#should i open up a go fund me page

[iiotic]

Rhetorical Question (Il Dottore x Wife! Reader)

SUMMARY: you decided to stay in your husbands office as you didn't want to go home alone in the cold. it was already late, you didn't control your mouth and just said the first things that came to your head.

1.1k words | masterlist

─── જ ‎` ‎𓂃 TAGS: dottore x fem! wife! reader, fluff at first, angst/no comfort, immortal x mortal, let's just say that dottore didn't make you immortal in this scenario, death, mentions of Pantalone, akademiya flashbacks, mentions of kidnapping, ooc dottore? lowercase intended, not proffread, please inform me if i missed something.

NOTES: im back with writing y'all!! i dont know when i will post this yet but im so happy that im finally motivated again. this was suppose to be shorter but oh well. i also can't make summaries so forgive me.

the wind hitting the window could be heard even inside to coziness of your husband's office. the dangerous winter of sheznaya was not for the weak. you were thankful that you didn't need to work in the cold, thankful that you can stay inside on Zandik's couch under a warm blanket near the fireplace.

you sighed, snapping out of your thoughts. looking away from the window you acknowledged the closed book lying on your thighs. you forgot to mark the page again.

"what time is it?" you asked, eyeing your zandik who was apparently fighting with some paperwork, trying to get more funding from regrator.

normally he'd give the job to one of his segments, but ever since the ninth got an envelope covered in oil and other kind of sticky substances, signed webby ;3 he demanded that dottore need to write it himself.

"ten past eleven" he responded shortly after. "you know you can go home at any given moment. i could have one of my assistants escort you safely."

before you could protest he added. "as much as i appreciate your company i know that you might start talking gibberish somewhere around these hours."

"pff.. no, i will not." you murmured to yourself. you opened to the book that you were previously reading, searching for the page that you ended on. the clock hit twelve am. you soon started to get sleepy but didn't want to wake up to your husband saying "i told you to go home."

"if i were to leave you" you started but immediately cut off.

"are you planning to?" dottore eyed you from behind his desk, momentarily stopping his writing.

"no, of course not." you chuckled slightly at your husbands reaction. "it was a rhetorical question." he let out a pleased hum, signalling that you can continue your meaningless questions.

"rhetorically speaking, if i were to leave you or if i would get kidnapped, what would you do?" you laid down at the couch, not looking at dottore, however admiring the flames of the fireplace.

"dear, what kind of a question is that?"

"a rhetorical one."

he was silent or pheraps silenced. the room was silent, besides the wind hitting the window and the cozy fireplace burning. there wasn't any sound of dottore writing the letter. you could feel his eyes staring at the back of your head.

after a minute or two you started to question yourself if you should apologize. you relaxed slightly as your heard zandiks laughter echoing in the room.

"you'd never do that, i'd make sure of that." he replied shortly, already ending the conversation at that. he thought that you will stop but he was entirely wrong.

"you're right i wouldn't, BUT rhetorically speaking-" you started, but got cut off yet again. you sighed hearing dottores response.

"i do not answer dumb questions."

annoyed, you opened your book yet again, searching for the page yet again as you forgot to mark it again. you knew that arguing with zandik was pointless. if he doesn't want to say something, he won't. soon enough, your eyes felt heavy. you could feel them closing by themselfs.

later that night you woke up to a sudden weight beside you. groaning, you opened your eyes slightly to see your husband sitting on the other side of the bed.

"apologies, i didn't mean to wake you up." zandik said, slipping his shoes off and coming under covers to your now awake figure. you mumbled that it's fine, half sleeping. as soon as he fully laid down you cuddled your lover.

"i was thinking about the question you asked me earlier." you hummed in response, feeling his arm move to your hair. "if anyone or anything would take you away from me i'd go crazy." he chuckled lightly

"i'd send every single fatui to look for you. search every nation, every nook. i.. i know i don't say this often nor act like it but you mean so much to me. i don't know what i'd do without you. if you were to ever go missing i'd kill anyone just to see you again. i'd do anything just to see you again. i cannot imagine my life without you."

"oh.. my sweet zandik." you sighed, looking up at your lover "i will never leave you, i promise. im sorry if i upset you, i didn't mean to.

"you lied." dottore murmured looking at your lifeless body infront of him.

it was so terrible, so terrible. your eyes deprived from any emotions looking so lifeless, your body stabbed in various places. hair devolished, blood on your clothes. it was too late he told himself.

he crouched to your body, closing your eyes gently. why? why do you look so beautiful even though that you're no longer with him. you will always be the most beautiful creature in the whole universe for him.

later, he moved you to one of the rooms in his lab. a room that only he had access to. there you were laying in one of these gorgeous transparent coffins, one candle being the only light source in the room. you looked gorgeous, as always in your wedding dress that dottore himself changed you into.

he stood there just infront of you, fingers digging into his legs surely they started bleeding by now.

"you always made my days brighter when we were still in the akademiya, days seemed to go slower than now. at first you annoyed me terribly but i could never bring myself to tell you to leave. it soon formed into something more, at first fondness, friendship then love. i-i didn't know how to feel about this so i just distanced myself from you, but i couldn't bear it much longer as everything reminded me of you. your gorgeous smile, beautiful eyes, angelic voice.. how could you leave me like this. if only you told me about thise earlier, we could find a solution together. mortality is a curse.

© 2024 iiotic. — do not steal, translate or repost any of my content onto any other platform

[bigglywiggly]

The day had finally come, you were finally going to meet the girl of your dreams, in person! Her name was Honey, she was a beauty streamer you had been watching for ages. Try-on hauls, pool streams, workout videos, all of it, you'd been here number 1 fan since day 1, donating thousands of dollars over the years to fund her lavish lifestyle, sending skimpy clothes and outfits for her to try on during her streams. To say you were smitten was an understatement. You would've done anything for even a minute with her, and luckily, that day had finally come.

One day, as you're tuning in to her stream, she posts a link on her page for "boyfriend applications." She wants to let her fans submit credentials and headshots for a chance to get more intimate with her, in a more personal way. You were astounded by this and instantly clicked the link and submitted an application. Seemed like pretty basic questions: height, weight, income, a headshot, basic things to understand the attractiveness and practicality of a person she deemed dateable. After filling it out to the best of your ability, you sent it in, a flutter and a hope in your chest. After, you tuned into the rest of the stream for the night.

The next week didn't go by quickly. Every day, you would sign in, check your inbox, emails, in hopes to see a response. As the end of the week neared, you lost all hope until you heard that melodious ding on your phone. At the top of your mailbox, you saw a new, unread email from who else, but Honey.

"Wow, you're super cute! I'd love to get to know you better, we should totally meet up!"

You almost dropped your phone, the air left your lungs and you were astounded, you punched and kicked yourself to make sure you weren't dreaming.

Nope. This was real. This was happening.

After that, time flew by to this very day. You had hopped aboard a plane, flew across the country, took an Uber to her house and were now standing on her doorstep. The reality of it all was finally hitting you. What if this was a scam? You'd heard about these fake streamers that lure unsuspecting fans out to these abandoned homes and robbed them, leaving them with nothing. This surely wasn't one of those times, right? Maybe you should text someone to let them know where you were? No, there's no way your parents would understand, and your friends would just mock you for being some sort of pathetic weirdo. You'd gotten this far, you were gonna see it through.

You walked up to the door, with a pit in your stomach, and shaking, reached up to press the doorbell.

*RING*

Silence. You sat there for a few seconds, but nobody showed. Was this all fake? You went to ring again, out of hope, when you heard footsteps from behind the door. Fairly heavy footsteps. You could almost feel it, and...were the sidelights shaking? Must've been your imagination. 3 more thuds and you heard the lock click. Then another lock. 3 locks? That seemed odd, but who knows, she's pretty famous, can't have enough security right? The door swung open, and the first thing you saw made your jaw drop.

"Hey cutie~!"

You looked up and there she was. As stunning as the day you first tuned into her stream. Face first with the most incredible curves you'd ever seen, if you weren't so entranced with her body, you may have also picked up on the sheer height of her. You weren't short by any means, you stood at a comfortable 5'11, but this woman was something else. As she filled the door frame, you were face to face with a trench of cleavage that could strangle an elephant.

"Nice to meet ya, I'm Honey! I see you've met the rest of me already! *Giggle*

You blushed, quickly snapping your head up to meet her gaze. As you locked eyes with her, it was like the whole world vanished. Pale, blue swimming pools stared straight into your soul, piercing through you.

"Umm..sorry. Yeah, hi, ma'am, I'm-"

"Oh sweetie, I know who you are! And what's with the ma'am? It's Honey!"

She playfully pushed your shoulder, slightly for her, but you felt there was some gusto as it almost made you step back.

"Well come on in! No use standing outside gabbin!"

She stepped to the side and gestured you in, you carefully stepped into the house, walking light footed as if you needed to be delicate or careful, like what you were doing was lascivious.

"Take your shoes off, make yourself comfortable!"

She spoke behind you, closing the door and doing up the 3 locks.

"I don't often get visitors here, so apologies if the place is a bit messy!"

As you walked into the house, something already felt odd. Like there was a chill in here of sorts, but you figured it was just from standing with the door open so long. You heard her thuds from behind and she walked past you, beckoning you to follow her into the main area. Following her, you started to take in your surroundings. Pictures on the wall of just Honey, all above your head though, if she lives alone it makes sense though, but to only have pictures of yourself up seemed a bit odd, no?

Stepping into the main area, you encountered another odd feeling as you took it all in. The furniture was surprisingly tall, taller than you'd seen. The couch looked like it came up to your waist. Stools at the kitchen counter were almost shoulder height to you. Had she custom ordered all this furniture? Some of it almost seemed even too tall for her?

"I see you noticed the furniture, don't worry, I'm still growing into it myself!"

Growing into it? What was that supposed to mean? Maybe just a figure of speech? You pondered this as you saw her walk over to the couch and plop down. She shot you a glance and patted the cushion next to her.

"Come sit! We should get to know each other better, this is our first time after all."

You awkwardly smiled back at her as you walked over to the couch. As you got closer to the furniture, your observations weren't unfounded, this couch was truly massive. Her sitting on it made it look like a normal sized piece of upholstery, but next to you, it made you feel like a kid again.

"Sorry, couch is a little high, I gotcha though!"

"What do you-?"

No sooner did the words come out as she put two hands under your arms and lifted you up, with ease, and plopped you down on the cushion beside her.

"Wow, you feel a lot lighter than you listed on your application! Granted, maybe this growing girl just doesn't know her own strength yet!"

Growing girl? Twice now she's referenced growing and still it made no sense. This girl was already massive and clearly approaching 30, how in the world was she growing?

"So, before we start, I wanted to thank you. I've noticed you in my streams for the last couple years. I see the donations you send and the clothes you ask me to try on. No doubt these gals have caught your eye." She shimmied her shoulders and gestured to the heaving shelf of breast hanging from her torso.

"I appreciate the clothes a lot, it's never easy covering these puppies up, believe you me. I swear, they eat up whatever I cover myself with and then some."

You blushed, she was clearly very comfortable in her skin, I mean hell, she shows herself off online for millions of people to see, why were you surprised. You kept darting glances down to her chest as she spoke. God they were huge, unrealistically so. How could something so massive come into being? Something so warm and inviting yet erotic and arousing all at the same time.

"Ahem. Did you hear anything I just said?"

"What? Sorry, I was jus-"

*Giggle*

"I'm just messing with ya! You clearly are having a little trouble paying attention, almost like somethings...caught your attention?"

She slowly rose from the couch and crawled towards you. Her heaving chest swinging from even the slightest motion as she closed the distance between you. The closer she got, the more of your vision was obscured by that inviting trench in front of you. God what you wouldn't have given to dive right in there.

"Ya know...these girls really have a mind of their own sometimes...they get hungry, and when that happens, there isn't much I can do to calm em down. They just keep growing, year after year, bigger and bigger as time passes."

Inches from your face now, you can smell the sweat from her skin as her cleavage floods your vision. Swinging, back and forth, pendulously in your face, they're all you can see.

"Would you like to...see them get even bigger?"

Oh god. You're on the brink, you feel your faculties leaving you, almost as if you're regressing to a more animalistic state. You need to touch them, feel them, taste them, you need to be between them now. In an instant you throw up your hands on either side and dive face first into that canyon.

*Giggle* "You're not one to mince words, are ya? Just going headfirst, well don't let me stop ya, explore to your heart's content."

You mash your face in between them, pressing down on either side, burying your face more and more. The more you explore these mighty breasts of hers, the more you seem to lose yourself, the less the world around you seems to matter. Squeezing, smushing, licking, this has become your world now.

"There's a good boy, you really know how to make a girl feel good..."

Her voice invades your mind and almost snaps you out of your trance, you start to notice little changes. When were you on her lap? Was she always caressing your back? Wow, these breasts truly are enormous, it's incredible how your hands just...sink into them like pudding. It's almost like...the longer you caress and squeeze, the bigger they get...

As these thoughts flood in, you notice that you're struggling to breathe a little. You haven't come up for air in a while. You try to pry the breasts back a little bit to let yourself some air but...they won't budge? In fact, they feel so heavy, you're hardly even squishing into them anymore. You place your hands on the front of her breasts and start pulling back, trying to pry your head free, until you finally released yourself with an audible *POP* and tumble backwards.

The world all slowly comes back into view, your surroundings start to become more clear, but something's off now. You start to pull yourself up to stand, but feel the couch beneath your feet? Your senses start to come back rapidly as you see you're standing on the couch, but the back of the couch is towering over you. You gulp, shocked and start to panic.

"What the hell is going on?!"

"Shhh, sweetie, relax."

You hear her low, sultry voice as you look back on her and almost fall back by what you see. There she is, on the far side of the couch, vastly looming over you. From your vantage point, she must be at least 35ft tall.

"What's going on?! What did you do to me?!"

"Aww, baby, can't you tell yet?"

She reaches out to you, you quiver as you see her gigantic hand approaching you, each finger bigger than a summer sausage. You try to push her hand away, but to no avail, she's far, far stronger than you. She wraps her fingers around your torso, lifts you up and carries you over to her face.

"Sweet pee, I wish you could see how cute you are right now. You're like a little bitty toy. You've done so much for me already, I wanted to thank you. You've really made an excellent donation."

"Donation?? What do you mean? Why am I so small? Change me back!!"

"Oh hon, I wish I could but your size is going to somewhere much greater. Just watch."

You see her bite her lip as the changes slowly take effect. You hear a subtle groaning as you witness her transform before your very eyes. You first notice the fingers holding you in place start to thicken, covering more and more of your torso. Then you see her thighs slowly plumpen, growing thicker and lusher. Then you notice the biggest part: her chest. Each breast begins to balloon, almost as if inflating, growing outwards and upwards, you can hear her bra beginning to creak and snap under her newfound weight. Her tank top straps strain and spaghetti before snapping and falling limply down her torso.

By the time it's all done, you see her take a deep breath as the tatters of her old outfit start to slip away.

"Wow, that was the best one yet! I just knew you'd be my biggest supporter. Apologies for these old rags though" as she gestures to her clothes, "allow me to slip into something more...fitting."

In a flash, you see the clothes on her body begin to morph, a black tank slowly forms from her old rags and lines up to hoist up her immensely enhanced bust. The straps, incredibly thin, squish down into her soft, pliable flesh.

"There, that looks better on me, dontcha think?"

"What the hell is going on?? How are you doing this? Why are you doing this?!"

She lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Hon, how do you think I got like this in the first place? How do you think I got this incredible body that lead to all these followers and all this fame? Donations of course! The sweet, perverted masses like yourself that so kindly add to, well, these masses!" She says as she honks her left breast, it's girth pouring out between her fingers.

"But, why? You don't even know me! I loved you and your content, I was happy to make those donations if they made you happy!"

"Hon, you and I both know why you made donations to begin with. You haven't been able to look at anything else since you got here, that's why you came here in the first place. You don't care about me as a person, you care about this body. Well, now you've made a contribution to the maintaining and improving of this body! You're almost there!"

You feel a sinking feeling in your chest as you swallow deeply.

"Almost?"

She flashes you a devious grin.

"Of course, hon." She speaks in a deep, sultry tone. "There's still so much of you left."

Your eyes open wide as you start kicking and flailing in her grasp, doing anything you can to get away from this monster, but to no avail.

She lets out a low, echoing chuckle, "You'll have to try harder than that, hon! I can hardly feel your weight, let alone your struggles! And as much as I LOVE watching your little flailings, Mama's got a stream to do tonight, so."

And with that, she slowly brings you closer to her chest, dangling you above the gully that is her cleavage, and flashes you one last smile.

"Thanks for the donation, hon!"

With that, she stuffs you down between her breasts, deep, deep down, almost as if into the core of some desolate planet. As she reaches the centre, she releases her grip on you and retracts her hand. What little light you see from above vanishes as her hand leaves your prison and the crushing weight of her bust surrounds you. You try to move, try to kick, punch, scream, bite, anything, to no avail. You feel a vibration echo around you, clearly she's laughing at your struggles. The pounding of her heart starts to fill your ears, it's low, resonating rumble almost calming you as you miserably accept your fate. You close your eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

-Hours later-

You slowly awaken, hot and sweaty, a dry scratchy feeling in your throat, no doubt from your screaming. You're not sure where you are though, your eyes are hazy and struggling to adjust to the darkness, but you see a small sliver of a silvery haze far, far, far above you. Moonlight? You reach out for it, only to feel a warm, moist mass beside you. What is this? It almost feels like-

Your heart starts racing. You start to panic and snap your head around to acquaint yourself with your surroundings, until you hear a loud, roaring rumble echo around you. A snore. You find yourself plastered to the side of her breast, deep within her bosom, the sliver of light a small amount of moonlight peaking into her cleavage. You try to yell out, but you're still hoarse. You can hardly move your limbs as you try to scratch her breast. You feel a sudden movement as you think you've gotten her attention. Your hopes are instantly crushed as the light vanishes and you start to feel the weight of her other tit come crushing down on you. Your incredibly mild annoyance only caused her to roll over in her sleep, crushing you further down as the goddess around you rests. All that's left to hear is the subtle beat of her heart all around you.

You close your eyes and let out a single tear as you accept your fate, the irony of the situation finally settling in.

You always wanted to contribute to those beautiful breasts, and now, you finally have.

[eddiediaaz]

hi guys, i am kind of ashamed and embarrassed to have to do this, but i figured it can't hurt to ask. basically i am really struggling right now (i know a lot of us are). i need financial help, so i set up a ko-fi page ☕

any kind of help would be so appreciated and i am so grateful for anyone taking the time to read this little post.

long story short: because of situations completely out of my control, i lost my job in vfx after almost 8 years and i am now forced to switch careers. i'm going back to school and can't find a part time job even tho i have been working non stop for 15 years. financial aid will only cover my rent, so i absolutely need to work 20 to 30 hours a week to cover the rest of my living expenses, but it's really hard to find a job. i am also currently over 10k cad in debt from my film school loans and credit cards.

signal boost would be appreciated, if you can 💕

my situation in more details under the cut for those who are curious

i was working in the vfx industry as a 2D compositor since 2016 (i have worked on over 40 films and tv shows), but in december of 2023 i lost my job due to the hollywood strikes (as expected, and as it should—i fully support the strikes). this was supposed to be temporary for a couple months where i could get unemployment benefits (only 45% of my usual salary though). unfortunately, on may 31st 2024, my government announced that they are significantly cutting the funding & tax credits for the vfx industry where i live. what does this mean? mass lay offs. thousands of canadians and other people in the world working in the industry are losing their career, including me. there will only be about 20% vfx jobs left where i live by 2025. vfx shops and production houses have already started to close doors here. i'm still mourning this career i have been working in for 8 years and loved, even tho it's been difficult and demanding at times (lots of overtime), but there are just no jobs right now (unless you are a senior vfx artist with decades of experience) and the future will only get more bleak. i could move abroad and follow the industry that is already moving somewhere else, but i don't want to do that on my own (i am already super lonely as it is!!) and i can't afford it.

my unemployment benefits will run out by the last week of september. in 4 weeks. i've been sending resumes everywhere, both online and in person, but i am just not getting anything in return. even tho i have over 15 years of experience working in various jobs and i have never been fired from anywhere. even tho my resume and cover letters are solid because they have been approved my professional counselors (a free service for people under 35 where i live). so much for they're hiring everywhere...

since my vfx compositing skills are very niche and not really applicable to much else, i decided to go back to school, taking college classes in the admin and excecutive assistant fields, since it's something that i think would be good for me and there are lots of jobs for that here. i will be getting some financial aid, but it's nowhere near enough to survive. it will only cover my rent, and that's because my rent is super cheap for my city. my college classes start on september 30 and i am excited for it, but also very stressed because i still don't have a part time job.

i've been living on my own with a small salary for over 10 years now, but it truly is the first time that i'm struggling this hard. i honestly don't have anything worth selling except some taylor swift perfumes, which i sold this week. i also have over 6k of credit debt and another 4.5k of school loans left to pay. at the bare minimum i will need about $1.000 CAD/month to cover my other bills and expenses after rent, hence why the need for a job ASAP. i am desperate and my mental health has been a huge mess. this is why i decided to open my ko-fi accounts. not that i'm expecting much, but anything can help, i think.

i don't have much to offer in exchange, except gifs? i'm wondering if (cheap, low price) gif commissions are a thing? i have no idea know, but i set up a poll on my ko-fi page to see if anyone would be interested.

thank you for reading if you've made it here, it's appreciated 💖

[maximwtf]

“Should have known better.”

Kinich x Reader

Words: 2500

Google Docs Pages: 4.1

Warnings: Kinich character story spoilers, angst/hurt w comfort/good ending, saurian death?, platonic relationship

Opening: Kinich is not one for strong reactions, even when dealing with bigger issues. But does his composure falter when a pressure point from the past is pressed?

AN// G/N Reader. Tell me why I completely missed out on Kinich lore even after getting him the first day the banner came out :”D ANYWAY now that I’m in the loop, this just had to be done. Likely not going to write for him again, just felt like doing this one. Hehe, anyway I’ll now disappear to work on another Capitano fic ;; (Was excited about that so I'm sorry if the ending of this is ooc and/or rushed)

“Should have known better.”

Tagging along with Kinich while he was on the job wasn’t something you were used to doing often. But on the other hand, you knew he didn’t mind having you there. Company apart from Ajaw seemed to be something he craved every now and then, not that you blamed him for that. Plus, you never asked for any portion of the funds he was going to get for the commissions even after helping him complete it. Simply enjoying the time spent with him, which had been hard for him to understand in the beginning. Why would someone work on a commission for free, only taking his company as payment? But by now, he seemed to not mind whenever you tagged along. 

And it wasn’t like you were completely useless either. A rather seasoned warrior and a fighter as you were, allowed him to get through commissions faster which wasn’t something he’d turn down especially if it was for free. 

The area this time wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before. Some high cliffs that surely would have frightened the less seasoned, but by this point standing on the edge of one didn’t stir those feelings within anymore. Not even while in the heat of battle, like now. 

Your eyes followed Kinich, hooked onto a saurian after having just gotten rid of one. The pack was rather large this time, having caused so much trouble for the people near the cliffs that they’d asked for help from Kinich. 

Your attention was brought back to the situation at hand soon after. Dodging the saurian’s hook, taking a little more speed into your steps before raising your weapon against it. Eyes keen to follow each step of the creature, making sure the hit would land. But while your attention was occupied, Kinich noticed another one  behind you. An easy target, really. It hadn’t even targeted you yet, so getting it to fall off of the cliff would have been easier than having to spend time on fighting it. Kinich loaded his shot, aiming with practised ease and watching to make sure it hit the creature. Though, as soon as it did the saurian managed to hook itself onto your ankle before the explosion ultimately made it lose its balance. Slipping off of the cliff and into the ravine. Affectively throwing you off of your feet with the heavy pull, quickly starting to drag your form along with it down the steep drop. 

There wasn’t any vegetation to take a hold of, grassy ground with dried bushes and a few flowers. Your hands grasped the ground, digging up dirt along the way. Attempting to kick the hook off of your ankle, but it held on tight. Especially when the saurian was basically dead weight in the ravine. Hanging off of you, making its hold ever stronger.

Your eyes quickly moved to Kinich, aware how little there was you could do anymore. A moment flashing by as pure desperate panic flooded your eyes, no words coming out in the moment. Focused solely on trying to get your body back up as it was actively being dragged into what seemed like the end. But your companion appeared frozen. 

Kinich had but a few moments to react, if even that. Having noticed the hook attached itself and soon after you were already hanging on the edge. Grasping at anything nearby to hold on. But even that feeble moment had been enough to make his mind run a course into a dark pit of memories. 

The young yet such a tough boy who’d been chased out by his father. And by a mere mistake, had watched his by then fragile father stumble. Taking a step back a little too close to the edge of the cliff, and with a heavy thud land on the bottom. 

How his body had frozen just as it had on this day. How his whole body had felt the tremble going through it, something he’d never felt before. A warm pressure at the back of his eyes as his body began to move towards the edge. How he’d seen what remained at the bottom of what seemed like an endless drop, having pulled himself back straight after. Chest tightening by the minute. The young yet such a tough man from then on clutching his small hands into fists. Fighting the tears back down, gritting his teeth as his mind raced. The situation was more of a mess than anything he’d seen before. Yet by some miracle he was able to numb his mind enough to push himself back onto his feet and find a grapple hook to bring his father to proper rest. 

But all that was then. Something he thought he wouldn’t have to ever think about again. Yet the lump in his throat as he approached the edge of the cliff proved him otherwise. But what was he so frightened of? And just then, he heard a thud. Something that echoed for but a mere moment. But a sound that felt like something in him had shattered. No rational thought of ‘I haven’t even seen what happened yet’ was able to ease his mind.  Yet his body felt almost as if it was moving on its own. It had been from the moment he’d watched your fingers slip off the edge. Hurrying there to see what could be salvaged. 

Even if his mind had seemingly decided the fate of the situation, his body hadn’t. He wouldn’t allow something like this to happen again. This was not a way to go, for anyone. Least of all you. 

You felt the ground under your hands slip, the last bit of the cliff giving in under the weight. Falling alongside you and the saurian. The speed of the fall was so frightening you could have sworn your heart stopped beating for a minute, before even the thought of doing your all to survive came to mind. 

The walls of the ravine in certain parts were tight enough for roots to connect from one side to another. Not all of them would support the weight of a human, but a few of the older ones were thick enough to be worthy enough to give it a try. To try and wedge yourself between a pair of them. 

And by a miracle, the Night Kingdom wasn’t going to have you on this day. Not now, at the very least. You’d managed to grip a pair of the roots. Gravel, dirt and smaller rocks trickling down the sides of the ravine at the sudden pull on the old roots. For a moment fearing they would give out like the edge of the cliff had. 

You held your breath, eyes widened. As if even the most subtle movement would restart the fall. Even the saurian had mostly stopped thrashing around, almost like even it understood the gravity of the situation. And if it did, that was a problem. The roots weren’t going to hold up the weight of you and the saurian. It had to go for a chance to get back up to even be possible. 

As soon as the air stilled, confirmed the roots were going to allow you a chance. To watch you fight for your life while hanging off of them by your arms. You started kicking the saurian, wiggling and moving the ankle it was attached to. The hook’s hold had slipped earlier when you’d lodged yourself between the roots, so it was no surprise that the already frightened saurian couldn’t hold on for longer. Its hold slipping, keeping you on the edge up until you heard the loud thud that echoed at the very bottom of the ravine. 

The air was so still, only the sound of your heavy breathing and soft trickle of the gravel that fell from the walls of the ravine. Following the fate of the saurian. Leaving you hanging before even thinking of trying to find a more stable spot between the roots. Kinich being still up on the cliff having slipped your mind completely. Focusing all your energy and instinct on finding the most suitable spot to get on before even attempting to come up with a plan to get back up. 

Kinich so desperately wanted to hesitate, not look down the ravine. Not after the thud that had echoed from the bottom of it. The sound that had stirred those memories to resurface, powerful enough to make him wonder if he even wanted to check and confirm the source of the sound. 

But then again, Kinich couldn't just leave and assume what had happened. Peeking over the edge, keen eyes scanning the bottom of the ravine. Only being able to spot the saurian, unmoving at the bottom. His brows furrowed, eyes moving across the walls of the ravine in confusion. A silent breath escaping him after spotting your form lodged between the roots, having heard the rustle of the dirt falling down from around the roots. Not even giving himself time to be relieved before his mind started ticking. Trying to figure out a way to fish you back up. 

“Hold on, I’ll reel you back up.” He called out, voice stoic as ever. And if you hadn’t been in such an attention requiring situation, you could have heard the slight waver in his voice. 

You peered up, merely seeing the man’s shadow before he disappeared off of the cliff edge. Way to leave someone hanging, you thought. A slight snarl appearing on your face before at last making it close enough to the wall of the ravine to calm down for a moment.

Soon a few rocks fell from the top, catching your attention. A grappling hook slowly lowered itself to your level before Kinich appeared at the top. “Wrap it around yourself.” He instructed, the same tone of voice still there. Doing his all to hold it together. Panicking now would only lead to worse losses, and that wasn’t a price he was willing to pay. 

Though, he would have been a fool to not admit the way he was feeling. Having noticed how his hands had shook while fetching the hook. How his breath had hitched at the thud, how tense he felt even now. 

The tug at the end of the rope caught his attention, peering back down to make sure you were securely attached to the grappling hook. 

Trying your best to help him, you used the wall closest to you. Placing the tip of your boot to each crevice you could spot, making the weight a little lighter for him. 

Soon a heavy breath escaped your lips when the familiar grass appeared back into view, crawling back on the top of the cliff. Kinich taking a hold of you, easily lifting your form back up. Dragging you rather far from the edge without even noticing before he let go. 

You allowed yourself to lay on your back, breathing heavily as the seriousness of the situation slowly started to sink in. Staring at the sky, following the few clouds that travelled across in that time. Turning to look at Kinich, watching as he hadn’t allowed himself to sit down. Leaned against his knees, hair hiding most of his face as he stared at the grass. Breaths heavy. A relieved yet tense silence between the two of you. 

Observing him a little longer, it wasn’t hard to tell that he’d clearly been shaken up by the events. And maybe it hadn’t hit you just as hard yet, but you felt almost worse for him than yourself. It wasn’t often that you nor anyone else saw him like this. 

With a silent groan you sat back up, thinking for a moment before deciding to speak up. “You couldn’t have known it would attach itself to me…It’s okay.” Knowing he wasn’t going to let this slip with you merely telling him that it wasn’t his fault, yet still trying. He wasn't the kind of person to not blame himself when he’d been involved in something like this. “No, I should have known. Waited for you to get out of its range. I knew better than that.” Kinich replied, voice surprisingly calm as he stood back up. Completely dismissing your earlier forgiveness. 

You couldn’t get a word in after, not that there was much you could say. He wouldn’t believe you if you kept telling him that he was not at fault here. Merely watching as he kneeled in front of you, eyes scanning your form before doing a more thorough check up for injuries. Lifting each of your limbs, moving them to make sure that nothing was out of place. Mumbling something about the adrenaline wearing off soon and having to check up on you after that again. Gaining him a slight eye roll from you. 

The chuckle you let out couldn’t hide the nervousness still deep in your system, still feeling the need to make him understand. To make him listen, it wasn’t his fault. That there was no reason to think of how it had happened, but to move on and be glad you’d both made it out in one piece. 

You took a hold of his hand, stopping it from wandering around your form. Obsessively checking that everything was okay. Giving him a look before pulling the man down to sit and calm down. Feeling his hand still tremble, clear that he was still on edge about this.

You may have not known everything of his past, and you didn’t have to. No matter what he may have encountered before you’d even met him didn’t matter now. He was allowed to be shocked and panicked, but what you firmly believed he shouldn’t do was to force himself to be so uptight. To make himself move on so quickly. Especially when that didn’t seem to be an unconscious choice, it was one he forced himself to make. 

“Hey, we’re both alive and well…mostly in one piece. Calm down, eh?” You tried to smile at him. Watching as his eyes stared into yours, careful as he eased out and more willingly sat down. A breath escaping him, giving in. If just a little. 

You placed his hand against your chest, breathing calmly. In a way an attempt to calm yourself at the same time, maybe tricking your brain by doing this for him. Watching as wind so high up in the cliffs blew against the both of you, sitting there in silence. Waiting until the initial shock wore off. 

And likely would have waited for longer. If it hadn’t been for the subtle grunt that escaped you when letting go of his hand. Likely having sprained something in your shoulder due to the fall. But it was enough to bring Kinich back on track, quick in his actions as he tugged you back onto your feet. Mumbling something about not wasting any more time and having to go find a medic. Gaining him another eye roll.

[kurishiri]

03 ┊ A match of life and death, the art of self-protection

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— jude⌛'s past records, record #3. i'm so, so sorry for taking so long on this ,, orz

— cw: brief mention of human trafficking in the end.

Jude: I’ll give ya more in return. So give that medicine to me.

Going so low as to threaten him with a shattered bottle, it resembled what had been done to us by our father and brother.

God knows how long we glared at each other.

But the one who opened his mouth first was the doctor.

Oswald: ...Listen up, lad. An investment is lending out funds with the expectation of future gains.

O: Only an ignorant and selfish child would think he could receive funds just like that.

(...!)

(Hate to admit it, but this damn doctor’s got a point.)

I could shout and yell out all until I gave out, but in the end I was only saying bratty, spoiled nonsense.

Unable to say anything back, the doctor handed me a thick medical book.

Jude: What’s this for?

Oswald: By the time I come around next time, have this entire book memorized.

O: If you can demonstrate your abilities, I promise I will administer the medicine.

The book he gave me was so thick, it could probably kill a person if they got hit with it.

And the doctor came around here once a week.

——All that to say.

(He’s thinks I don’t got it in me from the start so he’s givin’ me this tall order.)

Jude: Ha, bloody hell... all of ya lookin’ down on me, aren’t’cha.

(But it’s this or nothin’ for us.)

(I’ll weave from a single straw if I hafta.)

To get more out of this than if I were to steal and sell it for a likely-high price,

I was grateful to my mother, who had taught me how to read.

Jude: Couldn’t ask for nothin’ more. I’m in.

——is what I said, but memorizing everything was far from an easy feat.

Jude: Ether has been used as a narcotic in treatments...

J: Tch, there’s way too many fancy words in ‘ere.

I felt like my heart was going to get crushed countless times.

But, if that happened, that would really be the end for us.

I absorbed myself to the point I neglected sleeping and eating——

And then, one week later, I memorized everything.

The damn doctor would point to a page, and when I recited its contents, he let out a satisfied laugh.

Oswald: Haha, to think you really went and memorized everything. That was quite a feat even for myself.

Jude: The hell? Weren’t ya the one who told me to memorize this entire thing?

Oswald: Indeed. It’s my defeat.

O: As promised, I will treat you guys.

Jude: As ya should, ya git.

Jude’s little sister: ...Hey, mister doctor.

Oswald: Hm? What is it, kiddo?

Jude’s little sister: Will... will ya really fulfill your promise?

Jude’s little sister: ‘Cause even if my brother makes a promise, all the adults go ‘round breakin’ ‘em.

Jude: ......... (O_O)

Oswald: I could say anything with this mouth, so I was intending to show it with my actions...

O: But I will not break the promise. ——And that is absolute.

And so, the damn doctor, as promised, periodically administered the medicine to us.

My sister and I then slowly recovered.

While under the treatment, the damn doctor didn’t utter a word. Nor did he show us any pity.

He simply treated us as another human being, on equal footing——and while I hated to admit it, that made me happy.

So that may have been why my mouth ended up slipping.

Jude: They would’ve wanted us dead. Which was why I did everythin’ I could not to.

Dammit, I had thought then——but the damn doctor responded with a dispassionate voice, all the while continuing the treatment.

Oswald: If you died because others had wished for you to die, that would be the most uninteresting thing.

O: So, if that’s the case, why not live a stubborn life? That is the ultimate revenge.

In an act of amusement, he would tell me about lots of things.

And I would come to absorb more and more of that knowledge.

But, such a peaceful time would end and fade away in an instant.

Jude: The hell? ...Ya sold her?

to be continued…

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masterlist🌙 ┊ ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

[maid-of-the-golden-deer]

assorted ideas for what that might make the farming/village sim half of azuma work better (as it stands its an enjoyable rpg and dating sim that forces you to do some wonky management to progress):

-change the store hours. rn they open at the exact same you do and close well after you likely went to sleep unless you were pushing the time limit in a dungeon. have the seasonal villages work like a clock: spring stores open and close the earliest, autumn open and close the latest, summer and winter in between. that will give you more motivation to village hop besides character visits

-make. cooking. take. time. if crafting now only costs money instead of rp, i think it should also take up time. giving someone a gift shouldnt take more time than making bread. have different villages let you cook different food, and cooking together can only be done with a villages resident. related, izakayas and teahouses should have a different list of foods you can make. and you should only be able to make quick meals/snacks at the cooking stations around the world

-have village funds and your funds be seperate; they let you sell things at stores for immediate money, so have that be your spending change (for gears, upgrades, cooking, etc) and your shipping box should go to village expenses (feeding villagers, what money you can spend on buildings/decorations). that way you have to weigh what goes into the shipping box and you cant access until tomorrow vs what you can have right at that moment

-tidy up the inventory management. as it stands i only ever filled my inventory up if i deliberately didnt stop at one of the billion places to unload. take a page from mainline RF, have it start small and get big, and make your home storage work the same (that was WAAAY too big, i put almost 90 hours into my first file and it was barely half full). make it matter, not just be busywork you have to do

-an obvious one ive seen a lot of complaints regarding: for the love of mokoshiro habaki, let us dictate what the villagers plant. i understand that they want you to oversee them, but if so much can be automated, make it more about the actual management rather than micromanaging the fields. maybe itd be too complex for some people, but id like to be able to pick who waters, who plants, who harvests too. right now my only thought it "those jerks better not have planted a crop that grows badly here or so help me-"

the tldr is make more things on the farming side actually matter; the whole time it felt like they were trying to sand away anything that might cause tension for the new audience who would just prefer a jrpg over a rune factory game. there was rarely any friction between me and the game in a bad way

i enjoyed myself a fair bit (im nearly at 100 hours already), so id hardly say its a bad game, but it felt VERY lopsided towards the action + social side of things, with the farming + management kind of tacked on

[thecraftydragonc]

Hello everyone, I am opening up donation commissions! Specifically for these donation drawings the cause I want to focus on is the ongoing genocide and humanitarian crisis in Palestine. It is more important than ever to donate to help Palestinians as Israel's attacks only get worse by the hour. It may be easy to feel disconnected from something happening on the other side of the world, or that there’s nothing you can do to help. However, even just a small act of kindness can change someone's life. I know this small donation campaign won’t single handedly change the world, but I am hoping it can be that small act of kindness that someone needs right now. 

So, how will this Donations for Drawings campaign work? It’s pretty simple, you donate to a cause that helps Palestinians and I will draw something for you! The more you donate, the better the drawing will be, but no donation is too small! This campaign will run for 2 weeks from 5/29 to 11:59pm PST on 6/12. Additionally the campaign won’t end until we reach the goal of at least $100 in donations (but we can go over the $100 goal in the 2 week timeline). I am accepting donations to family fundraisers, eSims, and donations to organizations/charities, however escape funds and eSims are a priority right now. If you need help figuring out where to donate, here are some options. This isn’t every fundraiser out there but it’s a good place to start.

Family Fundraisers (These are all vetted fundraisers): Gaza Funds (If you’re having trouble deciding on a family to donate to this site will automatically suggest a fundraiser when you open it) Operation Olive Branch Help Gaza Gaza Evacuation Relief Fund fundsforgaza | Instagram | Linktree

eSims: https://gazaesims.com/

Organizations/Charities: PCRF CareForGaza Supporting Displaced Families in Gaza https://piousprojects.org/campaign/2680 State of Palestine | World Food Programme Doctors Without Borders The National Emergency Appeal: Medical Aid for Palestinians Crips for eSims for Gaza | Chuffed | Non-profit charity and social enterprise fundraising (if you can’t donate an eSim yourself you can donate here)

Once you donate you need to send proof of your donation to me. This can be done through a direct message or this google form https://forms.gle/bUzTb4bgCefc3Wec8. Proof of donation should include a timestamp, what type of donation you made, and how much you donated. Please remove or blackout any personal identification or banking information. Also, specifically for eSim donations you must also show that you forwarded the eSim to gazaesims@gmail.com. I am only accepting donations made during 5/29 or later.

For the drawings themselves, I am up for drawing anything (though I’m best at drawing dragons), Oc’s or Canon characters, just nothing that is NSFW, gore, or has hateful imagery. In your message please include a link to the character's profile (like a toyhouse page or wiki for canon characters) and/or include a reference image. The more you donate the better the drawing will be! Images of Palestinian solidarity can also be included in the drawing for free if you’d like, just specify that in your message. Additionally, these drawings will likely be posted to promote this donation campaign as well as donating to Palestinian causes in general. I can either tag you in these uploads or you can remain anonymous if you wish. 

Thank you for reading all of the info for the donation commission! If you have any questions feel free to ask.

Additionally, if you want to help Palestinians but unfortunately can’t donate, there are still so many ways you can help! You can participate in boycotts https://bdsmovement.net/get-involved/what-to-boycott, do your daily click https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/, call and email your representatives to demand a ceasefire, and keep yourself educated by listening to Palestinian voices and learning from resources like https://decolonizepalestine.com/.

[tozettastone]

With the usual disclaimers that this is a draft, may be subject to change, etc. etc., I have come to show you the first part of the draft of my OC×Itachi Covenant Fic (paging @mixelation and @waffliesinyoface, my covenant buddies). This is also to prove I am definitely writing it, 100%, promise, LOL.

I think for me right now, this opening sets up all the things I want it to, but it's pretty slow and it introduces three (3) OCs, when the preferred number is probably one (1). That's kind of a product of its setting, but maybe that means I should have picked a different one. Well, we'll see how I go.

---

It was almost impossible to buy close-toed boots in the elemental nations.

Fuyumi had tried. For years, Fuyumi had tried. Suppliers who produced them — mostly those in the frigid mountains up near Lightning, go figure — did not make them in her size. Everywhere else, they were a custom product, and requests were met with furrowed brows and eye-watering prices.

Fuduka Fuyumi, an unaffiliated ninja doggedly avoiding her own debtors, certainly could not afford to have warm, dry toes. This was why her toes squelched when she stepped out of the river that morning.

There absolutely existed ninja in this world whose chakra control was good enough to jog five miles down a swift-flowing river and simply avoid wet toes altogether. Some of those ninja even stopped in Uteki village, actually, since they were so close to Ame, where the worst-hidden secret society of ninja criminals on the planet made their base. Fuyumi was not among their august number, though. She had her own tricks and talents — she could drink grown men under the table and crush watermelons with only the undiluted power of her thighs. Fine chakra control? Not so much.

The dock was a floating wooden platform that bobbed along with the current of the river. The boats that arrived there were mostly long river barges, and the waterway was narrow enough that some of them were even drawn by horses or oxen pulling along the far bank. The bleached and battered wood creaked under the feet of the labourers, rough-looking men whose jobs consisted in the logistics of all this industry, taking from boats onto carts into warehouses and into, presumably, other carts.

In this part of town, the warehouses huddled like stout ugly sentinels over the river, surrounded by detritus of crates and ropes and rusted horseshoes and canvas. Further in was the market square, which was a bloody grand name for a place where they generally sold sweet fuck all.

Despite her squelching footsteps, nobody even glanced twice at Fuyumi when she returned. The tiny Fuduka family was well known in the village. It was her home now.

While she'd been living there, Fuyumi had never once thought she'd come to miss the dubious luxuries of her old home town. She'd grown up on a hard-packed red-dirt road between an electrical supply store and a farm equipment supplier. She'd had dial-up internet well into the 2010s, and the places to be seen were the mobile monthly disco and the shopping centre car park. But the elemental nations, in aggregate, had really made her count all the blessings to which she no longer had access. You know: a variety of beautiful out-of-season foods, healthcare that wasn't based on vibes alone, taxpayer-funded disability and aged pensions, a twelve-year educational curriculum… and fucking shoes. With covered toes.

Fuyumi even missed XXXX, which was, frankly, saying something. She had yet to find a single lager in the elemental nations.

She squelched a little more on her way to the market, waving to the few people who lifted their hands at her in passing, most of whom she recognised vaguely from long nights spent in the bar. In her experience, docks always had the better bars. Anywhere the wharfies were, you could guarantee no wine sat open long enough to sour.

Although heading immediately to a bar at noon on a Wednesday was not totally unknown for Fuyumi, she did have responsibilities, and today these took her down towards the market instead.

The warehouses were quickly exchanged for symptoms of consumer commerce: faded striped awnings and peeling wooden signs arranged loosely down a tiny street of semi-permanent storefronts, manned by farmers' wives and the odd travelling merchant. The very moment she stepped out of the shadow of the teahouse on the corner, a creaky voice called out:

"Oh, Fuyumi-san! Could I trouble you to help me with this?"

'This,' was three hefty crates packed tightly with bottles and straw, and 'me' turned out to be an ageing woman Fuyumi recognised only vaguely. She might've been one of her grandmother's friends. (Akane, despite her entire personality, had many friends.)

"Sure," said Fuyumi, because her next destination was her mother's house, and there was pretty much no task Fuyumi would disdain in pursuit of procrastinating against that eventuality. She unloaded the clinking bottles under the twin glowers of the midday sun and of the lady, who turned out to be called Aya. It wasn't ringing a bell? But Fuyumi didn't really mind moving heavy stuff for old ladies even if she didn't know them. If Fuyumi was ever old — which experience said was… uh, not likely — she'd want local ninja to unload crates for her. Right?

The bottles turned out to be full of oil, so they were light, but there were a lot of them and their shapes made them awkward to handle. While she was drifting between the crates and the shady insides of Auntie Aya's little wooden store, Fuyumi learned that the crates were outside on the street because that was where Aya's son had delivered them, instead of putting them inside the shop where they could be locked away from harm.

"He's useless, you know," Auntie Aya said, watching Fuyumi's progress from her three-legged stool. "You mustn't marry him. Although I suppose you'd be useful enough for two. You ninja have to have so many skills, it's a tough job for a woman…"

She went on in this vein for some time, and Fuyumi mostly let it wash over her.

Before she let her go, Aya said, "Those ninja men in the black coats have been around again," which really just went to show why you should always help lonely old ladies when they asked.

"Huh. Good to know. Are they… bothering you?" Fuyumi wondered. She didn't know what the hell she was going to do about it if they were. She was a ninja, but she wasn't, like, the kind of ninja you asked for when Uchiha Obito was causing a nuisance and you wanted someone to stop him, you know? She licked her teeth. She could help with an expeditious evacuation, in a pinch.

"Oh, no, they never bother us here." Thank fuck for that. "But I thought a kunoichi should be careful."

Fuyumi cracked her neck and rubbed her nose. "That's good advice, Auntie," she agreed.

She left the store, richer by a single bottle of oil Auntie Aya pressed upon her, and went about her business, which today consisted in collecting groceries for her mother — the inimitable and moody Fukuda Setsuko. She kept an eye out for a flash of red clouds and black swishy fabric while she did it, though.

Once upon a time, back in, like, 2007, the person currently known as Fuyumi had read a shitty scanlation of the Naruto manga. She'd done this via a screebly dial-up connection, hunched over a glowing CRT monitor while the fan clicked lazily (and futilely) overhead. Later, she'd caught… most of the Shippuden anime, probably, on her laptop, and managed to figure out the rest via social media osmosis in between her university classes.

Back then, she hadn't been an Akatsuki fan. Even the most fleshed out of the characters had seemed to have confused (and confusing) motives, and some of them were completely incomprehensible. Now, living as she did in Uteki, she'd actually spotted several of those men in the wild, and she… still wasn't an Akatsuki fan? They were extremely impressive ninja, sure, but the elemental nations were full of extremely impressive ninja, and not all of them were sixteen personality disorders in a flappy coat.

Fuyumi had even spotted the much-beloved figure of Uchiha Itachi once, from a distance, and her thoughts on that fan favourite were: wow, there's really no accounting for taste, huh? She didn't get the appeal. He was a pale guy with a resting bitchface that could kill someone from fifty paces, and he walked around swaddled in a coat too big for him, looking exhausted.

Personally, Fuyumi's favourite character had been Tsunade, because she was an absolute fucking legend who could break walls with her pinkie and Fuyumi badly wanted to get a drink with her one day. This was lucky, because she was so famous a figure in the elemental nations that, if asked, Fuyumi could still say, 'Well, I really admire Senju Tsunade,' and even random guys in bars just grunted and nodded their heads sagely.

So… Suck on that, Itachi girls.

Despite her drifting thoughts, knowing that there were Akatsuki members in Uteki did make Fuyumi move more purposefully and quickly. As a born unaffiliated ninja, she had no bounty, so there was no reason they'd be interested in her — but she had no interest in courting a surprise introduction to, like, Hidan or something. Christ. That would suck.

Setsuko lived six miles out of town, which would have been an absurd walking distance to Fuyumi in a previous life. For a ninja, blessed with a chakra-fortified body and training that commenced in early childhood and never really ceased, it was forty-five minutes, while carrying the groceries, taken at her laziest jog. Fuyumi would have preferred internet access and childhood immunisations, sure, but since she was stuck here, chakra and absurd physical fitness were pretty cool consolation prizes.

"Did you roll in mud before visiting me?" sighed Setsuko when she saw her daughter. Thirty-nine, five foot nothing, and pale, Setsuko had a perfect round face and the deceptively delicate look cultivated by true, old-fashioned kunoichi. She was pretty, poisonous, and not nearly as fragile as she habitually pretended. Today there were hydrangeas decorating her hair, a splash of purple against its midnight darkness. In spring, it had been fruit blossoms.

"I think you get bigger every time I see you," she said, tapping her lower lip as Fuyumi ducked into the shade of the house and kicked off her sandals. They were dry after the trip here, at least.

"I've been going like a cut cat all morning, so, no, I didn't shower. They had dogs," she explained, eyeing her own ankles. Her mother, predictably, reached up and rubbed her fingertips across the scars on Fuyumi's face. She didn't mention them aloud but her expression said a lot, none of it good. "I ran the river to get back so nobody'd track me."

Her hems were pretty grotty, a fact that had totally escaped her until it had been pointed out. Her legwarmers really needed a wash.

Setsuko's eyes had drifted in the same direction. "You should get rid of those," she said, for perhaps the sixth time. "You must have dropped six separate stitches."

"I made them," Fuyumi protested, as she always did. So what if it was hard to keep track of her rib stitch? "Out of nothing. Like a god." She sucked at all the girly arts her mother had tried to pass on to her. Handicrafts were just one among a million.

"Out of yarn," her mother pointed out. "And… more like a toddler."

"Where do you want your onions?" she asked, even though she knew exactly where they went. It was time to change the subject before her legwarmers got confiscated straight off her legs, somehow.

Setsuko was, Fuyumi thought, totally capable of getting her own groceries. She could even have sent a water clone, if her knees were really causing her so much pain. But Fuyumi valued the routine of bringing her weekly shopping to her, when she could. This way, her mother could not claim she was being cruelly neglected by an unfilial child, but Fuyumi could show up, unload groceries, and be gone in twenty minutes, if she was lucky. It was a perfect system.

However, if she was not lucky…

"I'll need you to get on the roof and get some of those branches down before something makes a nest up there. And there are some trees I've been meaning to transplant, so you'll need to do the ditches."

"Okay," said Fuyumi, letting this information drift over the surface of her mind without touching down.

She liked doing menial chores for her mother a lot less than she did for the grandmothers about town. What she really wanted, she felt, was a drink. Or five. Just to get a little fuzzy at the local bar and not think too hard about anything at all. But before she could do that, there was roof-climbing and trees, apparently. And, inevitably, Setsuko.

"You don't think you're still growing, do you?" she wondered, peering up at Fuyumi.

At over six feet tall, Fuyumi was an anomaly. She came by it honestly, though: her dad, long dead, had been a giant among men, a hulking taijutsu expert from up in the mountains somewhere.

Having a lover — a male lover — built like a brick shithouse was one thing. But, for Setsuko, having a daughter follow in his footsteps was quite beyond the pale. And she'd been chucking an extended wobbly about it on and off since Fuyumi was about twelve.

"Hardly matters," Fuyumi responded with forced cheer. "I'm already the tallest person you know. Let me get the roof out of the way first," she added, putting away a huge sack of rice and closing the cupboard door, "and then we'll see about the garden."

Her body shape wasn't the only way in which Fuyumi was nothing like her mother and a whole lot like her absent father. She also had his elemental affinity for earth. Her poor control meant that, unlike him, she was only entrusted with the creation of roofing tiles at moments of direst need. But she was an expert ditch-digger.

Despite her facility at the task, her mother kept her hard at work in the garden under an endless stream of helpful criticism for another ninety minutes, after which Fuyumi made her excuses with more firmness than tact.

"Going off to drink too much with Harusame, I assume," Setsuko sniffed. "Your father drank with that man for ten years and he ignored me for eight of them. I've never come to understand what the appeal was."

Since this was indeed, exactly, one hundred per cent what she intended to do with her evening, Fuyumi just shrugged. She bent down to put her shoes on at the door again.

Setsuko sighed a deep, put upon sigh. "Just… please tell me you're not sleeping with him."

Jesus fucking Christ, the things that worried this woman. "I am not sleeping with Harusame. Don't be ridiculous."

Setsuko examined her sternly, but her mum-senses must have detected no lie, because she made a little noise of relief and adjusted her hydrangeas. "Fine. Go, then. And wear your knee brace, Fuyumi!" she added, apparently unable to prevent herself from offering one more parting criticism.

It was, at last, probably good advice. As soon as Fuyumi figured out where she'd put the stupid thing, she'd follow it.

Right. That was her day done, then. Mission: finished. Pay: collected. Mum: visited. Now, to the bar, and Harusame's careless temper. And if she was very, very lucky, she'd get exactly drunk enough to stop thinking without getting sloppy.

---

Of course, now that all the worst parts of her day were over and she couldn't use them as an excuse to put anything off… this was when Fuyumi spotted the Akatsuki members about town. Naturally.

She took the same route back as she'd taken to get to Setsuko's home. The stores and stalls were closed now, and the faded awnings seemed exhausted in the golden light of the early summer evening.

She stepped into the square proper, and was smacked in the face by a tidal wave of chakra that was so massive even she couldn't help but feel it. Water, she thought, even though she'd never once picked someone's elemental affinity from feeling their chakra before in her entire goddamn life. It was just… very obvious.

Fuyumi's heart thudded heavily in her chest. She exhaled, slow and careful, and took a step back again. Whatever that was, she probably didn't need to run headfirst into it.

She licked her lips and scaled one of the nearby buildings for a better view of what the hell was going on. It was a residential one, so they'd probably be pissed off when they discovered the damage she did to their flowerpots on the way up.

Crouched on the roof of the two-storey building, Fuyumi squinted against the sunlight, catching mostly chakra, golden sun glittering on an expanse of water that categorically did not belong where it was surging, and dark silhouettes trying to kill each other atop the choppy flow of it.

The surface tension of the water was defined by chakra rather than any normal physics: it eddied around buildings and flooded the streets, and then when it reached the edges of the chakra bubble in which it was permitted, it just kind of… stopped, huddling wetly, a tame wall of fluid.

The amount of chakra that must have required was… astronomical. Fuyumi felt faintly queasy just thinking about it.

Hoshigaki Kisame was easy to pick out: he was big and waving his feared sword, which looked sort of ridiculous when you actually saw it. It might have been a veritable cheese grater of a weapon, each spiky protrusion perfectly lethal and thirsty for blood... but it looked like it was some kind of fluffy animal puffed up in indignation.

He was fighting someone small and fast, who was wearing sensibly tight clothing rather than a giant flappy coat. He was not in much danger of victory, Fuyumi judged, but he was giving it a red hot go, twisting and darting in and out with his superior acrobatics, evidently in an attempt to out-manoeuvre the mix of absurd power and even-more-absurd reach that made Hoshigaki Kisame such a bloody hard opponent. It was a respectable way to face his certain, grisly death.

She watched for a second, transfixed. Hoshigaki's defence was airtight. His footwork on the moving water was precise and practised. He was calm, he was controlling the distance between combatants, and he was setting the pace. He was indomitable. The fight was clearly his.

If she'd been the other guy, she'd have called it and run.

While she was distracted watching Hoshigaki's fight, a second silhouette darted out from the shadow of of his opponent, leaping away from the fight, zooming over the water at speed. It wasn't an illusion: its feet hit the water audibly.

It hit the ground running and didn't look back, racing past her perch on the roof.

In hindsight, Fuyumi could actually pinpoint exactly the moment that would change the trajectory of her new life. Since it was a brutal fiery murder, it did not, at the time, seem very auspicious. This — again, in hindsight — was probably the kindest warning fate had ever given her.

Uchiha Itachi still looked like he was swaddled. The coat was too big for him, and he hadn't even bothered with the arms this time: it just hung off his shoulders, sleeves flapping.

He appeared in one of those dizzying Konoha-style body flickers, standing still and moving at light speed, and the running figure made a noise of shock and dismay that she could hear even up on her roof. It drew a short, curved sword, upon whose sharp edge the setting sun burned golden.

There was a clank as it met Itachi's kunai and was deflected with, apparently, no effort, even though a kunai had nowhere near the weight of the short sword. Fuyumi watched, dazed, as the two exchanged a lightning-fast flurry of blows. Dirt sprayed underfoot.

Itachi took one easy, elegant step back — like he had predicted every movement, like he had all the time in the world — leapt over the sweep of the sword, and, while performing a mid-air flip to avoid the follow-through with the shuriken, formed several hand-signs. They were just… not even fast. It looked almost languid, even though it was probably about twice as speedy as Fuyumi herself had ever managed.

His pale fingers moved deftly through the signs like he knew the rest of the world was just waiting for him to finish before it continued apace. His enormous dark coat fluttered. His hair streamed in the breeze, long, dark, and, somehow, nowhere in his line of sight.

Fuyumi was barely twenty metres away, and even though she could see the effect of his chakra, she couldn't feel even a whisper of it against her own senses. The world before him burst, beautifully, into flame.

The swordsman didn't dodge.

Maybe he'd been distracted, like Fuyumi was, by watching Uchiha Itachi's long pale fingers and effortless athletics.

There was a lot of screaming, then.

Fuyumi watched, transfixed, from her crouch on the roof. He had really nice hair, she thought, stupidly. It looked so silky. It positively glowed in the blazing light of his burning victim. She had the sudden, powerful image of just… sinking her hand deep into it, closing her fist, and giving it a firm tug. She could pull his head to one side, expose the soft, vulnerable part of his neck. He might even like it.

You cannot do that, she said to herself, firmly, reeling from both the intensity and the stupidity of such a thought. You cannot do that, because that is Uchiha Itachi.

There was an unsettlingly familiar warmth in her belly that told her she was going to think really hard about it anyway.

Fuyumi wasn't suicidal, so she licked her dry, dry lips, got silently to her feet, and retreated from the market square entirely. She could take the long way around to the bar.

On her way, she thought about how the Itachi girls had somehow been right all along. Fuck. What the fuck. No. No.

----

"I've never seen you rhapsodising like this about anyone without tits," Harusame mused, nearly two hours later.

Harusame, dark eyed, dark haired and broad shouldered, was nearly double Fuyumi's age and, technically, had been a longtime friend of her father's. But her dad was long dead, so she'd laid claim to him now. He wore a set of swords: a wakizashi and a katana, both on the same side of his sash. His blue and grey yukata gaped, exposing pale bandages wrapped around his waist and an old amulet dangling on a necklace.

"He doesn't even have tits," she agreed, putting her face down on the sticky wood.

"You have no idea where that bar has been. Do you know what kinds of people they serve here?" He didn't actually sound particularly concerned. "They serve me here."

"The bar has no idea where my face has been," she countered after a long, blurry second of thought. Her brain moved fast, but her tongue moved underwater-slow.

"...I guess I have no way to refute that." He scratched his stubble.

She rolled her face to watch him light his next cigarette with the glowing butt of the one that came before. Then he dropped the dead one into his empty sake bottle and took a long drag.

It wasn't like people had failed to recognise the link between smoking and, you know, dying, in the elemental nations. But Fuyumi thought that they probably didn't understand the full impact of the practice here. Once upon a time, she had been raised on a diet of government PSAs and gruesome cigarette package art of infected fingers and eyes.

Harusame had a cough. But he wore it pretty well... for now. He was only thirty-six, though.

"Don't look at me like that. It makes you look like Setsuko."

"Fuck off," Fuyumi said, automatically. The last thing she wanted to hear about, pretty much ever, was her mother. "What are you going to do if you need to run somewhere, old man?"

"I'm retired," he said. "If I need to run somewhere, something has gone horribly wrong in my life and I probably deserve what's coming."

Ugh. "Idiot," she muttered. She looked away and immediately spotted a red and black cloak in the smoky dimness. Naka Tetsumaru was perfectly recognisable: snow white hair, lily-pale skin, overconfident swagger. He was deep in conversation with a hunched and misshapen figure in one of those ominous Akatsuki cloaks, which made her nervous to see in her local bar. They were sure out in force today, huh? This figure was recognisable, but it was decidedly not —

"Uchiha Itachi, huh," Harusame interjected thoughtfully, spinning his bottle on the bar. "You know... usually I would tell you to chase your dreams. But... Uh, I'm not so sure about that one, Fuyumi."

"Don't worry. He'd outrun me. Like, effortlessly."

"That certainly is the rumour, yes," Harusame agreed. "So? You going to do anything about it? Look for some sweet, dark-haired gentleman to take you home?" He flipped his own hair, which was, as advertised, long and dark.

Fuyumi snorted. "Well, obviously I'm going to sit here and drink and complain that it's unfair that a deeply unwell missing-nin should be more beautiful than he has any right to be."

"Uh-huh."

"And if I see him again," she thought about it, "I guess… I should go introduce myself?" It seemed unlikely that he'd outright kill her for, like, saying hi. Wasn't he meant to be a pacifist at heart or whatever? It couldn't really hurt, right? "What else do you do when you think someone's hot?"

It wasn't as though Fuyumi genuinely thought Uchiha Itachi was going to let her pull his hair and fuck him. But one thing that remained regrettably true between worlds was that… no matter how unlikely a thing you wanted was, if you asked about it, your chances of receiving it usually rose.

The spinning stopped. "Introduce yourself?" Harusame repeated dubiously. "Er, to... Uchiha Itachi?"

"Yeah?" She raised her head and propped her chin in her hand. She'd wanted to be drunk — rather badly — but now the bar seemed loud and close, her stomach was a little unsettled, and she needed to piss. "Jeez, don't look at me like that, it's not like I want to marry him. But how else do you meet someone?"

"Right." He took a long, long drag on his cigarette, presumably to stall for thinking time. "I think girls are supposed to wait for someone else to do that, aren't they?"

She snorted. "Girls like ma, maybe. If I waited for other people to want me, I'd never get a date. Luckily, confidence is sexy."

He frowned at her, the uncomfortable kind of frown of a man who was vastly out of his element but felt he should say something anyway. "That's not true."

She scoffed, and levered herself off her stool. She felt wobbly but she imagined she probably didn't look it. "Hardly matters, anyway," said Fuyumi, who was not very genre savvy, "what are the chances I'll see Uchiha fucking Itachi again? Really? Be back in a minute."

Visiting the bathrooms in this particular bar was a bit like spinning a roulette wheel. Thankfully, this time the only body in there was visibly still breathing, and didn't even twitch when Fuyumi stepped over her to use the single toilet with the stained bowl. It smelled overwhelmingly of bleach, which was a lot better than all the other things of which it could have smelled.

Her face in the cracked mirror was... Well... If a casting call had gone out for a fierce looking female villain, they wouldn't even have had to put makeup on her: her eyes were dark, hear features were hard and sharp, and her complexion was already showing the wear and tear of too many nights in a row on the booze. There was a scar that bisected her left eyebrow, a long, interrupted red line that scored over her cheek and dragged off into her hair. It was pretty red today, which had probably been what her mother had been so displeased about earlier. Ugh.

Her face covered the front of her skull, and that was basically all it had going for it.

"That's its only job, dipshit," she muttered to herself. She turned the water off, stepped over her snoozing bathroom companion again, and headed back into the bar.

[thoughtsforsoob]

their s/o is a teacher! - nct dream

a/n: lmao ig im just gonna have to ignore that hate ive been getting! I'm gonna write for nct dream this time because for some reasons some MOA's are not being very kind towards my work. That is not an attack towards MOA because I am one of the biggest MOA's I know...it's jut not fair that some of the people I should be cool with are being so incredibly rude...over and over. anyways, that is all from me on that. please enjoy! as always, requests are open!

(I'm gonna add a cut off here so if you don't wanna read, you don't have to)

☆ mark lee ☆

he thinks it's so cute, especially if you teach little ones (kindergarten/1st grade)

he loves asking you about your classroom and how your work is going

he even helps you grade students assignments and he loves seeing what they say on their assignments

he also likes seeing their art work

he meets your students when you have a classroom part and he helps you set up

they immediately start to ask 100 questions, like kids do, ad he is totally okay with it.

he enthusiastically answers all their questions and they love him

they always ask for him every day after that

☆ huang renjun ☆

renjun thinks it's funny if you teach middle school

he is too good at listening to what happened during your day

he laughs at all the stories of students running around and causing chaos

he love's looking at the assignments you give them and tries to do them himself

he whines when he can't get something right and whines even more when you tell him you students got 100% on that question

☆ lee jeno ☆

he's one that thinks you teaching the older ones is cool

you're actually a college professor so he think's that's WAY cooler

he enjoys hearing you talk about the subject you teach and love's to hear you talk about your students and the assignments you gave them

when you offer to give him a your of the campus you work at, he is jumping at the chance

he even buys gear from the university you work at and wears it all the time (the letterman style jacket you got him is his favorite! he wear's it often and even wore it during a soundcheck of one of nct dream's concerts).

you bump into a few students and say hello, introducing jeno as your boyfriend

☆ na jaemin ☆

you teach kindergartners and he adores it

you helps you set up the different bulletin boards in your classroom and helps you organize/set up everything else

he loves to ask you about your lesson plans and you always ask him for ideas for activities and he helps you every time

he really want's to meet the little ones so after the year is done and they are graduating, he attends the event

they ask you, "teacher, who is that handsome man you were with? is that your boyfriend?"

they all giggle and go "ooooo!" and you tell them yes, that's him!

they run to meet him after the ceremony

☆ lee haechan ☆

he would probably find it interesting if you teach high schoolers

since the first time you told him about all your students, he always asks about them and want's you to update them about how they're doing

his favorite thing to do for your students is to send them stuff!

he gives you money so you can buy them snacks for your classroom (and other supplies! my teachers in high school always had sanitary pads, tampons, snacks, and other stuff in them in case students needed them)

he wants to help you make sure your students feel safe in their classroom

he also funds the senior pizza party at the end of the year and even makes an appearance!

☆ zhong chenle ☆

I believe Chenle is also good with little ones since he's always posting with his family (especially his, I believe, little nephew)

he love's helping you choose coloring pages for your students to do when they're done with their minute math sheets (the stress it causes is always rewarded with coloring time!)

he also likes to buy nice supplies for you students

you tell hi not to do it, because kids love to break things and lose them, but he doesn't listen

he love's going supply shopping (he get's all the brand names like Crayola :0)

he also helps grade assignments!

☆ park jisung ☆

you teach middle school and he loves it

he loves hearing the stories of your students acting out during class because it makes him giggle

just give him a glare and he will stop laughing at your misfortune

he helps you grade their papers

sighs every time he get's a that says 'idk'

it's all fun and games until get's those papers...then he wants to flip the kitchen table other and help you quit your job

because he knows how much they stress you out, he's always making sure you're distressing at home.

fetching you a warm cup of coffee/tea, making/buying dinner, giving you massages, helping you with other class stuff.

[honeyjars-sims]

Part 2 Prologue #4: Besties

It’s later in the afternoon. The cake has been cut, presents have been opened, and now everyone is just mingling. The sun is starting to set and Chantal and I are chilling on a bench, too stuffed to move after filling up on chocolate cake and ice cream.

As we chat, I spot Glynnis and Hollis walking towards their apartment and give them a wave. I thought they might stop by and chat, but they seem busy. Chantal sees who I’m waving to and lets out a small gasp.

“Oh my God!” She cups a hand over her mouth. “That’s Hollis Abernathy!”

“Yeah, she’s my neighbor. Do you follow her on Simsta?”

“Yeah, but that’s not where I know her from. Her parents own a bunch of businesses in San Myshuno. She’s the heiress to a huge fortune–or at least she was. Here, look.”

She pulls up a gossip site on her phone and hands it over to me. I see an article from a couple of years ago with a picture of Hollis stumbling out of a club. Plastered in big, bold letters at the top of the page is the headline, "HOLLIS'S WILD NIGHT OUT."

I get a few lines into the article before I start feeling like I’m invading Hollis’s privacy. Besides, I’m not going to judge her off of what some tabloid said about her 2 years ago. People change; I know that as well as anyone. 

“Okay, so what?” I ask.

“Nothing, I’m just surprised to see her here is all.” 

I shrug. “She seems pretty nice. I’m gonna go mingle some more before people start leaving,” I say, and I start to wander around. 

I see my dads are talking to Paul and Lucy, and they’re all laughing.

“Looks like you’re all getting along.”

“Why didn’t you tell us your roommate is such a comedian?” Pops asks. Paul beams at the compliment.

“Yeah, you should have heard the joke he just told us,” Dad chimes in. “You’d love it. What was it again? Something about a stick,” he laughs.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard that one,” I say. “Paul’s always joking around.”

“No wonder you two get along, then,” Pops replies.

“I’m glad for that,” Lucy adds. “I figured you would, but it would’ve been awkward if my brother and my work bestie didn’t like each other.”

“Oh, I’m your work bestie, huh? Not just your bestie. I see how it is.”

“You’re totally her bestie,” Paul interjects. “Trust me, I know these things.”

“Oh, come on, you know what I meant,” Lucy tells me. “I blame it on my pregnancy brain.”

“What, you’re pregnant? And you didn’t tell me? Some bestie you are!”

“I didn’t? I thought I did. Anyway, isn’t it obvious, what with how much I've been throwing up and how big my belly's getting?”

“I have four sisters,” I point out. “I know better than to make an assumption about a woman’s body like that.”

“And that’s why you’re my bestie.”

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

Transcript of article below:

HOLLIS'S WILD NIGHT OUT

08/17/2021 08:00 AM PST

Hollis Abernathy caused quite the scene on a wild night out celebrating singer Christina Dotson’s 18th birthday! Did someone forget to tell her that the drinking age is 18 in Del Sol? The blonde beauty was spotted downing drinks all night–despite only being 17-years-old.

Hollis’s parents, business-moguls Robert and Bianca, plan to give her access to a large trust fund on her own 18th birthday next year; however, friends of the socialite report that her recent antics are putting that plan in jeopardy.

“Her parents have had enough,” a source tells us. “They don’t like all of the negative attention her partying is putting on the family. They’re worried about how it will affect their reputation, especially with the Carlisles.”

Hollis has been dating 17-year-old Hunter Carlisle for several months, a relationship that was likely orchestrated by the pair’s parents who are reported to have a lucrative business venture in development. At first, Hollis and Hunter seemed like a match made in heaven, but things have quickly become hellish for the couple.

“Hollis and Hunter got into a huge fight at the party,” our source tells us. They were screaming in the middle of the club. People are saying they broke up. Christina was so embarrassed.”

Hollis’s wild night didn’t end there. Moments after her fight with Hunter, our photogs caught her making out with an unknown blonde woman. Could Hollis’s sexuality be the reason for her troubles with Hunter?

“I’m not sure if Hollis is interested in girls or not, or if she just wanted to make Hunter mad,” our source said. “But she seemed pretty into the kiss.”

The kiss was cut short when Christina and their friend Mikayla “Micki” Davison dragged Hollis away from her would-be lover. Hollis could barely stand as Christina helped her into Micki’s convertible. Once seated inside, Hollis began yelling obscenities at our photogs, to the dismay of her friends.

“You ruined my birthday!” Christina was heard sobbing from the back seat.

SMZ reached out to Hollis’s rep who simply said, “No comment.”

[tacticalhimbo]

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[ms-nesbit]

Title: cosmic (a jason todd x reader fic)

Chapter I of ???

Rating: 18+ (eventual smut, language, violence i guess, and mention of past abuse)

Tw: abuse, violence, and smut.

Summary: 

y/n meets dick and barbara, who try to set y/n up with dick’s big little brother.

ao3

“Can you turn the goddamn air up?”

Gothamites were becoming increasingly brusque as the summer heat slowly suffocated them. Typically, one can notice the season in Gotham based on the layers of clothing (or lack thereof) that each resident sported on the Gotham streets; however, tube tops and 1970s-style track shorts were no match for the heat index rising above 115 degrees, an unusually sweltering day for the sinful city.

“It looks like Gotham is finally getting a taste of what the afterlife is gonna look like.” One resident snickered with a twisted smirk as he laid change down on the newspaper stand to pay for the Gotham Gazette. “Lotta fire in those parts, don’t’cha think?”

“I don’t know - never believed in the stuff.” replied y/n, who sat on the other end of the newspaper stand. She counted the dirtied coins and wrinkled up dollar bills before placing them in the register, sitting on the stool with a sigh. She glanced at the clock on the upper corner of the interior of the stand as the upper hand mocked her boredom.

Y/n worked at the newspaper stand part-time since graduating from NYU - she fled New York City, hopeful about Gotham despite her friends’ pleas for her to stay after the break-up.

“Y/n, seriously? Fucking Gotham?” Amulya spat the city’s name, her boxed wine almost out with it. “What the hell?”

Sarah shook her head, the wiry blonde strands going with it. “Is it because of the superheroes?”

“No.” Y/n replied, her voice less convincing than her face’s poor attempt at hiding guilt. “I just think that I want to see more than NYC.”

“Then go to San Francisco, for crying out loud!” Amulya stood on her feet this time, glass full of wine sloshing with every movement. “Or at least Bludhaven. I’m with Sarah on this one: I think you’ve finally lost it, hun.”

Y/n sighed as she stared at her flats. “I’ll come visit, I just… can’t stand being here after everything.”

Since moving to Gotham, y/n caught up on the news: Batman was a household name, due in part by the Gotham News and Gazette. His name was both a prayer and a curse, spoken by all sorts of residents as they pointed to him. After a couple of weeks, it clicked for y/n: Gotham’s incessant violent crime ceases to stop due to Batman’s no-kill rule.

One day, while job hunting (for the third week in a row), y/n picked up a thrown out Gazette paper, with a piece titled Are You There, Batman? It’s Me, Gotham by Keke Throwma. She read it, then clipped the newspaper article into a scrapbook upon her arrival to her shared apartment. The following day, she applied for a position at the newspaper stand, writing articles in her downtime on shifts (which was often - the digital age nearly extinguished the paper business entirely).

“Do you think it’s ever going to change?” Y/n heard from a passerby who stopped at the stand to read the cover page of the paper.

The man standing beside the passerby shrugged, but grinned optimistically. “You know, all it takes is implementing a rehabilitation program, which Gotham should fund!” His voice was as deep as his shoulders broad, and only then did y/n notice the badge clipped on the man’s belt. “Could I just get this one?” He made eye contact with y/n, his blue eyes soft and welcoming.

“Yeah, no problem.” y/n opened her palm for the cash as she watched the man remove the wallet from his front pocket.

“What do you think about all this?” The woman asked y/n, pointing to the newspapers.

Y/n blinked for a moment, her mind blank despite preparing for this question for months. “The rehab center wouldn’t account for people like Joker, who believe that rules are meant for breaking.” she counted the coins after the man gave her the money, and pushed a button to open the register.

“See? Thank you!” the woman threw her hands up, her buttoned-up top rising from her slacks. “Grayson, you’re the only person who thinks Batman is in his right mind.” 

“Not right mind,” Dick corrected, “just on the right path. Big difference.” He folded the newspaper and placed it in his armpit, thanking y/n.

“You’re Detective Grayson, right?” y/n leaned forward in her stool in curiosity. “And Commissioner Gordon!” she grinned, awestruck by the pair standing before her.

“Yeah, we are.” Barbara replied. “Y’know, people aren’t always this excited to see us.”

“Unless they have a loaded barrel and a death wish.” Dick added, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Sorry, I just see you two on TV, I hear about you in the papers, and I think you’re doing a great job of interfering with the vigilantes.”

Dick blinked quickly, pursing his lips as he looked to Gordon for her reaction. She beamed, “Yeah, I know a lot of people are upset about that, but from working closely with my father until his death, I saw the often fatal flaws of enabling vigilantism, let alone encouraging it in Batman’s case.”

Y/n nodded, following along. “Yeah, we studied vigilantism in a couple of my criminal seminars in school. Although Batman has respectful intentions for the legal system in Gotham, he isn’t contributing to the reform of the system, essentially being a catalyst for the cycle of retribution and re-offense for these criminals.”

“Exactly!” Barbara laughed. “Where did you study criminal justice?”

“Criminology.” y/n corrected. “At NYU. I moved here a few months ago hoping to get a job as a journalist, but apparently they’re all booked up.”

“Figuratively or literally?” Dick asked, quirking a brow. Y/n and Barbara laughed in response. “I’m not surprised that you weren’t brought on at the Gazette, if that’s what you applied for, but we could always use you at the PD, if you’re interested in some additional training.”

“Recruiting me? For the police? No offense, Detective, but I’d rather stay here in the sweltering heat.” y/n waved her hand.

“Don’t like the grunt work?” Barbara asked, intrigued.

“No, I love that stuff,” y/n sighed, “I just don’t… like the cops, y’know? Feels dirty." She looked around at the floor beside her, covered in old gum, trash, and remnants of rodents. “Dirtier than this place, I’m afraid.” Y/n realized what she said and quickly added, “No offense.”

“None taken.” Dick replied. “Seems like you should meet my brother. He is, for lack of a better word, ashamed of what I do for a living.”

Barbara nodded in agreement. “I’ve been over at their place for holidays a couple of times, and Jason hates him for it. It’s kind of funny, actually.”

“I don’t know why he doesn’t hate you! I don’t get why it’s just me!” Dick’s voice is irritated, half-laughing at his own words.

“I know, I know.” Barbara rubs his back soothingly. “We’ll get going soon, but we didn’t catch your name. What was it?”

“Oh, it’s y/n.” Y/n replied.

“If you want,” Dick’s chest rose as he took a sharp breath, “you can stop by at the station, and I can take you to the criminologist. I dunno if she needs an apprentice, but I do know that she needs help with a couple of cases.”

“Or you can just stop by Wayne Manor next week for the gala and introduce yourself to the PD.” Barbara interrupted. “It would be bold, but that way you can meet them, and possibly Dick’s brother, whom you might just like.”

Dick side-eyed Barbara, swallowing a smirk. “He might not even show up. He doesn’t like parties, and he doesn’t like cops. It’s like his worst nightmare.”

“I can stop by. Is it black tie?” y/n rested her hands on her knees as she watched the pair shake their heads almost in unison. “Okay, I’ll do that, then. I don’t like parties as much, but fuck it, I could use a better job than this.”

“Okay, we’ll see you then.” Dick smiled, holding up his coffee cup.

“See you then, y/n.” Barbara playfully grinned before leaving.

[sergiosimptellitto]

Sincerely, F.P.

Chapter 5: Guilt

TW: Frank's catholic guilt, mention of Biblical characters

You get out of the car on automatic. The door closes behind you with a hush and a click, and the black sedan rolls off into the street like a dark thought vanishing down a corridor.

You still hold the small art booklet he gave you inside the gallery. Pages of brutalism and strange oil tones, folded under your arm like a forgotten promise.

Upstairs, the key sticks slightly in the lock. Your hands are steady. You’re not trembling—why would you be? You didn’t say anything wrong. You simply spoke what you believed. You gave him scripture, not sentiment. It should have been enough.

But in the mirror above your sink, your eyes betray you. They're wide. Lit. Like someone just told you you were precious and meant it.

You toss the booklet onto your desk and sit. There’s no reason to go over the conversation again. And yet.

“You weren’t sent here. You were placed.” “Don’t wear black. You should be in white.”

You tell yourself it means nothing. He’s dramatic. He speaks in metaphors. He speaks like a man who built an empire on the weight of his name.

----------------------(Art gallery, three hours ago)------------------------

You spot him before he sees you—or perhaps he always sees you first, and only lets you catch up when he wants. Tonight, he’s standing beneath a mobile of glass birds suspended from the vaulted ceiling, sipping something golden. He’s dressed like wealth isn’t even a choice—an expensive wool overcoat tossed across his shoulders, no tie, but the air around him still stiff with formality.

“Tesoro,” he says with soft delight when he sees you. “Let me look at you.”

You’re in a borrowed coat over the dress again—same cut, different color—and it fits better than last time. His eyes linger, not long enough to make you flinch, just long enough that you feel it down your spine.

“You clean up well,” he says. Then, quieter, “But then again, I knew that when I picked the dress.”

You laugh nervously, not knowing how to answer that. The gallery is warm, crowded with wine and whispers. Classical music hums under the chatter. Oil paintings and glossy sculptures loom on all sides, most of them impossible to understand.

He loops his arm lightly through yours.

“This is Claudia.” “This is François.” “This man here funded a museum in Sicily.” “This one has three degrees and a mistress who paints.”

You nod, smile, shake hands. A few people ask about your research. He doesn’t answer for you, but stands close enough that his silence seems like permission. You speak simply—about labor informality, gendered workspaces, underpaid sectors. You reference a few scholars, a few anecdotes.

"You're articulate," one woman says, tipping her wine glass.

“She is,” Frank murmurs next to you, like it’s a secret only he knows.

Later, when the crowds thin and the gallery feels softer, you both stand in front of a small, quiet painting: a man crouched in the snow, holding a splintered violin. You don’t say anything for a while.

Frank does.

“You like sad things.”

You shrug. “I like things that are honest.”

He turns to you slowly, eyes unreadable.

“Careful, tesoro. That kind of honesty makes you dangerous. Or very lonely.”

You laugh, but quietly. “I’m used to that.”

He doesn’t respond. Just gently adjusts your coat collar, fingers lingering too long against your skin.

Outside, snow has begun to fall again. His driver opens the door. Frank gestures for you to enter first. As you step in, he leans closer, and says low against your ear:

“You don’t need the café. Or the music halls. Or the cold benches at the library. If you need something, you ask me. I’ll give it to you. You understand?”

You nod, unsure what part of that made your breath hitch more—the possessiveness, or the certainty.

The gallery lights are still warm in your mind when you mention it. The car hums under you both, but you’ve stopped noticing the sound of the engine on these drives.

"Have you made use of your new library, amore?" he casually asks as you walk perched on his arm.

You nod to respond“I read something yesterday,” you say, watching the snow blink past the tinted window. “In L’année dernière à Marienbad, there’s this line… something about memory being less a record than a rehearsal. That we live events again and again until they stop hurting.”

Frank turns toward you slightly. “And do they stop?”

You consider. “Only if you forgive yourself.”

“Ah,” he murmurs. “Forgiveness.” He leans back, eyes on the dark leather ceiling. “A Protestant concept. Quick and clean. Instant absolution. No kneeling. No penance. No Latin.”

You smile. “Catholic?”

“Since birth,” he says. “Raised on guilt. Proper, formative guilt. It teaches you something important. That you’re never too clean.”

There’s a beat.

“Guilt is necessary,” he adds. “It’s the only thing that tells us when we’ve crossed a line. Without it, we’re just animals with good suits.”

You tilt your head. “It’s true that a lack of self-awareness can lead to a lack of accountability, guilt is a God-given ability to turn to him, and recognize the need for his forgiveness” you say slowly, “but excessive guilt can also be an excuse for pride.”

His brow lifts. “Pride?”

You nod. “Peter denied Jesus. Judas sold him. Both felt guilt. Peter wept bitterly, but let himself be forgiven. Judas—he returned the silver, tried to undo it. He was overcome with guilt… and killed himself.”

Frank doesn’t answer right away. His jaw is still.

“Peter let forgiveness bring him back to Jesus,” you say, more softly. “Judas didn’t. Sometimes people choose guilt because forgiveness would mean admitting they’re not the worst monster in the room.”

There’s a sharp pause in the cabin. Then he laughs—quiet, surprised. Not mocking.

“Tesoro,” he murmurs. “You’re dangerous.”

You shrug. “Just well-read.”

“No,” he says. “Dangerous.” His gaze doesn’t leave yours now. “You see into people. Most men would kill to be seen. Some would kill not to be.”

You blink.

His voice dips. “Tell me. Which kind do you think I am?”

You stare back at him, heart suddenly tapping harder against your ribs. You don’t answer. You’re not sure he wants one.

The car turns a corner. He doesn’t press. Instead, he reaches over slowly, brushes something from your lap—a thread, nothing.

“Next time,” he says quietly, “bring that quote again. We’ll rehearse it. Until it stops hurting."

You speak calmly, though your words carry an old weight—something you didn’t learn in books, something you were raised with. Something that shaped your spine long before Quebec or the PhD or Frank Patérno.

“Do not let your pride be so big as to believe your sins are greater than the forgiveness of the Creator.”

He turns toward you again, slower this time. You go on.

“David killed a man and still wrote psalms. Paul hunted Christians and still built churches and wrote a big part of the new testament. The only difference between Peter and Judas was that one let himself be forgiven.”

His eyes linger on your face, unreadable now.

“Even Cain,” you add, voice lower, “after killing his own brother, was marked for protection. What makes you think your past is too far gone?”

There is a silence between you. Not empty. Dense.

You don’t know if he’s angry or moved or quietly rearranging his whole view of you. His mouth parts just a little, as if to respond—then closes again.

When he finally speaks, his voice has changed. Softer. Like velvet sheathing something sharper.

“You weren’t sent here,” he says slowly. “You were placed.”

You look over, confused. “What?”

“To test me,” he says, almost to himself. “To remind me.”

He lifts a hand, brushing your wrist where your sleeve has fallen. Not possessive, not lewd—just... reverent. And strange. As if you’re a relic. As if you’re holy and he’s trying not to blaspheme.

You want to move. You don’t. You don’t want to want to stay.

Then, in the hush between the last streetlamp and the curve of his mouth:

“Next time,” he murmurs, “don’t wear black. You should be in white.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

You lean back in the chair, fingers digging into the armrests. White. You haven’t worn white in years. It stains too easily. It clings to the body. It’s too visible.

You rise abruptly and head to the adjacent study room—the one he gifted you. The one that used to be someone else’s.

You put on the radio. A Bach partita plays. You flip open your notebook and try to focus on your research. Irregular labor laws. Case studies. The unpaid sick leave of single mothers. The undocumented cleaners in high-tourism districts. Anything.

But your pen stills halfway through a line. You stare at the paper.

And then you write:

"The question is not whether the system fails the invisible. The question is whether it ever intended to see them in the first place."

You sit back. That line—yes. That’s something.

"The system is not broken, it was made to work this way."

And still, you feel his hand brushing your sleeve. Hear the weight in his voice. Don’t wear black.

You turn off the radio. You go to bed.

You do not sleep.

The next day there is a box outside the door room, and another dress, now pure white, a bit longer, more flowy, unlike the ones before, this does not look like it would belong to the arm candy of a respectable man.

If you must look untouchable, at least let me be the one who touched you first. —F.P.

You try it on.

Makes you look like a Saint, which you are not.

But Frank does not think like that.

Going into yearning old man territory with deep religious and biblical imagery! Did you like this chapter?

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 4, Chapter 7

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness? Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 4 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 4

Chapter 7

February 2019

9 months since The Vanishing

Calina signed her name at the bottom of the last page. Dated it, recapped the pen, then handed everything back to the lawyer sitting opposite her.

“That’s great,” the older man said, collecting the stack of documents. “I’ll get these couriered to the seller’s attorney. Once the funds clear his account, we’ll get the keys to you.”

“I already have the keys. My boyfriend was the former tenant.”

“Oh, I should have remembered that. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Calina tried not to grimace at the trite words - and the off-hand, careless delivery of them. “Thank you.”

“Well it’s good to see you’re moving on. Making plans, and all that. Real estate is still the best investment for your future - even if the market opened up quite a bit after Thanos did his thing.”

He sounded put out. Probably annoyed because the fall in house prices affected his usual commission, Calina thought. She’d come across a few people like him over the past seven months - people who saw the Vanishing as a mere inconvenience, rather than the life-altering tragedy that it was. People who hadn’t lost anyone close to them. People who lacked the empathy and compassion to understand how completely and fundamentally different the world was now.

A part of Calina envied him his ignorance. She’d seen too much of this new world.

Her mind conjured the images of burning rubble, and the screams from the people trapped beneath it; the teenager abandoned on the side of the road, a perfectly round bullet hole in his forehead; the little girl in the yellow dress, her pale, limp hand hanging off the side of the bed-

Calina shook off the memories. She grabbed her purse, thanked the asshole lawyer and pulled open the office door.

Karen rose from where she’d been sat in the waiting room. “All done?”

“All done.”

The two of them headed out into the chilled winter sunshine. Calina shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat as an icy wind swirled through the streets. “Jesus, it’s cold.”

Karen laughed. “You’ve been in the desert too long. This is almost tropical by New York standards. ”Despite her words, Karen shivered and matched Calina’s pace as they hurried towards the heat of the nearby coffee shop.

Over cups of coffee and hot chocolate, Karen tried to get more details about Calina’s latest mission. “So are you going to tell me what you were doing in Botswana for two whole months? I haven’t seen anything in the news about any trouble there.”

“Which means we did our job.”

“And that job was…?”

“Nice try. The UN may have revoked the Sokovia Accords, but their non-disclosure agreements are just as scary. I’d rather not end up on The Raft.”

“Fair enough.”

Karen stared at her as she sipped her drink, as if trying to catalogue the changes in Calina since they’d last seen each other. “You look better,” she finally said.

Calina nodded. She’d put on some of the weight that she’d lost in the beginning. The tan she’d gotten from the fierce Kalahari sun made her seem healthier. But it was all surface. A facade. Underneath was a different story. She still felt carved out. Hollow. As if she was only half alive. And the horrors of the past seven months clung to her. Devouring the parts of her that remained. Eating her up with the guilt and pain of her failures.

The yellow dress. The hand dangling from the bed. The quiet drip, drip, drip-

Calina sucked in a breath and forced her mind away from that day. Her hand shook slightly as she placed her cup back on the table.

Karen noticed, of course. “Are you okay?”

Calina waved off her concern. Then lied straight to her face. “I’m fine. Just jet lag.”

Karen raised an eyebrow. Calina gave her a small smile.

It was a familiar conversation between them, one now distilled down into a couple of silent gestures:

‘I know you’re lying to me.’

‘Yes, but I’m not ready to talk about it.’

The next part of their little charade was to move on and change the subject. Karen obliged. “How are you feeling about today? Any regrets?”

Calina knew Karen’s thoughts on the topic. She’d been very forthcoming with them. She worried that Calina’s desire to buy Matt’s apartment was an act of denial - that somehow she still believed that he was coming back. Karen worried that such false hope was damaging.

But it wasn’t an act of denial on Calina’s part. There was no hope - false or otherwise. She knew Matt wasn’t coming back. She hadn’t bought the place for him, she’d bought it for her. 

It had been her first ever home. More than her own apartment, which she’d been happy to give up as soon as the lease ended. The time she’d spent in Matt’s apartment, with Matt, had been the happiest she’d ever been. She’d felt safe. She’d felt loved.

She’d felt at home.

And she wanted to preserve that. To keep the apartment as proof that she’d had a real and beautiful life for a while.

Even if it hurt too much to visit it right now.

“No regrets,” she replied confidently.

Karen gave her the eyebrow again.

Calina smiled. “Truly. No regrets.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?” Calina asked. “Any regrets about moving out of Manhattan?”

“No. I need the change of scenery. And I think it will be good for David. He grew up there, so I think it will help him feel connected to the family he lost.”

“What about work? What will you do?”

Karen shrugged. “I’m free-lancing for the Bulletin and a few other publications, so I can do that from anywhere.”

Calina heard the sadness in her voice. The lack of enthusiasm. And knew she was missing the work she used to do with Foggy and Matt.

“Kinda hard to have a law firm with no lawyers,” Karen had joked after giving up the lease on their office space last year. The two of them had held a farewell party the night before she had to hand over the keys. They’d drunk cheap sparkling wine out of plastic cups and sat cross-legged on the conference room table eating Chinese food.

And the absence of Foggy and Matt in that moment had felt overwhelming.

“Promise me something,” Karen had asked, head lowered as she tapped her fingers against the side of her cup.

“Anything.”

“Will you stay in touch?” She lifted her head to stare at Calina, a plaintive and lost look in her eyes. “I know you’re going to be travelling all over the world, and you’ll be busy stopping wars and important stuff like that, but give me a call now and then? Please? I feel like…”

“What?”

“We’re kinda the last people on earth who really knew Foggy and Matt. Like, really knew them. Who they were as individuals, and what they were like together, here, in this firm. I’m worried that without someone to share those memories with, it will all start to feel like-”

“It wasn’t real.”

“Exactly.”

“I understand.” Calina did understand. She worried about the same thing - that she’d start to doubt what she'd shared with Matt. That the memory of what they had together would be distorted by time and distance. That it would all fade without someone to share it with. “And I promise, you’ll always have me in your life. I’ll call when I can, and I’ll visit as often as I’m able to.”

———

June 2019

Just over a year since the Vanishing

“I didn’t expect another visit so soon,” Karen remarked, then seemed to realise how that sounded. “Not that I’m complaining!”

“I didn’t either, to be honest. But I was nearby - in the Avengers compound upstate.”

“You’re living in the Avengers compound?”

“It’s a temporary base while we’re stateside. Or it was until I got kicked out.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ve been working too hard apparently. My therapist said I needed a break to recharge.”

“You’re seeing a therapist?”

Calina grimaced. “Not by choice. We all have mandated weekly sessions, to make sure we’re not going off the deep end. Even when we’re out on a mission they make us do Zoom calls with the psychologist!”

Karen smiled at her disgruntled tone. “I know it’s not the way you’re used to doing things, but it sounds like a good idea. I’m glad they’re taking care of you.”

“It’s definitely not the way we used to do things. In fact, everything’s different…”

“Good different or bad different?”

Calina shrugged, unsure how much she wanted to share. Karen didn’t push - which was something she liked about the other woman - she just settled back in the lawn chair to watch Nika run around the backyard, giving Calina space to think.

The two of them had rocked up to Karen’s new house unannounced less than an hour ago. Dr Gossard had suggested booking into a spa hotel for the weekend, but that had felt far too frivolous and self-indulgent, especially after the mission she’d just been on. It didn’t feel right to pamper herself while those families in Mexico were struggling to feed their children…

So she’d come here, to this little house on Long Island, hoping to crash on Karen’s couch for a couple of nights.

She’d been welcomed in straight away. David had taken her backpack from her, offered Nika a chunk of cheese as a treat, then retreated upstairs to give them some privacy. Karen had thrust a beer in her hand and ushered her into the backyard where they could enjoy the warm summer evening while they caught up.

It was very…homely…here. In a typical suburban American way. She could hear children splashing in a pool next door. Birds chirped in the trees, and bees hummed from the rose bushes lining the fence. The tinny sound of the TV from David’s den upstairs mingled with the rumble of the cars on the main road behind the house.

It was nice. But also surreal - she felt like she’d stepped onto a movie set. Like this wasn’t real life.

It definitely wasn’t her life.

The yellow dress. The hand dangling from the bed. The pool of red blood on the floor. Still liquid, still warm…

Calina flinched as the images intruded, that awful scene such a contrast to this idyllic surrounding. She sat forward and buried her face in her hands, so tired of seeing that little girl.

Just so tired…

Nika came trotting over, as if sensing her dark thoughts. She tried to wedge her head between Calina’s arms, her wet nose cool against her skin as she whined in concern.

Calina sat back and stroked her hand over Nika’s furry head. “I’m okay, girl. Go play.”

Nika stared at her a few moments, as if checking her over. “Go play,” Calina repeated. Nika cocked her head to the side, a move that never failed to remind Calina of Matt, and the way he would jerk his head to follow a sound.

The corner of her mouth tipped up in a hint of a smile as she thought of how Matt would react to being compared to a dog. Nika wagged her tail in response to Calina’s shift in mood. Satisfied that her human was okay, she took off back to the patch of grass she’d been happily sniffing earlier.

“So Nika’s like an emotional support dog now?” Karen asked softly.

Calina sat back in her chair and shrugged. “Emotional support, tactical support, workout partner…you name it, she can do it.”

“A bit different from the goofy, unruly puppy I saw last time.”

“She still has her goofy, unruly moments, but she’s a good soldier. She saved my life last month - sniffed out an old IED outside Kabul moments before I would have triggered it.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky to have her.”

“Bombs in Afghanistan, mysterious missions in the desert…I’m worried about you, Calina,” Karen said, twisting in her chair to face her. “Are you being careful out there? And not reckless, like a certain man in red we used to know?”

Karen’s words brought up the image of Daredevil leaping through the air, the moonlight glinting off the horns on his mask. God, she used to love watching him. The way he would fling himself across the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen. His power and speed, the precision of his movements…he was so captivating to her in those moments. Pure power and grace.

So full of life.

All of it gone now.

She felt another wave of grief cresting. A tear slipped from her eye before she could wipe it away.

“Oh, Calina,” Karen breathed.

Calina tried to smile through the tears, to reassure her friend. “I’m fine. It just hits me sometimes.”

Karen didn’t look reassured. In fact, she looked more worried than ever. “Maybe this wasn’t the right thing for you to do - all this fighting. All these missions. Maybe you should be concentrating on grieving instead.”

Calina huffed. “That sounds like a barrel of laughs.”

“I’m serious. This new life seems to be taking a lot out of you. You seem…fragile.”

“Its just been a rough couple of months. And these missions…they’re not what we’re used to.”

“In what way?”

Calina picked at the label on her beer bottle as she tried to explain. “We were trained to be spies and assassins. We were trained to be the bad guys. We carried out our missions, never knowing or caring who we hurt along the way. This hero thing - its different. We feel this…responsibility now. And those times when we fail…when we don’t quite get there in time, or we don’t manage to get everyone to safety…”

“What?”

“Let’s just say the Red Room’s punishment for failure was preferable.”

Physical pain was easy. Bruises and broken bones were temporary - Calina had endured enough of them to know that. The few times she’d failed on her missions under Dreykov, she would accept her punishment, heal the damage, and move on. But she couldn’t move on from this. From the weight of the memories, the faces of the people she’d failed-

The yellow dress. The pool of red blood on the floor. Those hazel eyes open and staring at the door, as if waiting for someone to walk through and save her…

But she’d been too late.

Five fucking minutes too late.

The Children of Byzantium had been operating under the radar in the foothills of the Ural mountains in northern Kazakhstan since before The Vanishing. A doomsday cult, run by Pyotr Levin - a former Russian Orthodox priest - they believed the end of the world was coming in 2020. Thanos’ snap may have been two years ahead of their schedule, but it convinced the cult members that their prophet was right - about the end of the world, and everything else he espoused, such as the need to sublimate women, have multiple wives, and marry them young.

Very young. 

The trouble was, there weren’t enough young girls in the cult to satisfy the men who survived the snap, let alone those who joined it afterwards. So their recruitment tactics became more aggressive - and much less voluntary. They started kidnapping all the young girls from the surrounding villages and towns, and used their stockpile of weapons to terrorise their parents into staying silent.

But word got out, and the Widows were sent in to rescue the girls and end Levin’s reign.

But they were too late.

Levin found out about the raid in advance, and ordered the execution of the girls. While he fled into the mountains, his disciples slit the throats of those captive, terrified girls.

The yellow dress. The pool of red blood on the floor. Still liquid, still warm. The pale, limp hand hanging off the side of the bed, and those unseeing eyes-

“Calina?” Karen asked, her voice tentative and worried.

Calina forced herself back to the present. To the soft evening sunlight filtering through the trees. To the sound of those children next door - alive and happy and thriving. To Nika’s happy barks as she chased a firefly around the yard.

A glint of…something…caught Calina’s eye, up in the branches of the large oak near the garden gate. She tensed, the flash of reflective light making her think of telescopic lenses on sniper rifles…

But then she relaxed. It was just the remnants of a foil balloon, the material catching the light from the setting sun. Calina pointed it out to Karen. “Did you have a party here?” It didn’t seem like Karen’s style - by her own admission, she hadn’t made a ton of friends out in the suburbs.

“No,” Karen replied. “But next door had one - a kind of wake-slash-celebration of survival.”

“What for?”

Karen gave her a strange look. “For the anniversary. Two weeks ago. It’s been a year since…it…happened.”

Calina struggled to place today’s date. Then she counted backwards…oh. “I- I didn’t realise. This last mission… it was-”

“Hey,” Karen interrupted, putting a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. It’s just a date.”

“But I should have known. How could I not have known?” She could feel her voice rising in pitch, her heart racing. Guilt swelled within her. How could she have let it pass her by…

“Calina did you think about Matt today?”

Karen’s abrupt question took her by surprise. “What? Yes, of course - we were just talking about Daredevil.”

“And did you think about him yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“And the day before that?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a day since he disappeared that you haven’t thought about him?”

“No,” she whispered. She thought about him every day, a million times a day. She missed him every single day. She woke up missing him. She fell asleep at night missing him.

“Then the date doesn’t matter,” Karen said softly.

“I guess not.”

————–

Chapter 8

We're going to be spending a few chapters in the past catching up on those missing 5 years - I'm fascinated by that period, and always felt Marvel short-changed us by not exploring if further. But, hey, that's what fanfic is for!

Tag list: @hollandorks @stilldreaming666 @sio-ina-bottle @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy @chezagnes

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

[2nd2ndalto]

what if there were two (side by side in orbit)

__

(Chapter 4 here)

Chapter 5

March 1999

“Got your mail,” Will announces as he comes back into the office. He falters at the edge of Nico’s desk, trying and failing to see a single square inch of available space on which to drop said mail - a handful of memos, photocopied reports and interdepartmental envelopes.

Nico straightens from the newspaper he’s been poring over, immediately registering Will’s dilemma.

“Oh, thanks, I can –” Nico accepts the little bundle of papers from Will and automatically looks around for somewhere to set it down, reaching the exact same conclusion Will did a second earlier. Will laughs.

Nico slumps, defeated, still holding the mail in a loose grip.

Will plucks the envelopes from his hand. “Here, I’ll put them…” Will glances around, finding almost every other surface cluttered with papers, books and files.

Nico sighs, dejected. “It’s a lost cause.”

“I can go put them back in your slot in the mail room,” Will offers, only half-kidding.

“No, I’ll just –” Nico takes the papers back again, opening three crammed-full drawers in his desk before finding one with room to stuff the mail on top and shutting it with a satisfied nod.

“Much better,” Will says. He moves to his own, mostly-clear desk and begins to flip through the items he’s retrieved from his own mailbox. Nothing too interesting. Copies of authorized expense reports, a reminder that he’s due to renew some sort of workplace safety training that he doesn’t even remember completing the first time around. He pauses, eyes skimming over a glossy flier.

“You think we should do the workplace communication training workshop?” Will says contemplatively. He glances over to Nico, who looks predictably appalled.

“No,” Nico answers.

Will grins. “Aw, c’mon. Don’t you want to learn to communicate more effectively with me?”

Nico gives him a withering look. “Solace, if we communicate any more effectively, they’ll make us teach the class ourselves. And neither of us want that.

Will attempts not to look too outwardly pleased at this. “Good point,” he agrees, solemn. “We don’t want to peak too soon. Or like, get promoted against our will.”

Nico lets out a laugh. “Definitely not. I kind of like it down here.” He shoots Will a smile, a real one. Will winks. Nico huffs and turns back to his paper.

Will sets the flier aside, unfurling the red string of an interoffice envelope. He squints at his name, misspelled and scrawled messily underneath two dozen others, before pulling a single sheet of paper from the envelope, folded in half. It’s nice paper, embossed. Thicker than the stuff he and Nico are allotted to print letters on. Will makes a face, scanning over the page. “What kind of a name is Octavian?”

Nico’s head jerks up from his newspaper.

“Sorry,” Will shakes his head. “That wasn’t very nice, was it? I’m sure he’s lovely.”

“He’s not,” Nico says acidly. “What does he want?”

Will blinks, surprised at the sudden vitriol in his partner’s voice. “It doesn’t say. I’ve never even heard of this guy.” Will peers at the letterhead, then the interdepartmental envelope, trying to ascertain where the letter originated from. “He wants to meet with me tomorrow. Why wouldn’t he call, or send an email? What if I hadn’t even checked my mail today?”

Nico scowls. “That’s Octavian.”

“He’s the… associate deputy director?” Will reads from under the signature at the bottom of the letter.

“Yeah,” Nico says, tired. “He’s Reyna’s boss.”

“Wonder what I did to deserve a meeting,” Will says, his stomach lurching unpleasantly. He reads through the letter again, but there’s absolutely nothing to indicate what the meeting might be for. It feels ominous.

Nico grimaces. “Nothing, most likely. He’s – Octavian doesn’t like me. Or the X-Files. I’m actually surprised his name hasn’t come up before. When I’ve mentioned fighting for the department to keep its funding – that’s all on Octavian. He’s always looking for some excuse to shut me down. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was looking for you to snitch on me.”

Will scoffs, disgusted. “Well, that’s not going to happen.”

“No?”

“Of course not!” Will says, aghast. “I would never. What would I even snitch about, if I wanted to? That you put in extra hours you don’t claim in your paysheet? That you do research into cases on your own time? Besides, we’re partners, Nico. You’re my friend.”

Nico looks a bit shaken by this declaration, and Will turns back to his desk, giving the other man a moment.

“What happens in the basement stays in the basement,” Will announces with finality, flipping through the rest of his mail. Nico laughs.

::

Nico’s in the office a full hour early the next morning, pacing, his stomach in knots. He’d tried to brush off Octavian’s letter, and done a pretty good job of it for most of yesterday. But it had started to weigh on him by the evening, alone in his apartment. By the time he’d gone to bed, the thought of Will’s looming meeting had taken up a heavy, unpleasant occupancy in his gut.

First, there’d been the niggling worry that Octavian was looking for dirt on Nico. But even if Will would have indulged that, which he’d made quite clear he wouldn’t, Nico’s not really worried about his work or his methods being scrutinized. He’s proud of the cases they’ve worked, maybe even more so in the last six months. Sure, they haven’t solved every case in its entirety, they haven’t locked up every perpetrator, but they’ve been careful and thorough. They’ve helped people. The case in Fairbrook was a standout, certainly, and it’s gotten a lot of attention, both from the Bureau and the media. Surely that will help his case, if he needs to have one.

So there have been those worries - small and persistent, really nothing new. The X-Files has been in perpetual danger of losing its funding ever since Nico first descended into the basement. But what’s truly had his insides twisting since last night is the unwelcome worry that perhaps this meeting means that he’s losing Will.

There’s no denying that Will’s an excellent agent, and he did amazing work in Fairbrook. What if the Bureau wants to reassign him somewhere they think he’ll be more useful? What if Will wants to be somewhere where he’ll be more useful?

Nico works alone. He always has. Sure, there have been other agents assigned to work with him here and there, and it’s been fine. Nothing special, but fine.

But Will... Will is a partner, in a way Nico hadn’t even considered possible. Nico doesn’t want Will to leave. He’d arrived at this realization with complete, crashing clarity at three am just as he was finally about to drift off to sleep. The rest of the night had mostly been a write-off.

How did this happen? This was not part of the plan when Will came to work down here. Work, sure. They could work together. With a very few notable exceptions, Nico gets along decently with his colleagues. He can be a team player when the situation requires it.

But just when exactly did Will worm his way under Nico's skin the way he has? The way that makes it feel like there's a tangibly empty space in the office when Will leaves early for a dentist appointment, or gets pulled into another department for an afternoon? The way Nico glances over to Will automatically, reflexively seeking his agreement, his input. The way it settles him when he receives it.

The way his stupid heart swells when Will laughs at his jokes, loud and bright, his lingering fond smile.

Fuck.

And now – what if all that gets snatched away? What if that's even what Will wants? Sure, Will seems to enjoy Nico's company, but really (as Nico realized as he entered that particularly devastating train of thought around four am) Will seems to enjoy everyone's company. It's not as though there's anything special about Nico, no reason for Will to want to stay here of all places. Here, in the basement, the armpit of the FBI. Here, hanging out with the one little weirdo no one else takes seriously.

Will's just so damn easy to get along with, so fucking pleasant to have around. So much more curious and open-minded than Nico ever would have expected. He's smart and funny and... tall and... okay, Nico supposes he can admit it – it doesn't hurt that he's really attractive.

Fuck. Fuck.

Having completed probably a dozen laps of the office (not easy, thank you, there’s not exactly a clear path around the perimeter), Nico drops heavily into his chair then drops his head into his hands. He's an existential, underslept mess, in no way prepared for Will's early arrival when the office door opens mere seconds later.

Will beams at the sight of Nico, sitting there like a disheveled, pathetic pile of desperation, and how the fuck is that fair?

Nico clears his throat, forcing himself to sit up straighter. "You're early," he says. The words come out sounding far more accusatory than he intended.

"Yeah." Will's face falls a little. "Sorry?"

"No, no," Nico says immediately. "I'm – just ignore me. I didn't get much sleep."

Will's brow creases in sympathy. "Sorry to hear that."

Nico watches with a sinking heart as Will pulls off his coat and hangs it by the door, ruffling a hand through his hair and brushing water droplets off his bag. What if this is their last morning in this office together? What if this is the last time he watches Will hang his coat, cross the office and drop into his chair? Every little motion is so familiar now, so much a part of his morning. How did he never think to properly appreciate it before?

Will turns once he's seated, regarding Nico with a little more scrutiny than Nico had been prepared for, and Nico immediately attempts to look completely sane and cool. Like the sort of person who wouldn't miss his partner at all, were that partner to be reassigned.

Will doesn't look as if he's fooled, which is concerning in itself.

"Should we go grab coffee?" Will asks, worried. "Have you eaten?"

Nico nods, grateful for the distraction. "Definitely yes to coffee and no, I haven't eaten." He stands from his desk. "Dunkin’?"

Will makes a face. "It started pouring right after I got off the train. I ran all the way here with my bag over my head. I don't suppose you have an umbrella?"

Nico does not, so the cafeteria it is, then. On days when they’re feeling particularly motivated, they'll take the stairs up to the eighth floor, but god, it's early and Nico feels like shit, and Will seems to understand this without Nico needing to explain. Will leads them to the single elevator that descends to the basement level.

The elevator gets progressively stuffier and more crowded as it rises through the building, and Nico gets progressively more twitchy and irritable. By the sixth floor, there's barely room to breathe, and he and Will are trapped in the back corner together, a wall of suits and briefcases forming a barricade of claustrophobia in front of them.

Will glances down at Nico, then bumps their shoulders together, once, then harder, teasingly shuffling over inch by inch until Nico's smushed against the wall, Will grinning and Nico trying valiantly to maintain his scowl in the face of this unasked-for amusement.

Ten minutes later they're settled at a table with a view of the rooftop garden, Nico gazing out the windows at the puddles collecting on the pebbled cement outside and picking at a bran muffin. Across the table, Will checks his watch.

"What time's your meeting?" Nico asks. As if he doesn’t know. As if he’s spent more than a few minutes not thinking about it in the last eighteen hours.

Will lets out a breath. "In an hour."

"Oh –"

"Yeah." Will makes a face. "He emailed me last night to move it earlier. Not sure why he couldn't have just emailed in the first place."

That's not such a bad thing, Nico supposes, as his stomach gives a violent lurch. At least they'll know soon, one way or another.

"Guess he didn't say what he wanted to meet about in the email," Nico says, trying to sound as though this is only of minimal concern to him.

Will shakes his head. "Nope. Just hope I'm not about to get fired." He lets out a nervous laugh and Nico glances up, surprised.

"Why would you think that?"

Will shrugs. "I don't know. It's all a little weird and mysterious, isn't it? Maybe I made some horrible mistake and didn't realize."

"You definitely didn't. If anything, I'd think he'd – well. Just, hypothetically... what if they offered you a promotion?"

Will laughs, surprised. "What would – that doesn't make any sense. I'm brand new. I barely know what I'm doing yet."

Nico scoffs. "That's ridiculous. You do know that, right? The Robert Marcus case – that was basically all your doing. And the whole Bureau's been talking about it."

Will blinks. "I mean – that was a group effort, though."

Nico averts his eyes, gazing into his coffee. The coffee here is decent, at least. Thick and strong. The ceramic cups are small, but heavy, a pleasing weight to them. The bran muffins leave a lot to be desired. Although Nico's not sure if he could enjoy eating anything at this exact moment.

"What – what would you think? If they did offer you a promotion?" Nico asks, his heart throbbing in his chest, staring desperately into the depths of his coffee.

"Do you really think that's what this is about?" Will sounds incredibly skeptical. Which is kind of hilarious, Nico thinks. Will, the skeptical partner, whose deadliest skepticism is directed at his own abilities.

"Wait," Will says, taking in Nico’s expression. "Are you – are you worried that I'll be promoted?"

And okay, that's uncalled for. Nico is frankly offended. Nico is supposed to be the psychological profiler here, thank you very much.

Nico shrugs. He chances a glance at Will, who's gazing out into the rain, brow furrowed. Probably considering all the other floors he could be working on that aren't the basement. All the other agents he could be working with who aren't weird and grouchy. And short. Take Magnus, for instance. Magnus is tall, and he’s almost always in a good mood. That fucker.

Will's gaze finally flicks from the window back to Nico, something tentative there. "I don't think there's any other job I'd rather do at the Bureau," he says slowly, as if he's only just realizing it himself. "I feel like I really lucked into something, being assigned to this department, you know?” Will’s blue eyes are clear, and Nico's stomach seems to settle back towards its regular location. “The work we’ve been doing together – it’s fascinating. And it feels worthwhile. Like we’re making a difference. I think it’s something I think I could learn to be really good at. I’d like to. And I mean." Will swallows. "I think you already know that I enjoy working with you," he finishes, timid.

Nico can feel his cheeks warming. Stupid cheeks. "Yeah," he mutters, turning his coffee cup in his hands. "I mean... me too."

"You like working with me, or you like working with you?" Will asks, suddenly wide-eyed and dead serious.

Nico scowls. "Fuck off."

Will laughs.

"I like working with you, okay?" Nico says, pained.

Will's fully grinning at him now, the full, devastating one hundred watts.

"And you know. You did just save me from death by exsanguination, so it's probably in my best interests to keep you around," Nico says, as grudgingly as he can manage.

Their conversation in the cafeteria is heartening, but Nico's still a grouchy ball of nerves almost an hour later as he watches the clock in the basement office tick down, the time of Will's meeting looming closer and closer. With fifteen minutes to go, he can't take it anymore and he stands abruptly, throwing his jacket over the back of his chair. He crosses to a cabinet in the corner and pulls out a bag, little-used, slinging it over his shoulder.

Will blinks up at him from where he's cross-legged on the dusty floor in front of a filing cabinet, digging through the bottom drawer. "Are you running away from home?"

Nico rolls his eyes. "I'm going to go to the gym."

Will's eyebrows rise. "The gym? Oh. Okay."

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Nico mutters, "I go to the gym."

“No, obviously you do, I mean…” Will suddenly goes pink and flustered, his gaze somewhere around Nico’s chest, and Nico’s brow furrows in confusion, glancing down to make sure he hasn’t spilled something on himself.

Will clears his throat. “It’s just that I’ve never seen you go to the gym. Here.”

They gaze at each other for a long moment. Will’s pink cheeks make his eyes look bluer. Brighter.

“Well,” Nico says, bemused. “I guess it’s been a while. And hey,” he adds as he reaches the office door, as if it’s nothing but an afterthought, “good luck with your meeting.”

Will smiles from where he’s still seated on the floor, looking nervous. “Thanks.”

::

Nico’s workout doesn’t last long. Mid-morning is apparently a popular time to use the Bureau gym, and Nico can’t bear the thought of making small talk with any of his colleagues at the moment. He lasts about half an hour, weights and some half-assed cardio before he hits the showers, washing up quickly before heading back downstairs, hair still damp.

Maybe he’ll have some time to collect himself before Will reappears. Maybe he should have done some yoga. That's supposed to be relaxing, right? Frank showed him some poses once. He doesn't think he can remember any of them except the one where you lie flat on your back.

Nico does actually manage to distract himself by reading through a file for a few minutes before he hears the heavy slam of the fire door at the stairwell, letting him know that someone’s reached the basement level.

Nico watches the office door, breath caught in his chest. He only has seconds to wait.

“What a fucking asshole,” Will announces, the office door slamming shut behind him. “What the actual fuck.”

Will’s face is flushed. He pulls off his jacket, the motion jerky, tossing it on top of his coat on the rack by the door. It falls to the floor. Will takes a deep breath, hands on his hips before retrieving it and shoving the jacket more violently at the coat rack. Nico thinks he’s actually shaking.

“What happened?”

“You were right.” Will throws up his hands, disbelieving. “He wanted me to fucking snitch on you! He started asking me all these inane questions, like whether your methods made me feel unsafe.” Will rolls his eyes, gloriously. “All these fucking pointed questions about our protocol for initiating cases and –” Will lets out a huff of frustration. “I obviously wasn’t answering the way he wanted me to, and he just got… more and more infuriating.”

Will sits on the edge of his desk, then immediately stands again, shoving a hand roughly through his hair.

“That fucking anemic loser,” he seethes. “The absolute nerve. I can’t even –” Will shakes his head, lost for words.

Nico watches him for a long moment, now torn between worry and admiration. “And so what did you – what did you tell him?”

“I told him you were a brilliant agent, one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and that the FBI was lucky to have you!” Will says, his voice rising.

Nico's throat goes tight.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t actually yell at him.” Will huffs out a laugh. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Nico feels as if he’s been hit over the head with something very heavy. “Well. I might have. A bit. I sure would have enjoyed watching it.”

Will smiles, finally. His eyes are bright, cheeks pink. He’s radiant like this. Like some kind of avenging angel, or a Greek god.

“Thank you,” Nico manages. “For defending me.”

Will shakes his head, frowning. “I just told him the truth.”

“So he’s not – he didn’t threaten to pull our funding or, I don’t know. Assign us both to Agricultural Corruption?”

Will barks out a laugh. “No.” He lowers himself to the edge of his desk again, aggressively scrubbing a hand over his face. “He made some noise about irregular procedures and untenable evidence.” Will throws up one hand in a half-hearted air quote. “But honestly it seemed like he was just grasping at straws by that point. He kept bringing up specific instances of when seemed to think we weren’t following protocol - he had a fucking list – and I just very patiently explained all the ways he was wrong.”

Nico laughs. Octavian’s got to be absolutely seething right now, and that’s a pretty great feeling. As if that wasn’t enough good news, it doesn’t sound as if Will’s going anywhere. Nico suddenly feels about twenty pounds lighter.

“Seriously, what an absolute dick,” Will says. “What the fuck is that guy’s problem?”

Nico shrugs. “He’s one of those guys who always wants to be at the top of the heap. Even as far as he’s climbed the corporate ladder here at the Bureau, it doesn’t seem to have made him any happier. It’s not enough for him to be at the top. He needs everyone else to know they’re at the bottom, too.”

“I can’t stand guys like that.” Will scowls. “He did commend us on the Fairbrook case, though he didn’t seem happy about it. Told me I was a valuable asset but he sounded like he meant the exact opposite. I made sure he knew that without your timely research resources, Marcus would still probably be murdering diabetics.”

Will stands again. “You know, I think I need to walk this off. I’m kind of a wreck right now. I managed to hold it together while I was talking to him, but I feel like my blood pressure’s through the roof.”

“Isn’t it still raining?” Nico asks.

“I don’t think I care," Will laughs, shoving a hand through his hair again. The violence he’s perpetrated on it in the last few minutes combined with the humidity of the day makes it stand out like a messy halo around his head. It’s glorious. "I can’t believe I put on my best suit for that idiot.”

"Well, you look..." Nico swallows. Amazing. Gorgeous. Breathtaking. God, why the fuck did he start this sentence? The longer Nico's lost for words, the more Will's smile grows, and when Nico finally manages, "very professional," Will grins, wide.

"Aww, thanks."

Nico rolls his eyes as hard as he can.

"Do you want company?" Nico asks, as he watches Will pull his coat back on. He immediately curses his lack of filter. "It's fine if you don't." Will’s jacket falls from the coat rack again and Will kicks it aggressively into the corner.

But Will only says, "of course I want your company.”

"What if it's still raining, though?" Will asks as they head to the stairwell. "You don't like getting wet."

"I guess I can make an exception," Nico mutters, because that sounds a lot more sane than, now that I know you're staying, I kind of don't want to let you out of my sight.

Will steps back neatly, holding the door open for Nico with a little bow when they reach the ground floor. "You know, for someone who doesn't like rain, you'd think you'd keep an umbrella around," he muses, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, well. I'm an enigma wrapped in a mystery," Nico mutters, and Will’s bright laughter is worth any potential rain.

The rain is more of a drizzly mist by the time they make it out onto Pennsylvania Avenue, and they walk in companionable quiet in the general direction of the sculpture garden, Will looking a bit more settled the longer they walk. It settles Nico, too.

His mind drifts back over the last six months, still a bit baffled that this has become what it has, and so easily. A partnership. A friendship. Will had said, of course I want your company like it was nothing, implicit.

And Nico suddenly remembers his worries, in the first few months Will was here. That he wouldn't be able to keep Will at arm's length, that he had to make sure not to let Will in, not to let Will know him. As they wait at the back of a crowd of tourists for the lights to change at Constitution Avenue, Will's shoulder bumps gently into his, and Will smiles and Nico realizes it's far, far too late for that.

The realization doesn't hit him like a truck, not like last night, when he desperately wanted to sleep. Instead, the knowledge settles over him gently, like the misty rain, like the half-memory of a mostly-inconsequential task that he neglected to complete.

Well, damn.

::

Still March 1999

Nico, having returned from the continental breakfast buffet, hands over a coffee and muffin. Will accepts both gratefully from where he’s seated cross-legged on his bed. Nico’s footsteps falter on the way across the hotel room. “You smell… fruity,” he comments, then immediately looks embarrassed.

Will grins. “Well,” he shrugs. “I am, a little.”

Nico huffs, settling himself onto his own bed, newspaper spread out in front of him.

“It’s probably my shampoo,” Will realizes. “It’s Dewberry, from the Body Shop. Kayla got a big gift basket for her birthday, but she didn’t like the scent. I like it, though. So you’ll have to put up with me smelling fruity for the foreseeable future.” He tilts his head in Nico’s general direction, ruffling his still-damp hair.

Nico rolls his eyes. Then, a moment later – “It could be worse,” he mutters.

Will hides a smile, turning back to his own work. If he’s forced to tolerate Nico’s arms in that devastatingly tight Ramones t-shirt every time they share a room, Nico can put up with Will’s fruity-smelling hair, Will thinks ruefully.

They’re sharing a room on this particular trip because Reyna insisted on it; Will’s been called here to conduct a couple of autopsies, Nico tagging along because he’d read about reports of possible UFO sightings in the area. They’re both a little disappointed with yesterday’s conclusions – neither of the autopsies revealed anything indicating foul play, and Nico’s UFOs turned out to be drunk teenagers with laser pointers.

Sharing a room isn’t a hardship, anyway. They’ve done it on cases more often than not in the weeks since their visit to St. Ambrose, Ramones t-shirt notwithstanding. The couple of occasions they’ve booked separate rooms, they’ve wound up watching TV and chatting until late in the evening anyway, WIll often dozing off in Nico’s room.

Nico folds up the newspaper, leaning back on his hands and gazing towards the window. It’s still pouring out. The rain began just as they pulled off the interstate yesterday afternoon and it hasn’t stopped since. Neither of them had thought to bring an umbrella, and they’ve been sprinting from building to car to building attempting to shield themselves with briefcases and newspapers.

“It’s still fucking raining,” Nico grumbles. “I hate getting wet.”

“Because you’re made of sugar,” Will says vaguely, glancing over his report.

Nico snorts. “I’m what?”

Will glances up, grinning. Nico’s gone a bit pink.

“Because you’re made of sugar. It’s what my mom says. You know. Because if you were made of sugar, you’d melt. In the rain.”

Nico scowls, clearly trying not to look amused. “If anyone’s made of sugar, it’s you,” he mutters. “I’ve seen what you call breakfast.”

Will laughs. He refuses to feel any guilt over his penchant for pastries. “Are you calling me sweet?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “You wish.”

Will grins wider, flopping back onto the bed for a long stretch. He doesn’t miss the way Nico’s eyes flit to his waist, where his shirt rides up. The reflexive flip-flop in his own stomach is already expected, familiar. He’d pulled on sweats and a t-shirt after his shower, knowing they likely wouldn’t leave the room for a couple of hours and not quite ready to face getting properly dressed.

Will rolls to his side, tugging his shirt back into place and propping himself up on an elbow. Nico regards him, looking a bit exasperated. But that’s become familiar, too.

“So you don’t want to head out yet then?” Will asks.

Nico glances back to the window. “Eh. It’s still early. We could wait a bit, see if it eases up. I’m not crazy about driving in this.”

“Sure,” Will says easily. “I think I’m done my report. You wanna watch TV?”

Nico makes a face. “It’s all gonna be morning news right now. I’d be happy to never hear another word about the fucking Clintons.”

Will nods, in complete agreement. “Animal Planet?”

Nico huffs, then – “Oh, actually…” He hops up from the bed, grabbing his overnight bag from the floor and retrieving something small from a side pocket.

He tosses the item to Will, who of course, fumbles it. It lands on the bed though, and Will’s eyes go wide. He feels his face heating, fast. “Um,” he says.

“Oh,” Nico laughs, almost giggles. Will glances up, astonished.

“I should have explained –” Nico begins, red-faced himself, then laughs harder as he takes in Will’s expression. Will doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nico laugh so hard, and the sight makes him feel almost unbearably fond. He’d be able to enjoy it so much more if it weren’t for the accompanying and distracting feelings of shock, and confusion, because –

Nico leans over the bed, grabbing the pack of very clearly x-rated playing cards from Will’s limp hand.

“They were a gift,” he says, still very much red in the face, still laughing. “A stupid – I don’t know, it was one of those stupid blind gift exchanges. Secret Santa, or something. And – they’re the only playing cards I have, and I thought I could try teaching you to shuffle again next time we were on an overnight, but I didn’t really think about –”

“Oh,” Will laughs, the pieces finally fitting together. “Oh. Yeah. A little warning might have been nice.”

They gaze at each other in silence for a moment before bursting into simultaneous laughter.

“Sorry,” Nico laughs, “just – the look on your face.”

Will shakes his head, scrubbing hands over his very warm face. “Fine,” he laughs, “Fine. Let’s shuffle.”

He heads to the table, and Nico follows. It’s sweet, Will realizes, a shot of warmth to his chest as the shock fades. It’s sweet that Nico remembered this, that he wanted to give Will another chance. Will splits the deck, snorting when even more explicit scenes are revealed.

“Jesus, Nico,” he laughs. “I don’t know if I can – where do you even get – it’s just so many naked men.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Nico agrees, peering over. “To be honest, I hadn’t actually opened them.” Nico grabs the top card from the deck and surveys it critically, eyes dancing. “Are you saying this gentleman isn’t your type?” He flips the card to show it to Will, who inspects it for a moment, lip caught between his teeth, trying not to laugh.

“I don’t know. He’s awfully… oily.”

Nico nods, trying to compose himself. “True, true. He looks like he could use a good shower. He flips to the next card. His brows shoot up. “Oh, look. These three are having a shower.”

Will shakes his head, letting out a giggle. “I don’t see a lot of showering going on there. That’s a waste of perfectly good hot water, is what that is.”

Will makes a few half-hearted attempts at shuffling, but it soon devolves into commentary on the scenes depicted on the cards, Nico laughing loudly as Will deems certain situations “physiologically improbable” and “highly inadvisable.” Will’s not sure if he’s ever been so pleased with himself for making someone laugh before. There’s something about seeing Nico so uninhibited that makes him feel about ten feet tall. His stomach aches from laughing when Nico finally slides the cards back into the box.

“Oops,” Will says, snatching up a card that’s fallen to the floor. “You missed these guys.”

Nico’s mouth twitches as he surveys the card, seven of hearts. “What do you think, workplace safety violation?” he asks, turning the card to Will.

Will leans closer. “Definitely. Although… they are wearing hard hats.

Nico shakes his head, slotting the card in and closing the box. “Should I leave them in the desk for the next people to find?”

Will considers. “Maybe not. Imagine if someone’s kid opened the drawer, and –”

“Oh god.”

Half an hour later the rain isn’t splattering quite so hard against the windows, and they decide to make a break for it while they can. Nico makes one final sweep of the room while Will kneels at the door, tying his shoes.

“Oh hey, you forgot your glasses,” Nico says, snagging them from the corner of the nightstand where Will had left them last night.

“Oh shit, thanks.”

Nico raises an eyebrow, settling the glasses on his own face as he returns to the door.

Will feigns annoyance although Nico, of course, looks adorable in the glass. Will plucks them off Nico’s face when his partner is close enough. He folds them, slipping them into the pocket of his blazer. When he glances back up, Nico’s brow is furrowed, his eyes on the pocket where the glasses disappeared to, and Will feels a twinge of discomfort.

“What?”

“That – that’s a really strong prescription,” Nico says slowly. “You don’t usually wear contacts, do you?”

And Nico likely already knows the answer to that, considering their hotel-room proximity in the last month, both of their possessions spilled over bathroom counters and hotel room beds and floors, Will’s socks occasionally ending up in Nico’s laundry and vice versa.

Will groans inwardly. Instead of answering immediately, he opens the door, heading down the hall towards the elevator. Nico’s quiet, but as the elevator descends, he’s still watching Will with something like curiosity, or concern.

“I don’t like wearing contacts,” Will says, finally, as they reach the main floor.

“But you don’t like glasses either? I almost never see you wearing them.”

Will grimaces. “I – I know it’s stupid. Or vain, or whatever. I just don’t like the way they look.”

Nico regards him seriously as they take their place at the end of the line to check out. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Will rolls his eyes, batting Nico’s hand away.

They make one more stop at the continental breakfast after checkout, one last coffee for the road. Nico shifts so Will can fill his cup, securing the lid on his own coffee.

“So am I just like, kind of blurry to you all the time?” Nico asks, still teasing. “How do you manage to pick me out in a crowd?”

“I just look for the grumpiest short guy wearing a tie,” Will shoots back, unthinking, then – “sorry,” he says, because the words sound meaner than he intended, and something like hurt flickers over Nico’s face, But Nico’s shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have –”

“Kids teased me,” Will says flatly, because suddenly, unfortunately, it’s become a thing he needs to explain. “I know that’s stupid and I’m an adult and I should be over it, but…” he shrugs.

“No, I get that,” Nico says, softer.

“You’re not really that grumpy,” Will feels the need to say as they head for the front doors.

Nico huffs out a laugh. “It’s okay, Solace.”

::

The rain has eased a bit more now, and the two men jog across the parking lot in the misty drizzle.

Will’s given up on looking presentable at this point. He’s past due for a haircut, his curls have gone rogue in the humidity, and he doesn’t mind getting a little damp when all he’s got ahead of him is a two-hour drive. It’s clear that his partner doesn’t feel the same, but Nico flatly refuses Will’s offer to bring the car around and pick him up at the door.

Much to Nico’s dismay, the CD player is on the fritz in their fleet car. After his third attempt to get the player to accept Road to Ruin, they give up.

“Just put it back in the case,” Nico says glumly. “We might never get it out again if it does go in.”

Will does so, flipping to the radio. They’re not required to keep the police scanner on, but Will supposes they should at least check in and make sure they haven’t missed anything important.

There’s nothing at all for the longest time, and Will starts to doze to the sound of the static when suddenly there’s a crackle.

“Dispatch to all available units. We have a code 10-65, missing minor near Rockwood Forest. Repeat, missing minor near Rockwood Forest. All nearby units please respond.”

Will glances to his partner. “Missing kid?”

Nico’s brow furrows. “Yeah. Can you check on the location? I think we’re near there.”

Will presses the call button radio, leaning closer to the dash. “Dispatch, this is unit 215. We’re about 30 miles west of Argyle. Can you give us an ETA to Rockwood Forest from our current location?”

“Stand by, unit 215.”

The wipers are on low now, just an intermittent drizzle. Despite the damp and the low hang of clouds in the sky, it’s gorgeous out here, just starting to green up. Will finds himself itching to get out in it, inhale a few deep lungfuls of fresh, forest air. Hopefully be of some help, too.

The radio crackles again. “Unit 215, you’re approximately ten miles west of Rockwood Forest.”

Will glances over at Nico, who nods. Will clicks the radio once more. “Unit 215, en route.”

::

“Hey, it’s you guys!” Magnus brightens, making his way over to them through the crowd of officers. He squeezes Will’s arm, and Will pats him on the shoulder. Magnus takes a formal step back, back straight. “Agent di Angelo,” he nods, eyes sparkling. Nico rolls his eyes.

“So, what’s going on?” Nico asks.

Magnus heaves a sigh, shoving a hand through his hair. “Too much, honestly. We’ve got an escaped convict – there was a crew of prisoners from Morgantown doing some highway cleanup about a mile from here, one guy made a break for it. We think he headed this way. This is him.” He hands Nico a photocopied picture. “Then there’s a nine-year-old boy missing in the area as well.”

Will and Nico share a glance, concerned, and Magnus immediately shakes his head. “We don’t have any reason to believe they’re connected. Guy was in prison on some minor charges, he’s not believed to be dangerous. Kid seems to have wandered off from his buddies who were playing in the area. But it’s all-hands-on-deck until we find them both.”

Magnus hands Nico another photocopied sheet, a school picture of a young boy with a wide, toothy grin and shaggy dark hair. “Sam’s been out for a few hours already, no sign of either of them. The kid – Andy Torres – may or may not be in the company of his dog, who’s also missing.” He passes Nico one more sheet, a photo of the dog.

Will leans in, propping his chin on Nico’s shoulder for a better look. Nico elbows him in the ribs.

“Nice dog,” Will grins, taking a step back.

“Yeah,” Magnus sighs, frazzled, “husky-shepherd cross. Not considered dangerous. Answers to Chew-Barka.”

Will laughs. “Nice.”

Nico inspects all three pages of slightly damp paper before passing them to Will. “So. Where do you want us?”

::

Feeling more than a little self-conscious about it now, Will pulls out his glasses as they enter the forest. They are kind of necessary, in the current circumstances.

Nico’s gaze flicks over. “You know, they –” Nico cuts himself off, making a face. “The glasses. You look… good. In them.”

Will breathes out a laugh, embarrassed. “You don’t have to say that. But thanks.”

“I wasn’t just saying it.”

Will glances over to see his partner, eyes set on the trail, pink in his cheeks.

“But if you really don’t like them,” Nico adds, awkward but determined, “you could get some new frames, find something you like better. They have some really nice ones now. My sister just got some – they’re like, purple and… chunky.” Nico waves a hand vaguely in front of his face.

Will smiles, fond. “I don’t know if I could pull off purple and chunky, but yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

Nico’s quiet for a moment, the crunch and squelch of mulchy leaves underfoot. “Anyway. I’m sorry for teasing. I didn’t realize it was a sore spot.”

Will shakes his head. “No, it’s really fine. I’m just being stupid.” He makes a face. “And I’m – sorry I called you grumpy.”

Nico sighs, a little dramatic now. “You know, the more times you apologize for calling me grumpy, the more glaringly obvious it is that you’re not sorry for calling me short.”

Will laughs, loud. Nico’s still got his gaze set ahead of him, but there’s something pleased and satisfied in the set of his mouth that loosens the tension in Will’s shoulders. “You don’t wanna be good-natured and tall,” Will says. “That would make you too powerful.”

He makes a gentle, purposeful collision into his partner’s side on the narrow path and Nico rolls his eyes.

::

They’ve been tramping through the forest for almost an hour when Nico suddenly comes to an abrupt halt. Will, once more lamenting his choice of footwear, slips on the wet leaves underfoot and nearly bowls his partner over.

“Did you hear that?” Nico says, hushed.

They’re both silent for a long moment, blue eyes gazing into brown. All Will can hear is birdsong, water dripping somewhere nearby. Maybe several somewheres.

He pushes his hair off his forehead, and his hand comes away damp. He grimaces. His shoes are caked with mud, pants damp and muddy up to mid-calf. Nico’s looking equally damp, the bottom of his coat spattered with mud and a smudge of it across his cheek, dark eyes wide under a mop of dark hair. His hair has a bit of a wave to it, moreso in the humidity, a perfect, spiral curl just behind his left ear.

Nico shakes his head. “Fuck. I was sure I heard something. A voice.”

Before Will can even reply –

“Help! Somebody help me!”

“Andy?” Will calls.

Silence.

“This way,” Nico mutters, turning to lead Will straight through the trees, nothing like a path for them to follow. Will’s hot on his tail, shoes slipping on the slick ground, grabbing onto rough bark to steady himself.

There’s the sound of a dog letting out a sharp whine. They pick up speed, branches scraping at their faces, dead leaves catching in their hair. Will takes a damp tumble when he trips over an exposed root, knees muddy, but he’s up again a second later, pushing through the underbrush. They emerge from the trees onto the bank of a creek, trickling sluggishly through deadfall and muck. There’s a culvert, just visible, and then the sound of a few plaintive barks.

They approach the bank. It’s slippery with wet leaves and mud. It doesn’t look particularly treacherous though, just messy. Thankfully, the water below is shallow. Will half-climbs, half-slides down the bank. Nico follows, only slightly more graceful.

“Andy?” Will calls again, near the culvert. “Andy Torres?”

“Hi?” comes a boy’s voice in response.

The two men glance at each other. Relief.

“Are you okay in there? Why are you in a culvert?” Will asks, loud. Nico snorts and Will shoves him, nearly sending him sliding further down the bank. Nico grabs Will’s arm to steady himself.

“My dog ran in and he got stuck,” says a small voice after a moment. “Can you get my dad?”

Will smiles, half-listening to Nico, now on the radio to other searchers in the area. “Your dad should be here soon. In the meantime – my friend and I out here are FBI agents. We’re going to try to get you out, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” the boy says, sounding less than enthused. Then he adds, “I’m really muddy. My mom’s gonna be mad.”

“Wait until your mom sees us,” Nico calls, dry. “We’re even muddier.”

There’s a giggle from inside the pipe.

They share a glance. “After you?” Nico says hopefully.

Will tilts his head, glancing first at the muddy culvert, then Nico. “You are smaller. Besides, someone should stay out here and um… wait for the others to arrive.”

Nico groans. “Fine.” He inches a bit closer.

Will scans the area critically. “I think we’re going to… here.” He carefully lowers himself to the creek bed, cringing as his already-muddy shoes fill with icy, stagnant water.

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he says deadpan, and Nico grimaces.

They manage it, eventually, Will giving Nico a boost into the pipe, both getting even muddier in the process. The dark-haired man disappears into the hole in the bank grumbling to himself.

Half a dozen other agents, a couple of EMTs and Andy’s dad have arrived by the time Nico emerges with Andy and Chew-Barka in tow, and Will watches, amused, as Nico is roundly congratulated, probably receiving far more handshakes and thumps on the back in ten minutes than he’d like in an entire year. He finally makes his way back towards Will looking harassed but pleased, and they follow along near the rear of the group as everyone heads back towards the trailhead.

Andy, thankfully, doesn’t seem hurt in the least, and his high, excited voice carries back to them as he swings off his father’s arm, enumerating his adventures. Chew-Barka looks thrilled just to be along for the ride, repeatedly tripping up the search team as he attempts to make friends with everyone.

“That was a good morale boost,” Nico murmurs, a small smile on his face as they pick their way over a fallen tree.

“Yeah,” Will agrees. “Always good to schedule in a few of those.”

They trudge along in silence for a while, the group in front of them slowly drawing further ahead.

Will glances over at his partner. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Nico huffs. “Just trying to keep my shoes from getting wetter than they already are.”

“Good luck with that.”

They’re only walking for another minute when Nico speaks up, sudden. “Did you see his dad?”

Will blinks. “Whose dad? Andy’s?”

“Yeah,” Nico says, and then there’s a pause as they pick their way around a large puddle, anchoring themselves on branches alongside the path to keep from falling into the muck. “He didn’t seem upset with the kid at all, did he?”

Will frowns, considering. Andy’s dad had caught the little boy up in his arms and squeezed him like there was nothing else in the world. He thinks there isn’t anything quite like the relief on a parent’s face at finding their child is safe when they were worried otherwise. “Why would he have been upset?” Will asks slowly. “I know the kid wandered off, but… I think he was just happy we found him in one piece.”

Nico nods. “Exactly. That’s how – that’s what dads should be like,” he says fervently.

Will glances over, processing. Nico’s studiously avoiding his gaze. Then, “Oh,” Will says, soft. “Not like your dad?”

“No, he would’ve…” Nico shakes his head. “No. Not like mine.”

Will’s throat goes tight. He wants to reach out, but Nico picks up his pace, and Will does his best to keep up.

::

Several hours later there hasn’t been any sign of the escaped convict. The rain has stopped though, and the sky has begun to clear, trails of white fluffy clouds smudged above the treetops. Nico’s somewhat less damp, now, if nothing else. He hopes the lady at his regular dry cleaner will refrain from comments on the state of his pants.

The search crew are lingering around the trailhead, awaiting further instruction. Nico glances over to see his partner seated at a picnic table with Sam, dappled sunlight illuminating Will’s blond curls and Sam’s hijab, sky blue today. The two are chatting animatedly.

“Search is moving into town,” Magnus announces, making his way over to Nico. He’s looking a bit disheveled at this point in the operation too, but his gray eyes are bright. “There was a reported sighting. I just heard from Ramirez-Arellano though. She wants you and Solace to head back to DC. Says if you accumulate one more minute of overtime she’s sending you both on a forced vacation.”

Nico huffs. “Fine.” He can’t say he’s too disappointed. His back is aching and his toes are icy inside his wet socks.

“Keep in touch though, yeah?” Magnus says. “Sam was saying something about organizing another karaoke night.” He winks and Nico rolls his eyes.

Magnus heads back to the search crew and Nico crosses to the picnic table. Sam’s gone, but Will’s still sitting there, legs stretched out, eyes closed, face turned up to the weak spring sunlight. Photosynthesizing, maybe.

Nico stops in front of the picnic table, giving the wooden structure a light kick. “Hey.”

Will opens his eyes, already grinning. “Hey.”

“Hate to interrupt your tanning session, but Reyna wants us to head back. They’re moving the search into town, and we’re not invited.” Nico drops down beside his partner. His cold feet are throbbing.

“So rude,” Will sighs, dramatic. “I have some good news, though – look what Sam lent me!”

Will holds out a CD. Nico peers at it, then pulls a face. “Dawson’s Creek? Isn’t that the show with the teenagers with the huge vocabularies?”

“Nico.” Will shakes his head, solemn. “It’s so much more than that. Dawson’s Creek is a classic. Ahead of its time. Sam and I are going to watch the season finale together, in May. You should come!” Will nudges his leg with a muddy shoe, and Nico grimaces. Not that he can get much muddier.

“I think I’m washing my hair that night.”

Will sticks out his tongue.

Really? He’s almost thirty years old. He’s a doctor.

“Party pooper. Anyway, the soundtrack is really good. You’ll like it. We can listen to it on our next trip.” Will wiggles his eyebrows in a manner that’s probably meant to indicate that what he’s just proposed should be enticing to Nico.

Nico sighs, pained. “Fine. I guess.” He stands. His cold, wet shoes make a weird squelching sound, accompanied by a weird squelching sensation. Gross. “Let’s go. I wanna stop in town for snacks before we head back to DC.”

“Sure.” Will extends his hand.

Nico blinks at the hand, then at Will. “What.”

“Help me up,” Will says, as if that should have been obvious.

“Help you – why should I – why do you –” Nico sputters.

Will sighs. “Nico, we can argue about it, or you can just help me up.” He makes a grabby gesture.

“Oh my god,” Nico mutters, grabbing Will’s warm, large hand and yanking him to his feet. It does something stupid to Nico’s stomach and he drops Will’s hand quickly, shoving down the impulse to rub his own hand on his coat. Really, if Will’s hands are going to be so much larger than his, then surely Will should be the one helping Nico up, or –

Will smiles, all sunlight and freckles. Jerk.

“Andy was right,” Will says. “You are strong.”

“What?” Nico laughs, startled. He can feel himself going red, and he walks a bit faster up the path, attempting to position his flushed face out of sight.

“I heard him telling his dad,” Will grins, catching up easily with his stupid long legs. “All about the strong, brave policeman who rescued him.”

“Jesus,” Nico mutters, unable to come up with anything cleverer.

Will laughs, bright.

The car is parked about half a mile from the trailhead, and they make their way back through the wooded trail together. The sun is slowly beginning to warm the forest, and it smells lush and earthy, droplets of water sparking on leaves in the filtered sunlight. Nico’s dragging a bit after a long day, having trouble focusing on anything besides his wet feet, but Will seems energized, practically skipping next to him.

“I’m so hungry I could eat the north end of a southbound polecat,” Will announces, affecting a southern drawl. Nico snorts, and Will glances over, grinning. “That’s what my nana used to say,” he explains. A branch catches his hair and he pauses to untangle it.

“That’s a new one,” Nico mutters.

“Why, what would you say?” Will asks, still bouncing along next to him.

Nico makes a face. “I don’t know. I’m just hungry. I don’t feel the need to drag out colloquialisms about it.”

Will ignores this. “I’m so hungry I could eat my arm,” he says. “Or your arm.” He grabs Nico’s arm and squeezes.

“God, you’re so touchy Nico complains, batting Will’s hand away. They’re walking side by side, but it’s still obvious, the way Will wilts at the words, a dimming in Nico’s peripheral vision. Nico immediately internally berates himself.

The truth is he’s never been touched so much – at least not outside of romantic relationships. Or at least, not in his memory. He’s sure his mother was affectionate with him, but his memories of her are so hazy, more flashes of her smile, a vague memory of her presence in the house, comforting. And while Bianca was his best friend, his companion and sometimes caregiver, she was never easy with physical touch the way Will is. Nico never has been either. He never thought he particularly liked it, or wanted it. It's taken some adjusting to, as prickly as he knows he can be, but now that he has, he very much doesn’t want to be without it. And Will’s touch is so easy. Something generous. Unconditional. It makes Nico feel warm and grounded.

“Sorry,” Will says, chastened, the teasing gone from his voice. “I’m – I know I can be. I’ll back off.” Will moves a bit further away.

Fuck.

“I don’t – I don’t actually… mind,” Nico manages, feeling his face heat. “I was just – I was teasing. Sorry.”

Will glances over, still guarded. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Nico says, embarrassed. “I might – I kind of like it. Actually.” he admits. His face is burning, but look. He brought this on himself.

Will beams, suddenly throwing an arm around Nico’s shoulders, hugging him from the side. It nearly knocks them both to the forest floor.

“Okay, okay. Nerd,” Nico mumbles, gruff. But he carefully slides an arm around Will’s waist, squeezing back before Will moves away, and okay. That’s kind of nice.

::

They make the short drive into Rockwood. It’s barely large enough to be called a town, Will thinks, and lunch options are thin on the ground. They park on the main street, leaving their muddy coats in the trunk before making their way across the street and up the block to a small grocery store. They exit soon thereafter with a paper bag brimming with snacks, wrapped deli sandwiches and two bottles of soda. Will glances at their reflection in a glass storefront as they wait for the town’s single traffic light to change. He huffs out a laugh.

Nico turns, cocking an eyebrow. “What?”

Will waves a hand towards the glass. “Just wondering how you manage to look artfully windswept after our trek through the woods while I look like I just crawled out of a trash compactor. Especially since you were the one who climbed through the culvert.”

Nico snorts, glancing into the glass. He preens a little and Will laughs. Will glances back to Nico himself, who’s gone a bit pink.

“You – you look fine, anyway,” Nico says, gruff.

Will grins. The light changes and he follows Nico across the street. There aren’t many pedestrians around to begin with, and both men glance up automatically as a man passes them, crossing the street in the opposite direction.

They pause mid-step, halfway across the street. Realization seems to dawn over Nico at the same time as it does Will.

Nico scrambles to pull out the papers that Magnus gave them hours ago, his eyes wide.

“Was that –”

“Fuck.”

A quick glance at the photocopied picture of the escaped convict and both Will and Nico hurry back across the street the way they’d come.

“Edward Michael Corrin?” Will calls.

The man whips around to look at them. His eyes go wide and he takes off at a sprint.

“FBI, stop where you are! Nico yells. If anything, this makes the man run faster.

“I hate running,” Nico groans, cursing and taking off after Corrin. Will sadly abandons their bag of snacks, dropping it as carefully as he can before racing after his partner. Nico may not be tall, but god, he’s fast, and Will’s quickly out of breath.

The town of Rockwood borders right on dense woods, and that’s where Corrin seems to be heading. Will grimaces, thinking ruefully of his already-wet feet and muddy clothes.

Will’s just finished calling for backup as he sees Nico disappear into the trees, maybe 50 yards behind Corrin. The guy’s got a lot of life left in him, considering he’s been on the run all day.

The land here isn’t quite as wet, but it’s rocky and uneven. Will’s pace is slowed immediately as he tries to find a safe way through the woods. The forest here is mostly deciduous, thankfully, just the barest hint of new leaves on the trees. Otherwise, Will thinks there’s no way he would have spotted his partner, halfway up a sharp incline. Nico’s gasping for air, leaning forward with hands propped on his thighs. Will reaches him a moment later, clutching at a stitch in his side.

“I think I lost him,” Nico manages, breathless. “Fuck, I hate running.”

Will breathes out a laugh, sharp. “Yeah, it‘s not my first choice either.” His lungs are burning, but he manages to force himself upright, shoving hair off his sweaty forehead and scanning the landscape. “You didn’t see which way he went?”

Nico shakes his head, still catching his breath. There’s a rip in the shoulder of his jacket.

“Should probably keep climbing,” Nico manages, tilting his head towards the top of the hill. “Might get a better look from up there.”

Sadly, he’s probably right, and they make their way up, breathing hard. The rocky soil underfoot might make for good footholds under other circumstances, but right now the rocks are slippery with rainwater and dead leaves, and Will nearly loses his footing several times, finally resorting to crawling rather than climbing to the top of the hill.

“Where the fuck is everyone?” Nico breathes as they reach the hilltop. It’s dotted with birch up here, too, but the trees are thinner.

Will glances around, chest heaving. “Maybe – there?” He points across the little plateau they’re standing on, because he’s sure he’s just seen movement, a flash of color…

“Where?”

Not enough breath for conversation, Will grabs Nico’s chin with a sweaty hand and points him in the right direction. Nico blinks, startled, but there’s no time to argue, because –

“Oh fuck, that’s him.”

And Nico takes off running again. Will groans, one more deep breath before following. Where are the others?

At least he’s no longer fighting his way uphill. The ground up here isn’t quite as rocky, and Will makes better progress than he had been.

“FBI, stop where you are!” Nico yells again. Corrin doesn’t, but in the next second, Nico’s somehow right on his tail, then he’s got the other man by the shoulder and then they both go down. There’s a brief tussle, but by the time Will catches up, Nico’s got Corrin’s hands behind his back, fumbling for his handcuffs.

“Nice one,” Will gasps, crouching down to help. Nico pulls Corrin to his feet just as the other agents crest the hill, Sam and Magnus in the lead.

“Nice of you all to finally show up,” Nico says, breathless.

There’s a blur of activity. Corrin is led down the hill. Nico takes a few minutes to debrief Magnus, but finally they head back towards the little town they’d left so suddenly. They don’t talk much as they make their way back over the rocky ground, finally emerging from the trees into late afternoon sunlight.

“Oh hey, our snacks are still here!” Will exclaims as they round the corner, spotting the paper bag he’d stowed next to a mailbox. “Thank god, because I could, quite literally, eat your arm at this point.”

He quirks an eyebrow at Nico, who rolls his eyes. “Oh – you’re bleeding,” Will frowns, grabbing his partner by the arm and turning him.

“It’s fine. Sam gave me a bandaid.”

“Let me –” Will ducks his head, trying to get a better look. Sure enough, there is a bandaid at the corner of Nico’s forehead, right at his hairline. A dark lock of hair has fallen over it, might even have done a good job concealing it, if not for the trickle of blood.

“Nico, it’s not fine. There’s literally blood running down the side of your face.”

“Just a flesh wound.”

Will rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t mean you – here. Sit. I’ll be back with the first aid kit.” He grabs both Nico’s shoulders, guiding him firmly to a bench.

“Will, I can make it back to the car, it’s just a cut,” Nico complains.

“Yeah, I know, but the light’s better out here. Just stay put. And give me the car keys.” Will gives him a stern look, holding out his hand, and Nico finally slumps, acquiescing.

Will shoots a glance over his shoulder to make sure Nico hasn’t moved as he hurries back to the car, popping the trunk. He’s been trying to push it aside as best he can, but images of Nico collapsed on a motel room floor, rapidly losing consciousness, seem burned into his brain. The way Will’s heart had plummeted when Nico had stopped responding, gone limp under his hands. The interminable drag of minutes as Will waited for the ambulance to arrive, counting Nico’s every breath.

Nico casually bleeding from a head wound isn’t particularly helping matters. Will takes a moment for a few deep breaths, for whatever good that might do, before heading back up the street.

Nico’s waiting for him, looking mollified or disgruntled, Will’s not sure.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” Will says, settling himself next to Nico. He opens the little med kit, cleaning his hands and then pulling on gloves. He offers the hand sanitizer to Nico as well, who holds out his hand obediently as Will squirts a blob into his palm.

“Can you hold your hair back?” Will asks.

Will carefully peels the bandaid back, blood already soaking through the fabric. It’s a jagged cut, nearly two inches long and still bleeding freely. It could probably use a few stitches.

“Jesus,” Will mutters. “How did this happen?”

Nico’s nose scrunches. Sitting this close in the sunlight, Will notices a scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. “Not sure. Might have been a rock.”

Will gently tilts Nico’s head to the side. “Did Sam see this when she gave you the bandaid? Why didn’t she take you to the EMTs? They were right there when the guys carted Corrin off.”

Nico makes a small sound in his throat, noncommittal.

“Nico?” Will frowns. “Did Sam tell you to see the EMTs?”

Nico glances over, cagey. “I told her you’d look at it.”

Will huffs. “Seriously? And were you planning on mentioning that to me?”

Nico shrugs, and Will gets to work cleaning out the cut, his jaw set. Nico’s gaze flicks over to him a few times, but he stays quiet.

Finally Will shakes his head, dabbing at the still-bleeding wound. “I can put a Steri-Strip on this, but I’d really recommend getting it stitched instead.”

“But you can do it?” Nico says, hesitant.

Will sighs. “I can. If the other option is putting a bandaid back over it and oozing blood all the way back to DC.”

Nico grimaces. “Can – can you do the Steri-Strip? Please?”

“Fine,” Will says, short. The trouble with human bodies is that they’re so fucking fallible. All that blood, right under the skin. Bones that break and hearts that stop and the smallest, stupidest choices that can put you six feet under. Will grits his teeth, throat tight.

“You’re angry at me,” Nico says quietly.

Will blinks, pulled from his morose contemplation.

“What? No.” He shakes his head. “No, I’m really not. Sorry.” He carefully secures one side of the Steri-Strip to Nico’s forehead, applying gentle pressure with two fingertips and holding gauze against the wound with his other hand. “I’m just going to hold this here for a minute and make sure the adhesive sticks before I secure the other side.”

Will’s eyes flick to his partner, who’s watching him with something like wariness.

“I’m not mad,” Will repeats. “I’m just –” he trains his gaze on his gloved fingertips, pressed to his partner’s forehead. Nico’s blood slowly soaks through the gauze, shocking red against the white. Will takes a deep breath. “I almost lost you on our last case. Gotta be more careful this time. Right?” His voice comes out clipped and hoarse.

“But that wasn’t your fault,” Nico says slowly. He’s still holding his hair out of the way, and he swaps one hand for the other, taking care not to jostle Will’s fingers.

Will grimaces. “Wasn’t it? I read the autopsy report on the first victim. I performed the autopsy on the second one. And then I let you order pizza, and I left.” He hadn’t had the space to give it much thought at the time, but in the ensuing days it’s weighed on him more and more. It seems baffling how quickly they moved on from it. Baffling that they’re both still here, alive and breathing.

Nico’s brow creases. “But that’s – I read the autopsy reports too, Will. I didn’t put the pieces together either. And besides, if you hadn’t left, we’d probably both be dead.”

Will shrugs. “I think this side is adhered now,” he tells Nico, avoiding his gaze. “You’re just going to feel some tension and then I’ll secure the other side.”

“Okay,” Nico says quietly.

Will finishes applying the Steri-Strip, then carefully tapes a square of gauze over it. He clears his throat. “I don’t think it’s going to bleed too much more, but the gauze will take care of it if it does.”

Will takes a deep breath, finally turning his gaze to Nico, who’s watching him with those big, dark eyes, his expression solemn. Looking at Nico from inches away like this is a bit like gazing directly into the sun. Will glances down instead, peeling off his gloves and discarding them with the trash in the can next to the bench.

“Any other open wounds I should know about, before I put the kit away?” Will asks irritably.

“No,” Nico says softly.

Will begins packing away his supplies. His hands are clumsy, though, his heart beating too fast, and he fumbles the gauze and then the baggie of cotton balls. Nico pulls the kit and all its accessories out of Will’s hands, packing everything away and handing it back wordlessly.

“Thanks,” Will mutters. He sighs. “Look, I didn’t mean to bring that up. I didn’t mean to make things awkward. Can we just forget about it?”

Nico watches him for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he says finally.

Will can still feel his pulse pounding in his throat. “You don’t know?”

“Well, I –” Nico lets out a breath, sharp. “Look, I’m not good at…” he waves a hand vaguely. “Talking. But I think – look. This job has certain risks, right? And we know that going into it. And if anything ever happened to me, because of this job – this job that I choose to do – I would never want you to blame yourself. Not even if, say, you think you missed something. Or even if you fucked up – which you didn’t, incidentally. But I would never want you to carry that with you. Because this job is my choice, and I accept the risks that it involves. Okay?”

Will lets out a breath. “I mean, that’s easy to say but…”

Nico nods. “I know, but –”

“But obviously I’d never want you to blame yourself either,” Will says, “if anything ever happened to me.”

“Well.” Nico suddenly looks conflicted. The waning sunlight catches on his dark hair, his long lashes, a flash of gold. “That’s different.”

“What? Why –”

“Because I’m never going to let anything happen to you,” Nico says smoothly, his lips quirking.

Will stares at the other man for a moment, his throat going tight. “Yeah? That’s your grand plan?”

Nico shrugs, smug. Will manages a laugh. “You’re such a nerd.” Will restrains himself, just, from throwing his arms around his partner’s neck and sobbing into his shoulder.

“Fine. Then I’m not going to let anything happen to you either,” Will says, as light as he can.“And in fifty years we’ll be like… chasing down perps together with our walkers and canes.” Will feels his face warming at all the possible implications of that, but Nico only laughs, looking pleased.

Will stands, holding out his hand to his partner, who accepts it. Nico’s hand is warm. It fits nicely in his. Will pulls Nico to his feet.

Will leads the way back to the car, unlocking it and passing the keys to Nico, who still has a quietly please look on his face.

“You wanna solve crimes with me when we’re old and infirm?” Nico asks, light.

“Well,” Will huffs, stowing the med kit in the trunk. “Not if you can’t be bothered to tell me when you’re actively bleeding,” he can’t quite resist saying.

But Nico just grins. “That’s probably something I can work on.”

There’s a light chill in the air now, at the day’s end, but the car is sun-warmed and cozy inside. Will’s very much looking forward to staying seated for a couple of hours and finally eating something.

Nico starts the car and then pulls down the sun shade, flipping open the mirror. He wrinkles his nose. “Not so artfully windswept now.”

Will glances over and grins. “I don’t know. I think you can pull it off. I especially like the bloody bandage. And the leaves.”

Nico huffs, tilting his head. He plucks several dried leaves and a small twig from his hair.

Will watches, fond. “You missed a couple,” he says, and when Nico can’t quite locate them, turning his head this way and that, Will can’t help himself. “Here,” he says, leaning closer.

Nico stills, but Will’s committed now, stomach fluttering with nerves despite the fact that he’s just spent the last twenty minutes in close quarters patching up Nico’s head. It feels as if there’s something more private about the car, though, and this is distinctly less medical. Less necessary.

Nico’s hair is soft, silky. Will’s fumbling fingers take a moment longer than they should to extricate the leaves, and he can feel his face warming in the process. Nico smells a bit like sunshine, a bit like the fresh forest air, and under all of it, the comfortingly familiar smell of Nico. It doesn’t help Will’s butterflies.

“Got it,” Will says, finally, a little rough, holding up the leaves in demonstration. He lowers the passenger side window, letting the leaves flutter out onto the street outside.

There’s a rather loaded silence following this interaction and it’s truly ridiculous, Will thinks, the way his heart is pounding in his chest.

“I really need a haircut,” Nico mutters as he starts the car.

Will huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, same.” He ducks his head to inspect his reflection in the window, shoving a few errant curls out of his face.

Will finds a radio station that’s acceptable to both of them, and neither speaks much more until the exit signs for Baltimore begin flashing past in the twilight.

“Actually –” Nico glances over at Will, then away.

“Hmm?”

“If you wanna take a quick detour into Baltimore, I’ll treat you to a haircut?”

Will’s face must betray his confusion, because Nico immediately goes red, turning back to the road. “Sorry, that sounded really weird,” he laughs. “My um – my sister. Half-sister. She lives in Baltimore. She always cuts my hair for me. I could use a trim, and we’re in the neighborhood – forget it, though. I’m sure you want to get back to DC.”

“No, that actually sounds great.” Will actually has very little desire to get back to his empty apartment. Kayla’s away overnight, and the Wednesday night TV lineup is usually a bore. He grins, poking Nico in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re going to introduce me to your family already. It’s only our tenth case-iversary.”

Nico scowls. “I changed my mind.” He moves to bump the cruise control back up.

Will laughs, loud, grabbing Nico’s wrist to pull it away from the cruise. “No, no, I’m sorry. I would love a haircut. I promise I’ll be good,” he adds, because Nico’s looking pained.

“Anyway, it’s our eleventh case-iversary,” Nico mutters a moment later.

Will blinks. “You’re right,” he realizes. “I forgot about the spaceship.”

Nico snorts.

“What’s the gift, for the eleventh case-iversary?” Will wonders aloud.

“Haircuts,” Nico says, dry.

Will nods, serious. “Right, right. Tenth was shitty take-out coffee.”

Nico shakes his head, looking harassed, but he drops his speed again. “Case-iversary,” he mutters under his breath, disparaging, as he exits the freeway. Will laughs. ___

It’s fully dark by the time they park on a quiet street in the heart of industrial Baltimore. Nico turns off the car and then pauses, not unbuckling his seatbelt yet.

Will shoots a glance in his direction. “What’s up?”

Nico looks uncertain. “Um. Just – my sister –”

“Hazel, right?”

Nico looks surprised. “Yeah. You remembered.”

Will shrugs. “It’s kind of an unusual name. Pretty.”

Nico watches him for a moment, then nods. “Yeah,” he says. “So – she lives with her boyfriend, Frank. He’s great. They’ve been together for ages. Actually, he’s my star researcher – remember he did the background check on Robert Marcus?”

“Oh, Frank Zhang, right? Perfect, I already love Frank,” Will smiles.

“Me too. He’s fantastic. But then there’s their roommate, Leo.” Nico scrunches his nose. “He’s… well, he can be a lot. Just so you’re forewarned.”

Will nods. “Okay, noted.”

“He actually – he’s the one who gave me those playing cards.”

“Oh, I see,” Will laughs.

“Yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, unbuckling his seatbelt.

Will closes the car door, stretching. He glances down at himself, brushing off as much of the dried mud as he’s able to. Nico joins him on the sidewalk, does the same.

“Ready?” Nico asks.

Will swallows, more nervous than he thinks he probably should be. “Yup. Bring it on.”

Nico pauses, his gaze softening as it flicks over Will’s face. “They’ll like you,” he says.

::

There’s a shriek as the door opens, and Nico is immediately enveloped by a woman several inches shorter than him with a fluffy cloud of golden-bronze curls. “You should have told me you were coming by,” she exclaims, then turns to yell over her shoulder, “Frank, have you ordered the pizza yet? Can you get extra?”

Hazel’s eyes light up as she catches sight of Will, hovering awkwardly just beyond the doorway. “You must be Will!” she exclaims, reaching out to shake his hand. Will smiles at being so enthusiastically received then smiles a little more, just to himself, at the surprise of Nico’s hand, pressing low on his back as the other man ushers him into the apartment. The small touch is reassuring, immediately making him feel more at ease. As much as Nico denied it, Will knows that he can be too touchy.

“You’re not allergic to dogs, are you, Will? Or cats?” Hazel asks.

“Or hamsters, or lizards?” comes a deep voice in the background. “Hi, I’m Frank,” says the man attached to the voice, sticking out his hand with a warm smile. He’s tall, burly, with close-cropped dark hair and a kind face.

“Frank works at an animal shelter part-time,” Hazel explains, somewhat apologetic as Will toes off his shoes and an enormous orange cat approaches, sniffing the muddy cuffs of his pants. “He brings home a lot of strays.”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling me now?” asks a third voice, and another man crowds into the already packed entryway. He’s about Nico’s height, and wiry, with a head of brown, glossy curls. He grins widely at Will, giving him an appreciative, very obvious once-over, then turning to Nico. “Is this your skeptical partner? He’s hot.”

Nico scowls. “You can fuck all the way off,” he mutters to the newcomer, then turns to Will. “I’m so sorry. Please feel free to ignore him. I try to.”

“Nice to meet you, Will. I’m Leo.” The man sticks out his hand, offering a toothy smile. Will reaches out to grasp Leo’s hand. “The moon landing was faked,” Leo adds, his smile never faltering.

Will can’t tell whether he’s supposed to laugh or not, and he ends up just kind of awkwardly staring.

“God,” Nico mutters, grabbing Will by the arm and dragging him further into the apartment. “Hazel, we actually came by to see if you had time to cut my hair – and Will’s,” Nico says, sounding a little guilty. “I know I should have called first, but we were in the neighborhood and –”

Hazel’s face lights up. “I would love to cut your hair, Will,” she says, stepping closer and beginning what feels like a clinical inspection of Will’s head, rising on her toes and tilting her head from side to side. Will tries very hard not to feel like some sort of a medical specimen. “And yours too, Nico,” she adds as an afterthought, reaching out to examine a curl at Will’s ear more closely. “Will, what’s your curl regimen?”

“My um – what?”

“Your curl regimen,” Hazel says, deadly serious. “What products do you use?”

“I –” Will blinks at Hazel. “I wash it? And um… sometimes I use a little gel?” He looks helplessly at Nico, who looks like he’s trying desperately not to laugh.

Nico nods, solemn. “It’s true, he does sometimes use a little gel. I’ve seen him do it.”

Hazel’s brow furrows. With disappointment, maybe? Will suddenly feels very guilty for something, though he can’t quite get a handle on what that might be.

Nico sighs. “Sorry. Hazel gets a little excited about curly hair. It’s kind of her thing.”

Hazel turns to stick her tongue out at her brother and then, thank god, ceases her inspection of Will’s head. Hazel’s brow furrows as she takes in Nico’s appearance.

“What on earth did the two of you get up to today?” Hazel asks, sounding worried. She plucks a leaf from Nico’s hair that Will must have missed earlier, her eyes going wide at the hint of bandage half-hidden under Nico’s over-long bangs. Hazel brushes the hair back from Nico’s forehead. He makes a face but doesn’t flinch away. “Oh no, what happened?”

“Well, actually,” Will says, “Nico completely saved the day.”

Nico’s gaze flicks over to him, pink in his cheeks. “I absolutely did not.”

“You absolutely did,” Will says. He turns to Hazel. “We were heading back to DC after a case, and we got a call about a separate incident while we were on the road. Missing dog, missing kid and missing convict. There were at least a dozen other agents on the case, but Nico managed to personally find all three of them.”

“Nico, really?” Hazel squeals. “That’s amazing!” She throws her arms around her brother.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Nico mutters as Leo claps him on the back and Frank nods approvingly.

“You mean when I describe the events exactly as they occurred?” Will grins. Nico shoots him a smile, a bit bashful. Hazel’s gaze flicks between the two of them with a level of interest that makes Will a little nervous.

She gives Nico a squeeze around the waist. “Come on, big brother. You can tell me all about your heroic deeds while I wash your hair. We’ve got time to give you a quick trim before the pizza comes, and then I can do Will’s afterwards.”

Will thinks Nico looks a bit reluctant to leave him with Frank and (probably more accurately) Leo, but he follows his sister and they disappear down a hallway together.

Frank leads the way into the main living area, he and Leo settling themselves in easy chairs. Will sits on the floor against the couch as a dog shyly approaches, sniffing delicately at Will’s hand when he extends it. She’s medium-sized, possibly some kind of a lab mix (Frank introduces her as Summer) and she climbs into Will’s lap, turning in an awkward circle before curling herself into a ball and tucking her head against Will’s stomach.

Leo is certainly a lot, as Nico described, but he’s easy enough to talk to. Soon he and Will are engaged in a friendly debate on flat earth theory, Frank sitting quietly in the background and occasionally shaking his head good-naturedly.

“I’m not saying I believe you could actually walk off the edge of the earth,” Leo is saying, his eyes bright, “but you have to admit they make some compelling arguments. And to be perfectly fair, I haven’t tried it myself.”

Will, who’s been trying hard not to laugh, finally allows himself a proper grin aimed at Nico as the dark-haired man returns to the main living area. Nico shoves a hand self-consciously through his now much-shorter hair, smiling to see Will sprawled on the floor against the couch, Summer still curled in his lap and a three-legged gray cat tucked under his arm. Nico lowers himself to the couch at Will’s shoulder.

Leo grins, jerking his chin towards Will. “He’s like a fucking Disney princess.”

“He sure likes to sing like one,” Nico complains and Will grins, his gaze flicking up to his partner. He sees the gauze has been removed from Nico’s head.

“Can I take a look at –” Will motions to Nico’s forehead and Nico leans forward obligingly, so Will can avoid dislodging the cat and dog.

A light touch to Nico’s temple and Nico leans his head closer. Will nods approvingly. “It looks better now. I think I did a decent job,” he says, a little relieved.

“You’re a forensic pathologist, Will?” Frank asks.

“Yes,” Will says, surprised. “These days the most medicine I do is autopsies. But Nico was kind enough to let me practice on a living specimen today.”

Leo and Hazel laugh. “I never should have brought you here,” Nico says, an amused look.

Will grins up at him, unrepentant. Frank looks to be thinking something over, a worried pinch to his brow.

“I know you’re not a vet,” Frank begins,“but would you mind taking a quick look at Otis later?”

“Sure,” Will agrees immediately, then suddenly hopes that Otis is, at least, a mammal. “And Otis is…?”

“A dog,” Frank says, looking relieved. “He’s got this infection under his ear. I’ve been doing my best with it, but I’d really appreciate a second set of eyes on him. I know you’re not really trained to –”

“No, it’s okay,” Will interrupts, smiling. “I’d love to take a look at Otis. I agree. It’s always good to get a second opinion.”

The doorbell buzzes, and Leo carries the pizza in a minute later, setting boxes on the table as Hazel follows with a stack of plates. Will fills his plate and moves back to the floor at the foot of the couch. Hearing a huff next to him a moment later, he laughs in surprise to see three more dogs sitting in a line, avidly watching the progress of his pizza from the plate to his mouth.

Hazel rolls her eyes. “Just ignore them, if you can,” she tells Will, attempting to (mostly unsuccessfully) shoo the dogs to their beds. Frank, looking a bit shifty, explains that while city bylaws generally prohibit having quite so many pets in a dwelling, he’s found certain ways to circumvent this.

“It’s okay, Frank,” Nico says. “He’s not that kind of cop.”

Frank looks a little relieved, dropping into a chair with a plate of pizza in one hand and a one-eyed tuxedo cat tucked under his arm. A second cat, this one a brown tabby, immediately hops gracefully into his lap.

“Definitely not,” Will assures Frank, grinning at the two cats simultaneously head-butting the man in the chair, Frank attempting to hold his pizza safely out of the way. “Anyway, you’ve certainly got the room for it here. This place is amazing.”

It really is. The apartment is impressive, the main living area a loft-style apartment with high ceilings and huge, arched, floor-to-ceiling windows. A mish-mash of pleasantly mismatched but comfortable-looking chairs and couches are scattered throughout the space, along with a large collection of dog beds, and several of the most elaborate cat trees Will has ever seen. In the corner, what looks like a crib mattress is occupied by something large, shaggy and weathered-looking. A dog, probably; whatever it is is lightly snoring.

Frank brightens. “Thanks. My dad owns the building, so our rent’s pretty cheap, and he’s willing to overlook the fact that this place isn’t really zoned as residential. We’ve got plenty of room for the pets and all our side-hustles. Hazel has a little salon in the back, and Leo has a workshop. The door to the kitchen is right where you came in, and that hallway there,” Frank points, “leads to the bedrooms.”

“I’d be happy to give you a tour,” Leo grins, leaning forwards in his chair. “Of the bedrooms.”

Will blinks.

“That definitely won’t be necessary,” Nico says firmly.

Hazel laughs, her arms raised over her head as she ties her hair out of her face. “If you’re finished eating, I can cut your hair now, Will.”

Will is, and Hazel leads him down a hallway into a small space that’s been converted into a salon, a long mirror and two styling chairs.

“I’ve heard lots of good things about you,” Hazel says casually as she drapes a cape over Will’s shoulders. Is my brother treating you well?”

Will wishes she wouldn’t say those words in quite that tone – but maybe he’s just imagining unasked questions. Regardless, his face warms, and he hopes Hazel won’t notice.

“Nico’s great,” Will offers. “He really knows his stuff. I’m learning a lot.”

“That’s good to hear.” Hazel efficiently spritzes Will’s hair with water, shielding his face with a hand at his forehead. “He can be a bit stubborn sometimes. Doesn’t always like following rules.”

Will laughs. “We make it work. We don’t always agree, but we can usually find a way to meet in the middle.”

“It sounds like the two of you make a good match,” Hazel says, reaching for a comb. “Professionally speaking, of course.”

“Of course,” agrees Will.

Hazel does her best to make a case for Will growing his hair longer and letting her teach him a decent curl regimen. He politely declines, citing a lack of time for grooming as well as the general vibe of the FBI.

“I understand,” Hazel says, sounding a little regretful. “You have beautiful curls, though. You let me know the second you decide to grow it out and I’ll set you up with products.”

“Will do,” Will agrees as Hazel begins snipping. “So, do you see a lot of clients here?”

“Yeah, I do,” Hazel says. “It’s been really busy the last couple of years. I have a lot of regular clients – and then I’ve got a ton of government and corporate contracts right now. Everyone’s in a panic about Y2K.”

Will blinks. “You’re – sorry. I’m assuming the government contracts don’t have anything to do with cutting hair?”

Hazel laughs. “No. I guess Nico didn’t mention – I have a degree in computer science – as well as my cosmetology license.”

“Oh, wow, that’s fantastic.”

“It keeps me busy,” Hazel agrees.

“I bet. And can I ask – the government contracts are for –”

“Oh.” Hazel rolls her eyes. “Paranoia, mostly. Government agencies and big corporations are afraid that when the millennium hits, all their computer systems will fail. Mass chaos and panic, you know?”

Will nods. He’s seen some Y2K compliant stickers on some equipment at work – he stuck one to Nico’s forehead the other day as he passed by his desk – and he’s heard some buzz in the media, but he honestly hasn’t been paying a lot of attention.

“I heard about some guy somewhere in the midwest who wants to go into his bunker on New Year’s Eve with two hundred hamsters – he’s planning on using them as a self-sustaining food supply,” Will says, remembering a newspaper he’d been reading to Nico on a recent road trip.

Hazel laughs. “I’m not surprised. Leo’s been trying to convince us to build a bomb shelter out in the woods. Honestly, the chances are it’s all going to be a bit of a letdown for everyone who’s so worked up about it. But everyone wants the appearance that they’re making an effort, right? They want plausible deniability. The contracts are out there – so I take them on, fix up the code, and keep pulling in the big bucks,” Hazel moves to stand in front of Will, checking her work.

“That sounds like a win-win,” Will says.

Hazel shrugs. “I think so. It makes Frank a little uncomfortable, knowing all this work is being done and all this money is being spent when it’s not really necessary. But someone’s gotta do it. And once the millennium turns over and everything is fine, Frank and I might finally be able to buy a big property in the country.”

Will’s eyebrows rise. “Oh yeah? That sounds amazing.”

Hazel smiles. “Yup. Frank can rescue as many dogs as his heart desires and I can finally have horses.”

Will glances up at Hazel’s face in the mirror, seeing the same expression on her face when she mentions horses as Nico has when he gets started on cryptids. Will smiles. Hazel’s engaging and kind, and Will finds himself warming to her quickly. Sure, Nico has those same qualities, sometimes in abundance, but it’s quieter. You have to work to get there, with him. With Hazel, it seems to be all on the surface.

Will’s back in the living room not long after, dropping onto the couch beside Nico, who’s scanning over a newspaper. Nico glances up from his reading in surprise, reaching out a hand to Will’s hair and brushing his fingertips over it lightly before seeming to catch himself.

“Looks good,” Nico manages, looking a little embarrassed.

Will grins. “Thanks. Hazel does good work. What’re you reading?”

“Oh.” Nico passes the paper over. “These guys –” he gestures around to the others in the room, “put out a monthly newsletter. I was just getting caught up.”

Will glances at the cover, scanning over headlines including Criminal Whalers Exposed and Teletubbies Mind Control??.

Will blinks, then flicks a gaze over to Nico, surreptitious and questioning.

Nico appears to be fighting a smile. “It’s mostly Leo’s brainchild, as you might have guessed. But it is actually a group effort. Frank’s research is amazing, of course – you know, government watchdog stuff.”

Will nods, grinning. “I have no doubt.” He flips the newspaper open.

“You can have that copy if you like,” Frank offers.

Will nods his thanks. “You guys have some great side hustles going on here. Coding, journalism, top-tier research –”

“And Leo,” Nico mutters.

Hazel bumps Nico with her shoulder, hard enough that he collides gently with Will on his other side. Will bumps him back.

“We all love Leo,” Hazel says.

Leo beams, and Nico almost audibly rolls his eyes.

“He can fix absolutely anything,” Frank adds. “He’s our robotics expert. He actually built the cat trees,” Frank gestures over to the massive structures at the other side of the room. Will notices now that they’re bolted securely to the wall.

“Cool,” Will nods. “And the animals are very cool, of course,” he adds, as Summer makes her way back into his now-available lap, stopping to touch her cold, wet nose to his before settling back in. “Did I see lizards in the back?” Will asks, scratching Summer behind the ears. He’s pretty sure he saw a lit tank in a room somewhere along the hallway.

“Yup,” Frank says proudly. “That’s Pancake. He’s a bearded dragon. We’ve got a bit of everything here.”

“Everything but birds,” Leo says, and before Will can answer he adds, serious, “because birds aren’t real.”

“Oh my god,” Nico mutters. He glances at Will, who nods. “We should actually get going.”

“It’s been a long day,” Will agrees. It’s hard to believe that it was just this morning that he and Nico were laughing over Leo’s x-rated playing cards.

The whole group of them crowd into the entryway to bid Will and Nico goodnight, Hazel throwing her arms first around her brother, then Will. Will hugs her back, surprised, but pleased. He has to admit, Hazel is nothing like what he would have imagined a sister of Nico’s to be.

“Come by any time, Will,” she says warmly. “Oh wait - here’s my card.” She presses it into his hand. “You won’t find anyone who does curly hair better. I cut your hair from now on,” she says, just a bit too intense, and Will suddenly sees the resemblance between the siblings, vividly.

“Yes please come by any time,” Leo adds, somehow making the words sound more suggestive than Will would have thought possible.

Nico scrubs a hand over his face. “Valdez, please don’t scare him away,” he says weakly. “I like this one.”

The door closes behind them and Will follows Nico to the elevator, grinning. “You like me,” he teases.

Nico snorts. “Yeah, don’t let it go to your head, though. It’s only our eleventh case-iversary.”

(chapter 6 here! Please note chapter 6 is split into two parts)

__

Notes:

1. It's another chapter already! I didn't think I'd get it out so fast, but this one wasn't in bad shape. The updates will slow down at some point because there are still big chunks I need to write from scratch. 2. I can't even remember how long this thing is because at some point it got so large I had to split it into separate docs. It might be 200k total by the end? 3. Thank you SO MUCH for reading and thank you SO MUCH for your comments. They really keep me going <3 4. Thanks once again to @rosyredlipstick for the beta. Thanks also to @anything-thats-rock-and-roll and @snoelledarts for allowing me to borrow their pets/friends' pets :)

[celticcrossanon]

I found this interesting

I ran across article linked below today. It is about the Annual Report of the Royal Household, and it raises a few point that I found significant, noted below as quotes from the article

NEW VALUES

The Royal Household has published a new set of written values, designed to guide the institution in the years to come.

Recording them in its annual report, it said: "The new reign has given the royal household the opportunity to define a new expression of purpose underpinned by a refreshed set of values."

Those five values are: "Act with Care"; "Make an Impact"; "Succeed Together"; "Stay Curious"; and "Lead by Example".

The stated purpose of the Royal Household is now to "support the sovereign in serving the UK and Commonwealth to help shape a better world".

EDIT: I am getting controlling vibes from this, i.e. 'do what I say or else', and I have no idea why that is. I have to look up what the old values were so I can compare them.

NO MORE ACCOUNTABILITY IN HOW PUBLIC FUNDS ARE USED

It [the report] retains a pledge to place "strong emphasis on value for money" but removes a clause from last year's report which promised "accountability in the use of public funds and resources".

EDIT: This is a large red flag to me. I see no reason for going from being accountable for the use of public funds to not being accountable for the use of public funds unless said public funds are going somewhere that they should not be going.

REMOVAL OF EMPHASIS ON DIFFERENT GENERATIONS

In a section about the Royal family's role in supporting the King, the 2023-4 report has also deleted a line from 2022-3 which said that: "The different generations of the Royal family help to make the work of the monarchy relevant and accessible to people at every stage of life."

EDIT: This is a minor point. I am simply wondering why this line was deleted.

RETAINS THE REMOVAL OF DUTIES FOR THE MONARCH, DONE IN THE LAST YEAR OF QUEEN ELIZABETH II'S REIGN

In 2022, the same section of the Sovereign Grant report, which introduces the role of the monarch, was rewritten to remove duties the then Queen "must fulfil".

The edit, the first of its kind in at least a decade, took out a 13-point list of specific events that were previously said to be necessary by "constitutional convention", including the State Opening of Parliament.

This year's report retains most of those changes.

EDIT: This is interesting to me because of the implications for The King's health. The duties were removed in the last year of the Late Queen's life, and many people speculated that it was because she was physically unable to perform all those duties anymore. When The King leaves those duties out, instead of putting them back in, it makes me wonder if he is physically unable to do them all as well.

I will have to take the 13 points from old financial reports to see if I should be concerned.

Edited to add in my opinion. :)

ARTICLE

For Reference - link to financial reports 2023-2024

I shall have to read and compare the reports for the last few years before I come to any conclusions. This is my reference and reminder post so I don't forget.