#this isn't ship art but it could be if you squinted hard enough

[nyctophobia-au]

Watcher's Spire

* Crawls back out from hiding. * 'Sup. Been gone for a hot moment, I know, but I am back to post art.

Don't bully me too badly for my skills at backgrounds, while drawing this I became acutely aware of the reason why I'm a character artist and avoid backgrounds like the plague. <3 Anyways, I still had fun drawing this ig. Lurien, my beloved. <3

If you want to see me struggle to draw for several minutes, the speedpaint is linked below the cut, lmao.

[icespur]

DadGoro Navigator Quotes Help

5/2: update: replaced some paragraphs with the originals in my Google Doc, Including some example quotes I came up with

originally I had a concept I was going to post about "Teen Akeshu Daughter from the future gets sent to the past during P5R", but I got preoccupied.

She tries to play matchmaker to get Akiren and Akechi on the right path. But she also can't risk revealing who she is, Akechi and Akiren don't know what to think of her. To them, she comes across as an unhinged Akechi fan that ships him with the Phantom Thief Leader for some reason, and is from the future, and looks like a mix of both of them if they squint real hard.

Akechi especially finds her irritating, and finds her very selective sharing of who she is very suspicious, and isn't buying her surname being “Akagi”. His detective senses are ringing like sirens that “🚨 THIS FUTURISTIC BITCH IS SUSPICIOUS AS FUCK! SHE’S CLEARLY NOT BEING TRUTHFUL IN THE SLIGHTEST, DO NOT TRUST, ALSO HIGHLY ANNOYING AND EVASIVE, MUST KEEP WATCH OF SUSPICIOUS TEENAGER! 🚨

So when Komari joins the Phantom Thieves in battle, and the rare instance where Akechi briefly takes over as Navigator, he especially makes his irritation of her known and just how much he doesn't give a shit what happens to her in battle.

("Akagi" is her "undercover" surname)

“Akagi-san’s health is down. Heal her I guess~” 

“What a tragedy, Akagi-san has perished.” 

“Oh, Akagi-san is fully healed and ready to continue to grace us with her presence~”

“Akagi-san has been incapacitated. Can't say I'm surprised.” 

But once he finds out she's his future daughter—-

Granted,the fact that he’s destined to eventually have intercourse that leads to knocking up his rival is—-alot to take in—-. but this is his daughter. His future flesh and blood, he—oh he feels like such a piece of shit 🤦. Curse his trust issues and natural skepticism, he was a fucking dick, how is he going to fix this? 

The “Daughter Reveal” makes him take a 180 in his behavior towards her. Something just clicks and “Fuck this annoying suspicious little shit.” Turns into “I've only known Komari for a couple of months, but if anything were to happen to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.” With zero warning. 

I am thou,

thou art I, 

Protective Dad Akechi has awakened! 

Komari becomes number 1 priority in battle, and he’ll freak out if she gets injured or inflicted with an ailment. He demands Joker to immediately help her like the whole world will implode in on itself if he doesn't. Other teammates or enemy strengths and weaknesses be damned, Komari is important. 

and this shows especially in battle.

The first time Komari gets severely injured in battle, Akechi practically teleports to her side and catches her in his arms. “JOKER, YOU BETTER HAVE A FULL HEAL ITEM ON HAND, USE ONE OF THOSE WEIRD DRUGS FROM TAKEMI-SENSEI YOU BOUGHT, HURRY! YOU'RE NOT LOOKING FAST ENOUGH YOU ONLY HAVE TWO POCKETS IN THAT COAT, HOW COULD YOU MISPLACE IT?! THE LONGER YOU TAKE FAILING TO FIND IT THE CLOSER MARI-CHAN GETS TO THE AFTERLIFE, ARE YOU THIS UNPREPARED AND USELESS WHEN THE REST OF YOUR TEAM IS IN DANGER?!” 

“You stay with me, don't you dare close those eyes, you are not dying on us. You're strong, you can get through this—-JOKER, HURRY THE FUCK UP!” 

Tears streaming down face while still yelling “PAPA’S HERE, I’M NOT LEAVING YOU, once your IDIOTIC FATHER finally heals you you’ll be all better.” 

In the scenario where Komari and another party member is low on health, Akechi ignores them. 

Ryuji speaks up faintly “Uh, hey. Hate to interrupt your guys' very understandable panic–but any chance you could throw me a full heal too?” 

Akechi growls back “Walk it off, Sakamoto-kun, this isn’t about you!” 

Just----the complete 180 from:

"Oh, what an absolute tragedy, Akagi-San has died, tip your masks in respect everyone. She will be sorely missed, if only we had a revival on hand~"

To:

!

"MY BABY!

JOKER, GET THE REVIVAL ITEM, HEAL HER, HURRY HURRY, GET IT OUT FASTER, OUR PRINCESS IS FADING, ARE YOU THIS USELESS WHEN YOUR OTHER TEAMMATES ARE IN NEED OF HEALING?!

when infected with ailment, Akechi and Joker immediately tag team her with the feather fans to bitch slap the ailment away.

Akechi or Joker always perform a followup attack when she's having her turn in battle.

After a successful battle and if Komari's Persona levels up and gains a new ability, the in-game dialogue would be Proud Dad Akechi complimenting and drawing attention to it. Pretty much a more aggressive version of Prince attire Akechi leveling up. “Everyone, look! I gained a new ability. :) “ 

A couple example dialogues I came up with:

“Hey, everyone pay attention, what, were you all raised in a barn? Mari-chan gained a new ability.” 

“JOKER LOOK!---” Physically forces Joker's head to face Komari and her Persona (Even though he was already looking). “MARI GAINED A NEW ABILITY! HER STATS WENT UP AND EVERYTHING, SHE’S GETTING SO STRONG, MAYBE EVEN STRONGER THAN US, WE CREATED SUCH  AN UNSTOPPABLE BADASS YOUNG LADY AIIISTRHGHGJFGHSSGNSKJS.”

“I’m already looking.”

“THEN FUCKING SAY SOMETHING, NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BE SELECTIVELY MUTE!”

.............

“My future princess is turning more and more into a powerful badass with every new ability 🥲🥹. Ahem I mean—-oh, Komari-chan earned a new skill, ooo, that’s a good one.” 

..............

“AHAHA! NOW YOU CAN MAKE YOUR ENEMIES QUIVER BEFORE YOU EVEN MORE! MAKE US PROUD.” 

................

Then, a friend mentioned dialogue for other battle actions like Baton Pass and Ailments that I didn't even think of!

So I'm going to have you fellow Akeshu fans participate because I'm having trouble coming up with more Proud Dad Akechi dialogue.

Write some dialogue reactions for Akechi if his and Akiren's daughter was a playable party member.

(you don't have to fill out all these sections. Just, if you come up with a line for one of the below actions, reply or reblog with it and once I get enough participants I'll make another post.

Akechi/Crow: passes Baton to Komari: 

Crow/Black Mask response to Komari Attack Quotes:

Komari Dodges Attack: 

Komari Downs an enemy: 

Double Enemy Down: 

Down all enemies: 

Defeats an enemy: 

Defeats two enemies:

Defeats last Enemy:

Attack miss or Skill miss:

HP at 25% at start of turn:

Affected by Tarunda/Attack Decrease:

Affected by Rakunda/Defense Decrease:

Affected by Sukunda/Speed Decrease: 

Suffering from Shock:

Suffering from Freeze:

Suffering from Brainwash:

Suffering from Despair:

Suffering from Forget:

Suffering from Confuse:

Suffering from Rage:

Downed:

Recovers from being downed:

Incapacitated:

[sezja]

Febuwhump Day 2: Solitary Confinement Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Ship: Original Characters (Darcy) Triggers/Content warnings: Self-harm (burns), food insecurity

The song used in this fic, "Smith's Circle" by Heather Dale

It was just a little fire.

Darcelyn slumps on the steel slab - their "bed" for the duration of their punishment - and sulks at the far (or rather, not so far) wall. It's a tiny cell: big enough that a fully-grown Garlean man could lie down in it, but not so big that it'd be comfortable to lie down in. Narrow, too. It'd be cold, too, they expect, if they hadn't long since mastered the delicate art of warming the air around them just so.

Somehow they expect it'll be the only tiny comfort they get in here.

All this for catching the mess hall on fire? Well, that doesn't seem fair.

Solitary confinement seems a little excessive for one little fire.

...Well, alright, so this might be their third or fourth "tiny step out of line" in two moons; and they might be getting on their commander's nerves, ever so slightly-

"It's only a week," they mutter to themself, drumming their fingertips on the bed (would it have been so hard to give them some proper sheets?). "How bad can it be?"

After all, they've got themself for company, right?

-

The first problem is time.

They don't have a clock, never mind a window. The only way to gauge the passing time is the delivery of their meals - through a small opening in the thick, heavy door. A small window slides open, food slides onto a waiting ledge on the inside of the door, the window snaps shut. Twice a day.

They're still on reduced rations from their last little infraction, after all.

By the second day, the crawl of time is already starting to gnaw at them, and boredom too - they're supposed to be "reflecting on their actions," but what's there to reflect on? They'd lost control of a spell. Not their fault other Garleans are squirrelly about magic! Also not their fault if the various signiferi tasked with training Darcelyn were better-accustomed to thaumaturgy than pure pyromancy; whose fault is it, really, if none of their lessons are worth spit to them?

They yawn.

They're a little tired. Might be night time.

Well, might as well try to get some sleep.

-

"Aaaaa smith brought his blanket and he laid it before him! People came up from miles around-"

They lay on the floor, trying to reach the walls of their cell with splayed limbs.

"-To sit in a circle and trade their treasures; each in turn put their goods on the ground!"

There's a light in the ceiling high above, and they try to stare at it until they see shapes when they close their eyes.

"Ten yards of trim and some heavenly cider; got a bucket here made of wood and fiber-"

Singing fills the silence, even if it is so loud it hurts their own ears, echoing off the narrow walls.

"An old leather belt; pins for your hat, I think one's a turnip, and the other's a cat-"

How many days has it been?

They try to count meals. Six? No, seven.

-

"You know, I think I like the nickname Darcy."

-

"Are there cameras in here?" They squint at the empty walls. Nothing visible, but what do they know about magitek? No one wants them around machines.

"Can you see me?" They do a silly little dance in the middle of their room. "Can anyone see me? Can anyone hear me?"

Someone delivers the food twice a day. They sink to their knees in front of the door, staring at the narrow little window the food comes through.

"Hel-loooooo!"

They tap at the door with one finger. "Anybody out there?"

They try to pry around the edge of the window, but the mechanism is on the other side. No way to pry it loose. Well, isn't that just unfair? What if-

They push at it, hoping to break it open. They try fire, and scorch their fingers for their trouble.

Good, solid Garlean construction.

Dammit.

Swearing, they rock back on their arms and kick the door instead. Finding this deeply satisfying, they do it again. And again. And againandagainandagain-

-

Five days. Probably. Right? How many meals? Did the guards forget to feed them yesterday? They're hungry. Or bored. Feels the same.

-

"Ow-"

Just little sparks, just enough to sting. They leave red welts on Darcy's arms and legs; they'd stripped to the skin a few hours ago. They'd laid on the floor again for a while, letting it be cold against their skin, until that got boring, too, and then-

"Ow!"

Fire got them in here; it might as well keep them entertained.

-

When the window clicks open again, they lunge at it, scrabbling at the opening.

"Hey- listen- do you-"

It snaps shut without any answer, and without any food, for that matter.

Lesson learned.

-

It's been a week they're sure it's been a week

-

It's been a week have they forgotten them here

-

It's been a week are they going to die here

-

It's been a week maybe if they just set themself on fire they'll be-

-

It's been a week.

The door opens.

Free to go.

[queen-beefcake-sqx]

Ask game, feel free to comment for both fandoms please or skip for one.

2,6,7,9 16, 17, 21, 22,

I'm going to like.... jump around to whatever fandom I feel like for each question.

2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

Okay so I did this for Disco Elysium so -- He Xuan would never bottom. My compelling argument is he told me personally. Next question.

6. which ship fans are the most annoying?

I'm sorry but all ya'll Qi Rong fans who keep trying to find him a boyfriend... I support you, but maybe go stand over there? please????

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

Again, did this one for Disco Elysium, so again tying into the above answer... Qi Rong is a character I'd like to be able to spend more braincells thinking about, because I think there COULD be some interesting meta I could make about him, but the fandom seems to have a very predetermined way of thinking about him and writing him that makes it so hard for me to want to engage.

9. worst part of canon

I feel like I can't speak on DE just because I haven't finished or explored it as thoroughly as I'd like to yet. For MXTX books... God I'll be so honest it was silly and fun the first time, but I cringe rereading the whole Statue Mecha scene near the end of TGCF. It's so ridiculous and outlandish that it breaks emersion for me a bit.

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

Okay, I'll be SO HONEST -- as someone who's come to better accept his trans masc-ness because of Kim Kitsuragi -- I'm kind of shocked at the sheer amount of trans!Kim fics. And I guess there's a part of me squinting at it going, "Isn't there something a little weird about ascribing transmasculinity to a character who -- in the real world -- is part of a race that's often feminized (the "pretty Asian boy" stereotype) and is visually the most slender and short of the male characters? Like? That feels a little weird to me, ya'll..."

(Like, not saying stop, I get it, and the fanfics handle it really well on the whole, but also like... I think it's worth asking ourselves (1) WHY Kim gets this treatment over Harry or another character and (2) WHAT kinds of queerness we're ascribing onto characters. Especially in light of stuff like me seeing KimHarry on a yuri poll.... like. come on ya'll. A tiny bit of critical thinking) (and again. not saying "don't write queer characters" but maybe like... consider diversifying your options).

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

Tip Top Racer Kim. Why the fuck are none of you writing Tip Top Racer Kim Kitsuragi AUs. Why. Where's the art. Where's Kim in tight fitting racing uniform huh??? (which. uh. if anyone has a good artist you'd recommend for a commission....) (I am LEGALLY obligated to drop my favorite DE fic now just so you all can see THE POTENTIAL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40802268) Also not enough Jean crossdressing fics, send tweet. That blonde wig is all I think about and there's so much unresolved in that choice....

21. part of canon you think is overhyped

In Disco Elysium, who the FUCK are these student communist dudes everyone is talking about because I LITERALLY haven't seen them.

Also for TGCF, the underwater kiss scene. The actual kiss is honestly secondary to me to EVERYTHING ELSE happening in that moment because people seem to forget how INSANE the circumstances are.

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores Oh for my MXTX fandoms that's easy -- I am easily the second most Beefleaf brain rot person you'll ever meet and the Black Water Arc of TGCF is everything to me. Everyone always talks about the climax and the beheading and sure that's cool but the BUILD UP? The visit to Fu Gu and watching the performance of He Xuan's massacre? The Truth or Dare game in the temple? The foreshadowing with the Water and Wind master statues? The visit to Shi Qingxuan's terrace and the poetry written there? BREAKING SQX OUT OF HER PALACE BECAUSE SWD IMPRISONED HER? AND THEN SQX WALKING AWAY FROM YUSHI HUANG'S FARM AFTER "MING YI" TRIES TO GET HER TO STAY BEHIND? None of you talk enough about the LENGTHS He Xuan went to to try to avoid getting SQX involved in SWD's death and it makes me ABSOLUTELY INSANE ON A DAILY BASIS!!! I am chewing on glass about this!!!!

[kookicat]

The Price of Peace

He gives in, in the end, to the doc's increasingly worried questions, coupled with concerned looks from the team and lets the man drive him to the hospital. Maybe he’s more blasé about injuries than the rest of the team, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid. He knows his body well enough to know when to worry, and while he’s pretty sure there’s no need now, he’s no longer responsible for just himself. He has a team who relies on him now, and that’s enough motivation to accept the offer. 

Nate herds Hardison and Parker back to the hotel and Eliot expects Sophie to go with them, but she follows him to the doctor's truck. His zip through hoodie is in her hands and she offers it to him, because the night air is taking on a chill and his skin and hair is still damp from the exertion. He slips it on, keeps his eyes averted from her as he eases his left arm into the sleeve, biting back a curse because moving hurts. It’s been a while since he did any real wrestling and the muscles in his back and thighs are letting him know they’re not happy about it. 

The doc unlocks the truck doors and climbs into the driver's seat, cell phone in hand as he makes quiet arrangements. Eliot tucks himself in the back seat next to Sophie with a groan he can't quite stifle. There's a nasty throb starting in his left shoulder and his left eye has started to swell closed. The gloves have worked to mostly protect his hands but his knees and elbows are already sore. It's nothing that he hasn't been through before, but he's not used to anyone looking out for him, more used to retreating to that week's safehouse and bunkering down until the worst injuries heal and he can take his next job. Having a team to care about -for- him is new, and he'd be lying to himself if he said he's totally comfortable with it. 

Sophie wordlessly hands him an instant ice pack and he presses it to his cheek, leaning back against the seat and letting his good eye close. His head aches, a sharper pain wrapping around his cheekbone and down through his jaw. The ibuprofen he'd swallowed back in the gym aren't doing anything but making him feel vaguely sick. The truck is chilly despite the hoodie and the ice pack isn't helping. He shivers once, a quick quake working through his body.

"Here," Sophie says quietly and shakes out one of her giant scarfs so it mostly covers him. The silk is cool on his skin at first but it warms quickly. It smells like Sophie- jasmine and musk and some hint of spice that he’s never quite figured out. It helps, blocking some of the cold sir and he feels himself relax, just a little, which helps his tight muscles. 

He has to swallow twice before he can answer and even then, his voice isn't quite as steady as he would have liked. "Thanks." He forces his good eye open and rolls his head so he can look at her. 

It's just dark enough to hide the expression on her face, but he thinks that she's frowning. "We could have found another way, you know," she says, softly. "No-one would have thought less of you." 

Something in his jaw clicks when he starts to speak. "How long would that have taken? We did the right thing." He shifts, fingers clenching under the scarf as his battered ribs join in the chorus of hurts playing on his body. "The Howorths are safe now, and Rucker can't try the same trick on anyone else." 

"Damn hard," the doctor says, "watching you taking that battering. Never seen anyone do that before." The doctor glances at them in the mirror, then turns his eyes back to the road. 

"It's what he does," Sophie says, with a tone in her voice Eliot can't quite figure out, because he’s exhausted and hurting and still feels vaguely sick. There's reluctant admiration in it, coupled with worry, because they all know there's only so much damage a body can take before something breaks beyond repair. 

It's not something he wants to think about, at least not while he's battered and bleeding. He closes his eyes again, leaning back against the seat, and lets himself doze, just a little, knowing it's a risk but doing it anyway. Trust has to start somewhere, and this is that place. 

--

"Eliot," Sophie calls softly as they pull into the hospital parking lot. He's quiet and still on the seat next to her, enough to worry her if it wasn't for the steady rise and fall of his chest. There’s a little blood on the corner of his lip, more caked in his hairline and the sight of it makes something fierce clench in her chest. We should have found another way, she thinks, even though she knows it would have taken too long, left the family they were trying to protect defenceless. As much as she hates it, he’d been right. 

He blinks awake, muscles in his jaw clenching as the pain hits again, sending measured breaths through his teeth until he gets it back under control. "Fuck," he breathes, fingers flexing in a way that makes her want to take his hand. He catches something in her expression and smiles, softly. “I’m okay,” he says and hands the scarf back to her. 

“Eliot, you’re bleeding,” Sophie replies, and hears the doctor chuckle dryly at her tone. He is though, a slow trickle threading through his hair. His face is lined with pain and she hadn't missed the slight shake in his hands when he passed the scarf back. 

He shakes his head, lost for words, and twists to open the truck door, bracing himself as he swings his legs out. Moving is a bad idea, because the slow, sluggish nausea that’s been plaguing him suddenly becomes much more acute, and he has to close his eyes, leaning back against the truck until the worst of it passes and he can breathe again. 

Cool fingers find his wrist, and he startles a little, twitching his arm away. “Sorry,” Sophie says, and reaches for his arm again. “May I try something?” 

He squints at her, then nods, once, and regrets it as a galaxy of stars filters through his brain. It’s all part and parcel of a concussion, and while he’s lived through it before, he’s not too thrilled to be living through it now. 

She presses her fingers against his wrist, feeling for the right spot, knowing she's found it when some of the tension in his jaw fades. "I learned this on a cruise. The ship had some wonderful art I was going to relocate, but we got hit by a tropical storm and I spent three days throwing up until one of the stewards took pity on me."

It helps, as does her warmth as she leans against the truck, close but not quite touching him. "Let me tell you, when he showed me this, I wanted to kiss him and kick him at the same time."

He huffs a quiet laugh at that and starts walking, gently disengaging her fingers. They follow the doc towards the hospital doors and Eliot wonders why in hell he let himself be talked into this. He has no love for hospitals, has spent more time than he'd like inside of them, and he already can't wait to be walking back out of this one. 

It's a handsome redbrick building, newer than he'd expected. The doc leads them straight into the ER and points to an open bay, where there’s already a nurse waiting. Eliot stops, thinking about walking back out to the truck, going back to the hotel and sleeping for at least twelve hours. A quick glance at Sophie’s face dissuades him of that idea; she’s frowning, clearly worried, and her eyes keep darting from the blooming bruise on his cheekbone to the still oozing cut on his hairline. 

“Eliot?” she says, and the frown deepens. “What’s the matter?” Her hand drifts to his elbow and he draws in a soft breath because the contact hurts. He's pretty sure that come the morning, he's going to be covered in nasty dark bruises. 

“Nothing,” he says, and resigns himself to god knows how much poking and prodding, taking a seat on the bed, idly rubbing his thumb over one aching knee. “Can we get this over with?” he asks the nurse, with the best smile he can muster and sighs. 

----

He walks out again four hours later, after enough scans and xrays to make him feel like he's glowing, a bag of prescription meds dangling from one hand, a pretty good buzz running through his veins and ten stitches in the cut in his scalp. All he wants is to find a vaguely horizontal place to occupy and sleep for at least eight hours. His limbs feel like they're made from lead, heavy and stiff and vaguely achy. His back aches too, each step jarring through him like he's in a car with a blown suspension. His left shoulder is taped, supporting a torn muscle, and he's starting to wish he'd accepted the offer of a sling. 

Sophie is sitting in the waiting area, silk scarf wrapped around her. She looks exhausted and he pauses, feeling a wave of fondness wash over him at the sight. She has nasty oily coffee from the ancient vending machine and she offers him the cup when he walks up to her. 

The smell makes his stomach roll and he shakes his head. "I'm good, thanks," he says, voice just a little hoarse, and thinks about sitting down. He's pretty sure he won't get back up any time soon if he does so he rests his hip on the row of chairs instead. 

He can see the question in her eyes just waiting to escape, and while she's not frowning any more he's got to know her well enough to know that she's still worried. "I'm fine. Nothing major," he says, carefully avoiding mentioning the hairline fracture in his cheekbone. "Worst of it is a couple of broken ribs and a damned concussion." 

She presses her lips together, a mix of anger and concern drawing her brows into a frown. "Just a couple of broken ribs," she mutters and shakes her head. 

"Soph," he says, fighting back a yawn. She looks up at the nickname, head tilting just a bit. "I'm fine. I've lived through worse. It'll suck for a couple weeks, that's all." He keeps his tone gentle, knows the anger in her is coming from a place of worry, knows she's probably blaming herself, because he knows for damn sure that's what he'd be doing if their positions were reversed. He'll tell Nate everything in the morning, because you don't hide injuries from your commanding officer, but Sophie doesn't need to know everything. It's just more weight to bear and God knows they're all already carrying enough. 

The doc breaks the moment by ambling over, Eliot's chart tucked under his arm. He offers it to the other man. "Figured you wouldn't want a record of your visit leaving here," he says and pulls his keys out of his pocket. "Can I interest anyone in a lift back to their hotel?" 

----

The gentle motion of the truck is soothing and he leans on the door, bruised temple resting against the cool glass and lets his mind drift. His eyes don't want to focus, turning the passing street lights into a pleasing blur. He's not sure if it's the concussion, the exhaustion, the drugs, or a combination of all three but he's content to just watch the darkened streets go by. He blinks heavy a couple of times, realising that he's dozing again and they're almost back at the hotel.

          The doc swings the truck into the parking lot and drives up to the door, pulling to a gentle stop. Eliot knows he should thank the man but he can't find the energy and settles for an exhausted nod as he opens the door and practically falls out of the vehicle. He desperately needs sleep, preferably before the painkillers start to wear off. 

         Sophie waves the doc goodbye and comes to stand at Eliot's side, one hand raised like she wants to help but isn't sure how. He digs deep, trawling reserves of energy he rarely ever uses, and forces his legs to move. They stumble into the waiting lift and he leans against the wall with his good shoulder, all the words he wants to say jumbled on his tongue. 

         She reads something of it in his expression and nods, once; message received and understood. 

        The lift stops and they walk out. He expects Sophie to head to the girls' room but she doesn't, pulling out a key card and leading the way to the third room they'd hired, the one Hardison had dubbed the control centre. "The doc said someone should keep an eye on you tonight. He listed a few gruesome ways in which you could come to peril," she says dryly and pushes the door open. "Besides, Parker snores. I hope you don't." 

       "No one has ever complained," he says and limps into the room, heading to the recliner, glad he's got running shoes on that he can just toe off unlike his usual boots. He's pretty sure he's going to have enough trouble getting up in the morning and the bed just seems like tempting fate. "I'm fine here," he tells her and eases down into the soft leather, tapping the button to raise the leg support. It takes him a second to get vaguely comfortable but he's honestly so exhausted that he's not sure comfort is really going to matter. 

       Sophie shakes a blanket out over him, watching him fight to keep his eyes open. There's something oddly endearing about it that makes her smile. "Go to sleep," she says softly and with a sigh, he does. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907364/chapters/70920525 part two is posted here too. 😊