#whatever. the only good dr who is the dr who that’s not currently airing

[innocet]

I don’t even like flux all that much but so much of empire of death felt like a poor man’s flux

[supernaturalfreakout]

A Chance Encounter

[History on Your Side—Chapter 1.] Sam Winchester x Reader

Chapter summary: Sam and Dean are stuck with their current case. Sam searches for leads and gets more than he bargained for. *Please see the masterlist for entire work summary and tags* Masterlist | Read on AO3

Frustration tainted the air of the bunker, radiating from the library walls. As the clock ticked past midnight, blue-white light mingled with the orange of the table lamps, bathing Sam's face in a steady glow as he hunched over his laptop, engrossed in a tireless search. Dean, meanwhile, paced the floor, book in hand. Each footstep reverberated inside his skull, adding to the collective headache. The brothers' current case—a woodland haunting across state—had led them down a dead-end, fueling their late-night study.

Sam furrowed his brow, silently mouthing as he read the contents of his latest webpage. "Dean…" he called, eyeing the screen in concentration. "Think I’ve found something… a Dr. Y/L/N at KU, Lawrence. Might be a long shot, but his research might tie in with our case."

Dean glanced up from his book with a raised eyebrow. "A doctor? How's he connected to our ghost problem?"

"Not a medical doctor, genius... A History PhD… His studies focus on historical folklore. There could be a link between the local legends and our haunting. It's worth a shot, right?"

"Okay, well..." Dean nodded, clapping his book shut. "It's the only lead we've got right now. Let's hit him up."

Sam danced his fingers across the keyboard, crafting a persuasive pitch in their email. "Alright, here goes nothing," he muttered, hitting 'send' with hopeful anticipation, his eyes strained, heavy. 

"Hey, we're not just any journalists," Dean interjected, reading over Sam's shoulder. "We're the duo that digs deep into untold stories. Our quest? Unveiling the hidden truths woven into the fabric of this town..."

Sam smirked at Dean's embellishments. "Right, 'cause nothing grabs a scholar's attention like a good ol' fashioned mystery. Hopefully, this Dr. Y/L/N will bite."

Dean chuckled, slapping his brother on the back. "Lighten up, Sammy. Who could resist the allure of two charming reporters like us?"

Sam rolled his eyes, closing his laptop with a yawn. "Sure, whatever. Let's just hope for a response. I'm off to get some shut-eye."

---

The next day, after his morning run, Sam sat in the bunker's kitchen, opening his laptop to a reply in his inbox. Taking a sip of his coffee, he ran a hand through his hair, optimism growing with each word he read. 

"Dean!" he yelled, a spark of excitement coloring his voice. "Dean... We got a reply!"

Dean emerged from the hallway with a yawn and creased pajamas. He had only just got up—having medicated last night's headache with trash TV and beer. "Sup?"

“We've got a meeting... this afternoon." Sam rose an eyebrow, eyeing the screen with intrigue. "Dude seems pretty interested..."

Dean stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Great, well... better hit the road, I guess. But Sammy, we're grabbing grub on the way."

---

After a few hours' drive—including a pit stop for food—the Winchesters arrived in Lawrence. Clad in their finest 'reporter' outfits, they paced the university corridors where they eventually located the history department. There, amidst the academic bustle, they requested to meet Dr. Y/L/N.

"Y/N!" the receptionist called, turning her head to the staff room behind her. "Your 3 o'clock is here!"

"Thanks Janice, I'll be right there!"

You emerged from the staff room carrying a large pot of coffee, your presence immediately capturing the attention of the brothers.

"Hey! You must be Tom and Jack. Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N." You greeted them warmly, charm evident in your smile. "Come on in, take a seat… I hope you like coffee!"

Sam and Dean exchanged a surprised glance, momentarily taken aback as you beckoned them to follow you into a nearby office. You were not what they had expected, that's for sure.

"You're Dr. Y/L/N?" Sam asked, as you closed the door of the small room behind them.

"This is she," you said, sensing their unexpected reactions. "Is… there a problem?"

"No, no!" Sam reassured, trying to mask his surprise with a charming smile. "We just expected someone… older."

You smirked, taking a seat across from them behind the small desk. "And… with a penis?" you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Sam coughed, smiling awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by his sexist assumption, whilst Dean scratched his head, trying to think of a witty response.

"I'm just messing with you…” you teased, chuckling at their reactions. “I get that a lot. Anyway, how can I help? Your story sounds interesting…"

---

Over cups of coffee, the brothers tactfully explained their ‘research’ and the answers they were seeking.

“Hm, from what you’ve told me, the haunting sounds connected to an old legend rooted in the area…” You pulled out a book from your bookshelf, tracing your fingers over the weathered text. “Ah, here!” You placed it on the desk in front of them, gesturing to the page as you spoke. “This passage here... it speaks of spirits being tied to the ‘earthly realm’...”

The brothers listened intently, their focus on the information you provided, but Sam couldn’t help but feel uncharacteristically distracted, stealing small glances at you as you spoke. 

“According to the lore of the local tribe,” you continued, running a hand through your hair, “the spirit seeks ‘retribution for an ancient injustice.’”

Hm, interesting... Sam mused, darting another glance your way.

“Is there any way to stop it?” Dean leaned in slightly, urgency lacing his words. 

You straightened in your seat, taken aback by this new line of questioning. “What paper did you say you worked for again?”

“The Eureka Herald”, “The Wichita Eagle,” they replied in unison, gritting their teeth for blowing their cover.

You paused for a moment, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re ghost chasers, aren’t you?” you asked, eyeing them with suspicion, leaning back in your chair. 

Sam and Dean shared a look, a mixture of surprise and caution in their eyes. 

“What makes you think that?” Dean asked, his posture more guarded, his tone casual, yet wary. 

You took a sip from your mug. “It’s not hard to put two and two together,” you said, trying to hide your smirk as the brothers faltered over their cover story. “Plus, you’re not the first ghost chasers I’ve encountered…”

Sam and Dean exchanged another glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They were used to keeping their true identity under wraps, and were surprised by your directness—your ability to see through their façade. But there was something about your demeanor that made them feel a level of trust…

“Okay, you got us,” Sam admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But we’re not exactly ‘ghost chasers’… we’re hunters.”

“Hunters?” you raised an eyebrow.

Dean nodded, his expression more serious. “We’re not the kind of hunters most people imagine... We’re here to make things right, to put spirits to rest, to protect people from the crap they don’t even know exist.”

You listened intently, shifting slightly as you processed their words. “So... you hunt the things that go bump in the night? And in this case, you’re here to put an ancient spirit to rest?”

“That’s the plan,” Dean confirmed. “So... think you can help us, or what?”

You hesitated, chewing on your lip as you considered their request. You’d known ghosts were real, yes, but, hunting them...? This was all new, and... exciting.

“Alright,” you relented, undeniably curious. “I’ll try my best to help, but promise you’ll respect the history, the people involved?”

Sam leaned in, interjecting your thoughts, gently. “We promise,” he affirmed, his tone earnest, as he looked into your eyes. “We’re not just seeking closure for the spirit, we’re aiming for closure for the tribe, too.”

You paused for a moment, your gaze softening as you regarded the younger brother with a newfound respect.

“Yeah, exactly,” Dean added, nodding towards his brother. “What he said...”

You took a deep breath, giving in to the excitement you couldn’t deny. “Okay then... let’s uncover the truth behind this thing.”

“Great!” Dean exclaimed, visibly relieved as he slapped his hands on the sides of his chair.

Sam smiled, silently mouthing a gentle “thank you” in your direction

You smiled back, but quickly averted your gaze, feeling a sudden blush rush into your cheeks. “Well,” you rose from your seat, trying your best to ignore whatever that was. “I’m afraid my office hours are over… I have to head back to work, but, I’ll be in touch.”

Sam stood, unconsciously mirroring your stance. “Yeah, yeah—of course.” He cleared his throat, reaching for the book on the table, directing you a gentle glance. “Would it be okay to take this?” 

“Yeah, sure... anything that will help. In fact... here... have these...”

“Thanks,” Sam smiled, as you passed him a few more books from your bookshelf.

“We’re staying at a motel just out of town for a few days,” Dean explained, handing you a scrap of paper with their contact details on it. “Let us know if you find anything.”

“Of course,” you said, glancing at the note in your hands. “Sam and Dean Winchester?” You swear their names sounded familiar...

“You can never be too careful in our line of work, lady,” Dean joked, as they finally introduced themselves properly.

As you walked them out of the department, Sam turned to you, shifting the pile of books under his arm. “See you soon, Dr Y/L/N, thanks again.”

“You’re welcome, Sam, but please, call me Y/N. I’ll never get used to being called Dr... it sounds waay too formal.”

Sam smiled, but quickly looked away as you returned his gaze, suddenly feeling rather warm.

“Right, let’s make a move.” Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder, snapping him out of his haze. “See ya later doc,” he saluted, turning to walk away, Sam by his side.

You chuckled as they left, your eyes lingering on the taller brother as they faded from your view, disappearing round the corner.

---

Back in the Impala, Dean turned towards his brother with a sly grin. "So, Sammy... You seem to have taken quite a liking to Dr. Y/L/N back there... not just interested in her research, huh?"

Sam's eyes widened, trying to mask his embarrassment. "What? No, Dean—it's not like that."

Dean chuckled, giving Sam a playful nudge. "Come on, man! I saw the way you were blushing back there. I've never seen you stumble over your words like that. Plus, you've been staring more than the ghost we're hunting."

"I... I wasn't stumbling, or staring!" Sam contested, despite knowing full well that his attempts to deny it only made it more obvious.

"Sure Sammy, whatever you say," Dean teased, enjoying every moment of his brother's discomfort.

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to play it off. "I was just being polite! She's knowledgeable and helpful, that's all."

"Uh-huh, sure… whatever helps you sleep at night… Bet you'll be dreaming of that helpfulness tonight, huh?" Dean smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I mean, she's hot... I'll give you that."

Sam groaned, realizing there was no getting out of this conversation. "Can we just focus on the case, please? We have a haunting to solve."

Dean laughed, giving his brother a playful punch on the arm. "Alright, alright, Mr. 'I-Don't-Have-A-Crush’. Let's get back to business..."

Despite his attempts to steer the conversation away, Sam couldn't shake off the heat rising to his cheeks, knowing full well Dean would continue to tease him for the rest of the day. But as they drove off to pursue the leads you had provided, he couldn't help but feel optimistic, wondering what might come of this partnership.

Chapter 2

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hi steph!!!! hope you're doing great!!!! any fic posts you havent published yet but would.love to! i am your sign from the universe :D

Hi Nonny!

Sorry for how long I took to use this ask, but I kept it until I've run out of requests for lists I've ready-to-post, so THANK YOU!!!!

I have a few lists-from-asks I'm currently working on but nothing ready for right now, LOL. So let's see... How about this one, which I doubt will get requests anytime soon, so I hope this pleases you guys!! <3 Enjoy!

G, T & M-RATED JOHNLOCK FOR NEWCOMERS Pt. 3 (20K+)

See also:

E-Rated Johnlock for Newcomers Pt 1 (Short Fics under 20K)

E-Rated Johnlock for Newcomers Pt 2

G,T, & M-Rated Johnlock for Newcomers Pt. 1 (Under 5K)

G,T, & M-Rated Johnlock for Newcomers Pt. 2 (5K-20K)

Novel-Length, Not-So-Angsty Recs for Newbies

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

The Real Meaning of Idioms by feverishsea (T, 21,691 w., 13 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Texting, Humour, Post-TRF, Awkward Romance, Idiots in Love) - After two weeks away, John finally texts Sherlock. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to respond. He doesn’t expect Sherlock to keep texting him. And he really doesn’t expect things to spiral out of control so rapidly.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarrassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

Trust Me, Trust Nobody by BlueMoonOnTheRise (T, 27,751 w., 10 Ch. || Kidnapping, Friendship / No Slash, Adventure, Trust Issues) – Whatever he told Mycroft, John trusted Sherlock almost instantly. When a new case shows up - smattered with the usual thrill of danger, death and cool logic - such trust ends up pushed to its very limits... 

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 29,186 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship, Drama, BAMF!John, Emotional Turmoil, Introspection, Harry is in this Fic, Angry John, Happy Ending, Queerplatonic Relationship) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. A revision of the story Mending Icarus.

Domestic Matters by ohlooktheresabee (M, 29,404 w., 6 Ch. || Fantasy AU || First Meetings, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, BAMF Sherlock, BAMF John, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, Supernatural Elements, Implied / Referenced Child Abuse, Elf Sherlock, Human/Elf Politics, Emotional Abuse, Possessive Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, Buddy Greg) – All flatmates need to work out domestic matters between them - who does the dishes, who takes out the rubbish, how often does the carpet need to be vacuumed - these are part and parcel of sharing a living space together. However, when you’re an elf and your flatmate is going to be a human you just met, this rather complicates things…Very loosely inspired by 'The Elves and The Shoemaker' by The Brothers Grimm.

Love or What You Will by miss_frankenstein (T, 31,987 w., 11 Ch. || College/Uni AU || Professor John, Ph.D Student Sherlock, Pining John, Poetry, Falling in Love / Slow Burn, Light Angst, Happy Ending) – John is an English professor who specializes in War and Post-War Literature and Sherlock is the brilliant yet impossible Ph.D. student assigned to be his TA because no one in the Chemistry Department is willing to put up with him. And - somewhere between Waugh and Plath, e-mails and takeaway, novels and villanelles - they fall in love.

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mild Gore, Sherlock Whump) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness', and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts' now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w., 7 Ch. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie's class and you won't have to share a room with a stranger?" "Exactly." Sherlock beamed at him. "Don't worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us."

Bedtime Stories by Liketheriver (M, 34,388 w., 1 Ch. || Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Angst & Humour, Bed Sharing, John First Person, TRF, John Whump) – John's POV during Season 2 and beyond when Sherlock takes up semi-permanent residence in his bed. A collection of codas and missing scenes wrapped up into one long fic and topped with a bow that takes the story beyond Reichenbach and into happy territory once more. Part 1 of Bedtime Universe

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (G to M, 49,955 w. across 20 Stories || Ace!Sherlock, Kisses, Cuddles & Snuggles, Schmoop, Platonic Romance) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

A Study Of Living With Sherlock Holmes by  AllesandraQuartermaine (T, 50,234 w., 22 Ch. || Post-ASiP/Pre-TAB, Domestics, Friendship, POV John) – Learn about what happened between John and Sherlock January 31st and March 22. From John's pov on how to survive and learn to live with one eccentric mad genius known as Sherlock Holmes. 

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

John Watson's Twelve Days of Christmas by earlgreytea68 (M, 53,464 w., 14 Ch. || Christmas, Holmes Family, Fake Relationship, Alternate First Meeting, Falling in Love, Fluff and Angst, Hardcore Pining) – It's the holiday season. John Watson needs money. Sherlock Holmes needs something else.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w., 15 Ch. || Case Fic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

A Case of Identity by jkay1980 (T, 91,009 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, Case Fic) – John and Sherlock have succeeded in rebuilding their friendship after Sherlock’s fake suicide, but an unusual case puts their relationship to the test. They pretend to be engaged and attend a marriage counseling workshop. Under the pretext of the case, Sherlock turns out to be a master of seduction, and John finally learns he might like Sherlock more than he thought. Slowly, John discovers that he loves Sherlock not only in a friendly, brotherly way, but both men have to fight their own demons before they can think of taking their relationship to a new level…

between each beat are words unsaid by darcylindbergh, hudders-and-hiddles (T, 107,998 w., 215 Ch. || Epistolary, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending) – On their wedding night, John and Sherlock gift each other with the things they each said when the other could not hear, the things they each put down where the other could not see: a collection of writings that illustrate the way their love for one another has grown over the years. Part 1 of between each beat

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Developing Relationship, Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Unkissed Series by 221b_hound (T to E, 184,100 w. across 45 works || Established Relationship, Ace Sherlock) – Sherlock returned from the dead a year ago. John returned to Baker Street six months ago. They've been in a couple since then. or at least, not NOT a couple. For two smart men, they sure can be dumb. Luckily, an art thief tries to drown Sherlock, Sherlock has a fever dream and things are about to change.

Fallen Series by Belladonna_Q, mamishka (T, 222,094 w. across 3 works || Winglock || Angel!John, Angels & Demons, Faes, Christianity, Changelings) – In a world where myth, mystery, and the supernatural flourish beneath the veneer of modern civilization, Sherlock is a master of magic as well as science and deduction. But there are some things that he cannot see, riddles he cannot unravel, even when they walk right beside him in the form of one John Watson…

[fan-a-saurus-rex]

Silence || Part One

Plot: World War II continues to rage on. Y/N is an Army nurse working at the infirmary on an Army base just outside of London, England. One day, troops bring in a clearly injured and unconscious British soldier, whom they found in a field separated from the rest of his men in the chaos.

Pairing: WWII Army!Tom Holland x Reader

Triggers: mentions of war

Masterlist

* * * * *

For whatever odd reason, it had been an eerily quiet morning. Silence was something you rarely heard around here. A few planes had been heard overhead, but other than that it was calm, too calm perhaps. The troops had gone out earlier in the morning, just before sunrise, but had not yet returned.

You continued with your daily duties, tending to the few patients that were in the infirmary with minor injuries, at least minor when it came to warfare. You were in the middle of changing the bandages of a young man who had come in a few days before with a bullet wound in his left arm.

“Your wound seems to be healing nicely Peterson, no sign of infection” you said smiling. “You should be out of here in a few weeks”

“Thank you {y/n}” he replied with a smile as he relaxed back into his bed.

He had quickly become one of your favorites. He was very young, 19 years old. He dreamed of becoming a historian. But those dreams were torn from him when he was unexpectedly drafted and had to drop out of college.

He reminded you of your younger sister, shy but witty, with a sense of humor that was childlike and innocent. You thought he’d make a good match for her, but knew it could never work out considering his line of work at the moment and the state of the world.

Your train of thought was soon interrupted by the sound of air raid sirens. This was a big indication that things were about to get busy again in the infirmary. Most didn’t come back from an air raid unscathed.

You and the other nurses continued your current tasks as well as prepared new beds, for sure knowing that you would have new patients by the end of the night. The sounds of distant bombs and gunshots echoing through the valley was nothing new for you, just a daily occurrence you’d unfortunately become numb to, desensitized after a year of service as an Army nurse.

“Can you see who’s attacking?” You heard a nurse ask.

You looked out the window into the distance, seeing nothing but smoke. “No, but it’s most likely the Germans” you said “they’ve been relentless lately”

This too, was nothing new for you, as sad as that seemed. In all honesty, you could have been back home in Upstate New York, working a factory job, but something about being out here and healing the sick and wounded gave you a sense of pride. You felt you were better served to help people directly, rather than safe on the sidelines like all the other women in your life. You weren’t afraid to put your life on the line for others.

The chaos in the distance carried on until late in the afternoon. Just before sunset you could hear the sound of vehicles speeding through the base. That could only mean one thing, new patients.

You ran outside the infirmary to find the men pulling several injured individuals out their vehicles. You directed them inside quickly and instructed the other nurses to help where they could. One last soldier was carried in, but there was something different about him, a British uniform.

“Who is he?” You asked over the chaos, as they placed the clearly unconscious man on a nearby bed.

“Private Holland, British Royal Army. We found him in the field, passed out. The other men on his team didn’t make it, we did everything we could, but they succumbed to their wounds” one of the men told you.

You noticed several bloody wounds and what appeared to be a fractured or broken leg. You were careful to remove his jacket to further access his wounds. His undershirt was bloodied. You carefully cut it off the check where the bleeding was coming from. A bullet wound. “Call Dr. Carroll, we need x-rays and a bullet extraction!” You yelled over the noise.

The doctor soon rushed over. You handed him some gloves and quickly grabbed the tools needed. This was always the most stressful part. You monitored the young man’s vitals as the doctor quickly removed the bullet from under his rib cage. After it was successfully removed you bandaged him up and tended any other wounds he had. His leg was also placed in a cast as it had been broken.

“Keep a close eye on him, hopefully he’ll regain consciousness soon. He’ll be here a while, it will be a slow recovery” Dr. Carroll said with a sigh m.

You nodded and cleaned up after the emergency surgery. The rest of the patients had been tended to already and most were now asleep. You asked the few who were still awake if they needed anything, doing whatever you could to keep them comfortable.

At the end of the night, you and the other nurses began cleaning up, washing towels, dishes, and medical instruments.

“Do you think he’ll be alright? The Englishman?” You heard a nurse ask you.

“I hope so. He was definitely the worst casualty of the day.” You said, looking over at and the other patients. “I’m honestly afraid for him to wake up here, a broken leg, a bullet hole in his abdomen, his comrades…gone” you said quietly.

As the head nurse, it was always your job to deliver news that wasn’t always the greatest. The bringer of band news. Someone had to do it though. The other nurses reassured you that it would be alright.

“At least he wasn’t left out in that field to die” one of them mentioned.

You nodded. “He’ll be well taken care of here”

You did the last of your rounds, checking each patient before retiring to your barracks with the other nurses.

• • • • •

You were up early the next morning, before the sun. You prepared for the day, putting on your uniform and pulling your hair back into a bun.

You walked out into the infirmary and began your day as normal. You brought freshly cleaned linens, and clothes if needed, for each patient. Bandages and vitals were checked for each patient as well.

After all of that you began to fill out the charts for each patient to send to both the doctor and the General. Just as we’re about to the leave the infirmary to take the files down to the General’s office, you were interrupted by one of the nurses.

“{Y/n}, the English Private is awake”

You nodded “I’ll go in and talk to him, could you take these down to the General’s office, let him know I’m busy with our guest patient”

She nodded and took the files and you proceeded inside, walking towards the very confused looking man.

“Good morning, how are you feeling?” you asked, checking his bandages wounds. He seemed uneasy. “Don’t worry, you’re on a US Army base, you’re safe here” you said smiling softly, watching as he became more at ease. “Can you tell me, do you know who you are?” You asked.

“Private Thomas Holland, British Royal Army” he responded.

“And do you know what year it is?”

“1942, ma’am. September I believe”

It was protocol to ask questions such as these. If patients couldn’t comprehend then it could be a sign of head trauma, which could not be treated here. Patients with brain damage were immediately sent to the nearest military hospital by helicopter.

“Very good Private” you said. “You were out cold for a while, but it seems you still have all your mental capabilities intact. I wish I could say the same for the rest of you”

“How did I get here?” He asked.

“Our men found you passed out in the field, they didn’t want to leave you there so they brought you back with the other wounded troops” you said

“And my men? Where are they?”

You sighed and looked at him. “I’m sorry Private, but they didn’t make it out. Our men did the best they could, but it was too late”

He nodded “so, what happens now?”

“Well, you’ll be with us a while. You’ve sustained a nasty bullet wound, a broken leg, not to mention losing consciousness. The US Army has reached out to your General to let him know your situation, but with all the air raids and the German’s pushing in closer, your transfer would be risky” you said honestly.

He nodded “makes sense, at least I’m in good hands”

“Of course” you said. “Well, your wound seems to healing nicely, no infection so far, and breakfast will be delivered from the mess hall soon, but can I get you anything else?” You asked.

“Um…I didn’t get your name”

“{Y/n}” you said with a smile.

He smiled softly “it’s nice to meet you, and…thank you”

“You’re welcome” you said smiling.

You turned around and walked back into the other room to assist the other nurses. To your surprise they had all been snooping from around the corner.

“Ladies?” You said raising an eyebrow. “Find something interesting?

“Sorry y/n” one of them said “we were just curious”

“He’s very handsome” one of them confided.

You rolled your eyes “handsome or not, he is a patient and you will treat him as such, no more no less.” You scolded.

The younger nurses often had a tendency to become infatuated with the handsome young soldiers who arrived at the infirmary, but seemed to forget that this was not a dating service and these men had been through hell. It was not the time or place to seek out a husband. Friendships with the wounded were fine, but romantic relationships were frowned upon, however this did not stop humans from being humans. Feelings were inevitable, but could never be pursued, and you were fine with that. You had never been interested in marriage. You were very independent and career driven, you didn’t need a man getting your way.

You heard a knock at the back door of the infirmary, indicating that breakfast for the patients had been delivered. You and the other nurses made your rounds, giving each patient their meals, helping them sit up in bed if needed. The next patient you delivered breakfast to was Private Holland.

You smiled at him “I hope you like eggs and potatoes”

“I’ll honestly eat anything I can get” he said with a chuckle.

You set his tray down on his bedside table to help him sit up. He winced a bit, holding his abdomen.

“Careful, slowly” you said guiding him up and placing his pillow behind his back. “You’re going to be very sore for a few days” you said, setting his tray on his lap. “Let me know if the pain gets too bad and I can give you something to manage it” you said smiling.

“Thank you ma’am” he said with a polite smile.

You smiled “you can call me y/n, everyone does” you reassured him.

He smiled and nodded.

“I’ll be back later to check in, feel free to let any of us know if you need something” you said before going to give Peterson his breakfast.

“Good morning Peterson, I hope you’re hungry” you said smiling.

“As always” he said chuckling.

“How are you feeling today?” You asked.

“Getting better, it doesn’t hurt as bad today” he said looking at his arm.

“That’s great, I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better” you said handing him his breakfast tray.

“How is the new guy doing?” He asked curiously, referring to the English Private.

“He’s….coping. It’s going to take time for him to heal. Physically and emotionally. He was the only survivor on the his team.” You mentioned, looking over at him. You looked back over to Peterson and smiled “he could probably use a friend”

He nodded “I know the feeling” he took a sip of his coffee before looking towards you “once he’s settled in, maybe we’ll have a chat”

You smiled “I’m sure he’d like that” you said before ruffling the youngsters hair “sweet boy” you said laughing softly. “Let me know if you need anything”

Your day continued as usual. Changing bandages, keeping things clean, and reading novels to patients or playing cards with those who enjoyed the company. While playing cards with a few of the men, you noticed that Peterson had gone to introduce himself to Private Holland. You smiled as he pulled a chair over and began a conversation with newcomer. You were happy to see that Peterson was coming out of his shell a bit. Seeing how the English Private’s face lit up as the two discussed history gave you a sense of hope that he’d be alright.

Around 5pm, dinner was delivered from by the cooks and passed out to each patient. During this time you and the other nurses also had your dinner. You always a point to enjoy dinner with the patients to give them some sense of normality in these cruel circumstances. They always seemed to enjoy the conversations we had with them.

After dinner it was time for us to start cleaning up, by the time we finished it was dark outside. We took our last rounds around the infirmary, changing bandages, and helping the patients settle in for the night.

I went to check Peterson’s wounds and change his bandages. I smiled at him “you and Private Holland seem to be getting along”

“He’s really nice. He studied history and literature like me, we had a lot to talk about” he said smiling

I smiled and finished applying his new bandage. I kissed his forehead gently “thank you for being so kind and I’m proud of you for finally coming out of your shell with someone other than me” I said with a smile.

“Thank you” he said with a shy smile.

“So you need anything else before bed?” I asked

“No, I’m fine, thank you {y/n}”

I nodded and smiled, moving on to my other patients before finally getting to Private Holland.

“Hello Private, it’s time to change your bandages” I said with a smile. I helped him sit up and gently removed the old bandages before tending to his wound.

“This might hurt a bit, I’m sorry” I said, getting out a swab and something to clean up the wound.

“Can’t hurt much worse than it already does” he said with a cheeky grin

I laughed softly and tried to clean the wound as gently as I could. He winced in pain a little bit, but I couldn’t blame him, he’d just a bullet removed from his abdomen 24 hours ago.

After cleaning the wound I applied a clean bandage, wrapping it tightly around his torso.

“I see you and Peterson have been talking, discussing history” I said smiling.

“He’s a good kid” he said smiling “and really smart, I enjoyed his company”

I smiled “I’m sure he told you he was studying history in college before being drafted”

“He did, he plans to continue his education when the war is over. He wants to be a teacher, I think that’s wonderful”

“He’s very ambitious, I’m proud of all he’s accomplished” I said. “Is there anything I can get you before you retire for the night?”

“Um, just one thing…” he said

“Of course, I can get you anything”

“I’d like some company, if you don’t mind. If you’d rather not stay, that’s fine”

“I’d love to stay” I said “I’m sure you’re feeling out of sorts, in an unfamiliar place”

He nodded. “After what happened, I’d rather not be alone”

I pulled a chair over beside his bed. “I understand” I said as I sat down “it’s a terrifying world out there right now. But you’re safe here and I’ll be here whenever you need” I said with a reassuring smile.

“Thank you {y/n}”

“You’re welcome”

“Can I just ask one more thing?” He asked

“Anything” I said

“Would you mind holding my hand, to keep me calm?” He asked, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

“Of course not” I said reaching over, gently taking his hand in mind “many of the men have benefited from physical touch, it’s reassuring and comforting. We’re all human and we could all use a bit of reassurance at the moment” I said with a smile.

He smiled “I really appreciate your kindness”

I could feel his thumb rubbing the back of hand as he held it. In that moment, I was reminded that being a nurse isn’t always about changing bandages, cleaning wounds, administering meds, and aiding in emergency surgeries. Sometimes, it’s about being a companion to someone in a time of need, when it feels like the world has ripped every bit of happiness or hope from them.

I knew he would be here for several months. It would be a long tough road ahead, but I made a silent vow to do everything I could for him. I had seen some of my patients through some very dark places during the healing process and I would be damned if I didn’t help him just the same.

* * * * *

To be continued…

[dreamersbcll]

Prompt: tara starts going to therapy, and she's doing well, but obviously, there are days where it doesn't feel that way, and tara doesn't take it well and has a BIG BAD mental breakdown and that day after therapy she doesn't come back home and sam freaks out.

“Breathe”

——————————————————————————

Smoking kills. Tara knows that. She’s seen the infomercials and has read the pamphlets they pass out in school. There's a risk of lung cancer, and no teeth and holes in her neck. Plus, she has asthma. Whatever.

It’s not like she would live long anyway, at the rate she was going.

That’s dramatic. Her therapist says she needs to learn to be kinder to herself. She can’t fathom how to do that, though. Why would she be kind to the person who deserved to be punished every waking moment?

But she does try. Ever since New York, the sisters were both in rigorous therapy routines. Sam went twice a week and AA once, while Tara went to therapy three times a week. In all fairness, she needed the sessions. There was a spider web that she was caught in, and all the intricate webs were the things Tara needed to untangle.

Granted, she put the work in. She worked with her therapist, Dr. Koehler. He was a good guy with a weird love for knitting. Naturally, Tara learned to knit while she talked since it was difficult to speak without fidgeting with her restless hands. It was good for her.

It was never enough, though. Every session felt like she was slowly being flayed, her bare body on display for all to see. Her words were the blood in her body, and each time she spoke, she was losing blood. She left each session like a soldier returning from war, losing half her weight. She imagined this was what it felt like to be a victim of a war she didn’t ask for.

So, on days where it was complicated, she took that pack of menthols that she hid in her favorite pair of boots and smoked until she felt real again. It was a sweet relief; the smoke filled her lungs and exited quickly. She knows it’s terrible for her. She knows she has asthma. But what’s life without a bit of risk? It wasn’t like she was destined to live long anyway.

Ghostface always won in the end. She was just here to speed up the process.

Today, she discussed her hatred for her mother and how her abusive past shaped her present. It sent her into an asthma attack after she finished the session. She could feel it building the more she talked, and when she was finally free, she ran. There wasn’t much air left in her lungs, and she couldn’t quite feel her hands or feet, but she ran out of the building and ran until she couldn’t anymore. She collapsed against a wall and took her inhaler out, taking deep breaths.

Once she could see straight, she yanked her boot off and grabbed her pack of squares. She needed relief. She needed to be held down.

She didn’t notice that it was dark until the only thing lighting up the alleyway she was in was the cigarette hanging from her lips.

Fuck. Sam was going to kill her.

Maybe she deserved it.

——

Sam would follow Tara to hell and back, but she wished her little sister would stop going there.

She loved Tara more than life itself. It wasn't easy knowing that she couldn’t protect Tara from everything in life. Her therapist has told her multiple times that Sam needed to let Tara grow up and make her own decisions, and she is an adult. That was such bullshit. All Sam saw was that little four-year-old who begged Sam to read her bedtime stories and tuck her in.

Even though they had been baptized in blood and taken to hell and back, she still saw Tara as that baby girl she raised. But she knows it was all in the past, and she had to focus on the here and now.

In their current routine, her little sister has therapy at five o’clock every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. If Sam could, she would wait outside the door and walk Tara home every time.

But since New York, they’ve set boundaries with each other. Sam needed to let Tara figure things out, and Tara had to learn to rely on Sam again. It was a tricky line they walked, and it honestly drove Sam insane, but she knew that they needed this. This was healthy. This was everything their parents wouldn’t do for them. So she tried.

Each night that Tara has therapy, Sam cooks or picks up takeout. She waits on the couch for her sister to come home, not moving or watching anything. She waits until six-oh-five when Tara walks through the door. Then, they eat dinner silently and cuddle on the couch until Tara processes her feelings like clockwork.

However, when the clock hits six thirty, and there's no sign of Tara, Sam knows something went wrong. It takes everything in her not to go scorched earth in their new city, taking a knife to every neck she passes by. She knows that isn’t the way to deal with this. But she can’t deny the panic that settled in her stomach, squeezing her heart and filling her chest with fear.

She reaches for her favorite knife and gloves- purely for cleaning purposes- before she remembers what Kirby told her the first time she went on a rampage when Tara’s taxi ran late.

Find my iPhone exists, Sam. You don’t need to threaten everyone with violence if Tara goes missing. If you can’t find her then, call me.

Sighing, she pulls her phone out and searches Tara’s location. She really couldn’t risk a night in a musty jail cell again.

There. Tara’s location was four blocks from her therapy office, in some sort of alley.

Swallowing hard, Sam pocketed her phone and breathed deeply. Maybe it was a misunderstanding. Maybe Tara ran into someone she knew.

Alleyways weren’t their friend. But Sam had to be brave. Tara could be in peril. She had to be ready.

——

Tara finished the pack of menthols by the time Sam found her.

She was so startled by Sam sneaking up on her that she dropped the lit cigarette into her shirt, the ashes and heat burning a hole before she smacked it off.

“Fuck. Damn it. I liked this shirt,” she hissed, wiping away the ash. Sighing, she looked up at her worried big sister. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam cocked her head at Tara, offering a hand to help her up. Tara took it gratefully and struggled to her feet. She was still dizzy from her asthma attack and wobbled a bit. Sam steadied her with a hand to her lower back, clearly fighting the urge to chastise Tara.

Sighing, Tara signaled for Sam to speak. “Go ahead. I can see it’s killing you. Go on, yell at me.”

Her big sister shook her head and pulled Tara into a hug. Surprised, Tara let herself be tugged in and closed her eyes, and she met Sam’s waist. Her big sister sighed against Tara’s head, kissing the wild hair that lay there. Though she tried to act tough, Tara could feel tears pricking in her eyes. Fuck. It felt good to be known so well.

“Mom didn’t want me,” she blurts against Sam’s clothes.

Squeezing her tightly, Sam nodded. “I know. She was on the fence about me, too, until you came along. It’s not your fault. She loved Billy. Not us,” she soothed, running a hand through Tara’s hair.

Tara screwed her eyes shut tightly, shuddering. “I tried. I wanted her to love me. I tried so hard, Sammy,” she whimpered.

Sam let go and bent down to Tara’s height, cupping her little sister’s face with her hands. She forced Tara to look into her eyes, and there Tara saw the tears in her big sister's eyes. They were too similar sometimes.

Clearing her throat, Sam spoke softly yet firmly, like her words needed to be implanted into Tara’s brain. “Listen, baby. Tara. My love. Your love is precious and sacred. She didn’t deserve it. She never did. You are loved even though our mother is a raging cunt. I love you. The twins, Kirby, Sidney- fuck, the falafel guy on West 39th- all love you. You are worth loving. I love you.”

Sniffling, Tara pushed Sam’s hands off of her face and threw her body into Sam’s. Her big sister fell back with an oof, the two falling onto the pavement. It didn’t matter. As long as they were together, Tara would stay in hell with Sam.

The two lay like that for a while until Sam broke the silence.

“Tara?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“No more smoking. At least not menthols. They stink,” Sam teased, tickling Tara’s ribs.

Tara rolled her eyes. Picky. “Okay. Fine.”

[longitudinalwaveme]

Fictober 2024

Day 8: Are We Happy? 

Wally had been having a wonderful day at the hockey rink with Linda, watching the first big game of the season. While he wasn’t really that big of a hockey fan, Linda adored the Keystone City Combines, and if she was happy, he was happy. 

And then Dr. Alchemy had shown up. Because there was some sort of law which stated that a Flash’s nice night out must be interrupted by at least one creep in a mask. 

“Tremble in fear, Keystone City! For I, the nigh-omnipotent Dr. Alchemy, have returned to rule over you all!”

The rest of the people in the rink seemed even less impressed that Wally felt by the not-so-good doctor’s inconvenient arrival. 

“Boo! Get off the ice!” 

“Yeah, we paid good money for these tickets!” 

“Come on, team! Let’s get the creep!” the Combines’ team captain yelled. Almost as one, the team skated forward, hockey pucks raised. Dr. Alchemy cackled madly. 

“Fools! Let’s see how well you skate when I turn the ice into hydrochloric acid!” Just as Dr. Alchemy raised his Philosopher’s Stone, Wally changed into his Flash costume, darted out on the ice, and managed to spirit all twelve of the players who were currently on the ice to safety, mere milliseconds before the ice underneath them turned into a potent acid. 

“Why, if it isn’t Kid Flash! I see you’re as fast as ever—but are you fast enough to outrun a cloud of magnesium?” Suddenly, the air around Wally was ablaze; so hot that it was actually impairing his vision. But this wasn’t Wally’s first rodeo with Dr. Alchemy. He rotated his arms at super speed and was quickly able to extinguish the flames.

“Come on, doc! You didn’t really expect me to be taken out by that old chestnut, did you?” Wally asked—only to completely lose his footing and go careening uncontrollably across the ice. He finally came to a stop when he collided violently with a pole of one of the nets. 

“Amateur! You were so busy focusing on putting out the fire that you didn’t notice I was coating the ice with polytetrafluoroethylene—a material with one of the lowest friction coefficients known!” Wally tried to struggle to his feet, but found that his head didn’t want to stop spinning just yet. 

“Now, just to make sure you stay put—here’s some specialized acrylic adhesive to keep you running in place!” Suddenly, a sticky substance covered Wally, binding him to the pole he’d collided into. He used several vibratory tricks in the hopes of escaping, but quickly discovered that Dr. Alchemy had done his homework. Whatever this stuff was, he was stuck fast. 

“Now, where’s the real Flash? I didn’t make my grand comeback just to face the Twin Cities’ second-string hero!” If Wally had been a few years younger, comments like that would’ve caused his admittedly short temper to explode. Now that he was secure in his powers, though, it was just a mild annoyance. Really, he was a lot angrier about the fact that his nice night with Linda had been hijacked by the ego trip of a man wielding the world’s most powerful potato. 

“Isn’t that the real Flash?” someone in the audience asked.  

“It sure looks like him.” 

“Maybe it’s Impulse?”

“No way. Impulse has bigger feet than that. And a different costume.” 

“Could be the old Flash.” 

“The old Flash has a hat!”

“Perhaps I just need to provide the Flash with a little more…incentive. Once you’re all trapped in here after I turn the doors to solid titanium, he’ll be forced to come and rescue you—and that will be his doom!” And with a wave of the Philosopher’s Stone, all the exits were transformed into solid blocks of gleaming metal. If Uncle Barry had been on Earth, Wally knew that such a display would get him to come running—but he was off with Superman and Green Lantern in space, fighting off another wave of face-hugging starfish. It didn’t matter what Dr. Alchemy did; it wouldn’t summon the Flash that he wanted. 

“As for the rest of you—start handing over your valuables. The prodigious Dr. Alchemy demands tribute–-which he will accept in jewelry, cash, and all major credit cards.” Wally tried to vibrate loose again, but to no avail. This was so embarrassing…

Dr. Alchemy started collecting loot from the crowd, only to pause in front of a very pretty young woman. 

“Hello, there, you gorgeous doll. How’d you like for me to show you a whole new type of alchemy?” he leered as he caressed her cheek creepily. 

Aaand that cinched it. Wally had been pretty sure which Dr. Alchemy had crashed the hockey game from the start, but the really obnoxious pervert behavior meant that it was definitely Alvin. 

In response, the woman shrieked and grabbed the hand of the young man next to her, who was probably her boyfriend. 

“Get your filthy hands off my girlfriend!” the young man exclaimed. Alvin frowned. 

“You’re her boyfriend, eh? A minor setback—-but one that’s thoroughly surmountable for a man of my vast powers!” He waved the stone, and suddenly the young man was transmogrified into a solid jade statue. The young woman screamed.

“Andrew!” Alvin, seemingly oblivious to the young woman’s horror, gave her a big, creepy grin. 

“You’re single now, honey—and considerably richer, now that you have that nice jade statue. So, what do you say? You wanna go out with me now?” The woman understandably responded by slapping Alvin across the face. 

“You killed my boyfriend! Why would I ever want to go out with you?” Alvin didn’t seem deterred. 

“I can always turn him back if you really want me to, babe. Though I don’t know why you would. He’s much less annoying as a jade statue. So, what do you want for dinner?” 

“Dinner?” 

‘Yeah. I’m takin’ you out tonight—right after I kill the Flash, of course.” 

“Are you nuts? I wouldn’t date you if you were the last man on Earth!” To emphasize her point, the woman slapped him again. 

“Wrong answer, sweet cheeks.” Alvin waved his Philosopher’s Stone, and suddenly the woman was transformed into what looked like a ruby statue. 

“Ahem! Now that that little romantic interlude is out of the way—let’s get back to the issue of my tribute, shall we?” 

For the next twenty minutes, Alvin made his rounds through the crowd, collecting the money, cards, and jewelry in two large bags that he had materialized out of thin air. Once both bags were filled to the bursting point, he made his way back over to Wally, who was still struggling to free himself. 

“It’s a travesty, really. I go through all this time and effort to rob the entire stadium blind—and what do I get? Not only does the real Flash not bother to show up, but my romantic overtures are rejected, too! Why does no one respect me?” 

“Maybe because you’re a creepy sewer-dwelling gremlin?” Wally suggested. 

“How dare you! I’m the most powerful villain on the face of the Earth!”

“Funny. For someone who’s that powerful, you sure don’t seem very content being yourself. Are you really happy with your sad, creepy little life, Alvin?” 

“Am I happy? I’m overjoyed!” Then Alvin looked down at his Philosopher’s Stone. 

“Tell me, my precious: are we happy?” Amazingly, the stone actually seemed to respond; it started to glow more brightly and turned the walls of the stadium to solid gold. 

“That’s what I thought. We’re very happy together.” 

“Whatever you say, Gollum.” Alvin scowled. 

“I am not Gollum! I am Dr. Alchemy, and I am—-” Suddenly, one of the solid blocks of titanium that had once been a door hissed and turned into steam. 

“You are nothing but a pretender! A fraud, who decided to cash in on the identity I tried so hard to leave behind!”  Mr. Element exclaimed as he stepped through the new gap in the wall. A big grin spread across Alvin’s face, revealing some inhumanly sharp teeth. 

“Hello, brother Al! It’s been a long time!” 

“Not long enough.” 

“You wound me, brother Alvin—so I’ll just have to return the favor. Eat HClO4!” Alvin waved the Philosopher’s Stone, and a wave of acid went flying towards Mr. Element, who transmuted it into what looked like it might be orange juice seconds before it could make contact. 

“Alvin, I’m a reasonable man. I don’t want to have another element duel. I’m forty-five years old, the Mr. Element suit doesn’t really fit me properly anymore, and I’ve been trying to put this costumed nonsense behind me for the past twenty years of my life. Why don’t you just surrender quietly and save us both the trouble?” Dr. Alchemy laughed. 

“You’ve gone soft, brother Al! Maybe a hailstorm of diamonds will toughen you back up!” Dr. Alchemy waved his stone, and dozens of large diamonds started to fall out of the sky. Mr. Element responded by using his Element Gun to transmute the diamonds into feathers. 

“You want to do it the hard way? Fine. We can do it the hard way,” Mr. Element said as he continued to approach. As he came closer, he fired a beam from his Element Gun, which turned the floor around Dr. Alchemy into what looked like it might be quicksand.

“Nice try, brother Al—but your little tricks can’t stop me!” He waved the Philosopher’s Stone and was instantly freed from the quicksand, which transmuted into water. In response, Mr. Element fired a beam from the Element Gun past the gloating Dr. Alchemy. It hit the glue that Wally had been struggling against, and suddenly it didn’t seem quite so sticky. Wally grinned. 

“You missed! Clearly, you’ve been out of the game for too long!” Mr. Element gave a quiet chuckle. 

“I didn’t miss, Alvin. I was just distracting you.” Alvin’s eyes went wide, and he spun around in horror—just in time for Wally to vibrate out of the glue and sock him right in the nose. The momentum of the punch sent Alvin flying, and his bags of stolen loot flew out of his hands. He hit the side of the ice rink a few seconds later, and then one of the bags of loot clunked him right on his head. As Dr. Alchemy went limp, Mr. Element took off his silly-looking gas mask to reveal the care-worn face of Dr. Albert Desmond. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, but Alvin made a point of visiting Rita and me and trapping us in our bedroom yesterday. He was hoping that he would be able to frame me for the crime—again.” 

“Hey, no problem. You made it here in time to help me stop the bad guy. That’s all that matters,” Wally replied. 

“You have no idea how tired I am of dealing with him. Every time I think he has to be gone for good, he pops up again—and this time, he dumped beer cans and disgusting magazines all over our floor and ate everything in the fridge but the vegetables! It’s a good thing I can transmute things, because if not, it would take weeks for Rita and me to clean the place up,” Albert said wearily. 

“In speaking of transmutation, I need you to save a couple of people Alvin turned into statues.” Wally pointed in the direction of the young couple Alvin had transmuted earlier. 

“What happened to them?” Albert asked, sounding horrified. 

“Alvin was hitting on the woman, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Albert groaned. 

“Why am I not surprised?” Albert walked over to Alvin’s unconscious body, knelt down next to him, grabbed the Philosopher’s Stone out of his hand, and then walked over to the transmuted couple. He touched the stone to the woman, and then to the man, and a few seconds later both of them were once again flesh and blood. 

“Andrew! Are you all right?” 

“Yes, Sasha, I’m all right. I’m just glad you’re okay.” The two of them kissed, and then the woman turned to Albert. 

“Thank you so much!” she said. 

“It was the least I could do, really,” Albert replied quietly. 

“You saved our lives, man. We really owe you one,” the young man said. Albert ducked his head.

“Just pay it forward, and we’ll be more than even.” With that, Albert made his way back to Wally and looked at him hopefully. 

“Would you mind getting me back home? I have a wife who’s worried about me and a huge mess to clean up.” Wally grinned. 

“Sure, Dr. Desmond! Just give me a sec.” Wally grabbed the two bags of loot, distributed the contents back to their rightful owners, and was back at Albert’s side in less than ten seconds.

“All aboard the Flash express!” Two seconds later, Wally and Albert were at a cozy house in the suburbs of Central City, where they were promptly greeted by Rita Desmond. 

“Albert! You’re home! I was so worried about you!” 

“I’m sorry, Rita. For…for everything.” 

“What are you apologizing for? You’re not the one who locked me in a bedroom, emptied my kitchen, and ruined my floors! It’s that disgusting little gremlin who should be apologizing! I’m so tired of him showing up and upending our lives!” 

“You and me both, Rita—but I don’t know what to do. We send him to prison and he breaks out. We destroy the Philosopher’s Stone, and it just reconstitutes itself and finds its way back to him. I turn him to granite, and he pops up again in the flesh two months later like nothing happened. How do you stop something you can’t contain?” Suddenly, Rita glanced at Wally and grinned wickedly. 

“You’re friends with Hartley Rathaway, aren’t you?” she asked. 

“Piper? Of course! I just talked to him this morning.” 

“Well, it still might not be enough to get rid of Alvin for good, but I think the Pied Piper’s music might be just what I need to make sure he stays away from Albert and me for a long, long time.” Wally grinned as he realized what Rita had in mind.  

“Rita, you are an evil genius, and I love it.” 

************************************************************************

Two days later, Wally, Linda, Irey, Jai, Wade, Albert, Rita, and Hartley were enjoying a lovely backyard party at the Desmonds’ house. Jai and Irey were splashing in the heated above ground pool, Wade was crawling around on the grass under Wally’s watchful eye, Linda and Hartley were commiserating over the lousy season Central City’s baseball team had had this year, and Albert and Rita were holding hands and enjoying both their drinks and the state of their newly pristine house. 

“Alvin, would you mind filling my glass? I’m getting low on lemonade,” Rita said. Alvin scowled, but the small MP3 player that was clipped to his shirt and chirping out a merry little tune ensured that he would cooperate with her request. 

“Of course not,” he muttered glumly, as the Pied Piper’s hypnotic music forced him to pour her another drink from the bottle of lemonade that was resting on the tray he was holding. 

“Of course not what, Alvin?” Rita asked. 

“Of course not, ma’am,” Alvin ground out as he secured the lid back on the bottle. Wally snickered. He had to hand it to Rita—using Piper’s hypnotic music to force Alvin to pay off the rather considerable debt he owed to her and Albert by working as their servant was a surefire way to keep him from annoying the Desmonds for a long, long time. After all, there was nothing Alvin hated more than work. 

“That’s better. Now, why don’t you get started on cleaning out the junk in our basement? I’ve been wanting that mess sorted out for years, but we’ve just never had the time to get around to it,” Rita said. Alvin’s shoulders slumped. 

“Whatever you say, ma’am.” As Alvin wandered off towards the basement, Albert shook his head. 

“You know,  I almost feel sorry for him.” Rita took a sip of her lemonade. 

“I don’t. We’ve been putting up with his nonsense for what, ten years now? I think brother Alvin—as he insists on calling himself— owes us a few favors.” Wally laughed.

“You know, I’m really starting to wonder which of the two of you used to be the supervillain.” Rita smiled. 

“Well, you know what they say. Mr. Element hath no fury like a very frustrated astral sister-in-law.”

[five-nights-at-fujisakis]

FAQ Time

(This is all OOC, obviously)

What's the premise of this blog? The idea is simple: Danganronpa's Chihiro Fujisaki (aka the Ultimate Programmer, aka Precious Hacker Child Who Has Never Done Anything Wrong) has moved to the United States and by a stroke of bad luck has ended up as the night guard for the newest Fazbear storefront, "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza and Playplace", located in Magna, Utah. What starts as the typical FNAF formula soon starts to escalate as more and more animatronics arrive to make Chihiro's job even more of a living hell.

When does this take place, in reference to canon? Chronologically, this story takes place as it is being posted, in real time (which as of this post is late 2024). This fits neatly with the original FNAF series canon timeline, to an extent. FNAF 1-4 and Sister Location all happened as they did in canon. FNAF 6, however, has NOT happened. It's theorized that FNAF 6 took place in late 2023/early 2024 in canon, so the events of this blog can essentially be viewed as taking that game's place in terms of its role in the overarching FNAF plot. Post-Pizzeria Simulator stuff like Security Breach is currently up in the air, I include elements from it and the movie as I so desire. As for the Danganronpa side of things, this Chihiro is currently 24 years old. He and most of the rest of Class 78 graduated from Hope's Peak Academy 5-6 years ago (I haven't yet figured out the exact math). There was no Tragedy, and none of the mainline series games occurred like they did in canon, but the characters all still exist and SOMETHING happened the year of Class 78's graduation that caused the school to close down permanently, with massive negative repercussions for the Main Course Students, including Chihiro. V3 characters are in the same boat as post-FNAF 6 stuff, I include it however I want.

Is this an askblog? How does the roleplaying in this blog work? I have no idea if this counts as an askblog, since the focus is on Chihiro's overarching story as he copes with his circumstances. But by all means keep asking Chihiro questions, they help me flesh out the story and worldbuilding more! Plus they're a great motivator! Bring on all the questions! The vast majority of asks will be responded to in-character as Chihiro. This includes stuff from other roleplay blogs, even if directly contradicts the stuff in this particular story. Chihiro does not necessarily believe anyone when they say they're from a different universe or whatever the framing device is, but he's too polite to not go along with it, if that makes sense. The guy is too nice for his own good, and chalks up most of the weirdness to "tumblr being tumblr" and doesn't ask questions (So he's not really breaking the fourth wall). And if your asks are roleplaying in ways that go along with this blog's canon, then I'll happily try to integrate them into the story as best as I can. (The tags are usually OOC though) While I'm going to TRY to have everything answered in-character, there are exceptions. If an ask tries to break the fourth wall and talk about the Danganronpa or FNAF video game serieses (or this blog's own fictional nature) they'll most likely go unanswered or be answered OOC. And if you're going to ask for donations or petition signatures or advertising, this ain't the place. Such asks will be deleted on sight. This is a roleplay blog only. Oh, and if you're being deliberately offensive or discriminatory in any way, it should go without saying that such behavior is NOT WELCOME HERE and will lead to being blocked IMMEDIATELY.

What other characters aside from Chihiro will appear? Due to the way the backstory has been set up, most of the other DR characters are largely restricted to Chihiro's text messages with them and comments in past-tense. Yes I'm aware that their texts should probably be in Japanese, but I don't trust Google Translate so like. Maybe they're all just trying to be supportive of Chihiro or something? The FNAF side obviously is getting considerably more representation. Vanessa is already present as Chihiro's boss, and most of the animatronics aside from the three ones original to this specific storefront are the same as from canon (Cody, Harper, and Dessa were created to spice things up a bit, but they're essentially just palette swaps of Foxy, Bonnie, and Chica respectively). Quite a few familiar faces are gonna be showing up as Chihiro's life gradually becomes less FNAF 6 and more Ultimate Custom Night. As for whether our favorite scooped Night Guard will also make an appearance... wait and see! Other major characters include OCs Kellen and Marta, the two Day Shift Security Guards for the place, who were created largely so that Chihiro could have a couple of coworkers to interact with, without having to come up with some more bizarrely improbable cameos. They're named after Glamrock Freddy's and Gregory's VAs respectively from Security Breach.

What's this blog's take on Chihiro's gender? I'm aware of how controversial this subject is, and am trying to not have it affect this blog too much. But considering how much of Chihiro's character revolves around his gender identity in official DR material it's kind of unavoidable, so let's just get this out of the way: this blog's version of Chihiro is a cis male and uses he/him pronouns. If you have different headcanons about the character and their gender identity then that's completely fine and valid (especially considering how messy the writing in the original games is when it comes to this subject) but this was the interpretation I felt best aligned with canon Chihiro as written. That being said, if you want to refer to Chihiro with other pronouns in your asks or comments then that's totally fine, the most you'll get from this blog is a polite in-character correction, if even that. As far as Chihiro's concerned, dealing with murderous animatronics is a much greater concern than being misgendered on the internet. Ultimately this blog's purpose is to have fun, not make a statement. (Incidentally, while we're on the subject, this blog's version of Mangle uses ALL the pronouns. Mangle stole all the pronouns and left none for Chihiro. How dare.)

Shouldn't Chihiro have logically died by now? Night Guards in FNAF usually don't last this long. Yeah, probably, but if that were to happen the story would just end sooooo that's probably not gonna happen. Either some of Makoto's Plot Armor Luck rubbed off on him, or Chihiro looks just enough like a minor that the animatronics are going slightly easier on him. IDK really. Just repeat the MST3K Mantra to yourself if you have to.

What's with the "all lowercase letters" thing going on in most of the posts? Mostly it's just a way to add flavor? It kind of felt right for Chihiro. Not only does it sort of reflect his timid nature, but it also makes a small amount of sense to me that a native Japanese speaker could type English this way. Japanese doesn't have uppercase and lowercase, so I feel like there's a logic to Chihiro sticking to only lowercase. (Obviously this doesn't mean native Japanese speakers can't use normal English capitalization. This Chihiro is obviously perfectly fluent in English and you'll see him using proper capitalization from time to time, especially when he's texting his boss and trying to seem professional. Again, this is mostly just a way to add some characterization to the medium of the blog.)

Any Trigger/Content Warnings? It's FNAF and Danganronpa, so if you're familiar with those then you know what to expect. Though since the story is contingent on Chihiro's survival, ironically all the blood and guts and murder is probably going to be a lot less prevalent than in the actual stories. Still got plenty of potential nightmare fuel, though! Additionally there could be a chance of religious themes since (like the Silver Eyes novels and FNAF 6) this story takes place in Utah and Latter-Day Saints infest that state like moles infest my parents' backyard lawn. Since part of this blog is Chihiro comparing and contrasting his former and current places of residence they're bound to come up once in a while. But that shouldn't be very often, especially since this Chihiro doesn't really care that much about religion.

How often does this blog update? Whenever. I'm trying to keep the posts coming pretty regularly to continue the idea that Chihiro is running this blog in real time, but I have a life, sooooooo...

Who made this blog's profile pic? The pfp is "Disappointed Chi" by @mishja, (admittedly slightly cropped so it could be properly centered) and it was NOT created or commissioned specifically for this blog. I just liked it, thought it fit the vibes of this blog's story, and asked the artist what their policy on using their art for pfp's. They said it was fine as long as they were credited in the description, which I have done so both in the blog description and here in this FAQ. All credit goes to them, and if they ever tell me to stop using it I will do so, no questions asked. Artists have a right to credit and authority over what is done with their art. Speaking of, you should go check out their art! It's pretty good! Go check it out now! (And mishja if you're reading this I'm really sorry for whatever notification you got due to me trying to tag you)

Who's running this circus of a roleplay blog, anyway? Me! Hi, I'm @maspers! I had a crazy idea and decided to bring it into reality. Do I have any idea what I'm doing? No :D If you have questions or concerns about this blog (or you want to add to the roleplay fun, like some askers already have), feel free to reach out to me either here or on my main blog. DMs are always OOC, and any of my other comments will usually be clearly indicated as OOC with parentheses or something else similar.

Thanks so much for giving this blog the time of day! It's a small project and I'm not expecting much to come of it, but I'm having fun and that's what's really important. Hope you all enjoy!

[visiblenostalgia]

Saturn-Neptune Downloads:

^ Credit to zva on Pinterest.

So, here's what was the big winner in that poll from a while ago. The next few topics will only come out in succession so that's just FYI.

Note: there's gonna be another poll at some point into regards of what's in my drafts and y'all will pick which one gets released. For now, we'll focus on the poll we recently finished at hand.

NEXT UP:

-> Texas Delineation (That's gonna be fun)

-> Florida Delineation (this one just came to mind, I have yet to figure out what's to come soon with this one)

-> RFK Jr Delineation (alert: TEEEAAAAAAAA)

Now with that out of the way, more under the cut. THERE'S A SHIT TON so when I meant 'Garden Variety', I meant it. LMAO. Have fun and stay blessed y'all.

due to the nature of Pluto in Aquarius (and Uranus by rulership/proxy), there's gonna be an air of "building your own network", so and so forth.

🔹 so don’t be surprised about delving into these few things or at least acquiring them:

A NAS server

! there's plenty of videos on the internet about how to set one up and what it takes.

Old “outdated” technology

Pinterest is a good place to take a gander but do your research.

Skills to protect yourself against viruses* (digital and literal)

Endless satisfaction and relief comes from this if you keep learning about it.

Oh yeah, everything is also gonna hafta be built up from the ground. Neptune has done enough to cause irreplaceable damages to systematic corrosion/corruption. Saturn compiling on trying to “set the record straight” with Pisces and ultimately falling short too of that. Due to 29° being where Neptune is, the Arean heart of fire can be felt hammering from beyond, so it makes sense why everyone is so fucking scared to show who they truly are. Because either way, whatever you like, it’s gonna be scrutinized. War is scrutiny anyways on such a large level. So why not put on the helmet and scream FUCK IT, let’s do it!

Im also getting "only way to find out is to knock it out". Hell, "knock 'em dead sister" came through. (Me and the spirits have a lot of fun over here haha)

Bad faith perspectives and bad actors are gonna primarily get the brunt of that flame (those that own up to their bad faith and change are gonna have saintlike qualities. But have the level headedness of a modern layperson. Humility.) One of the prime examples I’m channeling? Dr Disrespect in all actuality. He recognized he screwed up! We’re so quick to fall into seeing the words “p-phile” and so n’ so forth that we lose sight of their acknowledgement of their horrible mistakes.

The color red is prominent of course. So wearing/branding with red colors during these next 14 years is gonna be peak. Bold contrast too. Indie/VSCO was prominent with Pisces in Bold colors. Aries in Bold colors is more Brutalist-like/Korn/Mudvayne.

In terms of aesthetics with Pluto in Aqua combined with Neptune in Aries, im getting Tony Hawk pro-skater on the Xbox. Not to mention jackass and post-grunge revival. Creed even?

Another thing about the cusp between both "paradigms" is that with the current retrograde going on (and with saturn/neptune only being ten degrees apart of each other), its much akin to a small reprave in energies. Its letting up a little just to allow some space to breathe before another 'big crunch'.

A few of my friends irl suggest that these are akin to 'labor pains' in childbirth. Those contractions getting shorter and shorter apart in time length. If there's anything I can link between that to this by way of the planetary movements, this is more of a quicker effect of Pluto's energies. If Pluto is already at the beginning degrees of Aquarius, then this transit also enhances those 'contractions' into a new astrological (and societal) dynamic.

These labor similarities are exquisitely funny. I just heard, "you certainly can't slow down now; stop clenching and start pushing; spread your feet apart so the head can get through".

On point of that last sentence, Pisces rules the feet while Aries rules the head. So if there's one thing, we're gonna be charging forth reaaaaaalllllll soon. This retrograde period is merely a small break in between 'contractions', so once these two go direct, take a breath and hold on. We're going to be sprinting for the starting line.

The unconscious collective is starting to run out of room for our faith to stay. And a lot of that is negative/bad faith, so it's about time that it starts to show up/get out of the system.

I'm also interested in seeing what continues with the internet. I still sense something related to a return/transformation to the old web in a sense. FOR AI BTW: (which on a small tangent: I asked IF the AI bubble will pop, the sun came through -- HARD YES -- then I pulled two more (for how it'll turn out) and evidently shuffled to get the seven of cups added with five of pentacles not that long after -- evidently, the ai bubble is gonna leave tech bros broke as fuck whining for money (and these only apply to money hungry corpos btw, in terms of people I have a gut feeling that if regular joe peeps (or rich peeps willing to be legitimately generous to the masses) made ai, everything is gonna be for the most part chill), so after the bubble pops, expect more scams/distrust with big tech to come through like crazy. On what courses of action will lead to the pop, we have ace of wands reversed, two of pentacles reversed and page of swords -- first thing to come to mind is a bunch of mismanagement on both the innovative field and creative field. Not to mention the financial turnout is also gonna be affected big time. Page of swords does suggest people that aren't initially viable to the field will be the proprietors in this. But I have a feeling that with time they'll master the craft better and AI will ultimately be properly regulated under a small, small fraction of government that doesn't have total control neither. I know, big stretch but I have faith.)

But back on topic for web 3.0, there's talks (and promises?) that Patreon of all things will ultimately lead to this new branch of internet.

Here's more on that Patreon-leading-3.0:

And if there's anything I'd know, is that Neptune is the internet's dominant planet from my calculations back in my data post on the internet's astrology. So once Neptune goes into Aries, expect how Aries naturally exists to be the main way people interact on the internet. Emotionally? Direct and honest. Speech? Quick and candid. Action style? Strong and assertive. But is passive aggressiveness tied to this? Yes, but it's gonna be looked at in a way where it embodies 'bro wtf are you yapping about?' because Aries knows when someone is delulu. It points it out and cusses you out. Thought the internet rage was bad before? NOW it has PURPOSE. Yet, I see same can't be said for the opposite. What is gonna be hard is distinguishing if that person really has a full reason to be angry. So now receipts are gonna be pulled on people who are always pissy. It'll instead be "bro you're more caring about THIS. why are you so focused on THIS?" and not "you're x, y, z???? FUCK YOU."

Now with Neptune ruling the arts and entertainment, and Aries being indie-pendant ..... ifyoucaughtmydriftimproudofyouhaha-- but YEAH, more from 'ground-up' groups might be the way to go. Decentralized (Pluto in Aqua) systems, establishments and groups in the arts will be commonplace if not fully accepted into the work force as a viable career. It'll continue to fight for itself, and I have no doubt it'll be recognized in the future, but good lord y'all. It'll be pretty sweet to see something like that. SUPPORT SMALL BUSINESSES Y'ALL

Let your creativity shine people. After all the sun is exalted in Aries. And the sun (with its chromosphere -- all colors) is defined by its ruling fifth house; the place where your creativity shines. So, sun conjunct Neptune in Aries transits fixing to be pretty wild. Maybe those become release dates for something? We may never know.

Songs I've channeled (or kept in rotation cause the 'pangs' of the ingress are imminent):

"The [two] Fish are tethered together in the sky. One wants to go on land to evolve (and ultimately heal) to become The Ram, while the other wants to go on and live in the shallow waters. The two will ultimately separate and find their group." -- Another channeled message

Yeah, Neptune in Aries is lookin' like a lot of fun ahead of where we're at now.

I would have more but that's what I got so far.... no more downloads for a while.

[blink182-electricboogaloo]

Suicide Clutch

Rating: Explicit, M/M

Ch 2/?

Suicide Clutch; The terms suicide clutch, and suicide shifter or jockey shifter, refer to some motorcycles' foot-operated clutch and hand shifter to change gears.

After one fateful, late-night meeting with a professional motorcyclist racer named Aventurine, Dr. Veritas Ratio now has to put his PHD in engineering to good use... As a mechanic for a borderline suicidal racer.

Surely there is no better way to spend someone's summer.

Ao3

Doctor Ratio's natural hesitance is rarely considered any less than a valuable skill to have. However, currently, it's nothing more than a barrier holding him back from what needs to be done.

He still doesn’t know why he hasn’t acted on the card left in his passenger’s seat– he makes a mental note to scold the blond for breaking into his car should they ever meet again.

Since that fateful meeting at the cafe, a meeting the doctor has simply dubbed as That Night, Ratio has considered it numerous times. Especially after having counted the contents of the pile left beneath the card to total $1000 USD, he knows he cannot leave the issue untouched. However… each time he considers calling the number on the card, he finds himself faltering.

He knows his plan inside and out, has gone over what he would say much like he would prepare a presentation or one of his own classes, perhaps even diverting too much of his precious attention into such a matter. But that is precisely why it makes the situation so frustrating.

Because he has been staring at his phone for ten minutes, the number already pulled onto the screen, quite literally one tap away from calling the number. One tap, he would give his speech about not wanting to participate in whatever scam this would prove to be. Return the thousand dollars like the decent person he is, then hang up and never think about that night ever again.

And he can’t do it.

It has been a few hours short of a full week since Ratio ran into the enigmatic racer– and truly all evidence points that he is the racer Ratio had seen on the TV. The doctor had planned everything so he could have the thirty minutes after his guest lecture to make the call, get it over with, then drive back to his apartment with a free mind and spirit. Currently it’s been… forty.

Any and all scholars who had considered approaching him after the lecture had ended are gone now, the central campus building entirely empty save for himself and the occasional student passing through. Leaving him with his thoughts.

He is well aware that his current mental tangent is only putting off the inevitability of pressing the green call sign his thumb has been hovering over for the last ten minutes at least. And yet the thoughts still come, unbound and limitless in Ratio’s own unfocused state.

What if it’s Aventurine on the other line?

Unlikely. If the evidence does prove correct, and this Aventurine is the one from the TV that night, he would have an assistant of some kind. He wouldn’t even have to speak to the racer, much less hear his airy, tantalizing voice speak directly into his ear.

A brief, traitorous memory haunts Ratio’s flesh, the doctor can still feel Aventurine’s back halfway against his chest once again, those captivating, dual-colored eyes staring up at him with mischief and curiosity. He can practically smell the scent of petrichor and gasoline in the air from the racer’s leather jacket and see how the blond’s hair shifts when he tilts his head as if he’s truly listening–

The phone slams against the table with a loud thud as the memory is forcefully shaken from his thoughts, mentally scolding himself for straying so far from his original purpose. He has a task to do he cannot–

Suddenly, the phone laying face down on the table begins to ring.

A weight falls in the pit of Ratio’s stomach as he hears the familiar noise of a call being outputted, sweeping his hands over the device while trying to quickly tap end call, but by then the damage has already been done. The device clicks once and a voice speaks from the other side.

“Hi, this is Topaz speaking.” 

The voice is notably not male, nor light, nor airy. It’s feminine, low and grounded in a casual way. An assistant then, as Ratio had predicted.

The doctor can’t help but feel a beat of disappointment over this development even as he lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” The feminine voice asks again.

Right. He needs to speak. He has been working up to this for a week, this is simply the final push needed to do what must be done. 

“Yes, right,” Ratio starts, clearing his throat quickly while mentally reviewing the speech he had planned for this. “I was given this number by an uns–” He wavers in his words. Unsavory. Aventurine is far from unsavory even if his attitude and clear disregard for safety are certainly irksome. 

But his plan…

“Apologies, allow me to retry.” He requests, sighing and lifting his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Imagine if he acted this way in class. He would make a bigger fool of himself than the idiots who drop out halfway through the semester. “I was given this number alongside a thousand dollars in cash and a job offer. I would like to decline both.”

The other line is silent for several long moments. Ratio can hear Topaz’s voice from a distance, faintly picking up words the doctor recognizes vaguely to be Japanese, before the girl gives a curt response to something and returns to the call between the two of them.  “Oh, you must be Doctor Ratio, then? Holder of nine PhDs?” 

Nine?

Please, he’s not that crazy.

“Eight PhDs” He corrects. “But that is me, yes.”

Suddenly the girl’s tone shifts to be that much brighter. Sure it had been cheery a moment ago but now it’s almost as if she’s speaking to a friend rather than a client of sorts. “That’s perfect then! We’ve been waiting for your call, Aventurine hasn’t shut up about you since you fixed his trash bike last week.”

He hasn’t?

No. Back on topic. Those words are simple flattery meant to coerce Ratio into taking the position, likely having no true weight.

“Whether or not he has, I would like to decline.” 

This time the silence from the other line is much longer than a few moments. Thirty seconds in full silence. Ratio would typically hang up at this point. He has said his peace, he may leave. Except… the money of course.

Surely this had to have been a trap of some kind laid by Aventurine.

“Miss Topaz, please keep in mind that the world is ever moving and time is best spent on productivity than silence.” Ratio reminds after another ten seconds have passed.

Luckily, this ‘gentle nudge’ is enough to at least draw the girl out of whatever flitting distraction she’d been facing from the other side. “Right. Sorry,” Her tone is lower now, losing nearly all of the cheer though for forced politeness still lingers. “That… can be arranged. You said you wanted to return the money as well?” 

“Yes.” 

If Topaz gives any recognition of Ratio’s answer, he does not know. Instead, her voice becomes more tentative as she asks her next question. “And did you deposit this money into your account?”

Of course not. To deposit that money into his account would be to claim his ownership of which he has none. Additionally, that much in his account without warning would immediately flag his bank, leading to more pointless phone calls and possibly speaking with the international revenue service. Not to mention how it would affect his taxes.

Instead of that long rant he wishes to go on, his answer is much simpler and to the point: “No.” 

A sigh of relief fills Ratio’s ear for a moment, followed by the clicking of keys on a keyboard just barely being picked up on the microphone. “In that case, how about you visit the garage and we can take it from you personally?”

Ratio feels his heartbeat increase dramatically at the thought of visiting personally just to drop off the cash he had been given, but no matter how we wills it the pulse doesn’t slow much. 

He knows it’s another trick, a last ditch attempt to convince him to accept the job even after having declined twice now. If anything he should be annoyed that they keep asking.

And yet, he doesn’t feel entirely horrible as he responds. “That will work.”

Admittedly, when he had been given an address to this ‘garage’ he expected it to be near town. A busy shop or even a smaller, private garage near the edge of his small city. Maybe thirty minutes away at the furthest where most shops and businesses set themselves up at. 

Instead, his GPS has led him forty five minutes out of town where the properties are large and hidden. Ranches, fields and large farmhouses break through the thick expanse of trees occasionally, but for the most part Ratio only sees the deep green of forests on either side, and the familiar gray asphalt of the road in front of him. 

It’s been nice, at least, enjoying the scenery as large hills of even more trees rise over the canopy he drives beneath, long stretches of shade only occasionally broken up by beams of sunlight decorating the road. The buzzing of cicadas fill the silence of the otherwise quiet road, a distinct sound of summer that’s due to die out any day. However, he doesn’t spot many deer or other wildlife out and about.

It is hot after all. Even Ratio had to sacrifice his typical garb for something much lighter, donning a simple black, sleeveless shirt. He had scrunched his nose in distaste when he saw the diamond-shaped cutout in the center of the cloth, no doubt this had been a ‘gift’ from Herta that Ratio had forgotten about. But it’s hot outside, and this ‘gift’ happens to be the lightest thing he has in his closet. At the very least he has the self respect to still don pants and a blue and white cardigan to save some modesty. 

His GPS pings for the first time in twenty minutes, pulling Ratio out of his thoughts. “In half a mile, turn right.” 

The doctor only spares once glance at the GPS screen to confirm where that right is, then returns his attention to the road ahead. As he approaches he sees a line of black fencing cut through the otherwise untouched trees, then the space where the trees themselves suddenly stop to reveal a hidden driveway.

Ratio slows down as he approaches his turn of course, easing himself onto a firm, concrete driveway only to be met by the metal, gated doors barring him from entry.

Of course.

A speaker crackles to life within a box beside Ratio’s door, belonging to a simple white box with a button and a black badge scanner beside that button. “Name and purpose?” A gruff, male voice asks, voice tinged with a metal ring as it bounces inside the callbox.

“Doctor Ve–” 

Before he can even finish, the gate suddenly clicks heavily, then begins to slowly retract until the entire driveway is open and unobscured. At the very least, this is confirmation enough that this is the correct place. Now whether ‘this’ is a homicide plot or a genuine exchange is unknown to Ratio. 

“Follow the driveway up. Topaz will be waiting for you there.” The security voice states plainly. Ratio simply nods and continues his ascent of the driveway.

The driveway is not straight by any means, and long in general, with many twists and turns as if avoiding key parts of the forest. And truly, it is a forest here. The sound of cicadas is even louder, trees hug the concrete driveway tightly. The entire ecosystem left untouched save for this driveway and the occasionally small roadway he sees dotted throughout the trees.

He has half the mind to question why there would be asphalt roads on private property, but he’s sure he’ll either find out or never have to worry about it again soon enough. Preferably the latter. 

As he navigates a curve around a particularly large cluster of trees, a building finally comes into view, immediately earning a distasteful grimace from the doctor.

It’s a house. Not a mansion– he will give credit where credit is due at least– but a house large enough to accommodate a sizable family. However, the design sticks out like a sore thumb among the natural scenery around it, following the trend of ‘modern’ homes made of white concrete with large panes of glass lining the second floor and portions of the first floor as if privacy is unheard of.

To the right of the house sits a large garage that frankly looks as if it had been added as an afterthought and slotted snug with the outer wall. Made of sheet metal with visible bolts, painted white haphazardly as if the paint would magically make it fit with the building next to it. Of the few ‘pros’ possible, the garage is spacious, with three garage doors facing the driveway. One of which currently sits open while the other two are blocked by vehicles. Defeating the point of those doors entirely, unfortunately.

A large, black truck hugs the right-most edge of the driveway. Small, teal striped decals decorate the grill and door handles with a large spade in the center of the hood. Most notably, an unassuming box trailer is hooked up behind it, practically flush with the garage door. More than likely used to transfer the racing motorcycle to and from different locations.

Sitting next to it, being positively dwarfed by the truck, is a sleek white car. Much like the pickup, it too has pinstripe tape but in a stark red. It wraps the contours of the vehicle, even around the slanted headlights and the curve of the doors.around 

As he parks, he smooths down his shirt, adjusting his cardigan to properly cover his arms, then spares a glance at the bundle of cash sitting delicately in his passenger’s seat. He makes a silent vow to give up both the cash and the card that led him here without fanfare or remorse. After all, he already has a plan for paying off the debt he’d gained from his university years, he has a decent sized apartment he is similarly paying off, reliable transport and necessities with very little need for much more beyond that. The card, however..

He sighs, sweeping both into his hand and clutching it to his chest much like one would a small puppy as he opens the door and steps out. He’s immediately blasted by a wave of intense summer heat, the humidity only mixing with the hot air to make a truly miserable experience from the first breath.

Already he’s regretting wearing a cardigan, but any idea to remove it is shooed away before he can entertain the thought. If things go to plan, he will only need to be here for a few minutes at most. And it’s already bad enough to have shown up wearing a black top with a diamond cut out in the center of his chest. At least some level of professionalism is still required at the moment.

A head of short white and red hair pops out from around the corner of the first garage door, icy blue eyes narrowing for just a moment before they light up in recognition, and she fully steps out to greet the doctor.

“Oh, hi! You must be doctor Ratio, right?” She asks in a bright tone. Ratio faintly recognizes her voice from their chat on the phone the day prior, however at the moment his attention is stolen as a pig waddles out from behind the garage door as well, sticking to the girl’s heels. It’s mostly brown, with a large patch of white on its face and back. Small, no larger than a small dog, with a red bow on its tail and patches of vibrant purple dye on its ears.

He catches himself staring and shakes him out of the thought, then answers quickly. “That is me, yes. Are you Topaz?” 

She absolutely beams as she nods right back. “Yep! Oh, and this is Numby.” She gestures towards the pig, who immediately looks up upon having its name mentioned. “He’s an emotional support animal as permitted by the IPC office pets standard. He’s super friendly and well behaved so you won't have to worry about any ankle nibbles.” 

Ratio hadn’t been, but at the very least he can appreciate the concern.

“That is fine with me.” Ratio assures, scanning his eyes over the metal, poorly painted wall of the outer garage and debating commenting on his surprise for being so far from town, but decides that would waste both of their time. Instead, he untucks his precious cargo from its place against his chest, offering the bundle of cash towards Topaz. “I believe this belongs to the IPC?” 

The girl’s eyes grow wide as she eyes the neat stack of bills– fifty twenties in all, the doctor had counted numerous times to be sure– before she gives a strained smile and steps back towards the garage. “Technically speaking, no. That’s from Aventurine’s personal account. But, how about we go inside and discuss everything then?”

Of course. Things could never be easy when it came to things like this, could they?

Ratio suppresses a sigh, but unfortunately the heat is bearing down on both of them quite heavily, only growing worse the longer they stand out here. As such, he follows her inside quickly, turning the corner into the garage only to be met with a blast of pleasant, cool air practically flooding out of the large open doors. The air conditioner must work well then, and surely a company as wealthy as the International Peace Corporation wouldn’t be concerned with an especially high electricity bill. Though the doctor would still prefer to close the garage door to save the trouble and trap the air in.

Not that he intends to stay long enough to implement such a change himself, of course. 

The garage is clean and organized, decorated with large racks of tools lining the walls, metal shelves filled with boxes of various parts, and an entire wall dedicated to two different types of tires for different climates. The centerpiece of the rooms is a large superbike lifted onto a motorcycle jack, a teal body with golden, swirling accents and a faint eye-like motif lingering in the filigree. Almost like a gilded peacock.

Speaking of peacocks…

Possibly the most out of place object in this room stares him down from across the garage, sitting on a simple metal table ten feet past the doorway with one leg crossed over the other and gloved hands folded over his knee in the mockery of a proper sitting position: Pink and blue eyes gleam with mischief through rose colored sunglasses, strands of blond hair falling into the racer’s face.

Gone is the black leather jacket from that night, replaced entirely by a teal and brown one that somehow seems to cling even tighter against his frame. The zipper is still pulled as high as it can go, pressing around the blond’s throat tightly so only a sliver of an odd tattoo peers over the collar. His gloves, similarly, have foregone the simple black leather for much more…bright colors. Obvious. As if to say ‘look at me’ in the most obnoxious way possible.

Ratio doesn’t understand why it doesn’t look half bad on the racer.

“So you did call back. You had me worried for a minute, doctor.”

And suddenly any and all appreciation for Aventurine’s appearance disappears in a flash.Two sentences is all it takes for Ratio to remember what often accompanies that airy voice of his.

The doctor suppresses the urge to sigh, instead only crossing his arms and fixing the blond with a pointed, unimpressed look. “Yes, well, perhaps if you had handed your card to me instead of breaking into my car I would have been more inclined to call sooner.”

Aventurine’s smile doesn’t falter, he doesn’t even blink at Ratio’s biting tone, he only shrugs nonchalantly while resting his gloved hands against the table next to either leg. “Technically speaking it wasn’t breaking into anything. You let me in, after all.”

“I unlocked the trunk .”

A head of white hair steps between the two of them without warning, blocking– or at least attempting to block– Ratio’s view of the racer. It’s wholly useless as the doctor can still see Aventurine’s incessant smirk over the shorter woman’s head. “Oh-kay, looks like you two have obviously made a lasting impression on each other. But if we can put off whatever that was you were about to talk about for like ten minutes we can discuss the paperwork for returning the money–”

“ Just returning the money?” Aventurine questions, both adults in the room snapping sharp looks at him to shut up but he remains undeterred. “You’re not taking the job?” 

“Obviously not,” Why else would they be discussing returning the funds if not for Ratio refusing the job? Does this damned racer have no common sense? “I have another job, which you may have noticed had you been paying attention to anything other than your little scheme to hire me.” 

A quiet hum of consideration. Then: “A teacher, right?”

How. Dare.

If Ratio had wanted to be a teacher he wouldn’t have spent so much of his life earning eight PhDs. In fact he wouldn’t have even cared to strive for one . To be boiled down to a simple term often meant for schooling children – 

“Professor.” He corrects tersly. 

There is a difference even if only in implication.

Not that someone cruising around on a glorified trash heap would care to enlighten himself of such a matter.

“ Professor .” The blond parrots, and once again Ratio feels it’s worse to have that correction considering the way Aventurine’s voice drips with amusement.

Ratio’s eye twitches. However, before he can deliver any further arguments, his attention catch onto a rusty red object hidden away in the corner just behind Aventurine’s perch. Speaking of the glorified trash heap, there it sits underneath the stairs leading into what Ratio assumes to be Aventurine’s proper house.

Orange pipes stare back at the doctor, overrun by more rust than he remembers nor cares to think about. One could get tetanus by simply staring at it at this rate. The bike’s tires are wiring from wear, in the light Ratio swears one looks larger than the other, yet no matter how he might shift his gaze he cannot pinpoint which one would be the offender for such a crime. A logo sits at the very bottom of the bike’s chassis near the wheels, having once been silver though now they take on a nearly bronze color that seems to match the rest of the eco-unfriendly machine. 

S_H____ T

The irony of missing every letter but those is not lost on him.

He doesn’t want to take his eyes off of the tragedy on tires lest it should fall apart the moment he turns his attention away, in fact it takes far more control than he would care to admit to return his focus back to the blond. “I told you to take that to a mechanic.” He chides.

Aventurine doesn’t falter from his place on the table, his grin even grows as he removes those rose colored sunglasses of his and twists them about his thumb and forefinger idly. “I had someone in mind, but he didn’t call me for a week.” His eyes flick up to Ratio’s then, a knowing look in those obnoxious pink and blue irises as he continues. “I figured he’d shown me up.”

This arrogant–

“ Surely you must know I’m not a real mechanic, yes?”

“You were real enough to fix my personal bike.” Aventurine points out, but Ratio can only contain a grimace at the thought. ‘Fix’ is a loose term at best and wholly incorrect at worst. He made it run again in a situation where he should have decided it unusable and condemned it from ever taking the streets again. 

In fact, he begins to explain just that when Aventurine rudely continues over him.

“Besides,” The blond shrugs, stopping his twirling sunglasses to open his arms in no small movement. A show of dramatics no doubt. His eyes light up some and he gives Topaz an unreadable look, then refocuses his gaze back on Ratio. “We don’t have any other options.”

What?

Silence from the doctor as he tries to sort through that statement as quickly as he can. Past the dramatics, past the annoyance he himself bears for the blond…

“You must be bluffing.” He finally manages to say aloud past his gaping. “There are countless mechanics in this city alone, much less two to three hours out if you are truly desperate. That makes entirely no sense.”

Topaz falters beside him, giving a sheepish forced smile. Ratio truly fears either of them confirming their predicament as truth. “Apparently most of them are comfortable where they’re at or are too busy.” Topaz offers.

Aventurine gives the start of a chuckle as he adds shamelessly “Or they just hate the IPC more than they love making money.”

They’re not bluffing.

Well. They could still be bluffing and are simply skilled liars but this doesn’t feel like a bluff as much as the doctor wishes it to be so. He spares a glance at the professional bike in the center of the room and frowns as he eyes it with more attention to detail, but he’d need to get closer to truly see the damage.

He’s well aware of the trap laid out for him at the very least. His first mistake was arriving in person. His second is now, letting his concern outweigh his logic as he attempts to deem the severity of this case.

Unfortunately, he has always prioritized safety over his own comfort or gain.

“May I?” He asks quietly, gesturing to the motorcycle in question.

“By all means~”

He scoffs at the purr in Aventurine’s voice, choosing to ignore it for the moment as he approaches the bike with heavy footsteps. He kneels down next to the jack, ensuring it’s secure before reaching forward to investigate the pipes, feeling two sets of eyes burn into his back the entire way.

With a sigh, he pulls off the cardigan and sets it on the seat of the motorcycle, leaving his shoulders bare to the world and arms uncovered. Safe from the snagging or risks of getting such clothing dirty as he works. If either of his ‘audience’ has a reaction to such a sight, he doesn’t hear it. Nor does he wish to see it as he leans over the front wheel of the bike, easing his hand beneath the chassis to feel around the pipes and wirings packed underneath. 

Luckily, this particular design of superbike makes maintenance and modification easy, leaving a relatively easy to access space for Ratio to feel around from. He only vaguely understands most of these parts from their relations to cars, or what he has read previously about certain modifications made for speed, but they seem to be in working order. Still, there is a minor oil leak, likely only needs a gasket replaced but he’d like to check and replace the oil itself just in case. Especially as he pulls out his hand and finds the color too dark for his liking.

The tires themselves will need to be changed, already Ratio can see where the smooth surface has been worn down from the high speeds, not quite at a point of no return yet however he would rather not test how close one can get before they explode. He’s fairly certain there’s supposed to be someone with the capabilities of changing tires on the track, but Aventurine clearly decided it would be better to risk it.

That ‘risk’ could have cost him his life had it been any worse than this.

Aside from that, there are no clear issues with the superbike. Routine maintenance, and of course the rotator clutch would need to be adjusted. He withdraws from beneath the chassis, grimacing as he realizes that his hand is covered in oil that he would need to wash off before he could even consider touching his cardigan, but he hovers his hand over the rotator clutch in question. It would be harder to adjust a piece such as this without adjusting everything else around it, and more than likely he would need to learn to weld. 

Unfortunate, but he has learned more for less.

He pauses as he catches that final thought with a silent sigh. Already he’s thinking as if he’d be the one to work on such a motorcycle, assuming he’d already taken the job. As if he doesn’t still have eyes staring into his back waiting on an answer over that very issue. 

However, he already recognizes that decision had been made when he had offered to look at the motorcycle in the first place.

The doctor sighs, pushing himself to stand once again as he resigns himself to his fate. “How long will this job last?”

A silence radiates from the two in question, but their expressions couldn't be any more different. 

While Topaz gapes with wide eyes, as if she'd suddenly witnessed a miracle or a denial of physics in front of her eyes, Aventurine wears a knowing smirk as he eyes Ratio over. But for perhaps the first time in the blond's life he remains silent as Topaz recovers with a quick inhale. 

“Until the end of the season. Why? Are you interested? Are you accepting?”

Ratio crosses his arms but speaks quickly in hopes to stop her from doing anything rash. “I would like to see the contract fir–”

“Oh I'm on it!” The girl calls suddenly as she darts up the stairs in a streak of white and red, Numby hot on her heels.

She only stops long enough to slap a keycard against a card reader, then yanks open the door leading inside and disappears with a click. 

The doctor sighs with a judgemental shake of his head. So much for stopping her. “I had wanted to discuss rules.” He finishes to no one in particular, only to earn an airy chuckle from the final person stuck in the garage with him. 

“She’ll figure it out. IPC contracts can be quite flexible when they want to be.” Aventurine hums with that damned confident smile.. “So, doctor , looks like we'll be unsupervised for a while. What's the plan?”

The doctor is tempted to kick him out then and there, perhaps replace those tires and get a head start on fixing that minor oil leak. 

Unfortunately, there is one issue that has been on his mind since the two of them met: the rotator clutch. And as much as he would love to kick Aventurine out and enjoy what little peace he could glean from this situation, it would be best to have that out of the way now instead of handling it later.

“If you must know, I suppose it is about time to address your shifting error.”As Ratio speaks he returns to the superbike and lowers it from the jack gingerly.Upon standing with the motorcycle’s tires sitting on the ground, he's suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact that the bike is perfectly proportionate to his own height. Though that fact is not concerning in and of itself, he already knows Aventurine is shorter than him. And generally smaller.

Gods he hopes that he simply remembered Aventurine's height wrong from that night and that this won't be something he will have to fix.

“Mount the motorcycle as you would normally but do not start it.” He instructs as he sets the superbike down on its kickstand then begins to sort through the assorted tools neatly put away for what he will need to make his measurements. Paper, a pen, and a measurement tool. 

He's careful to keep his attention on Aventurine even so. Ready to interfere if his concerns end up being true.

He hears more than sees Aventurine's amusement, a small huff of a laugh escaping the blond. “Are you sure you don't want me to mount anything else, doctor?”

“If I had wanted you to do anything else I would have told you.”

He finds no paper, unfortunately, and the only tool that would fit his needs is a half-destroyed tape measure. Usable but wholly inefficient if he has to be delicate with the object. 

One drawer is dedicated entirely to permanent markers. 

He chooses to close that one in hopes of staving off a forming headache at such a thought. No paper, only permanent markers. Whatever mechanic came before him was either wholly incompetent or–

He stiffens as he turns around with his chosen tool, only to lay his eyes on Aventurine sitting halfway in the seat of the superbike, one foot barely touching the floor while he struggles to keep the motorcycle upright.

Of course. One of the few times Ratio wishes he weren't correct.

“How long have you had this?” He asks, current plan momentarily forgotten as he trudges forward to further inspect the height difference and the… everything difference, apparently. 

This motorcycle easily dwarfs Aventurine.

“Since… six months ago, I guess?” Aventurine asks after a moment, having to think about it, then nods. “Yeah, six months sounds about right. Why?”

Once again with the growing headache. “Because whoever ordered it was either incompetent or attempting to sabotage you.”

“Oh?” The blond purrs. Ratio can see the way Aventurine’s foot slips on the smooth concrete, giving just enough to make the bike tilt uncomfortably, but the racer's face doesn't waver from his teasing smirk. 

“To put it simply, they’ve sized everything to be incorrect. That is why you have been struggling so much when shifting gears.”

For some reason, the blond doesn’t seem shocked. In fact his eyes flash with something much more bitter for just a moment before the expression is covered once again and he shrugs. “I’ve heard people like seeing me on a motorcycle that’s too big for me.” He hums. His foot slips again, much larger this time.

“If the IPC had wanted something to flaunt about they should have invested in a show pony. Not a racer.” Ratio snatches the motorcycle by the handlebars as it’s about to topple. 

He expects the strain on his arm, but it’s not nearly as bad as it should have been. In fact, propping the motorcycle back onto two wheels is far too easy for a motorcycle and its rider. It jostles said rider, earning a sharp gasp from Aventurine as his hands slam against the tank to steady himself, eyes wide.

“Adjust yourself to sit how you would usually ride, but take that as your first example of what I mean.”

In order to fully grab the handles enough to control the throttle and reach the brake, the racer has to lean forward considerably, too much even for a racer aiming for peak aerodynamic control. Ratio can faintly feel the racer's breath against his chest as Aventurine's position is practically bent over the motorcycle’s gas tank to reach everything. Even so, the gas tank only gets in the way due to the seat being fit for someone with much more of an upper torso.

To put it simply, he looks tiny against the teal body of the superbike. Ratio feels Aventurine's breath quicken against his chest once the blond settles in and for a brief moment he spares a beat of regret for startling him. After all, this is certainly not an ideal position but Aventurine cannot currently reach the floor, meaning this will have to work for the moment.

At the very least, the doctor can at least attempt to reassure him.

“I will not drop you, you can relax.” He states simply, once again all too aware of how easy it is to hold the blond up like this. Something is not right here. Either the motorcycle is too light, or Aventurine is. No other logical options remain, despite Ratio’s strength similarly being at play. He has not deviated from his routine after all. Yes, he’s strong, but he knows his limitations. This should be stretching them.

Aventurine does not relax. If anything, he tenses further.

Wonderful. Had he known it would be so easy to spook the blond he would have waited to find a better method.

But, they’re both in this situation now, and the doctor is never one to put off what must be done. “Hold still, I need to make measurements.” He finally says, earning a breathless chuckle from Aventurine as the blond finally pulls his head back from Ratio's chest slightly. 

“As if I–”

Shifting the weight to his left hand, Ratio steadily lets go with right, the movement earning what may as well be a squeak from Aventurine as he does so, cutting off any attempt at a rebuttal.

Ratio then sinks onto one knee, sparing Aventurine from having to be too close to his chest if only for a few moments. He grabs the measuring tape from where it had clattered to the floor a moment ago, hooking his index finger beneath the metal teeth then easing the length out slowly.

“Act as if you're about to switch gears.” He orders simply, hearing the start of a whine from the blond before Aventurine complies, reaching his foot toward the rotator clutch.

Ratio stops it with his palm once it reaches an ideal distance. “Hold here.” 

He gets no verbal response but the foot in question does still as requested. He sees Aventurine's grip tighten on the handlebars once again and sighs, peering up from his position to look at the racer. Aventurine Is clearly breathless, jewel-toned eyes blown wide as he stares at the single hand holding the entire motorcycle up, mouth slightly agape.

“I have you steady, I promise. You will not fall while I am supporting you.” Ratio repeats with certainty.

Despite the perceived discomfort, Aventurine still manages to grin and give a breathless chuckle, eyes flicking to Ratio’s face. “Maybe it's not the fall I'm worried about~” he comments, much to the doctor’s annoyance.

“Perhaps we should test that statement.” Ratio returns without much thought, readjusting his grip then hooking the teeth of the tape measure on Aventurine’s heel, pulling it to where Ratio’s hand currently sits, then to where the rotator clutch is now. 

He’ll only need to shift it two inches at most, though rearranging that means rearranging nearly everything . Given the size difference perhaps that’s for the best.

“Oh? Are you gonna drop–” Once again the blond isn't able to finish his sentence as Ratio rises, jostling the motorcycle just enough to force Aventurine to grip harder onto the handlebars. He gives another squeak as he does.

“Of course not,” Ratio insists as he steadies the bike once more. “I have already told you that I would not let you fall.”

He's ever mindful about how the racer sits, careful to not let the motorcycle tilt too far. Yet still the blond's breathing is uneven and his knuckles are white from his tightened grip.

As a matter of fact, his fingers must be hurting from how far the strain must be to reach properly, his arms likely suffering a similar fate.

Ratio should end this before something happens, already he can see Aventurine’s growing discomfort, but the more he looks the more he spots things that will need correcting. 

The seat, for example, is much too low for a gas tank that nearly reaches Aventurine’s chest. Despite the motorcycle itself being too tall for the racer to steady himself without immediately speeding off. Ratio shudders to think of how the blond manages to stop.

Perhaps a little longer then.

He eases his thumb beneath the metal teeth of the measuring tape once again. Navigating such a device single handed is a feat in and of itself, but the doctor has proven to be adept at working around such obstacles previously.

“Keep your current position,” The doctor starts as he reaches forward, resting the teeth of the measuring tape against Aventurine’s right shoulder. Deliberately ignoring how close his hand is to Aventurine’s jaw, or the heat radiating off of the man in waves. Briefly, Ratio is left wondering how the racer can wear a leather jacket in this weather. Even with the air conditioning, the humidity is nearly suffocating this time of year.

Aventurine’s face is considerably red as well. Should he stop this inspection? Overheating is a serious threat in the midst of summer, surely it would be on Ratio if the blond fell ill over this. Having not told him…

“Are you feeling alright, racer?” He asks, watching carefully as the blond blinks a few times, face momentarily screwed into confusion before the expression morphs once again to a seamless mask of confidence. And surely it is a mask given how red and breathless he is. “Never better, doc~” Liar.

The racer’s arms are shaking as Ratio pulls the measuring tape down to a gloved wrist, then further to where his fingers clutch onto the brake as if needing something to hold onto. 

“We can do this all day if you want, even. No complaints.”

False confidence will get them nowhere. But fine. If Aventurine wants to hide his issues for the moment then Ratio will oblige if only to get this done. But following that, he will ensure the damned racer is taken out of that jacket.

One more thing. If he can make one more measurement he can end this. But the seat needs to be adjusted or the handlebars will be even worse later.

“Lean down.” He sighs, pulling the measuring tape back then carefully switching the weight of the motorcycle onto his right hand. This would likely be uncomfortable for either of them, and it would make the overheating worse, but if he can finish quick enough it will be fine.

Aventurine complies, but not without having to say something with that purring, honey-sweet voice. “Oh? Do you need a better angle? Is there anything else you need to measure?”

“Unfortunately for both of us.”

“Oh, I think I’m quite fortunate right now.”

Ratio doesn’t let Aventurine continue, pushing the racer’s head against the tank of the motorcycle with just enough care to ensure he doesn’t get hurt. Without wasting a second, the doctor leans over the blond’s hunched form, the position precarious for numerous reasons as he eases the measuring tape underneath the racer.

He can feel Aventurine’s hair against the diamond shaped hole in his shirt, the way the blond’s shoulders tense and he pulls up slightly only to be pressed back down by Ratio’s bulk. His breathing picks up significantly. Possible claustrophobia or simply the discomfort of proximity?

At the very least, Ratio can understand that discomfort. To save them both, he pulls back quickly, dragging the yellow metal line over Aventurine’s back and head to reach the gas tank. His elbow remains on the small of the racer’s back to keep him in place until finally Ratio is able to commit the last number to memory. He can handle the height of the motorcycle itself on his own, and hopefully construct some way to allow Aventurine to touch the ground without having to tear the entire superbike apart to do so. 

For now, he pulls back, easing the measuring tape back into its cartridge then allowing Aventurine to sit up once again. If Aventurine hadn’t been red before, he certainly is now. His chest rises and falls quickly, even his confident facade has been wiped off his face for something else. At the moment, Ratio cannot quite catch what that ‘something else’ is, but if he would have to make an educated guess he would choose shock and discomfort. After all, the doctor had to have violated some sort of rule. That had been far too close for either of their likings. Surely.

“That will be the last of it.” Ratio assures as if to calm the situation, tossing the measuring tape aside– he winces at the clatter of the already-destroyed plastic against the ground but the entire thing needs to be replaced regardless– then takes the handlebars back into both hands.

Easing the machine onto its kickstand is still far too easy, even if it takes significantly more control to lower it than lift. Still, once Ratio settles the motorcycle back down and lets go, Aventurine doesn’t even attempt to dismount. 

In fact, the blond doesn’t move in the slightest except to peel his hands away from the handlebars. His hands rest instead on the gas tank in front of him as he sits back up, pink and blue eyes wide with emotion Ratio can’t quite make out. His face is bright red still, his breathing has settled some but not nearly enough. Not to mention his shaking from earlier.

Right. The jacket. The risk of overheating.

Ratio stifles a sigh. Common symptoms of overheating are nausea and dizziness, with paleness and slurred speech rearing their head as the condition worsens. In the case of dizziness, to allow the blond to dismount himself would be a quick way to elicit a fall and possible head injury. 

That leaves only one option, unfortunately.

The doctor scoops Aventurine up easily, earning a higher pitched hum from the male as the blond’s arms immediately wrap around the back of Ratio’s neck as if to steady himself.

“A little warning would’ve been nice, y’know.” The racer chuckles with a little too much air. His chest rises and falls unsteadily, Ratio can feel his pounding heartbeat from where Aventurine’s wrist is pressed against the back of his neck. Neither are a sign of overheating, but ideal to take note of as a sign of other things going on beneath the surface.

More notable is how light the blond is. Granted, Ratio has always been somewhat stronger than most, a fact that became more pronounced once he began prioritizing his health with better eating habits and regular exercise. In fact, he has underestimated his strength numerous times in the past.

But with Aventurine, there is no underestimating. To a normal person even, they’d at least be able to lift the blond. To Ratio? The doctor had nearly fallen off balance when he was met with less gravitational resistance than he’d been expecting.

… One thing at a time.

Ratio could focus on that another day. For now, there is a far more pressing matter to attend to.

Fortunately, treating hyperthermia is relatively easy so long as the symptoms can be caught before it progresses too far.

“A ‘little warning’ could have been too late.” Ratio responds without skipping a beat whilst gingerly setting Aventurine down on the same metal table he'd first seen the blond on earlier. 

He would prefer a chair, but it seems the garage is lacking more than a few tools of measurement. 

“And that's bad… why, exactly?”

Ratio tsks.

“Overheating” He answers simply as he scans the garage once more. He swears he saw a fan around earlier– ah yes. Wedged between two metal racks with an extension cord wrapped around the legs in what Ratio could only describe as a knot.

“Ohh.” Ratio turns his attention away from the blond to untangle the knot, but still he can easily hear Aventurine’s chuckle and that obnoxious grin. “In that case, you don't have to worry about me. I was built for the heat.”

Now that makes Ratio pause. Finally turning to give the racer an unimpressed, flat stare for the entirety of the ten seconds he is willing to spare for such an idiotic statement. 

“How much water have you had today?” He prompts instead of dignifying Aventurine’s words with any verbal response.

He doesn't need to see the fool’s expression to know the answer. He'd heard it plenty of times from countless students complaining about lightheadedness or shortness of breath. 

“And no, energy drinks, coffee, soda or any other sugary beverages count. In fact, they counteract whatever water you have had, dehydrating you further.” He's heard that one before, too. Far too often, in fact.

He glances back just as the knot comes free, finding those brilliant pink and blue eyes staring back at him almost… lifelessly even as the blond continues to smile. 

“I'm fine, doctor.” He says.

Liar. 

Ratio sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose even as he drags the dusty fan in front of the damned racer with his free hand.

Fine. So he has a suicidal racer of an… employer? He supposes employer is correct technically speaking. 

Borderline suicidal. A liar when it comes to voicing discomfort. Gods, he hopes Aventurine will at least have the care to mention if there's something else wrong with either motorcycle of his.

“You have to drink water in this weather. Even if you have the best air conditioner on the planet, your body needs the additional fluids.”

Finally, the doctor wrangles the extension cord into a working outlet, kicking the machine on with enough force to immediately blow Aventurine’s messy hair into even more of a mess around his face. The racer doesn't even blink. 

Instead, he grins and leans forward with that still borderline dead look in his eyes. “I think you're overreacting.”

“Think what you want of me, I'm ensuring you don't fall ill thanks to your own idiocy and hubris.”

Ratio doesn't take Aventurine's challenge seriously, of course. Not when the blond is already clearly coming down from the heat with a few moments in the fan. Already, the redness has retreated considerably and his breathing has slowed to an expected rate. Though his knuckles are still white from where they hold into the edge of the table. 

Promising signs nonetheless. 

Though… there is still one more thing to rectify.

“ This is a prime example.” He says as he reaches for the zipper of the leather jacket Aventurine wears. “Wearing multiple layers, especially if those layers are thick and heavy such as leather will only intensify the heat.”

Hands immediately fly up to Ratio's wrist and Aventurine’s eyes widen, though he gives a sharp, breathless laugh as he speaks.

“Hey, hey, you know if you wanted me to strip you could've just asked. I would've done it for you.”

As much as Aventurine’s hands end up on Ratio's arm, he doesn't exactly stop the doctor nor does Ratio let him stop him as he pulls the zipper down with a huff.

Why would he want to strip the blond? That would help with better airflow but would be horribly revealing. 

“Making sudden or sharp movements could worsen any traces of nausea or dizziness that linger from overheating. I would much rather remove your jacket myself than risk you passing out or puking on the both of us.”

It's just as he works the leather over petite shoulders that a click sounds above them.

Ratio's eyes snap towards the source of that click in seconds, only for amber to meet deep blue echoing his surprise in confusion. 

“What is going on down–” Topaz starts, only for realization to cross her face, followed immediately by disgust. “You know what? I don't want to know.”

With heavy footsteps and a pig glued to her ankles, the girl storms down the stairs whilst pulling something from her back pocket. 

Aventurine shoves Ratio off just as she reaches the bottom, scrambling back to sitting up fully while freeing himself the rest of the jacket much to the doctor's satisfaction.

Beneath the jacket he wears a black t-shirt with a yellow traffic light on it, the words ‘challenge accepted’ written in crude, bold white letters. He looks much smaller without the added layer of clothing, tight as it was against Aventurine’s chest.

Ratio's eyes dance onto the stranger  tattoo no longer hidden by the collar of the leather jacket, but instead of some intricate design, only a word in a language he cannot identify is written there. Not greek or latin, but using a similar alphabet–

Something sharp and rectangular jabs against his chest, drawing him out of his momentary focus as Topaz continues.

“This will get you past the gate and into the garage. Anything else and lover boy over there will have to give you access.” 

Oh. It's a keycard. Ratio pulls it away from his chest, luckily not having to pull too hard for her to cede ownership.

Seemingly recovered, Aventurine pipes up with no small gesture. “Oh c'mon, ‘paz, it wasn't anything ser–”

“ Your contract, ” Topaz continues, raising her voice to drown out whatever Aventurine attempts to say “has already been sent via email. We'll do negotiations on the link I sent. Now if you'll excuse me.”

Without wasting a beat the girl turns on her heel, nearly stumbling over Numby as she does.

“I need to go bleach my eyes and drown my sorrows.” Just as she turns the corner of the garage door, she pops her head back in while shooting an icy glare between the two of them. “No funny business.”

Then she's gone. Leaving Ratio and Aventurine as the sole inhabitants of the garage.

Funny business?

Ratio gives a deeply confused look towards Aventurine.

Typically he doesn't ask questions unless they are strictly necessary, but at the moment he is missing context that seems very important to whatever had happened a moment ago. 

“Do you know what she was talking about?” He asks Aventurine. 

Except the blond only grins, eyes lighting up with mischief, and shrugs.

“I dunno, doc, you tell me.”

[faewritesshit]

Another NPC drabble. This one is more fun less angst

—-

It was cold, the wind sharp as it bit at Micah’s cheeks, despite this, his hands felt sweaty shoved in his pockets. Austin’s grocery was right around the corner, and Micah could feel his heart in his throat. He shouldn’t be this nervous, and yet he found his breath shuddering as the flickering “Open” sign came into view. The straps of his backpack were digging into his shoulders, a bead of sweat sent a shiver down his spine, it felt like there was a stone stuck in the toe of his shoe, and the bell above the door seemed entirely too loud as he pushed it open. The buffeting wall of warm air was effective in shocking his system back into regular functions again, and he took in the room around him. The teenager behind the counter barely glanced up from whatever she was doing at the noise of the door, letting out a barely detectable sigh as she tugged a headphone out of one ear and let it dangle. He hadn’t seen her here before. That was fine. He was fine. He turned, a bit too abruptly, to head down the aisle closest to him. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, in fact he hadn’t even planned to buy anything here at all, but he needed time to regroup.

Leslie wasn’t here, so he has no reason to be here either. He could just buy the granola bar that had made its way to his hand, and a drink once he stopped staring blankly at the wall of soda, and then leave. And never come back- no.

Leslie wasn’t here, and he was out of time. He was headed up to the register, items in hand, and cleared his throat. The clerk shoved a notebook under the counter as she finally acknowledged him.

Leslie wasn’t here, but clearly this kid has to know them. He could just buy his things, a Dr. Pepper and a snickers had made their way into his hands now, leave a message for them, and then leave. And go into hiding immediately- also no.

“Hey, anything else?” She was small, definitely young with light blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. A sticker name tag on her shirt read “Olive”.

“No.” He answered on autopilot. It was too late to back out now, Micah would never come back if he stopped here. “Well-”

She had already finished scanning and bagging, and her hand paused over a button on the screen. A raised eyebrow was the only form of question asked.

“Is Leslie here?” He hoped the question didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.

Given the suspicious narrowing of her eyes, it did. “Why?” The question was drawn out as she leaned back away from the counter, arms folding over her chest.

“I just-” The words caught in his throat. “We uh- Well I just thought I’d stop by to say hi,” that’s a normal thing to do, right? “but they’re not here, so. Another time.” Something about those blue eyes were too sharp for his stress levels currently, instead he chose to keep his eyes locked on the pin pad, it was stuck on a rotating processing screen.

“Who are you?” The question startled him enough to break his stare.

“Micah?” It came out as a question more than an answer.

The narrowed eyes widened a bit in recognition. Not a good sign. “I can get them if you want.” Finally, the processing screen ended and the pin pad chimed urgently for him to remove his card.

“No, that’s alright.” Play it cool. This was fine, Micah wasn’t panicking at all. “I’ll catch them some other time.” He tried giving her a smile.

“Sure…” He didn’t like the tone of her voice as she pushed the bag towards him and held out the receipt. “See ya, then.”

“Yeah.” He was thankful to have something to hold again. “See you around.” It was a small town so it probably was true either way.

The chime of the bell was jarring again as he rushed to leave the store. He wasn’t looking where he was going, too focused on his feet and what to do next that he didn’t process that there was a person in front of him until they had fully collided. Micah was bounced backwards, and would've surely ended up on his ass were it not for the hands on his shoulders, holding him upright.

“Fuck, I am so so sorry.” The apologies were rolling off his tongue before he had even looked up. The rest of whatever he had planned to say was purged from his head when he found himself face to, well, chest, with Leslie.

“Chill,” They brushed the creases out of the fabric of his sweater and gave him a half smile. “No harm no foul.” The smell of sandalwood and something sweet invaded Micah’s senses, artificial cherry clung to their breath. “You got somewhere to be?”

“No, not really.” Micah tried to take a deep breath as he took a step back, out of their space. “I just stopped by to say hi, I thought you weren’t here today.”

“I’m always here, Micah,” They said it with an eye roll. “but I’m glad I caught you, it looked like you were in a hurry.” With a hand on his shoulder, Leslie turned Micah around before throwing an arm over his shoulder, pulling them both back into the store, out of the biting wind.

“Oh good.” Olive was back to being focused on her notebook as they re-entered the store. “Your friend found you.” Micah didn’t have the brain power to decipher her tone, being pulled so close to Leslie’s side.

Physical touch was something that Micah had never been used to. Always overwhelming and forceful on his nervous system, usually sending it into a spiral. Leslie didn’t seem to have that problem, always ruffling hair or putting an arm on your shoulder or a pat on the back. They were touchy, and Micah hadn’t yet gotten used to it.

“Micah,” Leslie finally released him, but kept a hand on his shoulder, holding him at arms length, using their other hand to gesture at him, and then to Olive, “this is Olive. Olive, Micah. She works here on occasion.”

”Leslie violates child labor laws.” She didn’t look up from the notebook, continuing to detail the eye that Micah could now see.

“I don’t.” Leslie chuckled as they gave Olive’s hair a rough tousle, which she ignored. “She hangs around enough, figured I might as well put her to work.”

”Careful,” Olive finally looked up at Micah, “They’ll get you too. I think they’re starting to form a habit of it.”

”So what’s up?” Leslie seemed content to ignore the warning as they reattached their name tag. “You free for the day?”

”Y-yeah, my last class got out a bit ago.” He was starting to relax into the environment, the bickering reminded him of his siblings. “Figured I’d get some snacks before getting into my readings.”

”We’re kinda out of the way aren’t we?”

”And I wanted to say hi?” Again it came out as more of a question than he wanted it to.

Leslie took a moment to study him, eyes searching and laced with worry. The anxious itchy feeling was coming back, he could practically feel the pressure of their eyes on him, and the quiet in the room wasn’t helping. Carly Rae Jepsen was playing softly over the speakers. Apparently Leslie had found what they were looking for because they finally broke the silence.

”Wanna hang here? We won’t bother you if you need to focus.” Neither of them had noticed Olive studying the exchange.

”Sure,” Micah hadn’t expected the wave of relief that washed over him at the offer. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

”Cool.” It was the only response Leslie gave before working to pull a small folding table and accompanying chair closer to the counter for him.

Before he knew it, Micah was settled at the table, heavy anthropology textbook open before him, with notebooks and highlighters spread around it. Leslie and Olive were on opposite sides of the counter, Leslie in the process of teaching her how to play poker. It took Micah three games to realize that Olive was hustling them. It took Leslie five. Eventually, Micah was roped into the game, his reading left half-done and pushed to one side of the table to make room. Their pot consisted of a handful of snack sized candies and raunchy stickers, and they were all playing to win. Customers filtered in and out, but all of them seemed accustomed to the shenanigans of the store. One joined in for a round after making their purchase, but almost all of them at least inquired as to who was winning. Olive proudly told them about her initial con. It was amusing to watch her puff out her chest, and see Leslie try to defend themself by guilting her. It wasn’t effective.

Soon enough, the sky was darkening and the street lights were turning on. As full dark began to set in, Olive received a very worried call from her foster parent, which Leslie had to take over. Ten minutes, and plenty of complaining, later, a car pulled up to take her home, and it was just the two of them left in the store.

“Thanks for letting me hang around today.” Micah was slowly packing up his supplies, keeping his hands busy.

”You’re welcome anytime.” Leslie was partway across the room, starting the actual work that had been avoided throughout the evening. “I know it can be hard.”

Their honesty never failed to take him by surprise, and a stillness hung in the air. For some reason, he felt like he should apologize. “It was a lot of fun, if I’m honest. Olive is… a character.”

”Better get used to her.” Leslie chuckled. “I can’t seem to get rid of her.”

The zipper of his backpack drew Leslie’s attention away from their sweeping.”I guess I should probably be heading back.” Neither of them moved.

”Where’s your roommate?”

He didn’t understand how they always seemed to know what was happening before he said anything. “Left for home yesterday night. Early weekend.” It felt like an admission of guilt.

There was another pause, they just stood, each watching the other. “I can at least give you a ride home.” They crossed the room in a few slow strides, leaning the broom against the counter as they started to go for their keys. Micah watched as they hesitated, turning halfway to look at him. “Or you could stay, if you want?”

“I’ll stay.”

[skylarmoon71]

Leonardo (TMNT 2014/2016) - Chapter 4

“Incredible.”

Another shock was sent through his body, and Leo clenched his jaw, not letting out a single scream. The man pulled back the lever with a smile.

“Dr. Levin, his heart rate is still steady. No change.”

Levin smiled at the report from his worker.

“You’re an amazing being, you know that.” He walked closer, looking Leo over.

“You’ve not only evolved from such an insignificant organism, but you trained your body to fight, read and process as well as convey human language. Do you understand what a feat that is? “ Levin was going on a tangent, but Leo kept his eyes stern and his expression neutral. There were at least a dozen people in that space watching him like he was some kind of experiment. Leo tugged at the restraints at his wrists, but it did nothing.

“What an exquisite specimen. Shock him again. “ He called. The worker placed his hand on the lever to follow through, but the lights above their heads in the building went out. Everyone in that area seemed on edge.

“Sir we’ve lost power!”

Someone called.

“The breaker must have overloaded.” Another imputed.

“That’s impossible, our system is secured outside the city.” Someone else cried.

“Whatever it is, just fix it!!” Levin yelled.

There was the sound of scrambling feet. It took maybe a minute, and the lights flickered on. When it did, a figure stood at the center. The two guards at the door reached for their guns, and you lifted your own. The hoodie you wore did a good job of keeping your face slightly blocked from their sights. Everyone froze, and Leo’s eyes widened in shock.

“This is your only warning. If you want to walk out of here, do it now.”

Levin wore a wide smile.

“Kill her.” He instructed the guards. They didn’t even have a chance to pull the trigger. You spun around firing two shots and their bodies dropped.

Levin looked startled, and the other workers in lab coats began to scream and scramble for the exits. You walked through the chaos. Straight up to Levin who in one last attempt tried to race to the controller. You fired one shot that hit him right in the knee cap. His body collapsed as he let out a yell. The room was pretty much cleared now, and he tried to force himself to his feet, but you stepped on the injured limb.

He screamed in pain, practically crying. When you heard the bone snap, you moved your leg, and he placed his head on the floor, sobbing as you stared at the lever. You searched for the one to lower Leo’s body from the air. Your eyes fell at his current state. He was sweating profusely, and you could see different areas on his body that had trails of blood as well as smaller injuries.

“Damn you Leo.” You grumbled.

You couldn’t find the correct switch, so you moved over to his form. You basically tossed your gun, placing your hand on his cheek in concern. Leo just smiled at you.

“I guess I owe you now.” He tried to laugh, but you could tell the action brought him pain.

“Don’t talk, just breathe.” You instruct, removing your hoodie to wipe the sweat from his face. You passed the cloth along his face, eyes filled with worry. Leo’s tired gaze stayed focused on you.

When you heard the gun click behind you, your attention shifted. Leo’s eyes hardened.

Levin was using the table to support himself as he held your gun. You could hear the faint sounds of sirens in the distance.

“Step away from my experiment and I might just let you live.” His breathing was heavy, and he looked agitated. Not that you blamed him. It was a wonder he was standing upright. He kept the gun pointed right at you. Yet, you barely reacted.

“You have one option. Walk away now and I’ll think about letting you survive. “ You spoke calmly.

He just grinned, then began laughing,

“I’m the one with the gun!!”

You still didn't look phased.

“I’m not going to say it again.” you warn.

He gripped the gun with a frown, eyes blazing with rage.

“You think you can mock me!!”

He pulled the trigger and the bullet struck you right at the center of your head.

Leo lost his breath. The color drained from his face, and you knew he was about to scream, or cry. But your body didn’t fall. Your head hung low for a second, and then you lifted it, just as the bullet ejected itself from your skull, dropping to the floor. Both Leo and Levin were speechless.

“W-What..”

Levin’s hand was shaking, and when you moved towards him, he opened fire, taking careless shots. Every single bullet hit your body, and by the time you were in front of him, you grabbed the gun that was still in his grasp, turning it to his chest as you pulled the trigger. He let out one shaky gasp, legs shaking as he dropped. A few more staggered breaths, and he was gone. You dropped the gun, eyes blank.

You turned back to Leo who was still looking on in disbelief.

Nothing was said. You just took steps back, just as you heard tires pull up to the building.

The lights in the room flickered again, and when they flashed back on, you were gone.

[cina-full-moon-xanadium]

Right, well! I’m now 10 episodes into Daitetsujin 17 -- ie the only currently subbed episodes, and seemingly will stay that way until next month. 

It’s an... interesting show. Like Robot Detective it’s intriguing in how it just does not follow the usual Tokusatsu Masked Hero tropes; it’s inspired more by super robot shows that were becoming popular at the time and we don’t have any transforming heroes or secret identities; just a boy that has a bond with the one robot capable of fighting the enemy and the army that supports them. It’s also one of those rare Showa Toku that actually has an active, ongoing plot! Characterisation is still relatively light but every story is a 2-parter and features some kind of development, or following up on a mystery, or some kind of new element or etc. 

The war setting also means many of these plots are not your usual Showa Toku villain plot of like water buffalo man going out to poison the air and masked ranger makes him explode and the commander goes grr i’ll get you next time; most of the plots are direct conflicts and attempts to bring down the enemy -- the villains learning 17′s weakness and seeking to destroy him, the villains forcing a soldier to blow up their base, etc. None of them force any significant shifts in the status quo or anything but they all feel like a natural part of an ongoing conflict rather than your usual MOTW shenanigans.

Characters as I said are about as much as you’d expect from the time period but there’s some highlights. 17 even about a third of the way into the series is treated with SO much mystery and intrigue as to how sentient he really is, with even solid info on him (such as a 15-hour recharge period) changing over time to the confusion of his creator. Dr. Hassler, the mad scientist who set everything into motion but quickly finds himself demoted to the pathetic useless man who stomps around in Brain’s employ is a fucking DELIGHT and the star of just about every episode for how hilarious his performance is! Brain itself is interesting for the questions it brings up; it’s a fully sentient computer that gained its own will and decided humanity has to go. It’s a lot more capable of complex thought and conversation though than say your Arks or whatever and that leads you to wonder what exactly is going on with it, as it hides secrets and knowledge even from the loyal agents trying to carry out its will.

So there’s a lot of things I am enjoying, but there’s elements that I’m not sure about -- it is a war story, and the army at the forefront goes without any real criticism or commentary. You might wonder why then I’m such a big fan of Ultraman, but there stories are a lot lighter and the defence team represents more than just standard military; and is also usually either a goofier concept or one with criticisms at the core -- but the Red Mufflers are a VERY grounded depiction of the military, and a couple comedic side characters aside it really goes without question the sheer extent of their activities and methods and what’s cast in a good light or not. The captain is an extremely forceful shouty type who physically abuses his men, forces Saburo (a child) into the army, puts him in insane danger... it’s all treated as something Necessary that He Knows He Has To Do and it’s just bizarre to watch when I know Ishinomori is someone who took huge issue with the military industrial complex! It’s a setting that makes it hard to get into this show too much

[variouslife]

Chris’s story from California

On May 1st, I gave a 2 weeks’ notice that I would withdraw from the Bangladesh plant. The Bangladesh factory, which was my first project, will be closed after 5 yeas of history. I had mixed feelings but was not sad. With the opening of the garment factory in Bangladesh, our company has grown significantly and is currently one of the top three clothing brands in the United States. Following in the footsteps of my father, who was considered a big player in the clothing industry, I also launched a fast fashion brand, and now I am continuing my successor classes following in my father's footsteps. The secret to my success was aggressive marketing. I was able to receive a lot of funding through my father's network. In addition, it was possible to make great profits by using the cheap labour force of Bangladesh. Perhaps it is not an exaggeration to say that I am the first person to start offshoring in Bangladesh.

"Mr. Welsh, the Bangladesh plant manager is calling."

"Can you let him know that I'm out and that he should call me back in an hour? I had bad sleep and gotta get some coffee now"

"Would you like to get the same thing? I will go get it for you."

"I need fresh air. And I need to call my wife too. So I will be back in 1 hour."

I know what the Bangladesh plant manager will say. He is probably shocked to hear that the factory will be closed. I'm sure that he will complain… I'm not in the mood to listen to such complaints right now because there is a more important issue than that. On my way to buy coffee, I called my wife.

"Hey, it is me. How is Josh doing now?"

"He has calmed down a lot. He ate a little while ago and fell asleep."

"Did you tell him about the hospital?"

"Yes.., but he stubbornly refuses to go to the hospital."

"You have to convince him somehow. Josh has to grow into a man who will inherit my business and this whole group. I can't let him live with being labelled a drug addict. If he does, it will affect the image of our company."

"…. Ok… I'll talk about it.. just give Josh a little more time"

"…I don't understand. What is wrong with him … I'll tell Dr. Harold anyway, so we should send him to the hospital and he needs to start treatment for drug addiction quickly.."

After the phone call with my wife, I started getting more headaches. I did everything for my only child, but he shakes his life with the cheapest and shittiest drugs… it was so insignificant.

"Welcome back Mr.Welsh. The Bangladesh plant manager is waiting for your call."

"He really bothers me. Call Dr. Harold first and ask if he is free this evening. Make an appointment for dinner. Place as usual. And tell me that it's urgent."

"Copy that."

“And connect me to the factory manager.”

(RING…)

"Hello, Mr. Welsh. Hope you are doing well. I was told that our factory will shut down soon. We have more than 1000 people working and everyone takes care of their family. We can't survive without this job. Please reconsider this issue."

"… Well… I did everything based on the contract. If you want to complain, sue us. But be prepared with good lawyers."

"No, no, no! Mr. Welsh. I'm sorry if it sounds like a complaint. I didn't mean it. I do apologize. I just hope that you consider our workers a little more. That's it"

“Do you know that I've been running the factory for the past five years? You don’t think I didn't consider employees? Factory evacuation will go ahead as scheduled. I have nothing more to hear from you, so I'm hanging up."

His calls made my headaches even worse. I should've not answered the phone… I’m sometimes too nice.. whatever, I need to focus on Josh and the next project for now.

[alstroemeriadissonance]

The first night (NSFW!)

Warning - NSFW. Like, the purpose of writing this fic is just to let NSFW thoughts out of my system. For mental health upkeep. Yeah. Also, another long-ass read again. (Gon be really hard maintaining the precious mental health what with the release of Secrets of the Tomb PV and LONG HAIR VYN aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa)

Pairing: Vyn Richter x MC

Will this get me banned?

Rosa slid further deeper into scented bathwaters, her head poking out just enough for her to absent-mindedly blow bubbles. She stirred the waters gently with her foot, deep in thought as she contemplated her current situation.

This wasn't her bath tub.

She wasn't even in her own house.

Compared to the mostly minimalistic modern aesthetic of her own apartment, the decor style of the house she was currently in could only be loosely described as Victorian. The bathroom was mostly outfitted with ivory fixtures, with a touch of gold accents here and there. The mirror set over the marble sink even bore a fleur de lis border.

Everything could only be described as elegant.

Very much like the man of the house.

A sigh bubbled from Rosa's lips.

What am I doing?

An hour earlier, she found herself in the throes of Dr. Vyn Richter's embrace, after he confessed his feelings for her rather intimately, strongly. Rosa knew she had to cut it short--whatever was happening was highly unprofessional.

But who was she kidding? She wanted it.

She wanted to return his feelings so badly, even happy that he was the one who cut through the thick sexual tension that hung over them for months, resulting from what seemed to be mutual attraction to each other but could not acknowledge because of their current professional relationship.

Which is why instead of fleeing his residence in the Victorian Quarter, she made feeble excuses of wanting to freshen up and bathe first.

It was like she wanted something to happen. And she was probably sending off the wrong signals...

Crap. I'm so transparent. Rosa cringed into the bathwater. Totally going about this the wrong way--

Three soft knocks interrupted her train of thought.

"Rosa, are you alright?" came Dr. Richter's muffled voice through the oaken bathroom door. A twinge of concern was still apparent despite the wood filtering his voice.

"Uhm, uh...Yes," Rosa stammered. "I'm all good, Dr. Richter." She forced a bit of cheerfulness in her tone. "I like the bath that you prepared. I really appreciate you putting in rose oil..."

Dead air hung for a few moments. Rosa at this point knew that Dr. Richter isn't convinced with her reply.

And she was right.

"Rosa...I am sorry," he said through the door. "I really do apologize for losing myself earlier."

"That was highly unbecoming of me. I--" Dr. Richter pauses, then continued. "You are a lawyer. You know what actions you can take. I make no excuses for my behavior. I will accept whatever it is you decide to do.

"I'll leave now, so you can--"

"NO!"

Rosa herself was surprised at the forcefulness of her own voice.

"No. I need you here," she admitted. No use denying it now. "I..."

She bit her lip. "I want you too." There. I said it.

It felt almost like an eternity until he spoke again. "May I come in?"

Rosa sat herself upright in the tub, the water gently splashing around her skin. "Yeah."

The heavy bathroom door swung open, and he slipped inside, with a wry smile on his face framed by his slightly disheveled silver hair. His shirt was creased and crumpled, as if he spent the time waiting for her laying down somewhere. Probably the same sofa where he assaulted her with his kissing earlier.

He looked like a mess compared to his usual meticulously groomed self.

"I scared you," he said, his eyes downcast while wearing the empty smile. "Are you still afraid?" He politely diverted his gaze away from the naked Rosa in his bath.

"Not really," said Rosa quietly. "I was surprised, that's all,

"I meant what I said. I want you too, Dr. Richter." She smiled at the memory back when they started working on the PUA case at university. "You...you were the first one to say I was beautiful. Unique, even."

"If another man said it, I probably wouldn't believe it," Rosa looked up at the morose-looking gentleman standing by the bathroom door. "But when you did..." her voice trailed off.

"But you are." He interrupted with a whisper. Dr. Richter's expression softened as soon as he allowed his eyes the sight of Rosa naked in his bathtub. "You're beautiful," he murmured softly, appreciating her soft, wet auburn curls falling over her naked shoulders, her glistening skin in the soft warm lamp light.

He closed the distance between them and knelt beside the tub. Again, he asked for her permission.

"May I kiss you?"

Rosa nodded quietly, closing her eyes.

Strong, yet gentle fingers touched Rosa's chin and slowly guided her lips to his. His tongue slipped inside, tasting heavily of red wine. He probed her tenderly, his lips softly nibbling on her lower lip as his hand caressed her damp hair.

They kissed deeply, his wine-scented breaths intermingling with hers. Not breaking the kiss, Dr. Richter reached out and pulled Rosa closer to him, drenching his white shirt in the process.

Rosa's breasts pressed firmly against his wet shirt. Eventually the realization of her nakedness distracted her from the torrid kissing, and she feebly crossed her arms over her chest. "Ah..." she looked away, a furious blush blooming on her face despite herself.

A soft chuckle rose from Dr. Richter's smiling lips, his golden eyes sparkling. "Don't you think it is too late to be shy at this point?" he said, gently pulling down her arms. "I want to see all of you."

Rosa whimpered, obviously not knowing what she was supposed to do in this kind of situation.

Realization dawned on his face. "Ah," he murmured. "This is...your first time?"

"I'm not...I'm not experienced," Rosa admitted.

"Then," Dr. Richter said as he gathered Rosa once again in his arms, not minding the water splashing on him. "Do you want me to show you?"

There it is, again, Rosa thought in the heat haze of his embrace. He wants it to come from me. "Yes, Dr. Richter," Rosa gulped. "Show me."

"Call me by my name," he whispered into her ear as he let his hand trace the curves of her left breast. "Call me Vyn."

"Vyn..." Rosa gasped as he let his fingertip graze her nipple, feeling it harden against his touch.

"Does it feel good?" He lightly pinched it, taking care not to hurt her but to try and elicit erotic sensations. "Do you like it when I do this?"

"Nnn...ah, y-yes," Rosa's bit her finger, trying to suppress her moaning.

A predatory, self-satisfied smile manifested on Vyn's golden eyes. "Really...how about if I do this?" He bent as he took Rosa's other nipple in his mouth, his tongue teasing it to hardness.

"Ah!"

Encouraged by Rosa's lusty exclamation, Vyn sucked on her nipple, and he tugged at her other one a bit more firmly.

"Vyn, ah, I..." Rosa found it very hard to string words together, heavily distracted by the deliciousness of whatever the silver haired man was doing to her breasts, and the growing sensation in her thighs. "What are you doing," she managed to gasp out.

Vyn let go of the breast he was nursing on. "Trying to see what makes you feel good, my darling," he murmured. "Knowing where you are...sensitive." He dipped down once again to tease Rosa's peak with his tongue.

Rosa's hand subconsciously wandered to her inner thighs, and without thinking started to touch herself under the water.

He noticed this. "Let's move this to the bed, shall we..."

==

On Vyn's queen-sized bed.

Rosa found herself covering her face with her hands, not knowing whether to feel confused or to let herself melt in the exquisite sensations currently assaulting her. Her legs were spread-eagled, hanging over the edge of his bed.

Vyn was kneeling between her thighs, his mouth intimately getting to know the inner folds of her womanhood. He reached out with both hands to cup her breasts, fondling them as his tongue explored her.

He paused to look at her from behind his long silver lashes that hid his look of pure lust. "Open your eyes, my Rosa," he breathed, and lightly sucked on her clit. "Look at me."

A loud gasp.

Vyn smiled, and sucked her again. One of his hands let go of her breast and a finger slowly pushed into her, until it was knuckle-deep inside. "Does this hurt?" he asked, his voice husky with lust.

"No...don't..."

"No?"

"Don't stop..." Rosa pleaded, whimpering. She was almost crying. "I'm..."

Ah. Vyn understood that he was on the right track. He tongued her and let his finger move gently inside her folds, keeping a steady rhythm.

Eventually Rosa's back arched and she let out a yelp, her thighs clamping around his neck tightly as she shook. "Vyn...!"

The sound of her calling out his name in unbridled lust almost drove the man mad. He straddled Rosa on the bed and devoured her mouth with the same lips that was drenched with her juices. "Did you like it?" He breathed into her ear before lightly nipping her earlobe.

"Vyn..." Rosa buried her face against his neck, wrapping her arms around him. "That was...that felt good..." she panted, her eyes closed. She didn't understand what was happening to her yet, but she would later know it as the dizziness that came with a strong orgasm.

"I will always try to make you satisfied, my love," Vyn said as he held her tightly against him, relishing the fever heat of her skin against his body. "Oh...?"

Somehow Vyn could feel Rosa's hand clumsily trying to rub his hard on through his pants.

Rosa's face was still buried against his neck. "I..." A pause. "I...want to...make you feel good too," she murmured.

Vyn laughed softly in delight, finding Rosa's clumsy attempts to reciprocate delightfully adorable.

"Don't laugh!" Rosa pouted, this time finally facing him with her determined olive gaze. "It's not fair that you get to do all the work."

Still smiling at her, Vyn stood up for a moment and with deft movements removed his clothing, leaving only his unbuttoned shirt. His pale skin shone in the moonlight filtering in through the window; his silver hair forming an ethereal halo around his face. "There."

Without knowing, Rosa once again brought a hand to her face, almost in reflex at the sight of a naked man in front of her. She tried to not look directly at the sight of his hard-on, to no avail.

The innocent display left Vyn chuckling. "Well, am I to your liking?"

Rosa finally looked scandalized. "Stop teasing me!" she said in a huff. Then her face softened with a look of longing. "Come here, Vyn."

He complied, lying on his side next to Rosa. "Well?" Vyn grinned, daring her to take initiative.

She took the opportunity to initiate the kiss, then once again her hand hovered to his hardness, and tried to grip it.

The attempt was rather clumsy.

A low chuckle. Vyn held the hand trying to do the ministrations and held it to his lips. With his tongue, he slowly wet Rosa's palm with his saliva and guided it to his member. "You do it like this," he said as he closed her now wet palm around his shaft, and gently demonstrated how to do a hand job. "Ah.."

Not wanting him to see how nervous she was in her attempt to pleasure him, Rosa brought her lips to his, letting their tongues dance. She could feel Vyn's breaths grow more shallow and ragged with each movement of her hand.

With a low groan, Vyn stopped her. "No more," he gasped. "Hah...not yet."

"Vyn?" Rosa looked worried as she watched him pull away from her. "What--ah!" She exclaimed as Vyn wordlessly parted her thighs and settled himself between them, his hard-on poking at her entrance.

Suddenly a slight panic overtook her. She had an idea about how sex went, but experiencing it was...

"Shh. Don't be afraid," Vyn whispered huskily. "I'll be gentle."

Rosa gripped the sheets, bracing herself for the hurt that she was anticipating...

And he started to enter her, bit by bit, with small thrusts.

there was a little sting. Ouch. Biting her lip, Rosa adjusted her hips, trying to lessen the discomfort.

"Does it hurt?" Vyn asked, looking at her behind his hooded eyes.

"A little..." Rosa winced.

He stopped moving, pausing to let his fingers massage her clit. "Does this make it feel better?"

A gasp. "Ah...yes," Rosa moaned, feeling herself get wetter around his shaft. "Mnh!"

It was only a distraction. His entire length was now buried deep inside her.

An unreadable expression cast over Vyn Richter's golden eyes, as he looked down at her with what could be assumed as pure, unadulterated lust mixed with triumph. A smile crept to the edges of his mouth as he licked his lips.

"Shall I teach you this dance, my Rosa?" he asked. "I will not move unless you tell me to."

"Y-yes," Rosa's voice trembled.

"I can't quite hear you," Vyn couldn't resist himself from teasing the object of his obsession writhing underneath him.

"Yes! Dammit!" Rosa tightly wrapped her legs around him in a frustrated response. "Do me now!"

Vyn, despite himself, blinked at the somewhat uncharacteristic outburst. "As you wish," he murmured as he started making love to her.

==

Rosa was already almost fully clothed when Vyn stirred in his bed and came to.

Sunlight shone directly on to his face--in the heat of the lovemaking of last night he forgot to close the curtains properly to should have kept early morning light spilling into his room--and woke him from his deep, satisfying sleep.

"Rosa, what are you doing?" He asked, his voice still heavy with sleep. "You're still aching all over from...last night."

Rosa blushed from head to toe. "Y-yeah," she stammered. The enamored, lusty woman that was once on Vyn's bed seemed to disappear with the arrival of sunrise. "I'll cause trouble for others if I suddenly call in sick, so..."

"You mean cause trouble for Artem," Vyn muttered his colleague's name in slight distaste. "Hasn't he overworked you enough?"

Rosa hesitated before defending her partner, knowing how prone Vyn was to flashes of jealousy. "Well...he also carries his own workload, and..." she sighed.

"I really don't want to give him any reason to drop by my apartment to check on me," Rosa admitted. "He did that the last time they forced me to take a sick leave..."

"Take a few steps," Vyn ordered curtly. "Try walking a bit."

Rosa blinked. "Like...this...?" she winced. "Ow."

"You can't even walk properly." Vyn sighed as he pushed himself off the bed, stripping off the sheets the covered him. He walked towards his desk where he left his phone.

Rosa admired the full view of his nakedness as he made his call, blushing furiously. The phone call didn't ever register in her hearing; she only found herself gazing longingly at the man who took her first time last night.

"Rosa?" Vyn called out to her, catching her attention. "Were you...distracted?" A cool, indulgent golden smile curled his lips. "Are you enjoying the view?"

Focus, Rosa! "Uh, what?"

"I said earlier, change out of your work clothes." Vyn said, crossing his arms. "I'll lend you one of my shirts."

"But, what about work--"

"Heh. I guess you were enjoying the view too much," Vyn let out a small laugh. "I told your partner that you can't make it because I'm borrowing you for an emergency."

He reached out to her and started to undo the buttons of her blouse. "Today, and tonight, you will be mine, and mine alone."

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 [𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐙𝐋𝐎 𝐊𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐋𝐄𝐑]

PAIRINGS — Laszlo Kreizler x fem!Moore!Reader

SUMMARY — When you got your hard-earned degree in medicine you never thought you would put it to use helping your older brother, a close childhood friend, a former prospective husband, and an alienist solve a murder

WARNINGS — depictions of the effects of being drugged, injury, fighting, mentions of death, descriptions of crime scenes and murders, angst (some season 1 spoilers: minimal)

NOTE — Wow okay so this is my very first Laszlo Kreizler fic and I am super excited to share it here with all of you! Honestly writing this really hit the spot so I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did! [Reader can also be interpreted as adopted, I didn't put a big emphasis on race so even given the times let's just pretend they were more accepting]

Frustratedly picking up your skirt as you exited the carriage, you hopped on up to the home you assumed your brother was at, knocking loudly on the door.

When there was no answer you knocked again, louder.

“Hello?!” you called past the glass. “Christ almighty John I know you’re in there,”

You continued knocking until the door slid open right under your fist and you stopped pounding it in mid-air, letting it drop at your side.

“Finally,” you sighed.

“Who might you be?” the man frowned on the other end. You assumed him to be Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, a friend of your brother’s from Harvard. You had never met him and you didn’t even know if he knew you existed. But that mattered less right now, you needed a word with your brother.

“(Y/N),” you huffed. “I need to speak with John, immediately,”

“As his friend, I feel I must ask whether you wish him harm, you seem quite beside yourself,”

“And why would that matter, whatever my business with him is none of your concern,”

“Well if you are a woman he’s currently trying to court then-,”

“Oh no! Never in a million years!” you exclaimed, shaking your head.

He looked at you curiously and you filled in the blanks.

“I’m (Y/N) Moore,” you said. “His sister,”

“His sister,” Kreizler repeated thoughtfully, a hint of a smile coming across his face. “Of course then by all means come in. I’m sure if you’re angry with him it is well deserved,”

“Damn right it is, now where is he?” you asked.

“In the living room right off to the side,” he pointed and you thanked him quickly before picking up your dress and running over to where John was.

“John Schuyler Moore if murder wasn’t a sin you’d be a dead man!”

“(Y/N) what are you doing here?” he asked as soon as he heard you. “Who let you in?”

“He did,” you pointed to Kreizler. “I’m assuming he’s your friend, the alienist, the one I haven’t met,”

“Good deduction,” Kreizler nodded and John sent him an annoyed look.

“Alright then, what is it this time?” he asked with a sigh.

“You promised you would be home for lunch,”

“Oh come on (Y/N) that can’t possibly be such a big-,”

You gave him a stern look and it seemed to click.

“Oh good lord (N/N), I’m so sorry, it must have slipped my mind,”

“Well it’s passed now,” you sighed, straightening out your clothes and gently massaging your temples.

“Laszlo, can we get her some tea?” John asked. “Or perhaps something stronger,”

“Of course,” he nodded, making his way to the cabinet and pouring you a glass of whiskey while John sat you down. “As I am to understand it normal lunches aren’t this stressful,” he handed you the drink and you nodded.

“They aren’t, but my grandmother is trying to marry me off,” you explained. “And she has terrible taste in men,”

“Very terrible,” John added as confirmation. “I promised (Y/N) I would be there to make her more comfortable, but it seems I’ve come a little too late for that,”

“It’s alright this glass of whiskey somewhat makes up for it, grandmother only allows me to drink wine,” you explained to Kreizler.

He had taken a seat across from you and John, staring at you both curiously.

“Is there something on my face?” you asked in a hushed whisper, turning over to John but not breaking your eye contact with the alienist.

“No, he’s just thinking,” John assured you.

“How come we’ve never met?” he finally asked and now it was your turn to look at John with the same look.

“Yes John, why haven’t we met?” you repeated.

John looked nervous, you couldn’t tell if it was because he had a legitimate reason to keep you apart or he was just afraid of upsetting you again. He cared for you deeply, after all, as an older brother should.

“I suppose, normally when Laszlo and I meet we don’t tend to discuss… delicate topics,”

“John I’m a woman who has managed to get into medical school, if I couldn’t handle disgusting things I wouldn’t have become a doctor,” you said flatly.

“A doctor?” Kreizler inquired and you nodded proudly.

“I wanted to be one ever since I was small, I’m lucky it was something we managed to make happen,”

“I believe your sister is right John,” Kreizler pursed his lips, only now did you really notice the hint of a German accent that was there, having not been paying close enough attention before. “Was there another reason you didn’t wish for us to meet?”

“No,” John said quietly. “None at all,”

“In that case, Dr. Moore, your brother and I were planning on enjoying dinner tonight in a restaurant. Would you care to join us?”

“I’d love to,” you smiled with a nod, slightly surprised he used your title automatically, with most men it was something you had to ask of them. You placed both your hands in your lap and held your glass. “I could go back and change into evening wear if this dress isn’t appropriate-,”

“No need,” the man waved his hand. “In the meantime, I wonder if your medical knowledge might actually do us some good,”

John gave the alienist a look and he responded with,

“If she is not comfortable she can simply say so herself,”

“Thank you Dr. Kreizler,” you said while nudging your brother. “And I’d love to be of assistance in any way I can. Is this related to the murders of the children happening in the lower east side?” you asked and leaned forward, your curiosity having been piqued.

“Yes it is,” he nodded, pushing himself up and moving to the table where he picked up a file and came back to you handing it with all its contents.

“We have two coroners working with us already-,”

“The Isaacson brothers?” you asked.

“Yes,” Kreizler nodded. “But they are also police officers, so it would be well on our part to have someone else in case their work no longer allows for them to assist us,”

“How do you know the Isaacsons?” John asked.

“Lucius tutored me in my first year,” you explained and he nodded,

“Small world,”

“Now is there something specific about this you’d wish for some insight on?”

“The wounds,” he pointed with his left hand, the right almost stiffly plastered to his side. “Tell me what you can deduce from them,”

“Well as it is with most things it would be much better if I could see the body in person, not that it would make this any easier, poor little one,” you murmured quietly. “But from what I can see on the wrist and torso it seems that the cuts that were made are clean,” you said.

“Meaning?’ John pressed.

“He didn’t hesitate when inflicting the wound, it’s possible you’re either dealing with a very deeply disturbed individual, but I also wouldn’t discount someone with possible medical knowledge, but that’s more in your wheelhouse isn’t it doctor,”

“That it would be,” he nodded.

“Tell me, do you psychoanalyze John?” you asked, a cheeky grin plastered on your face.

“Often,” John grimaced and Kreizler shrugged.

“Yes, I must say I am guilty of that,”

“And don’t think you’ll be excused,” John looked over at you. “He does it to everyone,”

“Especially when I wish to annoy them,” he joked and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

John took one look at the doctor then you and it didn’t take him long to determine that this new friendship would most definitely be the death of him.

—

Walking up the steps to Dr. Kreizler’s facility, you pushed open the gate and peeked your head inside.

“Excuse me? Can I help you?” a matron asked and you came in and nodded.

“I’m looking for Dr. Kreizler and John Moore, I was told they were here and looking for me,”

“Yes, of course, they’re right up over the staircase,”

You nodded, thanking her and climbing up the steps until you reached the large library.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Moore, thank you so much for joining us,” Kreizler came out from behind one of the shelves.

“You called (Y/N)?” John asked standing from the couch.

“Nice to see you too John,” you rolled your eyes, coming up to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Sara? Is that you?” you asked curiously, seeing the familiar face sitting on the couch. “Has John roped you into this too?”

“Yes, it seems that way,”

“Alright, Dr. Kreizler, what might I help you with?” you asked, walking over to the alienist, and peering over his shoulder seeing the photos with new crime scene details.

“Yes, I just wanted a second opinion on a few things,” he explained handing you the images and walking you through certain wounds and the proposed murder weapon.

“I’d have to say I concur with the Isaacsons,” you nodded. “They seem to have done their work very thoroughly. You can trust them,”

“Yes I’m afraid it’s not them I do not trust but more so a hesitancy to their superior officer,”

“Teddy?” you asked quizzically and Kreizler frowned but nodded.

“You refer to him very informally, do you know each other well?”

“I would say so,” John chuckled lightly to himself and you rolled your eyes at your older brother.

“We courted for a very short time while he was in college. Our plans didn’t fit but he supported me through my schooling and we’re still good friends,” you clarified. “John just enjoys sharing personal details of my life to embarrass me,”

“Oh come on (Y/N), if George isn’t here to do it who will?”

“Don't you dare John Schuyler, that’s awfully thin ice you’re treading on,”

“I love you too,” he mouthed and you shook your head, turning to face the large board with neat cursive writing, showing everything they knew about the killer so far and what Dr. Kreizler had managed to extract from his psyche using some sort of psychoanalysis.

You tilted your head curiously, looking at the board, your neurons were firing, attempting to make connections and solve some pieces of the puzzle.

“Have you noticed anything of particular interest?” Sarah asked and you pursed your lips.

“Do you have a record of the time gaps between each murder? I remember reading somewhere that most serial murderers aren’t able to suppress their urge to kill past a certain interval,”

“We don’t but it would be easy to get them,” Kreizler nodded.

You smiled to yourself, going to take a seat on the couch next to Sara,

“Don’t suppose you plan on sticking around,” she said to you. “We could use another trained eye,”

“I suppose you could, but be honest, you just want a friend,” you chuckled and she rolled her eyes.

“Is that a crime (Y/N)?”

“I suppose not,” you shrugged.

“Good then,” she straightened herself out and you watched carefully as the group continued to interact, the Isaacsons joining you soon after. Kreizler seemed to take the lead on things, deputizing the other to do certain tasks that their jobs permitted them to do. It was quite interesting and you supposed if you were yourself an alienist you might study their dynamic. Each person had such unique personalities and it was clear that at one moment or another they were bound to clash, but the desire to find out the truth was so strong you were almost certain they could overcome any menial differences they may have had.

This wasn’t the last time Dr. Kreizler had called you in to come and consult on a certain aspect of the case, you sometimes found yourself wondering what Marcus and Lucius were even doing for him to constantly call you back and ask for your opinion.

But your relationship with everyone besides John and Sara didn’t extend past the investigation. It was purely professional, devoid of any personal details, though you noticed Dr. Kreizler seemed to be sparing with those even among his close friends.

One day the doctor found himself needing your assistance once again so he made a call to the office where you were employed and when they said that you weren’t working that day he instead decided to go and meet you himself at your grandmother’s house where both you and John were currently living.

Cyrus pulled up the carriage right outside the home and he exited it, walking up the steps two at a time until he reached the door, giving it a firm knock.

He could hear a small rustle inside until he could see John walking towards the door from the crystal-like glass.

“Laszlo, has there been a development?’ he asked, stepping out of the house and pulling the door into his back.

“No, I just thought your sister might be able to shed some light on the old evidence. She has an interesting mind. Is she home?” he asked, head tilted slightly to the side.

John sighed and pressed his lips together in a thin line. His hand reached in past the door and grabbed a jacket off the coat hanger and came back out, closing the door fully this time.

“Come with me,” he said, motioning for the doctor to follow him. Kreizler did so as they walked down the street in silence until they came across a small fenced grassy area, lined with headstones, and there you were, straight in the center, laying down on your back, your hands resting on your stomach and eyes fixed on the clouds above. There was a moment of silence where Kreizler just observed you before he turned to John and asked,

“Does she do this often?”

“Only when she’s upset or unsure of something. She lost a patient today so I’m sure that might have something to do with it,”

Kreizler nodded and bit the inside of his cheek before deciding to push open the gate and walk up towards you.

Hearing the footsteps nearing you, you became worried that it was your grandmother coming to scold you on how unladylike your behaviour was, but instead, when you pushed yourself up slightly you saw Dr. Kreizler looking down at you, insisting you lay back down.

Carefully, you lowered yourself back down to the ground, but turned your head to the side, watching him take a seat next to you and slowly doing the same.

You looked back up at the sky and quietly said, “You’re going to try and pick my mind now aren’t you,”

“I’ll try not to,” he responded, his eyes firmly fixed on you. “But this is your brother’s resting place, correct?”

You nodded, moving your hand from your stomach to the headstone, tracing the engraved letters with your fingers.

“George Charles Moore,” you sighed and there was silence again for a minute or two before you decided to speak up again, “I know you want to know more. Ask me, it’s okay,” you assured.

“Y-You were close with him?”

“Very,” you smiled softly to yourself. “He was my best friend, confidant. He believed in me no matter what,”

Kreizler could sense the respect you had for him, someone who looked after you when your parents couldn't.

“I think after he passed away I realized I had to become a doctor. I had always wanted to do it, but it made me realize why,”

“Because you were able to halt death, even if only temporarily,”

You nodded, confirming his statement.

“You always wonder if there was something else you could have done. If you could have helped them more and maybe they or their loved ones wouldn’t have to suffer the same way I did. Completely helpless,”

“Is that why you’re always wanting to help people? Why you want to find out who’s committing these crimes?” he asked.

“I suppose so, I mean if we find who did it that puts defenceless boys out of harm's way and maybe we can see what happened to whatever tortured soul is committing these crimes and make sure it never happens again,”

A more comfortable silence settled across the two of you and you thought Kreizler might even stand up and leave, but instead, you heard his slightly accented voice speaking just barely above a whisper.

“When my mother passed away I felt like I lost whatever it was that was guiding me,”

Your head turned to look at him, noticing how his face softened when he spoke of her.

“I had the potential to become a monster, a bitter, spiteful monster, but she… she always loved me and no matter who I felt had wronged me, it didn’t matter anymore. So when she was gone I had to learn to do that for myself,”

“I’d say you’re doing a decent job,” you placed a hand on his, laying by his side and giving it a light squeeze. You could see him visibly tense so you let go and retracted your hand.

“Only decent?” he teased and you shook your head.

“You know what I mean Laszlo,”

Laszlo, the sound of his first name from your lips was like sweet heaven and made his heart pound a little louder and faster than he would have liked to admit.

“Am I to assume we’re at a point in our friendship where we can do away with formalities?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yes, I’d like to think so,”

“Alright then, (Y/N), I’ll leave you be a while longer,” he pushed himself up off his back and used his cane to help him back up.

“Laszlo, why did you come to see me?” you asked quietly before he left.

He paused,

“I can’t seem to remember now. If it comes to me you’ll be the first to know,”

You nodded and allowed him to walk away toward your brother, still waiting at the gate and listening closely you could hear their soft voices.

“So is she crazy?” John asked sarcastically, knowing very well he was guilty of doing the exact same thing as you every once in a while, though he would never admit to it.

Laszlo shook his head, and his voice dripped with pure sincerity when he gave John a small smile and said,

“Not in the slightest,”

—

“He asked you to dinner?” John cocked his head to the side. “To discuss case files,”

“Yes, we’re looking over some new evidence Teddy sent over about that rich boy, Laszlo’s not convinced it’s him,”

“So he’s said,” John nodded. “Isn’t that dress a little, I don’t know, formal for just a work outing?”

“It’s not a crime to want to look nice, John,” you said flatly, adjusting the pins in your hair. “And if we’re not eating at the home it’s always nice to dress up,”

John sighed and nodded while you grabbed your purse, and walked towards your older brother.

He wrapped his arms around your and pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, while you hugged him back.

“You don’t have to worry about me John you know that?” you said softly.

“I know, I’m not worried about you going with Laszlo, it’s just…” he shook his head.

“No it’s okay,” you nodded, squeezing him a little tighter.

Ever since George had passed away it didn’t just leave a mark on you. John hid it rather well from others, but he couldn’t deny that each time you stepped out of the house, especially while there was a psychopathic murderer on the loose, he became increasingly worried for your safety. He wasn’t about to let another younger sibling slip through his fingers, not again.

“Find a telephone and call me when you get to the restaurant okay?”

“Should I call here or the brothel?” you raised a brow and that was his cue to shrug you off him, allowing you to make your way to the cab. “But seriously John, where do I call?” you repeated.

“Here,” he muttered and you smiled.

“I love you,”

“Love you too,”

Leaving your grandmother’s home, you hailed a cab and instructed him to bring you to the restaurant you were supposed to meet Kreizler at.

When you came to your destination you made a quick call home before making your way to the table where the alienist was already seated, sipping his wine.

“(Y/N), you look lovely,” he gave you a small friendly smile that you reciprocated.

“Thank you, you’re not looking too bad yourself,” you nodded, taking a seat across from him. “So what are these developments you wished to speak about?”

“The dates,” he said, “After visiting the bishop at the church I realized the significance of the days,”

He pulled out a small day planner, motioning to the highlighted days.

“Do you see what they have in common?” he asked.

Flipping through the pages, you saw Kreizler was right. Each day had one thing in common. It landed on a holy day.

“There certainly couldn’t be a religious motive, no?” you said, looking up from the book.

“I highly doubt it,” he shook his head. “But something more likely is that perhaps religion, or church more specifically has some sort of special meaning to him,”

“Fascinating,” you murmured, glancing again at the dates in the planner. You smiled fondly when you saw your name written under the date for that day, his handwriting moving in one smooth motion, letters curling neatly.

“I thought so too,” he nodded.

Through dinner, you discussed other details pertaining to the case and you made a few small comments on the doctor’s health, hoping he was still taking care of himself while investigating.

“What about water, did you drink any today?”

“Of course I did (Y/N), I’m fine,” he assured.

“And you’re not skipping meals,”

“On occasion, but that’s no different from my normal habits,”

“Then they need to change,” you said simply. “Look at yourself,” you said, reaching a hand to gently touch his cheek with the back of your fingers. “You could put on a bit more weight, and if you add some fish to your diet it’s been found to help with brain functions and various different pains,”

Kreizler stared back down at his food, a small nervous chuckle escaping his lips,

“I guess the steak wasn’t the best choice then,”

“Next time,” you laughed with him, your arm laying on the table, fingers gently tapping in a haphazard rhythm.

Dr. Kreizler raised his hand to come and meet yours halfway on the table, a simple act, but it spoke volumes.

As the night drew to a close he offered you a ride home which you gratefully accepted, continuing your conversation through the carriage ride until you stopped outside your home.

“I suppose this is where we part for tonight,”

“Yes, I suppose so,” you nodded.

He carefully reached to take your hand in his, lifting it to his lips and pressing a light kiss to it.

“Sleep well, (Y/N),”

You smiled, grateful the dark could hide the flustered look on your face. You walked up to the door and looked back, one last time before disappearing back into the cover of darkness.

—

The investigation started to take a turn, and it wasn’t becoming uncommon for you to spend late nights either at the institution or Dr. Kreizler’s home. It was a non-stop search. And after the close run-in Stevie had after the trap had been set everyone was on edge.

So when it was well past one o’clock in the morning and you were the last person there, you weren’t sure you could say what came over you when you sat down on the piano bench, reading the sheet music that was placed on the stand.

Your fingers gazed over the keys before finding the right notes, playing the chords in whatever tune they were arranged in. You made a few mistakes here and there, but that was expected, you were rusty. What you didn’t expect was hearing the soft voice asking you to stop.

Your hands froze and you turned around, looking at Dr. Kreizler, standing in the doorway, and he looked, upset.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“No, I’d just like you to stop,” he said simply.

“Why?” you asked.

His irritation became more evident, the way his jaw was locked and twisted.

“Because I said so isn’t that enough?”

You shook your head, the exhaustion getting the best of you when you stood up and looked at him, disappointment in your eyes.

“You can’t expect me to be the type of person to just bow down to your every whim and pleasure Laszlo. I’m already sacrificing a lot helping you,” you said firmly. “It’s just a piano like you said, normally such things don’t cause stress or irritation,”

“Yes well, it’s none of your concern.”

“Actually,” you looked at him, gaze piercing. “It is my concern. Because whether you like it or not Laszlo people care about you,” you said through gritted teeth. “And yet all you can seem to do is push us away! Don’t think I don’t know you lied about your arm, that you struck Sara over it. As an alienist, I’d expect you to know better that there’s a need to talk about such things,”

“You have no right to bring that up,” he seethed.

“Well if you think that then I suppose I’ll take my leave. It seems I’m not wanted here. You be careful doctor, keep on this path and there will be no one left to take care of you,”

You marched out of the door, surprised to still see a few cabs running this late into the night, you called one over and quickly climbed inside a few tears stinging your eyes, but without so much as a look back, you closed the door.

—

The next morning Kreizler awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. He quickly climbed out of bed and made his way downstairs, taking it off the receiver and placing it to his ear.

“Laszlo is that you?” he could hear John’s voice, it sounded worried.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Did (Y/N) stay over last night?”

“John I don’t know what you’re insinuating-,”

“She didn’t show up at home Laszlo,” he interrupted. “Please tell me she’s with you,”

Kreizler could feel his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. If you hadn't fought Cyrus would have prepared the cab to take you home. You could have stayed the night in the guest bedroom, anything, but what he thought had happened.

“John…”

“Dammit! I knew I shouldn't have let her be a part of this!”

“John I’m going to the police immediately,” he said firmly. “Grab your jacket and meet me there, we’re going to need whatever help we can get,”

John took a deep breath, “My little sister better not be hurt, I swear to God-,”

“John, I assure you, whatever you're thinking I’ve already thought ten times worse, let’s just find her first,”

“Hurry up,” he muttered quietly, hanging up the phone and leaving the doctor with a disconnected line.

John was already meeting with the commissioner, and he considered himself lucky to have attended Harvard with him.

“Do you know where she last was, or what happened?”

“Laszlo knows better than me, he was with her last,” John said quietly, looking up at his friend.

“Alright then,” Theodore turned to the alienist. “What happened?”

“We were working late on the case and decided to take a break, I went to get tea and she… it doesn’t matter, we were tried and had an argument. She left the house before I could say anything and the last time I saw her was when she climbed into a cab,”

“Around what time was this?”

“Quarter past one in the morning,” he said, trying to keep his expression stoic, but the guilt that crept up in his eyes was more than obvious.

“What can we do to help?” John asked.

“Stay together and let the police department take the lead on this,” Theodore said firmly. “Maybe try to come up with names of people that you think might be looking to harm her and then get in touch with me directly,”

“But-,”

“John you’re a cartoonist, don’t even try to fight me on this,” Theodore insisted and John conceded.

“Come on John,” Kreizler placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “Let’s go,”

John followed him, however unwillingly and before they knew it they were both sitting in the living room of the doctor's home, glasses filled with the strongest alcohol in the household.

Not a word was spoken between the two, Kreizler’s eyes, drifting back constantly to the piano and the undisturbed sheet music that laid there.

“What did you argue about,” John asked quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said what did you argue about,” his voice was louder, showing a bit of an edge it had. “I’m trying to decide whether I should deal with you now or after we find her,”

Kreizler swallowed thickly.

“Perhaps it would be best to put me out of my misery if anything were to have happened to her… I wouldn’t forgive myself. The argument was trivial, unnecessary, had I just taken a moment to listen,” his hand was gripping the glass so tight high chuckles went white and the fragile glass shattered in his hand, spilling the drink onto the floor, mixed with his bright red blood.

He barely even flinched and John saw something, something he’d never seen in the doctor, always so sure of himself. He saw regret.

So, for the time being, he decided to put aside his feelings, placing his drink on the table next to the couch and standing up to grab a cloth and clean up the shards of glass on the floor along with the spilled drink.

Dr. Kreizler stood up and took out a small box from the shelf, opening it and grabbing the tweezers and bandage wrap from it, picking out the pieces of glass from his hand then proceeding to wrap it tightly.

“Who would want to take you (Y/N),” he whispered to himself. “Come on tell me,”

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but nothing came.

“John I’m going to go out for a bit,” he said simply. “If you need anything ask Cyrus and he would be more than happy to help you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere to help me get into your sister’s mind,”

—

At least two hours had passed while Dr. Laszlo Kreizler laid down next to the resting place of George Moore. Something was off, what would be the reason to take you? What would they need from you? What were they going to do to you?

His head was spinning while the clouds passed by overhead, a dark grey colour, fitting for the mood of that day.

The doctor didn’t move even when it started to rain, staying completely still while the water washed over him. He focused his mind on the drops, feeling the way each one hit his body until there were too many to count and with a jolt he shot up.

Quickly standing on his feet he ran down the streets like a madman until he made it back home, breathing heavily and soaked to the bone. His finely pressed suit dirtied with mud and grass.

“Good God Laszlo where have you been?!” John exclaimed, urging his friend to come more inside.

“It’s doesn’t matter,” he shook his head, waving a hand dismissively. “I think I know who took her,”

“What? How?”

“Think about it, the only thing she’s doing that puts her in danger is helping us with this case,”

“Yes, I knew that, but-,”

“And the case keeps pointing us in what direction? A direction that a few high society men and public servants would rather we not pursue,”

“What are you saying?”

“I think former Captain Connor and the former chief have orchestrated her kidnapping to set us back in our investigation,”

“So you think this is all...a distraction?”

“Yes and I sincerely hope it means she’s not in grave danger, but… Connor is a ruthless man, we have to find her, soon,”

“I’ll call Theodore, he can keep it within a trusted few, but we’re going to need his help,”

“I know,” he nodded, using his hand to brush back his dripping hair. “I just pray we find her before it’s too late,”

—

It was maybe just past three o’clock in the morning when both John and Laszlo were startled awake by the ring of the phone.

Despite his grogginess John snapped up and grabbed it, placing it to his ear.

“Hello?” he said, eyes frantic in hopes of any news. “You did? Is she-,”

John nodded,

“Okay, thank you, we’ll be there right away,”

John hung up the phone and looked at Kreizler who rubbed his face to wake himself up.

“They found her, she’s hurt, but alive,” John said. “Theodore’s asked if you can try and find some concrete evidence against Connor, do you-,”

“I’ll stay,” Kreizler nodded. “You go be with your sister, I’ll come around after breakfast,”

“Thank you,” he said, patting him on the shoulder and grabbing his jacket. You were fine and that was probably the biggest relief of all.

—

You awoke to a throbbing pain in your head and the dim light of a candle that was lit next to you. You groaned, trying to push yourself up but crying out in pain just before you felt a soft hand pushing you back down on the bed.

“W-What’s going on,” you whimpered. “Who-,”

“It’s Teddy (Y/N), John’s on his way you’re safe now,”

You looked down at your arms, littered with bruises, there was a huge gap in your memory. The last thing you could remember was leaving the doctor’s house. How long had you been out?

“Drugs,” you mumbled. “Was I drugged?”

“We’re not sure, but it’s a big possibility,”

You moaned from the soreness when you raised your hand to your face, but Theodore stopped you.

“You’ve got a few cuts and bruises on your face (N/N), just keep your hands by your side for now okay?”

You blinked heavily, wanting to sit up, but not having any sort of strength to do so.

“Laudanum,” you mumbled. “Teddy I need laudanum,”

“I’ll get a doctor, okay, we’ll see what we can do,”

You nodded your head, although rather stiffly while Theodore got up to grab a doctor, bringing him back to you so he could assess your needs.

“She’s right, we can give her some laudanum for the pain and it might help make her more lucid,” the doctor nodded. “How did she-,”

“She’s a doctor,” Theodore said simply. The man’s eyes only widened slightly before nodding and going off to get you an injection of the medication, but before he came back the door flew open and John ran in, his expression frantic and worried as it usually was when you were in any sort of compromising situation.

“(N/N) thank God,” he whispered, practically falling to his knees next to your bed, gently taking your hands in his and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. He didn’t even make any sort of effort to hide the tears in his eyes when he saw you laying right there in front of him.

“Told you…” your voice drifted slightly before you took a deep inhale and looked up at him again. “Told you I can take care of myself,”

“If you call this taking care of yourself I think we need to have a little chat,” John sniffed, watching you untangle your hand from his and reach it up to his face, wiping away a few stray tears that had found their way down his cheeks.

When the doctor returned John stepped aside for a moment while you received your injection and took a seat from the corset of the room, pulling it up next to the bed.

“Where did you find her?” John asked.

“A cargo box down by the docks,”

“How-,”

“Anonymous tip,” Theodore crossed his arms and shrugged. “I don’t know who sent it, but whoever did, they very well saved her life,”

John nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation,

“Thank you, Theodore, really for everything,” John said. “You know she’s going to say she owes you one when she’s awake and lucid,”

“I know, just tell her as long as she helps catch this sick bastard, she can consider the favour repaid,”

Theodore patted John’s back and bent down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before exiting the room and leaving you be with your brother.

John didn’t sleep a wink that night, refusing to shut his eyes and let you slip away again.

The sun rose steadily at around seven o’clock in the morning and your eyes fluttered back open along with it, your breathing less laboured and vision clearer, you must have slept off the effects of some of the drugs. The doctor came back in to give you another injection to manage the pain and John insisted you close your eyes and rest once again and you didn’t have the will to fight him.

Quarter past nine the door to the private room carefully creaked open and John could see Kreizler poking his head through the small opening.

“Is she-,”

“Just resting,” John whispered.

He walked in, revealing he was holding a bouquet of flowers and John finally stood up, walking over to his college friend.

“Did you find anything?”

“Unfortunately not. I’m afraid the only way you will get him is with a confession,”

John nodded, lips pursed, thinking about what next steps to take.

“John… I know this is a lot, but… may I ask for a moment alone with her?”

John’s eyes trailed over to your sleeping figure and back to the alienist before giving him a slight nod and placing enough trust in him to leave the room.

Kreizler placed the flowers on the table near the entrance to the room and sat down in the chair that John was occupying.

He hesitated when he reached out a hand to hold yours, but when you began to stir awake he let go.

You blinked a few times before noticing the doctor by your side. Your expression softened and you opened your mouth to say something although unable to, your throat dry from disuse.

He quickly handed you a glass and helped you sip from it, soothing your throat and allowing you to speak.

“You came,” you said simply.

“Of course,” he nodded.

“I-And you brought flowers?”

“Yes, your favourites,” he nodded.

A silence fell between you two and you weren’t sure if you should be the one to break it. It seemed as though Dr. Kreizler had the same thoughts, but acted on them instead.

“It’s my fault you’re like this,” he said softly. “It’s my fault your hurt, I should have taken better care of you… I should have been honest with you. Maybe I’m not as good as I thought, holding back whatever monster is inside of me,”

“I don’t blame you,” you said immediately. “Not one bit Laszlo,”

“You should,”

“But I won’t,” you shook your head, turning it slightly to the side to face him better, reaching out a hand to gently cradle his face, the hair of his beard gently tickling your fingers while he held your hand there. “You’re not a monster Laszlo, you’re a good man, a good man who has struggles just like any other human,” you took a deep breath before continuing. “Plus if you were a monster why would you come here and bring me those beautiful flowers?”

That made him smile, your hand still holding his face until he removed it himself, holding it in his lap instead.

“I asked you to stop playing that piece because I have very painful memories associated with it,” he said softly. “The piano was something I took great pride in as a child. My whole life was set for me with it and now…” he glanced down at his arm, tears glistening in his eyes. “He took that away from me,”

“Who did Laszlo?” you asked, your voice just above a soft whisper.

“My father,” he told you. Carefully explaining the truth behind his arm. Not a congenital malformation like he had put it before, but the misdeed of a cruel father.

After his voice faded into silence from explaining, you reached over carefully and took his hand, the one that he normally tensed when you touched, only this time he allowed you to take it in yours and bring it to your lips, pressing a delicate kiss to it.

“(Y/N)-,”

“Not a word Laszlo,” you whispered. “Every part of you is worthy,”

He swallowed his words and nodded, allowing your lips to burn the skin to his hand and wrists, while he cherished the feeling, the feeling of you so close to him, so intimately connected. Loving the parts of himself he hated the most.

It was no question how special of a person you were, he just wished he could have seen that sooner, sparing you the hurt and anguish. But you were strong and resilient, much more than he had ever seen in a person and paired with your care and empathy for others, it just amazed him how good of a person you were, despite all the hardship life had decided to throw in your way. It was clear everyone might be able to learn a thing or two from you.

—

Around a week later you had recovered from most of your injuries, mainly dealing with the chronic pains that came with them and a few cuts and bruises here and there, but you were determined to continue investigating the case.

The clinic where you worked had asked if you wanted some extra time off to recover and you took it but rest and relaxation were far from what you were doing.

“(Y/N), you have a headache it’s quite obvious,” you could hear Sara’s soft voice ring through your ears.

“Why don’t you just lay down on the couch?” Kreizler suggested knowing there was no use in trying to fight with you.

“Just close your eyes,” John added. “If you want to help your mind has to be clear right?”

You nodded slowly, making your way to the couch and carefully lifting your feet so you were outstretched across its length.

Dr. Kreizler came back with a warm wet towel and you placed it over your eyes only to feel him squeeze your hand and say,

“No peeking, we need you in top shape,”

“Shh Laszlo you’re half the reason I have this headache,” you quipped and that seemed to make him laugh, even if only slightly and if that sound was medicine all your ailments would have been cured at that moment.

You weren’t sure when you drifted off to sleep but when your eyes peeled back open the cloth was no longer on your face and the room was practically dark, only lit by a few candles here and there.

You pushed yourself back up on the couch looking around and only seeing the doctor sitting on the armchair tossing another bout of files to the side.

“Where is everyone?” you asked groggily.

“Home. John didn’t want to wake you so he asked if I could have a room prepared for you here,”

“Oh, thank you,”

It was good of John to have asked because you probably wouldn’t be making any late-night trips alone. Or at least you didn’t want to.

The memories of that night were still incredibly fuzzy and all you seemed to be able to remember was the feeling, maybe it was feet or someone’s fists but they were having a go at you and suddenly it made the lump in your throat grow making it difficult to swallow.

“Are you alright?” the doctor inquired gently.

“Fine,” you nodded. “Just trying to get out of my head,”

Kreizler motioned for you to come closer to him and you did, standing up and moving to the armchair before sitting yourself down at his feet, your hands placed in his own.

“What is it meine liebe?” he whispered, the back of his index finger stroking your cheek gently.

Your breath hitched while you looked up at him, his hazel eyes sparkling with green until the dim candlelight.

“You’re tense even when you’re safe,”

The pain was hard to forget, even when there was a compassionate touch from your brother or a gentle squeeze of your hand from the doctor or a friendly hug from Sara, it still hurt. The wounds were still there causing pain, associating that pain with the way your loved ones would hold you.

Loved ones.

They had really become that close, in such a short amount of time.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked again, pulling you from your daze.

You nodded, somewhat meekly not wanting to admit the pain you were feeling.

“Where doesn't it hurt?”

You detached your hands from his, showing him your hands,

“Here,” you said faintly.

He took your hands in his again, gently bringing them to his lips, pressing a kiss to each knuckle, each finger, sparks flying through you with every touch he gave.

“Where else,”

Your fingers moved to your neck, one of the only places where you weren’t bruised to begin with.

Your face was in his hands and he held you so delicately while you sat at his feet. His eyes scammed yours, asking for permission because dammit if he wasn’t a gentleman. You gave it to him with a simple nod of your head and one of his hands retracted while the other tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck and allowing his lips to trail feather-light kisses along it, your heart pounding through your chest and you prayed he couldn’t feel your pulse through your arteries.

When his lips detached from your neck your breath was shaky, wavering, waiting for him to ask the question once more.

“Where else meine liebe?” he whispered, close to your ear, his warm breath fanning over the side of your head and causing you to almost freeze in your spot.

You swallowed thickly, lifting your hand to your lips, fingers brushing delicately against them, almost begging him to just kiss you proper.

“Las,” you breathed, cutting his name short in an endearing way.

He didn’t need to hear you ask again, tilting your chin up and resting his lips on yours. You quavered slightly under his warm touch but he held you steady. Your bottom lip became tucked between his, like puzzle pieces.

It felt quick, not long enough, you wanted it to last an eternity and when he heard your quiet whimper when you pulled apart he didn’t waste a second to press his lips back on yours, pulling you in closer and letting his beard scratch against the soft skin of your cheek.

When you pulled apart for a second time you were prepared for it. Allowing your forehead to rest against his, your hands holding him close.

“Your brother may have a very good reason to be mad with me now,” he said softly and you couldn’t help but crack a small smile.

“John doesn’t matter right now,” you shook your head.

“But he does, because I must ask something of him,”

“What could you possibly need from my overprotective older brother?”

“His blessing and permission to court you. Along with your own,”

Your lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile. “Now that will get Gran off my back,”

“My thoughts exactly, and maybe, I hope it might bring you some joy meine liebe or respite,”

“As long as you can promise me that you won’t hide away Las,” you murmured, your fingers delicately brushing away some hair from his eyes.

“Anything,” he nodded. “I’d promise you anything,”

“Okay then while I’m at it, please don’t get yourself killed,” you said, placing a small peck to his lips.

“You have my word,” he smiled. “But you should sleep, I know you’ve barely been getting rest and you look tired,”

“You know it’s not polite to tell a lady she looks tired,” you quipped with a raised brow and he gave you a gentle smile. “And I think… I think I might rest better if I was lying next to you,”

Kreizler seemed to think this over, everything that was proper, especially in New York’s higher society, told him to say maybe it was best they spent the night apart, but his heart ached to be close to you, to hold you tight and feel your body against his.

“(Y/N), I-I’m not altogether sure that’s best especially for a proper woman such as yourself I wouldn’t want to-,”

“Las,” you stopped him. “I think over the time you’ve known me we both know that I am anything but proper. And you and I, we’re not normal people, what harm is there in sharing a bed,”

Absolutely none. You were right. There was no harm.

“First door on the left,” he said softly. “I’ll join you in a moment,”

You nodded, pushing yourself up to stand on your feet, a hand going to affectionately caress his face, tucking a very small piece of hair behind his ear.

He leaned into you, resting his head against your stomach and you held him there, despite the soreness it brought you because you knew how much of a comfort it was to him after working such late nights and long days.

Your fingers gently massaged his scalp, just for a few moments before pressing one last kiss to his head and pulling away, his hazel eyes forever lingering on you while you slowly walked up the stairs.

[imatechbummerliketomholland]

I wish this trip never ends (sstbthw part 2) - h.h

Word count: 3768

Warning: angst, swear, mention of smoking

Pairing : harry holland

Request: no.

N/A: okay, i took me almost a whole month to write this but i'm kinda need to work on school too. Remember, english is not my first language, so be kind if you spot mistakes, i really tried my best. I asked you who the reader was supposed to end up with ... I'll let you figure it out but ... don't hate me for the end ... because after all ... it might not be the end. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Love you all! xx

taglist : @angeliquekalampoka , @harryhollandsgirlfriend (the one and only harry holland's girlfriend to me)

ღღღ

previously - and you can find part 3

Restoring a relationship of trust and regaining the bond that you both had was particularly difficult. You had to learn to find your place in Harrison's life, but also in his relationship with Grace. You were roommates and friends, but it was complicated to plan meetings with Harrison's busy schedule. Between his job search after the cancellation of his Netflix series, his photo shoots, his dates with Grace, those with his family. It was getting harder and harder to find a moment to reunite with the two of you. It was without counting your schedule.

You were supposed to meet at noon for lunch at that restaurant Harrison told you about where he took his mother earlier this year, for Mother's Day. You felt uncomfortable going to such a place. It was very fancy; you had taken a look at the menu and you knew in advance that you would not be able to afford to split the bill. That was sometimes one of the downsides of being friends with Tom and Harrison. They sometimes forgot that their salary was significantly higher than yours. After all, they were still simple, good-natured guys, never saying no to a quick takeout meal or ordering pizza, drinking a beer at the local pub. And sometimes, they offered to go to prestigious places, not paying attention to money, wanting to please their friends or family.

Currently you were in your room. You were throwing countless of clothes across the room, trying to choose what you could wear to this lunch. Harry stopped dead when one of your dresses flew out of your room, right in front of his nose, blocking his way. You had left your door open and your spontaneity got the better of your best friend.

“Easy, Tiger. I had no idea your clothes had the capacity of Dr. Strange's cape.” He joked before coming into your bedroom.

You turned to find Harry leaning against your doorframe, a smirk encrusted on his face. You gave him an unamused frown and his smile widened. This wasn’t funny at all; you were stressed as hell. It’s not like you still had feelings for Harrison and try to impress him – to be honest, you still had feeling for your friend, but not as intense as before, you had drawn a definitive line on the possibility of a romantic relationship with him, which had helped you a lot. – But you didn’t want to be dressed down and looked like a clown.

“Come on Munchkin, it’s just a lunch. At worst, Harrison can still make it looks like he invited you out for charity, sort of “Make a Wish” event” Harry joked, in his significant humor.

“Go to hell, Robert. Don’t you have a pack bag to make, mister “I’m going to Spain to help my superstar brother to hold his tea while he’s filming”?”

“Rude… I’m a film director, now”

Not for that, you thought to yourself, but don't have the balls to tell your best friend. You didn't want to take this joke too far. You smiled at his cute pretending offended face. You pouted mockingly before biting your lip. You loved the dynamics of your relationship so much. Your humor, sarcasm, your outspokenness, that's what brought you together. Harry pulled you lightly from your closet with a comforting wink. He chose Yves Saint Laurent poppy red wool jersey flared pants that Tom gave you on your birthday. You smiled at his choice. You liked these pair of pants because they were sparkling with vitality, the color was flamboyant. Harry then gave you a satin pearl-colored shirt from Zara and you laughed at the drastic brand difference.

“Oh I see. A classy look but no more than £ 1000 that's pretty smart,” you joked.

The choice of your outfit once again proved the reality of hanging out with wealthy people. You were not poor; you could even be grateful for the life you had had. But it would never occur to you to give your friends clothes that were going over the miles and cents. To be honest, you wanted it. You wanted to live up to the gifts your friends sometimes gave you. But the truth seemed quite different: you had cried over the price of a used Rolex you wanted to give Tom for his birthday. Even having saved for 6 months, you could not afford such a gift.

“Shut up, don’t be so dramatic. Wear that necklace Harrison gave you for Christmas. I’m sure you’ll look fine”

“Thank you,Baz…I guess. ”

You kissed his cheek and then invited him out of your room so you could get ready. It didn't take you more than thirty minutes, time to put on the outfit your best friend had chosen and to put on light makeup. When you were finally ready, you walked to Tom's room. He had offered to take you to the restaurant where you were to join Harrison. But when you got to his ajar door, you could hear the soft sound of a slight snoring. You let out a chuckle before ordering an Uber. You knew he had spent almost a full month in Los Angeles and hadn't returned until early last week. You wanted to leave him as much as possible alone so that he could rest before his trip to Spain for the reshoots of his film Uncharted. Tom was a boy who loved being in touch with those close to him, but you also felt his need to recharge his batteries. That's why you preferred to let him sleep.

You went down to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water before leaving. When your Uber arrived, you left a note on the refrigerator to let the boys know you were safely gone. It was little everyday things that made you look normal that you enjoy. A post-it on the fridge, a table organizing household chores had been drawn up. Note to yourself; It was Harrison's turn to take care of the laundry.

☙♡❧

You had really hoped this was just a grotesque nightmare. That it wasn't real. He was going to arrive; he was just stuck into the traffic. Isn't it?

But you were there, waiting for over an hour and a half, without any news from your friend. Some people watched you with pity eyes, the others didn't give you any attention. You internally thank Harry for choosing your outfit. You didn't look like a lost kitten in this prestigious setting. It didn't prevent you from being ashamed right now. The waiter had urged you to order several times but you had told him that you were expecting someone, that he would arrive any minute. The last time, you didn't know if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

But it never happened. Harrison never came to your dinner. You were alone, sitting at a table, pathetically waiting for your friend to show up. It didn't look like him. He had never stand you up before. And not to improve this embarrassing moment, the waiter came to you again. This time, with a man in a suit. He was elegant, carried himself proud but diplomatic. They stopped at your table, a tight smile on their faces. No doubt the man in the suit was to be the manager.

"Miss, my employee told me that you seemed to have occupied this table for a while now. I am sorry to tell you that if you do not order a few things, you will have to leave the establishment"

You looked at him with misty eyes. You have never been so ashamed in your life. You just nod your head, not trusting your voice just yet. After taking a deep breath, you finally apologize to them before telling them that you are going to leave. The manager of the restaurant, out of politeness awkwardly apologizing for this uncomfortable situation.

You've finished the Dry Martini that you allowed yourself to, paying for it with whatever pride you have left. You pulled your cellphone out of your purse and decided to call one of the boys. After three rings, he picked up.

"Hey ... can you please pick me up?"

Your voice was shaky, you were so ashamed but it was less distressing than having to walk the Walk of Shame to your house or cry in an uber. You hung up and shared your location. You left the lobby, leaving the restaurant, standing in front of the entrance to the establishment. The air refreshed your cheeks burning with shame. Luckily it wasn't raining today. Which was pretty nice compared to that early summer you had had.

When you saw Harry's car pulled up in front of you, you slid into the passenger seat without a word. The curly redhead gave you a heartwarming smile but you definitely could see a spark of annoyance in his eyes. You sigh, resigned while shrugging your shoulders. It was obvious that your friendship with Harrison was still shaky.

"I'm sorry, love. He's a jerk about it."

Coincidentally, like a mitigating circumstance, your phone vibrated, receiving a notification from Harrison. You were chewing your lip with a sort of anguish and irritation, watching the message the blond had sent you.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. My agent called me for a pretty urgent casting briefing. She's detained me until now. Are you still okay for this dinner?"

You were angry. You were mature enough and had known the boys long enough to understand their obligations. The fact that Harrison had a lastminute meeting with his agent and missed your dinner wasn't a problem. The problem was, he made you wait for over an hour and a half before notifying you. You wanted him to call you to let you know, or a simple text just after he knew for the meeting. You typed a short answer, shorter than this was impossible. "No". You rested your head against the headrest, turning your gaze to your best friend.

"Hey, he's a Netflix star now" you replied to his last words.

Your voice cracked on the last syllables and your eyes filled with tears. You weren't usually that emotional but the anguish and shame really took over you. Harry noticed, unsure of how to instantly respond to your distress. He would have liked to stop on an emergency lane to take you in his arms but he already had 2 penalties to pay, respectively for speeding and prohibited parking ... a third fine would not be really welcome. He simply placed his hand on your thigh, drawing circles on your pants to comfort you. He simply moved his hand to shift gears and instantly rested it on your leg whenever he had the chance. This gesture soothed you, enjoying the touch, grateful to have someone as your best friend to mop up your pain.

☙♡❧

Arriving at the apartment, no sign of Harrison. When you walked in the kitchen, you saw Tom sitting at the counter, scrolling his phone. He looked up at you, not directly noticing your annoyed expression.

"Wow..you're ... gorgeous. I love these pants on you"

You smiled, a little amused by the compliment. Of course he loved the pants, it was a gift from him. But your smile didn’t reach your eyes. With a look on your expression then on the clock, the actor understood that something went wrong. Harry was right behind and still no trace of Harrison. It was suspicious. Tom gave you a worried look.

"Do I have to ask…Never mind, I’m still going to ask. How was lunch with Harrison?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask him? Oh wait... right, he didn't show up" you said sarcastically although you could hear the hurt in your voice.

Tom frowned, biting the inside of his lower lip in annoyance. Harrison was his best mate since forever and he knew him so well. It seemed strange from Harrison to not show up. The blond has told him he was happy to see you again and walking through this whole awkward “feeling situation” because he didn’t want to lose you. In a quick movement, he rose from his stool to walk around the counter. The next second, he took you in his comforting arms and you finally let yourself go under the sight of the two Holland brothers.

“It seems like you need a break of all this shit” Tom said while he ran his fingers through your hair.

You let a little laugh escape through your tears. He wasn't wrong. You really needed to get away from this whole situation for a moment. But how? Harry watched the scene unsure of what to do. You were his best friend and it seemed like the solace you found was never in his arms. He had tried in the car, however, as best he could. He walked over to the counter to make you both a cup of tea. It seems that as cliché as it sounds, tea comforts you, as the English person you used to be. As the redhead waited patiently for the water to boil, a flash of genius - according to him - crossed the glare of his eyes.

“Why doen't she come with us to Spain?”

His brother's words seemed to suit Tom, who released his hold on you. You opened your eyes wide, not sure of what you had just heard. Go to Spain, with them? Once again, you knew you were going to argue on this proposition. The idea was not bad, Spain seemed a rather pleasant country. But you had just graduated and had a student job to save as much as possible. However, you could not afford to leave for several days in Spain, at the last minute. Plus, what were you going to do while Tom was filming and Harry was assisting him? He was sure the film's production crew wasn't going to give you a pass because Tom had decided.

“Yeah! That’s it, you’re coming with us”

“Tom, I have a student job. I can’t just…decide to go to Spain.”

“You never take a leave, come on. It’s not negotiable”

You were looking at Harry for help but he just shrugged. After all, he was the one who had initiated the idea of ​​including you on the trip. You were trying to find a valid excuse to stay home. You really didn't want to impose yourself.

“I can’t afford that” you said, trying your best to convince him to quit the idea.

“I don’t care, it’s not even a problem. You coming to Spain with us.”

"Omg, does Z dominate you in bed to make you so bossy in life?"

Harry almost spitted his tea and laughed out loud while Tom gave you shocked eyes with pinky cheeks. You had always been sassy but hanging out with the boys had made you even more sassy than ever. How many times haven't you heard Tuwaine or Harry make fun of Harrison or Tom on the sex subject? Being a girl seemed to make you an untouchable character. The boys had never teased you about your relationships or your sexual partners. And while you've always had feelings for Harrison, you've had your own experiences. Anyway, you had just gone with the flow and Tom's brand-new romantic relationship with his co-star gave you the perfect opportunity.

“That's not the point.” stammered the actor.

Your smile widened, proud of your joke and the way Tom reacted. You heard Harry clear his throat. He had his phone in his hand and his own smile didn't bode well for you.

"The production is okay but it's at Tom's expense."

“You got to be kidding me…”

☙♡❧

You ended up in Spain with two of your best friends. You knew you had limited time before Tom had to fly back to Los Angeles for some Spider-man: No Way Home reshoots. So, you enjoyed as much as possible: accompanying the boys to the golf course - even though you weren't very involved in the sport -, spending time to visit touristic places when they were on set, talking with Rachael and other people from the set. You really enjoyed your trip.

On Wednesday evening you went out to a restaurant with Tom, Harry and two other friends/tom’s colleagues. You couldn't deny that it was fun. You had the opportunity to sunbathe a little while walking through the streets of Madrid. Spain was doing you good and not once did you think about your wobbly friendship with Harrison. You've just left the restaurant when a few fans politely show up to take pictures with Tom. You couldn't help but smile at the thought of how kind Tom had always taken in a few snaps when his fans approached him respectfully - and there weren't too many of them -. You sighed with pleasure before stepping away from the group. You leaned against a wall and took out the packet of cigarettes that Tom had asked you to keep in your clutch bag. Being an occasional smoker, he wouldn't blame you if you took one from him. You tilted your head back to admire the dark starry night when you felt a presence by your side. You narrowed your eyes in mischief as you looked sideways: Harry was there, his nose wrinkled from your cigarette. He didn't like it too much Silence filled your bubble despite the hubbub outside. You were in public and it was not surprising to meet travelers and Madrid residents mingling with the crowd to enjoy this pleasant evening.

"I wish this trip never ends." You finally said, breaking the silence.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Instead, he was just looking at you. You were a little tanned, the Madrid sun had done wonders on you; your loose hair framed your face and the summer dress you had chosen for the restaurant looked great on you: It was a short red floral summer dress with a shingle collar. Light enough to keep you from suffocating but decent to wear on any casual occasion. You were beautiful, stunning. His heart exploded at the sight of you, so much that it hurt a few times.

"I wish I had been there for you more." he finally confessed

You finally turned your head towards him and shrug your shoulders, smiling shyly but sincerely.

“You were working, Baz”

“I meant…not only here in Spain. I’m sorry to have let you down recently”

You give him a confused look. He hadn't been a bad friend but he kept implying it. You just shook your head negatively to brush his words away. Harry had always been important to you. He had been the first to step towards you. It was him who introduced you to the rest of the gang. He had always been concerned about you.

The night you met, you immediately clicked up with him. And to be honest, for a moment, you thought he liked you that night. But he never took that step towards you and you never did either. You dreaded that if you kissed him, he would think you were interested in his notoriety by proxy. So you just acted like any reasonable person would - accept the status he gave you. And the second time he asked you to join him with his brother and his friends, you met Harrison and your heart exploded.

"I'm glad you brought me here"

“I'm happy you accepted to come.”

“I didn't really have the choice, Baz” you joked.

He laughed slightly. You weren't wrong, he and Tom had practically dragged you onto the plane, leaving you no choice to be by their side. But you could only thank them, especially Harry who had the idea. You took another hit on your cigarette before leaning back to check out where Tom was with his fans. He seemed to be talking with the girls and didn't seem overwhelmed. So, you didn't want to interrupt him and were just going to wait for him to finish. Harry played with his hands nervously, looking straight ahead and then at you. He seemed to be repeating this game for several seconds before finally asking the question that was in his mind.

“Have you heard from Harrison?” Harry asked quite casually

“He sent me several texts to apologize and wished me to have a good time in Madrid.”

“Do you still have feelings for him?”

You swallow hard before looking at him. There was an indecipherable glint in his eyes and you weren't sure what to make of it. You drew another puff from your cigarette, maybe that would save you from entering this conversation. But Harry's presence was all around you and you couldn't really escape. So you've decided to be honest.

“It’s complicated. I suppose so...”

“Mhmm”

“But my friendship with Haz is important, I don't want to lose him because of it.”

“Yeah, you can't imagine how well I understand you” he sighed

“What do you mean? Who’s the lucky girl..or guy ?”

Harry turned to you frankly and you did the same, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette. You are well aware that the conversation was taking a more serious turn. He moistened his lips and walked over to you. Harry was full of things: he was full-loving, sarcastic, talented, daring, impertinent. But Harry was mostly awkward when it came to love. Not just an attraction, no, love with real feeling. Delicately, hesitantly, he reached out to your cheek, stroking it with the back of his fingers, cautiously. You were frozen, your eyes fixed on him admiring his audacity.

"She's the most beautiful girl I ever seen." he said with a small smile.

Harry walked over to you and your heart was pounding at breakneck speed. Harry had ... feelings for you? You were really confused. Since when had he developed his feelings? Why didn't he tell you about it? Why hadn't he tried anything so far? So, were you right from the start? Was there a tension between you since the beginning of your friendship, since your met? But above all, did you want him to take that step? Instinctively, your body responded. You parted your lips and closed your eyes. You enjoyed the warmth of his hand on your cheek and were waiting for the touch of his lips. But it never happened.

"Hey baz, y/n..we're going back to the hotel" Tom said, taking his eyes off his phone. "I…Mhmm sorry, did I interrupt something?"