard, a panacea if there ever was one. It will help.

But it doesn’t. You take one look at the open cup, and your face turns green. You turn your head. You push him away. And suddenly food is no longer the answer, as the question shifts to become: what can he do, if the only thing that helps him hurts you?

Beelzebub leaves and returns empty handed. He sits gingerly beside you, his thoughts a mess. Useless. Useless. Still, he can’t bring himself to leave you alone, not even when his stomach growls its low complaint.

Good. You don’t want him to.

Beelzebub gives a quiet, startled sound as you shift to lean in against him. His arms go around you automatically, and you sigh. He is warm. The constant release of energy as his body burns through calories makes him feel like a blazing fire, his skin fever hot. Better than a heating pad. Better than a hot bath. Because it’s him. After a moment, he tugs you into his lap to encompass all of you in this warmth. And he realizes: maybe he is not so useless after all.

[senju-sekhmet]

The Leash (Part 8)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~6200 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7 Read on AO3!   Disclaimer below the cut! Updated again, yAAAY!!

DISCLAIMER! Next part of the split! a bit longer. and not as soon as I hoped, gosh dangerit. But! Hopefully I’ll get the next one out a lot quicker. This chapter is a little bit special as I tried to incorporate something of a real intensive care take into what is happening as well as my own... ideas about how they'd deal with it all. Let me know what you think! Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ______ It took him a moment to get his bearings again. Hashirama’s back was turned towards him, he was sitting in a chair by your side. The setting sun’s red light illuminated the room in warm hues Tobirama might have appreciated were it not for the sheer sense of dread he felt budding inside of him. The dreary exhaustion was swept away as he stepped closer slowly. Peripherally he picked up a weak pulse of chakra with sensor skills - nothing uncommon for him if he came close enough to a source. Usually he had to actively tap into his sensory skills in order to pick anything up, but if the signal was strong enough, it almost forced itself upon him. Right now, it most likely was your body. As Tobirama rounded the bed he saw your face: pale - paler than before, he was sure - and sweaty. You were taking shallow, hushed breaths while the odd whimper escaped your lips every now and then. Truth be told, Tobirama only remembered you trashing and writhing the last time the withdrawal had set in - now, you simply squirmed, sometimes.

Your expression was far from peaceful though. It was a grimace of sheer pain. Jaw taut, a frown etched onto your forehead and the eyes so tightly, your skin was in wrinkles.

Hashirama was holding your hand, his eyes were closed. An epitome of calmness next to your misery. Tobirama didn’t want to disturb his concentration lest he’d cause you even more torment so for a moment, he stood by the other side of the bed, helplessly witnessing your suffering. The dread had become the painfully familiar constriction of his chest again, every beat of his heart stabbed as he could only let his shoulders hang low.

It was wrong. He should never have agreed to let you suffer like this. The promise you had him make was a hollow echo in his ears. You probably wouldn’t want him to berate himself like this. But how couldn’t he? How couldn't he, when this was the result of the decision? Of course, the cruel logic behind this was clear to him - painfully so.

But if these past few days had been anything but logical every so often.

Hashirama cleared his throat, slowly. “Tobirama,” he greeted, quietly. He didn’t open his eyes.

Tobirama jumped at the opportunity. “How is she?”, he demanded swiftly, keeping his voice low but making no effort to stow back on the urgency.

Hashirama didn’t respond directly, which only served to irritate Tobirama slightly. “It’s difficult,” he began finally, “Initially we were able to stave off the brunt of the withdrawal by sealing her chakra away,” Tobirama’s blood near froze in his veins, his eyes widened slightly, “But it’s been picking up since. Her blood pressure has been dropping and I’ve been noticing signs of inflammation primarily along her blood vessels but also the heart and lungs." He paused momentarily, uttering a hum of ponder. "The reaction overall is similar to sepsis at this point. Likely the body trying to clear out the leash physically now that her chakra can't interact with it anymore.”

Tobirama couldn’t help himself now. He had to know - to see - with a fine tremor in his hand and a raspy breath he took a step closer to grasp the blanket that covered you and pull it lower, very slowly. As lightly as he could. You stirred as the cloth moved, a feeble shudder of your weak body, but no more. On your chest he could already make out the ink markings of the chakra seal on your bare chest. The sight stole alone his breath momentarily. He violently swallowed down the lump in his throat.

He had believed seeing you weak, tortured, a shadow of your former self - that was one of the worst parts about all of this - he had been wrong.

This. This was worse. It all painted a new horrible picture for what it implied.

There were more seals on your glistening skin - both of your arms and your heart, each of them with a parchment in their center that had been soaked in herbs whose smell each he knew well. Tobirama recognized these: one was stabilising your cardiovascular system both through the seal’s effect itself but also by letting the herbal agent be applied transdermally. The fact you already bore it - the Ione on your heart to make it pump stronger - was a grim sign. The other two were strong pain and sedation medications. Were anyone other than his brother here, he’d probably have refused to wait any longer with the next dose.

He pulled the blanket back up again and crossed his arms in front of his chest as if that helped to reinforce his broken, guilty resolve about all this. “Tell me more,” he requested firmly, eyes never leaving your gaunt face now. This is the only way, he kept telling himself.

“Mito and I drew the chakra seal. It is temporary and can be opened and closed, I’ll show you later. When Y/n gets the next dose and is in her lucid phase, we can open it again for her comfort,” Hashirama consoled quickly. Whether or not he had taken note of what Tobirama had done, he didn’t care right now. It was a slight relief. Maybe you hadn’t felt any of it. Maybe.

“She’s rather still, anija,” Tobirama whispered, now with more worry and firmness. "You sedated her?"

His brother hummed affirmatively. “We … were forced to, indeed.” The hesitance was clear in his tone.

“I see.” Tobirama’s in turn was grave. His next question he blurted out before he was even sure whether he wanted to know the answer. Who was he kidding? Of course he did. “I surmise otherwise, she wouldn’t be still enough to be monitored like this,” to put it lightly. He didn’t have the stomach right now to utter: Otherwise you’d be screaming from the top of your lungs and writhing like you were on fire.

Just like the last time you had been in withdrawal.

Just like the prisoners had explained.

Hashirama appeared to be grateful for Tobirama’s rare show of more neutral words. “You are correct.” The admission didn’t hurt any less for it.

“What about the other seals?” Tobirama demanded then, though of course Hashirama would know that Tobirama was aware of what they did. What he really wanted to know was how bad off you were. For all Tobirama knew, you might be carrying more of those already.

“I was forced to draw these a bit ago as the physical symptoms started to kick in worse again,” he replied evenly. “I first tried oral medication, but the effect was too weak. And administering it was ineffective.”

By ineffective, he meant impossible. You probably quite violently refused anything. Tobirama’s eyes widened slightly at the implication though. It meant your condition was worse enough that without these seals - the seal on your heart to support your cardiovascular system, really - you’d most likely be teetering on the brink of death than life. His hands bunched the fabric of his black shirt. “Exactly how much support does she need right now?” he demanded now, still not daring to step closer.

Hashirama gave a low sigh, but still did not open his eyes nor move his hand from yours. “It’s bearable. Due to the seal, the disruption is impairing her dormant chakra only, but it is not fighting back of course. The symptoms are being caused by her body’s physical reaction which we’re controlling with the medication and the other seals, for now. I’m simply monitoring. It’s just the three seals, Tobirama.”

He was not calmed down at all. “Still, you’ve already been forced to draw this to improve her cardiovascular situation.” Tobirama stated flatly, the neutral kindness gone. He started to paint a pretty dismal picture of your situation without even having examined you already.

Hashirama noticed, too. “And we can still increase the support of these seals. The fever is being kept in check, and while I admit her body is reacting physically, for now it is mostly symptomatic of the withdrawal rather than an actual damaging inflammatory reaction. I’d wager we even have a little bit more time before we have to give her the next dose of the leash.”

It should have served to put him at ease. And yet - “As if that should be our only concern,” Tobirama shot back, voice suddenly caustic. Your pained grimace was testament to the fact you were walking through hell once more and here he was, deliberating how long he could prolong it.

His stomach roiled as his breathing became jittery again. He had to close his eyes lest his brother witnessed his possibly glistening eyes; or at the very least the obvious pain in his glance. It wasn't as though he wanted to hide it - he just needed to be alone with it.

Hashirama was a very understanding person, after all.

And because of that he picked up on it nonetheless. “Y/n wanted this, brother.” It was all he said. Tobirama didn’t want to hear anything, anyway. There was nothing anyone could say about all of this.

Another concern hit him then, distancing himself quickly from the biting cynicism that rose up inside of him. “What about the amount of chakra overload? The seals will aggravate that,” he subconsciously stepped closer, more and more wishing to just see for himself how you really fared. Nonetheless his tone was demanding again.

“That is correct,” Hashirama agreed quickly, but calmly. “And I won’t lie, we are pushing the limit here. But given our options, it is the safest route. It is manageable right now however.”

Tobirama frowned and wondered if he truly did agree with that statement. Following blindly - even his brother’s no doubt superior medical expertise - just wasn’t in him. Especially when it concerned you. “Overload symptoms would be similar to what she is experiencing now, though," he countered tersely.

Hashirama inhaled deeply. “Which is why we’ll need to continue to watch carefully, even after she gets the dose. It’s not a perfect solution, but so far it’s working. If it happens to become too intense, then we know to cut the interval shorter again to lessen the needed seals.”

The words caused a sudden surge of ire through his dismal demeanor. All of this sounded more like experimentation rather than a real course of action. Not that his brother could know any better, but it still didn’t make him appreciate it any more. He forcibly took deep breaths in order to not snap again, but the ire was a welcome distraction from the utter despair that had taken over.

Hashirama opened his eyes then finally and his dark eyes gave him a warm glance. Tobirama instantly frowned, concerned it may hamper with his focus - but before he could speak, his brother did. “Take a seat, look for yourself. I know you want to.”

He didn’t have to say it twice. Tobirama grabbed one of the chairs swiftly and placed it on the other side of your bed, taking a seat then. Gingerly, he took your hand in his and closed his eyes to let his chakra meet your network and begin to examine you.

It was a mess. The first thing he noticed was the complete absence of a chakra flow - it was frozen in its tracks. And while before there certainly had been the many injuries you had yet to properly recover from, now there was a war raging in your body. Manageable. That was the word Hashirama had used. Tobirama himself would not go beyond that, if even. There was hardly a part of yourself not affected by all this; anywhere he looked he found signs of inflammation, microscopic injury in the tissue that was attacked, torn down and at the same time, rebuilt. The picture was similar to sepsis, as his brother had said indeed: your own body’s reaction to the leash was, ultimately, killing you. The leash itself seemed to cause damage on its own, but it was minor compared to the damages your own body was doing to yourself by trying to fend it off. At this point it was just a matter of time until that got too bad. After all, it already had begun to cause a capillary leak on a scale that required outward support to keep your blood pressure up. Your heart rate was elevated for compensation, and your organs each showed signs of damage due to said leak as well as the inflammation itself.

His focus needed to be extremely sharp to even make out traces of the leash in the rush of your frantically beating heart - intense scrutiny that surely wouldn’t go unnoticed by you. He withdrew quickly. Tobirama knew the leash would be latched - branded, almost - to your blood at this point. That easily explained why no part of your body was spared - just like in a real sepsis. Though he noticed the heart and lungs seemed to be affected more, too, as Hashirama had mentioned - examining them closer, he found the reaction here was particularly bad. Your lungs, as the extremely thin tissue of the alveoles were extremely affected by this - again, just like in sepsis. It was a matter of time until breathing problems would ensure. Your heart, as it strained to fight for a stable blood pressure while being inadequately perfused, suffering tissue damage on a microscopic scale, for now. At the very least, this might affect you immediately - but Tobirama found none of these damages couldn’t be healed, either.

Just not now.

Frankly, he hadn’t expected to feel better after this, exactly. However to witness the battle that was going on inside of you - one you were losing, ultimately, always - it added a new dimension to the sorrow and heartache he was feeling. Even though right now he felt the hum of the seals that had been painted on you and their effects - strengthening you - he felt nothing but helplessness to bear witness to your suffer firsthand and do nothing but to figure out how to prolong it. It didn’t just hurt his heart - it wrenched it around, tore at it. He didn’t want to do this.

Promise me.

He had promised you.

With a broken sigh, he withdrew and slumped back in the chair, eyes on your gaunt, pained face. His vision was blurry.

“Tobirama,” Hashirama’s voice startled him. With this dismal sight and the lingering extortion from his shadow clone stunt, which his body certainly had not forgotten, concentration was becoming touch and go as his thoughts circled in dark places. “The sedative will begin to wear off, soon. For the next dose, I’d rather she be more awake to ensure she can swallow it properly.”

Tobirama closed his eyes and already knew how this would go down. Another one for the list of things he’ll have a hard time forgiving himself. But he had to. He had to. Slowly, he rubbed a palm over his face. “Very well,” he replied, seeing reason in this too, of course.

They sat in silence for another two hours, almost. During the time, your writhing had picked up slowly - from a flex of your legs’ or arms’ muscles to weak movement. Slowly but surely sounds were picking up too - huffs or grunts at first, but later on there were quiet groans and incoherent mumbles mixed in. You never opened your eyes. Hashirama ended up increasing the heart’s seal’s intensity somewhat, all of which Tobirama watched while he monitored you diligently. He felt absolutely crushed in every sense - physically, emotionally, mentally. But sleep never came to his mind. The least he could do was be here with you, even if you might not notice it. But if anything were to happen - he’d be here. He’d sleep when you did. A little. And then continue to work once his condition allowed it again.

“It’s time,” Hashirama announced finally. “Her blood pressure has been sinking continuously and the damage that is caused by the withdrawal ultimately is becoming too intense now. I don’t want to push her beyond this.”

What a relief. Tobirama already had procured the next dose of the leash previously. Administering it now wouldn’t be as simple as the last times, however. With a heavy sigh, he rose to his feet, as did Hashirama.

“Y/n,” Tobirama spoke softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Can you hear me?” It was worth a try. Though he had little hope for it.

And he was right. Your reaction was lackluster, only a low groan as your head trashed to the other side.

“I’ll open her jaw,” Tobirama instructed his brother, numb now. Devoid of any emotion but to simply do this swiftly. “Hold her head.” Hashirama nodded and already seized each side of it with his hands, which you responded to by uttering yet another tormented moan.

Tobirama’s heart was hammering in his chest again - at this point he had just waited for that to happen, and his breathing was nearly as raspy as yours when he took another step closer to seize your jaw in the dreadfully familiar way again. Once more utter horror overcame him for having to do this to you. It grew worse when he felt how you were trying to trash your head to the side, but your movement was pitiful at best. “It’ll be better soon, Y/n, I promise,” he whispered brokenly, though he knew you couldn’t hear him.

Tobirama was tormented by how easy, compared to last time, the pressure behind your mandibular bone made it protrude, enabling him to shift the grip slightly to force your mouth more open with his thumb on your chin. A shiver ran down his spine. The hand that held the vial containing the leash shook slightly. You protested louder in what definitely was an even more painful groan, a sweaty, trembling hand reaching for Tobirama’s on your jaw. “Don’t,” he pleaded instantly, desperately.

Don’t make it worse.

Swiftly, he poured the leash into your mouth and shut it quickly before you had a chance to cough it back up. With pressure on your cricoid, the constriction of your airway was forcing you to swallow it before the breathing trouble became too uncomfortable. It was brutal, Tobirama knew. But it was the safest way to ensure you really drank all of this. Immediately, he and Hashirama withdrew from you.

You stilled completely.

Time for the next act of this nightmare, whose end was approaching way too fast and yet not fast enough.

_______

As per usual, Tobirama ensured you’d sleep for the terrible psychotropic effects of the drug. However Hashirama noted it was better to use a sedative this time, as they needed to avoid any use of chakra on your strained body for now. He agreed reluctantly - by this point he knew it couldn’t interfere with the leash’s effect, in any way. Besides, Hashirama also stated he needed to monitor you further - especially watch for signs of chakra overload as well as controlling the seals. Likely, your cardiovascular situation will improve enough to be stable on your own.

Tobirama nearly shouted at his brother when he used the word ‘likely’. If he thought it was just likely then they had gone too far. And just as likely Tobirama felt like smacking his brother for sheer stupidity right then. He didn’t of course, ultimately and begrudgingly yielded to his brother's expertise. However it didn't stop him from sternly reminding him about how fragile and susceptible your mind was due to every sensation heightened -

"Be careful," he warned, rather, threatened. "Do not agonize her unnecessarily."

Hashirama rolled his eyes. "I'm doing what I have to. No more and no less, brother." Despite everything, he remained calm.

It provided little comfort, but he saw no option but to add it to the list of necessary things they had to do to you. Tobirama’s frustration was palpable at this point.

Nonetheless, all of this just showed it was time to rest, as much as he hated it. Sleep was inconvenient, but needed alas. And once more he found himself at your shared home, alone. Luckily enough, the exhaustion was great enough to claim him quickly after he had laid down, but the forlorn feeling was seeping through every crack. With every passing day, this house felt colder and lonelier. The burden he carried strained him to a point where numbness was spreading inside of him. He felt spent, at the end of his wits. His sleep was dead, dreamless.

And a little longer than he wanted it to be. He woke again with a startle - his gaze sought out the clock mounted on the wall right away. It was somewhat past midnight. Damn. You should be awake by now. He rubbed a hand over his face to wipe away the last traces of sleep before he washed himself, got dressed and teleported to your room right away.

_______

The withdrawal was one of the worst things you had ever gone through. It easily was on par with some of the torture you had suffered.

It had begun as you remembered it - you became weaker with each passing minute. Then came the dizziness. Your consciousness slipped in and out. An ache settled into your bones, your muscles, your nerves, that was all too familiar - dim, at first, but it increased more and more. It wasn’t long before it felt like molten lava rolled through your veins, alongside your nerves, through your lungs with every breath you took - you were being burned out from the inside slowly, cruelly. Split apart and yet not dying.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to writhe away, shake it off, rip your skin off, do anything - but you couldn’t. Something held you suspended in darkness with proverbial chains winding around you tightly, everything else was black nothingness. Nobody to hear your screams, nobody aware of your agony - all by yourself in a hell that wasn’t ending. At first, you were trying to tell yourself this was what you wanted: you had to give Tobirama - yourself - more time. Otherwise they’d run out of this damn murder drug before they could recreate it. But this? This wasn’t worth living, was it?

Had the chains around you not seized your throat, you’d have begged for someone to kill you. End your misery.

I’m sorry, Tobirama.

Forgive me.

You circled around these two sentences over and over again while the torture wasn’t ending.

Peripherally, you had been aware - at first, when the withdrawal had begun to set in - of someone’s chakra inside of you - Hashirama, you realised, dimly. It had made sense. Tobirama would need to work. Try as much as you wanted to, but you couldn’t work around the dizziness and the pain that had been roaring through your systems at that point already. And just as lightly you realised something was done to you - but no more you could distinguish what it was. It eased the pain, somewhat. Briefly. You wanted to thank him yet couldn’t form words; either it was exhaustion or another side effect of the withdrawal. Were it not for your dreary state you knew you’d be overrun by panic due to the helplessness. You simply had to trust those around you.

But that had gone out of the window piece by piece as the symptoms became worse and worse. You felt your grip on yourself losing as pain became your only reality.

Suddenly though, it was all over. The pain was gone as though it had never existed. You nearly screamed in joy.

And another terribly familiar sensation kicked in.

The nightmares.

They had given you the next dose of the leash - you had lived, you dimly realised. Part of you wanted to cheer, but of course you wouldn’t get to do that. With all you had just gone through, this time around, the bizarre horror trips you suffered from during the first phase of the leash would gladly take inspiration from now.

But the usually crystal clear scenarios were muddled images at best - red hot iron being pressed into your flesh agonisingly slowly. Darkness, loneliness. It still was frightening - but not as precise as it usually was. Perhaps the leash had done permanent damage to your brain. Who knew. In a twisted, grotesque way you were thankful.

Your perception of pain had become extremely skewed.

Someone else was lingering, though. A presence. They were watching you - you knew - and you didn’t like it. Nothing came from them, but you knew better than that. Presences like this greatly unnerved you. It couldn’t mean anything good.

Soon, you, the nightmares, everything - faded into dull sensations only. After that, a warm nothingness overtook you and you finally were allowed to sleep.

When you opened your eyes again, the room was dimly lit by the nightstand’s lamp. Someone was touching your hand - you turned your head slightly to find Hashirama next to you. Still, you had blink several times before you truly recognized him; truth be told you felt like a giant rock had rolled over you. Distantly you were aware of the fact he was monitoring you - his chakra was but a shadow in your system, so light, almost unnoticeable. Something else was bothering you though - but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Missing - something was missing. Quickly, you realised what it was: your chakra. You couldn’t feel your chakra at all - the sluggish, tardy sensation it had become was gone.

Instantly, panic settled in and your breathing picked up. “I- I can’t,” you began, voice raspy. Moving your jaw was as though you had to force it through jelly or something equally gooey, the muscle wouldn’t quite obey you. But that didn’t matter. Your chakra - where was your chakra? You wanted to get up, but your arms wouldn’t obey you - your pulse picked up rapidly and breathing was getting difficult again.

Hashirama shook his head, “We had to seal it off, don’t worry,” he explained swiftly, already pulling the blanket down with his free hand. In utter horror you noticed there were seals drawn not just on your chest but your arms as well. Your heartbeat was through the roof by now as your panicked gaze kept looking everywhere. He put his thumb, index and middle finger right on your sternum where the center of what you recognized belatedly was a rather complex chakra seal was located. His fingertips glowed for a moment, then he twisted his wrist.

A second later, your beloved, useless chakra was back.

You gulped and swallowed past the lump in your throat, trying to even out your breaths again. He put the blanket back over you again and regarded you with a smile, though you could easily tell his warm gaze was burdened with worry. Unlike Tobirama, Hashirama wore his moods on his sleeve. “How are you feeling?”

You blinked a couple times again, still reeling from the sudden burst of panic. Then, after a deep breath, “I’ve… been better.” To put it lightly.

He frowned sympathetically. “No doubt about it.”

You didn’t want to wait any longer. “How long… how long did we gain?”, you desperately hoped this exercise had been worth something. At all.

His smile became more mirthful. “Six hours.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Frankly, you were unsure if you should be happy or horrified by that. To you, it had felt like an eternity. And yet six hours was a huge gain on what the interval had been before. A good result. The suffering - had been worth something. Your gaze wandered to the ceiling, nodding to yourself slowly. Trying to convince yourself of this at least.

“Y/n,” Hashirama began again, now more somberly. “I won’t lie to you. I don’t know how long we can keep this up. It took a toll on you, which I am sure you are feeling right now.”

“You can say that again,” you croaked weakly, yet again testing the movement in your legs. Your toes wiggled a little. It was an achievement. Then you sighed and in what pretty much was a snap decision, you spoke up again. “Promise not to tell Tobirama,” you muttered, already feeling guilt taking a stab at your heart.

Hashirama’s frown deepened. “Promise.”

“The withdrawal is… All of this - it’s about one of the worst things I’ve ever gone through.” you shared, no more than a mere, haunted whisper. You couldn’t look at Hashirama. “And by now, I think I’ve experienced a lot.”

Hashirama hummed deeply.

“I don’t want Tobirama to know that. He will refuse to keep stretching the interval, b-but-”

“You wanted to say it.” Hashirama finished your sentence before your voice broke. “It’s alright.” He squeezed your hand lightly. “I’d wager he knows, truth be told.”

A sob broke past your tightly squeezed lips, but you nodded. Of course he’d know. You couldn’t imagine him not checking in while all of it had happened. Most likely some of your plight had gone through to the outside. And the first withdrawal had been a harrowing experience for all of them.

“You’re stable, though,” he spoke up again in a less grieved tone. “It’s no surprise you’re feeling rather weak right now. The withdrawal is quite… violent towards the body.”

“So long as it’s worth… as it’s worth all this,” you gulped, nodding. To yourself, mostly.

Hashirama smiled warmly again. “The time gained is invaluable. I’m afraid we can’t do much to heal you, yet, though.”

Just as you wanted to reply you witnessed a flicker in the shadows near the door. That had stopped startling you a long time ago - well, when you weren’t in the middle of a breakdown, that is. You couldn’t help but smile with how Tobirama lurched over instantly. His white hair was tousled, glistening even - he must've fallen out of bed into the bathroom and then teleported right over. A quaint sight - the man was punctual, sharp and kept in perfect shape.

Hashirama regarded him with raised eyebrows as he stood by the other side of your bed, mustering you through narrowly-lidded eyes with a distressed expression. He already took a breath to speak up, but you beat him to it with a quip that’d surely answer his question. “That’s fine Hashirama, I won’t be able to get up either way and Tobirama won’t need to lecture me about moving too much anymore.”

Tobirama shut his mouth immediately and scrunched his face like he had just been forced to drink some extremely bitter tea and regarded you with a look as if you had been the one to make said tea. Already, he crossed his arms. For a hot second, you worried you had gone too far - doing this in a high stress situation like this always carried a risk. But Tobirama knew you. And you knew him.

“You’re doing better.” He simply stated then, unimpressed, just raising an eyebrow.

Hashirama raised his arm to hide his face with his sleeve slightly as a chuckle shook him.

Tobirama’s hawk-like stare shot to his brother briefly before it settled back on you. “Enlighten me with some context, maybe?”, he then demanded, only slightly exasperated. He was holding back, you knew.

“I just explained the toll the withdrawal has taken on Y/n to her,” Hashirama supplied, having regained his composure again.

Tobirama regarded him with a concerned look then instantly, dropping the unnerved demeanour. “Toll?”

“Exhaustion mostly, Tobirama,” you decided to intervene before he worked himself up more. The way he gripped his black shirt again was telltale. “I can’t do more than wiggle my toes. And my fingers, maybe.” You tentatively tried it out - they stretched just fine. “What a relief,” you murmured ironically.

Tobirama’s frown grew softer again as he watched you test your limits and the corners of his mouth turned down slightly. “Y/n,” he whispered, and you could feel how much more he wanted to say.

Hashirama cleared his throat again. “We’ve painted four seals on you, in total,” he spoke up again, catching your attention immediately as he then explained how they strengthened your heart and blood pressure. “Now that you’re awake again I’ve brought down the support from them to a very low level because you’re doing so well. The exhaustion is from the immediate reaction mostly. I won’t deny, you did suffer damages there - but none of them great enough to warrant additional concern.” His gaze wandered to his brother while he spoke, well aware he was listening just as intently. If not more. Tobirama’s frown had deepened again.

You nodded. Medical jutsu were really not your forte, but you did know quite a handful of seals and could already guess as to how these worked. Which also told you they had been scraping the proverbial barrel here: normally, these things would be easily managed using chakra based methods, normally. “I surmise you’re using seals because I’m constantly teetering on the edge of chakra overload still with how I keep getting additional… problems…”

Tobirama snorted. “Some of which you wouldn’t have if you rested.” Hashirama chuckled again, this time at your expense. You took it in stride. Tobirama continued then. “You’re right though. We must avoid it as much as possible.” Hashirama nodded to that.

“Ultimately, should your condition worsen during withdrawal, we’ll have to overstep that boundary. But I’m very much trying to avoid it. It’s additional stress you don’t need right now.” He did sound quite serious about it. You gulped. Chakra overload was nothing to sneeze at.

But then again you felt like you had just about dipped into every kind of torment available as of now. What’s one more?

Hashirama ended his monitoring then and gently slipped away, both inwardly and outwardly. “I’ll get some rest now. You’re stable. And while I know Tobirama is very, ah, adamant about this-”

“Anija,” the growl came instantly.

“-you really need to get as much rest as you can. We’ll see to support you more using any non-chakra based means which is going to entail some medications. I’ll… see you soon again,” he finished with a sorrowful smile that managed to soothe you and at the same time filled you with dread.

You swallowed. “Thank you, Hashirama.”

He nodded and left the room quietly.

Tobirama sat down on the side of your bed as soon as he had shut the door, taking your hand in his and stroking your skin gently with his thumb. “How are you really doing, Y/n?”, he inquired, the timbre of his voice gentle enough to let his concern truly show.

You gave him a brave smile. “I’ll manage, Tobi,” that, you knew. You knew you had to. Though you felt like breaking into tears when you said it.

You didn’t fool him for one second. His breath caught momentarily; his grip became firmer and you felt his chakra graze over your network, covering it warmly. You couldn’t help but sigh contently when he did; the sensation never failed to comfort you. But his expression remained distraught, to say the least. He knew you well enough - what your avoidant answer meant. It was kindness not to inquire further. And maybe protection, too. You didn’t want to speak more about this. Or think of it.

It’d come around again soon enough.

“You’re not taking good care of yourself,” you chided then softly. “I’d ruffle your obviously wet hair, but I can’t right now.” You cracked a weak smile.

He clicked his tongue. “It’s been a pretty intense day, Y/n,” he countered evenly.

“I think I can count the days you left the house in such a hurry on one hand, Tobi,” you replied, not bothering to keep the sorrow down any longer. It saddened you to see how all this took its toll on him - your problems, your condition. Of course you’d do the same for him in a heartbeat - and just as well, you were aware what your sight made him feel. But it just hurt.

His eyebrow arched up again slowly. “When I’ve got such urgent business to tend to, I will run the risk of being seen with wet hair, but I’ll face it bravely,” he countered sarcastically, eliciting a little chuckle from you. There was no changing his mind anyway. His lips drew into a lopsided smile of his own, too.

Finally, you sighed quietly. “Don’t let me keep you, then.” You dreaded being alone. But it couldn’t be helped.

His smile faded and his eyebrows furrowed again. “I can stay, Y/n.”

“No, you can’t,” you replied with more resolve, “Because then all the time we gained won’t matter. Soon. Just a bit longer.” You weren’t sure if you were telling him or yourself that.

He must’ve picked up on it, because his other hand grasped your arm too and stroked over your skin gently while his gaze had turned decidedly sorrowful. “I’ll be back soon to check on you,” he promised quietly, but you could guess on the fierceness behind that. It eased your budding sense of dread, somewhat.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “Can you…,” you swallowed, blinking. The request made you feel so silly - shameful, even. But you couldn’t help it.

He tilted his head when you didn’t finish your sentence. “Yes…?”

“Can you please leave the light on? And… don’t close the curtains,” you finally whimpered meekly, avoiding eye-contact now. This alone was a confession to what you could only perceive as weakness due to your recent trauma, but you couldn’t deny how much you needed it right now.

Tobirama’s mien turned more sorrowful, but he nodded. “Of course, Y/n.” He sat on the side of the bed a moment longer and simply shared your connection - a gesture you were immeasurably grateful for. It was you who ultimately nodded and decided it was time he left - despite the ungodly hour.

“C’mon, then.” You tried another brave smile. _____ author’s notes: Some explanations: 'cardiovascular' means pertaining to the heart and the blood vessels, i.e. blood pressure and essentially keeping the body's organs supplied with nutrients, and more immediately important, oxygen. 'sepsis' is a real thing! it's when the body's own immune system causes such a strong reaction in the whole body to an infection it starts to damage its own organs. since reader isn't infected, it's 'like' sepsis. there are also real life complications of different diseases that can, in fact, cause a sepsis-like condition! 'capillary leak' is something that ties in directly to sepsis. because of the body's immune response, the blood vessels start to 'leak' fluids into surrounding tissue. every had an infected  body part? splinter in your toe, hand? got red, big, swollen? well, that's the same thing. it's not good when the body does it everywhere! but it does make sense because by 'opening' the capillaries, the white blood cells can get out and do their job in the tissue. hooo boy, that was a lot more than i ever thought i'd explain, oopz. thank you so much for reading as always!!!

[buffskierights]

Prompt by @gleterins Hi! I have a buffskier prompt wherein Geralt gets injured (broken foot??? idk something that won’t let him walk) and Jaskier will carry him around trying to be helpful and Geralt would be shocked everytime it happens because he just can’t fathom the thought of Jaskier being BUFF lmao if you’ve already received this kind of prompt then pls ignore me 😬 if not then thank you in advance!

Sorry this took so long for me to get to! I also made it so much more soft than I thought it was going to be :0

CW: Injury, Broken Bones

Broken bones are, without a doubt, Geralt’s least favorite of injuries. Sure, scooping his guts back into his body is annoying when the occasion calls for it, and maybe bleeding out to the point of the world losing color is a bit alarming, but both of those heal faster than a broken fucking bone. Oh, he could drink Swallow until the potion toxicity is what takes him away, but there is no speeding up the healing process of breaking a bone.

It had been with a sickening snap that he heard, more than felt, his ankle breaking beneath the weight of the wyvern as it stepped heavily upon his leg as he stabbed it through the heart. At least he killed it first before his leg became indisposed, his ankle swelling up as he laid in the clearing of the forest and just... waited. What for? He’s not entirely sure until he hears Jaskier’s voice gently calling for him.

“Geralt,” Jaskier quietly calls again, the bard surprisingly light-footed when he wants to be and stepping through the undergrowth of the forest nearly silently, “Geralt, I don’t hear any more ferocious clashing of swords against claws so I assume you’re done fighting. Would you be a dear and answer me so I’m not stumbling around blindly in the dark, spooky forest? Geralt?”

He sighs and tilts his head back to watch the tree line as he shouts back, “I’m here, Jaskier!” He hears Jaskier’s footsteps still before shuffling and changing direction, his sunny yellow doublet announcing his presence as he hurries over to Geralt’s side.

“Melitele’s tits, Geralt, what happened? I’m not sure if you’re aware, but you’ve a wyvern atop you still,” Jaskier teases, his sharp eyes looking Geralt over for injuries and lingering on the leg trapped beneath the beast, “I’d almost say it looked cozy, if it weren’t for the erm... well, the truly astonishing amounts of blood.”

Geralt rolls his eyes and scowls, “Yeah, Jask, it’s fucking cloud 9 under here. Help me get it off and then call Roach, I think my ankle’s broken.”

Jaskier cheekily salutes him, “Yes, sir!”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Geralt growls, “Are you being a smartass right now?”

“Nope! Just an asshole, ma’am,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out playfully before shucking his doublet off and folding it neatly, placing it on the ground a good distance from the blood stained mud Geralt is lying in. As he approaches, he rolls the white sleeves of his undershirt up to his elbows and adjusts the waist of his blue trousers before crouching and getting his hands under the foot of the wyvern and lifting it enough for Geralt to pull himself out.

“Woof, yeah, that looks ah... very broken, my friend,” Jaskier muses as he extends a hand to the Witcher to help Geralt to his feet. His ankle has swollen enough to be tight in his boot and his foot has stiffened up from the inflammation. Geralt huffs and takes Jaskier’s hand before being pulled upright, his eyes widening in surprise when he suddenly finds himself off the ground and cradled against Jaskier’s chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He demands, his arms automatically wrapping around Jaskier’s (shockingly broad) shoulders, “Put me down, Jaskier!”

Jaskier shakes his head as he walks over to where his doublet lays on the ground, “No can do, Witcher. The trees are too narrow for Roach to pass through and you can’t walk on that ankle. Now, do me a favor and pick up my doublet, my hands are rather full right now.” He crouches down to lower Geralt to the ground and the Witcher snatches up the yellow garment, his face feeling oddly hot.

“So, you’re going to what, carry me back to camp?” Geralt challenges as Jaskier smoothly stands up again and starts walking. He has to admit, it feels kind of... nice, to be held like this.

“That’s the plan.”

“It’s at least two miles!”

Jaskier sighs dramatically, “Woe is me, I’m stuck with a hunk of man in my arms for the next half an hour. Whatever will I do?” Geralt’s face grows hotter and he scowls, slumping down in Jaskier’s arms and crossing his own as he grumbles.

The cooling air of evening makes gooseflesh pimple on his arms and he subconsciously wiggles to press more of himself against Jaskier’s warm chest, the bard radiating comforting heat. His steps are careful as well, Jaskier’s strong arms being delicate so as not to jostle Geralt and aggravate his ankle any further. Between the gentle swaying and the warm arms and the steady thudding of Jaskier’s heart against Geralt’s shoulder, he finds his eyes growing heavy as he struggles to stay awake with the fatigue of the battle catching up to him.

When Jaskier starts quietly humming, Geralt gives in and rests his head against the bard’s shoulder, his forehead tucked against Jaskier’s neck and he can feel the faint vibrations of buzzing vocal cords. Jaskier, politely, doesn’t say anything but his scent (oak, petrichor, silk, wood oil, ink) sweetens with happiness. He’s just going to close his eyes for a moment, just a minute to rest them, Geralt thinks as his eyes slide shut and he falls asleep feeling safe.

[animeyanderelover]

If you're not too busy may I request something: Ciel/Alois was barely alive when a little nurse came picked them from a dark alley and nursed them back to health. What she didn't expect is how they say thanks.

I went with Alois for this one and decided to turn it into a oneshot. This is the introduction to my first s/o. Here we go! By the way, I decided to split this part into more than one part because if I wouldn’t have done that it would have taken too long. I’ll write of course a second and if necessary a third part to it. I wanted to first of all write something different, but if you like this part and want the second one faster, I’ll concentrate more on writing it.

Warnings: Yandere themes, blood, violence

My little butterfly

Yandere aged up Alois x Sayuri

Sayuri didn’t really know why she ended up in this alley. Was it because she had thought that it could be abbreviation? Or was it because she just was incredibly stupid? Probably both after all she was a person who had natural a talent for making stupid decisions and today she was let out later than usual because she was ordered to help with a surgery and had just wanted to get home fast, taking a short and warm bath and then finally plop into her cozy bed. But for whatever reason she had went into this dark alley she hadn’t expected to find a young man in there beaten up blue and black with a knife stabbed in one of his shoulders. He was bleeding from countless wounds on his body and if it wouldn’t have been for the slight movement of his chest Sayuri would have thought that he was dead. “... Oh my god!!”, she shouted shocked and immediately ran to the boy. She carefully removed the knife from his shoulder, careful to not make him loose more blood than he already did. “What should I do?! The hospital is too far away from here, but if this wounds won’t stop bleeding he’ll die from blood loss!” Sayuri started panicking a bit before she slapped herself. “Get your shit together Sayuri!! You’re a goddanm nurse and have seen worse than this!” She took a deep breath to calm down and then carefully slid the man’s arm around her shoulder, supporting his unconscious body on her own. “If I can’t take him to the hospital, I’ll take him to me! I have everything I need at home to take care of those wounds!”

Like this she started stumbling her way back to her house, having troubles with not tripping with the additional weight of the boy. But somehow she managed to reach her house without stumbling or falling down once. She quickly unlocked the door and carried the boy to her bedroom, slowly letting him down. Then she quickly ran back and forth to get everything she needed. Then she slowly took off the boy’s jacket and top to take a closer look at the wounds and to take proper care of them. To her relief most of the wounds had stopped bleeding on their own, but her stomach twisted when she saw how much damage was caused to him. She could tell that all the wounds were made by a knife. Some were only scratches, but others were deep enough to leave a permanent scar. She carefully cleaned the blood around the wounds and applied an ointment on them to prevent possible inflammations. You froze when the boy groaned painfully, but continued to apply the ointment on all his wounds. After that you bandaged all of them. “That must do it for now, but as soon as he’s conscious again those stabs need to be sewn.” Now Sayuri had finally time to take a closer look at the man in front of her and she needed to admit that he was handsome. He had platinum blonde hair, sharp features and fair skin. He looked like he was in his early twenties and judging by his clothes and the ring he was wearing on his right index finger he was most likely someone from a high status, much more higher than her. “Was he attacked by some thieves? No, then they would have taken that ring of his. Or was it probably someone who wanted revenge on that man for something he did to them in the past?” Sayuri shook her head, deciding to worry about that tomorrow. She had focused her last bit of energy into saving this boy and felt the exhaustion from the day sinking into her. She dragged herself out of the bedroom, deciding to sleep on the couch. As she stepped down the stairs she suddenly tripped over her own feet and fell down, landing luckily only on her ass. She suppressed a yelp of pain, not wanting to wake the guest up. She rubbed her ass, trying to ease the stinging. “Whatever. I’ve experienced worse.”, she thought and continued her way to the couch. As soon as she reached it she just collapsed on it, sighing loudly into one of the pillows. She didn’t even care that she was still in her workwear that was smeared with the blood of the boy. She just closed her eyes and let herself sink into sleep.

When she woke up she didn’t know where she was at first before remembering what happened a few hours before. She was just about to go back to sleep when she suddenly heard loud screaming from above. Sayuri squealed surprised before hurrying upstairs, tripping a few times over the stairs. She slammed the door to her bedroom open and stormed towards her bed in which the boy was laying. He screamed and writhed in the sheets, Sayuri assumed that he must have a pretty bad nightmare. The problem was that due to his violently moving some of his wounds had reopened themselves and had already stained some of the bandages red. Sayuri quickly started shaking the man slightly, careful to not reopen any more wounds. ‘‘Wake up!!’‘, she yelled at him. Suddenly the man’s eyes, an icy blue, shot open and he sat up in a fast motion. ‘‘AAAHH!!!!’‘, he screamed loudly, causing Sayuri to flinch. She whimpered due to his shrill scream. The man’s head snapped in her direction and intense blue eyes stared directly at her. For a moment everything became silent and the both of them just stared at each other. ‘‘Uhhmm... Hi?’‘, Sayuri spoke up. The boy narrowed his eyes. ‘‘Who are you?! Are you one of the people who attacked me?!’‘, he spitted into her face. ‘‘No! I’m not!’‘, the girl defended herself indignantly. ‘‘LIAR! They’re all liars!! All they’re after is my money!!’‘, the boy screamed. Sayuri was for a moment speechless. This man had an unbelievable bratty attitude, but she was sure that she had just now sensed hurt in his voice. The boy tried to stand up from the bed, but winced and held one of his hands over one of his many reopened wounds. When he removed the hand and looked at his now bloodstained hand his eyes widened and his hand started shacking. ‘‘I’m bleeding!!!’‘ The boy started panicking and tried to rip all of the bandages on his body away. Sayuri quickly grabbed his hands to prevent him from it. ‘‘Stop it!!’‘, she called desperately. ‘‘Let me go!! You’re just like everyone else!! No one cares for me!! No one cares if I would die!!’‘ Suddenly Sayuri grabbed the boy’s face in both of her hands and forced him to look at her. ‘‘STOP IT!! I’m just trying to help you and this is how you choose to act!? I don’t know what makes you think like this, but I can guarantee you that it isn’t true that no one cares for you!! Your life is worth so much, don’t just throw it away!!’‘ She was gasping for air after her sudden outburst, but it had definitely effected the boy. He stared at her with wide eyes. ‘‘Then tell me, do you care?’’ The hurtness in his voice nearly broke Sayuri’s heart. ‘‘If I wouldn’t have cared I wouldn’t have taken you with me.’‘, she answered him softly,’’Now please sit down again and stay still so I can stop the bleeding and rebandage the wounds.’’ This time the boy actually listened to her and watched her like a hawk when she stopped the bleeding and bandaged everything again. Sayuri felt like he was burning holes into her. ‘‘Finished!’’ The boy quickly glanced down at all the new bandaged wounds and then looked at her. ‘‘It still hurts.’’, he whimpered. ‘‘Wait here. I have a medicine that should help to ease the pain.’‘ Sayuri wanted to stand up, but the boy grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. ‘‘No! Please don’t leave me!’’ Sayuri felt something wet dripping onto her cheeks and realized that it were tears from the boy. He was crying! She gently started to wipe his tears away and spoke with a reassuring voice:’’Don’t worry. I won’t be gone for long. I promise I’ll return as quick as possible.’’ The blonde looked really hesitant, but slowly loosened his grip around her hand. Sayuri hurried up to get the medicine and a spoon as quick as possible.

Whilst she was in the kitchen she also brought a glass of water and some selfbaked cookies with her. She somehow managed to not trip over anything whilst carrying all this upstairs. As soon as she stepped inside the room the boy’s facial expression brightened up. ‘‘Here. This medicine is really bitter so I brought some water along and some cookies if you’re hungry. I know that this isn’t what you’re used to, but I hope it’s alright.’’ She held the spoon with the medicine on it in front of the boy’s lips which he obediently opened. He grimaced because of the taste and quickly grabbed the glass of water, gulping it all down in one shot. Sayuri laughed lightheartedly at this. She offered him her cookies which he gladly took. Whilst he was munching them he refused to look away from Sayuri. She noticed that. ‘‘Ah! That’s right, I didn’t even introduce myself. My name is Sayuri. And you are...?’’ ‘‘Alois!’’, the boy quickly replied. ‘‘Alois? That’s a cool name!’’ For a moment it became quiet before a big yawn escaped Alois lips. ‘‘You must be tired. I’ll let you sleep, it was an exhausting day for the both of us.’’ She probably should have predicted his reaction from the first time when she tried to leave, but she didn’t and so a surprised yelp came from her when the boy grabbed once again her arm. ‘‘Please don’t leave me! Don’t leave me alone! You’re the only one who cares for me! If you leave me too I’m all alone!’’ Tears were once again threatening to fall from his eyes and the desperation in his eyes and voice was too much for Sayuri to take. His breathing was shakingly and fastly. She sighed and sat down on the bed, gently pressing Alois down on the mattress. ‘‘I won’t leave if you don’t want me to.’’ She started to gently stroke the boy’s hair in a comforting manner. Alois snuggled closer to her, hugging her waist possessively and slowly his breathing calmed down. Sayuri decided to ignore that he was hugging her waist.  After some time Sayuri could tell that he had fallen asleep. She herself felt really tired, but was scared that Alois might have another nightmare. His grip on her was also really tight and it would nearly be impossible to free herself without waking him up. So she decided to stay in the bedroom. Her eyes felt heavy and with each blink it became harder to open them again. After a few minutes sleep came over her. Unnoticed by her she had another visitor, one that wasn’t human at all. His golden eyes wandered from the girl to his master who was clincing onto her waist tightly. ‘‘That’s interesting.’’ He sighed and walked over to his master. ‘‘It will most likely be hard to separate him from this girl without waking both of them up.’’ He let his eyes wander around the room, noticing the plate, the glass and the other things Sayuri had carried with her to the room. ‘‘And after that I have to make sure to erase all traces of my master. But what kind of butler would I be if I couldn’t do that much?’’

The next morning Sayuri woke up with her eyes still closed. She didn’t want to move, it was so warm and comfortable right now. She burried herself deeper into her warm bed. ‘‘Wait, something isn’t right.’’ For a moment she didn’t know why she felt like she missed something before it hit her. She immediately sat up and her head snapped in all directions. ‘‘Alois?’’ No answer. She quickly jumped out of the bed and suddenly noticed that all the stuff she had brought here yesterday wasn’t there anymore. ‘‘W-what...what happened?’’ She looked down on her clothes and her breath hitched in her throat when she noticed that they were clean. Not a single drop of blood was on them. Her mind was racing with millions of questions and thoughts. ‘‘No...that isn’t possible! I couldn’t have imagined all of that!’’ Sayuri sprinted down to the kitchen and ripped open the box with her selfbaked cookies. A scream escaped her lips and she dropped the box. The cookies inside the box spilled all over the floor, but the girl couldn’t have cared less. ‘‘T-that’s n-not possible. I-I know that I gave this b-boy yesterday the re-rest o-of the c-coo-cookies.’’ By now she was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Her knees felt like jelly and her breathing was going faster than normally. She didn’t even notice when her legs gave away under her and she collapsed on the floor. ‘‘Was...was all of that a huge joke my exhausted mind played on me? Was this boy...was Alois just an imagination?’’

Left you on a cliffhanger with this one, didn’t I?

[beingatoaster]

Fluff 46 with Hallifax or General 42 with Yelkha

Why not both? (I wrote this this afternoon but had to wait til this evening to post it because Tumblr desktop has become unusable on my laptop, rip.)

46. “You’re hurt. Please just let heal it.”

"I'll tear your guts you, you lily-livered son of a shiprat and a pirate!"

Hallifax squirmed and struggled against the hands holding her, but they held firm. She wasn't quite wound up enough to hit a shipmate. Even if all she wanted to do was snap at the restraint.

"He's running scared," Grusha said, once Hallifax had stopped shrieking long enough to get the words in edgewise. "And you're hurt."

Finally wrenching herself out of Grusha's grasp, Hallifax crossed her arms as best as she could while still maintaining a tight grip on the Riverfork. She could feel her head starting to pound as the adrenaline drained away. That was going to be one hell of a shiner.

"I'm fine," she said anyway, aware that she was pouting and unable to stop herself.

"I heard bone crack," Grusha told her. "And it wasn't his. Please, just let me heal it."

Still fuming, Hallifax nonetheless turned her head up towards Grusha, submitting reluctantly to the bard's ministrations. Grusha's fingers settled soft and gentle over the wound, fingers sliding into Hallifax's thick curls, thumb coming to rest right next to her eye, landing naturally in the slight crease of thinner flesh just over the bone. She hummed softly, a few bars of a quiet, soothing tune, one Hallifax felt like she recognized, but couldn't put a name to.

The healing felt like a rush of cold seawater, flowing out from her fingers into the jagged red mess of split skin and rising inflammation between them. It bore the pain away like a wave sweeping debris out to sea, leaving a numb chill behind where the wound had been. As the magic faded, Grusha lifted her hand away. She paused to brush her fingers over the restored stretch of Hallifax's temple, dragging them through tacky, drying blood.

"We need to get that cleaned up, too," Grusha said. "Without the wound, you look like you just stabbed a human in the gut."

"You just don't want me to chase after that bastard," Hallifax said. But with the adrenaline fading away and no pain to goad her, she couldn't manage to sound accusatory. She wanted nothing more than to lean her head into Grusha's hand, and maybe fall asleep.

"I'd rather you didn't," Grusha agreed, pulling her hand away and settling it between Hallifax's shoulders instead. "I've promised to play a set tonight, and it doesn't help my reputation if I show up late."

"Fine. We'll go back," Hallifax said. "He won't be robbing anyone else tonight, at least."

She made herself stand up straight and pay attention as they started off, but she didn't shrug off Grusha's hand on her back. It felt nice. Not that she was going to admit it.

---

42. “Are you flirting with me?”

"That paint's really neat," the man at Yelkha's right elbow said, staring openly at the slashes and circles of red visible through the open front of her shirt. "Is it, y'know, all over?"

Setting her mug down, Yelkha glanced over. He looked orcish, which was rare in the lowlands, though this place wasn't that far from the mountains. A little narrow in the face and shoulders, though, and ears longer and pointier than her own--some elvish blood in there? He was looking at her with honest fascination, his curiosity genuine, though from the flush on his cheeks it wasn't just with the tattoos.

Still, she didn't see any problem with answering him honestly. "Aside from my stomach and chest, it's just where the armor won't cover. There's no point in having warrior-paint where your enemies won't see it."

"Oh, I see," the other half-orc said, nodding vigorously. "What does it say about you? You look like- I mean, you've got all those muscles, you have to have won lots of fights, right?"

"I have," Yelkha answered, grinning at the compliment. "But most of that's it's not about that. It shows what tribe I'm in, and that I'm an auroch-rider. Though I wouldn't be wearing any of it if I wasn't blooded, hey?"

"Yeah, that makes sense," the man said, flushing even brighter. "What about the- the covered paint? I, um, I wouldn't mind a better look, if that's okay.... Can I buy you a drink?"

"Are you flirting with me?"

"I mean, yeah," the man said. "Is it working?"

Yelkha chuckled. "I've got company already, and we're not looking for more."

She nodded to the stage, and the man turned and looked up at Bryn, fire swirling around her as her accordion and her voice rang out across the gathered crowd. His face fell so dramatically that Yelkha couldn't help laughing again.

"Oh, yeah. I'm not competing with that."

"Good, because she'd win," Yelkha said. Then, still chuckling at his crestfallen face, she thumped him on the shoulder. "But I don't mind showing you the paint, as long as you don't get all lowlander about my chest."

"I'll try," the man croaked, flushing all over again. "I mean! I'll be respectful, I promise. I don't know much about orcs other than my father's tribe, my brother knows more, and I'm, I'm used to bare chests with him around...."

"Then let's step outside, hey?" Yelkha finished her drink, thumped the mug down on the bar, and stood. She watched the other half-orc attempt to copy her maneuver and nearly choke on his ale, and thumped him on the back when he started coughing. "Don't die."

"I'm not-!" His protest vanished into more wheezing.

Grinning, Yelkha grabbed him by the wrist and started hauling him out of the bar. If she took the elven heritage into account, he was probably older than she was, but he seemed so much like a stripling boy trying to impress battle-comrades before his first raid that she couldn't help but feel a bit of fondness, behind the laughter. No, she didn't mind showing him the paint. Didn't sound like it was something his father's tribe took as seriously as hers did, but at least he'd be more respectful that way, if he came across other tribes that did.

And she did kind of wonder how much redder in the face she could make him before she steered him back inside.

[sunflowersupremes]

Bun in the Oven

This is an abandoned plot point from my A/B/O verse. It ended up not fitting in the continuity of the fic, but it’s been kicking around my hard drive for months so I thought I’d pull it out and finish it up.

No prior knowledge of my A/B/O verse is needed, it’s just a deleted scene and strays pretty far from the plot of the other story. Although if you have read my other fic you may recognize a few bits that ended up getting reworked and used for other things

Tags: Past Rape/Non-Con

Read on AO3

Another successful contract finished, and Geralt headed to Novigrad. It wasn’t a city he frequented often, but there were a great many things to look forward to there: an inn with a proper bed, a tailor for a new set of clothing, and (more likely than not) Dandelion.

His friend enjoyed the city, and if he wasn’t in Oxenfurt, stirring up trouble at his alma mater, he was most likely in Novigrad (when he wasn’t with the Witcher, that was). They’d not seen each other since Geralt had headed north the previous fall, and after spending the winter in Kaer Morhen he’d returned south and had yet to stumble across Dandelion.

Since fate was misbehaving, he’d have to give it a bit of a nudge.

Once in the city, he easily found the inn where the bard was staying, although he was surprised to be told that he hadn’t been seen in several days. No matter, thought the Witcher, he’s most likely in a creative funk, only allowing prostitutes in to see him. He would let Geralt in though, he always did, and the Witcher could regale him with stories of monsters, and Dandelion will fill him in on whatever absurd gossip was going around at the time. The poet would also know a tailor where he could get a new jacket, and then, perhaps, they’d head out on the Path together.

A coin tossed at the innkeeper got him the location of Dandelion’s room, and an order to tell his friend that he only had a day left on the coin he’d paid so far. Geralt nodded, handed over another day’s rent, and walked upstairs.

He pushed open the door to Dandelion’s room without thinking, because he never bothered to knock, the worst that could happen was finding Dandelion in bed with some woman, but he was caught off guard by a shoe hitting him in the face.

Geralt stumbled backwards, swearing and cursing, bringing his hand to his nose. It seemed Dandelion’s bedfellow hadn’t taken well to being intruded upon.

But when he looked up, Dandelion was alone, standing in the middle of the room with his other shoe in hand, dressed in a silken robe that hung loosely around him. “Dandelion-”

“Geralt?” The shoe dropped from his hand, hitting the ground as he stared at Geralt in shock. It seemed that the Witcher wasn’t the person he had been expecting, but somehow he didn’t seem exactly pleased to see him.

Geralt took a step forward. Dandelion took two steps back. “What is it?” he asked. The room reeked of perfumed oils and candles, several different ones all layered on top of one another, competing for attention.

“Dandelion?” he asked again.

The bard was just staring at him, his eyes wide with fright. “Ger- Geralt- I- You should leave.”

“No.”

The bard’s pupils were blown wide, as though frightened, but the tremor in his hands made Geralt think more of someone coming down from a drug high. “What happened?” Geralt asked.

“I- I-” Dandelion shook his head. “I’m a whore.”

Geralt’s first thought was to say that everyone knew of Dandelion’s promiscuity, but something told him that wouldn’t be well received at the moment. He slowly removed his swords, hanging them from a peg by the door, and continued to study Dandelion in silence.

A strange scent seemed to be wafting from Dandelion, but he couldn’t quite place it, not under all the other smells in the room. It smelled almost like sex, and Geralt asked, “Are you in heat?”

“I was.”

That caught him off guard. Dandelion took enough suppressants to tranquilize a rhinoceros, for him to have been in heat- “Did something happen?”

“I was tricked. I- I took poppy instead of my suppressants.”

“But you aren’t in heat now?” Geralt asked slowly.

Dandelion’s entire demeanor suddenly changed. Bending over he grabbed the shoe he’d dropped earlier and hurled it at Geralt. “Get out!” he shouted, his face twisted with anger.

The shoe bounced harmlessly off Geralt’s chest. “No.”

The bard lunged at him, his fists banging against Geralt’s chest as he shouted, something about Alphas and their innate cruelty, he was speaking too quickly for Geralt to catch it.

But with Dandelion as close as he was, Geralt realized what he was smelling. Shit.

“Hit me again,” said quietly. “I mean it, Dandelion, if it will help-”

“Damn it, Geralt! Protect yourself!” Dandelion swung at him again, but he barely felt it.

“You can’t provoke me into attacking you!”

“You’re an Alpha! That’s what you do!”

“If you want someone to kill you, you’ll have to find someone else,” Geralt said quietly. “Lambert perhaps, he hates you enough.” It didn’t make Dandelion laugh.

“I don’t need you to kill me, just- just this parasite-” He gestured to his stomach. “I thought you might stab it, actually.”

“You’re pregnant.”

It was as if Geralt’s words took the wind out of him, and Dandelion collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. “Yes,” he said weakly, then began to sob.

Geralt sat beside him slowly, studying his body language for any sign that he was uncomfortable with the Witcher’s presence. But he seemed to have lost the earlier anger, settling instead into loathing and self pity.

“What happened?”

Dandelion looked up, and in such close quarters Geralt could see the lines of exhaustion on his face. “What the fuck do you think, Geralt? I was sold poppy instead of my medication and- well, I was attacked.” A shiver ran through him and he pulled his robe more tightly around himself. “I- I- Geralt they took me somewhere, to their house or something, I honestly don’t know, but I do know it was the worst time of my life, and then, on top of it all, by the time I got away I- I suppose it was too late.”

“Have you seen a doctor-”

“No,” Dandelion snapped. “I don’t need one to know I’m pregnant-”

“I meant- were you harmed-”

“A few bruises was all, they’ve faded.” Dandelion rubbed his face. “Childbirth is hell on male Omegas, Geralt, did you know that? We don’t have a proper birth canal, so it just sort of rips open.”

“I thought about giving it to Yennefer,” Dandelion sneered. “But she doesn’t want just any child, she wants one out of her own cunt.” Geralt doubted he’d ever actually considered it, it just seemed to be someone he could be angry about (which he deserved at the moment).

“We can find an abortionist.”

“I tried,” grumbled Dandelion. “They’ll sell an Omega nightshade but not an abortifactant, did you know that?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Did you buy nightshade?”

“It’s in the dresser,” said the bard calmly. “I was too much of a coward to take it.”

Geralt’s hands itched to pull him into a hug, but he knew better than to grab him. One of us has to remain rational, he decided, and it won’t be Dandelion, understandably.

He bit his lip and studied Dandelion. It was hard to make anything out with the loose robe hiding his form. “How far along are you?”

“Two months. I- I’ve been living here- thank the gods my half brother gave me a bit of coin the last time I saw him and I hadn’t spent it yet, otherwise I wouldn’t even have managed to stay here.” Geralt’s chest twinged at the thought of Dandelion being alone and vulnerable for so long.

“I’m an Alpha,” Geralt said quietly. “I can get you an abortion, if that’s what you want.”

“Of course that’s what I fucking want!”

“It’s getting late,” Geralt said softly. “There’s nothing we can do tonight. May I stay with you?”

“Please do,” Dandelion whispered pathetically. “I- don’t leave.”

“I won’t.” Geralt swallowed, knowing what he needed to do. “May I look you over?”

Dandelion eyed him warily. He knew there were horrors in the bard’s past, something to do with his status as an Omega, but he didn’t ask about them. It was understandable that Dandelion wouldn’t want anyone - let alone an Alpha, to touch him.

“You smell of pain,” he explained gently.

“I- my body is ripping apart, Geralt. Male Omegas aren’t meant to have pleasant pregnancies.”

Geralt nodded. “I know,” he said gently. “And I know there are treatments that meant to be done, and I suppose you haven’t done them, so I’d like to make sure you aren’t falling apart on me.”

Dandelion nodded slowly. “Alright,” he whispered. “I- I haven’t looked, I- I just know, well, there was blood the other day…”

Geralt stood. “Robe off,” he said. “Lay on your back.”

Dandelion shrugged it aside and Geralt immediately knew why he’d been wearing it. His stomach had only a small swell, since the baby wasn’t too far along, but his nipples were angry and red.

Geralt winced sympathetically.

Dandelion squeezed his eyes shut as he laid back, letting Geralt rub his hand over his stomach, then to his hips.

When Geralt pushed his legs apart, he whined. “Easy,” the Witcher soothed, rubbing his side.

“Fuck it all,” moaned Dandelion. “Just kill me.”

“No, Dandelion, I won’t hurt you.”

Dandelion’s entire crotch was red and inflamed, more than he’d been expecting, and the strange patterning in the inflammation made it look as though fingers had rubbed over it. “What did you put on yourself?” Geralt asked sharply.

“An herbal mixture,” the bard said. “I- I was panicking, I thought it might help...”

“I think you’re allergic to it.”

“I think you’re right.”

“I’m going to wipe you down,” Geralt said.

Dandelion groaned but didn’t argue.

Geralt found a basin of water and a rag and brought them back to the bed. He dipped the rag in the water then carefully pressed it against Dandelion’s thigh. He wiped him down as quickly as he could,

“I fought a Katakan last week,” Geralt said, hoping to distract Dandelion.

“That’s a vampire? Isn’t it?”

“Lesser Vampire,” Geralt explained. “It had been terrorizing a small village to the north of here.” He lifted Dandelion’s cock, peering under it to see the inflammation between his balls and anus. He appeared to be mostly intact and there was no sign of blood, so Geralt set the cloth aside and stood.

“Did you kill it?”

“What else would I do with it?”

Dandelion wrapped himself back up in his robe, shivering slightly. “I’d like details,” he muttered.

“Sleep,” Geralt pleaded. “And then I’ll tell you more once we’ve gotten you to a doctor.”

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Sick Day (John Wick x Reader)

Summary:  John gets sick and you take care of him

Author’s Notes: This has been sitting in my files for a while so it’s time to see the light of day. It’s slightly canon divergent.

Wordcount: 1904

Warnings: mentions of disease

You and John hadn’t known each other for that long, but in the time that you spent with him, he always felt like an unmovable, untouchable force. It was almost as if he was completely unaffected but things that would make most people break.

When you learned about what John really did for a living, about his life as an assassin for the High Table, you began to understand why he was the way he was. He needed that amount of control not snap under the horrors he witnessed and practiced.

That was why you didn’t think much of it when John arrived at your apartment that night with a headache and a stuffy nose. There was nothing to worry about, he assured. Everybody gets colds sometimes. Even world-famous, super dangerous assassins. Still, you made him lemon tea with honey and the two of you cuddled under the covers, watching a movie on the TV instead of going out like as planned.

You weren’t worried. Not until the cough started and John’s voice, which was already low and gravelly, became rough and raspy. You could tell the inflammation was worse than he was letting it on because he could barely draw a breath without wincing in pain and considering how high his pain tolerance was, it had to be really bad.

“Are you sure I can’t take you to the hospital? See a doctor?” You asked petting Dog’s head. The pitbull had taken residence by John’s side and didn’t seem interested in leaving, not even when you showed him the leash.

“I’ll be fine,” John croaked, buried under the bed covers. “It’ll go away in a couple of days.” Almost as if to prove him wrong, his body shook with another coughing fit that made him wince in pain.

You thought about protesting, because that sounded really bad even to your untrained ears, but whenever John dug his heels on something, it was next to impossible to make him let go of it. You just nodded in resignation and moved downstairs to make him soup and more tea hoping John was right.

Except he wasn’t right. The coughing got even worse and John started running such a high fever, his shivers looked more like a small seizure. Every breath was shallow because he couldn’t take the pain of deep breaths. Moving was torture and he couldn’t bring himself to eat anything more than a couple of spoonsful of soup and only after much cajoling from you. His headaches were becoming so bad, any little light would make him wince and curl tighter into a ball.

It’s been only a little over a week of this, but you could already tell John had lost some weight and worried gnawed your insides. Seeing him like this was terrifying. And you could tell he was getting scared, unused to this kind of situation. He could handle being punched, kicked, stabbed and shot. That was just part of his job. Being sick seemed to be a completely foreign concept for him. Especially because he took such good care of himself and was as methodical with his health as he was with every other aspect of his life.

“You need to see a doctor,” you pleaded, massaging his scalp, the only thing that seemed to help with the headache.

“Basement,” John rasped. “Second drawer. You’ll need a coin.”

You extricated yourself from the bed where you had been lying with John, keeping him company. He shifted his position, cradling his head and shivering even though he was already under a thick duvet. He was sweating so badly his clammy forehead had left a wet spot on your shirt.

You hesitated for a second in front of the basement door because you had only ever been there one other time when John gave you the tour of the house and showed it to you. It was the place he kept the tools of his job. Both bookbinding and the other one.

You moved to his worktable and searched inside the drawers but found only a locked wooden box. For a moment, you considered going back upstairs to ask, but a wave of inspiration hit you and you checked bellow the drawer. You found the key taped to the bottom of the drawer and unlocked the box, finding a small handgun, a pile of gold coins and a little black book. You flipped through the pages until you found an entry with the name doctor and a number.

It was almost a second nature to you to reach for your own cellphone, but there was no service downstairs. Too much concrete above you. Instead, you picked the landline and you couldn’t help but smile despite the situation. John was the only person you knew that still had one.

The phone rang twice before the call connected. There was no greeting, no words.

“Hi…” you faltered not knowing exactly how to proceed.

You learned about this part of John’s life a couple of months after the two of you started dating. One day, he just disappeared, stopped answering his phone. Worried, you came to his house, only to find it destroyed, burned to the ground. A firefighter told you they didn’t find any bodies. It gave you hope that John and Dog were alright, even if you didn’t know where they were. Even if John’s phone had been disconnected.

So, you did the only thing you could think of, you went online and checked the GPS location for Dog’s chip. It had been your idea to put one on John’s pitbull, make sure he could locate Dog in case he ever got lost or stolen.

You found Dog in a fancy hotel in Manhattan called the Continental. It was the manager Winston that told you the truth about John, about this part of his life. It had been terrifying at first, but slowly you began to understand the rules for this world. You knew what a coin meant and that it could get you almost any service associated with the Continental, including health care.

“I need a doctor,” you said after a long pause.

“Where?” a man on the other side of the line asked and you gave him the address. There was another pause on the other end of the line. “Thirty minutes.”

The call disconnected, leaving you confused and uncomfortable as you put the phone back and pocked one of the gold coins before headed to the living room.

When you told John he needed a doctor, you were thinking more in the lines of taking him to the hospital, not calling strange people in the middle of the night, but right now, you would take any help available, from your world or his. You paced the foyer, Dog right on your heels, maybe sensing your apprehension until the doorbell finally rang.

You weren’t expecting the short Korean man you let into the house any more than he seemed to be expecting you. He stopped by the door, watching you from above the rim of his glasses, holding onto a small leather bag.

“Well?” he said, making you jump into action and guide him to John’s room.

John whimpered pitifully when you turned on the lights but didn’t fight when the doctor approached him for an examination. The man worked quickly, with gentle, but nimble hands as he checked John over. You watched by the door, keeping Dog calm with a hand on his head, as the doctor talked to John in hushed whispers before going through his medical case and pulling out a glass vial and a syringe.

“What’s that?” you asked, unable to keep quiet anymore.

“Medicine,” the man replied, searching John’s arm for a good artery.

“For?” You pressed, but the man ignored you.

“It’s alright,” John wheezed, glancing at you with hazy eyes. “I trust him.”

With a sigh, you sagged back against the wall and watched as the man injected whatever it was in John’s arm, before standing up and moving towards you. He handed you two orange bottles.

“One of each, every 8 hours. With food, if you can get him to eat. If he doesn’t show signs of getting better in a couple of days, call me again.”

You stared at the pills for a moment. There were no labels, no indication of what they were or what they did. Why everything in John’s world needed to be so damn mysterious? With another resigned sigh, you handed the doctor the coin.

“I’ll show myself out,” he announced as he stepped out of the room.

Once he was gone, you turned off the lights and climbed back on the bed with John, maneuvering his heavy body until he was half on top of you, head resting on your chest. Dog lied on your other side, head on your thigh.

“Thank you,” John whispered as you combed the dark, sweaty locks away from his forehead. “I know this is all new and strange to you.”

You sighed and wondered how to explain to John that your awkwardness with all of this had less to do with the weirdness of his world and more to do with the overwhelming fear of losing him. You didn’t care if he had made you call a freaking witch doctor to perform a bloody ritual as long as he was alright.

“If this doesn’t work in two days, I’m taking you to the hospital. No arguments.” you declared and felt John’s low chuckle turning into a coughing fit.

“Ok,” he agreed, voice barely a whispered as he closed his eyes and slept.

Fortunately, he did get better. Almost miraculously fast and you wondered what kind of medicine could be that effective but knew it would pointless to ask John. He either didn’t know or wasn’t willing to tell you. Regardless of what it was, in less than a week he was on his feet again. You were relieved of course, but it was also strange to see. It was like nothing had even happened.

You always teased John about being indestructible after he told you how he got his scars. It was just playful fun of course but at times like this, when he recovered so fast for something that had him bedridden for days, it made you wonder if there wasn’t a little bit of truth behind your teasing.

Two strong arms wrapped around your waist, interrupting your musings as you were getting ready for work. You met John’s gaze through the mirror and there were still dark shadows under his eyes, but his cheeks now held some more color and he looked considerably healthier.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” His voice was still raspy, but slowly going back to the familiar baritone you loved.

“No problem,” you replied, turning around in his arms and pressing a kiss on his lips. “But who knew the deadly Baba Yaga could be taken down by lousy flu?” you teased, making John chuckle. He still winced a little at the action.

“Better not let anyone know that,” he said with one of his gorgeous smiles that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“I really am glad you’re ok. You scared me for a second.”

“I know,” John kissed your forehead. “But it’s over now. I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon. I’m staying right here with you.”

“Good.”

xxx

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[panharmonium]

For Want of a Woodwright (Parts 1-3)

[I DON’T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED; DON’T ASK ME; JUST ROLL WITH IT]

i come bearing gifts - here are some snippets inspired by the web of “will comes to camelot” AU ideas spawned by this lovely anon ask, which i cannot appreciate enough :)  thank you very much to the anon who sent those messages, and to everybody else who jumped in the sandbox - i had fun with this, and i hope you do too!

(also, anon - if this is an idea you are ever planning on writing yourself, the title is all yours.  feel free to take it back anytime!  i am using it here just to pay tribute to your idea and to the original title you sent me, but it belongs to you for life, and i will change this post header in a heartbeat if you need it for your own purposes! :D )

author’s note:  these are VERY rough, not meticulously edited, and not even remotely close to final drafts.  they are hardly even first drafts, in fact.  they are not necessarily connected to each other, or in order, or part of any actual coherent plot, and they do not directly adhere to the plan laid out in the original post, either; they are just snapshots of fragmentary scenes that popped out of me yesterday when i wasn’t paying attention.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

and now, everybody can have a little AU, as a treat!   

1. divine providence

“I can’t see anything wrong with him, Merlin.” 

Gaius rinsed his hands in a basin of water, his wide sleeves pushed back to the elbows.  Will, perched on a stool, pulled his shirt back over his head, looking starkly out of place in the center of Gaius’s spacious circular chambers.  

“It looks to be healing quite well,” Gaius continued.  “I don’t see anything to worry about.”

“But on the inside, though,” Merlin said, attempting to drag Will’s tunic up again.  “What if - there could be something wrong underneath, couldn’t there?”

“The man can’t look at my insides, Merlin,” hissed Will, wresting his shirt out of Merlin’s grip.  “Get out of it.”

“I’m only saying - ”

Gaius interrupted Merlin’s nervous rant with a precisely-cocked eyebrow.  “Merlin, if you do not trust my medical opinion, then I am afraid I am going to have to refer you out, though I think you may have a difficult time explaining the facts of this case to Ephram or Hildegard, considering the circumstances.”  He looked at Will.  “Would you like someone else to examine you, young man?”

“No, sir,” Will said, with a pointed look at Merlin.  “I’ve done without physicians my entire life.  I think I’ll manage.”

“I only mean - ”  Merlin was vibrating in place, a bundle of frustrated energy; he looked like his fingers itched to make another grab for Will’s shirt.  “I’m not sure what I did.  It might not have mended properly, Gaius.  What if I did something wrong?”

Gaius replaced the cover to his medicine bag.  “I’m not entirely sure you did anything at all, Merlin.”

Merlin exchanged a glance with Will, then looked uncomprehendingly back to Gaius.  “But I must have done.  He - well, he - ”  Merlin fumbled over this deceptively simple explanation as if attempting to climb an extremely slippery slope whose peak he did not want to reach in the first place.  “He was - well.  You know.”

“I was dying,” Will said, ignoring the way this made Merlin look like he was going to be sick all over the floor.  “Definitely.  I mean, I could tell.”

“I believe you,” Gaius agreed, frowning at Will’s chest.  “That’s not a very good spot for a penetrating wound, young man.”

Will turned a little bit red.  “Yeah, well,” he muttered.  “It’s not as if I planned it that way or anything.”

“Gaius,” Merlin interrupted, as if he were clinging to the very last thread of his patience.  “What did you mean, I didn’t do anything?”

Gaius just shook his head and dried his hands on a clean piece of cloth.  “A mortal wound could not have been healed by magic or conventional means, Merlin.  And it certainly could not have been healed by you.”

This appeared to jar Merlin out of his jittery state, as his mouth popped open in an offended ‘o.’  “Why not by me?”

Gaius sighed.  “Merlin, the healing arts are not simply a matter of willing a patient well again.  If you took any interest in my work at all, you would know - ”

“I am interested in your work.  I’m just - ”  Merlin gestured helplessly with his hands.  “You know.  Busy.”

“With what?” Will scoffed.  “His Majesty’s royal washing?”

Merlin turned a ferocious glare on Will, but Gaius interceded before the two of them could start bickering.  “Busy you may be, Merlin, but even someone as busy as you ought to know by now that any attempt at magical healing requires an exact understanding of anatomy and physiology.  How can you possibly expect to mend something when you don’t know what it is supposed to look like, or how it is supposed to work?”

Will gave Merlin a sage look and nodded like this was the most sensible thing in the world.  Merlin wanted to thump him over the head.

“I don’t see why I couldn’t have helped,” Merlin said stubbornly.  “I felt something.” 

“Oh, did you, now?”  Gaius gestured at Merlin’s own chest.  “Very well, then, Merlin.  What can you tell us about the heart?”

“It’s - ”  Merlin cast a glance around the room, as if hoping to see a helpful diagram pasted up on the walls somewhere.  “It circulates the blood.”

“And how exactly does it accomplish this vital function?”

“It - well, it sort of...squeezes, like.”

“Would you care to elaborate on that?”

“Erm.  No.  I don’t think so.”

Gaius did not look impressed.  “And can you perhaps tell us what the healthy human heart is meant to look like?”

“It’s - you know.  It’s got sort of...different bits to it.”

Gaius raised his eyebrows.  

Will rubbed at his chest, frowning.  “Maybe I ought to have some other bloke look me over after all.”

Merlin did thump him that time, a single solid smack across the back of the head.

Gaius folded his arms, the picture of long-suffering exasperation.  “I am simply saying, Merlin, that you do not possess the requisite knowledge to mend anyone in any such way that would result in the living, breathing human being seated here before me.”

“Cheers,” Will said.

Merlin looked vaguely ill.  He watched Will out the corner of his eye as if expecting him to drop dead at any moment.  

“Then what?” Merlin asked.  “I did something, Gaius.  I felt it.”

“Perhaps,” Gaius conceded.  “But certain death cannot be averted by any magic known to men.   Only through the intercession of powerful, external forces are such things accomplished.”

That got Merlin and Will’s attentions.  “Come again?” Will said dubiously.

Gaius put a thoughtful hand to his chin, considering the perfectly healthy human being sitting on his stool.  “Does it pain you at all?”

“No.”

“He’s lying,” Merlin said immediately.  “He’s always grimacing when he uses that arm - ”

“I’m always grimacing when I use any of my arms, because you’re always talking rubbish at me while I’m trying to work - ”

Gaius crossed between the two of them, cutting off another potential argument.  “I’ll compound something for the inflammation.  I expect any lingering soreness will pass, in time.”  He opened the various cupboards on the other side of the room and began rooting through them.  “Perhaps you two might like to take a walk,” he suggested, pulling out a vial to inspect its yellowing label, “unless, of course, you’d like to stay and help me, which I can’t imagine would be the case - Merlin, you can take an herb sack, I’ll be low on arnica once I’ve finished with this - ”

“Gaius - ”

“And if you’re going down through the market, you can stop by Benegar and Beata’s.  I’ve ordered an ounce of black bryony through them twice now, and not heard a blessed thing about whether it’s arrived or not - ”

“Gaius,” Merlin repeated.  “I don’t understand.  What did I do?”

Gaius finally turned to look at him, a clear vial clasped in one hand and a bundle of dried leaves in the other.  “I’ve no idea, Merlin,” he said frankly.  “But whatever it was, I am certain you did not do it on your own.”  He eyed Will, a curious look on his face.  “Perhaps you simply asked for the right favor at the right time.”

Gaius hung there for another moment, considering, then laid his ingredients down on the table and crossed to the supply closet, opening the door and stepping inside.  Will and Merlin, unable to think of anything else to ask him, watched Gaius’s back as he rummaged, Will with a deeply skeptical look on his face, and Merlin looking pale.

“Will you get a grip?” Will muttered out the corner of his mouth.  “You look like you’re the one he ought to be examining.”

Merlin said nothing, but lifted his fingers and brushed them against the place he had made Gaius check too many times, the place Gaius had said was so bad for penetrating wounds, the place where Will hated being poked and prodded.  There was a heart under there, one that circulated blood, one that had different bits to it, one that squeezed.  Merlin could not have sketched its anatomy, or described its functionality, but he knew exactly what it was supposed to feel like under his fingers.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Merlin murmured, feeling for the steady beat, beat, beat.

2. blackmail

“I ought to have the man hanged!”

Arthur’s padded aketon went flying across the room, snagging on a weapons rack beside the fireplace and rattling the upright row of spears.  Merlin ignored the mess-in-the-making, instead continuing to do up Arthur’s bed.  If the item of clothing hadn’t come flying at his head, it wasn’t his problem.  

“You could have him hanged,” Merlin said mildly, tugging a new sheet into place.  “If that’s what you really want.”

Arthur rounded on him, stabbing at Merlin with one pointed finger.  “What on earth would you bring him here for?  What possessed you?”

“I didn’t bring him anywhere.  He came on his own.”

“To Camelot?”  Arthur’s eyes were wild with disbelief.  “A sorcerer?  For what purpose?

Merlin fought down a prickly wave of irritation.  “For me.”

Arthur looked Merlin up and down in a faintly skeptical way.  Merlin bit his tongue to avoid saying something that would land him or Will in deeper trouble.  “Are you going to report him to your father?” he asked instead.

“I ought to,” Arthur growled, his face thunderously shadowed.

Merlin picked up one of Arthur’s pillows from the bed and removed its dirty casing with a flick of his wrist.  “You can, if you like.”  There was a pause as Merlin denuded each of the pillows in turn.  Then he added, “Course, then you’d also have to explain what you were reporting him for.  And then you’d have to explain to your father that you did cross the border into Cenred’s kingdom, after he explicitly told you not to.”

Arthur shot Merlin a poisonous glare.

“You could have started a war, you know,” Merlin remarked, tossing dirty pillowcases over his shoulder and retrieving a set of clean cases from a nearby basket.  “Can’t imagine your father would have been too pleased to have his precious treaty annulled by your hand.  And then you went and dragged Morgana into it as well - ”

“You appear to be misremembering, Merlin,” Arthur said thinly.  “As I recall, Morgana left for Ealdor before I did.”

Merlin pasted a puzzled look onto his face.  “Did she?”

Arthur’s eyebrows climbed up to his hairline.  “Are you braindead?  She left with you!”

Merlin shrugged vaguely.  “I’m not sure I remember it that way.  That’s not how she’s telling it, anyhow.”

Arthur ground his teeth together.  “And how, exactly, is she telling it?”

“I’m not sure,” Merlin mused, tossing the re-cased cushions back onto the bed in an unappealing jumble.  “Something about you preying on her compassionate and kind nature to goad her into aiding an enemy village over the king’s objections.”

Arthur stared out the window.  He appeared to be measuring the distance from his own chambers to Morgana’s, gauging whether a crossbow fired from this distance would be accurate enough to find its mark, or powerful enough to do the kind of damage he was hoping for.

“Of course,” Merlin continued, “I suppose you could just go ahead and give Uther your version.  It’s not as if he’s more likely to believe Morgana than you, yeah?”  Merlin shuffled Arthur’s dirty pillowcases across the floor with his feet, kicking them under the chest next to the door.  Then he laughed.  “I mean to say - he’s besotted with her, obviously - ”

“Merlin.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Shut up.”

Merlin closed his mouth, and waited.  

Arthur continued to stare out the window.  He appeared intensely focused on the row of stained glass portals lining the great hall on the opposite side of the palace.  Down below, Merlin could hear an argument escalating between the pantler and one of the castle’s suppliers, who was unloading wagons through the postern gate of the minor courtyard.

“I don’t want to see him within the walls of this citadel,” Arthur said finally.  “He is not to wander this place outside your line of sight, and he is not to engage in any sort of...any unnatural activity, under any circumstances, at any time.  And by no means is he to come anywhere near my father, is that understood?

“I can’t imagine William has any interest in meeting your father, sire.”

“Merlin.”

Merlin linked his hands together behind his back.  “I understand, sire.”

Arthur nodded infinitesimally.  He was still completely fixated on the pantler’s progressively wilder gesticulations, though Merlin couldn’t understand why.  It was the same show every week.

“Will that be all, sire?” Merlin asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said.  

Merlin bowed and turned to go.  Then Arthur spoke once again, arresting Merlin’s exit.  “Find him something useful to do,” he said, still gazing out the window.

Merlin hesitated with a hand on the door.  “More useful than saving your life, my lord?”

“Get out, Merlin.”

“Yes, my lord.”

3. where you lead

“How long are you going to stay?”

Will picked at the grain of the table.  “Sick of me already?”

Merlin shook his head, feeling the suffocatingly pressing need for an extra second to formulate his response.  

Gaius had gone out to do his evening rounds, and for once he had not insisted that Merlin accompany him, which meant that Merlin had made supper for himself and Will, and the two of them had eaten together, but it had not been like a typical evening back home.  Will had seemed to have very little to say, and Merlin had not been able to come up with a successful way to coax him into conversation, and they had passed an uncomfortably stilted evening, with Will spending most of the meal gazing at cluttered instruments on Gaius’s workbench, scientific diagrams plastered to the walls, tattered books stacked in every corner - anywhere but Merlin’s face.

Now Merlin swallowed the last of his dinner and set down his spoon, pushing the bowl aside.  “I never said that,” he said uncertainly.   “Why would you think that?”

Will continued his inspection of the surface of the table.  After a moment, he replied, “You came here alone.”

Merlin’s supper wriggled in his stomach.  Guilty, guilty, guilty.  

Will traced the outline of a knot in the wood with one of his fingers.  Merlin tried to think of something to say in response, but he had no excuses to make for himself.  It was too complicated. 

“It’s fine, Merlin,” Will said, before Merlin could open his mouth and attempt a weak explanation.

Merlin did not think so.  But he could not figure out how to say what he needed to say about it just now, so he latched onto something he was sure of.  “This is dangerous for you.”

“It’s dangerous for you,” Will countered.  “I’m only pretending; it’s no skin off my back if someone thinks I have magic.”

“Pretend sorcerers can still end up on the block, Will.”

“And actual sorcerers?” Will said.  “What happens to them, Merlin?”

Merlin turned his spoon over and over on the table, watching Will from the corner of his eye.  The light from the wall sconces bent through clusters of glass vials and lit Will’s face in an interesting way, a pattern Merlin had never seen before.  There had never been any glass in Ealdor.  

“Nothing happens to them,” Merlin replied.  “Not when they’re hiding behind their friends.”

Will looked away.  The watery glass-glow painting his face made it difficult to pick out his flush, but Merlin knew Will well enough to make his own assumptions.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Merlin said, his voice suddenly very untrustworthy, and he shut his mouth before he could stumble into something soft and wobbly and very un-put-together.

Will shook his head, gazing fixedly at a collection of animal skulls lining one side of Gaius’s bookcase.  “It’s done, Merlin.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you.  But here you are, and here I am, and maybe we ought to just let it lie, yeah?  I know you think I’m happy to lock horns with anyone who cares to try me, but this has been a godsawful, stupid shambles of a summer, and believe it or not, I’m tired of rowing with you.”

Merlin was quiet for a long moment.   “I wasn’t trying to make you upset,” he said finally.

“I’m not upset,” Will said.  He was having a staring contest with the eyeless, empty skull of some ruminant or another.  “I’m just saying.”

The fire crackled alongside them, no doubt gluing the remnants of their supper to the inside of the kettle.  Merlin glanced out the window at the rising moon.  Gaius would be coming home soon.

“How long are you staying?” Merlin asked Will again.  Before Will could bristle a second time, Merlin added, “I’m not saying that to get rid of you.  I’m asking because it’s - complicated, here, with your - with the situation.  And I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

Will gazed into the shadowy eye sockets of the skull on the shelf, much as if he had not heard Merlin’s question.  

“Will?” Merlin prodded.  

Will looked away from the hollow hunk of bone.  “What?”

“Did you hear me?”

Will did not reply.  He pulled Merlin’s empty bowl toward himself and pushed himself back from the table, then, dishes in hand, rose from his seat, but he suddenly appeared to realize that he did not even know where to go to do the washing-up in this place.  He clapped the bowls down onto the table again with an under-his-breath oath and plopped back down on the bench.  “Hear what?”

“When are you leaving?”

Will sighed heavily, his eyes permanently fixed somewhere off to one side.  "When do you want me to go, Merlin?”

The answer popped out of Merlin before he could stop himself.  “I don’t.  I don’t want you to.”

Will stopped rubbing unconsciously at the left side of his chest.  He stopped everything, in fact.  He was abruptly frozen, like the kind of animal that one of the little skulls on the top shelf had once been - spooked into stillness.  “Come again?” he said.

Merlin took a deep breath.  “Stay.”

“You want me to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“In Camelot.”

“Yes.”

“Where the only people I’ve ever met think I’m a sorcerer.”

“Yes.”

“Where I haven’t got any money.”

“Yes.”

“Where I haven’t got any land or livestock or anything.”

Merlin hesitated.  He had no right to ask for this.  But he couldn’t lie, either, however selfish and insensitive it made him seem.  Lying to Will was not something he remembered how to do.  “Yes.”

A long silence stretched between them.  Outside, the royal hunting hounds yapped for their suppers.

“I’m not asking you to do it,” Merlin said quietly.  He had never been nervous around Will before, but lately that seemed to be the only thing their relationship could manage - unsettled stomachs and treacherous footing, pitfall traps marring what had once had been a solid plain of understanding.  “I’m just answering your question.”  

Will did not say anything in response.  Merlin resisted the urge to wipe sweaty palms on his trousers and continued.  “I haven’t got any right to ask that of you.  I know I haven’t.  It’s my fault we’re in this mess to begin with.”  

Merlin did not clarify, exactly, what ‘mess’ he was referring to; he hoped Will would understand that he meant more than their current case of mistaken magical identities.  “You don’t owe me anything,” he added.

Will shook his head at that.  “I owe you my life.”

“No,” Merlin corrected.  “I owe you mine.”

“Oi,” Will said tiredly.  “Haven’t I just told you I’m sick of rowing with you?”

“Yes,” Merlin replied, surrendering to a small smile.  “But you’re so easy.”

Will scowled at him.  

It was a nice look.  A normal look.

Before Merlin could say anything else, the door to the hallway banged open.  

“Ah,” Gaius said.  “Gentlemen.  Good evening.”  He swung the door closed behind him, laying his medicine bag on the workbench and divesting himself of his cloak.  “Arthur is looking for you, Merlin.  You’d better go and see what he wants.”  He ambled past the kettle, leaning over it to have a sniff on his way by.  “I see you’ve made supper - I assume it’s too much to hope that you’ve left something in that pot for me.”

Merlin hurriedly got up and scraped together a third plate, then gathered the remaining dirty bowls in his hands and hovered by the edge of the table.  “Erm - listen - ” he said to Will in a low voice.

“Sir Thickhead’s looking for you,” Will interrupted, tipping his chin at the door.  “Don’t you have to go and unbuckle his boots or something?”

“Yeah, I - what?  No, I mean - he can unbuckle his own boots, Will; he’s not entirely stupid.”  

Unbidden, a memory arose in Merlin’s mind of Arthur storming out of a Council session with his shirt on back-to-front and his tightly-clasped belt keeping the situation from being rectified, the prong bent out of place by some blow or another and stuck at the fourth notch.  “Most of the time, I mean.  It doesn’t matter.  He’s not - ” 

Not important just now, Merlin thought.  

Arthur’s boots could wait.  

He leaned over the table, closer to Will, so that Gaius, who had settled down at a different workbench with his supper and his books, could not hear.  “Listen,” Merlin said in an undertone.  “Forget what I said.  I wouldn’t have brought it up, only you asked.  It wasn’t fair of me to even mention it.  Don’t think on it.”

Something in Will’s face made Merlin hesitate, though.  He furrowed his brow, not wanting to give in to the sudden spark of inconceivable hope that had just lit up inside his chest.  “I mean, unless - you’re not - ?”

“Why don’t you go and put his royal majesty to bed,” Will suggested pointedly. 

“Right, yeah - but we were just talking, though - ”

Will shrugged.  “I’m not going anywhere, am I?”

Merlin took a half step to the door, then turned around and bent quickly over the table again.  “Hang on,” he muttered, “sorry, er - you mean just now?  Or - ”

Will met Merlin’s eyes levelly.  “I’m not going to do a runner on you, Merlin.”

Not like you did on me.  Merlin heard the unspoken thought clearly enough.  But Will didn’t voice it, this time, and that was something.

“Right,” Merlin said, his head buzzing with possibilities.  “Okay, then.  We’ll talk later.  Erm.”

Gaius was giving him a pointed look.  “I’m going!” Merlin exclaimed, and bolted for the door before Arthur could start hollering Merlin’s name from the bottom of the stairs.    

Not that anyone would care if Arthur yelled himself hoarse, Merlin thought, taking the spiral steps two at a time.  Merlin found the hollering more amusing than anything - he didn’t understand how the prince could fail to see the embarrassment inherent in stalking down corridors with his tunic undone and his trousers unlaced, bellowing for a servant to come and (yes, all right, fine, Will had probably been right) unbuckle his boots.

But Merlin didn’t think Arthur’s bellowing would do much to convince Will to extend his visit.  

And so, perhaps, Merlin thought, popping out of the stairwell at the appropriate floor and speeding down the corridor, dodging a page tending to the wall sconces - perhaps it would be better if Merlin took it at a bit of a run, today.

[TBC, maybe!  if i continue to feel like playing around in here - we’ll see what happens!]

[fandom-necromancer]

Stories from another life

This was prompted by the amazing @smolandangry001! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: talk about self-harm and past violence, self-consciousness about scars)

The sounds of rugged breaths filled the large bedroom of Nines’ flat. Hands travelled across their bodies, still guarded by a sheet of clothing as they both were unwilling to stop what had run out of control just minutes ago. It had been supposed to be a quiet evening to celebrate their last successful mission that finally made them draw level with Hank and Connor in numbers. It had dipped into more than slightly romantic cuddling between them and both their bodily response and eagerness had only increased until the movie, hell, the whole world was forgotten as Nines had simply lifted Gavin up to carry him to the bedroom after they managed to separate from one especially long and deep kiss.

There had been a time Nines had hated the continuous sound of humans breathing near him. A time he had hated to touch humans or be touched by them. Not out of disgust or some feeling of superiority, but because it felt wrong. How could he ever fit in with them if he didn’t have to breath, if his body supported him for a long time without having to care about it. If his skin only looked real, but was cold and without real structure, just a simulated sheet. He never even dared to think of intimacy as something he would ever experience, because that was something reserved for humans only. But all these thoughts were gone now with Gavin. With the human breaking every one of these rules that only existed in his head, staying close to him no matter how much he fought for distance and granting him something most humans still thought his kind wasn’t capable of: love.

And that was a sight to behold beneath him: Gavin lying in his bed on his back, hair sticking to his forehead, lips reddened from their kissing before, body pressed flush with Nines’ own and smiling up at him. Gavin did not smile. At no one. Nines couldn’t be prouder of himself. It meant a rush of whatever androids had instead of adrenaline and he couldn’t help but be excited for what was about to come. He wanted to see this human, feel him, all of him. And maybe even more than this: be seen and felt in return. Because that doubt still sat in the back of his head and wouldn’t leave him alone until it was proved wrong.

He shuddered under Gavin’s hands that had slipped under his shirt and maybe it was an unconscious decision, but the android found himself imitating it, running his fingers over sharp hipbones and hard muscle. ‘I want to see you...’, Nines grumbled in a deep voice, half static, and started to pull the human’s shirt off, sinking in for another kiss, wanting to be as near as possible to him. But he halts as there are only a few millimetres separating their lips. Something had changed: The human was tense suddenly, pressed himself into the mattress away from him. Immediately Nimes gave him more space, wanting to back away completely as his mind was screaming at him he had taken things too far. No human would willingly be naked and helpless in easy murder-distance of the android soldier designed to stop the deviants, right?

But in contrary to the first response, Gavin reflexively grabbed his hips, holding him hovering above him. ‘No, Nines, stay!’ It nearly sounded panicked, if not embarrassed. ‘Please’, was a hushed addition as the man looked away to evade the other’s eyes. ‘What’s wrong, Gavin?’, Nines asked, well hiding his upcoming fears and doubts from him. ‘N-Nothing! Really!’, he stuttered quickly. ‘It’s nothing with you, just…’ He still didn’t meet the android’s eyes. ‘Just… Could we… Could I leave on the shirt?’ Nines grunted disappointed at that but nodded. ‘Of course. If that makes you more comfortable… Just… may I ask why?’

It took a while, gears visibly turning in Gavin’s head. As he answered it was impossibly silent and not more than a murmur, he knew Nines would have no problems picking up. ‘I don’t like how I look. It’s not exactly…’ The android knew he had to interrupt. However intense his desire to be near him was, this was more important. He let himself fall to the side, laying next to the man and wrapped an arm around him, so Gavin had to turn towards him and look him in the eyes. He was careful to keep the fabric of the shirt under his hand though. ‘Beautiful, gorgeous?’, he supplied. ‘Breath-taking? Absolutely perfect?’ He smirked at the man who finally looked at him again. ‘Gav, I thought we wouldn’t lie to each other.’

‘Phck you, you sappy plastic!’, Gavin exclaimed growing red around the nose. ‘Shut up!’ ‘Come on, Gavin.’ He pulled the other man closer, smiling weakly. ‘What do you think is wrong with your appearance?’ ‘Nines, phck, where should I even start?’ He angled his head down to lean his forehead into Nines’ chest. ‘I don’t even know why you like me, most of the time.’ ‘Stop that right there!’, the android demanded. ‘Just tell me what you think I wouldn’t love about you, so I can prove you wrong.’ Gavin sat up, shrugging off his arm. In a slow, motion he pulled up his shirt to his chest to reveal several thin lines, white against the human’s natural skin colour. A few blotches followed suit, scars from stab wounds, gun shots and medical procedures.

Nines was fascinated, he hadn’t known there were more marks next to the one on the bridge of his nose. ‘Would you… Would you share with me how you got them?’ ‘Why would you like to know?’, Gavin asked Nines precariously. ‘They are stories. Parts of your past. I had only been activated for a few years, I can’t even imagine what over thirty years of experience feel like.’ ‘Real shitty, tin-can. Life wasn’t good most of them.’ Nines just carefully stretched one digit and hovered over a long line that disappeared right below the waistband. He waited for his Hand to be swatted away, but as nothing happened, he continued and brushed over the lighter skin. He felt Gavin shiver and smiled, pressing just a touch stronger against the soft tissue. ‘What’s this from?’, he asked softly. ‘That’s err… That’s from when I had my appendix removed. Had some issues with an inflammation.’ ‘And you can live without it?’, the android asked in honest surprise, before he leaned down to plant a kiss on top of the scar. Androids had no part they could function without, but nature seemed to have evolved that miracle. ‘Heh, yeah, kinda cool if you say it like that.’ ‘What’s about this one?’, Nines asked, hovering over what looked like a knot or star. ‘Was shot on the job. Still a rookie back then. Thought I was invincible. Well, I wasn’t.’ Nines leaned in to kiss that one too.

‘You plan on doing this to all of them?’, Gavin asked and couldn’t supress a low chuckle at that. ‘Oh, yes’, was the android’s answer to that, as he searched for the next scar: A set of weirdly symmetrical lines. ‘Oh, that… I… I used to cut myself.’ Nines looked up. ‘Why would you do that?’ ‘Life wasn’t the best and I know it was unhealthy. I just didn’t know what else to do to cope. I’m not doing it anymore, though.’ The android decided to take extra time for them, running his thumb over them and then gently kissing every one of them each.

‘I love you so much, Gavin’, he said, while he slowly, gently mapped every scar he could find, trying to think of all the different reasons for them. Each time he was hurt leaving a mark. Some regretful, some proving this human was brave regardless of his fragile body, the only one they had and that he willingly sacrificed to help others. That he shared with him now. ‘You are so beautiful. I am so thankful to have you, to share my life with you. Don’t you ever think low of you. It would be impossible for you to be anything but perfect in my eyes.’

‘You goddamn lovesick robot, phck.’ Gavin was a deep red again. ‘Who the hell programmed that shit?’

‘I’m afraid I developed that with deviancy’, the RK900 smirked, pleased that the tension from before had left his body completely now. ‘Now come here!’

He pulled the man close, still tracing the scars under his shirt, but taking his lips in his. When the human next to him had to stop to take shaky breaths, Nines used the time to whisper in his ear. ‘You are so unbelievably beautiful. You fascinate me so much. You are lovely, gorgeous and perfect and I love you.’

It took a while, Gavin getting lost in these gently, hushed words, eyes watery with emotions.

‘I love you too, toaster. Thank you for this… Thank you for being here.’

[ssironstrange]

You're probably in mourning right now but since I can't stop thinking about it I have to ask: You recently posted that Stephen has problems masturbating because of his hands. I would be really interested in some headcanons who Tony discovers this and tries to help him. With his hands or through some invention? Is the cloak involved? Whenever you're up to it I would be happy to read more from you about this!

i am, in fact, mourning very hard. but if i don’t attempt to dig myself out of the depression hole i may never surface again so. lets attempt this. it is one of my favorite little headcanons with them, after all.

stephen’s hands are f u c k e d, okay. they shake uncontrolably, there is so much wide spread nerve damage that he likely has almost no sensation of touch anymore. nerve damage plus repeated surgeries in the same spots have caused muscle and ligament weakness, meaning his grip strength is shot. i honestly hope they show some of the very real side effects of his injury in ds2 because it would be massive and i don’t doubt for a second he uses a tiny bit of magic when he needs to hold a weapon or something. anyway.

then theres the metal rods he has in bones that hurt. think back to when you had growing pains as a kid, how you could feel an ache down in your actual bones. now amplify that times ten, and its damn near constant.

so. traditional hand-on-cock masturbation has become nearly impossible.

tony is certainly no idiot even if medical jargon isn’t his field of expertise. he’s seen stephen’s file, seen and studied the damage, and knows from his own injuries just how much pain he must be in. but, even knowing all this he doesn’t quite understand the depth of it.

mainly because stephen is very good at hiding it.

but when they get intimate, tony makes a point to make sure stephen doesn’t need to use his hands for anything other than just holding on. so he’s never seen just how useless they really are.

except one night when tony has actually gone to bed before stephen. it’s such a rare thing and stephen refuses to disturb the needed sleep. but it’s been a stressful few weeks and they haven’t had a chance to be intimate in all that time and it’s just built up to the point where stephen needs that release. now.

and his hands feel pretty good for once so might as well take advantage.

tony, being a light sleeper, wakes up to the slight motion of stephen trying to jerk it beside him - something he realizes he’s never actually seen him do. and thinking he’s gonna be in for a little treat, he lays there silently and watches.

except stephen has to stop about every 20 seconds because his hand starts cramping or flexes weird and hurts or he gets a sudden stab of nerve pain or he just loses his grip entirely and now he’s just fucking frustrated and pissed off at himself yet again because he can’t do this one simple fucking task. he can’t even fucking jerk himself off anymore and if that isn’t the ultimate backhanded bitch slap from life, well… yeah.

it goes from hot to sad very fast.

stephen just turns to start to get out of bed, sitting on the edge, but then just starts crying quietly. angry, bitter tears. painful tears because now his hand is hurting from trying to use it intensively.

and thats when he feels tony crawl up behind him, his chest pressed to stephen’s back. one arm wraps around stephen’s chest in a soft embrace, his other hand slips around to curl around stephen’s cock, still (annoyingly, for him) hard and he whispers “shhh, i’ve got you” in his ear. and then “show me how you want it”

so stephen puts his hand over tony’s and guides it. just leans back into tony and lets him do the work. and it’s such a weirdly intimate thing for something they’ve done countless times before. its just a fucking handjob.

but it’s more than that. it’s tonys gentle support and endless love. even when stephen can’t love himself, when he’s at wit’s end about his disability, when he can’t bring himself to get over what he’s lost. tony will be there to pick up the pieces and help put them back together. it’s stephen letting go of his stubbornness to allow someone else to help him, and also facing yet another thing in his life he isn’t fully independent with anymore.

so yeah its just a handjob but it means a lot more in the moment for stephen.

and once it’s finished and tony’s done playfully teasing him and cleaned up they talk about it. he’s tried other methods, tried altering the way he uses his hands, tried sleeves and fleshlights and all manner of other masturbatory devices. none of them are any less stressful on his hands.

and its not like he’s at it so much that he’s desperate but, times like these or when they can’t be together or whatever, it’s nice to be able to do it himself.

so far the only helpful thing, stephen is initially embarrassed to admit, has been the cloak. but, again, he’d rather be able to do it himself.

and tony isn’t a genius mechanic engineer if he can’t figure out a device to suit stephen’s particular needs.

after some trial and error and a lot of hot data collection that typically lead to them fucking in the lab, tony finally makes a sort of glove for him.

sort of a half-glove with the palm exposed made of nanobots and a very intuitive learning AI. it’ll support his hand from the wrist up like an exoskeleton, but all the flexibility of his actual hand. it can track strain and inflammation and adjust accordingly. it learns the strokes, speed, pressure, rhythm, all of it and then some to assist and take a lot of the actual stress off Stephen’s hand. it has it’s own little discreet housing compartment that can easily be taken anywhere.

it’s not a perfect solution, but it’s a start. and it does allow him to get himself off for the first time since before the accident. and maybe it’s kind of silly but god it means to much to him just to have the ability to do that again. by himself. whenever he feels like it. at his own damn convenience.

bonus: tony and the cloak now tagteam with him and it is absolute b l i s s

[hannah-khoury-deserves-better]

Take Me Home Chapter 3

Summary: Hannah gets some unexpected news and she and Tammy have to figure out their new reality.

Words - 2180

Warnings: none

Pairings: Hannah Khoury/Tammy Gregorio, Tammy Gregorio/Sebastian Lund (Friendship) Hannah Khoury/Jack Sloane (Friendship), Jack Sloane/Leon Vance, others to be added.

A False Spring

Hannah wandered around  her kitchen, luckily she had managed to sleep some the night before. She could hear Naomi’s footsteps from the hallway, she was up and getting ready for school

“Naomi, get ready we have to leave in ten minutes” she called out.

As Hannah made Naomi’s lunch, happy that her new child had only made her sick once so far, and if she had to get sick again, hopefully would be after she dropped Naomi off at school.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Yeah baby I'm fine why?” Hannah asked as she put a sandwich in Naomi's lunchbox.

“I heard you get sick this morning and you’re acting weird.” Naomi replied as has came up to Hannah.

“Just a lot on my mind baby.”

“When are you moving in with me and Dad?” Naomi asked, her face tilting up to look at Hannah.

“Baby we talked about this, your dad and I aren't married anymore, remember?” Hannah said as she brushed some of Naomi's hair back.

“That's not fair mom.”

“I know.” Hannah sighed.

“Go get your shoes we're about to be late.”

---

As Doctor Mary Riggen walked in, she greeted Hannah, “Hey Agent Khoury, how are you doing today?”

Hannah who was sitting on the exam table, in the paper gown they had given her “Okay I think, I've been sick a couple of times but the exhaustion is the worse part.”

“Well those symptoms should hopefully die down in about a month for you.” Doctor Riggen said as she looked at her tablet “Your blood test confirms that you are in fact pregnant.”

“Congratulations. But I want to do an ultrasound today, both to confirm how far along you are, and make sure everything looks good. I see on your chart that you’ve had several miscarriages.”

Hannah nodded “I want to do as much as we can, I want a healthy baby.”

“Okay lean back then, sorry the gel is cold.” Doctor Riggen said as she adjusted the probe, “And there is your baby” she said pointing at a small blob on the screen.

Hannah felt some tears prick at her eyes, as she looked at her new child that was growing inside her.

“Okay Agent Khoury, you can sit up.” As she handed Hannah a towel to wipe her stomach off with.

“So you are seven weeks along. Everything looks good, try and take it easy in the field.” Doctor Riggen said as she made notes on the tablet. “I'm giving you a prescription for prenatal vitamins. I want to see you again when you are twelve weeks.”

The front desk will help you make a appointment and give you a copy of the ultrasound if you want it. Do you have any questions for me?” She said as she looked up at Hannah.

“I don't think so, but I can call if needed correct?”

“Yes anytime. We have a 24/7 line here. My extension is 482.” Doctor Riggen said as she left the room.

Hannah leaned back, her pregnancy seemed much more real now, even more than it had before. Her thoughts however were cut off by her phone ringing.

“Yeah Loretta.” She said as she answered it, listening to Loretta speak “okay on the way. I should be there in about thirty minutes. Have the team get started.” She said as she hung up the phone and moved to get redressed and go to the new crime scene.

---

The sun beat down on the ally near Jackson square, the wind was picking up and pushing trash about. Hannah walked over towards the group of vehicles she could see, she pushed through the crowd towards Lasalle, who was waiting for her with her jacket and hat.

“Hey boss, Naomi okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, just needed to do something before I came in today,” Hannah replied as she pulled the jacket and hat on.

“So what do we have? And who found the body?”

“Tourists that were coming back from a walk about Jackson Square and found em” Chris replied as they walked towards to the crime scene.  

“Ah, Hannah there you are. We have Captain Gregory Hant he has multiple stab wounds including one to the chest, which I'm guessing is the cause of death.” Loretta said.

“But we also have some type of substance on the captain’s body. Sebastian can try and identify it when I get him back to autopsy.”

The substance was grabbed by the wind and blew towards the team as they listened to Loretta.

“It's okay I've already got a sample of it. I don't think we need to worry.”

“Thanks, Loretta. Street cams?” Hannah asked.

“Camera coverage is light here, I'll ask the businesses if they have angles here,” Tammy said.

“Great, Lasalle, you and I will head back to the squad room see what we can find out,” Hannah ordered.

---

Hannah looked up at Chris “Ready?”

“Yeah what do ya got,” he replied as he entered into the center of the room.

“Captain Gregory Hant worked on the wharves, he was in charge of buying fresh produce for the Navy.” Hannah said as she brought up his file “recently however he's been accused of mishandling funds. Other than that his service records clean.”

Chris nodded “married with a four-year-old son. Wife said he's been distant lately, but was a loving father.”

Hannah bit her lip, “So, no clear reason to murder him?”

“I might have something” Tammy hollered as she walked in, “One of the cameras caught this near the time of death” clicking on her keyboard before gesturing to the screen. There was a man in a dark uniform and he came out of the alley a knife in hand before wiping it down and throwing it in the sewer grate.

“Was that a marine that just killed our victim?” Chris asked slowly.

“Looks like it,” Tammy said.

“Okay, Gregorio get with Patton see if he can find this guy somewhere else, get a better angle.”

Hannah said before turning to Chris, “Lasalle look into anyone who might have had problems with the victim, see if you can find who accused him of mishandling the funds”.

“On it, boss” Chris said as he headed to his desk.

“What about you?” Tammy asked.

“I'm going to the morgue for an update from Loretta,” Hannah said as she left the office.

---

Hannah walked into the JPSO building, looking around for Loretta’s lab.

A warm dulcet voice came from behind her, “Hannah, here for an update?” Loretta asked as she came past her.

Hannah blinked out of her daydreaming, “Yes I am. What exactly are we dealing with here Loretta?”

Loretta gestured  as she made to the table, “We are dealing with a vicious stabbing. The killer wanted to cause maximum pain before allowing him to die. Captain Hant took stabs to his shoulder, both hips and grazes to his ribs and short puncture wounds to his legs,” the coroner pointed to the x-ray photos of the victim’s body.

“The causes of death is dissection of the aorta. The blow to the throats was postmortem.”

Taking a deep breath and pointing to the screen “The substance found appears to be mold of some type, he had also breathed it in shortly before death.”

“How can you know when he breathed in the substance?” Hannah asked.

“It was present in his sinus cavity but there was no inflammation so the body didn't have enough time to react to it,”

Hannah took a deep breath “What about the team? Do we need to be worried?”

Loretta shook her head, hair covered by the purple and tan scrub hat she wore. “No the team should be fine, the mold had degraded below the infective dose, and no one has a compromised immune system.”

Hannah paused in her pacing, “What about an unborn child. What would exposure do?”

“As long as the mother isn't infected the child should be fine. Why?” Loretta looked at Hannah, her dark eyes seemingly seeing through her.

“I'm seven weeks pregnant,” Hannah confessed, looking up briefly before dropping her eyes back to to the ground.

“Hannah that's wonderful!” Hannah smiled softly.

“What does Ryan think? He must be pleased.” Loretta said as she rounded the autopsy table.

“He doesn't know. I got pregnant the day before he signed the divorce papers. I'm not sure when I'm going to tell him or Naomi. Or how.” Her smile dropped as she explained the aftermath of it, her eyes still locked on the ground.

Loretta leaned her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

Hannah took a deep breath before starting “Ryan and I, really wanted another baby after we had Naomi, but I had five miscarriages after having her. The last one five years ago, came after I was at work, helping with this big op, I was almost three months along. That miscarriage was the beginning of the end for us. He blamed me for losing his baby.”

Hannah shook her head. “After the group made an attempt on my life and Ryan and Naomi were nearly killed. I sent divorce papers. He finally signed them but if he knows I'm having another baby. He’ll take custody the moment I give birth.” Hannah turned her head up to see Loretta “I can't make the mistakes I made with Naomi. I want this baby.”

Loretta pulled Hannah into a hug, feeling Hannah's body crumple against her before tears soaked her shoulder.

“Let's get you some tea sweetheart.”

---

Sebastian walked into the morgue looking at a tablet “so I figured out what kind of mold it is. Did you know there's over a hundred thousand types? Which is kind of terrifying if you think about it.”

“Sebastian dear, what did you find?” Loretta interrupted him.

He looked up and found a slightly teary looking Hannah sitting next to Loretta both had tea mugs in their hands.

“Oh, it's Stachybotrys Chartarum, black mold. Unfortunately, it's kind of common, it likes damp and warm places.”

“So all of New Orleans,” Hannah groaned as she put her mug back on Loretta’s desk. “Let's head back to the office, see if the others have had better luck. Thank you, Loretta.”

“You're welcome dear. My door is always open.” Loretta said as she picked up the mugs and went to clean them.

----

Hannah and Sebastian walked into the office together, while he split to the side to upload a map. Hannah turned to look as Chris, a questioning look on her face. “Did you find anyone with problems against the Captain?”

“Kinda. His brother in law, Sam Grady, has fought him several times, the last one two weeks ago, got the police called on ‘em. But he's out of town so he didn't do it.”

“At least not personally.” Sebastian pointed out.

“Also his second in command at the wharfs, Commander Lucas Thiy, is the one that filled the report against him. He's currently working on taking supplies out to a boat, due back in a hour. I'll pick him up then.”

“Okay take Sebastian with you for backup. And talk to him there, just in case.” Chris nodded and gestured for Sebastian to follow him out.

Hannah shook her head and went to see where Tammy and Patton where on finding the suspect.

She walked into Patton’s office “hey please tell me, you have good news.”

“Nope sorry boss, pretty quickly after the first time we see him that Gregorio found we only have a few more shots of him.” Patton said, shaking his head.

“Okay what are you doing then.” Hannah asked.

“I'm running with Gregorio’s help, my new program. It should be able to figure out our killer’s info. Like height weight that kinda thing.”

“Do programs that do that not already exist? And it can be mistaken by things like clothes and thick soled shoes.”

Patton gasped, “Not my program. It's written to take all that into account.”

Hannah turned to Tammy “And your doing what?”

“I'm trying to figure out his training. From how he walks and kills, I'm not thinking marine anymore.” Tammy replied her eyes glued to the screen.

“Okay I'm going to go start tracking the captain’s movements throughout the city the day he died.” Hannah said as she left the room.

----

Tammy walked into the main office and smiled she and Hannah were the only ones left in the building.

“Hey, what are you doing” she asked as she sat on the corner of Hannah's desk.

“Trying to keep up with the paperwork that comes with being lead agent,” Hannah said as she lent back in her chair.

“Oh I never want to do more paperwork than I do now.” Tammy said with a laugh.

“So you want to get out of here. Dinner and a movie at my place?” Hannah asked softly.

“Naomi’s back with Ryan. It's just us.”

“Sure, let me get my jacket.” Tammy said moving back to her desk, before meeting Hannah at the door, the two walking out hand in hand.