#so he’s constantly calculating in this head the best directions to go any given situation

[chloesimaginationthings]

The Aftons are a very normal FNAF couple

[margridarnauds]

🌞 🤩 🤯 for the fanfic writer asks? 💖

Thank you so much!

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

Honestly, I probably do my best in the morning when I can wake up refreshed, but since that almost never happens, late at night when there's nothing to disturb me save the ghosts of other things I should be doing.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

All time? For dialogue, probably Heisenberg from RE8; I miss working with him. He has this very blunt, irreverent way of speaking that he sometimes changes out for this very smooth, charismatic way of speaking where he puts a lot of emphasis on every other word (and that is always at risk of falling to pieces because it is NOT his natural state). I'm used to dealing with very aristocratic characters who are restrained, who very rarely let you know what's going on in their head, and who have this very formal way of speaking, so it was and is a joy to break out of it with him. (Raphael is very much a return to form, though he's interesting because of how much more elaborate he is with his speech -- most of my aristocrats have been military nobles to some extent or another, and so they usually have this very clipped way of speaking, but Raphael, despite always being deliberate and calculating in how he's going into a situation, ALSO talks a lot, he ornaments his language a lot. It actually makes it very hard to write him, because it's very much not intuitive for me and it's always tempting to fall back on old habits and use Lazare Voice on him.)

At the moment? Malla. I love Kitrye, but Malla is very fun specifically because she is (1) much more chaotic and (2) has some of the best dialogue, especially when you get her banter with Kitrye. You never know exactly where she's going to land during any given scene, there's always this level of unpredictability to what she's going to do (which has been an ongoing theme because, in her early days, *I* didn't know what she was going to do), and her arrival always marks a turning point. I'm very glad that she dropped into my lap one day, can't imagine doing this without her.

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

I hate writing smut. It is, bar none, my least favorite genre to write. I enjoy writing about INTIMACY, but not smut. It's very hard to not be self-conscious or to not accidentally fall into doing the same things (...I was about to say "rut"), using the same descriptions for the same actions that A Thousand Other Smutfics Do or, on the reverse, to accidentally ruin it with a single bad line. It isn't that you can relax on the characterization for ANY scene, but with smut, I'm really, really constantly having to think "okay, how would these characters do this in a way that feels real to them", because it's very easy to slip into (...no double entendre intended) porn-isms. And depending on the characters, they can take a scene in an entirely different direction and then you have to readjust for THAT. Angst is fine -- I love tearing people's hearts out and stomping on them, and it's relatively easy to do if people are already inclined to like a character. Humor? Much more difficult to stick the landing on, since it's so subjective, but still relatively easy and intuitive for me, particularly if you're willing to go into crackfic territory, and I have NEVER been particularly attached to upholding the dignity of any of the characters I've written. Action -- Not my favorite, but can still be glanced over especially since, with the exception of RE8, I've rarely NEEDED to write it. Smut? Hate.

...and yet here we are.

[whump-town]

Kittens

I wrote something along these lines as an idea a while ago and I finished it now in-between breaks I’ve allowed myself between an essay I have to write. I figured it’s not my best but no one gets hurt and Hotch talks to a cat for the majority of it so it’s not that bad

The creaking of the old floorboards stops Hotch from going down the hall and checking to make sure Jack is up. He stands for a moment at the mouth of the hallway, listening to Jack curse and mumble under his breath. Most of which, he can’t hear but there are dips in Jack’s voice which allow for only certain words to float their way down to him.

“Where-- that little motherfu-- he’s going to-- shit, shit, shit--”

Hotch huffs a little laugh, a chuckle that makes no more than the whisper of a breath of noise leaving his mouth. Parenting doesn’t make much sense and Hotch is certain he’s probably supposed to say something to Jack about the cursing but to his credit, Jack hasn’t spoken like that in Hotch’s presence. Plus, it would make him a hypocrite to get too frustrated over it. He cursed at sixteen and he still does. He also smoked and got into all kinds of trouble and, as far as he knows, the most Jack gets into on a Saturday night is too many energy drinks and a new book.

As curious as Hotch is about whatever it is that Jack is fussing with, Hotch has to get breakfast ready. He turns and starts to walk to the kitchen. That’s where he’s headed when he sees something small and orange bolts ahead of him. Glancing over his shoulder, in the direction it had come from, Hotch finds nothing. Just the light peeking out from behind Jack’s door.

Hmm. Odd.

Hotch continues down the hall, looking around the floor as he goes. Trying to see what it was and where it went. Until he gets to the kitchen. “Oh,” Hotch raises an eyebrow at the kitten he finds sniffing the floor near the oven. A tiny orange kitten. He picks it up, observing it as he turns it around to inspect the tiny thing.

It looks up and him and gives a little irritated meow.

“You must be motherfucker,” Hotch says, rubbing a finger over its head. “I think Jack is looking for you.” Hotch smiles as the kitten purs, pushing its head under his finger for more. He indulges it and, he has to admit, the thing is cute. He doesn’t mind it. “Are you hungry?”

He goes to the fridge and inspects the findings… slim pickings. “Cats are lactose intolerant, right?” He looks down as the kitten squirms his arms. Rolling over it attacks his fingers but cradled to his chest it’s safe. “I don’t know anything about cats.” He’s never had any pets. Haley had an old dog named Bailey when they first got together. A border collie her father bought for her birthday years before from a farmer in town.

Growing up in the country he’d seen plenty of stray cats and dogs but he’d never had his own. There was a porch cat he used to feed bread to but his father scared it off and kicked it once. Hotch had looked so much like his father that the cat wouldn’t come to him anymore after that incident. That was probably for the best.

“Here,” Hotch finally settles. He pulls the almond milk out of the fridge, setting it on the counter. He adds the container of blueberries beside it. “I’m having oatmeal but I reckon you can probably have almond milk, right?” With a frown, he makes a mental note to ask Emily or Garcia about that. One of them is bound to know. For now, a little almond milk is probably fine. It doesn’t have milk in it but he wants to be certain.

Taking a bowl out of the cupboard, he hums and reaches over for the measuring cups. He’s been making oatmeal for years so he’s mastered the eyeballing it technique. However, the half-cup measuring cup is the perfect size for him to use as a bowl for the kitten.

“Has Jack got you any food?” he asks placing the kitten on the counter. He pours a little almond milk in the half-cup and smirks when the kitten takes to it immediately. “Well… you probably wouldn’t drink that if it wasn’t good for you, right?” Probably… well, maybe.

This feels exactly like when they brought Jack home. He and Haley had been terrified of every little thing. They were constantly calling someone about something. He can easily call Emily or Garcia but… he’s an adult, he can handle a kitten.

“Stay,” he orders stepping away from the counter to grab a pan. The kitten doesn’t move just stands contently where it is drinking the almond milk. Hotch gets the oatmeal going, keeping an eye on the kitten out of the corner of his eye. “You’re hungry,” he notes, with a tilt of his head. And when it looks up at him, almond milk all over its face, there’s no way he can deny how cute it is.

His oatmeal doesn’t take that long to make and distracted with watching the kitten it’s a nice easy pace. Bowl of oatmeal in his palm, angry kitten trying to escape from where it’s tucked between his chest and forearm, and the little cup of almond milk pinched between his fingers he sits down at the kitchen table. “What has he named you?” Hotch asks, settling it all down on the table. It occurs to him it could be a little strange to let the cat on the table but it is a cat so if it sticks around he assumes there will be lots of table sitting.

Hotch can’t remember what book Jack was reading last week-- which is chronologically his best guess at when his little friend here made its way into the house. With hindsight, he can recall Jack having been just a little more distant with him, secretive. Jack is also significant with his decisions so maybe Hotch should think more along the lines of Jack’s favorite books, not his most recent reads. Then again maybe Jack hasn’t named the cat or he chose something out of a song or a movie.

Looking up as he hears Jack’s door creak open, he scowls back down at his lap. The kitten having stretched up at his chest and bats at one of the buttons on his shirt. He taps its little paw warningly, just enough to jar it a little, and judging from the look he receives this little warning tapis nothing something it was expecting.

“Hey, dad.”

Hotch looks up and hums back, nothing unusual because he certainly isn’t going to give up the advantage he has right now. His son is a snarky little shit -- purely Emily’s doing -- and Hotch rarely gets moments where he comes out ahead of whatever jokes Jack (or Emily) can make at his expense.

Jack comes around and nods his head, timidly going about making himself some cereal. Hotch doesn’t comment on his son’s socks -- one is teal with bright, highlighters yellow bananas and the other is beige with pink polka dots. Hotch had given up on Jack and socks. Jack gets a little thrill out of this rebellion and Hotch should just be happy that it’s not worse.

The two of them really have nothing in common. Jack loves science and math (Hotch has to use a calculator for simple multiplication). Hotch prefers for each of his books to look like they have never even been read (Jack has so many sticky notes in his copy that Fahrenheit 451 that it looks silly). Jack refuses to carry around a planner and writes everything down on the back of his hand (Hotch has multiple planners and color codes things in delicate details).

“Oh.” Jack turns with his cereal in his hands and sees the kitten in his father’s lap. That bright orange over his black dress pants. Jack knew his father wouldn’t be mad -- he can count on one hand the number of times he has seen Hotch angry. Though, he knows what he’s done wasn’t the right course to take. He’s not so sure what to do now, he hadn’t planned this far ahead.

Hotch hums again, nodding his head.

Jack looks down at the floor and timidly takes his seat across from his father at the table. Tucking his legs underneath himself to avoid hitting Hotch’s much longer stretched-out legs. Normally, he wouldn’t think twice about hitting his dad’s legs but today he’s sensing he should probably consider his actions a little more. “Am in trouble?”

Hotch raises an eyebrow and looks away from the kitten to his Jack. He’s looking down at his cereal, playing with it so he can avoid looking at Hotch. Jack’s never really been in trouble. Hotch is a little too lenient at times but even Jessica is pretty bad for that. Even so, Jack has turned out pretty okay, he’s still a kid (16 isn’t that grown, despite that being the age Hotch’s father kicked him out at -- well sent him to boarding school but that was only after he spent a month couch surfing and sleeping in a shitty tent he stole).

“No.” It’s a cat and he’s not mad and Hotch doesn’t see just yet where he could make this a learning opportunity so… he’s not going to make it a big deal. It’s hard, in situations like these, to know where normal discipline comes into play. His own father would have beat him senseless or locked him out of the house for a week, maybe longer.

“Oh.”

Hotch frowns, “do you think you should be?” He doesn’t mean it to bait Jack, he means it honestly. There isn’t a right answer.

Jack shrugs, “I mean, I don’t know.” Jack is aware that his father isn’t like most dads but they’re in a unique situation, the two of them. “You should probably lecture me about something, right? I mean, I don’t think I’ll be sneaking in any more cats but that’s not as a result of any lecture. I certainly wouldn’t do it with a dog.”

So maybe not a lesson learned but still sounds like there’s no point acknowledged. “Okay,” Hotch reasons. It sounds fair. “Well, next time we talk this sort of thing over, okay? I respect you and your decisions and so I ask for your opinions on things, right? I need you to respect my opinions.”

Jack nods.

“So, any names?”

[sopxhiea]

Delicate

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Prompt

“you obviously can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, so let me do it for you.”

a/n: I love Alfie...that’s all I have to say.

The pain wasn’t so bad at first. There was shuffling on the bed, the sheets were getting sticky even though the windows were wide open in every room in the huge house. 

Your eyes met the wooden walls, you couldn’t move. The wind was gentle with your body, it would’ve been a wonderful day if you were able to go out but thanks to a bunch of gang territory bullshit, you were covered in bruises with fractured bones. It wasn’t all so bad, certainly not your first time - but it had been his first time seeing you in such state.

You still remembered the shock that was written on his face, it wasn’t of surprise but sorrow and worry. He had been worried sick the first week, the nurses allowed him to see you every two days since you needed the rest but he didn’t leave your doorstep, Ollie had to drag him out most of the days so that he would get some rest.

It hadn’t hurt so bad at first, there were cuts around your cheeks that didn’t go so deep but it had been your bones that took the damage. You couldn’t breathe properly the first couple of weeks, it was better now. Cyril shifted next to you on the bed, the large dog occupied most of the space but he was sweet so you didn’t mind. He took after Alfie.

You swallowed, realising just how dry your mouth had been. This was the way things usually went. You were doing business with some sketchy associates and this was just the beginning of things, it was gonna get even dirtier. You knew that when you took on the job, Alfie did, too. Being in the same line of business allowed you to see things eye to eye, he knew of the dangers and so did you but seeing his angel in such a state was a punch in the gut.

It hurt him.

It hurt him that he wasn’t able to protect you and that you had dealt with all of this on your own. He got the news a little later than he’d expected, it didn’t bother him that you didn’t tell him everything right away. His rage was an obvious reason for your doubts and he was aware of it all.

But you were still his angel, he had to protect you.

You heard him before he came into your vision. The loud thud of his feet on the floor woke the dog, Cyril was long gone downstairs as Alfie walked in. He was in his usual work attire, the cotton shirt was free of wrinkles but the creases around his eyes made up for it as he smiled at your awake state, you were getting better by the day.

“‘ello, dove.” he spoke, almost a coo as he walked towards you. You could get up on your own and dress but his help was very much appreciated, he also never missed a chance to see your naked form so it was a win-win situation.

“Hi.” you whispered, hearing Cyril move on the floor right below you while Alfie sat next to you on the bed, his weight shifted the mattress.

His hand found your hair, caressing the strands around your forehead while you leaned into his touch. He was a tender man before and after all of this went down, he started treating you like a piece of fragile glass. He was a man of many talents and the way he used his hands was one of them.

He kissed your temple, looking for a sign of a fever while you tried to keep your eyes open, you were always tired from the medicine you took for the pain and he almost liked this state of tiredness you seemed to be in sometimes. His eyes met the small bruises on your legs, you had killed the man who had attacked you but you had also taken a couple of good hits as well, worry was evident in his face as his hand caressed your leg.

You had talked to him about all this, even before it had happened. He got hurt constantly, there had been one too many nights when you had to put his pieces back together and it hurt you to see him in such a state but you understood the things that came with doing such business.

But it wasn’t the same for you.

He refused to accept the fact that it was just as possible for you to get hurt and when you had been, a part of him blamed himself even though he had nothing to do with any of it. 

You had sat him down and talked to him about how these things work, about how you both should do the best you could do to stay safe but also accept the fact that there was a good chance you could, and would, get hurt.

You knew how to guard yourself, you had killed men before, tortured or even cremated one. This wasn’t unfamiliar territory for you and Alfie had loved it, he loved that you were able to protect yourself without anyone’s help but he had gotten extremely protective over time and it had turned into something that he didn’t quite like thinking about, he didn’t want to see you get hurt.

“Ya’ haven’ got a fever, yeah.” he spoke, watching as you drank from the glass he gave you with some assistance. You nodded. “..are ya’ hungry, luv?” he spoke, wiping your lips of the drops of water around your mouth, you kissed his fingers when they met his rough skin, it made him feel all giddy inside but he gave you a smile instead of kissing you breathless, you needed to get a little bit better for him to do the things he wanted to do.

“No.” you spoke, your appetite was long gone after what had happened. 

It was mostly medicine, he knew that. It took your appetite away but seeing you eat nothing when before you used to devour the kitchen table hurt him a little, even though you were healing faster than the nurses said you would.

“Aye, I’ll make ya’ anythin’, right, anythin’ ya’ want...” he spoke, you hated how fragile you were.

You were usually the one taking care of him, the one to worry and after a while it had felt okay. You loved being babied by him, he’d carry you wherever you wanted, kiss you constantly and reassure that you were okay but there was always a hint of worry in his eyes that made you feel guilty.

“Did you go to work?” you asked, simply out of curiosity. 

He had been going to work very early in the morning and even though you missed waking up with him all around you, he would return at lunch and never leave for the rest of the day, it was a big sacrifice he was making and you usually woke up around lunch anyway.

“Yeah, I did.” his voice was a mere melody to your ears as your eyes met his, he seemed happy today. “Had to check in with Ollie for the day.” he caressed your leg again, your hand found his and you heard him sigh happily.

“Alfie...” you spoke, he loved it when you said his name. “You don’t have to do this, you know..” you didn’t finish the sentence due to how furrowed his brows became, his hand left yours as he tugged at his beard, he was calculating something.

It had been hard for him to manage work and take care of you. You had your assistant to do yours, you had trained him well and unlike Alfie, you were able to take a breather every now and then but he felt the need to check everything, to make sure things were all okay and you didn’t mind, it was the man you fell for but he was pushing himself sometimes, you didn’t want to see him break.

It had happened once when he had overworked himself for a week straight. You had found him in his office, back given out as he grunted through his teeth while filling paper work. You had to force him out of the place with some excuse and made sure he stayed home for more than a week. You had given him baths, joined him for some and cooked for him, cared for him and massaged him until he was feeling okay and his back was dripping in essential oils. 

It had been a wonderful week but it was only that one time.

He nodded, as if to say that he understood your point but he spoke back which meant that he didn’t agree.

“That, right, that’s a load of crap is what it ‘s.”  he spoke, he was almost angry but it was hard for him to feel so blue about what you said when he knew the state you were in.

It wasn’t like you were the one to go out everyday, this wasn’t much of a restriction since you were a homebody and he knew that for a fact. What irked you is that you were used to being the one taking care of him, being taken care of wasn’t your strongest suit - he knew that.

His words managed to earn a chuckle for you but it was cut short due to the pain on your chest due to laughing - he hated seeing that.

“Let’s get ya’ up on ye’ feet, alright?” he spoke, holding you by the waist as you stood up. You could walk on your own, there was no problem with that but he insisted he would help, he wouldn’t miss a chance to touch you.

A small ‘oomph’ noise came from you as you walked down the stairs of the place, you had bought it together with him and had been living in the space for the past six months. It had become your favourite place a little too quickly after moving in.

Soon, you were seated on a cushioned chair in the kitchen, able to see what Alfie was doing as he got some ingredients out, he was going to make you pancakes. He was a great baker, not such much of a good cook but he would cook for you and that was all you needed anyway.

“Baby, I don’t need anything...” you spoke, you genuinely weren’t hungry and you knew he had already eaten. Cyril curled up next to your feet after you petted his head, he was a sweet boy.

He shook his head with a low chuckle, you were so careful with him but so careless with yourself. He turned around and pointed the large spoon at your direction, earning a smile from you at his childish behaviour before he spoke.

“You, right....” he shook his head again, amusement evident on his voice but he was also serious. 

“..you obviously can’t be trusted to take care of yourself..” his voice got serious with a hint of tenderness. “.. so let me do it for you.” 

There was a loving expression on his face, one that you saw on occasion. It wasn’t the usual heart eyes, the ones that made you all giddy inside but it was a look that made you feel safe, he was home for you.

You nodded, a hum escaping your lips as if to say that he was more than welcome to do so -  and he was.

That morning, he made pancakes for you and helped you eat them, even accompanied you when you asked him to after realising he had made a little more than you were capable of eating for the given moment. He read for you while you rested your body on top of his, Cyril curled up next to your body as you caressed his head. There was laughter at the dinner table, genuinely happy laughter that made his heart jump each time he heard it. 

You talked the night away, he told you about how he worried about you and the daily things of life. You nodded, listening intently before reassuring him that there was nothing to be worried about. You would be fine as long as he was next to you. He drew circles on your arms that turned into sluggish shapes as your eyes fluttered next to the fire place, you slowly drifted to sleep but he stayed awake for a little longer to savour the moment before he carried you upstairs. 

He would be there next to you when you woke up the next morning.

[dimigex]

Healing Hands, Chapter Seven

New chapter is up and I’m so excited to say it’s a start of the new arc! 

You can find it on Fanfiction and Archive (linked for your convenience). But, here’s a snippet. The full chapter was over 8k words, so please find it on one of the other sites if you want to read the rest!  

After nearly a month of careful inquiries, disappointing viewings, and unreasonable prices, Sakura found an apartment. The process had been about what she'd expected, though the selection left a lot to be desired. Sakura had wanted somewhere closer to the hospital than her parents house, but in a different building from Kazuko's. She'd formed an uneasy truce with the man over the past few weeks by ignoring what happened between them. There had been no more dinners or mixed-up, alcohol-fueled kisses in the dark, only professionalism.

Sakura found it easy to shift from budding friendship to simple coworkers, and Kazuko didn't question it. She was thankful for that much at least, because, regardless of their extracurricular problems, Sakura and Kazuko worked well together at the hospital. She didn't depend on him as much as she might have before things changed, but at least it wasn't awkward any longer.

The majority of Sakura's free time had been spent looking for an apartment, then getting her life in Konoha settled. She had taken Naruto out for ramen one night and was surprised to find that the boy had matured in the time they'd spent apart. He'd been busy with missions in an attempt to bolster his number of completed missions. Naruto needed to catch up if he wanted to be considered for Hokage in a few years when Kakashi retired. It was nice to know that his dream hadn't faded, especially when so many other things had changed.

Naruto and Sakura's conversation had turned to Sasuke at one point during dinner, but Naruto read the situation and dropped it after a couple of awkward questions. The night had gone better than Sakura thought it would, and they'd agreed to meet up every few weeks to stay in touch. Naruto spent a lot of time in and out of the village with missions these days, but he promised to make an effort to see Sakura, especially if it involved ramen. Some things would never change.

Smiling to herself, Sakura fussed over the pillows on the couch. They weren't the color that she would have chosen, but they complemented the rest of the room. Mebuki had picked them out on their latest shopping trip. Her mother's touch was obvious in each of the rooms, but Sakura hadn't resisted, even when she disagreed. Mebuki needed to feel like she still had a place in Sakura's life and the colors didn't bother her that much. Besides, she could "lose" the pillows later if she wanted to.

A knock on the door drew Sakura away from her contemplations. Taking a deep breath, she finished adjusting the cushions and went to answer. Sakura was both looking forward to having Ino over, and nervous about it at the same time. The girls had talked only a couple of times over the past few weeks, mostly commiserating about how hard being an adult was. Then, they'd laughed about being considered adults. Rebuilding her friendship with Ino felt natural, normal even.

When Sakura opened the door, Ino stepped into the tiny space and looked around with a telling curl on her lips. When her gaze came back to Sakura's face, however, the blond's smile was falsely bright. "It's cute."

Sakura groaned at the fake optimism and closed the door. "Is it bad?"

Ino didn't answer for a long moment, looking around the room with a calculating expression. Then, she nodded as if she'd reached some decision. "Are you allowed to paint?"

"I think so," Sakura answered, raising her shoulders in a shrug. "I'll have to check the lease."

True to her promise, Mebuki had helped Sakura decorate when she moved in two days ago. Candles, photographs, and trinkets filled the space in a way that Sakura never would have considered on her own. It almost felt like a home, or would soon enough. Only a few hours before Ino arrived, Mebuki had appeared with half a dozen bags in hand. The new throw pillows on the couch and the towels in the bathroom were a reminder of her mother's attention to detail.

It wasn't until Sakura moved her things into the larger space that she realized how few personal items she'd accumulated over the years. Thankfully, the apartment had basic furniture; Sakura didn't own any. A picture of her much younger self and the rest of Team Seven grinned at Sakura from a table beside the door. Half a dozen other snapshots surrounded it. Medical textbooks that Tsunade had gifted to her were tucked into a basket beside the couch. A bowl of bright fruit sat on the table.

"We can fix it," Ino declared, placing her bags beside the couch. After a moment, the blond turned to face Sakura, a devious grin sliding onto her lips. "So, who is he?"

Frowning, Sakura tried to follow the mental leap from talking about the apartment to whatever this was. "Who is who?"

Ino reached into one of the bags and pulled out a bottle of wine and matching glasses. As she walked toward the kitchen, she called over her shoulder. "It's not Sasuke again, is it? He wasn't good for you the first time, and he won't be any better the second."

Once Sakura finally caught up to Ino's reasoning, she rolled her eyes and followed her friend to the kitchen. "What makes you think there is even a him to begin with?"

Affecting a gasp, Ino covered her mouth and waggled her eyebrows in Sakura's direction. "Well then, who is she?"

Ino's question ended in a strangled gasp when Sakura smacked her with one of the questionably colored tea towels that Mebuki had selected. The girls dissolved in a fit of laughter that left them with red faces and aching sides. Still chuckling, Ino poured two glasses of wine, then followed Sakura back to the living room. As they settled on opposite sides of the creaky couch, Ino tipped her head to the side to study Sakura. "Seriously though, why the sudden urge to move out if it wasn't to get a little action? You said it's been months since you got some. How do you stand it?"

Sakura tried not to let herself flush at the memory of the almost dalliance with Kazuko as she shrugged. "There are more important things than sex. Besides, work keeps me busy."

"Riveting." Ino mimed a yawn, then her lips contorted into a wicked smile. "Speaking of work, I've heard that there's a good-looking, young doctor at the hospital these days. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

Sakura grinned, forcing the thoughts of Kazuko as far from her mind as possible. "I am pretty cute."

"Ha ha, very funny." Ino rolled her eyes then tossed a pillow at Sakura. "You know, I also heard that this handsome young medic had dinner with a certain pink haired kunoichi who you might also know."

Fighting down the blush that threatened to stain her cheeks, Sakura kept her expression neutral. She had already started to regret going to eat with Kazuko for fear of the rumors it could spawn. If she had to deal with it from Ino as well, Sakura wasn't sure that she'd make it. "Don't you have better things to do than gossip?"

The blond laughed. "I am Head of Intelligence in Konoha. It's pretty much my job to know everything."

"You don't have to be so good at it," Sakura grumbled, realizing that she'd been beaten before her mouth opened. Ino probably knew more about Kazuko than Sakura did. Though, maybe not, since he wasn't a shinobi. Accepting that Ino wouldn't leave it alone, Sakura settled on a version of the truth to feed the woman's curiosity. "We'd had a shitty day and were just decompressing."

"Together." Ino drew out the word with a suggestive flair, eyebrows waggling.

Huffing out an annoyed breath, Sakura nodded. "Yes, together, and that's all there is to it. He's a civilian."

Ino hummed under her breath, considering the words from multiple angles before speaking. "Does that mean you have to go on a certain number of dates before you can fuck him? I can never remember."

Laughter burst out of Sakura before she could stop it. "I don't think so, but it wasn't an issue. What about you? Who are you sleeping with these days?"

For the first time in a long time, the color on Ino's cheeks had nothing to do with makeup. Sakura's mouth fell open at the unexpected reaction. "Oh my god, who is it?"

"Nobody," Ino answered, draining the remainder of her wine in one long pull. "I think it's time for a refill. It's hardly a housewarming party without a little alcohol."

Narrowing her eyes at her best friend, Sakura held out her glass. Perhaps the drink would loosen Ino's tongue about whomever it was that made her blush like a little girl again. And if not, Sakura had sources too. Ino wasn't the only person who could dig up a little gossip.

----------BREAK-----------

Moving into her own apartment had given Sakura a modicum of freedom that she hadn't known she'd been missing. At least, in some respects. On the first night that Sakura worked, Mebuki had brought dinner by, and there had been enough leftovers to last several days. When those were finished, Sakura realized that she'd have to add a grocery trip and meal preparation to her routine, not to mention laundry. She hadn't recognized how much her mother still helped her until she had to do everything herself.

Even so, Sakura was thankful to have a place to call her own. She could have the occasional glass of wine without her mother's disapproving looks, sleep late on her days off, and have people over whenever she wanted. Not that Sakura had many opportunities for the latter. Apparently everyone else was busy doing adult things too.

Sakura hadn't found the time to take Naruto out for ramen a second time. Their schedules made it difficult, but she hadn't put as much effort into it as she should have. Sakura simply didn't have time to do everything that she wanted to do with all of her responsibilities. Not to mention, constantly being on alert for Anbu who might need her. Over the past week, she'd only treated one shinobi, a genin who'd gotten over enthusiastic with his shuriken training.

The situation with Kazuko had settled down, though Sakura hadn't talked to him about anything. They had gone their separate ways like adults, working together when necessary and separately when possible. She thought that time would eventually smooth it over. Now, if she could learn to control the blush that crept in whenever an unwanted memory sprung up in her mind.. Maybe Ino was right. Sakura just needed to get laid.

Not much chance of that, Sakura mused as she settled in bed after a long day. Her shift at the hospital hadn't been so bad, it was the running around after work that did her in. But, at least she had enough fresh vegetables to make food for the next several days. Contemplating which dishes she wanted to try her hand at first, Sakura drifted to sleep..

The onions were too large to be considered diced, and Sakura couldn't get her eyes to stop watering long enough to correct her mistake. She grumbled under her breath and continued to chop the pesky vegetables. A pan bubbled and hissed; steam rose in tantalizing waves that wafted the scent of meat and garlic across the room. Sakura nodded to herself, shoved the onions into a smaller bowl, and moved back to the stove.

Focused on the food, Sakura didn't hear the soft footfalls behind her until arms snaked around her middle. She squeaked and suppressed the urge to lash out with chakra. Soft kisses burned a trail along the shell of her ear as she swatted the hands. She tried to complain that she was too busy for the man's attention, but they both knew it was a lie.

When Sakura turned, the man's face was indistinct, a face that she could have seen hundreds of times during her day. She didn't have long to study his features before warm kisses made her forget everything else. Nimble fingers worked at the apron that Sakura had secured around her midsection; his hands drifted lower as the string came loose.

Beep, beep, beep. Sakura squeezed her eyes shut as the hands pulled her closer in a dizzying rush. The kisses along her neck were gaining heat, burning through her attention span. "Don't you need to get that," an unfamiliar voice husked by her ear. Beep, beep, beep. Sakura reached for the oven behind her, frowning at the numbers slowly ticking down. Beep, beep, beep.

The buzzing of Sakura's pager drew her from the warm confines of sleep. She blinked, trying to capture the remnants of her dream, but the urgency of the noise drove them from her mind. Sakura peered at the tiny digits indicating the time, then groaned. Why couldn't Anbu have emergencies during normal business hours?

Throwing off the blankets, Sakura climbed out of bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She stripped off the oversized t-shirt and reached for standard issue jonin blues. Sakura couldn't be bothered with the complicated snaps and buttons of her normal attire while half asleep. Tying off the pants, she grabbed a bag that held everything she'd need for an emergency consultation from beside the night stand and headed toward the door.

The streets of Konoha were eerily quiet in the deepest hours of the night, deserted except for the occasional flicker of unseen protectors at the corner of Sakura's vision. The fluorescent lights of the hospital glowed in the darkness, drawing Sakura like a moth. When she stepped through the doors, the same blanket of silence that cloaked the village enveloped the reception area.

Sakura turned away from the serenity, preparing for chaos. She'd barely reached the shinobi wing before Chiasa hurried toward her. Blood splattered the woman's scrubs as she indicated one of the rooms. "This way, Haruno-sensei."

Chiasa had already attached monitors to the patient while awaiting Sakura's arrival. The machines beeped an urgent rhythm that forced the last vestiges of sleep from Sakura's mind. Her eyes darted to the heart rate, lips pulling into a frown. The number was higher than Sakura wanted to see for someone as physically fit as an Anbu.

A flash of silver caught Sakura's eye; armor littered the floor. A chest plate tilted haphazardly against the leg of a chair. Metal arm guards and black compression gloves piled in a corner. Streaks of mud brown and dappled crimson looked like a macabre art display against the crispness of the bed's sheets.

Shaking her head to clear the image, Sakura moved closer to the bed. She noticed the man lying on it for the first time. Familiar brown hair stuck up in a dozen directions, pushed there by the faceplate and mask that lay beside his hand. Despite the chaos of the scene around them, Yamato's face looked markedly untouched by whatever injuries had brought him to the hospital.

The man's black compression shirt had been cut away, baring Yamato's chest to the light. Minor cuts and gashes decorated his arms and shoulders, each one in various states of healing. On his left side, a bloody bandage clung to the skin, mud and dirt covering it. The edges were too saturated to bond well; it had reopened at some point, allowing debris into the wound.

Sakura dropped her bag into a chair and dug out the tools she needed. One hand came up with a stethoscope that she draped around her neck, and the other held a pen light. Sakura thumbed open Yamato's eyes to check his pupil's reaction and was surprised to feel the burn of fever beneath her fingers. "Yamato? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

When the man didn't answer, Sakura tucked the light into her pocket and turned to Chiasa. "What do we know? Do we have any information? Where is his team?"

Chiasa glanced down at the notes, though Sakura knew the woman hadn't forgotten any of the information from the intake. The nurse nodded to herself. "A member of his team brought him in while he was unconscious. The girl didn't stay around to check on his status."

Sakura frowned at that addition, wondering if friendships in the black ops meant so little and who the girl was. She didn't have time to answer that question now. Chiasa offered a shrug as if she could read Sakura's thoughts, then continued. "I was told that I don't have clearance for the details of the mission, so your guess is as good as mine on what happened."

A flash of fury burst in Sakura's chest at the words, but she forced it away. With a sharp dip of her head, she moved closer to Yamato and sighed. "I wish I had the time to be gentle."

Bracing her hands against Yamato's shoulders, Sakura pushed her chakra through his semi-conscious defenses. The man arched, a soft growl ripping free from his throat as she probed the injuries. As she'd expected, a dozen or more smaller wounds vied for her attention. They were minor compared to the one on Yamato's side. Another significant cut crossed his thigh, undoubtedly wrapped and hidden by the fabric of his pants, but that would need attention as well.

Ignoring the inconsequential details, Sakura focused on the most threatening injuries. Both the chest and leg were infected. She eased chakra into the wounds, lessening the body's strain to heal itself. A sluggish pulse of blood caught her attention; a tiny laceration on Yamato's liver. Sakura's forehead knit together in concentration as she pushed healing energy around the wound, forcing the body to speed its repair. She spent as much chakra as she dared, but the infection presented another problem.

Sakura lifted her hands away from Yamato's warm skin and wiped them down the front of her pants. It was only then that she realized that she hadn't bothered to don her lab coat, another detail that hardly mattered. She turned back to Chiasa. "Let's start with a broad spectrum antibiotic. Has he been coherent since they brought him in?"

Chiasa shook her head as she turned to the medicine cabinet to find the items needed to start an IV line. Sakura tapped her fingers against her thigh as she chewed her lower lip, mumbling to herself. "Where is your team? Why didn't they stay? And, what the hell happened?"

Grumbling under her breath, Sakura swiped her hair away from her neck in a messy ponytail as she considered the options. Trying to purge infection was trickier than poison; it was a body's response to stimuli instead of foreign invaders that she could isolate. It would be better to clean the wounds with traditional medicine and drain the infections, especially since Sakura wasn't sure what she was dealing with yet.

Sakura released her chakra when Chiasa appeared at her side, holding out the medicine. She nodded and made the notation in Yamato's chart. The page was empty except for Chiasa's intake notes. Sakura resisted the urge to throw the file against the wall as she checked the numbers. Yamato's blood pressure and heart rate were higher than she wanted them to be, especially after healing. Had she missed something?

Kneeling, Sakura picked up the discarded chest plate that she'd noticed earlier. A puncture in the side correlated with the injury to Yamato's chest. Whatever hit him had to have been moving at incredible speed to crumple the armor that way. Sakura placed the item on the chair, then collected the arm guards to join it. She reached for his mask, brushing her fingers over the green and red stripes on the cat's cheeks that had kept his features free of wounds. Sakura wondered if the animal had been assigned, or if Yamato had picked it himself.

After placing the mask with the rest of the armor, Sakura crossed the room to pull a blanket from the cabinet. Since the rest of Yamato's team hadn't stuck around long enough to see how he was doing, she had no idea what to do with it. The man had essentially been abandoned, and it infuriated Sakura. Was that the way that all Anbu treated each other? She couldn't imagine bringing Naruto or Sasuke to the hospital in this condition and leaving them there.

Sakura sighed, watching the efficient way that Chiasa worked. The nurse had already gotten an IV line started in Yamato's wrist and was buzzing around the machines connected to his body. Sakura glanced at his heart rate and blood pressure again, frowning. "I want vitals checked by hand every twenty minutes for the next three hours," she decided aloud.

"If there are no changes after that," Sakura glanced at her watch, startled to find the time so late already. "After that, I'll be back on shift and can reevaluate him myself."

Chiasa nodded, familiar with the expectations. "Do you want any blood work?"

"Yeah, let's get a cbc and blood culture to see what we're up against." Sakura paused, then nodded to herself. There was nothing else that she could accomplish tonight. "I'm going to try and catch a couple of hours of sleep in my office. Wake me if there are any changes."

Gathering her bag from beside the bed, Sakura slung it over her shoulder and walked from the room. The silence of the hallways made her uneasy. She was used to the hustle and bustle that predominated day shift, but more emergencies came through the doors at night. Sprains and stuffy noses were replaced with broken bones and heart attacks. Sakura didn't envy the men and women who worked while everyone else slept. She'd done more than her fair share of night shifts when training with Tsunade, mostly because the woman liked sleep more than she liked her student. Or, so Sakura thought.

A ratty couch tucked into one corner of Sakura's office, a new addition for these late night Anbu surprises. It was hardly long enough to stretch out on, even for someone of Sakura's height, but it worked in a pinch. The room was blissfully dark at least. Sakura tossed her bag onto the floor, then tried to get comfortable on the lumpy cushions. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Despite the exhaustion nagging the back of her mind, Sakura's body refused to rest. Sighing, she moved back to the desk and flipped on the light.

A dozen charts waited for Sakura's attention, but she couldn't focus enough to deal with the tiny details that they required. Her mind refused to settle enough for sleep, but wouldn't let her work. Sakura had assumed that the worst missions, the ones that left shinobi broken and battered like Yamato, had become an exception now that the world was at peace. She berated herself for that naivety. The current political situation was tenuous at best, forced by fear or respect for Naruto and Sasuke. Anbu continued to put their lives on the line daily and would do so until something major changed

Sakura's frown deepened as she considered Yamato, still trying to reconcile the fact that he was Anbu. She had wondered why she saw so little of him after the war, but hadn't thought to comment on it. Sai had never mentioned the man in relation to Anbu either, but that wasn't surprising considering the security around them. Sai wasn't one to gossip, anyway. Sakura tapped her fingers against her forearm, then checked her watch, less than an hour had passed.

Giving up on the idea of sleep, Sakura pushed to her feet and left her office behind. The halls were still deserted and silent as she walked back to Yamato's room. Chiasa had gone, dimming the lights before she left to help her patient rest. Beside his bed, the alarm on the monitor flashed, but it had been silenced for being constantly out of normal parameters. Yamato's heart rate and blood pressure remained elevated.

The healing, push of fluids, antibiotics, and rest should have lowered the number by now. Sakura stepped closer and captured Yamato's wrist in her hands. Her fingers pressed against his pulse point, surprised to feel the rapid beat through the skin. She had wondered if the machine was getting a false reading somehow, but her physical count came up with the same number or close enough that it made no difference. Sakura laid his hand back on the bed and frowned. "Why aren't you stabilizing?"

As Sakura expected, Yamato didn't answer. Chiasa had cleared away the tatters of his uniform, then cleaned and wrapped the wounds. Yamato's armor remained beneath the blanket where Sakura had left it. The man looked different without the jonin uniform and usual head protector. She brushed her fingers over his forehead, feeling the warmth of fever. Yamato's temperature was up, but not high enough to force his body to shut down. "Did I miss something," Sakura wondered aloud, mentally cycling through the dozens of medical textbooks that she'd read over the years.

Lowering her hands to hover above Yamato's chest, Sakura eased her chakra into his body. The echo of the man's life force ruled out chakra exhaustion. Sakura had tended to Kakashi after battle enough times to know what that felt like. Yamato's chakra brimmed with energy and life.

Sakura quested deeper, reexamining the injuries and looking for something that she could have missed. It was exactly as she'd seen earlier, minus her healing. Huffing, she broke the connection between herself and Yamato. When Sakura opened her eyes, she was startled to find Chiasa at the end of the bed with a stethoscope in hand. The woman was coming back to get the next set of vitals. Sakura dipped her chin in greeting. "Have we gotten any results yet?"

"Not yet," Chiasa answered, pulling the file from the box at the end of the bed. "We should have part of it back in the next couple of hours, but the culture will take longer."

"Yeah," Sakura agreed, humming thoughtfully. Her eyes swept over Yamato again, then returned to his heart rate. "Draw a tox screen as well, and put a rush on the results."

If Chiasa was surprised by the unusual request, her face didn't reveal it. She nodded and made a notation in the chart. "Anything else, Haruno-sensei?"

Sakura shook her head, wondering if any of the tests would help her fit the pieces together into an image that made some kind of sense. She rested a hand on Yamato's bare shoulder. "We'll get to the bottom of this soon, I promise."

Don’t miss the rest of the chapter, linked above! 

[horsepriest]

I did this OC meme on Twitter and got “Do all 40 and ramble on” as a response.  Here is the entire questionnaire and character sheet for Warlord Gresham.  This is fairly spoiler-free for Glimpse and is a snapshot of who he is now.   Content warning for sadism, torture, and Gresham basically being a sick fuck overall. 

Warlord Gresham

Basic stats:

Name: Gresham,     AKA The TwinHorn

Serial Number: W.03-c.017

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male He/Him

Height: Approx.     15ft at shoulder. Nearly 20ft standing.

Species: Heavily     modified Liberated Vactyr with signs of Other corruption

Size Class: Titan     (Does not meet 20,000lbs requirement for Colossus Size Class)

Sexuality: Undefined

Romance: Undefined

Birthday: Jan.     17

Age: 42

Occupation: Warlord of the Firmament-Highest rank of the Off-world Military and direct servant of Adelie.

Weapons:  Gresham is a pack hunter with a constantly rotating squad of Lost under his direct command.  He keeps a few contained within the large metal pack upon his back, some strapped with weaponry and explosives for the rare times he’s in a pinch.  He is heavily armoured and has a wide range of attack with his long sweeping horns.  Not many are willing to fight him. He is rarely taken out of battle for long- no one’s quite sure what he keeps in his medic bag. Personality:  Overbearing, proud, and sadistic.  He is the spoiled pet of a capricious “goddess” who encouraged every depraved impulse from a young age.   For his twisted sense of loyalty to Adelie, he was gifted the title of Warlord, and thus dominion over a massive slice of the Liberated hordes.  Despite his quadrupedal stance and bestial appearance, Gresham is smarter than one would think.  This makes him a dangerous adversary as he can manage his pack with ease.

 OC Question Meme

1.       How easy is it to make them angry? Do they show their anger or hide it? It is difficult to make Gresham legitimately angry.  Disobedience would probably be the best way to anger him, except it grants him the ability to dole out punishment as he deems fit.  If anything, he gets giddy when one would expect him to be angry. If someone manages to piss him off, he would not be able to hide it and that person will have a fight on their hands.

2.       Do they believe in soulmates? The idea of soulmates is a foreign concept to him.  Love does not mean much to him due to his unique upbringing.  Of course, he has seen other Liberated pair off to be mates but the rationalizes it as purely a mutually selfish interaction that has shaky longevity at best (and he goes out of his way to ruin the relationship, if possible.).

3.       Do they have any pet peeves? Laziness, weakness, and sneakiness irritate him.  He picks on the lazy and those he views as weak through forcing them into training and hard labour.  He’ll focus intensely on subordinates that show signs of sneakiness or insubordination.

4.       Do they have a happy place?  Somewhere to go to in their heads when they need to relax? His happy place is his room and the memories of his activities there keep him relaxed and generally happy.  Gresham is also happy when around Adelie.  She showers him with attention and praise which he drinks up.  Gresham is a good boy.  In her soulless pits she calls eyes anyways.

5.       At what stage of their life were they the happiest? Right after he killed his brother in public combat and proved he was the best and strongest out of the two.  His secondary set of horns were torn from his brother’s corpse as trophies.  He could stand somewhat normally at this stage and still could see.  He looked like a normal, but exceptionally large Liberated.

6.       At what stage of their life were they the least happy? Same stage of life as “Glimpse Beyond the Illusion.”  His life is painful- trouble breathing and generally functioning as his body has mostly broken down. He relies on his pack for basic needs like getting dressed and keeping clean.  He is also suffering from the effects of █████ ██████████ which is different from Mortus’s knowledge of ██████████.  Lastly, Adelie takes frequent control of his Liberation to form him to her liking, on top of the changes from █████ ██████████.  Due to both of these, he has been barred from ever receiving a breeding permit.

7.       At a bar/tavern/pub are they more likely to buy someone a drink, or have someone buy them a drink? He would buy someone a drink, but it’s a trap. Don’t ever accept a drink from Gresham.

8.       Have they ever broken any bones?  If yes, how? Oh definitely.  The guy’s a living tank that takes joy in brutalizing beings on foreign planets and has most definitely broken more bones than your average peaceful human.  Due to his medic kit, there isn’t much sign of this on his body.  The most obvious broken bone is his docked tail, taken when he reached adulthood.

9.       Do they have any memories/experiences they’d rather forget? Not really.  Most of the painful memories are washed over by the rewards he has been given as a result of being a twisted ghoul of a being.  There are probably quiet moments where he ponders how his life would have been if he were never taken under Adelie’s wing, but they are shoved back down into the dark abyss he dares not look into.  

10.   What is their favourite memory from their childhood? Earning his first pack of Lost. Little and loyal and they tended to his needs without question.  Free friends, captive to him and too stupid to disobey.  At first, he regarded them as tools and took good care of them. Once he accidentally killed one (maybe not accidentally), it was replaced.  Now they are regarded as intelligent playthings and extensions of himself.

11.   Do they have a “type” they are usually attracted to? No explicit type.  Any form of love that Gresham is capable of experiencing is extremely toxic and sickening.  He is an abject abuser and sadist; he doesn’t understand love.  Gresham is capable of obsession and his main obsession is Adelie.

12.   Do they have any favourite possessions? His survival knife, his jar of Flow, and his pack of Lost.  

13.   Do they have any tattoos? If no, would they ever consider getting one? They are not traditional tattoos, but he has faint stripes down his back.  They are short and function like Rictus’s, just without most of Rictus’s extra abilities.  For instance, Gresham cannot rebuild objects with them.

14.   Do they have any piercings? If no, would they ever consider getting one? The thought hasn’t occurred to him, so no piercings.  He might not get one, but I could see him forcing them on others in uncomfortable places.

15.   What is their dream house like? He would live closer to Adelie with more space to be able to move around comfortably.  A space that’s easy to clean and sort his pack into their own cubbies. A much more robust torture chamber with more tools would also be nice.

16.   What is something about them that people would not expect just by looking at them? He is intelligent.  Gresham is calculated in how he handles his affairs and prepares for most situations ahead of time.  For instance, he’ll set out his Lost to lead his quarry to him-typically in a pretty narrow place to discourage retreat.

17.   How good are they at choosing gifts for others? Don’t ever take a gift from Gresham, it’s a trap.

18.   Do they have a certain skill that they’re particularly proud of? He is insanely gifted with his knife work and butchery.  He is proud that he hasn’t yet broken the “Warlord W.03-c.017 is not entitled to cull stud XXX-XXXX” part of his special permits, despite getting his “playthings” very, very, very close to that point. He is also proud of how easily he can take what he wants.

19.   How would a stranger they just met describe them? Creepy, pushy, off-putting.  They may complain of the smell of his breath and body odour.  

20.   How would a close friend they’ve known for a long time describe them? A sweet, loyal dog.  Trustworthy and cute, in an ugly way. (Adelie)

21.   Do they have any personal insecurities? Being caught in a vulnerable position by someone that can then gossip about it.  There are a few pilots that lack tongues for this reason.  Others (presumably because their mouths were too damned small) are just tortured into silence.

22.   What is their highest physical stat? (strength, stamina, defense, speed, etc.) and their highest non-physical stat? (intelligence, perception, charisma, luck, etc)? Easily strength and intelligence.  Defense and Perception are second highest. Gresham lacks Stamina or Charisma.

23.   How would they react to finding out someone lied to them, even if it was for their own safety/well-being? Gresham wouldn’t like it as it would be a form of insubordination, but insubordination also leads to punishment which is fun for him.  He’d let the person lie, then set a trap to catch them.

24.   Do they prefer cold weather or warm weather? For █████ ██████████ reasons, he isn’t too bothered by temperature extremes.  If given the option, he’d pick colder.

25.   How easy is it for them to say “I love you”? See number 2.  Any proclamation of love isn’t actual love: Gresham doesn’t understand it.  Though, he probably tells his playthings that he loves them.  

26.   How easy is it for them to tell someone about their worries? He would not be close enough to most beings to talk about his worries, but he monologues with the Lost about his thoughts. Much like number 21, those that have caught him in these monologues suffer grave consequences.

27.   Have they ever witnessed someone die? Yes, and he takes a perverse joy in it each time.

28.   Are they ticklish? No.  If he ever was, he got desensitized to it by the Lost climbing him.

29.   How high/low is their pain tolerance? Very high.  Even before he started developing chronic pain from his many augments, he is still a Vactyr in the Titan size-class.  

30.   Is there something they secretly wish they could do, but are too afraid to? Getting closer to Adelie.

31.   Are they a messy eater or a neat eater? Due to his lack of cheeks and stretched snout, he is a very messy eater.  Thankfully, the most common food available to him is the same soylent available to all Liberated.  However, when he has access to problematic meat, he eats like a T-Rex.  Large chunks swallowed whole.

32.   What moment of their life made them feel most unloved? When he’s reminded of his place in the universe.  While he is one of the few top-ranked Liberated, he is below every Hirudian.  Forgetting this disappoints Adelie who forces him back into his place through her ability to utterly control his Liberation.  She is willing to loan that control to other Hirudians, including Hivemind (but never Argiope), much to his great humiliation and shame.

33.   What moment of their made them feel most loved? The time leading up to and after getting his augments.  Yes, he lost his vision at this point, but he had Adelie’s entire attention as he was prepared for and eventually recovered from the surgery.

34.   Which of the senses would they hate to lose the most: vision, hearing, smell, taste, or touch? Gresham already cannot see, and his sense of smell is affected by his helmet.  He relies mostly on hearing and the secondary Flow-sense that is boosted by his augments and █████ ██████████ - he can sense where organic and Other beings are.

35.   Are they good at small talk? No, not really.  He’s a bit too busy to socialize and lacks the ability to fit in with the Liberated Ranks for socialization.  His off-putting personality and sadistic nature also pushed them away, many of the pilots carry some trauma from being targeted by him and thus naturally avoid him.

36.   If they could ask anyone one question and get the absolute truth, who and what would they ask? To some all-knowing being (so maybe Hivemind): “Am I good?”

37.   If they had the chance, would they prefer to travel to the past or to the future? The past.  Killing his brother again sounds fun and potentially going back to just before his augment so he can be close to Adelie again.

38.   Who had the biggest impact in their life, both positive and negative? Elite Adelie, for obvious reasons. But, Mortus comes to a close second in the next chapter of Glimpse.

39.   Would they rather life a life always surrounded by people, or always alone? He requires his Lost to live and takes a perverse joy in ruining other beings’ lives.  So, while he could potentially find happiness in a life of solitude if he ever had a chance at a normal upbringing… he would pick having others around.  

40.   Is there anyone or anything that immediately instills fear in them? He fears a loss of control to a being not worthy of his loyalty.  He is purely loyal to Adelie and enjoys his rule over others.  Gresham is aware of how easily Adelie can abandon him, he has witnessed her throwing away her other experiments for petty reasons.  In some cases, he was how she threw them away.  He eventually develops a skittishness around electricity.

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 202

Perfection in the Physique of Birds: Part 1

With bodies heavy for flying and light for diving into the water, birds push the limits of their physique. Let's take a close look at the artistry displayed in birds, which amaze thinking people with their wonderful flying techniques.

Able to dive into the water at a speed approaching 90 km, the kingfisher can grab its prey at this speed in a depth of 60 cm, instantly pivot back and then, using its wings as oars, surface above the water. In order not to lose its prey, the bird's precisely timed diving and surfacing takes place in three seconds.

A torpedo as light as a fly

The most basic factor that enables an animate creature to dive into the water is its body being heavier than the water. With a weight of 40 g and a length of 18 cm, the kingfisher (Alcedo atthis) should remain on top of the water and not be able to catch fish because it cannot dive. However, because God put the sustenance of this bird in the depths of the sea, He gave it the special diving ability. Able to dive into the water at a speed approaching 90 km, the kingfisher can grab its prey at this speed in a depth of 60 cm, instantly pivot back and then, using its wings as oars, surface above the water. In order not to lose its prey, the bird's precisely timed diving and surfacing takes place in three seconds. In a short period of time the kingfisher has traveled a distance 414 times its height. This shows that it can move as fast as a fighter aircraft. If we consider what the kingfisher does on a human scale, a person would be able to dive 26 meters in three seconds and then resurface with a prey the size of a sheepdog. Here another interesting point should be made. The fish the kingfisher wants to catch is actually in a different position than it would visually appear from the sky due to the difference of the degrees of deflection of light in water and air. Bereft of any knowledge of optics, how does this bird solve this problem of physics?

How heavy is a bird feather?

There are physical limits to bird's flying capabilities. In order for a bird to be able to fly, its weight should not be more than 15 kg. In order for birds heavier than this to fly, their wings have to be proportionately larger so it is difficult for this big a bird with heavy wings to fly. Male silent swans (Cygnus olor) weigh more than 14 kg; in fact, there are even some that weigh 20 kg. However, God compensated for this situation with a special structure. Like other birds, the silent swans have some bones filled with air and the inner part of these bones has been made stronger with small props. For this reason, the feathers and bones of these birds are one-tenth as heavy as their bodies. There are more than 12,000 muscle ligaments in the wings of swans to activate the feathers used in flying. Long (50 cm) wing feathers greatly increase the carriage surface of the wings. Each feather can carry 200 grams of weight during flight. For this reason, a swan that loses just one wing feather can no longer take flight. It takes 60 days for the feathers to be completely renewed.

Because the owl's ears were created asymmetrically (the right ear is higher), sounds reach the close ear 1/300,000 of a second earlier. This small amount of time difference is enough for the owl to determine the exact place of the source of the sound.

Are owls flying radar stations?

Under normal conditions it is not possible to hear the sound waves of a mouse eating a hazelnut in a hayloft. Possessing a sensitive receiver, owls are an exception. The facial structure of owls resembles the high tech early warning equipment on AWACS planes. Focusing on even the smallest sound wave just like a satellite antenna, this structure cannot be explained by the intelligence of an owl.

Because the owl's ears were created asymmetrically (the right ear is higher), sounds reach the close ear 1/300,000 of a second earlier. This small time difference is enough for the owl to determine the exact location of the source of the sound. Through the 95,000 nerve cells in the simultaneous hearing center, the brain imagines a 3-D image of the prey. Due to the anatomy of it 14 neck vertebrae (humans and other mammals have seven vertebrae), the owl was given the capability of turning its head 270 degrees and determining the exact position of its prey. While flying towards the place where the sound came from, the owl can constantly recalculate the position of the prey relative to its own position, even if the prey changes its place. As a result of this precise calculation, only three seconds passes between the moment the owl first heard the sound of the prey and the moment it makes its deadly attack.

Is there a mathematical formula for remaining alive?

The formula is this: 7-15-70. It is difficult to immediately understand what these three numbers mean. However, these numbers make it almost impossible for a starling to be caught by its enemies.

We can explain the meaning of these numbers as follows: Whatever 7 close neighbors do, imitate them; constantly fly at least 15 cm from them; do not ever fly more than 70 km per hour. There is one more rule: Keep your distance from all enemies. When these principles are followed, enormous protection follows.

Flocks of starlings are comprised of several thousands of birds that move like one organism. In less than a second, the flock's direction, size and breadth can change. In this situation their enemies do not have much of a chance against such a tight mass. For predatory birds need to determine their targets in order to catch their prey. The fast and sudden movements of the flock prevent attack from predatory birds. In spite of this, predators who attempt attack go back empty-handed. For acting like one body, this enormous flock encompasses the enemy in a counter current with the waves they create and narrow it down until the bird can no longer fly. Becoming dazed, the predatory bird has no choice but to fly away from the flock. This instructive action of the starlings brings to mind the Qur'anic verse: "There is not an animal (that lives) on the earth, not a being that flies on its wings, but (forms part of) communities like you" (6:38).

The world's best camera can see objects as big as a mouse from a height of 300 meters. This is an amazing thing, but even so, no camera can compare in any respect to an eagle's eyes.

[duraxxor]

INTJ-T, The Architect

“Thought constitutes the greatness of man. Man is a reed, the feeblest thing in nature, but he is a thinking reed.”

It’s lonely at the top, and being one of the rarest and most strategically capable personality types, Architects know this all too well. People with the Architect personality type are imaginative yet decisive, ambitious yet private, amazingly curious, but they do not squander their energy.

“Nothing Can Stop the Right Attitude From Achieving Its Goal.”

With a natural thirst for knowledge that shows itself early in life, Architects are often given the title of “bookworm” as children. While this may be intended as an insult by their peers, they more than likely identify with it and are even proud of it, greatly enjoying their broad and deep body of knowledge. Architect personalities enjoy sharing what they know as well, confident in their mastery of their chosen subjects, but they prefer to design and execute a brilliant plan within their field rather than share opinions on “uninteresting” distractions like gossip.

“You are not entitled to your opinion. You are entitled to your informed opinion. No one is entitled to be ignorant.”

Architects are defined by their tendency to move through life as though it were a giant chess board, pieces constantly shifting with consideration and intelligence, always assessing new tactics, strategies and contingency plans, constantly outmaneuvering their peers in order to maintain control of a situation while maximizing their freedom to move about.

This isn’t meant to suggest that Architects are without conscience, but to many other types, Architects’ distaste for acting on emotion can make it seem that way, and it explains why many fictional villains (and misunderstood heroes) are modeled on this personality type.

Architect Strengths

Quick, Imaginative and Strategic Mind – Architects pride themselves on their minds, taking every opportunity to improve their knowledge, and this shows in the strength and flexibility of their strategic thinking. Insatiably curious and always up for an intellectual challenge, Architects can see things from many perspectives. Architect personalities use their creativity and imagination not so much for artistry, but for planning contingencies and courses of action for all possible scenarios.

High Self-Confidence – Architects trust their rationalism above all else, so when they come to a conclusion, they have no reason to doubt their findings. This creates an honest, direct style of communication that isn’t held back by perceived social roles or expectations. When Architects are right, they’re right, and no amount of politicking or hand-holding is going to change that fact – whether it’s correcting a person, a process, or themselves, they’d have it no other way.

Independent and Decisive – This creativity, logic and confidence come together to form individuals who stand on their own and take responsibility for their own actions. Authority figures do not impress Architects, nor do social conventions or tradition, and no matter how popular something is, if they have a better idea, Architects will stand against anyone they have to in a bid to have it changed. Either an idea is the most rational or it’s wrong, and people with the Architect personality type will apply this to their arguments as well as their own behavior, staying calm and detached from these sometimes emotionally charged conflicts. Architects will only be swayed by those who follow suit.

Hard-working and determined – If something piques their interest, Architect personalities can be astonishingly dedicated to their work, putting in long hours and intense effort to see an idea through. Architects are incredibly efficient, and if tasks meet the criteria of furthering a goal, they will find a way to consolidate and accomplish those tasks. However, this drive for efficiency can also lead to a sort of elaborate laziness, wherein Architects find ways to bypass seeming redundancies which don’t seem to require a great deal of thought – this can be risky, as sometimes double-checking one’s work is the standard for a reason.

Open-minded – All this rationalism leads to a very intellectually receptive personality type, as Architects stay open to new ideas, supported by logic, even if (and sometimes especially if) they prove Architects’ previous conceptions wrong. When presented with unfamiliar territory, such as alternate lifestyles, Architects tend to apply their receptiveness and independence, and aversion to rules and traditions, to these new ideas as well, resulting in fairly liberal social senses.

Jacks-of-all-Trades – Architects’ open-mindedness, determination, independence, confidence and strategic abilities create individuals who are capable of doing anything they set their minds to. Excelling at analyzing anything life throws their way, Architects are able to reverse-engineer the underlying methodology of almost any system and apply the concepts that are exposed wherever needed. Architects tend to have their pick of professions, from IT system designers to political masterminds.

Architect Weaknesses

Arrogant – Architect personalities are perfectly capable of carrying their confidence too far, falsely believing that they’ve resolved all the pertinent issues of a matter and closing themselves off to the opinions of those they believe to be intellectually inferior. Combined with their irreverence for social conventions, Architects can be brutally insensitive in making their opinions of others all too clear.

Judgmental – Architects tend to have complete confidence in their thought process, because rational arguments are almost by definition correct – at least in theory. In practice, emotional considerations and history are hugely influential, and a weak point for people with the Architect personality type is that they brand these factors and those who embrace them as illogical, dismissing them and considering their proponents to be stuck in some baser mode of thought, making it all but impossible to be heard.

Overly analytical – A recurring theme with Architects is their analytical prowess, but this strength can fall painfully short where logic doesn’t rule – such as with human relationships. When their critical minds and sometimes neurotic level of perfectionism (often the case with Turbulent Architects) are applied to other people, all but the steadiest of friends will likely need to make some distance, too often permanently.

Loathe highly structured environments – Blindly following precedents and rules without understanding them is distasteful to Architects, and they disdain even more authority figures who blindly uphold those laws and rules without understanding their intent. Anyone who prefers the status quo for its own sake, or who values stability and safety over self-determination, is likely to clash with Architect personalities. Whether it’s the law of the land or simple social convention, this aversion applies equally, often making life more difficult than it needs to be.

Clueless in romance – This antipathy to rules and tendency to over-analyze and be judgmental, even arrogant, all adds up to a personality type that is often clueless in dating. Having a new relationship last long enough for Architects to apply the full force of their analysis on their potential partner’s thought processes and behaviors can be challenging. Trying harder in the ways that Architects know best can only make things worse, and it’s unfortunately common for them to simply give up the search. Ironically, this is when they’re at their best, and most likely to attract a partner.

Romantic Relationships

“Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.”

In romance, people with the Architect personality type approach things the way they do with most situations: they compose a series of calculated actions with a predicted and desirable end goal – a healthy long-term relationship. Rather than falling head over heels in a whirlwind of passion and romance, Architects identify potential partners who meet a certain range of pre-determined criteria, break the dating process down into a series of measurable milestones, then proceed to execute the plan with clinical precision.

In a purely rational world, this is a fool-proof methodology – but in reality, it ignores significant details that Architects are likely to dismiss prematurely, such as human nature. People with the Architect personality type are brilliantly intellectual, developing a world in their heads that is more perfect than reality. People entering this world need to fit this fantasy, and it can be incredibly difficult for Architects to find someone up to the task. Needless to say, finding a compatible partner is the most significant challenge most Architects will face in life.

Politeness Is Artificial Good Humor

Sentiment, tradition, and emotion are Architects’ Achilles Heel. Social standards like chivalry are viewed by Architect personalities as silly, even demeaning. The problem is, these standards have developed as a means of smoothing introductions and developing rapport, of managing expectations, the basis of personal relationships. Architects’ propensity for frank honesty in word and action tends to violate this social contract, making dating especially difficult for them.

The lesson Architects often learn is that the ways of love are hard to describe on a spreadsheet.

As they mature, Architects will come to recognize these factors as relevant, incorporating pace and emotional availability into their plans. But the meantime can be dangerous, especially for more Turbulent Architects – if they are shot down too many times they may come to the conclusion that everyone else is simply too irrational, or simply beneath them intellectually. If cynicism takes hold, Architect personalities may end up falling into the trap of intentionally displaying intellectual arrogance, making solitude their choice rather than happenstance.

Always Remain Cool

The positive side of Architects’ “giving up” is that they are most attractive when they aren’t trying to be attractive, working in a familiar environment where their confidence and intelligence can be seen in action. Allowing others to come to them is often Architects’ best strategy, and if they perceive a potential to the relationship, they will spare no effort in developing and maintaining stability and long-term satisfaction.

As their relationships develop, Architects’ partners will find an imaginative and enthusiastic companion, who will share their world and at the same time grant a huge degree of independence and trust. While people with the Architect personality type may never be fully comfortable expressing their feelings, and may spend more time theorizing about intimacy than engaging in it, they can always be relied upon to think out a mutually beneficial solution to any situation.

Architects seek strong, deep relationships, and trust their knowledge and logic to ensure that their partner is satisfied, both intellectually and physically.

But when it comes to emotional satisfaction, Architects are simply out of their element. Not every partner has the sort of fun Architects do in addressing conflicts and emotional needs as puzzles to be analyzed and solved. Sometimes emotions need to be expressed for their own sake, and putting every outburst under the microscope isn’t always helpful. If this becomes habit, or Architects think it may, these personalities are capable of simply ending the relationship, rather than dragging things out.

Truth and Morality

Architects are bewilderingly deep and intelligent people, bringing stability and insight into their romantic relationships. They prize honest, open communication, and all factors of the relationship are open to discussion and change, but this must be reciprocated. Architects do what they think is right, and sometimes that comes across as cold – it’s important to know that Architects don’t make these decisions lightly. They spend a tremendous amount of time and energy trying to understand why and how things go wrong, especially if they’ve devoted themselves to the relationship, and they certainly hurt deeply when things fall apart.

The challenge is finding partners who share those same values – though Intuitive (N) personality types are uncommon, they may be a must for many Architects, as sharing this trait creates an immediate sense of mutual belonging. Having one or two balancing personality traits, such as Extraversion (E), Feeling (F), or Prospecting (P) can help to keep a relationship dynamic and growth-oriented by keeping Architects involved with other people, in touch with their emotions, and open to alternate potentials.

Friendships

“A friend to all is a friend to none.”

People with the Architect personality type tend to have more success in developing friendships than they do with romantic relationships, but they none-the-less suffer from many of the same setbacks, substituting rational processes for emotional availability. This intellectual distance tends to go both ways, making Architects notoriously difficult to read and get to know, and making Architects not want to bother reading anyone they think isn’t on their level. Overcoming these hurdles is often all but impossible without the sort of instant connection made possible by sharing the Intuitive (N) personality trait.

No Person Will Complain for Want of Time Who Never Loses Any

Architects tend to have set opinions about what works, what doesn’t, what they’re looking for, and what they’re not. These discriminating tastes can come across as arrogant, but Architects would simply argue that it’s a basic filtering mechanism that allows them to direct their attentions where they will do the most good. The fact is that in friendship, people with the Architect personality type are looking for more of an intellectual soul mate than anything else, and those that aren’t prepared for that kind of relationship are simply boring. Architects need to share ideas – a self-feeding circle of gossip about mutual friends is no kind of social life for them.

Architects will keep up with just a few good friends, eschewing larger circles of acquaintances in favor of depth and quality.

Further, having more than just a few friends would compromise Architects’ sense of independence and self-sufficiency – they gladly give up social validation to ensure this freedom. Architects embrace this idea even with those who do fit into their social construct, requiring little attention or maintenance to remain on good terms, and encouraging that same independence in their friends.

When it comes to emotional support, Architect personalities are far from being a bastion of comfort. They actively suppress their own emotions with shields of rationality and logic, and expect their friends to do the same. When emotionally charged situations do come about, Architects may literally have no clue how to handle them appropriately, a glaring contrast from their usual capacity for decisive self-direction and composure.

But Friendship Is Precious

When they are in their comfort zone though, among people they know and respect, Architects have no trouble relaxing and enjoying themselves. Their sarcasm and dark humor are not for the faint of heart, nor for those who struggle to read between the lines, but they make for fantastic story-telling among those who can keep up. This more or less limits their pool of friends to fellow Analysts and Diplomat personality types, as Observant (S) types’ preference for more grounded and straightforward communication often simply leaves both parties frustrated.

It’s not easy to become good friends with Architects. Rather than traditional rules of social conduct or shared routine, Architects have exacting expectations for intellectual prowess, uncompromising honesty and a mutual desire to grow and learn as sovereign individuals. Architects are gifted, bright and development-oriented, and expect and encourage their friends to share this attitude. Anyone falling short of this will be labeled a bore – anyone meeting these expectations will appreciate these personalities of their own accord, forming a powerful and stimulating friendship that will stand the test of time.

Parenthood

“Children must be taught how to think, not what to think.”

Parenting, like so many other person-to-person relationships, is a significant challenge for people with the Architect personality type. Being so heavily invested in rational thought, logic, and analyzing cause and effect, Architects are often unprepared for dealing with someone who hasn’t developed these same abilities who they can’t simply walk away from. Luckily, Architects are uniquely capable of committing to a long-term project, especially one as meaningful as parenthood, with all the intellectual vigor they can muster.

I Hope Our Wisdom Will Grow With Our Power...

First and foremost, Architect parents will likely never be able to deliver the sort of warmth and coddling that stereotypes say they should. Architect personalities are rational, perfectionistic, often insensitive, and certainly not prone to overt displays of physical affection – it will take a clear and conscious effort on their part to curb and adapt these qualities to their children’s needs, especially in the younger years. If they have an especially sensitive child, Architects risk inadvertently trampling those sensitivities or coming across as cold and uncaring.

Even less sensitive children will need emotional support from time to time, especially as they approach adolescence – Architects, even more so than other Analyst types, struggle to manage their own emotions in a healthy way, let alone others’. As a result, Architects tend to avoid “unproductive” emotional support, instead taking a solutions-based approach to resolving issues. This is where Architect personalities are strongest – assessing a dilemma to find the underlying cause and developing a plan to solve the problem at its source.

Architect parents don’t just tell their children what to do, though – they prompt them, make them use their own minds so they arrive at the same conclusions, or better ones still.

Architects also recognize that life is often the best teacher, and they will tend to be fairly liberal, allowing their children to have their own adventures and make their own decisions, further developing these critical thinking skills. This isn’t to say that Architects parents are lenient – far from it – rather, they expect their children to use their freedom responsibly, and often enough the weight of this expectation alone is enough to lay out understood ground rules.

When they need to though, Architect parents will communicate openly and honestly with their children, believing that knowing the truth is better than not knowing, or worse yet, simply being wrong.

...And Teach Us That the Less We Use Our Power, the Greater It Will Be

If their children are receptive to this approach, Architect parents will find themselves respected and trusted. Architect personalities are excellent communicators when they want to be, and will frame problems as opportunities for personal growth, helping their children to establish their own brand of rational thinking and independent problem-solving skills to be applied to more and more complex situations as they grow, building their confidence as they make their own way. Architects’ ultimate goal as a parent is to ensure that their children are prepared to deal with whatever life throws their way.

All this is the exertion of Architects’ core philosophy of intelligent self-direction, and in this way these personalities try to mold their children in their own image, working to create capable adults who can go on to use their own minds, solve their own problems, and help their own children in the same way when the time comes. Architects understand that this can’t happen if they shield their children from every source of ill and harm, but believe that if they give their children the right tools, they won’t have to.

There was more but I feel like these cover most of his core elements in a rather interestingly accurate way. 

Tagged by: @doctor-staton

Tagging: @sanguinesorceress , @gravekeeper-anna , @sneakybinch , @bloody-loyalties , and anyone interested!

Link for the test here https://www.16personalities.com/personality-types

[alittletournesol]

Kingdom Of Jinju {MinKey} part 16/33

Warning: rated content including Jonghyun (after thinking about it for a long time), feel free to skip it if you’re uncomfortable.

[M] Chapter 16 : Release

“Hyung, you’re exhausted… is it a good idea ?”

Taemin pursed his lips together as he placed the last pin in the Prince’s gorgeously long hair to hold them in a strict bun. Sitting on the dressing table’s stool under him, Kibum sighed and drank the last mouthful of his cup of tea before he put it away. In the mirror, it was beyond noticeable that his feline eyes were underlined by dark circles, and his pupils weren’t as expressive as usual.

He was exhausted, his friend was right. Yet, he couldn’t stop anything for he had to replace his bedridden husband with the kingdom’s matters. He hadn’t been able to fully rest in the past week, when he had had to be completely available for the nobles asking for audiences, for the people worrying about their children’s education on hiatus… and the good reception of cultivations’ new products intended for the palace.

That was how he realised how hard it was to be King. However, he was only a temporary substitute — he hope so — and didn’t title himself differently. He was still the Prince, even though he was taking responsibility for things that weren’t usually his domain. Fortunately, he was given a great help by the Queen Mother, who advised him on his new duties, and by the most recently named members of the Royal Council, who were only older than him by a decade.

Yet, everything was so overwhelming and stress-inducing that once he had some time to visit his husband in his quarters, he would end up passing out while talking or even bursting into tears because of a small mistake he had done. Thus, the King and him hadn’t really had opportunities to discuss their personal situation, for the ill man spent more time listening to the Prince and reassuring him about how well he was doing during his absence. It was more about ensuring Kibum’s self confidence through words and Minho’s resistance through the balm.

But even this last thing was going more and more nerve-racking, as they were slowly running out of the precious unguent and the King’s health kept decreasing by days passing. It was to the point that the poison was significantly becoming part of his blood, his own veins taking a dark tint, visible through his skin. The royal physician had proposed to try an ancestral way of healing while waiting for the antidote : the bleeding. Kibum had strongly showed himself opposed to it, dismissing the old man faster than ever and disallowing him to put a single foot back in the room.

The atmosphere in the palace was tensed, it felt like even the air was poisoned. Yet, it was perhaps the last day because six days had passed since Jinki and Jonghyun’s leaving. They had all managed to keep Minho alive until now, and hopefully the antidote would finally come that day, or the next one at the latest. It was just a matter of hours…

“Hyung, are you listening to me ?” Taemin repeated himself after he put the ceremonial hat on his friend’s head. “Can’t you postpone it?”

“I’ve been postponing it for too long already.” Kibum replied, standing up. “The King already postponed it before he got hurt, and now the month ended two weeks ago. We can’t wait any longer to hold the Royal Council. I have to do it.”

“But it’s only about… inventory ? Can’t it wait until they’re back ?”

“Unfortunately no… We have to keep precise track of all of the kingdom’s incomes and outcomes, business, and of course do an inventory of all our stocks at the end of a month.”

“How long will it last ?”

“No less than two hours. To be honest, since it’s me and not their King, I bet some of those old snakes will seek trouble so it might take longer.”

“Alright… I’ve got you what you asked for, every soldier wrote down what they thought could be improved for them in terms of accommodation and hours as well.”

“Thank you, I will introduce it but we will have to wait for the General. Come, let’s not waste more time.”

With these words, the Prince adjusted the collar of his powerful red coat, grimacing when he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. This colour was the King’s, not his, he was feeling extremely uncomfortable wearing it. However, he had no choice. As he walked outside his quarters with his friend following him, he headed through the east wing’s corridor until Minho’s door. There, he only knocked twice, softly, and entered.

It wasn’t the time to add more balm to his wound, but he would always check on him before leaving for a royal schedule. With gentleness, he approached the bed and sat on its edge, his hand raising to remove sweaty bangs from the King’s forehead. The latter was asleep, but not as peacefully as at the beginning of the week : his eyebrows were constantly furrowed and his breath wasn’t steady. His chest rose abruptly and had struggles lowering, his entire body covered with a fever’s sweat.

Kibum sadly smiled as he caressed his husband’s dark hair, and he looked at the bandage. It was well placed on the cut, yet it was surrounded by the dark blue veins trimming the now pale skin of Minho’s torso. Poison wasn’t hidden anymore, it was extremely painful to watch, but the Prince didn’t look away. With the tip of his finger, he traced up one dark line going from the chest to the bottom of the neck, wondering how long it would take to completely cover the ill man’s body.

“You’re doing well…” He whispered. “Just hold on a bit longer, alright ?”

With a smile, Kibum made his hand go up to his husband’s cold cheek, his thumb gently caressing it. He remained like this for a few seconds before clearing his throat and standing up, Taemin looking at him.

“Can you… stay here ?” He asked his friend. “The Queen will certainly come soon but I don’t want him to be alone if he wakes up…”

“I will stay.” The young boy nodded. “If anything happens, I will come to you.”

“Please don’t. This council is really important and the King himself asked me not to interrupt it for any reason… even if the reason is him.”

“You’re not going to listen, right ?”

“He placed his trust on me, Taemin, I can’t betray him. If something happens… please don’t come, I want to respect his wish. I will go now, and come back in a few hours. If he wakes up and is in pain, you know what to do and he knows too, he will let you.”

The soldier apprentice agreed despite his reluctance, and watched his friend glance one last time at the King before he left in a hurry. Sighing, he went to the fireplace and lifted the armchair to put it closer to the bed, sitting on it and keeping an eye on Kibum’s husband. And he hoped, he prayed for nothing bad to happen in the next hours, because he really didn’t want to be the one announcing bad news to Kibum.

It had been four entire hours since the Royal Council had started, and the Prince had been extremely perceptive : the oldest members were indeed giving him a hard time, going to that extend of asking him tough questions needing really precise answers. However, Kibum never got flustered, replying to everything he was asked with calm and intelligence. He was beyond thankful to have more than half of these men and women on his side, sometimes even stepping in when the snakes were going too far.

The sun was already going down to hide behind the hills and his exhaustion was only growing stronger. They were still busy with the inventory, for the members had asked to be provided with some sustenance and it had been difficult to bring them back to the matter. With his thoughts directed to his husband’s health added to the tiredness, the Prince wasn’t in his best state of mind to properly show his authority. He only wanted this to stop already.

“Your Grace, I am considering last month’s inventory and we are improving our reserves.” A man in his thirties said. “Perhaps we could take a time to make some calculations, so we can foresee Jinju’s future and thus, forecast a date for the kingdom’s complete rebirth.”

“It would be remarkable if we could, indeed.” Kibum nodded, sitting straight on the throne. “I am afraid I am not talented when it comes to calculation, yet I believe you know better than me, lord Yesung ?”

“I have to be modest, I am not as talented as I let your Grace imagine. But I am not alone and I think I can work with my fellows to provide you a good prediction within half an hour.”

“Then we will dismiss today’s council with this, please allow me to repeat everything we inventoried for this month.”

Lord Yesung smiled and bowed his head before he gathered a few other members around him, while the oldest ones were busy finishing their light meal. The Prince cleared his throat and took a moment to pour himself another cup of tea to take care of his throat, until he was all ready to dictate. It took him only a few minutes to tell out loud each product and the amount they had listed at the end of the month, but before he finished to read his scroll, knocks were heard at the huge door.

Kibum frowned as he raised his head, he had expressly asked not to be disturbed and was about to say so when the panel opened on a young silhouette he knew too well. Bowing to every member, Taemin trotted about until he reached the throne and climbed the platform to be close to his friend.

“Hyung, I know you told me not to come but…” He whispered so only the Prince could hear him. “The King woke up in pain and I applied the balm like you told me to, he let me do it but… it’s been half an hour and the pain doesn’t reduce.”

“Taemin, I… I can’t come now, it’s almost over.” The eldest said with the same tone.

“But he’s really suffering and we can’t do anything, the Queen Mother is there too and—”

“I can’t, you have to handle it alone for now, I will do my best to join you soon but please, don’t come again.”

Disappointment was noticeable in the young apprentice’s eyes as he closed his mouth and straightened up, but he didn’t protest. He excused himself and left with another series of bows, ignoring the mocking whispers of some members on his way. Kibum sighed and tried his best to contain himself ; he couldn’t say his friend’s words hadn’t worried him sick, but he had promised Minho not to leave the council for him.

He was fighting himself harder than ever, his only wish was to cancel this gathering at that same moment and to run to the royal quarters. He suddenly felt a cold shiver run down his spine and breathe in deeply, forcing himself to focus on the end of his list. All men and women in the room had their eyes on him, waiting for their ruler’s words and some of them with a smile that easily told how eager they were of him making a mistake.

But he held on. He cleared his throat and offered all of them a content smile, transforming his own face so no worry could be seen on his traits. His heart, however, was beating so fast it threatened to jump out of his chest, and he could feel a knot in his stomach. Fear was overwhelming him once again, but this time he had to hold it in for as long as he was in this room… a room that was starting to seem larger by minutes passing, as Kibum’s head started turning a bit.

He finished his dictation quickly and put the scroll on the tea table, immediately grabbing his cup and drinking to make his feeling of faintness disappear. His mind was assaulted by frightening thoughts, and it was only aggravating the pain in his stomach. He drank again, his hands trembling and drop of sweats forming on top of his forehead, covered by his hat.

Sitting on the first seat near the platform, Lady Sunyoung noticed his trouble and discreetly glanced at the other council members. They were all surrounding the few Lords doing their much talked-about calculations, not looking at her nor their Prince. Thus, she slowly stood up and removed a clean handkerchief from her dress, gently handing him to the young man with both her hands while bowing her head. Kibum welcomed her gesture with gratefulness, whispering his thanks and offering her a warm smile.

He really could count on the newly named members, for they were all in their thirties or just a bit younger. It was like they understood him as a young adult more than the eldest, who only saw some big teenager in him. He slowly wiped himself down, just hoping his skin wouldn’t absorb the feminine fruity fragrance of the fabric. However, it wasn’t enough for him to feel a bit better, and he decided to stand up.

He needed to walk, so he went down the platform’s stairs and started wandering between the rows of seats with his hands behind his back. In no time, he reached the spot of the room where everyone was busy with arithmetic and cleared his throat to make them aware of his presence.

“Oh, your Grace.” Lord Yesung said as he turned his scroll to show him what he wrote. “We are almost done, it is easier than we thought. Please have a look on this for now, our stocks of rice keep increasing, and the amount is almost thrice bigger than two months ago.”

“This is very well. What about fruits ?” The Prince asked. “Did our trees provide more or are they still at the phase of blossoming ?”

“It depends on the trees, your Grace.” Lord Leeteuk replied. “We are one month ahead of Seollal* so we are almost at the beginning of the natural spring season. At the moment we have… apples and oranges. Lemons and clementines still struggle, but perhaps we will grow some this month.”

“Good. Vegetables ?”

“Everything is going well too, we are growing everything that naturally grows at this period, by small quantities but it can only improve. The soil is good.”

“These are very good news.”

“Indeed, your Grace. Please allow us a short instant so we can calculate our prediction.”

Kibum nodded and walked back to the throne, sitting on it and pouring himself one last cup of tea. As soon as his mind wasn’t busy anymore, it started carrying him away to the King’s quarters and troubled him. If the balm hadn’t any effect anymore… they needed the antidote very quickly.

Minutes flew by, sweat formed again on his temples while the knot in his stomach returned as well. He breathed in and out, slowly, discreetly, staring at the young men and praying for them to go faster.

What he didn’t expect was from the door to open without any knock. Only him noticed it since everyone was leaning on the scroll. What he saw was enough for his mind to go blank for a second : with half his body standing in the Council room through the half-open door, Taemin was silent, his face incredibly pale, his teary eyes staring at him. Kibum’s heart missed a beat and he assumed the worst.

“L-Lord Yesung.” He called, forcing his voice not to tremble too much. “Are your calculations done ?”

“Almost, your Grace.” The latter said. “It is the final one.”

“Please, do it fast.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

Silent fell on the room as everyone let the Lord calculate in his mind, but Kibum couldn’t get his eyes off of his friend. Taemin was like a ghost, standing there, and the Prince was unable to say if the worst actually had happened or if the young boy was terrified about it approaching closer and closer.

“If we consider our reserves increasing from the exact same amount as this last month, and this for each month starting now…” Lord Yesung said. “Jinju should be able to live on its own again in seven months.”

“I hope your prediction becomes the truth, my Lord.” Kibum said before standing up, unconsciously holding onto the armrest as he almost felt his legs failing him. “With these hopeful words, my Ladies, my Lords, this council is dismissed. Please bring the scrolls to the Royal Library as usual.”

Without waiting for their answers and bows, the Prince was the first one to bend his body in a half before he walked down the throne’s platform quickly and joined his friend. Within a second, he was outside the Council room and started running, Taemin following him without saying anything. The corridors never looked so long, the stairs so high and Kibum’s lungs so weak.

And when he showed up in the King’s quarters after his race, the scene before his eyes ended him.

Indeed, Minho was awake and suffering. He was sitting on his mattress, his body covered with sweat and his torso striated with dark blue veins. Yet, unlike every other day of the past week, he was trembling and breathing loudly, trying to throw up next to his bed, in vain. It was like he was doing his best to reject the poison, but nothing left his body ; it was an exhausting, constant and increasing pain.

Standing next to the furniture with her hands covering her mouth, her face wet with tears, the Queen Mother was unmoving, her eyes widened with horror as she didn’t know how to react to her only son’s pain. Kibum didn’t waste a single second more and rushed to skirt the bed, his hat dropping because of the sudden movement. He kneeled on the carpet and put his hand on his husband’s knee, the other one raising to hold his cheek.

He was burning up with fever, his eyes shut closed and his whole face screaming pain. He was constantly suffering of retching, trying his best to regurgitate the poison that was slowly overpowering his blood… The Prince grew pale as he gently grabbed Minho’s arm : it was stiff, not to say almost completely rigid. The usual tan of his skin had made space to corpse-like paleness, emphasising the horribly lethal blackness of his veins.

It wasn’t a matter of hours, but of minutes, Kibum thought as he stood up and went to take the bucket normally used with the bathtub. He then immediately climbed on the mattress and put a warm hand on the King’s back to support him, as he placed the small container between his thighs.

Minho’s breath was loud and broken. It was like he was slowly losing the ability of breathing, lacking air when there was plenty of it… as if his respiratory tract was becoming blocked by minutes passing. There was nothing the Prince could do, and he felt the corners of his eyes water because of the combination of fear and frustration filling him. In the sweetest way, he caressed his husband’s bare back with one hand, the other one holding his head against his own throat with the bucket between them.

“It’s gonna be fine…” He whispered in an attempt to reassure Minho but also to give himself enough mental strength to let go. “I’m with you, see…? I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner… I’m here now…”

The King answers with a hoarse cough, his breath hot against Kibum’s neck. The latter closed his eyes and did the biggest effort he had ever done not to cry ; he refused to cry when nothing was over yet. It would be like calling the worst to come, and he only wanted to hold his husband against him, no matter who watched them and what those people could think.

He knew the Queen was still there, unmoving and quiet, but witnessing the closeness between her son and son-in-law. Of course she was noticing how hard it was for the Prince and how he was trying to hold his tears back. She could also see how the King wasn’t rejecting anything, rather making the most of this embrace. The way his back and hair were gently stroked, words were whispered so close to his ear… something had changed between the husbands.

Slowly, the woman approached the bed and sat on it, biting her lip as she put her hand on her son’s arm. She grazed his skin until she found his hand and held it tight. Standing in the entrance, Taemin was still expressionless, pale, looking like a ghost. He was waiting for the nightmare to cease and to wake him up.

The room was filled with only one sound, Minho’s breathing with hoarse inhalations. The ill man had closed his eyes, his eyebrows still furrowed and his body not moving anymore.  And everyone waited, staying close to him.

Kibum never stopped caressing his back, his chin resting on the sweaty dark brown hair.

Jihwan never took her eyes off of his face, squeezing his hand.

Taemin never moved.

Until running steps broke the quiet atmosphere and the General bursted in the quarters, almost falling as he didn’t expect the door to be open. Everyone turned their head towards him, and all eyes were lit by hope, the Queen immediately coming to him and holding his hands, tears eventually running down her face. Jinki was out of breath, as if he had just run straight from Baemyeong. When he raised his head, he noticed his best friend’s state and how he was being held by the Prince, and he carefully let go of the woman’s hands to approach both men.

His eyes widened with horror as he discovered the visible effect of the poison on Minho’s body… and health. Kibum looked at him and they exchanged an anxious stare, making the youngest of them wonder if they had actually found the antidote. He was about to ask about it when another silhouette came hurtling and just as breathless as the soldier. His blonde bangs were extremely recognisable, but what was even more noticeable was the case in his hands.

“Is it…” The Prince started to ask, his eyes staring at his friend with hope. “Is it the antidote…?”

“Yes…” Jonghyun said while catching his breath back. “We have to make it… and also… Lady Taeyeon of Baemyeong returned with us…”

“What ? Why ?”

“She wanted to, to talk with Minho because the poisoning wasn’t ordered by Baemyeong.” Jinki replied. “She is waiting in the Pearl Room, we couldn’t let her come here.”

“I will go to her.” The Queen said, straightening up and wiping her face. “You must all take care of my son, I will welcome Lady Taeyeon properly. But we did not plan a correct bedroom…”

“It will be fine, your Majesty.” Kibum nodded. “Please escort her to the dining room and let her take sustenance after such a journey. I will ask for my sheets to be changed in this instant and she will use my quarters. Jonghyun, what do you need for the antidote ?”

“Just boiling water.”

Kibum’s reaction was fast as he gave his place to Jinki and commanded Taemin to light a fire before he left the quarters running, the Queen following him. The General unhesitatingly replaced him by Minho’s side, holding him and almost gasping when he felt his burning skin. He didn’t know if his childhood friend was conscious of his presence and of what it meant, but the simple fact of being next to him filled Jinki with joy and relief. He let his forehead rest on the wet hair, his face now hidden, and allowed some tears to escape his eyes to release all his worries and fears from earlier.

Within a few minutes, the Prince was back with a teapot filled to the brim and two cups on a tray, and he kneeled next to the fireplace where his young friend was blowing on the taking embers. Jonghyun had his hands still busy and Kibum made the most of Taemin’s slow work to remove all objects from the tea table, until there was enough space for the case. Both men cooperated to delicately put it down and they finally opened it, revealing five gorgeous flowers with dark blue petals.

While the teapot was being hung above the fire, the Prince followed his former teacher’s instructions and took a flower, carefully removing the petals by making sure he didn’t break them, for they were extremely fragile.

“Do you know how many of them we must brew ?” He asked after his eighth petal.

“Considering how the poison’s effects are visible and the King’s breathing…” Jonghyun thought. “We should at least put all petals of three flowers, make a cataplasm with the fourth one and keep the fifth one in case he needs a second dose, a lighter one.”

“Did you… did you already try on a tree ? I mean, to heal one that wasn’t dead.”

“No, I only had one flower at that time so it was impossible to even consider healing a tree. So… we will have to pray that infused petals will be enough. After all, it will still end up in his blood if he drinks it, and we will cover the wound with the ointment I’ll make.”

Kibum nodded and both men gently removed all petals of three flowers, as decided. They piled them up in the cup and the elder went to take the teapot, the water boiling inside. With care, he poured some to the top and watched the translucent liquid slowly turning blue, a very dark blue. Strangely, the scent emanating from the beverage was sweet, a floral scent that reminded of a rose… or perhaps was it a magnolia ? In any case, it should be easy to drink.

After a few minutes, Minho coughed louder than before and Jonghyun decided it was infused enough. He decanted the liquid from the first cup to the second one, letting the petals in the now empty one before he handed the other one to Kibum. The latter carefully held it and walked to the bed, sitting on the other side of his husband. Offering his help, the General gently made the King straightening his head and held it, while the Prince approached the small container.

“It’s going to be a bit hot, but you have to drink it now, my King…” He whispered. “I promise it won’t last long, please open your mouth…”

Despite his trance, Minho seemed to hear the voice asking him something, as he parted his dry lips. With the most incredible carefulness, Kibum held his husband’s cheek and put the edge of the cup on his lower lip. Gently, he inclined it until the antidote was slowly falling in the King’s mouth ; the way the latter frowned and slightly jumped proved how hot the liquid was, but he let it go down his throat.

Once the cup was empty, the Prince withdrew and noticed the teacher was nowhere to be seen. Only Taemin was there, still standing and staring at the whole situation from afar. Jinki was still sitting next to his childhood friend and he carefully moved him to make him lean against his pillow, not lying completely. All of them knew the antidote wouldn’t be effective immediately, and the King’s breath remained intermittent and loud. None talked, finally letting a calm and peaceful atmosphere falling on the quarters.

Kibum didn’t know how much time passed until his adrenaline faded away and the whole week of overwhelming feelings and exhausting schedules got the upper hand. He didn’t realise he fell asleep, not even when his body leaned on by itself and his head rested on his husband’s uninjured shoulder. For the first time in days, he slept with his mind filled with hope, and he finally felt like resting.

The night was well advanced when Jonghyun head back to his house. Preparing the cataplasm had taken more time that he had thought it would, and when he had eventually come back to the King’s quarters, he had found Kibum fast asleep against his husband. Jinki had welcomed him from the couch, where he had been crouching in front of a troubled Taemin and softly talking to him. The young boy was still not over the show he had witnessed alone, how fast Minho’s health had deteriorated before his eyes.

But instead of telling to act tough like a good soldier, the General had listened to his worries and thoughts, and the teacher had heard him saying everyone was afraid of something one day or another. He had played his mentor role very well, even talking about his own anxiety to make his pupil feel less weak. Jonghyun had nodded his head and let both men talking while he had discreetly approached the King’s side to lower the bandage and generously apply the unguent.

He had been away for around twenty minutes but the sovereign’s breath hadn’t steadied itself even with the antidote. But the teacher was sure it would become effective, he had no doubt because as of this day, every poison had an antidote. So he had done his job and made sure not to wake up anyone on this bed, then he had escorted Taemin to his bedroom to reassure him and help him to sleep. When it had been time for him to head home too, he had stopped by the royal quarters to check on Jinki, but the latter had been too busy looking after his childhood friend.

This was how Jonghyun found himself alone in his apartment, tidying up his things and removing his clothes dirty with sweat from running everywhere. He had been home for more than three hours now, yet he couldn’t find sleep as usual and was drawing at his desk, only wearing his sleeping large pants and a cardigan open on his bare chest. Under his fingers, he was bringing some modifications to his scroll filled with plants and flowers, obviously writing down and sketching everything he had learned about the black kiss lately.

When he drew a small empty square next to his drawing of a cup of tea filled with petals, he paused. Would he ever add a tick there, meaning that the antidote worked ? Or will it be a cross, the fateful mark of his failure ? He sighed and his eyes looked up to his window, watching at the night sky through the glass. He wasn’t the kind to pray for good things to happen, he was more pretending to do it since this day of his early childhood he had been saved by prayers, he’s been told.

But could prayers really make the antidote work ? He rather was a man believing in the power of nature : whatever nature wants, nature has. He had been interested in so many natural phenomenons for years, going from the unique beauty of flora to the significations one could read in the sky. As paradoxical as it could be, he wasn’t fond of religion yet found a significant interest in astrology, loving to see constellations drawn in this vast black canvas above his head and to learn ancestral stories about their hidden meanings.

Just there, from his living space’s window, he could see one of his favourite constellations and found himself drawing it on a blank scroll. But his hand jumped when a few knocks were strongly hit against his door, loud enough to be heard from upstairs. Frowning, the young teacher left his work and walked down his stairs, crossing the classroom and holding his cardigan closed with one hand while opening the door with the other one.

He was both surprised and confused to see the General in the frame, in the middle of the night, still wearing his complete uniform but his bun slightly ruined.

“Jinki ?” He asked, frowning again. “Something happened ?”

He was waiting for an answer but definitely not for the way the soldier stepped fast forwards and drew him into a hasty embrace. He gasped as he felt like losing his breath for a second when his body slammed into Jinki’s, strong arms holding him and a chin resting on his shoulder. For a moment, he remained there, his hands raised and wondering what was actually happening, until he gave the hug back.

Under his fingers, he could feel the General’s quivery body and he widened his eyes before grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him backwards to look at him.

“Wait, are you crying ?” Jonghyun asked, shocked and immediately thinking the antidote failed… until a bright smile, the brightest he had ever seen, was drawn on Jinki’s lips. “What the…”

“I don’t know what can happen tomorrow but his breathing came back to normal.” The latter replied, relief strongly noticeable in his tone. “He’s at peace, I mean, his veins are still blue for now but he can breathe, he doesn’t suffer anymore and he’s even able to sleep.”

“By the Gods…”

Hearing these words, the teacher felt his legs failing him and he grabbed hold of the door’s frame, immediately supported by his friend. He was so lost in his thoughts, slowly understanding that he might have succeeded in healing the King, that it took him a few minutes to realise Jinki had led him inside, until his armchair.

“Well, don’t look so happy about it.” The soldier said, laughing as he handed him a glass of water. “You joy is so infectious.”

“Does it mean…” Jonghyun thought out loud, “I healed him ? It worked ?”

“As I told you, we must wait to see how he will be doing tomorrow. But after hours of being in pain, he’s finally feeling normal again. So yes… I believe you healed him.”

The teacher pondered the information for a moment, until he eventually smiled in his turn, covering his mouth to hide a relieved laugh. He held his head in his hands as he laughed, and scared Jinki when he abruptly stood up to walk to his desk, powerfully grabbing his pencil to trace a tick in the square next to the antidote’s drawing. It had worked, there was no way the poison could survive if it already had a considerable effect on the King’s pain and breathing.

It was only the beginning of the whole healing process, and he had to keep track of everything to be sure about how this antidote precisely worked. But for sure, it was heading to the right direction.

“You definitely redeemed yourself, you know.” The General’s voice came to his ears, making him turn over to face him. “What you did… and how willingly you did it, it will remain in history.”

“I don’t seek an eternal recognition.” Jonghyun said, smiling. “Being part of History doesn’t interest me but… it’s such a great personal victory.”

“Sure, and you will certainly be thanked by the King himself, you must anticipate it.”

“Then he must thank you as well.”

“Me ? I just escorted you.”

“Precisely, Jinki. You left your first position which is to remain by the King’s side, to follow me without a break. Do you think I could have caught those flowers if I’d been alone ? So, thank you. I couldn’t have healed him if you hadn’t been by my side all along.”

The General listened well and ended up smiling, scratching his head as his cheeks heated up. He hadn’t realised how important his role had been until that moment, and he exchanged a long stare with the teacher.

“You know… I hope you’ll forgive me for calling you short and rambling.” He said. “I must have been so unbearable on the last days.”

“Unbearable is an understatement.” Jonghyun confessed, smiling. “You’re quite an impatient man, has anyone told you that ?”

“When I want something, I want right here, right now.”

“Depends on what this something is, I would say. You can be quite patient when you want to, right ?”

The teacher offered the soldier a crooked smile and passed by him, the latter smirking back as he caught his arm, making him stop right away and turn his head towards him.

“Spit it out.” He said, making Jonghyun cock an eyebrow. “Stop with your riddles.”

“Oh, I’m the one playing with riddles ?” The teacher smiled, bringing his face closer to Jinki’s. “I’ve been completely honest and transparent since the beginning, Sir.”

“Oh really ? You never told me what you really want.”

“Only because you never asked.”

“What do you want ?”

“You.”

The frank answer resulted in Jinki shivering, his body tensing and heating up like it did so many times before. Even though he had somehow forecasted it, the words said out loud still surprised him and he opened his mouth, trying to answer. It only made the teacher laugh with a low voice before he escaped the soldier’s grip, walking away.

The General’s blood boiled and he ignored his last doubts, grabbing the other man by the hem of his clothes and forcing him to turn over. Jonghyun’s eyes weren’t as innocent as he had planned, finding them more appealing and lit with a glint of lust. He perfectly knew what he was doing.

“Show me.” Jinki commanded.

“It’s none too soon, General.” The teacher smiled.

Without waiting for an answer, Jonghyun pressed his hand against the other’s chest and pushed him. The latter stepped backwards, blindly led until his back touched the wall. As soon as he was trapped, the blonde haired man claimed his lips with firmness, his tongue fighting its way through them while his hands caught his baldric, unbuckling it. Jinki gasped when he felt the weight of his sword disappear, and he grabbed hold of the teacher’s waist under his cardigan.

The latter smiled against his open mouth and got rid of this useless item of clothing, ending up bare chest and grabbing the soldier’s hands to make them touch him. A shiver ran down his tanned skin when manly fingers roughly caressed him, and a familiar heat invaded his body as well. He had waited for the moment he would have the General in his bed for so long, he didn’t want to waste any time.

As he straightened up, breaking their openmouthed kiss, Jonghyun smirked and walked away, leading Jinki to his bedroom by his belt. The soldier had his face all red and sweating already, eager to feel more yet a bit anxious, wondering what would actually happen in this room. Once the door was closed, he felt a warm body being pressed against his back, lips attacking his nape while hands were roaming on his still covered chest, looking for any buckle to undo until his military harness was on the floor.

Only remained his chain mail shirt and pants, and he was the one to remove the first item himself, closing his eyes when he felt hot lips being placed against the skin of his back, while arms held his torso from behind. He was almost disappointed when they withdrew but it only lasted a second before Jonghyun was facing him, taking his lips with his once more. This time, the soldier returned the kiss with the same passion, holding his new lover firmly by his hips and pulling him closer.

The sharp movement made Jonghyun laugh, a low and hoarse laughter coming from the back of his throat that was quickly replaced by a moan when two hands found his butt under his pants. It was like a signal that made him stop with his little touching game, as he pressed his body against the other man’s, looking for Jinki’s hands himself to place them on the waistband of his pants. He pressed them, notifying the eldest he wanted him to push the now useless item of clothing down.

Biting his lower lip, the soldier obeyed and as soon as he made the fabric pass the curve of the teacher’s hips, the whole thing fell by itself. Jonghyun was standing in all his glorious form, and his eyes found Jinki’s, staring at them without flinching as his hands played with the buckle of his belt. The room was filled with the metallic sound combined to their deep inhalations, their lungs already growing breathless when nothing had truly started. 

Seconds later, no fabric covered the General’s body anymore and he gasped when he was literally grabbed by his cock and drawn into a hot, wet kiss. He moaned in Jonghyun’s mouth when he felt fingers tightening around him, and even more when they started grazing him back and forth, pulling him towards the bed at the same time. Before he could become aware of where he was, he was released and pushed backwards on the mattress, bouncing once on it and holding himself on his elbows.

The blonde haired man was quick to kneel above him, with his knees on either side of the soldier's legs, capturing his lips while stroking his cock at the same time. Jinki’s chest jolted as he let himself being surrounded, finding himself adoring this unique moment when he wasn’t in charge of leading. And Jonghyun knew for sure what he was doing, as he made his mouth draw a line of wet kissed down his neck and torso. When he arrived at his stomach, just above his navel, he felt the elder quiver while an especially low moan escaped his throat ; so this was a weak spot to remember.

With a smile, the teacher kept torturing his tummy before he decided it was enough and went lower, ignoring the twitching member he had just under his face to spread his lover’s legs. Hungrily, he pressed his lips against his thick thigh and drew a longer moan from Jinki, whose other leg slightly jumped. Another weak spot, Jonghyun thought to himself as he sucked and licked the skin, sending the General higher by seconds passing. 

When the soldier muffled a louder cry as the blonde slightly bit his inner thigh, the latter eventually stopped the torture. He loved having this tough military man growing so eager and willingly submissive to him, it felt like a small victory. He waited a bit before withdrawing, Jinki opening his eyes and staring down at him with his lower lip wet, his cheeks pink and looking deliciously hot. But that wasn’t what he wanted at the moment.

Jonghyun didn’t waste time and closed his fingers around the already well hardened cock, stroking it slowly to make its owner sigh and soon beg for more. No one must disobey the General. The blonde haired man licked his lips and his eyes looked up to meet Jinki’s, staring at him with flames in his irises as he made his tongue go up the twitching shaft. He put a kiss on the wet head and lapped it, before Jinki had his eyes rolling to the back of his head when he felt half of his member being engulfed into a hot, wet mouth.

He would be lying if he said he had never been given head, but Jonghyun did it so much better than anyone that he was quick to lose it. He let his back fall on the mattress, an arm raised to cover his eyes while his free hand roamed down until it found the teacher’s head. He blindly slid his manly fingers through the blonde bangs, not caring if he was ruining the other’s hairstyle, he only wanted something to hold onto and if it had to be onto this man, he would.

The teacher slowly moved his head backwards until his lips were tightened around Jinki’s glans, and drew a strong moan out of the latter’s throat when he took his shaft back inside his mouth. As playful as he was, Jonghyun set a steady rhythm of his back and forth movement, in harmony with the soldier’s sighs and moans that sounded so delightful and arousing to his ears. The more he went down, the more of his thick, stiffen cock he took until his throat couldn’t welcome more without choking. 

But he didn’t want Jinki to be done yet, not when they could do way much better than just some sucking. With regret, the blonde withdrew and straightened up on his knees, wiping his mouth and teasingly licking the tip of his fingers as the General stared at him. However, what Jonghyun didn’t expect was for his lover to quickly straighten up and hold him in place with a hand gripping his hip.

And just like that, without asking nor being asked, Jinki returned the favour. It was rough and clumsy, the occasional teeth the teacher felt along his shaft at the beginning proving it was certainly a first time… but it was not less good. The younger kept his mouth open as both his hands played with the black hair under him, untying them and his fingers digging through his strands. 

Drops of sweat had already formed on both of their bodies and the room was filled with the heavy atmosphere of arousal and sex. Something that was more than enough for Jonghyun to lose himself in lust and bringing anyone with him. When he felt the beautifully painful sensation of his cock throbbing in the warm sheath that was Jinki’s mouth, he softly pulled on his hair to make him let go of it, biting his lip when he saw the soldier’s wet lips.

Without waiting, he sat on his heels and crushed their mouths together, both men relishing each other’s taste in the most arousing way, holding each other's faces. Within a few seconds, the teacher had pushed the soldier back against the mattress, ravishing his mouth with his hands holding his thighs, what sent shivers in Jinki’s whole body. But it ended up becoming too much of submission for the General, who felt his need of leading rush back.

Jonghyun gasped when he was grabbed by the waist and pulled down, finding himself on his back in his turn, with Jinki above him.

“Tired of me already ?” He asked, a smirk on his fleshy lips.

“You’ve been leading long enough.” The soldier replied as he pressed their members together, making them moan in harmony. “My turn, if you don’t mind ?”

“Come, General, release yourself.”

With just those words, Jinki felt himself twitching and he bit his lower lip before taking the reins… still accepting a bit of Jonghyun’s help, after all. But the elder kept in mind that very soon, his student self would surpass his expert teacher… until the aforesaid mind went too white to think about anything at all.

* “one month ahead of Seollal”: Seollal took place on February 14th, we’re now on March 14th

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[jawllines]

Alpha!Bill and Alpha!Harry Blurb

A/N: hiya Liv! First and foremost I’m the argument blurb anon and I promise to try and get that done soon! Secondly, this is really more of a Alpha!Bill blurb but you’ll understand why when you read it. Enjoy!

okay literally LITERALLY @multipandombabe tHIS IS LOVELY AND I WANT YOU TO WWRITE EVERYTHING AND SEND IT TO ME BECAUSE I AM GREEDY THANK YOU FOR SUBMITING THIS

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“She’s almost in heat.” Harry smirked knowingly over his cup of coffee, eyes remaining in contact with Bill as he did so. The second the words fell from his mouth Bill tensed. He wasn’t uncomfortable, no no no, far from it. He was just surprised. Being extremely busy with the company as of late he found himself spending less and less time at their shared estate, meaning he had little to no idea what was happening within the workings of their spacious nest. It was the definite factor as to why he was unaware of his sweet Omega’s heat apparently on the horizon. Bill almost felt bad, a realization hitting him suddenly that he hadn’t been paying you the attention you needed. If he had maybe he would’ve known it was nearing your time. Though that did explain the previous night when you stumbled into his office. “Billy?” He had heard the knock at the door before to the sound of his name, but proceeded to ignore it being more concerned with the paperwork before him than anyone trying to intrude on his time. “Hmm?” He could only hum, the tips of his fingers typing quite ferociously into the keys of his calculator whilst the other wrote away on a spreadsheet of some kind. “I-I didn’t mean to bother you but I—“ when the sentence suddenly fell short Bill seemed to catch himself. Drawing away from the screen of the calculator he glanced up towards the head of the room. Standing before him in nothing but a silk cream color nightgown was you, twirling your digits and noticeably nudging your legs together. “Darling? What are you doing up—“ he seemed to follow in your footsteps as Bill himself lost his sentence in his throat. But he couldn’t help it, not when he finally smelled you. All of his senses flooded back, the work cloud now clearing distinctively from his brain to leave him concentrating on you. The familiar scent of vanilla, gardenia, rain and peppermint hit him like sultry breeze. It wasn’t your normal aroma that captured him though, it was the fervent smell beginning to drip slowly down your inner thigh. “I woke up l-like this, dreamin’ of you and Harry but I couldn’t fall back asleep.” Your  tone was whining, higher and a bit desperate sounding. Bill could instantly feel his cock begin to harden. “Sheets were all wet and I got so warm.” You mumbled, taking slow steps closer to his desktop, “H-Had to get out of bed.” Bill found himself nodding without even knowing, along with the water fountain pen tipping from his hand and the calculator resting gently on its back. He was watching your every move—all the while making sure to keep his composer. As an Alpha he couldn’t be needy or submissive, it’d show a lack of leadership. But there were definitely times (such as this) where he’d let you be in full control. “Tried to ask Harry but he said he was too tired. ‘Been a long day pet, ‘n and I want ya’ to get what ya’ deserve. So go find Billy’.” Your impression of Harry on any other given day would’ve made Bill snort but at the moment he was a bit perplexed. Why would Harry give up such an opportunity? The boys loved you at any and every moment, found you attractive from your head to your toes all the time, but when you were needy? It was some of the best sex the three of you shared. He supposed he wasn’t upset with Harry’s choice though. “Y’know I wouldn’t have bothered if you if I didn’t have to—“ “I know sweet. Come here.” The command was all you needed to hear before you were hastily making your way to his side. Bill had to ignore the twitching beginning to stir in his cock because he knew that he needed to make this moment all about you. Of course he wanted nothing more than to be buried deep inside of you, taking you right on his desktop. But as previously stated this was about you..not to mention the fact that the attendees were still here tidying up the place. He patted the top of his thigh without any sort of change in facial expressions and watch as you followed suit. Drudgingly slow your shaking legs straddled his one and the sudden feeling of your soaking core resting atop his Armani pant leg could’ve sent his cock into a full hard-on. “I can’t fuck you right now love.” You slumped against the desk in a pout, clearly very disappointed at this news. Bill knew it was probably all you wanted—why you came in here in the first place. But Harry and himself were a respected, well-known Alphas with a title so they couldn’t be bothered with the house staff going off and telling others about the sexual escapades taking place. Taking care of you though was always on his list of high priorities. You were his only omega, if possible he’d give you the world and more. He’d do anything for you. “Don’t pout.” Bill smiled. Cupping your waist he dragged you closer to his own and tightened his grip. “How about ride my thigh instead? Hhm? That sound good?” It seemed like speaking was something you were struggling with, being too antsy to respond and instead just simply nodding your head. An all too familiar smirk filled the bottom of Bill’s face as he rested back in the chair and watched. “Go on then.” He nodded. Bill could barely admit it to himself but he was genuinely excited to see you ride his thigh. And if that wasn’t enough the wet sensation starting to dampen his thigh did it. It was a slow build up, Bill noted, as you tried to find your pace. Hand resting on his opposite thigh whilst the other tightened around his neck for stability you squirmed. He attempted to guide you with a helpful hand but you denied it. “I got it.” Those words seemed to be the starting point to it all. You began to draw yourself forwards and back in silence, your rhythm now apparent as the sensation of your clit. Bill had to hide the grin that wanted to break forth. Thigh riding was something neither of you had shared before—that was why it took you more than a moment to get comfortable. And he found the uneasiness beyond attractive. There was something incredibly sexy knowing that this was a whole new  experience you were sharing solely with him. “Oh g-god.” He listened to your voice crack as your body sped up its pace, he watched your hips thrust a much quicker pace against the now damp cotton of his thigh. He wanted to pant with you—to match his breath to your uneven ones just to edge himself. Shaking the thought from his mind he grabbed your chin, the tip of his thumb purposely slipping between your lips just to watch you suck on it. He needed to remain dominant, he couldn’t let your enticing figure consume his thoughts and allow you full superiority (though you never could given the fact of you being an Omega). “That’s it darling. You’re almost there,” his thumb slipped further to dance on your tongue, “Keep going.” "Feels so good.” Tears could visibly be seen on your lower eyelids, an indication of how you were really feeling. Bill found himself puzzling over it. He knew your body inside out, as did Harry, and that meant he knew exactly how you could react to any sensual situation. Being this sensitive worried him a bit, at least until you abruptly grabbed his hand from your side to cup your breast. “B-Bill.” He took that as a large enough sign to aid you. Chuckling lowly Bill abducting the liberty given to him, devouring your left breast in his grip with ease. Another elongated moan ruptured from the back of your throat full force, the sound Bill made sure to keep at the back of his head. He would remember it for his next rut. “Oh-h fuck.” You increased your speed with any warning, your clit now brushed Bill’s thigh back and forth with a rhythmic tempo. It did very little to help with his hard on which your were constantly brushing with your thigh as you worked your body away. The urge to just pick you and slam you on to the table before them was oh-so tempting, torcherous even. But he couldn’t. Instead he squeezed your breast even harder and then directed the majority of his fingers to slide right beneath your pussy, so now instead of just riding his thigh, Bill could finger you too. And he did. Inserting not one nor two, but three whole fingers inside of you—nearly coming undone at just the mere touch. “You’re practically dripping down my hand love.” Another whine from you, thrusting forward against his touch somehow even faster. Bill couldn’t tell how much time had passed, minutes or seconds, the whole concept of it had dissipated with you in his clutch. With you soaking his digits. With his leg drenched in you and only you. He was beginning to feel it..your orgasm was approaching, and fast. So he did what was not only expected of him but what his instincts were compelling him to do—begging him to do. Right hand with a firm grip on your ass and the left buried inside of you Bill began to rock his lap back forth. It added enough pressure to set you off. “I-I’m—“ “Shhhh I know I know. Let it go darling.” Bill could’ve watched you come undone on top of his leg for the rest of his existence, there couldn’t quite possibly be anything better. Not to mention the overpowering feeling of your pussy clenching over and over and over again like he wasn’t even there. He had decided long ago that his favorite part of having sex you with was knowing he had made you cum, knowing that with strength of his own body he managed to make your legs quake and belly constrict. Caused sweat to cover your outer-most layer like a thin sheet and those eyes of yours to practically roll into the back of your head. And knowing he could do it over and over again and still get the same reaction—if not more, was a victory like none other. ——— “You’re think’n about her right now aren’t ya?” The knowing look on Harry’s face caused Bill to roll his eyes. As much as he loved the brunette he could slightly annoy him from time to time, especially when he couldn’t leave him to his own thoughts. “Well Y/N is who we’re talking about at the moment isn’t she?” “ ‘Course.” Harry beamed. Placing his bowl of oatmeal of to the side he reached forward to grab Bill by the forearm, purposely directing his green eyes to meet his own earning a soft huff. “But I think I know what ya’ were really think’n about.” As quickly as Harry had Bill in grasp, he pulled back beginning to feel quite inferior to someone who was suppose to be his equal. “Heard the poor thing moanin’ from my room! Never mind the smell.” His eyes seemed to dilate at the mere memory, tongue peeking out from his mouth to run a strip over his bottom lip in apparent hunger. “Speaking of that.” “Harry? What are you thinking?” Bill questioned lowly to his Alpha partner, the pads of his thumbs drawing back from Harry’s thighs to rest at his own sides. As much as Harry liked to act like an Omega he most definitely was a Alpha, which unfortunately meant that Bill couldn’t read him like he could read you. Most times it didn’t bother him but at this very moment, it did. Harry hopped down from the countertop with a pip in his step, briskly making his way over to Bill who watched his partner gravitate in such a childish manor. Once stood before him Harry moved even closer, until whatever was spoken between the two of them could only be heard by the two of them. “Since ya’ got to ‘er last night, I get ‘er tonight.” He leaned in even closer to Bill’s side, eyes tracing over the skin of his neck until he was close enough to speak into his ear, “When she’ll be in ‘er heat.” —————

i hope that was okay! love ya liv! and i’d be down for writing another part, unless you want to lol

[nicpotyedki]

Celestial Waterfall

English is not my native language, sorry for all mistakes! Please, be forgiving! I do my best! It’s my first fanfic in the fandom and probably last one (I think comic are better for me but I wanted to try fanfic anyway). The story is short, uncomplicated and the plot is simple. Look at it with a pinch of salt and try to have fun! Feel free to write your opinion if you want! And thanks for reading!

Thank you for request, @eene-fangirl! ~~ ^^

It was the middle of summer. A very hot summer. Usually at this time of year Peach Greek was vibrant. But not today. Anyone who was outside the house could swear that the temperature exceeded 200 degrees Celsius. Even the water in the pools was so hot that it resembled a Jacuzzi. Kevin wandered around the garbage dump to find entertainment. Among the used old and nothing worth of trash, you can sometimes find real treasures here. He knew it well. He once found a broken bike pump, which, thanks to the help of his father, worked today as new or at least medium-used. Kevin saw in the heap of old boxes a metal pipe that looked like a bicycle's steering wheel. He immediately extracted the metal part from under the rubbish heap. However, it turned out that it wasn’t steering, or any other part of the bicycle. Kevin paused for a moment, turning a strange metal object in his hands. It looked very familiar. He was sure that he already saw it already. Sure! It's a garden tool for watering the lawn. Through small openings, water flowed under great pressure like in a fountain. The perfect thing for today's weather. It looks like the garden hose is broken, but it's not a big problem. Kevin contentedly cleared his find. Suddenly, he heard someone shout behind his back.

-          Don't dare to touch it! It belongs to me!

It was Eddy's voice. Kevin looked at the pile of broken furniture, at the top of which stood Eddy with rage in his eyes.

-          “To me”? - Kevin mocked. – Get lost, Dork! I found it first!

-          This zone belongs to us! - Eddy jumped and stood opposite Kevin.

-          There are no zones here, Dork. And I won’t give it to you because I need it. Air conditioning broke down in my house. - Kevin tried to settle the dispute peacefully, but eventually waved his hand. – No matter. I have to go. Bye.

He grabbed the equipment carefully so as not to stain his blouse and he turned towards the exit. But Eddy grabbed the garden tool and yanked it.

-          I don’t care, Kevin! You will have to pay me to use it!

They both pulled with all their strength, and none of them had any intention of resigning. Finally Kevin shouted:

-          Enough! Stop it, Dork!! Let's deal with it like men! - Eddy blinked a bit confused.

-          …What? What do you mean? No negotiations. This… this “Celestial Waterfall” belongs to me!

Kevin pushed Eddy away and proudly tensed his chest.

-          Let's play a small beach ball game. The winner takes this miracle. - Kevin rested the trophy on his shoulder.

-          It's a provocation, right? - Eddy smirked.

-          It’s a challenge! - Kevin gave him a lofty look. - Tomorrow. In the afternoon. You and your team. On the beach. And if you really want your Niagara, don’t forget to bring luck with you, Dork.

-          I happen to be in a generous mood and I will grant your boon. You will need more luck, anyway.

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

The next day, they both appeared on the beach with their teams.  Kevin’s team consisted of all kids of Cul-De-Sac.  The promise of winning a waterfall on this hot day was enough to motivate everyone to take part in the game. Kankers joined Eds’s team. It wasn’t difficult to encourage them, because Eds's visit made them very happy, and the opportunity to compete was something they could not give up apsolutely. The sun was still high in the sky when Kevin appeared on the beach with a large sports bag on his shoulder and a volleyball ball. Everyone was already there, and the atmosphere of competition was strongly felt in both teams.

-          Your presence here is proof that you want to compromise yourself. - Eddy took off his sunglasses when he saw Kevin. - Where's the trophy, cheat?

-          Word has been said! - Kevin threw his bag on the sand. - The winner takes the bag along with its contents!

-          And there's a fountain inside, right? - Jimmy beamed at the thought of it.

-          “Waterfall” - Sara corrected him. - That's what Kevin claims in any case. - She added with some doubt.

-          How did you manage to put a See cascade in such a small Tasche? - Rolf lifted the black bag gently in disbelief.

-          Hey! - Kevin shouted and snatched the trophy from him. – Not now! We will enjoy it when we win!

-          Kevin, is the water in this waterfall pleasantly cool? - Nazz asked, whose forelock was already stuck to her forehead because of the sweat.

-          And is it enough for all of us? – Jimmy asked.

-          I've already told you! All in good time! We’ll win the match first! - Kevin replied impatiently, irritated a bit by the constant questions.

-          I’m afraid that you’ll have to pour money to enjoy our miracle of nature. - Eddy put his arm around Jimmy with a sly smile. - Although only winners have the right to use the “Celestial Waterfall” but we’ll give you the opportunity to take advantage of our prize for the appropriate payment.

-          Eddy… - Edd began with some anxiety. - According to my superficial calculations, this bag can accommodate 6 liters of water, so it’s impossible to have a waterfall inside.

-          Wait for the win, Sockhead! - Eddy rubbed his hands. - It will be a hit of the summer season and a good profit.

 Everyone took their part of the pitch, and after a while the game began. Kevin and Eddy stood under the net, exchanging rival looks. However, the atmosphere of competition could be felt not only between team leaders. Nazz felt like at home. Fiercely and with a certain dedication she bounces every ball. It didn’t matter to her that she had fallen on the hot sand that was sticking to her sweaty body and getting caught in her hair. Kevin honored every bounced ball with a triumphant exclamation. Sarah constantly reprimanded Rolf, who couldn't quite understand the rules of the game, and his throws were so strong that each time the ball was out of the pitch. Due to not very nice comments directed towards Rolf, Sarah usually missed her balls, which additionally brought the nervous atmosphere in her team and the atmosphere of joy in the opponent's team. The situation was saved by Jonny, who to everyone's surprise knew the many tricks that Plank told him. However, the weak Jimmy felt pain at every stroke of the ball, and his well-groomed and delicate hands suffered so much. At one point Nazz, wanting to hit the ball, fell into Jimmy with impetus and drove him into the sand. Jimmy's mouth was full of sand and his orthodontic appliance contorted. For this reason, he was forced to leave the playing field, which resulted in one player missing from the Kevin team. It seemed, however, that only now the odds in both teams were equal, because despite the fact that the composition of Eddy's team consisted of six people, in fact Edd was a ghost player. Traumatic fear of balls made Double D avoid every ball that flew in his direction. He usually turned away or covered himself with his hands to protect his face and head. In addition, the persistent sun stung Ed's skin like a pins, which made both teams nervous with his groans. It seemed that Ed didn’t quite understand what was going on around him because he was only standing in the spot letting the ball bounce off his head. However, it gave great results so nobody in his team really didn't mind it. Kankers absolutely did not care about the rules of the game and often bend the rules, laughing aloud at the same time. Only Eddy tried to protect the team's honor by proving that a small man can cast a big shadow. Despite his short height, he jumped very high, and that allowed him to defend almost every ball. However, the most joy was given him by points scored by his team in a dishonest way.

The match was fierce, but the teams went head-to-head. It was a tie. Everyone was sweaty, tired and burnt by the sun when the leaders finally ordered a break. Sarah and Jimmy immediately ran to cool off in the lake. Edd rubbed all sunscreen into his skin. Kevin and Eddy were breathing hard and rubbing sweat from their faces, but they were still giving each other a hostile look.

-          What shameful fouls! - Eddy labored for a lofty look, but the sun was blinding him.

-          It's not art to be good when it's cheated. - Kevin gasped with difficulty.

-          Do yourself a favor and give back what belongs to us. - Lee interjected. Fatigue was barely visible on her.

-          We also want to collect our payment. – May gracefully arched and blinked toward Ed who, if not the fact that he was already wet, would sweat immediately.

-          It was me who found the waterfall and regardless of everything it belongs to me. - Kevin was clearly nervous. – And I proposed this match just to bring you down a peg, Dork! – Kevin shouted.

-          Hey, guys, stop it immediately. It’s just fun. - Nazz tried to calm down the situation, but there was no doubt that she also wanted to win.

-          You should choose words better, Kev! – Eddy said with satisfaction. - Because it looks like you're making a fool of yourself by your rashness.

-          The break is over!! - Kevin turned red on his face. – Team, get out of the water and return to the playing field!! In a jiffy!!

Everyone was lumbering and not willingly returned to their playgrounds.

-          Sarah, I am tired already. I can’t wait to chill in our waterfall. - Jimmy has sunk in dreams.

-          There is no problem, Jimmy! - Proudly shouted Eddy. - Just don’t forget the wallet!

-          Eddy! - Edd was clearly annoyed with the whole situation. – Don’t you think that charging for such basic and necessary raw material as water is at least a lack of tact, in fact I would say ...?

-          GUYS! - Kevin could not stand it. – It’s a tie! This is the decisive ball! Rolf! Where are you?! - Kevin was furious to see an empty seat on the pitch.

-          So, I found this waterfall… suposlly. -  Rolf held the garden tool that was previously in Kevin's bag.

-          Rolf, you silly! - Nazz snorted with sincere laughter. – It’s not a waterfall! It's a piece of scrap metal!

-          Rolf,  what are you doing? – Kevin didn’t have the strength for it all anymore. – Not yet! We need to get one more point, but this is a pure formality.

-          Rolf wanted to find only a Flasche of Wasser in the Tasche, but he found something that he remembers ding to his Nana’s Tracker. – He tried to justify himself.

-          One moment! What's that supposed to mean? - Sara became nervous.

-          Where’s “Waterfall”? - Nazz was clearly worried.

-          Plank says it’s a trash! - Jonny shouted.

-          Not exactly. - Edd noticed. - It seems to be an old sprinkler.

-          I feel cheated! - Jimmy was in despair.

-          Rolf sacrificed all Tag to play your comic Spiel while he should cut the sheep. - Rolf dropped the sprinkler into the sand.

-          We all played in this murderous heat to win a waterfall! Kevin, how could you?! – Nazz couldn’t believe it.

-          What a misery! Play it yourself! - Sarah shouted furiously.

-          Why is fate so perverse? - Jimmy whined.

-          Eddy! - Edd crossed his arms over his chest. He intended to give a sermon, but for lack of strength he gave up. He just sighed. - What did I expect?

-          Not nice, my dear! - Ed waved reproachfully his finger, but he didn’t really look angry.

-          Hey, sweety! - Kankers stood in front of him.

-          It's time for our payment. - Lee gently smiled.

Eddy  was confused, not only by directness of Lee, but also by the reactions of Double D and Ed.

-          Wait! The payment is only valid for the won match. We haven’t won anything yet. - Eddy tried to get out of this situation somehow.

-          Rolf’s got enough of your muddle. - Rolf got angry. - Rolf returns to the farm! It's time to drink Ruebe juice and feed Huehner!

-          Chickens!! Ed goes with Rolf! – Ed was immediately happy.

-          At least DU are useful, gross Ed! – Rolf smiled.

Ed eagerly ran after Rolf, without turning to his team.

-          Kevin, it was really mean! - Sweaty and furious Nazz shouted. She grabbed her beach bag, then without turning back to him she called. – You are so childish!

When she went away her sunglasses fell out. May noticed it. She grabbed it and ran after Nazz.

-          Hey, Blonde! You lost something!

-          Oh, thank you! - Nazz turned and took her property. - I'm so silly. - She tried to calm down.

-          Wow! - May screamed when she saw Nazz’s hand. - You have so beautiful nails! They have such a lovely color!

-          It's the color from the new collection! – Nazz was pleased to hear such a compliment. – My own mix! I have it with me if you want to try it. If you love nail polishes then come with me. At home I mix and test new colors. - Conversation with May clearly calmed her emotions.

Meanwhile, the rest of Kankers  didn’t bother with Eds anymore  too. Marie was charmed by Jonny's tactics and tricks that’s why Plank agreed to show her some tricks. Lee said that the guys are liars and pigs with which Sarah immediately agreed. That's why they left the beach in their company. They also found many common features and themes. It turned out that both of them aren’t very well liked in their environment due to their temperament and determined nature.

Jimmy, at the sight of sunburned back of Edd, immediately offered him his sunscreen cream and a cold drink at his home. Edd was really grateful to him, but Jimmy understood him well because he also had a delicate skin that would give him a lot of trouble on sunny days.

Soon only Kevin and Eddy were left on the beach. Both were confused and embarrassed by the situation. Eddy tried to keep a stony face, and Kevin just sighed.

-          Maybe… - Kevin finally began. – Nazz was right?

-          Yeah. - Eddy nodded without looking at him. – Where’s your team? - he asked with a mockery in his voice.

-          There where is yours, Dork. -  Kevin replied with no idea how to react to the existing state of affairs.

There was a moment of silence that no one had the courage to break. Eventually, Kevin broke through.

-          It's late. I promised my father that I would help him clean up the garage. I have to go. – Kevin said still feeling stupid. – Take “Waterfall”, I mean…  sprinkler. I won’t  have time to use it anyway and…

-          No, YOU take it! - Eddy suddenly interrupted him, and he was ashamed that he care so much for such stupidity like an old sprinkler. - Your air conditioning is broken and I… I have a lot of other ideas. - He smiled trying to look proud and confident. - Why do I need an old sprinkler?

-          Right! - Kevin smiled uncertainly. - If you want, you can borrow it at any time. - he laid his hand gently on his shoulder, fearing he would be pushed away and he smiled honestly.

-          You can count on it, Kev! - Eddy carelessly put his arm around him. – Listen! Let's make a party in my garden! You’ll take a “Waterfall” and we’ll invite everyone to the Waterparty!

-          Hey, that’s sound like a great idea, D-.. Eddy! - Kevin returned the embrace. – I feel that it’ll be great fun!

THE END <3

[arse-blathanna]

always at your six - 3/?

Chapter 3 : open doors

[Ao3] [Fic Tag]

Fic Summary: The Mother of Invention went down barely a year ago, and the time in between has been rough for York and Delta. It’s been tough for Tex too, but she has information, and she needs someone to help her get some things before someone can beat her to it.

It’s a good thing York’s out of work.

Rating: M

Relationships: Eventual York/Tex/Delta.

Characters: York, Tex, Delta

Tags: Transhumanism, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Background Relationships

Word Count: 10403

Chapter Summary: York and Tex storm an active Freelancer facility, and are finally able to start getting some answers.

Author’s Notes: This chapter took much longer than I would have liked to finally get out into the open. The next chapter should be up much sooner. 

Thank you all for reading, and I hope you like the chapter. 

"You see anything down there?" York whispers the question from his position on the ground. Tex is next to him, her elbow bumped up against his own.The two of them lie in the bushes near the Project Freelancer compound that the two of them had decided to go after. He can't see much from where they are, and even if he could, there was only so much he could do with one eye. For that reason, he’s keeping his eye on what’s going on directly around them (although Delta does more of the work running his motion trackers,) while Tex stares down a sniper’s scope.

If they were closer it would have been theoretically possible for Delta to try and hop into the systems at the facility, but as things stood that hadn't become much of an option for them. It's a good reason that Tex has a sniper rifle and is staring down the scope, making calculations much faster than York ever could on his own.

There is a slight pang of jealousy that York feels over that, which Delta seems to tamp down on his own. It’s a stupid thing to get jealous over anyhow. "There's nothing yet." Tex grumbles, not bothering to look over at York. "You could afford to make yourself useful though."

[Read it on Ao3]

"I'm plenty useful." York replies, stretching his shoulders in the process. "Just not at long-range. I thought you knew that when you came to get me. Need me to open a lock or do hand to hand, fine. Sniping and recon? That’s what I had North for."

He sees the way that Tex almost relaxes and looks at him from behind her helmet. The tilt of her visor says everything that it could ever need to say. Mostly, it says that she really wants him to just shut up, but York can't just do that.

See, York has this problem and has always had this problem and he knows that everyone around him hates it. York's problem is that since the day that he learned to talk, he has never known when he was supposed to stop talking. It’s a curse, one that makes him constantly run his mouth and get into problems he would have been otherwise. It's one thing in normal situations and in conversations where he's just likely to offend or put his foot in his mouth.

When it comes to being in the field, it’s even worse. He either clogs the radio channels with chatter or ends up compromising something. Breaking someone’s concentration. It's the reason he's been the recipient of too many "North outs" and the reason that he knows Maine couldn't stand him. South had hated it, Wash had been on the receiving end of one too many snappish comments, and Carolina was probably the only one that was able to scare him enough to make him shut up.

York's never been able to find a good way to explain that he runs his mouth when he's nervous. Delta's helped a little bit, but not nearly enough. It's part of the reason that he's now fidgety and nervous. He doesn't think that Tex realizes that he's talking so much for a reason. She probably assumes that he’s just being a pain, York thinks. If she thinks something else, then she probably just doesn't care all that much and just wants him to quiet down.

"I could have found someone else to help." Tex says plainly, and York clamps his mouth shut, shifting around nervously where he's lying. "Delta, are you able to do any sort of scan?"

There's the silence, and York feels a little bit of comfort knowing that Delta isn't going to start his usual projection. Sure enough, Delta's voice comes in over his and Tex's radios, but for York it's a bit much, since Delta is already in his head anyways.

It makes it almost like he has to hear his AI partner in stereo. But more like a migraine than just overlapping sounds. Not fun.

"Affirmative." Delta says to them both. On York's HUD, he sees his map light up, and he's sure that Tex is getting the same image. Almost all at once, and like North were there with them commanding them to do it, Delta was setting trackers and that was something that York could take comfort in. It’s a desperately missed part of a routine that he’d long fallen out of. "Targets spotted."

"What have we got?" Tex asks, letting her head lower again back down to the scope on her rifle. The way that she shifts tells York that she has managed to see something. He didn't know what she would have seen, but he took note of it anyhow. If there was going to be a fight, he was their first line of defense. York knows that.

"There are two guards at the front entrance," Delta begins to explain, notes appearing on York's HUD faster than the AI's voice could explain the situation. "It can be expected that there will be further reinforcements inside. Due to the facility's status as a Freelancer base, it can also be expected that there will be simulation troopers-"

Out of the corner of York's eye, he sees Tex tense up and it leaves him with a lot of questions that he is sure he won't get any sort of answer to. He'd been to a few Sim Bases since becoming a Freelancer, but York had always taken care to try and avoid being sent to them. He'd never had much taste for bloodshed, really. Beating up on idiots isn’t his idea of fun, at the end of the day. It never had been.

The two of them both let the statement hang in the air for a little too long though. York doesn't want to deal with guards and sims if they don't have to. Whatever is going on with Tex is her business, and he doesn't want to go ahead and pry. She has a right to her privacy.

What needs to happen is that the two of them need to be able to concentrate and do their jobs. Not focus on the number of things that could go wrong, or the people that are likely to get hurt in the crossfire.

York knew himself. He knew Tex. If it came down to it, both of them were prone to direct action.

Specifically, direct, improvised action.

He closes his eyes, reaching out for any connection with Delta because he feels that might be what he needs to make him feel a little bit better. Delta sends back a comforting pulse that runs down his spine and leaves tingles in its wake.

York swallows and lets himself try and take the lead. Even if he hates having to do it.

"Well," He says, keeping his voice even and desperately hoping that it wouldn’t betray his nerves. "If I've learned anything in my life, it's that where there's two guards, there's always going to be ten more, at a minimum."

"Where'd you learn that one?" Tex asks, and there is some rather obvious amusement in her voice. "One of your times setting off alarms?"

"Oh, you know, petty theft, war crimes, getting thrown out of malls, jaywalking. You know how it goes." York jokes, and he's starting to feel a little bit more calm. "D, I'm guessing you can't get in there just yet?"

"Affirmative." Delta responds, sending a pulse to York that is enough to calm him a bit. If Delta were human, if he'd had the ability, York knew that it would have been like a hand smoothing down his back. Or maybe a neckrub. "Although I can predict with an 86% probability that guard rotations will be occurring within the next twelve minutes."

York looks over at Tex, and she nods back to him. Both of them trust Delta plenty, and that was something that York knew Delta was more than well aware of. If anything, they'd been given somewhat reliable information. He was willing to take it and run with it.

"How are you so sure?" Tex asks, just looking for another confirmation that moving in was a good idea.

"My statistical matrix suggests that most Freelancer facilities with the exception of the Simulation Bases are run according similar schedules and with identical protocols." Delta explains, and York can all but feel him there, zipping around in the back of his head and going from memory to memory, bits of information to bits of information. "Past experiences have shown that the guard at a Freelancer base would change at 1 pm local time."

"So we've got ten minutes." Tex says, and she's already getting up. York doesn't like this too much, but he gets up just the same, stretching slightly as he prepares to do his job. "Ready up, York."

"Working on it." York says, letting out a sigh. "D, I'm gonna need you on my left." He says, and receives a quiet chirp in response that he's sure that Tex isn't able to hear. All at once, there's a sensation like his head is spinning and his vision changes and straightens out in a way that has never been even remotely comfortable. When he’d first gotten Delta implanted, there had been definite nausea. York’s glad that little side effect is gone for the most part.

"Acknowledged." Delta says once the two of them are ready. York blinks once, twice. Takes a breath and tries to get the dizziness to go away before it can become a problem. "Calibrating."

It's about the best that he's going to get out of Delta for a bit and York knows it. He just lets Delta take him along for the ride, and while he wants to let himself sink down into the little ones and zeroes and just be there with Delta while his eye adjusts to the neural intrusion, York can't allow for that to happen.

Within a minute, he's able to see on that side, at least to some degree. It's better than it was, when he could only really see lights and very vague blurred shapes. Delta sharpens the image just enough to heighten York's awareness, and York is truly grateful for it. Even if he’s going to come out of it with a headache later.

"Are you good yet?" Tex asks, and York can tell that she's completely frustrated with the waiting. He can't really blame Tex for it. "Or do we need to stand around more while our window closes?"

"I'm good." York says, making a determined choice that they weren't going to tell Tex that he was going to end up sick if this lasts much longer than two hours. The two of them stand up on the ledge, York checks his gun one last time. "Delta?"

Delta's words showed up on the text line on his HUD, and York is sure that Tex is getting the same image.

D: Synchronizing on Agent Texas' mark

York looks to Tex for confirmation that she’s ready.

She nods, giving a little gesture with the tilt of her chin, and turns towards the way down the cliff. "On my mark we're going down. We'll follow the blueprints that we were able to get ahold of to get in and make our way through the building until we reach the data storage." Tex stares at York. "Do you think you can handle that?"

"Me and D will have it." York replies, putting on his usual confidence. "Waiting on you."

She nods and the tilt to her visor tells York that she’s smiling. Confident, in her own effortless way.

"Mark."

"Sync." York snaps just as quickly as as Tex did. He makes sure to follow her from several feet back on the way down. The entire time, Delta keeps him with a constant stream of information. Always giving pointers on their surroundings, on places to take cover, and which rocks were the least likely to give way under him.

In a way, it almost feels like York is taking a backseat, while Delta pilots. It’s odd, but strangely comforting. It’s comforting in the same way that the quiet of the hillside is. Almost there, but not quite.

All that York really hears is the sound of their own footsteps. Tex shoots York a look that tells him quite clearly that the two of them needed to hide at around the same time that they reached the perimeter around the Freelancer Base.

Tex glances at him over her shoulder before leaping down, tucking herself away behind a small barrier. Before York even realizes it, her outline has melted away, along with her.

Shit.

Delta whispers to him. ‘It would be advisable to find cover.’

York can’t exactly find it in him to retort, so he just decides to wait and watch from the treeline. He can follow the slight shimmer around Tex’s outline, and watches her make it past the gates with ease. She slips into a small guard hut, and York waits patiently. Moments later, the first guard falls to the ground, unmoving, before the second follows suit in the same way, falling forward and his face smacking against the wall.

It’s about as good of a signal that it’s safe to move as he’s going to get. York checks his shoulders before gripping his shotgun tight and sprinting towards the base. He slips into the guard hut, where he finds Tex waiting for him.

“I’m going ahead.” She tells him. “Follow in four on my mark. And York?”

“Yeah?”

“Try and keep a low profile.”

York frowns and watches as Tex slips away from him, whispering a “mark” into her helmet radio which York can only answer with a sync. He doesn’t have much time, so York lets himself get up properly and casts a look around the hut. There are little displays showing security footage. Not much, but it’s something.

“D, try and copy this for me. Or keep a feed going in my helmet.” York whispers to his partner. Delta pops up by one of the screens and his projection flickers. Acknowledgement.

It’s a few seconds of waiting before York is able to confidently go ahead and slip out of the hut. He tucks himself into the shadows, watches the feed that Delta’s maintaining for him, and sprints from wall to wall. It’s somewhere around the back of what looks like an administrative building that York finds his way in.

It’s a vent, probably connected to some sort of internal filtration system. The cover for the duct is nothing special, and so York sees an easy opening. All that he has to do is dismantle it and get in. York checks the trackers, which Delta makes sure to flash for added help. Seeing that it was clear, York kneels down and gets to work removing his tools from the little compartment in his gauntlet. In this case, all he needs is a screwdriver.

York gets the bolts open easy enough, checks the width of the opening, and thanks science for the filtration technology on his helmet before assuming the position and readying himself to go in. It’s a tight fit, but York’s slimmed down since the Mother of Invention went down. For the first time, it’s something that he’s grateful for.

Once he’s inside, York pulls the vent cover with him and sets it in place, like it had never been moved in the first place.

He checks the text channel he and Tex are using.

TX: Where the fuck did you go? NY: In the vents. We’ll be there. TX: Don't blow this. NY: Me and D have a camera feed. We can get there. Meet us near the data center on the third floor. TX: Got it. With that communicated, York closes out the text channel and begins to crawl through the vents, the same way that he'd done in a time before the Mother of Invention, and then had adopted when he didn’t want to be bothered.

The only difference was that now if he did such a thing York wasn’t likely to see reprimand from the Counselor or going to get a slap on the wrist for his transgressions. This time around, if he was caught, York had reason to assume there would be a shoot on sight order. Or something.

It’s a chilling thought. One that York knows he can’t shake easily. He tries to push it to the back of his mind, and makes sure to keep moving.

He places special attention to silence, and works his way through with a mixture of guesswork and checking his trackers and cameras for signs of where he might have been. Tex has a cloaking unit, so York’s confident that she could navigate a building without getting caught. Even if she did, Tex would just kick asses and take names without being bothered.

But York really isn’t looking for a fight and he’s already in the damn vent, so he figures he might as well use it.

'York,’ Delta's voice chimes in his mind, and York can't even begin to do enough to hide his relief over it. 'There will be an opening coming up on your left side. It should lead us to a maintenance tunnel. With the main staff of the building on break, it is likely to be a good pathway.’

"Thanks D." York whispers, turning his head almost violently in search of that opening. It peeks out, just in the corner of his vision. York crawls closer and casts a glance down the tunnel- it’s empty of anything more than dust. And what looks like what could have once been part of someone’s lunch. No rats, that’s the important thing. He takes a filtered breath, steels himself, and makes the turn.

Thankfully, Delta’s already recalculating their path to the designated meeting place. York creeps forward and whispers to his partner. "Let Tex know we’re on the way for me, would you?"

"Acknowledged." Just like that, Delta flickers back away and his light went with him. York blinks and shook his head, following the vent until he was reaching an opening once more.

The good thing about vents, York knows after too many years of making bad decisions and breaking laws and occasionally crashing spaceships, is that they can act as a light source, and that they open easier from the inside than the outside. All that he had to do was press out on it, then the damn thing fell open a little too loudly with a clatter.

York hears the clang and freezes dead in his tracks before scrambling to reach out for the vent and pull it back into place. When York holds it there, it feels like he’s holding on for dear life. He lays there in the vent for a moment too long, looking for any sign that he was about to have company. Tex's voice comes in over the radio like a blessing. Or a godsend. Or something.

"How are you doing out there York?" She asks, her voice quiet. For the first time York wonders whether she's using her voice modulator to send a message without saying a word out loud. Knowing what she is, he figures that it's entirely possible that she could. He had just never considered the possibility before.

"Alright." York whispers, and he feels himself relax a little when he realizes for certain that the coast was clear. He takes a breath before slipping out of the vent and replacing the cover where it should have been. He doesn’t bother to bolt it into place. He doesn’t have the time for it.

"On my way."

"Good." Tex says, just as York is climbing into what is probably an old service elevator. It too, is thankfully empty of rats and York’s glad for it. "Delta, can you-"

"Affirmative." Delta responds, his projection jumping out from York's shoulder as the lift begins moving. All that York needs for Delta to do is see whether or not it was possible to speed the damn thing up or not. If they could get to the third floor faster, then that was a good thing.

"What's going on there, York?" Tex asks, and she sounds thoroughly annoyed with him at that point.

"In a service elevator, on my way up." York tells Tex, letting himself stand and stretch his legs. He leans against the wall, just for a second. "What's going on for you?"

"Third floor." Tex growls back at him, "By the data center you wanted me to meet you at. Where you should already be."

"Yeah, well I'm sorry that I don't-" York stops talking when he realizes that the elevator felt like it might have been moving faster. Delta had done his job, and is already beginning to show an updated version of the camera feeds that they had, trackers in motion for them. "I don't have cloaking, okay?"

"Yeah," Tex growls back at him, but there’s an edge of almost-softness to it. "I know."

"I'll be there in a minute." York whispers into his radio as he slips out of the elevator and into a hallway. He gives a quick check over his shoulder for company on both sides before hurrying his way down the hall, clutching his magnum just in case the entire way. “Promise.”

"I am real close to opening this door without you, York."

York winces internally, because he knows exactly what would happen if Tex did things her way. Mostly, every alarm would go off in the damn building and they were going to have something to deal with themselves. York really isn’t in the mood for a fight either.

"I'm almost there." York hisses as he slides around a hallway, skidding a little bit on the linoleum before finally seeing the door. "Just cover me." He asks, and just like that Tex seems to all but melt out of the shadows. She positions herself at his back as York finally got a first look at the door.

The second that he sees the lock mechanism and activation, York's stomach drops and his heart sinks. Holographic lock, because of course it was.

Like that, York realizes that this is going to be a lot harder than he’d initially anticipated. He glances back at Tex, unable to help the guilty feeling already starting to settle in his stomach. “Could use you out here, D.” He mutters.

On command, Delta’s projection appears by York’s right shoulder.

“Correction and detections only.” York tells Delta as he reaches out and taps on the lock mechanism. “If something’s weird, tell me. I’m not interested in that bullshit like-”

“Acknowledged.” Delta replies before York can even finish talking. The blue holograph leaps forward at him, too fast for York to track properly without perfect vision.

Showtime.

"Dammit, York." Tex hisses, looking back at him over her shoulder and seeing the lock- possibly for the first time. Hopefully for the first time. "You're going to be able to get this, right?"

"I’m really loving the vote of confidence, Tex." York says, flexing his fingers and allowing himself to slide them into the first layer of the mechanism. The little magnetic implants in his fingertips react immediately, and York can almost feel the give of the lock as though it were a mechanical one. Without that feeling, a holographic lock was unworkable. Since most people didn't have little implants in their fingertips or specialized gloves, that made holographic locks so much more secure.

But York, despite everything, is ultimately a professional, and he has everything that he needs to be able to do his job.

"How long do you need?"

"I don’t know. Could take a minute or two." York answers, doing his absolute best not to allow himself to jerk back from the lock and risk setting it off. He needed to concentrate, breaking it would get them both into trouble. "Could take longer. Give me 45 seconds at the least."

“You know that we don’t exactly have that much time.” Tex hisses at him, but she was there at his back anyways. York needs it, more than anything. More than he’s willing to admit. Even if he's about to be shot, he needs to know that Tex is going to be there covering him the entire time.

So York takes his first really good look at the lock, wracking his memory to remember which model it is because to say that he’s out of practices is probably generous and he knows it. York can’t even remember the last time he’d looked at a patent document. He hasn’t worked anything more than an encrypted lock in months. He pulls his left hand away from it, feeling for a twist or something that would give him an indication.

And there it is, the feeling of something twisting against his right hand. Just as quick, York slides his left back in and concentrates because it was an important first step out of the way. “I know that we don’t have time.” York mutters back to Tex. “But if you want to get us in without a chance of setting off alarms, you need to give me as much as we can afford.”

Delta lights the area between York and the lock, his light intermingling with the blue of the lock, which York has at this point identified as a Charon model, possibly a few years old. "Agent York," Delta starts. "I have detected an irregularity with the lock."

"What is it, D?" York asks, pausing because he has a feeling that he wasn't going to have much leeway if Delta was bringing up there being some sort of problem.

"There appears to be a purge trigger embedded into the lock." Delta explains, his hologram shooting into place beside York's right hand. "Should you trip an alarm, the sensitive data stored here is likely to be destroyed."

"And if that happens will you be able to do anything to get it?" York asks, doubling down on his work and concentrating as best as he can. He's glad that Tex hasn't heard this conversation just yet, if only because he knows that if she starts on him he's not going to be able to hold it together. The mission will crumble under his fingers the same way that every other one did once the pressure got to be too bad.

At least he didn't have the Director shouting in his ear this time.

"Negative." Delta responds. "I will continue to assist to the best of my abilities."

"Thanks." York mumbles, finally working his way all the way through the first layer of the lock and going down into the second one. "Could use your help here. I think it’s symmetrical."

Delta's hologram disappears, and York could feel a slight shiver run down his left arm as he recognized that Delta was sliding into place, taking over his nerves for just a bit so that the two of them could stay stable. At the very least, Delta can keep any tremors in check and match with York’s organic pace.

The two of them work together, opening the second layer and moving into the third. The third is the hardest to navigate by far, a mostly round ball of sorts with various bumps, edges, and ridges. York blinks, headache already beginning to set in and takes a deep breath. He knows what he needs to look for, he just needs to be able to find it. That's hard when it feels like his left arm isn't his own, and his vision is getting blurrier.

"Delta-" York hisses under his breath. "Look for a dividing point. If you find it, let me know."

"Acknowledged." Delta says, but the relative silence is worrying.

There's a gunshot that makes York jolt in surprise because he hadn't been expecting it at all. He holds his hands as still as he can, glad that Delta still has control on the left and looks over his shoulder to see that Tex has disappeared on him, and he doesn't have a chance to contact her or jump into battle himself.

"Shit." York says, reaching in deeper into the lock. "Delta, about that kill mechanism-" He feels like he should be shaking like a leaf but can’t.

"What the hell do you mean there's a kill switch?" Tex snarls from behind York, and he relaxes when he realizes that she's just cloaked.

"Don't mind it!" York replies, a little too quickly. "D, how much time would we have-"

"Roughly fifteen seconds." Delta responds. "We would have a 35% chance of success-"

"D, what have we talked about?"

"Not telling you the odds." Delta makes York twitch in the left leg, but not nearly enough to make him move around too much. "I apologize."

“Thank you, Delta.” York mutters when he finally sees the break that he was looking for. He takes a breath and doesn’t allow himself to release it until he’s slid his fingers into it and has begun to carefully pry it apart, twisting and turning it like it’s a padlock until the door opens with a click. York pulls his hands back from the door and stands up immediately.

Tex shoots him a very dirty look and while York feels the immediate urge that tells him to get out of there before she can punch him, he just makes his way into the room with her, and as soon as the door closes he hits the switch on the side of it to lock it back shut. At the very least, they weren’t going to have company unless its someone that can open it themselves.

“What the hell was going on there?” Tex all but shouts at York as he makes his way over to the computer. He’s already in the process of getting Delta to unhook. “Were you about to-”

“It’s done!” York responds as he pulls the storage chip that Delta’s put himself on out of the slot on his armor. “Don’t worry about there being a killswitch. We would have known if we’d set it off. We’re in”

“You mean if you’d set it off.” Tex growls back but she makes her way over to his side anyway. There’s the sounds of people on the other side of the door talking and making a commotion amongst themselves, but they’re going to have to make it work.

“Semantics.” York mutters as he makes his way over to the first computer he can see that looks like it would be useful to them. It’s a desk that has more notes and paperwork on it than others, so it feels like a good starting point. Even if they can’t get in normally, York knows that Delta has put together all sorts of functions to get them through a few measly passwords.

He drops down into the computer chair and slips Delta into place and waits for a moment before a small black command prompt box appears with Delta’s signature shade of green for the text. It's comforting, and York tries a few common passwords and old codes that he'd hobbled together during his time in Freelancer. When nothing works, Delta takes control and he watches as text appears in the command prompt, almost so fast that his eyes can't track it.

Tex hovers over his shoulder, her arm braced on the back of his chair behind his left shoulder. York feels a little apprehensive about it, but doesn't bring it up. She's quiet when she asks him about it. "So Delta's looking for files?"

"Files, schedules, just about anything that could be useful." York mumbles. "At the very least he'll be able to get us better blueprints. More up to date information-"

He cuts himself off mid sentence when a image appears on the screen, a real-time map of the facilities, with each person in armor marked, save for him and Tex. York blinks and looks over at Tex. "So I guess we did change Freelancer after all."

"Tracking their own men?" Tex asks, looking back at him for confirmation that was what he was talking about and that it wasn't just him running his mouth. York wants to be offended, but he can't find it in him. "Yeah, guess so."

"Delta," York says out loud because Delta will be able to hear him no matter what. "Can you copy that and send it to us?" He asks before getting a copy of the map sent to his helmet. York smiles behind his visor because there's no way that Tex wasn't gotten the same things.

Tex nods and decides that it's her turn to speak to Delta. "D, if you can just copy the drives." She commands, like she knows that there isn't even a single way in which Delta would even dream of disobeying the order. There's a quiet beeping noise, and a progress bar appears, and the two of them watch as it moves closer and closer to finished.

The banging at the door and the shouting gets louder. York swallows hard.

"Tex-"

"Yeah, I've got it." She responds. Tex takes a few steps away and out of the corner of his eye York watches as she cracks her knuckles, then her neck, and then flips a table into place to act as a shield of sorts. York isn't personally a fan, but they're going to need every advantage that they can get. Especially when they're already low on supplies. "Get Delta and we're getting out of here."

"Working on it!"

And yeah, York is at a point where he's beginning to panic. He sees Delta give the sign that it’s okay to remove his drive, and yanks it out perhaps a little more roughly than he should have. York makes a note to apologize to Delta for that later, but doesn’t dwell on it in favor of slipping the drive back into its slot in his armor.

He picks up his shotgun and jogs over to the door, placing himself securely at Tex’s side. The map that Delta had taken is beyond useful, and it gives York plenty to prepare for. Between him and Tex, the two of them are going to be able to fight through without too much trouble. It’s just a matter of the two of them needing some sort of plan to use.

“What do you think, Tex?” York says, pumping his shotgun in preparation for what was to come. “Who throws themself into the middle of the fight first?”

Tex shoots him a look from behind her helmet, and York raises an eyebrow from within his own. Already he has a bad feeling for what is coming next, and he really doesn’t want to see it play out.

“You first.” She says, standing up. “You’ve got the shotgun. Go in and give them a spray, then I’ll get us through here.”

York nods and places himself in front of the door. Tex slips into position at its side, by its control panel.

“I love that when they handed out upgrades,” York mutters while doing what he can to try and hide just how frustrated with it he was. “They decided that I was going to be the expendable one.”

"I'm sure they were just hoping it would shut you up." Tex responds as she waits, preparing to go in right behind York. She slips into nothingness, bringing up the comforting absence that the active camo unit in her armor can only provide. The two of them count down, both waiting until Delta gives the mark. It feels like an eternity, but Delta gives the command, and Tex bursts into action like she has a wire in her that was drawn so tight that it had finally just gone ahead and snapped. It’s at the very least, a break in the tension.

She slams her elbow into the control on the door and watches as it opens wide. York, already poised for a fight unloads the first shell he has into the crowd in front of him. She watches as they're knocked back and York flings himself into action in that way of his that bordered constantly on being a mix of stupid, reckless, and downright suicidal. He's trying to fight his way through on hand to hand combat alone, but that won't be enough.

She doesn’t leave her teammates behind.

Tex leaps in after him, using the space that she has to give herself a running start and launch into the fray herself, her feet directed straight at a visor. The man that she hits gets launched back into the wall, leaving behind a more than sizable dent. It only adds to the confusion, but by that point York is already slipping out and breaking into a sprint towards a window at the end of the hall.

Tex knows exactly where this is going, and has to wonder just how much of York's behavior came from working beside Carolina in the field rather than something logical like common sense or some sort of ingrained survival instinct. At the very least, she can trust that Delta is there in York's head giving instructions the entire way.

Not that it helps much, among the amount of gunfire and chaos whirling around them.

It doesn't matter at all once she flings herself out the window behind them and braces herself for the three story drop.

York lands in a roll and is on his feet and sprinting towards a mongoose as fast as he can, and Tex is quick to overtake him. She launches herself onto it and before she gets a chance to realize it York is behind her back, arms around her waist, and shouting in her ear that the two of them need to go.

She drives as fast as she can as far from the facility as possible, glad that she's the one steering because she doesn't know just how deep York and Delta have linked at this point and she really doesn't want to find out that York is really suffering as far as his vision goes the hard way. Tex just puts all of her focus into driving, and gets them out of there.

Hours later, the two of them are pulling up in the safe location that Delta had selected for them. Tex tries to dismount from the mongoose first, but only gets stopped by a particularly sluggish York. She helps him off and the two of them stagger inside for the empty bed so that they can finally look over what they have and put themselves to work.

York drops onto it wordlessly, and for the first time that night Tex realizes that there is bright red on his armor, and she can't be sure whose it is.

"York." She says, keeping her voice as hard and as commanding as possible. "Are you hit?"

"Just a scratch." York mumbles, sounding a little bit distant. There's a pause, and then Delta is projecting into the near emptiness of the room.

"Agent York sustained two bullet wounds during the battle. I have been at work with his healing unit attempting to repair the damage."

The thing about this is that Tex is glad to know that Delta is active and doing his job. York is as much her partner is he is Delta's, so neither of them can really afford for him to be hurt, but that doesn't keep her from getting frustrated with York anyways.

How long had be been in pain without saying so much as a word to her about it? How hadn't she noticed it in all of the confusion? It should have been obvious, but York hadn't said a word. Maybe it had been the adrenaline rush keeping him up.

"Thank you, Delta." Tex says to the AI, knowing fully well that it is all that she is going to be able to say at this point. Talking to York directly is probably going to be out of the question for a little bit- at the very least it is until she knows what she is actually dealing with on his end. "You know we couldn't have done any of that without you."

"I am here to assist." Delta responds before his projection flickers out, just as quickly as it had first appeared. She feels a certain affection towards Delta. The two of them will probably talk that over later, but for the time being, she needs to look after York.

Tex sets her things down on a small table that was tucked into the corner of the room that the two of them were calling home. She begins to slip out of her armor, bit by bit until she is only in the undersuit that feels as much like skin as the synthetic texture that covers her bones.

"So," Tex says, not bothering to look back over her shoulder at York. "How long have you been bleeding out?"

"Around the time with the window." York mumbles. He shifts a little bit in the spot where he's laid down. Tex takes a seat nearby, watching how York's back rises and falls. There's an almost stutter to it, and that's when Tex realizes that York is drugged up and undergoing some sort of microsurgery. "I've been through worse.” He says it like this is routine. Something that he can just be used to.

"You know that isn't an excuse." Tex responds to him. York shifts on the bed, reaching for his armor and taking his sweet time to get at the storage slot on it. She watches him fumble with it before removing the chip in it and offering it to her. Tex takes it, feeling it beneath her fingers.

If she wanted to, she could probably pull away from herself and try to sink down into the code and see what is on it for herself. Tex doesn't know if it would freak York out at all. She just sets the chip down on the table before walking over to the bed and seating herself on it.

York looks up at her, his mismatched eyes still hidden away from her behind his visor.

"How're you doing, anyways?"

"Delta'll put me back together." York mumbles, clearly exhausted. "Just gotta..." He picks his hands up and Tex can see the way that his entire body seems to tense with with the motion. "Just gotta let him do it."

She reaches out for York's hands and gently presses them back down to his sides on the mattress. They go with her, weakly. Tex feels a pang of something terrible, so she looks over, reaching out for Delta already.

Without her needing to say a single word out loud, Delta is there.

"It will be unsafe to remove York from his armor fully for some time." Delta explains, having clearly already predicted what Tex had wanted to ask him about. "He may need to remain in his breastplate for at least another hour."

"Can I get his helmet off?" Tex asks, because something about making York lie there in armor when he is already in pain seems cruel.

"You may." Delta says, his head bobbing and his projected gaze settling on York's face. "I will be able to maintain his medication and microsurgery without it."

"Thank you, Delta." Tex says. "York, can you-"

He tries to pick up his head, but before he has to do anything extra, Tex has her hands on the sides of his helmet, supporting it as they slid down to the catches on it. She hears the air hiss out, and removes the helmet as gingerly as she can.

York's head settles against her thigh, and he looks exhausted, in pain, and far away from her. His hair is matted with sweat and messy. He’s pale. None of it looks good on him.

"Hey, Allison." York mumbles, the words coming out slurred. "I feel floaty."

"You would, York." Tex laces her fingers through York's hair, petting it down gently. It sticks up insufferably at the front, and she is surprised to find that there isn't even a touch of gel there.

York's eyes slip shut in a way that tells Tex that he is more than just a little bit content. For a long time the two of them sit there, with York all but asleep or unconscious while Tex does what little she can to offer him comfort.

Her hand passes through his hair again, and Tex feels the gentle press of his head into her touch. She sighs, even though there isn't any reason for her to do so- its one of those things that she realized early on that she could do. It was along the same lines as blinking- it didn't do anything for her, but it made her blend with humanity more.

"We got it." York mumbles when he's finally coming back around. "The data, we got it, right?"

"Yeah." Tex answers as she pulls her hand away from York's hair. He seems to take the lack of contact with some sort of disappointment. Instead of complaining York lets out a huff and pushes himself upright.

"D?" He asks, his voice small and meek in ways that didn't even begin to suit York. "Can I get out of this stuff yet?"

There is a long pause, and Tex watches York get this almost shy inverted look that crosses his face. He smiles just slightly when he apparently hears something that he likes, and Tex watches as York climbs out of the bed on shaky legs.

His hands tremble as he begins to get at the catches on his breastplate, and when it falls to the ground carelessly Tex can't help but cringe. York is probably too exhausted to care at the moment, if the way that he just immediately strips down out of his undersuit is any indicator.

Apparently the fact that he has more than a little company is something that doesn't occur to York much either.

Something down in Tex, buried deep in her own code tells her that the best thing to do is avert her eyes. York is military, and she is too. Between the two of them there should be no care towards nudity whatsoever, but Tex worries anyways.

She doesn't though. Her eyes fall on York's form as the undersuit slips off of his body and reveals the golden tan skin beneath. The fresh scars are there on his shoulder, and York cranes his neck a little bit to get a look at them.

Really, the work that York's healing unit is capable of doing is nothing short of impressive. He has a new scar formed, red and angry and probably sensitive. York reaches out and lets his fingers prod at the wound gingerly. His wince speaks for itself.

"You're going to be fine, right?" Tex asks, leaning back on the bed and watching York. The best thing that she can do is distract him away from her presence. They are there to do a job, everything else is on the side and there isn't room to let themselves get distracted, regardless of what was going on.

"Should be." York says, sounding a little off when he talks. "You know, I would love to do something that doesn't require me to get shot for a living." He turns back to her, standing there in little more than a pair of black compression shorts and a knee brace on his left leg. She hadn’t realized that he uses a brace or anything of the sort.

"I can imagine." Tex responds. York walks over to join her on the bed and leans forward, detaching the brace from his leg and letting it drop down onto the floor with the same lack of care as he'd shown with the breastplate. She ends up on his left, and can only notice the patchwork that his skin is on that side.

It starts with the scars on his face, but his legs and arms had only been so protected. There’s also a mess of tissue around his waist where the shrapnel had clearly gotten him.

The guilt that stabs at Tex is very, very real.

Despite all of it, he's... attractive. In a way that nobody really had been to her before aside from...

She doesn't let herself follow that specific line of thought. For both of their sakes.

York settles though, leaning back into the bed and reaching out for a blanket so that he could pull it over himself. Tex watches him and decides to lie back herself, because maybe being there and joining him isn't such a bad idea. She doesn't have to think about how good he looks there in the hotel light. She can think about how he is there, alive and real and all in one piece.

Tex stands up and takes a few steps away from the bed to slip out of her own undersuit. She hears the creak of the bed, and when she glances back over at her companion she realizes that he is watching her.

Something in his expression is off though, far away and distant almost like...

Tex shakes the thought and turns to York, crossing her arms over her chest once the top she was wearing under her armor had been tugged down. "Is there a problem?"

She glares daggers at him, and for a second it seemed like York as going to shrink back. Instead he holds fast, the bob of his throat  obvious when he swallows. His eye is glued to her.

"Nope." York mumbles. His voice is cracked, just slightly. Tex doesn't have to imagine the effect that she is having on York.

She rolls her shoulders though and walks back over to the bed before dropping onto it next to York.

York turns onto his side, slow and careful so that he can face her before reaching out for a blanket and tugging it over himself. His eyes seem to slip shut, but there's an uncomfortable pinch to his expression. He must be talking to Delta, Tex realizes. What they could be talking about at that point she doesn’t know.

Tex lies back in the bed with York though. She doesn't need to sleep but playing along for a night like she can doesn't seem so bad. The situation can be intimate in itself without her needing to sleep.

The two of them lie there for some time, side by side. York's breathing never evens out all the way, which leaves Tex fretting over whether he could have had some lung damage.

Finally, early in the morning, York speaks.

"This is weird, right?" He asks, voice barely even choked out for her to hear. "I mean-" He shakes his head. "You have someone else, right?"

Tex hesitated because that was a question that there wasn't an easy answer to. By all technicalities she had someone- but it wasn't clear. It wasn't something that she had ever had a choice in. It wasn't something that she was ever going to be able to truly heal from.

No matter what, Tex was left with the gaping hole of memory in her. She had been taken and used, and she hates it.

It was complicated, and at this point Tex didn't want to deal with complicated anymore. She wants to be able to rest and leave the things that Freelancer was behind her. She wants to be able to leave the person she was meant to be behind.

York doesn't deserve complicated anymore either.

"I don't know what I have." Tex says, keeping her voice down and turning her head so that she could meet York's eyes. He watches at her with some sort of expression that she had only seen him give others. "I guess that I could ask you the same question though."

And just like that, Tex saw all of the life in York's eyes die. He looks away from her and lays back down again, settling his hands on his ribs like that was going to make him comfortable. It couldn't have been.

There's a slight twitch to his neck, and Tex reaches out to touch York, but stops, her hand hovering inches away when she gets a ping from Delta that feels like don't.

"York?" Tex asks, bringing her hand back down. He ignores her, turning onto his side and curling into himself. For the first time since she and York reunited, Tex realizes that he is too small. He's getting muscle back and eating regularly seems to be helping but-

He's broken.

"I don't know." York mumbles. "You didn't-" He starts to say something and only cuts himself off, letting out an audible groan in the process. His head thumps into the pillow a little too hard and Tex imagines that is something that Delta is far from happy about. York curls up more, reaching back to place a hand over his neural implant port, where Delta is resting.

"York, you don't have to-"

He takes a deep breath, shuddering and too far away. "This is so fucked up." He chokes out, his shoulders trembling as he gets the words out. It sets off alarms in Tex's mind that this is wrong. Something is wrong.

She decides to sit quietly and wait instead of acting directly. If he wants to talk, then Tex will trust that York will do that himself.

Finally, she watches him push himself upright, the puckered pink scars that were fresh on his skin moving with the motion. York grabs at the blanket on the bed and tugs it over his shoulders, almost burrowing into it for comfort.

"You didn't know them like I did." York says finally, his voice far away and quiet. "And you're asking me to-"

Tex blinks. "So there is someone else then?"

York doesn’t say anything, but the vague gesture that he made with his hands managed to say even less than he could have out loud. "I don't know." He mumbles finally. "You're asking me to quantify things that-"

"York?"

He's quiet again, his face with that pinched inward look that it always gets when he is talking to Delta. There's a slight nod from York, him hugging himself at the same time. Tex watches his entire body tense all at once before relaxing once more.

"Agent Texas," York's voice says, but it isn't quite him. The intonation is wrong and so is his cadence. "Agent York has asked that I assist him in this conversation. I hope that is alright."

Tex is definitely peeved at that, because she now knows that York is trying to dodge a conversation that he doesn't want to have. She isn't even sure that she wants to know what his answer to her question was anymore.

"That's very kind of you, Delta." Tex says instead of giving a reprimand. She can trust Delta, she is sure of that. York can't lie for shit, but Delta will at least give the truth. "What does York need you to say?"

"He is having difficulty with the word retrieval required for this conversation." Delta provides, York's expression passive and distant as he speaks. It's almost jarring, seeing the puppetry in motion and without a suit of armor in play. York's right eye stares straight ahead rather than at her. "I must ask for your patience with him on this matter."

Tex’s brow furrows because there is absolutely nothing right about this situation as it is now. She watches York’s face, knowing that it isn’t really him there under the hood. It’s just Delta, taking over and doing things that will inevitably leave York feeling exhausted, even more than he already was that day.

“Sure thing, Delta.” Tex says, mostly at a loss for anything else that she could have said to the Ai on the matter.

Where York would have done more or been more expressive, Delta just gives the absolute slightest of nod. He seems to take a conscious breath, but then begins to speak. “Agent York’s relationship to many of the Freelancers was complicated. He has yet to properly deal with these feelings and finds them upsetting.”

“What do you know, Delta?” Tex asks, knowing that she can at least try to get something out of him. “That he won’t tell me.”

“I only feel at liberty to give so much.” Delta responds to her, York’s voice still coming out stilted and his expression still distant. "I will only say that his romantic entanglements amongst your squad were often left undefined."

Tex can't help but feel some sort of guilt over that, because there were certain things that were known around the Mother of Invention that she had realized. While the Director and Counselor didn't necessarily know everything, there were open secrets among the agents. Once which she had eventually heard whisperings of while she was there.

York had once had something with Carolina- the specifics were unclear on that one. He’d had something with North Dakota as well, but nobody had ever said what that could be. The point was that York slept around and everyone knew about it. Tex had only found out about it through the grapevine, but had never had reason to confront York about it.

It only made sense that it would be upsetting for him to try and talk about.

"I understand that, Delta." Tex says. She sits up and slips into the space that's at York-Delta's side. Delta gives only the slightest response, but it is so far from human in nature, even if he is attempting to match York's usual mannerisms. He shivers, and it ripples through York's body more like electricity than water. "I just wish that he and I could be honest with each other."

"I understand." Delta responds, York's grey eye flicking down to the ground for a second before flicking back up and straight ahead.

Tex realizes that Delta was avoiding looking at him for some reason.

"Delta-" Tex says, since this is at least a chance for her and the AI to talk without anything complicated happening. They should probably give York a chance to rest, all things considered, but-

But it's a chance to be with Delta, and for them both to feel a little bit more real.

"Agent Texas?" Delta asks, his head moving in a way that managed to look stiff. "Is there something wrong?'

"No." Tex replies, watching the AI in York's body. She picks her hand up and reaches over for the two of them, placing a gentle hand on York's shoulder and wondering whether or not Delta can feel it, or whether he’s able to derive comfort from the gesture. "I just wanted to let you know that you did well today."

"I am merely here to assist." Delta responds, and for a second Tex could have sworn that she'd seen the quirk of a smile beginning to form at the edges of York-Delta's lips. "Your performance should also be commended."

Slowly, carefully, Delta began to turn towards her, York’s full body moving with the puppetry. He picks up a hand, like he is testing the waters and reaches out for her and places his hand on her arm. Tex almost wants to shiver, even though it doesn't do her synthetic skin any benefit.

York’s fingers are rough and calloused over. They don’t suit Delta.

"That's very kind of you, Delta." She says, keeping her voice down and feeling almost afraid to see what would happen if she said much more. "I just wanted to thank you."

"I consider that to be unnecessary." Delta says, York's eye flicking down to the space between them and his face looking a little bit sad. "But I will thank you."

Tex lets her hand travel up York's arm, and she can practically feel Delta under it. She lets it move up and up and up until she is cupping York's scarred right cheek.

Delta stares ahead at her, mouth opening just slightly for... some reason.

It feels intimate, in a way that interaction with Delta never has. Like something has been stripped back away into something raw.

Tex wants to kiss him, but she can't bring herself to when she doesn't know how conscious York is underneath it all. Not when she doesn't know if he has calmed or if he's still upset. She feels a pull for Delta, the same that she did towards the Alpha, but the feeling is too hard to deal with and confront.

No matter what, she always finds herself wondering just how much control over those feelings she actually has.

It's part of what makes keeping York around feel safe. She chose him, for better or for worse.

She doesn't know if she can choose Delta or not. She doesn’t know if it’s even possible.

Delta's eyes slip shut though, and Tex is too aware of the way that he tilts his cheek into her touch. Tex lets her thumb caress the scarring by York's eyes.

When they open again, the clarity is back in York's expression, Delta apparently having slipped back to where he belonged again. York seems less tense, all things considered.

Too intimate, Tex tells herself just before she tears her hand back to herself.

York smiles very weakly at her. "Hey." He croaks out at her, soft smile on his lips now that he's calm again. "Happy to see me?"

"You have no idea." Tex answers. She pulls her hand away and for a second she could have sworn that York was trying to chase her touch. Instead of thinking about that, she pat the space on the bed beside her. "Why don't you try getting some sleep?"

York nods and she watches as he lowers himself back down to the mattress, grabbing at a blanket and pulling it up over himself loosely.

Tex looks down at him as he makes himself comfortable, and feels something terrible akin to heartache.

It isn't worth dwelling on. She lays down beside him and tries to power down, listening for the way that York's breathing eventually evened out.

[truthandlove]

Ministry or Manipulation: Choose!

Yes, a man will take the lead to communicate love and loving intentions by both words and actions. The problem with the phrase in the graphic is the word "worth" (worth submitting to) and its subjective interpretations. You don't get to judge a man's "competency" to lead through a SELFISH lens, women!

All the rights that men and women have, are not to be demanded, but to be surrendered in the context of mutual service - a context where the man’s leadership does create a space of freedom for the woman to FLOW WITH his leadership, instead of being in her head all the time trying to calculate how to survive. In this way, a woman not already secure in her identity in Christ will gravitate to a neurotic tendency to JUDGE the man, moment to moment, as to her selfish and subjective assessment of his worthiness/competency, and use that as a justification to withhold loving service at a moment's notice.

The relationship needs flexability and grace - a going with the OVERALL course, the direction of his character, conduct, integrity score, etc.. The woman cannot just be poised to "mutiny" at a moment’s norice when any individual decision/direction is made on a daily basis. Man's job is to CHERISH His wife, not "make her feel" any which way, including make her feel secure. No one can make anyone feel a given way.

What a man can do is demonstrate loving actions that the woman may or may not (given her past, her flesh, and her current brokenness) correctly interpret as goodness. The man can LOVE HER BOLDLY enough to disrupt her selfishness, ungodly habits and bad attitudes, to uproot false beliefs that are keeping her from being her full God-intended self, which MAY OR MAY NOT "make her feel" secure, but which IS actually true love.

It is in this way of true love, her BEING actually cherished - that may or may not make her FEEL cherished, loved, secure, etc.. A good woman will recognize a man whose heart reflects God's heart. And in that situation the love/trust that she has for Father God naturally overlaps with a husband who is also in love with Father God.

A worldly woman will fight true love and seek to subordinate the man because her behaviors demonstrate (in her brokenness and rebellion) that she seeks love-substitutes rather than agape love. Likewise, the worldly man does not lead, but seeks to subordinate the woman into an object rather than a cherished partner. Without God’s heart of real love at the center of the relationship, godly service (ministering to their truest and deepest needs) evaporates, leaving only two people taking from and manipulating each other. So sad! The flesh and the spirit are at war and our responses in any given moment (selish or unselfish, harsh or tender, sensitive or insensitive, etc.) are an indication of how that war is going.

People use words such as "love" without truly understanding what Cherish means, or what Agape means. The Flesh always seeks comfort zones of pleasure and control. A relationship addicted to that is textbook unhealthy. You come to a relationship to bless, not to be blessed. And IF you get blessed in the process (which God says that to give IS more blessed than to receive), then that makes it emotionally fulfilling. But we must always keep in mind that  REAL LOVE is so ruthlessly committed to the actual highest and best interests of the beloved that emotional reciprocation might be (hopefully) a by-product of our interaction as a couple, but is not the goal. The world has no comprehension of, or ability to do, precisely that.

You cannot kill selfishness without killing your flesh and you cannot kill your flesh without being crucified WITH Christ Jesus. All "romantic relationship advice" that does not have this core truth AS its actual core, is just playing around with the symptoms of relationship problems. and thus is waste of time as hopelessly doomed to fail. Intimacy will elude us and partnership will slip through our fingers like the wind.

Only true love seeks to serve from a secure place of power - meaning humble identity in Christ. To love in practice is thus to daily confront, confess and overcome your own selfishness, your tendency to manipulate people and rationalize it, instead of minister to them.

To love is to minister, giving from the fullness you have in Christ (a change-agent on Christ’s behalf, a true servant), whether you subjectively feel it in the moment or not.

IF you are addicted to good feelings from the relationship; you cannot hope to even begin to love, and the relationship is thus doomed, until that is rectified. To want good feelings is human, is understandable, and can be your DESIRE, but cannot ever be your goal, or else you the very fact that you are interacting with a goal to elicit a specific response from the other person puts you into the category of a manipulator, and thus one who sabotages and violates true love. OK pause. With all that said, and hopefully understood, (it took me years to understand that and even more to begin to practice actual love), women also have to address two other glaring problems:

(1) the decade plus in our recent history where women were so brainwashed as to demand the HYPER-SENSITIVE male. Women did this to not get stuck with a callous and selfish male, I GET it. But this told men NOT to take the lead and told them not to be men at the same time. That social engineering had good intentions but a flawed method for manifesting them. So men became "sensitive" for us, and then reactive to us INSTEAD of leading us.

Women wanted a RESPONSIVE man; but instead of saying THAT, women said "sensitive" man, and what that resulted in was promoting the "estrogenated" man that won't provide loving leadership. It results in a man constantly checking in with them for approval. And that does not make a woman secure.

I’m talking about the emasculated guy that is looking to the woman’s reactions all the time to validate him as sensitive enough. If the man needs the woman to validate him, then he cannot love her, meaning truly lead her in a fear-overcoming way, because he is in reaction mode to her - precisely to what the graphic talks about, her judgements, opinions and assessments as to his worthiness to lead and competency to lead. So there is a profound balance between aware/sensitive of her needs, but not reactive to them or dominated by them.

Thus, a true man must go ahead and make decisions/actions that best forward her and his highest interests, meaning God-given purposes in the short AND long-term. While also doing his best to communicate the vision and intention to his woman in the process, wanting her understanding but not being responsible for her responses/understanding that is emotionally validating or not. You think it is hard to be a woman? Try taking on real masculinity! That is a daunting task that is SUPPOSED to drive a man to his knees, seeking the grace, the love, and the power to walk out his calling as a primary conduit of the love of God into this woman’s life.

(2) the ME TOO movement has men afraid to make a move because they rightly know that, at any point in time in the future, all their loving actions, contribution, service and leadership can then be magically reinterpreted by opportunistic women on-the-spot to be abusive and/or criminal. That results in men being put in jail for sitting with their knees too far apart (man-spreading, these opportunistic women call it) and other insanity that all works against harmony, against leadership, and against true love. WHY would a many try to lead or love a woman who is demonstrating selfishness and a propensity to be delusional?

To rationalize and re-interpret both the actions of a man through a demanding or manipulative/opportunistic lens? A wise man will recognize her as love-resistant and behave accordingly. But a good woman will call a man (inspire him) to be a better man who needs to receive from God so that he can best minister to her at every level. So, yes, a man whose overall life shows insensitivity obviously does not cultivate a responsive woman. Likewise, a leadership-resistant woman, is either (1) accurately responding to a man’s lack of leadership or manhood, or (2) is the product of her brokenness. Often today, it is #2, and the woman is unconscious of her own heart. Either way, a leadership-resistant woman cultivates a man who either gives up (resigns), walks away, or turns into a reactive follower - goes passive. While men and women can complain about each other, progress only comes from a determination to own your part in the matter.

[bluebudgie]

readmore bc i don’t want another big discussion with tons of reblogs to start, just rambling. (redhead-now-bald norn related)

With the flood of hate towards Braham, to the point where it’s almost like an echo chamber of people just repeating each others “I want to punch him!!! kill him!!” i really wanted to go back to the roots of this. Look at what the fuck even triggered this huge outrage. Like, it’s literally a 2 minutes scene of dialogue, I knew that, but I just really wanted to go through that dialogue line by line again to see what the fuck happened that people got so unbelievably angry about.

So let’s see this (taken from the wiki as i don’t have english footage of the scene):

Braham: This is similar to the scroll Aesgir used in his great victory, so now I test the bow on the tooth in the Great Hall. Braham: If I damage it, it's time to rally the norn and lay Jormag to rest. <Character name>: Braham, you can't... Let's hold up a second here. <Character name>: A direct assault on Jormag puts a lot of lives on the line. I think the Pact can tell you that may not be the best idea.

So far so good.

Braham: The Pact you commanded. Look, Jormag is my problem, and I'll deal with it my way—with or without you.

Fair enough. Jormag isn’t exactly only his problem, but considering we’re talking Svanir and Norn business here it’s an understandable view of the situation. Any other Norn would probably think similarly. And on that comment about the Pact, you just have to admit, the Pact was a giant fuck up when it came to Mordremoth. We did manage in the end but probably with far more losses than necessary. That rush to the jungle wasn’t exactly smart. I mean, come on, the commander says it themselves right here. Technically they didn’t make the final decision of going against Mordremoth unprepared, but they certainly didn’t stop it either. So saying “the pact” while leaving themselves out of the narrative when they know that they’re a huge representative of it? Nuh-uh, that doesn’t work.

<Character name>: Jormag isn't just your— Look what happened to Rox when you rushed in and bashed something! Braham: Oh, I forgot your calculated plans always work out perfectly, like when you posed as a Svanir to get some potion!

He’s not wrong here.

<Character name>: Okay, okay. Can we back up? <Character name>: Taimi thinks there may be a way to pit Primordus and Jormag against each other without raising a single sword. Braham: Taimi thinks, huh? If the tooth chips we have hard proof. 

A bit mean towards little Taimi, but again he does have a point. And certainty is better than trying around with experiments in some situations. Still just discussing at this point, even if a little bit heated.

<Character name>: Hard proof of what? That you can battle a tooth?

(that line is actually rly funny)

Braham: So only you get to decide when we take down a dragon? Only you're allowed to kill them?

He’s definitely right with that one.

<Character name>: That's not what I'm saying. Braham: Well, figure out what you're saying, because that's what it sounds like.

Again, he’s not wrong here. It does sound like what the commander is saying.

<Character name>: I'm only asking you to wait—maybe just a few days. See if Taimi can do this. There could be no need to put lives at risk. Braham: With every moment we wait, someone else's mother dies! I won't give Jormag a few days! I won't give Jormag a few minutes! 

Gonna be honest I actually had to laugh at that line the first time he said that in LS3 because it feels a bit cheap. Like, every minute we don’t kill a dragon someone else’s mum dies just sounded like a really cheap microwaving of getting back to his pain about Eir. But well, you know, in the essence it’s understandable where he’s coming from. We do have to act quickly. I just wish that line didn’t sound so much like it came from a soap opera. Still not seeing any big offenses here so far. When will it happen?

If norn: <Character name>: I grew up with the legend of the tooth, but I've also been out in the world and faced two of these things—one with you! Otherwise: <Character name>: The norn elders told me the legend of the tooth, but I've also been out in the world and faced two of these things—one with you! <Character name>: They're not to be taken lightly! Braham: You think I take it... Braham: You know what, Commander? I'm glad you didn't join Destiny's Edge. My mother wouldn't want you in there. Braham: I'm headed back to Hoelbrak. Garm! To me!

Okay. This is the only. The only line in this entire godforsaken scene. That is directly insulting and could somehow cause any offense. Was it a hotheaded and shortsighted response? Yes. Is it understandable he reacts this way given all the things that have happened in the past? Yes. Does this single goddamn line warrant an entire cross-platform wave of pitchforks and demands to kill off a character that otherwise always backed us up and helped us? Well, I guess you decide for yourself but honestly... if we start asking for our friends to go and die everytime just the tiniest arguments arises then... yeah no thanks. Not to mention that certain fan favourites (Rearbock Grimstone or Choya Cactus man anyone?) keep on the snarky comments all the goddamn time. “Oh but it’s funny sarcastic humour!” you say.

Yeah no. I can’t count the number of times both of them (Riprock more so than Cactusman) have made comments that were completely uncalled for in the given situations,  and still people will fall on their knees  and lick their boots like they’re the funniest characters ever. Remember Shitspock’s (freely quoted) “Oh honestly I don’t really care if all humans of Elona die, but if Charr get hurt this gets too far”, in an entirely un-sarcastic tone? Imagine Braham had said that. Just imagine he had said that about Elona and Norn instead of Charr. Boi oh boi, I don’t even want to imagine the shitstorm. (This just in, I like Canach. But still, having the role of the “snarky spikeman” doesn’t put him on a pedestal that makes him free of criticism. I don’t have to talk about Rytspock I guess, you guys know about my opinion of that guy.)

Meanwhile that one line Braham speaks makes people say that he is “constantly betraying us” (I shit you not I read that more than once on the official forums especially) and that he shows “signs of jormag’s corruption”, and that he is “actively working against us”. Like really? Really?

All of this to say. Looking back and reading through that dialogue it’s even tamer than what I remembered from the first playthrough, and I’m starting to think that at this point people have already forgotten what the heck they’re even hating him for and just join the bandwagon of getting each other into a bigger and bigger rage because pitchforks are on sale right now or smth.

[junker-town]

Damian Lillard is the Chessmaster

Damian Lillard has been on a tear recently.

Dame Lillard has essentially mastered every aspect of the game.

Damian Lillard’s best stretches all look and feel the same. Picture the 37-foot dagger from last year’s playoffs, a shot impossible for most, but one he practices. Fixate on the aggressive poker face he flashed to the camera, an instant meme that will never be forgotten. One stone-faced man floating above the fray, surrounded by the pandemonium he created.

The length of Lillard Time changes, but the character remains the same. The hotter he gets, the more cold-blooded he seems.

The most recent run of Lillard Time is stretching over multiple weeks. His last six games: a 61-point night to save the Blazers against the lowly Warriors; a 47-point effort to nearly rally late over Dallas; a 50 spot to spearhead a wire-to-wire win over Indiana; a 36-point triple double to beat a full-strength Rockets team, a 48-10-8 line in LA during the most emotional regular-season game in years, and a 51-point, 12-assist breeze against Utah that prompted his head coach to admit that he’d run out of superlatives to describe his play. Most importantly, five of those six ended with Blazers victories, propelling them back into the playoff chase despite a star-crossed season that’d ruin almost any other team.

Lillard’s shot-making may seem magical, and to some extent, it is. I feel confident saying he won’t average 49 points a game the rest of the season (right?). But Lillard’s calm, unflappable nature is not just an effect of his red-hot play. It’s also a manifestation of his highly strategic and analytical decision-making that causes these types of runs in the first place.

No matter the defensive coverage, Lillard has the answer

When Lillard is at his best, he makes defensive coverages look remarkably inconsistent. He beats soft coverage just as easily as tight coverage, and it’s often hard to tell the difference from the naked eye. Teams are starting to double-team him beyond halfcourt, and he’s still able to score.

Lillard’s approach resembles IBM’s Deep Blue against a league of Garry Kasparoves. He’s built an inventory of counters to every strategy, all while disguising his intentions with the same stone face and low-to-ground dribble. It takes him a millisecond to read the body weight of a dropping big man before he’s either pulling up for three or surging past them off the dribble. Either way, they’re toast. It’s just a matter of how he roasts them.

Lillard’s shoot-or-drive decisions against big men that lay back happen so quickly and decisively that it retroactively looks like the defense has badly screwed up. You might ask yourself why the big allowed Lillard to take this shot when he’s playing this well. Yet it constantly happens because Lillard actually made the decision several frames earlier. The instant he saw Rudy Gobert right foot lean backward, he began rising into his textbook jumper. By the time Gobert can even think about being back on balance to jump, Lillard’s already released the ball. That’s how a long three that looks well-defended is actually an open shot for Lillard.

The same point-of-attack decisiveness explains how Lillard gets to the cup so easily even when given a cushion. Everything about this play looks exactly the same as the one above, except Domantas Sabonis is instead leaning forward with his left foot instead of backward. That’s all Lillard needs to see to turn on the jets.

Lillard isn’t just baiting the help defender in these situations, though. He often toys with his own man, tempting them back into the play before leaving them in the dust on the second move. This false sense of security clears the big man away from the play, and then Lillard simply waits until his own man leans one way or another. If he stays behind, Lillard puts them in jail, waits until they come up in their stance, and then explodes to the cup.

If he tries to instead lunge back in front of Lillard, it’s stepback time.

The obvious defensive counter is to send a hard trap at Lillard, but that’s playing with even more fire. Lillard has downloaded so many different forms of defensive pressure over the years that he spots traps in waiting before they catch him. If he senses a double-team is coming, he’ll fake like he’s heading into it before quickly driving back the other way. It rarely matters which way he drives.

Lillard also loves to attack the cup before his own screener is in position, especially when the trapping big man is out of position in some way.

But Lillard doesn’t just attack away from traps. He’s also willing to take himself right into the belly of the beast to create four-on-three situations for his teammates and even himself. The key is that Lillard never gives the ball up until he’s sure his teammates are spaced optimally to use their numbers advantage. Sometimes, that means delivering the pass out right away, especially when the trap is poorly timed.

More often, that means taking hard dribbles backwards to buy his team space and his teammates time to get in position. Defenses are understandably petrified of him turning the corner and going around both trappers, so they’re often reluctant to pursue him if he’s already dribbling away from the hoop. But that additional space only makes it easier for Lillard to make the pressure release pass to a teammate on his terms, when his team is actually ready to pounce.

No matter the defensive coverage, Lillard has the answer. Like a great chess player that has spent countless hours studying every possible board alignment, Lillard has internalized the counter to every counter. None of his moves are his signature one, because they all are. The public sees his long-range shooting and believes that’s the key to his offensive success. In reality, it’s his computational decision-making, combined with a well-rounded game that has no bugs.

Mind and body work in sync, of course, and thus we cannot overstate Lillard’s physical gifts that have been forged through years of tireless work in the gym. He understood earlier than most that perfecting his core, and not bulking up or slimming down, was the key to basketball success in today’s perimeter-heavy age. As he told ESPN’s Kirk Goldsberry:

“If you keep your core tight and your body strong, then the ball flies out stronger,” he said. “If your body is weak, you come up not as strong and the ball will waver when you’re that far out.”

Lillard was explaining how he is able to shoot so accurately on “logo threes,” named so because they are deep enough to touch the artwork you see just across the timeline on most NBA courts. But the same core strength that allows Lillard to pull up effortlessly from 30 feet away also powers his most devastating tool: his explosive hesitation dribble.

Lillard isn’t particularly fast, but it doesn’t matter because he changes speeds so quickly. He goes 0-to-60 in the blink of an eye, leaving even the quickest defenders in the dust.

He also needs very little space to give himself an advantage. His shoulders are so burly, it’s almost impossible to angle him off if he gets even one-tenth of a step on his man. It’s common to see a defender looking like they have him pinned on the baseline, only for him to explode through their chest at the last minute to exploit the tightest of windows to finish, either on the same side of the rim or by reversing underneath.

Look how low he gets on this drive around P.J. Tucker, arguably the strongest perimeter defender in the game. What is any defender supposed to do when he can bend his legs at that angle and lower his center of gravity? The best they can do is foul him in James Harden-esque fashion.

That’s why it’s a misnomer to suggest logo threes are Lillard’s offensive building block. They may make up the most famous Lillard highlights, but unlike Stephen Curry — a player to whom Lillard is often compared — they’re set up by the drives, not vice versa. Attacking the cup like a powerful running back is Lillard’s cake. The shooting is the icing.

The same body control that switches Lillard from 0 to 60 also gets him from 60 to 0. His long shots looks so picture-perfect off the dribble because the threat of the drive sets them up. He goes from full speed to straight up-and-down, which requires ridiculous body control that one only gets with a tight core.

In recent years, Lillard’s also added a deadly stepback jumper going either direction from any distance. As with his pull-up jumper, the threat of the drive sets these shots up. Having them in his arsenal allows him to transfer the same rapid processing he uses read the feet of big men in pick-and-roll over to one-on-one situations.

Lillard’s mind and body are molded in perfect harmony. His core strength gives him access to every tool possible to generate buckets for himself and his teammates, while his analytical brain ensures he uses those tools at the ideal moment. Defending him is like riding in a car that has a manual transmission. He jerks defenders from zero to 60 and back to zero as many times as necessary, all depending on the coverage he sees.

No player is perfect, of course. Lillard will hit a cold spell where those long threes he so easily sets up fall less frequently. The teammates he so easily trusts won’t always repay it with smart decisions of their own. He is but one person, after all, and even he gets tired. He’s expended so much energy in recent years lifting Portland to higher-than-expected seeds that he’s occasionally run out of gas deep in the playoffs.

But those failures are due to the random nature of outcomes in a complicated game, not faulty processes. Lillard is so calm and calculating that he’s mastered the game itself. His demeanor is both the cause and effect of Lillard Time. The hotter he gets, the more cold-blooded he really is.

[hooking]

1, 8, 15, 18, 30, 33, 39 for Peter

Felix Ik u love Peter but also... wow.

1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?

Highly energetic in the way he conducts himself, bordering on manic in some extreme cases. Sometimes doesn’t quite measure the level of intensity in his responses. Walks fast and confidently but can be prone to clumsiness. Also constantly moving even if supposed to be still -- fidgeting, worrying over his hands, items he has on his person. Even if he is fully still body wise, he’s always looking everywhere, always trying to take in new information through sight. Comes across as highly enthusiastic, which he is. Gestures a lot with his hands and forgets about personal space all too often. 

8. Where and when do they seem most and least at ease? Why? How can you tell?

Most at ease: the (his) lab, classrooms, his apartment, his room, open spaces like parks probably. Least at ease: bosses’ offices, meeting rooms, CT and MRI scanners, planes, and other contained environments where the space is restricted. The former have to do with them being places he knows and is always frequenting, the latter with the idea of having to deal with authorities in some form and the prospect of screwing up somehow (either by saying the wrong thing or allowing his naturally defiant personality to take over him), and also with a sense of claustrophobia and, similarly, paranoia. You can tell because usually, with Peter, you can gauge mood (except anger) fairly easily, especially anxiety. He will try to hide it via either talking a lot or not at all; it depends on the place. His forced casualness is an easy tell, nevertheless. 

15. What kind of inner life do they have — rich and imaginative? Calculating and practical? Full of doubts and fears? Does it find any sort of outlet in their lives?

Vibrant and creative and brimming with questions and possible answers, ideas and possibilities -- as well as just a lot of useless crap. Peter is always thinking about several things at once and often getting lost in said thoughts, especially when he hyperfixates on something. That’s not to say he can’t get bored -- when he is bored, it’s an almost painful state of being -- but usually he will manage a way to stay busy and avoid that. If he allows himself to be still, six times out of ten, the doubt usually reserved for the back of his head will take over. Peter is secretly filled with a lot of insecurities and self-hatred, which he ignores via constant activity. It’s not exactly healthy, but it gets him by. 

His main outlet is work, be it professional or personal. He’s always got a handful of projects at any given time on top of his job as TA or assistant or researcher or professor, depending on the time.

18. What kind of person could they become in the future? What are some developmental paths that they could take, (best, worst, most likely?) what would cause them to come to pass, and what consequences might they have? What paths would you especially like to see, and why?

Well actually he gets married and has kids :+) but also, he becomes a professor of Biochemistry and a researcher of his own right in the area of Biotechnology, among a lot of other things. He also gets proper treatment for his ADHD and all around becomes a lot healthier as an individual. This is his canon fate and it’s the path I personally prefer, but there’s others, explored especially in AUs, that are also interesting, but similar. His worst possible fate I’d say, is him developing an addiction of some sort, but I haven’t explored nor want to explore such an element (especially considering that with Vrej’s whole clusterfuck of a situation, Peter’s wary about drugs, so it’s just unlikely yk).

30. What is their preferred level of activity and stimulation? How do they cope if they get either too little or too much?

As I mentioned above, he’s high energy and needs a lot of stimulation, and he doesn’t cope well with too little of it. Worst case scenario, he spirals. Best case scenario, he’s gonna go nag someone into giving him attention and doing something with him, usually Charles.

33. How do they learn about the world–what is their preferred learning style? Hands-on learning with trial and error? Research, reading, and note-taking? Observation or rote memorization? Inductive or deductive reasoning? Seeking patterns and organization? Taking things apart and putting them back together? Creative processing via discussing, writing about, or dramatizing things?

Hands-on, trial and error, research, observation, both deductive and inductive reasoning, constantly seeking patterns, taking ideas apart via discussion and writing about them. He’s a scientist (as he will cheerfully let you know), and an inventor and a programmer, and he learns best via doing or experimenting. He can read and take in info that way but it will not be engaging for him (also really important to note that if something isn’t naturally an interesting topic for him it’ll be very hard for him to go about learning), and his mind will often wander. Rigid, strict methods restrain him, he needs the freedom to go his own way about doing things, and making mistakes along the way.  Similarly he learns best via debate, via just talking a lot about a topic until it sticks, seeing all the angles of something in order to fully grasp it, questioning everything -- things like that. 

39. What sort of questions or thoughts recur in their lives, either specifically or as a theme? Why are these never answered, or answered permanently to their satisfaction?

Why his brain works the way it does and not differently, can he make it work differently, would that help, or similarly, how can he help himself -- questions like that pushed him into his fields of interest. He does get semblance of answers, but they’re imperfect, which prompts him to try to answer them himself, better. Eventually a more benevolent version of the question arises: how can he help others. It further influences and gives him direction in life. It makes him work toward other people’s benefit and wellbeing. 

On an even more sentimental level, why people don’t stick around in his life, and a seemingly unquenchable need for love, attention, affirmation and validation directly related to the question, are both constant thoughts that recurrently pop into his brain whenever he isn’t careful enough. They’re not answered because he doesn’t allow himself to ask them aloud in the first place, at least so far, and even then I doubt any answer would really actually satisfy him.