#with a surgical mask on at fucking least i guess but.

[night-dark-woods]

from the bottom of my heart. if you've stopped wearing a mask:

fuck you.

really and truly and deeply. why do you feel that your comfort is more important than the lives and health and safety of those around you, especially of those who are immunocompromised.

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Charmed

AO3

Simon knows how it started. This...superstition that leads to his men feeling safe. It involves you. Of course, it does. You have crept into every other aspect of his life, as slowly as squash vines fingering their way up bushes and houses. He doubts you even know you've done it, infiltrated his peace.

Johnny, in his ineffable suaveness, kissed you on the cheek one time as he said his goodbyes before a mission. The man got blown clear through a wall with nary a scratch. The only thing different he could remember doing had been kissing you. Bastard couldn't keep his mouth shut about it. None of the other guys had met you yet. Ghost knew that would change. Johnny wouldn't shut the fuck up about how he had to test this again, to see if a kiss from you turned out to be a lucky charm.

Military men were more in tune with spirits, vibes, cosmic entities than most religious leaders, witches, or charlatans combined. They had to be. There were no atheists in foxholes after all.

They did meet you, Price, then Gaz, then Roach. Ah, Roach. Always the last to be let into a new dynamic. A capable solider, a solid member of the 141, but still a guarded, protected member, to those on the outside. You welcomed him with a warm smile and a surprise knowledge of sign language.

"This is Roach," Gaz clapped him on the shoulder. "He doesn't speak."

Roach had glared at Kyle over his shoulder. The heat in the stare had been clear even behind his sunglasses and surgical mask.

You squinted up at Kyle from your place at the coffee table, mid-game of cribbage with Johnny. (This was the only game he had a chance of winning since luck could sway a hand in either direction).

"Does he not speak or does he not communicate with you because you're kinda an asshole?"

Kyle's nose scrunched down at you. Price laughed into his drink and Simon wouldn't help a small chuckle. He opened his mouth to defend himself but you turned to look at Roach. You moved your hands quickly, one brow lifted in question. Simon recognized only one of your moves as sign language.

Roach did a little head shake before replying, hands flying as fast as yours did.

You laugh at whatever he signs, "I am not calling you roach. My friends will not let me live it down if I make another friend with a weird name."

You glare at Johnny who grins in reply.

Roach signs more as Kyle slips into the kitchen for a drink for everyone.

"My brother is deaf. I learned to sign before I could speak, my mom taught me by virtue of signing with my brother." You sign along as you speak, telling everyone your half of the conversation at least. "We still talk regularly even though he moved to Australia to be a professor at one of their colleges."

You and Roach had hit it off, becoming fast friends. Signs flew back and forth. At one point Simon watched your brows draw together before snapping to glare at Johnny and then back to Roach. Simon watched it all with a slight fascination. Roach had never taken to anyone so fast, let alone a woman. You slid into the dynamic of the 141 as if you were molded for it.

When the guys had readied themselves to leave you ducked under Johnny's attempt to plant a kiss on you again. Instead, you dragged Roach off to the bathroom and sent him out askew. Sunglasses pushed into his hair, mask sitting wonky on his face, and several kiss marks in pink lipstick covering from ear to ear. Several were only half covered by his mask.

Johnny glared at him for getting kisses that he needed to test for luck. Gaz clapped him on the shoulder.

"Guess I'm not the only asshole here today. Better luck next time Soap. But at least we know that if Roach comes through an impossible situation then she is definitely a good luck charm."

Everyone laughed as they trailed out of the building. Simon had seen you, leaning on the railing on the top of the stairs. You sent him a two-fingered salute, he nodded and shut the door behind him.

Roach had taken a shot to the side, missing his liver by millimeters. That had confirmed it for the team, you were a good luck charm. That is why Simon had popped back to the flat, for a smidge of that luck.

He found you asleep on the couch. Peaceful. The couch would hurt you if you stayed on it too long. Simon knew from experience. He slid a hand under your knees and upper back, lifting you into his arms. You blinked sleepily up at him.

"Hi Ghost. Why are you carrying me?"

"Can't sleep on the couch," he grunted back.

"Oh," came your sleepy little reply. "Do you need a kiss?"

Only the training of years and years kept him from freezing up at your question. He pushed into your room through the cracked door, sitting you upright in your bed. He knelt on one knee at your feet. You rubbed your eyes as you looked at him.

"Yes."

He had a solo mission. This one scared him. Something in his bones told him that he wouldn't make it home in one piece.

You lift both hands to his masked face. Leaning forward you place two gentle kisses over the eyeblack of his eyelids. It wasn't enough. Ghost shifted the mask up to sit over his nose. He watched your gaze flick over his scars, moving like a dragonfly.

Still holding his face you pull him close, angling him for a kiss. The softness of your lips against his rough ones zaps at his soul. He can't help but put both hands on the bed, bracketing your hips, and pushing up into the kiss. Your thumbs slip beneath the edge of the mask, rubbing streaks in the hollows of his face.

Taking the barest part of your lip between his teeth he pulled. You breathed a moan into his mouth before pulling back. Avoiding his eyes you pull the mask down, shifting it to sit just so. Going so far as to tuck it into his hoodie you still avoid his eyes.

When your hands are settled in your lap again you look at him.

"Good luck Ghost, Simon."

He looked at you a moment more before slipping from your room and the flat altogether.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[itsa-me-lily]

Here is your winnings from the poll. I hope you enjoy it. I did. I didn't suspect Simon to be so strange. I should have but I didn't.

Here is the MPS Au master playlist

Here is Simon & Thimble playlist

And here is Simon on his first med leave fic

Content warning

dentist, and dentist stuff, potentially odd use of teeth

You never did learn what had put Simon on his two weeks of med leave, but it did teach you that the man hated the idea of it. According to Simon, at least, med leave was a waste if a person wasn't nearly dying or missing a limb. Hell even major surgery seemed to toe the line to him.

All that to say it was rather surprising when one day Simon came to you looking grumpier than normal, which was saying for him, asking if you'd be willing to go to the dentist with him. Apparently at the last visit he was told he had to get his wisdom teeth removed, and that due to the anesthetic he wasn't allowed to drive himself home afterwards. And every member of his team was supposedly busy.

Mentally you called bullshit on that one. Because you were pretty sure that they'd drop out of their own wedding if it meant seeing Simon out of it after surgery. So whatever reason that they didn't want to be there only meant that it was going to be your pain in the ass.

But...technically speaking...Simon was your husband...and you didn't hate the guy. He was pretty decent some days, so you'd agreed be his ride home. You were starting to slightly regret the choice after waiting nearly an hour. The nurse had explained that depending on a few things getting one's wisdom teeth removed could take a bit, but Simon's surgery was suppose to be quick and easy. The supposed should have been foreshadowing.

Finally though someone poked their head into the lobby, a young woman in peach scrubs who didn't look nearly as perky as her voice tried to sound.

"Mrs. Riley?"

Oh thank god you lived on a base full of people who pretty much got manners drilled into them or else you would have completely assumed that they were calling for someone else.

"Here."

"He's all ready for you. Follow me."

The second bit of foreshadowing should have been the quick pace that the dental technician had as you followed her into the back offices.

The actual fucking warning you should have understood was the consistent low toned grumbling you heard as you pushed the door open, somehow unsuspecting of what you were about to walk into.

Hamster was the first thing that came to mind when you saw Simon. Even with his surgical mask back on you could tell that they had packed his mouth with gauze and cotton tubes by how much his cheeks puffed out.

Grumpy Cat was the second thing that came to mind when you saw him because holy fuck were his eyebrows pretty vocal about what he was feeling. They met in the middle of his forehead in a furrow that you were pretty sure was going to cause a permanent wrinkle.

Before you could say anything though, Simon was already making demands, sounding petulant the entire time.

"Make 'em put 'em back."

"Uh-"

"Mr. Riley like I-"

"Teef belong in my mouf"

"Yes but-"

"They's mine anyway"

"Simon-"

You could not giggle at the way Simon looked at you, eyes all big and trying to be serious, but looking more like a hound dog's droopy eyes. Really, you were going to be a supportive wife, in a few seconds.

"What are you going to do with your teeth Simon?"

You ignore the way the dentist was glaring at you, at least Simon had stopped demanding them back for the moment. In fact it gave you a blessed thirty seconds of quiet as he thought about.

"Gonna...gonna make rings."

Yeah that backfired on you.

"What?"

"Gonna make rings with yous and mines teef."

Why the fuck was he taking your teeth now?

"That's...nice? I guess?"

Thankfully Simon didn't seem to catch on to the hesitancy in your voice, nodding to himself very seriously.

"Gonna have matching rings with my missuses"

That...should not have almost sounded as romantic as you thought you did. God Simon's weirdness was starting to rub off on you. Fucking cohabitation. Thankfully though it seemed Simon was busy thinking about how to make matching rings with teeth because he was entertained enough for the dental surgeon to give you the timeline of healing, along with care instructions, and Simon's prescription of pain management medication. You were sure getting him to take those would so easy.

He seemed to still be engrossed in his design thoughts, because getting him out and to the car was simple enough. Getting him in the car was interesting. He kept insisting that he should have been the one driving, because he was the man and it was his job to take care of his wife. You kept reminding him that women had been driving for over a century now. This went on for a good five minutes.

You actually had to threaten to not wear your matching tooth ring for him to get in the car. Unfortunately the same threat did not work to keep him from passenger seat driving the entire time. To quote, the deal was already agreed on when he got in the car. You really should have just said you were going out of town.

By the time you were finally home you had felt like you'd failed your driving test five times and murdered your husband in your mind a dozen. Thankfully for both of your sakes, getting him from the car to your home was a smooth operation. And once he was inside? Not as smooth.

As soon as he had crossed the threshold, Simon wobbled his way over to the boys, nearly falling over when he tried to bend over to pet them. The only thing between him and a concussion was the fact that you'd managed to grab the back of his pants in time and pulled him back. Then he was looking at you with those same sad hound dog eyes, demanding to know why you were keeping his sons from him.

At least you knew he liked the pigs.

You'd managed to make up some lie about Simon needing to wash his hands first to keep him from trying again to pet his 'sons', and got him on the couch. You were only partially tempted to then turn on the TV to something like CocoMelon to see if it'd keep his attention. Only partially.

Whatever they had given him in the office must have been strong because Simon spent a good ten minutes just staring at the silent TV screen as if it was actually playing CocoMelon. You weren't going to complain as you got a quick plate together for the kids.

First unfortunate thing was, you never got the pigs their plate because as you were walking past him Simon decided to wrap his arms around you and pretty much haul you back onto the couch. Vegetables did go flying, but the plastic plate didn't break when it hit the ground. So small victories.

The second was that Simon Riley was like a fucking ton of rocks and you did not have any upper body strength. So when Simon decided that you both need to lay down on the couch, you were both gonna be on that couch. You had tried to wiggle out of his grasp but it only caused him to grumble and hold on tighter. At least you could still breath as the man decided to use you as his own personal body pillow for his afternoon nap.

The third was three little betrayed faces that you could just see over the curve of Simon's shoulder as they in fact did not get their snacks.

"Hey don't look at me like that. It isn't my fault your father's heavy."

With it obvious that you weren't going to go anywhere for the next while, you did at least manage to get your phone out of your pocket to shoot a message to Johnny.

'Y'all are fucking dicks.'

Rat bastard left you on read.

Simon woke up to his fucking mouth hurting. He had kept telling Price that his teeth were fucking fine, and then the Army dentist had to go and snitch on him. Then he didn't have a choice but to go and have his fucking teeth pulled, and of course supposedly all the guys were going to be too busy to drive him, so he had to go and ask you. And now he was going to be on med leave, again. For a bullshit reason. Again.

Probably the worst part about it all though is that he couldn't remember how he got home. The last thing Simon could remember was being in the stupid dentists office following the instructions to fucking count backwards as they gave him fucking propofol. So god only knows what happened between then and now.

At least you were decent enough to give him a pillow before he apparently fell asleep. He sighed as he shut his eyes and buried his face into it. You must had just washed the pillowcases because it really smelt like you and the detergent you used...though...why was it moving? Simon's eyes shot open as he took in his surroundings, namely whatever the fuck he was laying on.

Which was apparently you. Specifically a sleeping you. More specifically his pillow had been your...bosom. Simon was never more thankful that you were typically a deep sleeper because he did not need you to see the way he had a full body spasm over the fact he essentially had his face shoved into your chest.

Really Simon should get off of you. He should retreat and hide away in the bathroom while he tried to decide if he was going to pretend it never happened. But...you were rather comfortable, and he didn't know if he could slip out of the arms you'd wrapped around his shoulders without waking you. So he did the next best thing.

He fished his phone out of his pocket and messaged Soap.

'SOS Need you to come be distraction'

Rat bastard only sent him back the laughing face.

With another sigh, Simon thought over his options. Really he did. And well...his mouth fucking hurt and honestly a couple more hours of sleep weren't going to kill him.

You made a surprisingly good pillow.

Edit;

None of the boys wanted to get Simon because he's always super bull headed about driving and he is unsuspectingly cuddly after any kind of anesthesia. Price missed a meeting once because Simon refused to let go of him.

Johnny doesn't respond because he's a little scared of Thimble after she plucked what felt like half his bleeding eyebrows once.

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Interlude 3.5 Live Reactions

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

In an odd way, Kayden supposed, she took refuge in Aster.  She found succor in the company of her child, in the midst of a world she had little hope for.

One thing I find interesting in the fanfic I've read is that older fic tend to be a great deal more... willing to give Kayden/Purity a chance? Like, they don't generally just give her a pass, and rightly so, but older fic were more willing to sympathize with her situation, or give her chances in canon to move on from being Purity/etc.

More recent fics tend to not give her that - they tend to have her get taken down with the rest of E88, or rejoin the organization (even if not super willingly) or the like, or at least don't give her the chances to improve and change older fics did.

And I can guess a big part of that has been the rise of Alt-right and Neo-Nazi movements in the world in more recent years, as well as a backlash against the earlier trends.

When she saw pudgy fifteen year old Theo sitting in front of the television, she was momentarily disoriented. Then she felt a stab of guilt.  She’d forgotten about the boy, in the midst of caring for Aster and her preparations for the night.

Oof. Poor Theo.

The times when Theo let a glimmer of emotion show were few and far between.  A smile, genuine, touched Theo’s face, and almost broke Kayden’s heart in the process. “I’d love to,” Theo replied, meaning it.

I suspect that despite this interlude introducing Purity, it's actually much more about showing us Theo, in terms of the long-term picture of the story. He ends up being one of the Chicago Wards, right?

 All she could offer were small kindnesses, little gestures of love and affection, and hope they helped. 

And that's the question. Do they help at all?

Kayden didn’t wear a mask, but it wasn’t necessary.  With her powers active, her brown hair and eyes became a radiant white, emanating a light so brilliant it was impossible to look straight at her.  The fabric of her alabaster costume, too, radiated with a soft glow that rippled like light on the surface of the water.

Nifty

A year ago, she had made the ABB a priority target.  Three to five times a week, she had carried out surgical strikes against the low level operations of the gang, interrupting shipments, beating up dealers and thugs, attacking their places of business and all the while, she had been gathering information.  That information had paid off from time to time; she had clashed directly with Lung on no less than four occasions, had encountered Oni Lee on two.  In all but one of those encounters, she had successfully forced them to retreat, to abandon whatever it was they were doing at the time.  Those were the good days.

Again, how many low-level operatives do they have?

Five of her seven vacation days had passed, and she’d accomplished nothing.  Less than nothing.  They were getting stronger.

It does suck, that feeling of putting all that time in, and feeling like you've achieved nothing. But I'd say part of the problem is that she views it as a thing that has an 'end', that she can just eliminate the ABB if she puts enough into it. You need to really be careful about that Mindset.

Even broken arms and legs hadn’t hurt or scared the thugs enough to get them talking about what was going on.

Hey! Something she has in common with Vicky! /s

(genuinely, not actually comparing the two)

Now most of the gang was gone, quite possibly on a big job, and she had no idea where.  She had no idea where to find out.  Kayden grit her teeth.  This wasn’t working.  If she was going to make any headway before her vacation days were up, she had to act now.  Make a deal with the devil.

No, Kayden, please don't.

Twice, she circled around the top floors of the wrong buildings, looking for the logo set on the side of the building would mark Max’s building apart from the others. The black crown against a red and yellow background.  

The Medhall Logo, or does he just spraypaint his own Logo like he's Hydra spamming their symbol everywhere?

He waited, his hands clasped over his stomach, the faintest expression of amusement on his face.  She knew he was capable of opening the window to his office.  He was waiting for her to ask to come inside.  It was the sort of little power game he was so fond of.

That's gotta be exhausting to deal with. That kind of shit alone should have led to a divorce :rofl:

“Kayden.  It’s been a little while,” he managed to greet her and make it sound like a criticism in the same breath.  He half-turned to type on his computer, and the lights in the office adjusted to a halogen glare.  She shut her eyes briefly and basked in the glow, feeling her internal supply of energy recharge.

Kayden, Kayden, Kayden - I want to feel like you deserve a chance. I feel like most people should deserve a chance to become better people in some form, and in this kind of media, that should include being able to turn from being a villain.

But you can't do this if you want that chance.

He was making it clear he was doing her a favor, and he’d expect recompense at some point, tonight or a week from now. 

Yeah, but you don't actually have to agree to owe him that favor.

I do accept that Aster and Theo do make it hard to disentangle from him though.

Though, it would be interesting to imagine a co-parenting supervillain and superhero where both are able to fight eachother as capes and yet still manage their shared kid without breaking the unwritten rules. Not with these two, Kaisar would never do that, but.

 You’d double check with me on anything you did, but other than that, you’d be completely autonomous.

That's like... the opposite of autonomy?

“And you’ll be working against that impression for decades, to no effect, I guarantee you.”

In theory, I think she could do it, if she really did have decades to pull it off. People often have short memories. But she's still going about this the wrong way.

Max smiled, “It’s ugly on the surface, but it’s more money, more power, and it gives me the leverage to really affect things.  The only people I hurt are the same people who cause the problems in the first place.”

Fucker, you run an incredibly wealthy pharma company. Does the chump change E88's drug running give you matter?

(Okay, it's probably not really chump change, but Pharma companies sure make more fucking money than drug dealers)

Kayden frowned, “Hard to avoid, when the only notable gang of whites is yours.  Some old friends and allies of mine still work for you… I can’t go around attacking them, can I?  I’m working to improve our city, but I’m not going to beat up people I’ve been out to drinks with.”

I mean, maybe that's your problem? And this is where it really, really gets hard to want to give her that chance. Like, it would be nice, if she could get her opening to unpack all of her racism and her 'some Nazis are very fine people' mindset, and one would like to believe that given the time, the resources, the support, she could (because I'd like to believe that, in theory, anyone could unlearn that kind of shit) but...

She's not really putting in that effort, is she?

Kayden didn’t have an answer to that.  It was his fault, really.  The high school baseball player she’d had a crush on when she’d been in middle school had wound up being the same person that first approached her when she started going out in costume.  Blinded by his good looks and his way with words, she’d been swayed, convinced of his way of thinking.  She’d tried to change her outlook since the divorce, but she had seen a great deal in her ten years as a member of his team.  It was impossible to look at the city now and ignore the fact that too much of what made it an uglier place to live and raise a child in could be traced back to the same kinds of people.  Sure, the whites had criminals too, but at least they were fucking civilized about it.

I mean, she is a victim of having been radicalized. But she's still not doing enough.

He extended a gauntlet, left it there for her to take.  It was the smallest gesture, he never made a move where someone could refuse him, leave him hanging, and it meant the world to her, even as she suspected it was calculated for just that effect. Forgive me, Aster, she thought.  I’m doing this for you.

And there you go, eroding your chance.

I feel sorry in the abstract for her, but... well, you're a racist bitch, Purity.

[chronothread]

Two Heads Are Better Than One

Endwalker Spoilers.

Seventh Astral Era

Ishgard, Steps of Faith

Second Dawn of the Final Days

A child of Ishgard sits atop a pile of rubble, surrounded by their fallen brothers and sisters in arms. Only one other companion yet breathes - an almost identical figure were it not for the fox mask, ears, and nine tails that they had sported. The figure stands behind the purple-haired Ishgardian, applying ointment and some bandages.

“You know we’re stuck together now, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“And you’re not bothered by that?

“Do I really have a choice to not be bothered?”

“Ahaha! I guess not. But I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“Oh, you’re being polite now? You? The noisy little prick who takes every opportunity to fuck with me?”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I don’t take every opportunity, just…most of them.”

“And that’s better…how?”

“Simple. The breaks lull you into a false sense of security so it’s funnier when I fuck with you again. Ahahaha-ARGH! Hey, be careful! That’s an open wound…”

“Really should have known better than to provoke the person providing you with medical care.”

“You have a horrible bedside manner, you know that?”

“Oh grow up and suck it up. We’ve been through worse.” “Mmmh…worse, really? Our countrymen turn into eldritch beasts and start tearing the populace apart, and you think we’ve been through worse?”

“Your countrymen. And yes, ruining your father’s garden.” “Our countrymen, you’re one of us now. And…point taken.”

The masked figure finishes their work, securing some surgical gauze against the Ishgardian’s side. Some screaming is heard from the Gates of Judgment as droves of Coerthan citizens accompanied by remnants of a few scattered guard remnants desperately attempt to keep the citizens together, all the while driving several blasphemies back. The Ishgardian sighs, picking up their twin katanas before rising once more.

“Tell me straight doc, how bad is it?”

“Manageable for what we’re about to do. You’ll live.”

“That’s what I thought, but I thought a second opinion would be prudent.” “Finally, showing a little sense in that lust-addled brain of yours, Gale?”

“I have my moments Zephyr~”

“I really wish you had more moments like that.”

“Then I’d just be you, wouldn’t I?”

“Good. Means I’d have to worry less.” “Awww, you’re worried?”

“I’m worried for myself. If you die, I die. Remember?”

“Sure sure, keep pretending that’s why you worry.”

“Has anyone ever told you how insufferable you are?”

“Every day of my life~”

The Ishgardian takes a deep breath. There’s blood already on several parts of their body - some theirs, most from their fallen comrades. The gash that had just been recently treated went wide, but thankfully not deep. Another scar to add to the collection, should they survive today. A reminder to honor the sacrifices that the many knights of House Amante had made today. Several dead at their feet, many more injured and carted away - much to their protestations. They wondered if their most devoted knight was recovering well. Dior was most likely begging to be on the field with them again…they just had to go shielding Gale a second time. That was two that they owed Dior now.

The crowd manages to reach the halfway point of the bridge - where Ishgard’s most prodigal child had decided to make their stand. Whether they saw the masked figure bleeding dark aether or not was no longer important to them. Someone was watching over, that was all that mattered. Zephyr raises their own blades, standing next to the errant heir Amante.

“One stride left, Gale.”

“Two strides left, Zephyr.”

“Mmh. Good kill. Two strokes on my end, and this looks just like the fodder too. Am I getting slow?”

“No, you’re doing fine. They’re tougher than they look. What a pain.”

“At least they’re still small, right?” “Worse when they’re small, you’ve got a way smaller margin of error.”

“You know, you still haven’t answered my question.”

“This again? Is this really the time? When we’re fighting for our lives?”

“This-tssyaaa!-is the perfect time! Considering nothing is guaranteed, it might be prudent to get some things off our chests.”

“I think we should focus on the matter at hand.” “Well I think we should air it out before things actually start to get difficult!”

The two swordsmen enter a state of battle flow. Like a pair of ballerinas they dance across the field, felling creatures left and right in perfect sync. When Gale turns, so does Zephyr. When Zephyr strikes, so does Gale. They duo steal the show, outmaneuvering and outpacing the blasphemies at every turn, cutting a path for the poor souls trying to seek refuge from the oncoming storm. Every now and then one of Zephyr’s tails picks a stray spear off the ground and hurls it towards an opponent - only for Gale to kick off of the weapons haft and propel themself one of the creatures that dared to take to the skies, driving the polearm deeper into their opponent’s skull in the process.

“You are reckless Gale.”

“And you are enabling it. Answer the question?”

“Will you value your life while you fight if I do?”

“Yes.”

“No, I’m not bothered. In truth, you are amusing.”

“Aha! So you do like me!”

“You’re putting words in my mouth. You are simply just a very good distraction for my entertainment.”

“Mmhm, sure. I believe you, you-oh.”

The ground shakes. A larger figure appears from the Gates of Judgment, the size of a great wyrm. Only…wrong. With several heads that held several eyes, hand-like wings grasping at the sky, and a giant, gaping maw where their chest cavity was supposed to be. The creature roars, revealing the many teeth that lay inside its chest as the world shook once more from the sheer might of its cries. The swordsmen rush the creature down, knowing that must be done, but at the last second the blasphemy channels a blast of energy from its mouth that lands at Gale’s and Zephyr’s feet sending the pair careening backwards into a pile of rubble. Gale rubs their head as they attempt to reorient themself, before getting up once more.

“Ngg…shit. My head…had to be the size of a fucking house huh?”

“Your head? Fuck…my head too, sometimes I hate sharing a body with you.” 

“That wasn’t my fault this time! Look, if you have a complaint, bring it up after this. You’ll thank this body after we’re through.

“...Gale, we’re probably going to die on this bridge. You know that, right?” “No actually, I don’t. I don’t plan on dying here, and neither do you. But if you’re so worried, you can always leave me here! If I’m simply a fun amusement, I don’t think dying constitutes good entertainment anyway.”

“You know I physically can’t leave you.”

“Oh really? Cry me a river then. Maybe it’ll freeze over fast enough so that thing can slip over it and fall off the side of the bridge.”

The horrid amalgamation rears its many heads and stretches its grotesque wings. One step after the other, it approaches the two battered swordsmen - the last line of defense before the monstrosity reaches the city proper. Then, it’d be all up to whatever defenses the temple knights managed to muster while they set off on this fool’s errand. Hopefully, they bought Ishgard enough time to make a difference.

“And I wouldn’t want to either!”

“Right. Because you-”

“-yes I care! That's why I always tell you to be careful. It’s why I always scold you when you act so damn reckless all the time, why I constantly remind you to get enough sleep and begrudgingly tell you to go meet with your friends under the guise that I am annoyed with all of your banter. I like your banter! But I like it more when you’re not sulking all the time and replaying trauma in your mind!”

“...Zephyr I-”

“I only have little snippets. Tiny little pieces of who I was before, of my humanity. And I didn’t care about the even less that I had when I was drifting from host to host for the longest time. But when I’m with you, when I get to see you live your life and enjoy the world? Enjoy company? I feel like I’m getting back something that I lost a long, long time ago. And hated it at first! I hated being able to feel things again because it made everything so fucking difficult. You were a meal ticket! Nothing more, nothing less! And now here I am caring about some mortal who can’t be bothered to care for themself half the time.”

A dreadful feeling fills the air. A low, rumbling noise emanates from the creature’s chest-maw, and malevolent light begins to coalesce at the center of it. The dragon-blasphemy channels what could only be described as malice itself. Too large - too much to get out of the way in time. Indeed, it was as if it meant to obliterate the very bridge - no - the city itself.

“It’s why it hurts me when you put yourself down and consign yourself to your sheets for the day. No, Gale. I can’t leave you. And even if I could? I wouldn’t! Because you know what? I’d rather die here with you than live one more miserable moment of a voidsent’s existence, constantly paranoid, never being able to trust another person for fear of being consumed! It’s a wretched life, and I would rather die here with purpose. You are my only friend, my only family in this world Gale, and I did not know that I needed that so badly until you irritated me into loving you. So with whatever little time we have left, do not imply that I would leave you. I’ve lost everything once already. I don’t want to lose you too.”

Gale is left speechless. All they can do is look up at the creature - their doom - and dig their heels into the stone bricks that carried their people home for centuries on end. In defiance of fate. Always in defiance of fate.

“Then I guess that means that dying isn’t on the table today.”

“Gale it’s-”

“Useless? Sure, maybe. Maybe we’re going to die here anyway. But isn’t it better to try, to go kicking and screaming, to refuse our last meal? If we are going to do anything together then I want to resist together. I was born with a death sentence Zephyr. I wasn’t going to last another year before I met you. But I kept trying - I kept going on because I believed it was worth trying. And now I’m here, over half a decade later, and with almost another decade left. More if I find a cure. And it was tiring. It was painful, I cried so many nights because of how much it hurt to just exist. To have moments I couldn’t control my body. Moments where the pain was searing, where I felt like I was on fire and that my soul was to be branded with nothing but suffering. I wanted to give up so…so badly so many times. But I had people who I loved counting on me. So I grit my teeth and I kept going. In spite of the world.”

Gale takes a step forward, towards the blasphemy.

“So I’m going to keep living. In pure spite of this thing, to protect the people that I love. And if I die? Fine. I’ll make it a good death. I’ll make it mean something. I’ll burn so bright that the sight of my damaged soul is etched into the stars for all eternity. And I want to do that with you, Zephyr. So…please. Fight with me. One last time?”

The energies that the creature had collected reach critical mass. And as it flaps its wings and takes to the sky, and coils its warped body back as it reels to strike, Zephyr removes their mask and steps forward. A familiar face reveals itself underneath. A face Zephyr had forgotten. 

A face that Gale sees every morning in the mirror.

“One last time. With you, Gale.”

The pair dash forward together. Wind in their step and with a blast of levin, the duo kick off from the ground and make one final charge towards the maw - the belly of the beast - to try and save their homeland. With grim resolve, they welcome their end.

The sound of what seems to be a cannon resonates far across the bridge, and an arrow streaks through the air and buries itself in the light that the monster had channeled. The malevolent energies explode in the creature’s chest mouth, and it roars in pain and anger at this interference. In a berserk rage its many heads flail about, snapping and swiping at the two airborne swordsmen who fend them off as best they can. One of its many-eyed skulls is undaunted by their resistance and swings at the two like a bat, aiming to swat them off the bridge into the cruel embrace of the void. 

Yet a javelin soars through the air - brilliant and ornate, a wolf’s head decorated close to its tip. The weapon sinks into the blasphemy’s head, before exploding - then flying in reverse, disappearing behind the two warriors. As the Child of Halone and Child of the Void land onto the ground once more, they retreat backwards quickly. To where Halone herself seemed to have intervened from.

The pair look back, and see several familiar faces.

“Most troublesome damn sibling I’ve ever had. Next time you’re off to do a heroic sacrifice Gale, do us all a fucking favor? Call me so I can kill you first and save us the trouble?”

“Ignore your sister. But she’s right Gale. Be nicer to yourself - I don’t want to only have a spear to remember my best friend by.”

“In the name of the Fury milord, I know you like to show off, but is this not a bit much?”

Gale presses their lips together, forming a thin line on their face. Zephyr looks at them, canting their head to the side, nine tails swishing slowly in concern. Then Gale begins to laugh, and Zephyr’s ears twitch at the sound. Then they begin to laugh too - a scene that perplexes the three standing behind them. More figures come pouring out from the Arc of the Worthy. All armed. All ready to fight.

“How very like us then. To put it all on ourselves.”

“Speak for yourself. You’re insufferable.”

“ Yes, and whose face are you wearing right now?”

“Shut up. I didn’t know.”

“Well now you know where you get it from. So. I suppose you know what I am thinking…?”

There is a long pause before Zephyr speaks.

“Apple pie after we mop the floor with this son of a bitch?”

“Read me perfectly.”

[lastoneout]

To put it into perspective $65K a year before taxes is about $5k a month and if you know anything about how bad the cost of living is at the moment you can do the math and figure out that that's comfortable but still not really enough in some places or barely scraping by in others.

Like if you just want to have a semi-decent apartment with a bedroom or two that isn't infested with cockroaches, offering AC so garbage it's deadly and will force you to drop even more money on your own portable/window unites which cost hundreds of dollars and skyrocket your electric bill(you cannot forgo AC in a place where it hits 110F in the summer), and run by a landlord that couldn't care less about helping you with anything at all, you are going to be forking over $2.5-3K AT LEAST and that's BEFORE utilities, most places do not include water/trash/electricity/gas. If you want internet here that sucks slightly less but still genuinely sucks you're dropping over $100 at least every month(we drop more than that and have been having so many grey/black outs I can't even stream half the time which is literally my job, and we cannot upgrade to fiber without moving). A family plan for two people with phones that are falling apart is $250 a month and that will go up when our phones finally break since we can't repair them on our own. A small grocery trip will still run you into the $100s and my food stamps covering my stuff specifically only goes so far to cushion the impact. We put off fixing his car as long as we can unless it's something actually serious(hello giant crack in the windshield and cracked tail-light casing and squeaky break pads please don't cause any sudden problems T_T). And if the vet bill is over $1k well...guess we go into debt or pray the cat will be okay without the really expensive tests!

My fiance makes $64K and he and I are VERY lucky to live in a relatively cheap city in an apartment we found through a friend where we don't have to pay rent, just utilities and some minor maintenance, and we STILL cannot even afford to get married because I would lose my state insurance if we did(our combined income would put us *just* far enough over the poverty line to disqualify me) and have to switch to the one he gets through his work, and I had 15 ER and doctor's visits this month on top of two surgical procedures and I take like 20 medications, so like, we would go fucking bankrupt on the co-pays alone. Hell I had to give up on a medication that was life-changing because it's over $400 a month and since I'm on Medicaid I don't qualify for the coupon program and we just cannot fucking afford meds that expensive. I also don't qualify for disability because he can cover my needs more or less, which is insulting and degrading and fucking ridiculous. And that's not even taking into account HIS medical needs. He hasn't seen a primary care doctor in years, only just got diagnosed with ADHD after years of me pushing him to see a doctor, and every time he has an emergency he has to go to urgent care which charges him like $200 even when it turns out nothing was wrong. I really pray he never needs to go to the ER. We mask everywhere not just because we believe it's the right thing to do, but because we literally cannot afford for him to get sick.

Unless he starts making more money or I miraculously recover from the things keeping me from getting a traditional job we will never be able to afford a house. Idk if we'll ever even be able to move. His income being that high does mean I don't have to work and we can still live relatively comfortably as long as nothing serious happens, but most of that money is going towards bills and keeping me alive, and the month he lost his old job was the scariest month of our lives. We had ONE MONTH to get him a new one and we did, one that initially paid a little less but still enough, but if we hadn't? We'd be fucked.

As an additional tid-bit, he was making a little under that when we met living in Flagstaff, a MUCH more expensive area(if you want anything better than a studio you're forking over $5k+ on JUST rent at least) and I was still getting a smidge under $2k a month at my job or or less(hourly wages at a movie theater as a team lead), and we moved to Tucson specifically because that combined amount was nowhere NEAR enough to exist in Flagstaff. In Tucson it's a comfortable but not really enough income if you're lucky like we are. In Flagstaff it's fucking poverty wages.

$65K a year sounds like a lot and I won't pretend it doesn't give me some privileges other people don't have access to, I"m more financially stable than I've ever been in my entire life, and while I try to keep my purchases to things I want that also serve a purpose, I can afford nice things sometimes like a playstation or concert tickets, I can buy gifts for my friends and family for special occasions, but it is FAR from being rich, and depending on your area you're way closer to the people scraping by making $17 an hour than being even within the same fucking zipcode as a truly rich person.

I've met rich people(though usually not the family members actually making the money), and tbh the hallmark they share is def making huge purchases and wild life choices without a second thought because they don't have to give a single shit and acting really weird if you suggest that it isn't normal to do stuff like that. If you have a comfortable income but can't switch to a more expensive apartment for funsies or quit your job bcs you just don't feel like working there anymore money be dammed or idk take a month long vacation overseas without considering the cost at all you're probably rich. Rich people don't give a fuck about spending money, they don't think about it at all. If you have to think about what you buy even if you do have the money to buy it just to make sure you still have enough for your needs and a small savings on the chance things go south you are not rich. If you cannot survive more than three months without a job you are not rich. $65k a year is barely enough to survive ONE MONTH without a job, it is NOT rich.

People on tumblr please get some real class consciousness challenge, you're not attacking your enemy, you're attacking someone else in the muddy trenches with you who just happens to own a nicer rain jacket while the actual rich people eat snacks from their covered, heated patio wondering why you're all making such a big deal about money.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[bts-apocalypse-au]

Jimin's P.O.V 🐥 10th April

The halls off Asan Medical Centre are just as hot as the wards, the heat engulfs the whole building. It's amazing that a human body can reach such temperatures. That's what's heating the building, the fevered bodies of hundreds of men, women, and children. It started a week ago, people started coming in with cases of the flu, the worst symptoms I've ever seen. It's a good thing we just put all those new HYBE flu vaccines in, but I guess since we haven't managed to vaccinate everybody it wasn't enough. The heat is stifling and my face is sweating under my mask. I have to get out. I don't know where I should go but anywhere is better than here. I turn a corner quickly, then retreat back, it's my boss, talking to the hospital director.

The director places a hand on my boss's shoulder. "Yeah. Listen, you're doing a good job. Just get those vaccines out, we need to curb this before it gets bad."

My boss, Mr. Lee, frowns, "You mean worse."

"Well yes."

"Are you sure the vaccines are safe, I mean, have they even been tested at all? There are plenty of other vaccines that we know for a fact work. Surely that better than using something that's fresh out of the lab, something that hasn't even been test–"

The director shrugs and holds up a hand to stop the younger man's words, "Look, why does this have to be so hard for you? They are paying US!."

"But–" He turns, they must have sensed someone eavesdropping. I run before they can catch me. This doesn't make sense.

I hurry down the stairs until I find the exit and don't stop. Why would HYBE pay hospitals to use their products, that's only going to lose them potential profit, billions.

I stop finally out of breath, and yank off my mask inhaling the cool April air. Sighing I start walking a lap around the park's circular trail. Part of me wants to forget everything I heard, the rest of me knows that I can't. Someone bumps into me.

"Ah, Sorry." He says

"No it's alright" I say to the young man, he looks quite distressed himself. "Are you looking for some peace and quiet as well?"

"Yeah, where are you coming from?" He asks me.

I exhale "Asan Medical Centre. It's cram-fucking-packed with flu patinets today. Fevers so high you can almost feel the heat." He looks at me surprised. "I'm doing my surgical residency." I clarify, "You?"

"I'm an inte- He stops himself. "I work at Seoul News Group. You've probably never heard of it."

He's right but I'm curious. "No I haven't, but I'll check it out. What name should I look for?"

He looks confused again. "What?"

"Your name? You're a writer right?"

"Yes, my name is Kim Taehyung." He sighs.

He looks like he needs a friend right now, "So Tae, what did you come here to get away from?"

He gazes past me, as if trying to decide something. "I have to make a decision," he says carefully. "If I do it will be good for my bank account but it may not be good for me."

I'm so stressed right now that I just say the first thing I can think of. "Well just trust yourself." I try to smile, should I take my own advice?

Suddenly he breaks the silence "Hey, you're a doctor. Do you know anything about HYBE's new flu vaccine?"

Now it's my turn to be surprised. "What! How do you know about that?"

"Well I am a reporter. Have they started distributing the vaccines yet" He asks, he seems like he knows what he's talking about. I probably can't tell him anymore than he knows already. Or can I? I think of what I heard, whatever's going on, if I can't investigate it at least someone should.

"Yes" I say honestly, "and maybe just in time to curb this year's season. They started giving them out just before this whole thing got bad. The crazy thing though is that I heard the hospital director saying that instead of making the hospitals pay for the vaccines they were actually paying all hospitals who used their overs anyone else's billions of won. Buying out the market. Sketchy but I have to say that I've seen worse from big pharma."

He nods, looking grateful. "Thank you, you really have no idea how much you've helped me."

I tell him the truth again "Of course, this should be investigated. Good luck. I should probably be going now. Bye"

******************** TIME SKIP ********************

The cool breeze turned night chill –usually hated but tonight welcomed with open arms– is the greatest relief after a day in the sauna-like climate of the hospital. I'm well aware that I should probably be wearing a coat if I don't want to catch a cold. But right now, I just don't care, maybe I'll call in sick tomorrow anyway. I need a break from everything. I need to decided what to do, if anything, with what I've learned

My apartment is a welcome haven. I wash my hands and take out leftovers from the fridge. I can think about everything tomorrow, but for now, my dramas are waiting for me. Just as I've gotten comfortable a news cycle takes over the screen.

I try to click off but it won't go.

The man on screen starts to speak, he looks out of breath, "This is an emergency news broadcast, please stop what you're doing and pay attention."

I obey and turn up the volume.

"There has been a sudden surge of animal attacks and it appears that all the cities wild animals have suddenly gone rabid. We suspect that more than 100 casualties have already been sustained. Several power grids and other things like gas and water lines and water filtration systems have gone down as well. Oh and" He turns as a crew member whispers something to him, implying he doesn't have a script. "This just in officials are recommending you either get ready to stay put in your homes and or offices for a while or you leave Seoul immediately!"

The screen goes black and the lights follow. Our grid must have just gone down too.

I don't know what to do, I feel faint. Before I can stop it my knees are buckling out from under me. I feel myself hitting the floor but nothing else.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Naruto shippuden things that made me lose my mind (ep 176-196):

Did... did sasuke even take a break from ninja school after his family was massacred?

Kakashi noticing how alive Iruka's eyes were once years ago (as a fellow burnout, i feel this in my soul)

There is a picture of Minato looking like a fucking vampire in the hokage's secret meeting area

And we flashback to that time naruto and sasuke kissed... for reasons I guess

Naruto really wanted sexy jutsu to work on sasuke, huh? He has used it twice in as many episodes. And Sasuke has no reaction. Interesting.

God... is this the least heterosexual intro sequence

Kakashi and his gang of 12yr olds stumble upon a fight to the death. Kakashi: well if u kids wanna watch the revenge fueled death match, that's fine with me. Sasuke: 👀 revenge u say?

So uh before he dies the last thing kotetsu thinks he's gonna see is izumo surrounded by sparkles saying "lets become jounin together". Obviously, extremely heterosexual behavior...

They should have surgically attached those cat ears to sasuke's head.

The writers making kakashi kiss some lady thru the mask. Disgusting. Freak behavior.

The naruto writers: we will construct an episode where the audience must think about sasuke putting his hands on naruto's dick. For reasons.

Sasuke running around in the woods, screaming naruto's name and electrocuting things, then beating a man well after he's been defeated, his face splattered with blood is uh kinda fucking wild (kakashi pls, this boy needs a therapist, stop teaching him how to eletricute people)

[wri0thesley]

omg wait no hold on I just requested overhaul but then I remembered your overhaul thirst post about him pulling a "curing hysteria~" as an excuse and thought I'd request something along that vibe (no oun intended). I think that'd fall under orgasm control, overstim? (hope this is okay!)

hysteria antidote - overhaul x fem!reader (4k)

seeing nothing but the same four walls every day of your life is playing havoc with your brain. overhaul thinks perhaps you're suffering from hysteria. he has the perfect cure for that.

cw: not sfw/minors dni. dark content!!! dubious/non-consent. captive reader. talk of death, blood, etc. medical kink, gloves, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm control. misogyny. mentions of pregnancy/breeding. afab reader, fem pronouns.

[a/n: idk the internet said the 28th of may was his birthday so consider this both a birthday fic and a fic to celebrate 6k followers, sorry that i am gross and horrible but tbh im having a great time <3]

You really don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to be going out of your mind.

Since the Boss was taken ill, and Kai – Overhaul, you remind yourself, though he’s always just a little less sharp with you when you trip over the new name than he is with anyone else – took over leadership of the Shie Hassaikai, you’ve been pretty much stuck indoors.

Considering that you’re pretty sure he only has fond feelings towards maybe three people in the entire world, including you, you guess you ought to feel special about it – but all it actually does is make you feel like a trapped bird, caged and restless. It doesn’t help that all of the other members of the organisation have started being weird around you; people who you’ve known most of your adult life, people who you’ve worked beside and killed beside and done other horrible things beside (for the good of the organisation, of course)--

But now, they look at you like you might break at any moment. They treat you like an invalid. Their brows crease when they see you out and about, quietly murmuring; “Shouldn’t you still be in your room?”, avoiding touching you at all costs. There’s a kind of fear in their eyes, that they’re going to be told off for even speaking to you, that they’re afraid of being caught close to you.

And you know exactly who’s to blame for that.

You’d tried to speak to him about it, once; you’d thought that perhaps he might be amenable to your desire to do something to help the Shie Hassaikai. He’s always wanted to restore them to their former glory, after all! But after you’d let out your little impassioned tirade, his eyebrows had creased over the bird-mask.

“You don’t sound well,” he’d said to you. “Go back to your room. I’ll talk to you about it later.”

You had missed, at the time, that he hadn’t said ‘we’ll talk about it later’. He’d just said ‘I’ll’. When he had come, that is how it had been; the reassurance that he was keeping you safe. That he didn’t want you to be tainted. That he was keeping you well.

Your quirklessness has never been an issue before, but it certainly hasn’t been a boon. Still, for Kai--

“It’s disgusting,” he’d said, agitated by the discussion. You’d stared at his hands, thinking about the destructive power he himself wielded. “Quirks are a curse, and you not having one is just proof you’re not infected.” He’d looked up, golden eyes piercing directly into yours. “I’m going to keep you perfect.”

Overhaul is not a doctor, for all of his talk about illness and disease and plague. You think he could have used his quirk for something meaningful, once; but you also know that his burning curiousity, his disgust of anyone who deems tainted, his utter lack of morality . . . those are all things that would not have been welcomed in the medical profession. So instead, he deals in needles and pills and altering drugs in the underground labyrinth of the compound.

Sterile rooms, with examination tables and scalpels and impersonal, silver-grey equipment. Pill boxes that rattle when he passes them to you and tells you to take three of those a day, one of those, that one has to be taken to with food--

The idea that you won’t take them doesn’t enter his head, and though he has never . . . overhauled someone in front of you, you have walked past other members of the organisation mopping and disinfecting blood and gristle from sterile flooring.

It is better to go along with him, so you take the supplements and the pills and submit to the way he grabs your chin in gloved hands on the doctor’s chair, tipping your face up to shine a light into your eyes and watch your pupils dilate. But inside, you are screaming.

You’re not made to be locked in one room, occasionally allowed out to pace the hallways of the upstairs – never the underground ones, not any more – with restless footsteps and your muscles fizzing with desire to taste fresh air. You’re not made to stare at the same walls and breathe the purified air and think about how empty the compound is, now that Overhaul is in charge of everything--

(Too many knick-knacks attract dust. Pollen allergies act up, if there are too many plants, and he hates hearing people sneeze. Furniture should be easily movable and barren, to assist in the twice-daily cleanings of every room that people walk through.)

But it’s getting too much for you. Suffocating. You feel like you’re choking on air all of the time; you take the pills, because the thought of what he could do to you is terrifying, but sometimes you wonder if perhaps it would be better if you didn’t.

You’d woken up that morning to the sound of rain hitting the high windows in your bedroom, and you had longed to go outside in your thin nightwear and spread your arms and taste the air, smell the rain, feel it hit your body in fat droplets. Your entire being had ached. You’d tried to distract yourself, with what little there was in the barren prison cell that you called a bedroom – but when the door opened at four thirty exactly, and Kai had stood there with his face as impassive as ever, you had not been able to stop yourself.

Hand fastening around his upper arm (you shouldn’t touch him, you know you shouldn’t, but the same four walls are getting to you), you’d begged him;

“I want to go outside.”

If anyone else had touched him like that, they would already be splattered against the walls and floor. But all you get is a furrow of his eyebrows, careful fingers (gloved, of course; the latex against your skin always makes you shudder) pinching at your hand to get you to let go of him.

“No,” he says. “You’ll catch a cold.”

“I don’t care,” you’re petulant, you know, frustration bubbling up in every cell of your body. “If I stay in here for one more day, I will tear myself into pieces.”

“You’re being over-dramatic.”

“Kai—”

“Don’t call me that.” His rebuttal is sharp. “You know I’m doing this for your own good.”

Your face twists into something ugly. Overhaul hates it when you do that; hates the way your brow wrinkles, your mouth moves, your normally lovely face (one of very few he can bear to look at unmasked and not feel as though he is going to get sick from merely breathing the same air of you) marred.

“You’re not,” you hiss at him. “You’re doing this because you’re fucked up! Because you’ve got some weird fucking ideas about what’s clean and what’s unclean, because you’re on a power trip, because you don’t care about other people--” Your voice is pitching and modulating, all of the things that you usually try and keep balled up inside of you spilling out that the floodgates of how unhappy you are is open.

You’re breathing heavy as Overhaul, clearly irked by what you’re saying, tugs at the wrist of one of his surgical gloves. If he’s going to kill you, good – at least it will be better than this, you think, your breath coming in short sharp pants after the outburst.

He lets go. His hands fall to his sides. His golden gaze on you is very level.

“You’re hysterical,” he tells you. An exasperated laugh falls from your mouth.

“Yeah?” You ask him. “Of course I am. Do you know the last time I breathed fresh air?”

“Seven months, two weeks, three days.” He says it without blinking. Your shoulders tense. Has it really been that long? “You haven’t been ill once in that time. The world out there is filthy.”

“It’s normal to get sick,” you try and tell him, but Overhaul is moving forward; past the doorway, and into your room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound of a lock ominous. You don’t think you’ve ever been alone with Kai in your bedroom.

In the medical examination rooms, sure. In his office. In common areas, back when he was just the boss’ troubled protege and not the boss himself--

His eyebrows twitch in disgust as he notices the dust on your bookshelves. You’d stopped letting any of the cleaners in here a month ago; you’d refused to clean in the mean time, taking whatever small victory against your captor that you could.

“You’ll give yourself respiratory issues,” he says.

“Good,” your voice is cold, but you realise you’ve backed away from him. For all of your attempts to stand up to him, you’re terrified. Everyone knows what he can do. “Better dead than here--”

Gloved fingers around your wrist, so tight you can practically feel them bruising.

“You don’t mean that,” he says. His voice has gotten softer, cajoling. You’re trembling in his grip. “I told you. You’re hysterical.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you say, but your words feel like you’re spitting them out around a mouthful of gravel. “I—I’m calm--”

Your knees knock against your bed, but Overhaul is still clinging to you; still too close. Your heart is beating so fast that you can hear it pounding in your ears.

“You’re not. You’re hysterical.” He repeats it, calmly. The hand not on your wrist reaches up and cups your face, a gloved thumb stroking across your cheek as if you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. The scent of the latex is overwhelming. “But that’s alright. It’s not your fault.” He clicks his tongue behind the mask. “It’s mine. All of this checking for the physical sickness, and I didn’t think about checking your head.”

You fall onto the bed as his knees knock against yours, your back hitting the wall. It’s just a plain, single bed; rumpled sheets, because you’d fought against any attempt for someone to come in and collect your laundry, too. Overhaul looks silly in your room, you think dimly; like a huge black crow in the nest of a small, frightened wren.

“If you fight,” he tells you, “I’ll disassemble you. I’d rather not. I don’t want to taint you by using my quirk. But . . .” He’s sinking to his knees in front of you, those same methodical hands pushing up the skirt of your dress. “If I did, I’d get a blank mind to work with. I won’t hesitate. But I’d still rather simply fix you without having to break you into pieces first.”

You know him too well to think that he’s bluffing.

After all of the vitriol you’ve spat at him, he’s unwilling to kill you. Would it be worse, to be mindless and brainless under Kai’s quirk? You’ve heard some of his failed experiments before; babbling, drooling, broken things. He’s killed them sometimes just to put them out of their misery.

What if he did that, and your mind remained perfectly capable – just utterly unable to communicate with your body? A prisoner in your own skin. Worse than even now. You swallow back the lump of fear.

“H-how are you going to do that?” You ask him.

You start at how cold the gloved fingers are on your bare thighs, as Overhaul pushes them apart. Cold fear prickles down your spine. You’re too scared to fight back, but everything he’s doing is making you want to run.

“Did you know,” Overhaul says, those same hands sliding higher, to tug at the waistband of your underwear. “In the past, there were rumours that doctors would cure hysteria by genital massage and stimulation?”

His words are very clinical, but there’s a thickness to his voice behind the mask that fills you with revulsion.

“It might be nonsense, of course,” he says. Your underwear is being tugged down, pulled around your thighs, your knees, your ankle. “They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth--”

“Kai—” Your voice is a soft whine, fear-filled. This time, he doesn’t snap at you for calling him by the name he’s left behind. He simply says;

“Spread your legs.”

You don’t want to. But you want to risk what he’s threatening you with even less, so you tearfully open them as wide as you can go. He shifts forward, and the tip of the beaked mask digs into your inner thigh as he studies you like you’re nothing more than a diagram, not a living, breathing person--

“Next time I’ll have lubricant ready,” he says, under his breath, and your heart seizes up at the implication that whatever he’s going to do to you, there’ll be a next time.

You start at the sensation of gloved fingers gently parting the lips of your sex, Overhaul’s golden eyes drinking in the sight of you spread open and bare. You’re shaking, but for some reason the way he’s looking at you – the utter concentration in his eyes – makes a curl of heat flare deep inside of you.

“Don’t,” you breathe, trying not to squirm. “Please--”

“I don’t want to have to,” he says. His tone remains calm, unbothered. “I’m doing it for your own good, you know that. Just helping you along.” One finger slides through the slit; the sensation of the gloves against your most intimate, heated parts makes the muscles in your thighs clench. It’s . . . not exactly unpleasant, but neither it is pleasant. “Do you think I’m getting any pleasure out of this?”

He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. You know this; everyone knows this. If this particular thought was so unpleasant to him, you don’t doubt he’d have found somebody else to do it (the thought of one of the other members of the Shie Hassaikai doing this to you fills you with even more revulsion than the idea of Overhaul himself). But you can’t say that out loud. Not after what he’s threatened. So you press your lips together and shake your head, gasp dying in your throat as one of Overhaul’s latex-covered fingers prods gently around your opening.

“You’re getting wet,” he tells you, as if you can’t feel the shameful slick beginning to leak from you. “That will make this easier. Good.”

You hate that the praise makes another jolt of arousal go through you. You don’t want to like the feeling of his gloves, rubbing at your heated cunt; the sensation of a fingertip circling around your entrance, brushing the bud of your clit and making you want to clamp your thighs around his hand.

He sinks the tip of one finger inside of you and you jerk, your hips out of your control as you try and sink away from the intrusion. Overhaul clicks his tongue again in annoyance at you. The hand holding the lips of your cunt open moves, to land on your hip and pin you between the bed and the wall so you can’t squirm again.

“I’ll sedate you next time, if I have to,” he says. “I’m not getting anything out of this. I’d prefer not to have to do it at all--”

He’s lying. You know he is. But you can’t call him out for it, so you press your trembling lips together and try to stop tears spilling out from your lash line as the finger inside of you sinks further and further inside, past his first knuckle, right down to the base.

He crooks it inside of you and your hands curl into the bedsheets, nails digging into your palms through cotton. His touch is curious, exploratory; has he ever actually done this to anybody before? He slides over a rough patch inside of you with the latex-tipped finger and a moan escapes your mouth against your will, your head falling back against the wall. Narrowed golden eyes look up at you as he repeats the motion; taking in the gloss of your lips, the widening of your eyes, the way your shoulders are shaking up and down.

You can feel yourself pumping more slick out; helping the glide of his finger inside of you, as he begins to carefully thrust it in and out of you. His touch is made all the more impersonal by the mask obscuring everything but his eyes and eyebrows; you can’t even hear him breathing.

Your cunt is fluttering around him, pleasure swarming you in breathless waves as he withdraws his finger entirely. He lifts the glove to his eyeline, looking only vaguely interested in how the white latex glimmers with your arousal.

“I’m going to use two now,” he tells you – and that is all the warning you get before two fingers beside one another are opening you up, scissoring your tight channel apart with an ache that you feel up to your hips. You bite back the whimper, but you’re unable to stop the choked breaths that are falling from you as he fucks you with them in steady, constant thrusts.

A covered thumb brushes your clit; swollen, now. Sensitive. Standing to attention. Your hips attempt to jerk in his hold once more, a strangled noise that’s neither pleasured nor pain falling from your throat. You’ve touched yourself, of course you have – even recently, just to try and assuage some of the boredom that fills your exactly-the-same days – but Overhaul’s fingers and thumbs and touch on you are so entirely different from that.

He continues his assault over your clit, those same eyes watching you with that same detached, clinical disposition that he’s had most of the time. There’s a cast to them that suggests there’s something more, but whatever emotion – if, indeed, he’s still capable of that – he’s feeling about having you at his mercy in this way has been pushed to the back of his mind as his thumb rolls and pinches at the bud.

Your body goes all-over heat, Overhaul’s fingers still pumping in and out of you, the slick noises of your shaming wetness echoing around the prison of the four walls you’ve spent seven months in. You’re teetering on the edge of something, hot and needy and wanting – and as Overhaul’s thumb sweeps over your poor aching clit again, you tilt your hips forward for as much stimulation as you can--

And he pulls his fingers out of you.

The heat fades into nothingness as you let out a noise of disappointment. Overhaul’s head tilts to one side, considering.

“What do you want?” He asks you. “Say it.”

No. You don’t ‘want’. He’s wrong. You keep your mouth pressed tight now that the damning noise has fallen out of it; you have managed to not let the tears trembling in your eyes spill forth. Your gaze meets his, defiant and tired and afraid all at once.

“Alright,” he sighs. “If you’re going to carry on being difficult.”

He does it again; his fingers plunging into you, scissoring you apart, rubbing against your folds with a practised agility now that he’s done it for the first time. He has always been a fast learner; always been observant. His thumb is back on your clit with ceaseless assault, and all over again you feel heat begin to build up; tension that crawls into every crevice of your being and worms its way deep inside you despite how badly you don’t want this.

The hand holding your hip loosens somewhat, allowing you to messily thrust your hips into Overhaul’s stimulation. You’re torn; you shouldn’t want to hump against the gloved fingers stimulating you, you should be wriggling and squirming away. But it feels so good; even with the skin-tight covering of rubbery latex, Overhaul’s fingers seem to find every one of your weak points and exploit them.

There it is again, building up on you; a ball of tension in your stomach being gradually wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. Your hips flex against his hand, your fingers clenching and unclenching on the bedsheet--

He denies you the peak of your orgasm for the second time.

And a third.

And a fourth.

“Kai--!” You’re too far gone to even think, after the pleasure has been pulled from you so cruelly, over and over again. The tears spill over your cheeks., rolling down in fat, shaming droplets. Overhaul’s eyes narrow.

“No,” he says, vehement – more emotion in his voice than you’ve heard all day. “You know what to call me.”

You know what he wants you to call him. You know that he wants to leave his old name behind, start again, be someone who can drag the Shie Hassaikai out of the shadows and into light and power once again – and he thinks that the name will help. You gurgle out a sobbing, strangled noise;

“O-Overhaul, please--”

Three fingers are plunged as deep inside of you as they can go, crooked to rub against your sweet spot; as Overhaul murmurs, detached but soft;

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

They thrust into you, his thumb rubbing your clit with firm, certain strokes – and this time, as the orgasm rushes up on you all at once, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you with his fingers through it, his thumb not ceasing the circling. Pleasure washes over you, finally, in great waves and crests. You feel yourself gush on his fingers, soaking him in your wetness (his eyebrows furrow again, at how close your fluid comes to spilling over his bared wrist; but you are too relieved to think about anything other than finally getting what you need).

Your hips flex, gasps falling from your mouth with every thrust of them – and you expect Overhaul to pull his fingers out of you. To stop touching you. Perhaps to strip off his gloves and put on a new pair – you know he always carries spares – and sneer at you as he walks out of the room.

But Overhaul’s fingers do not move from inside of you. The fierce rhythm of his fucking and petting and rubbing does not stop, even as the final aftershocks of your orgasm clench loosely about him and his constant stimulation becomes more of an annoyance than anything else on heated, sensitive skin.

You squirm, trying to push your thighs together to get him to stop touching you – but the hand not fucking you forces your thighs to stay parted with the curl of fingers into supple flesh, leaving you helpless to do anything but let him carry on touching you. Carry on fucking you.

A short, sharp shock of an orgasm rips through you as he swirls his thumb over your clit just so, and you realise that you’re drooling down yourself as well as panting; helpless and sloppy, utterly unable to do anything except lie there and take it until Overhaul decides he’s had enough of touching you.

You come, what? Twice more? Thrice? Until the pulsing of your channel is painful, your skin feeling red raw, your whimpers into the ceiling dry and broken. Only then does he pull his fingers out of you with a lewd pop.

A gush of your fluid that his fingers were stoppering soaks your bedsheets, and you watch, dazed, as Overhaul stands up. He looks down at you for just one moment, that stretches unbearably long in the heat-and-sex soaked atmosphere of the room.

He strips his gloves off of his hands, eyebrows twitching in disgust as he leaves the crumpled latex on your bedside table. He’s sliding on another pair as he speaks;

“Feel better?”

No. No, you don’t. You feel worse. You feel disgusted and violated and aching, your body over-stimulated and exhausted, sweat and drool and bodily fluids clinging to your skin. But if you tell Overhaul that--

“Yes,” you say, voice very soft and small and weak. You cannot see his mouth, but you see the way his eyes flash happily, the overall sensation of him smiling.

Why does Overhaul’s smile make you so scared, when Kai’s smile used to just make you feel warm?

“We’ll need to do it a few more times,” he tells you, as your blood runs to ice in your veins. “Such maladies aren’t cured in a day, after all. But . . .” He turns, rearranging himself carefully, his mask readjusted. You can’t see him as he speaks the next words. “I’d like to try some of the other suggested remedies, too.”

You think of his earlier words.

‘They theorised that the best cure was regular intercourse, male semen, pregnancy and childbirth.’

You’re never going to escape, are you? You’re going to be trapped in this compound until the day you die, and Overhaul is going to think that he’s keeping you safe--

“Take a shower,” he says to you, as he opens the door. It is not a suggestion. “And stop not letting the maids come in here to clean. I’m not having you get sick.”

You think he might be the sick one.

[callsignmanta]

Hospitalized (Day 1) Javier x Reader

a/n: i came up w this exactly a year ago today and never wrote it, so we’re starting to write it today :D

hospital au

31 days of being in a hospital stuck in the same room, they start off as strangers but fall in love by the end: end with them dancing to everybody loves somebody

DAY 1

8AM

Bright lights. White sheets. Beeping. Surgical masks. Hospitals were your worst enemy. The cold anti-bacterial feel of them, the fear of what you’re being diagnosed with, having to share a room with a stranger, and questioning whether anyone will visit you. It’s a nightmare. But some drunk driver managed to land you here, and you’re stuck in this room for a whole month. Having to put away all your projects to stay here and recover was bad enough, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the news that Dr. Slate was about to give you.

“Ms. L/N?” Her voice rings out, curls upon her hair bouncing into the room. Although you undeniably hated hospitals, she made it a bit more bearable, with her kind words and bringing me normal people food. You groan and sit up when she gets to your bed, if you can even call it that. Assuming that this was another blood test, you reach out your hand, turning away and praying for the best. “No need miss, this isn’t a medical check up.”

“What is this then?” You quirk an eyebrow. Left with little friends and family which lives abroad, you know it won’t be about visitors, so it’s either going to be a miracle and you’re being let out early, or a nightmare and something terrible’s happened.

“Today, we had a patient which fell off a horse at a ranch and landed in a ravine. His wounds are severe and he’ll be having similar treatments to you, so the rest of the doctors and I have made the choice to room him with you.” The sympathetic look on her face is all that stops you from screaming. Really? Some farmer guy that fell off a horse? All you’re thinking of is the high possibility of him being some old republican man, and you throw your hair into your hands in despair.

“Do you have to? Are there no other rooms?” You bargain with Dr. Slate, begging for her mind to change.

“There are, however-“

“Then why not put him there?” You whine, turning your head into your pillow.

“The board determined that it will be simpler to have you in one room and share treatments than have to do everything twice and move equipment around.

“Fine, fine, now leave me to wallow in pity,” You joke, Dr. Slate messing up your hair as she leaves. Truly, you are grateful for her. She makes you feel at least a bit normal in this dreaded building.

10AM

After Dr. Slate brought you the news, one of your coworkers visited you, and brought a bouquet of daffodils: for friendship, she said. You have no idea whether that’s right, but you really couldn’t be bothered to search it, not in your state of depression. Following that, you passed out and woke up a few hours later, praying that your news was all just a dream.

Picking up the nearest book to you on the bookshelf, you hope for a distraction.

“Great, communist fucking pigs” You grumble at the sight of ‘Animal Farm’ by George Orwell.

“Animal farm?” An unknown voice echoes from the other bed in the room, making you jump.

“Jesus Christ-“ you turn around, now aware that your new roommate is here already. Just from the fact that he guessed what book it was from your comment, you could tell that this was going to be insufferable.

“I heard you weren’t too happy when you found out about rooming with me?” You still hadn’t looked at him, but from his voice, you could tell he wouldn’t be old. Finally finding the courage too look up, you prop yourself up on your elbows, and look him in the eyes. Holy shit. His eyes are striking, like a falcons, and his hair in a small bun. His skin is a glowing tan, and his hands are holding a book, but you can’t make out the title. You won’t let this distract you. You’ve decided you hate him, and you’re too stubborn to take it back now. Besides, just because he’s hot doesn’t mean he’s a good person.

“Yeah, I’m not very social in hospitals.” You bluntly reply, trying to imply you aren’t interested in conversation.

“Ah, shame for you, I’m a very talkative person, basically everywhere” You can’t place it, but his accent is beautiful. You hum in reply, returning to your book.

Five minutes. Five minutes of peace before the mysterious man spoke again.

“So how did you end up here hermosa?” So he speaks Spanish, and he’s a bit too curious.

“Some drunken fuck rammed into the back of my car on the highway, going 40 over the limit.” You roll your eyes at the bringing up of the event, still mad that you’re here because of some idiot.

“Sounds like a thorn in the side,” His comment seems understanding, like he doesn’t really want to be here either.

“A bit more than that, I hate hospitals.” You keep your slightly cynical demeanour and don’t show your appreciation for the kindness. Why should you? You barely know the guy, and when you’re out of here you won’t even remember his name. You don’t even know his name.

“Why so?” More questions. Lovely.

“They make me think of death, just everything about them. It’s too clean, too industrial.” You reason. That’s probably the first genuine answer you’ve given the man this entire time. It felt polite, so you speak again. “How did you get here?”

“Ah, I work on a ranch with my amigos, and when i was bringing a horse back from a hack, I didn’t see this stupid ravine, and ended up here. I wouldn’t even be alive if John hadn’t found me.” He looks down in shame. Guilt overcomes you, you didn’t think there would be any emotion in that question.

“I’m sorry,” You break the tension after taking a deep breath.

“Don’t be, I asked first, and I’m grateful in a way.”

“How so?”

“I don’t have to help with shovelling the stables for the next month,” He grins. His smile is contagious, you can’t help but smile too. “Of course, I can’t ride for that month too, but I’m still grateful.”

“That’s good.” A long silence ensues, the words stuck in our throats. For once, you’re the first to speak, “Not to be rude or anything, but how didn’t you know about that ravine? Like, if you’ve been working there for a while, I’m sure they would’ve warned you, ravines don’t naturally appear overnight.”

“Well, it didn’t appear naturally. Some industry, Cornwall industries I believe, made a deal with our neighbouring ranch, O’Driscoll ranch, to start drilling for oil, and they’re pushing the boundaries a bit too far.” You notice how his teeth grit and jaw clenches at the mention of Cornwall and O’driscoll.

“I’m sorry to hear that” Deciding, not to pry anymore, you leave the topic.

Maybe having a roommate won’t be as terrible as you thought. He seems like a genuine and kind person, but you’re yet to know him.

[lostintransist]

Chiseled Heart | Part 4

AO3 | Part 1

Some days he hated Feather. If killing her would have solved the problem König might have considered it. However, he had been the idiot who failed to notice the provision of his contract with the gallery that required his attendance for at least one hour each show. The buzz of his phone in his pocket alerted him to the end of his contractual time.

If your brain could make sound effects appear in the real world the dial-up tone would be playing as you processed the fact your gym buddy stood in the art gallery that was hosting a show for your favorite artist. He wore a black surgical mask here like he did at the gym, his hair taking on a slightly reddish cast in the lights.

Danielle had come with you to the art show this time, as she is always down for a reason to wear a pretty dress. But how did you explain to your friend that you and your gym buddy had never actually exchanged names? He’d only saved you at least three times and you hadn’t remembered to ask his name. Fuck. You couldn’t believe you had been so inconsiderate!

“Oh! Hi! I didn’t know you liked sculpture,” you smile up at him to cover the realization that you didn’t know how to address him.

At your elbow, Danielle speaks up, “Who’s this?”

You gesture to him, “This is my gym buddy, the one I’ve been telling you about.”

She steps around you, all elegance and grace as she extends her hand.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Danielle.”

He takes it, hand swallowing your smaller friend’s fingers.

“König,” he shakes firmly before returning his hand to his side.

“And obviously you know,” Danielle gestures to you.

Your mind drifts as she continues to talk. Tasting the sounds of his name on your tongue you savor the flavor of it. A touch on your arm clicks you back into the present moment.

“You like King’s Healer, König?” You blurt out the question before you can think to reign it in.

Danielle and König both look at you. Danielle’s face reads ‘I love my friend but you were clearly not paying any attention’ and König’s brows are pulled together slightly, blue eyes looking a tad watery.

“I am done looking for tonigh-”

You cut him off, sadness rising through you like water creeping through a paper towel.

“You’re leaving? Oh,” you give him a small, sad smile. “I guess I will see you at the gym then?”

If deer had blue eyes they could be called König. You winced at the stab of guilt that bounced between your ribs.

“I can stay a bit longer if you don’t mind company?” He offered, hand gesturing back into the room where people mingled.

Danielle sent you an appraising look when you couldn’t prevent a smile from forming.

“We wouldn’t mind the company at all! This is my favorite artist and I’m mostly here to see some of his newer stuff. I am on the email list for the gallery specifically so I can know when his new pieces arrive,” you start further into the room.

You came by nearly every other week to look at the sculptures. King’s Healer captured evocative emotions that ran the gamut. Spinning you sent a grin at your friend and König.

“They put his new things in the big room, he is a major draw. I asked one of the staff once why they put him there. They said that is the room with the most reinforced floor and it pulls people past all of the other artists giving them exposure and boosts sales for everyone on display.” Turning back to watch where you were walking you pull in a deep breath to combat the need to run.

Danielle appeared at your side as you stepped into the large room. Bright lights highlighted the pieces on display. Sucking in a sharp breath you count twenty new pieces.

“Does he ever sleep?” You ask to no one.

“Why do you use he?” König’s voice comes from above your head.

Tipping your head back you see him peering down at you, confusion etched between the hairs of his brows.

Spinning to face him and relieve your neck you consider his question. Danielle squeezed your arm. When you nodded in acknowledgment she drifted off to look at all the displays.

“It’s mostly a feeling.” Movement from behind him alerted you to more people trying to enter the space. Without thinking you laid a hand on his arm and guided him to the side, leaving the doorway free. “Here let’s shift out of the doorway. It’s mostly a feeling I get when I look over all the work. I’ve been following this artist for a few years now.”

Pulling your hand back to yourself you notice König starting at his arm as if you had burned your fingerprints into his flesh through the long sleeve of his shirt. Ignoring it, as every interaction with this man led you to believe that he did not have enough kindness in his life, you go on.

“Whether or not King’s Healer is a man isn’t the point, the art has this,” your fingers curled and shifted as you thought of the word, “Masculine feel to it. Yes, he depicts awful things sometimes but the things that he creates don’t showcase the fears seeded into women’s nightmares like I would expect if he were a woman.” You shrug to end your small tirade as if you hadn’t dumped all your thoughts on this man.

“Do you,” he dragged his eyes up from his arm as he shoved his hand into his pocket, “Have a favorite piece on display?”

Rolling your lips between your teeth you look around, none of these pieces seem familiar.

“I’m going to be so sad if it was bought already,” biting the inside of your cheek you start moving around the room, observing and dismissing each new work of art until you finally duck out of the main room into a smaller, more dimly lit space. There it sat, like a child sent to a corner.

Most sculptures focused on what to leave behind as one created an image. This one did the opposite; the negative space told the story. Nested inside a boot print, large enough that it would require both hands to hold it securely, was the naked footprint of a child. When you had first seen it you had wept. The weeping more came from the story the gallery told by the placement but it still ripped at your heart.

The first time you wandered through these rooms and found King’s Healer’s art this footprint sat opposite a woman being dragged into a thick chunk of stones by many grabbing hands. Her arm stretched out, agony and fear etched across her face and in her eyes. You had studied her first, taking in the craftsmanship and the skills in every hand, different. Some had missing parts of their fingers above a certain knuckle, or the impression of hair on another. When you finally studied her, the woman in pain, you followed her eyes and found the footprint. A child. Her child? The nature of humanity is to tell stories, and the story you told yourself that day brought you to tears. You vowed that day to care for the memory of her child if you could. You saved money each paycheck for this single treasure.

Letting out a sigh of relief you turn and see König staring at the boot print. His shoulders are hunched as if he isn’t allowed by gravity to stand upright.

“Why this one?” His head turns first, eyes still on the art.

When they connect with yours the slut in the back of your mind starts panting. Fuck. You were attracted to him. Mmm. Were you attracted to him or did he just listen to you ramble about art? You could dissect that later.

Shrugging one shoulder you trap the tale behind your teeth. There had to be a lighter way to explain the heavy feelings this caused for you. Directing your eyes back to the boot print you fold your arms as if they could hold back the sea of emotions. His presence at your side settles you, as steady as the moon.

“It’s one of his first works. There is something special to me about it. He’s never done another piece in this style, using the negative space. All of his art tells a story and this one keeps me up at night.” Glancing up at him you find his eyes on you. König looks away, as if ashamed to be caught. “Do you have a favorite bit of art you have seen tonight?”

“Ja, but nothing from King.” His shoulders curled in ever so slightly more than before.

“Really? Would you show me?” You are curious to know what drew his attention.

König straightened so fast you swore you heard something in his back pop. He stared down at you like he had never seen a person before, confusion and awe warring through his eyes.

“Ja,” he nods his head once and strides away. You nearly need to run to catch up to him.

When he notices you take a few seconds to settle next to him before the painting a tinge of pink spreads above his mask.

“Entschuldigung,” he says bashfully.

You wave away what you assume in an apology.

“I’ll take excitement over keeping up most days.”

The painting takes your attention as you glance at it. A lush meadow ringed by great mountains is dotted with flowers.

“Dis reminds me of my oma’s home in Austria,” his tone nostalgic.

Glancing at him and back to the painting you ask your next question.

“Do you miss it?”

König let out a long breath before his answer.

“Sometimes, I doubt the flowers would recognize me if I returned though.”

With your period incoming you couldn’t prevent the rush of tears to your eyes. Trying to be discrete you fanned at your eyes.

“Mm? What is wrong?”

König tilts his head to look at you, alarm evident when he sees your watery eyes.

“Sorry, don’t mind me. Your poetic grief just caught me in a soft spot is all.” Your smile does nothing to remove the worried panic from his brows. “Thank you for showing me. I think though, even if the flowers don’t remember you the trees and the earth will.”

Now König looks like he might cry and to save both of you the embarrassment of being weepy fools you grab his free hand and drag him through the crowd back to King’s Healer’s room. Danielle finds you there as you examine each piece and discuss it with her, König still at your back.

When you have seen everything Danielle turns to you.

“You ready to go?”

“If you are. König, it was delightful to see you. Would you want to walk out with us? I know I delayed you leaving earlier.”

“Ja, I am ready to leave.” He gestured to the door, “I will walk you to your car.”

König leads you and Danielle outside, the balmy weather welcoming you after the heat in the gallery. He opens the door for Danielle who slides in behind the wheel and then follows you to your door.

You chat and laugh with him a moment more before climbing in.

“What was all that laughter about?” Danielle questions you as she pulls out of the spot.

Watching König disappear in the side rearview mirror you fight to form words.

“I bucked up and got his phone number.”

“Damn girl, I didn’t know you liked them so beefy,” she shot you a glance as she commented.

Smacking her arm lightly with the back of your fingers you fight down the mortification that she might be right.

“Neither did I.”

<Got home safe!

>Gut. Rest well.

<🥰

Masterlist | Chiseled Heart Masterlist

@demothers-empty-blog @ang3lc @warlike-morning

[shadowworks]

Look Inside

Pairing: Overhaul X Reader

Warnings: Dubcon-noncon, medical kink, drugged sex, mention of needles, mentions of blood, bondage, fingering, this is dark! 

Word Count: 3.8k 

A/N: I decided to try some creepy themes and give second person a try. So we’ll see how it goes. This piece is dark so please mind the warnings!

Huge shoutout to @present-mel for making the beautiful banner and reading over my fic you precious gem! Also thank you @thisisthehardestthing and @hisoknen for your feedback it’s so greatly appreciated! 💜

Someone had shut off the lights in the morgue. 

You happen to notice this when your eyes toil lazily between security cameras at the right time. You freeze on the spot, and quirk a brow toward the shadow. You expect it’ll brighten any second like it usually does, but after those few seconds tick by without change, a weight of dread sinks in your stomach.

Kai Chisaki put orders in place that if experiments are up and running the basement levels are to remain lit. Chisaki and his men are already down below, and the winding pale halls near the morgue are empty.

 You haven’t been called to notify cleaners about another bloody corpse still peeling off the wall, and you can’t find motion on the surveillance camera when you rewind the recordings. It’s in the lower right corner of the camera, and you note the light flicks off without warning. No one enters, no one leaves. 

You study the harsh glow of the screen for another moment, still in denial, still waiting for the lights to flicker on, and stand up from the chair in the office. When not a soul appears by the threshold, all you can do is lean forward with your hands pressed on the desk, dropping your head in defeat. “Seriously? Fuck you.” 

You don’t know who “you” was exactly, but it felt right to say. 

It takes a bit of time after departing the small office, but you find the proper hall in Chisaki’s deeply looping maze...It’s just you don’t want to step out from the elevator. You were ready before, but when the doors split open and the cool air ghosts against your cheeks, you pause. There’s a stillness lingering in the hallway; it’s far too quiet- except for the creaks in the elevator floor from your shifting weight...But, something seems off. 

  Your steps are tentative when you do slip out, peering down the drab hallway. You clearly see which of the rooms is buried in shadow, and frankly you want to whirl back around before the doors close. But you can’t, well, not yet at least. The tap of your shoes hits off the walls, while you tread along on stiff legs. Eventually you come to a stop having reached the doorway. It’s partly open, a slice of darkness hiding what’s deep inside. 

Hold on, this can't be right. The camera— A shudder trails up your spine. It tingles coldly.

You inhale a deep breath. Okay, just do it; just switch the lights back on, it’s fine. It’s fine. Besides, if it were you (which it is) you wouldn’t want to deal with Chisaki’s ill temper over something so minor as a light. 

He’s punished his men for incompetence before, and those who didn’t listen have smeared the walls with their blood, drenching vein red across white. Black-looking goops of muscle plopped on the floor...the consequences ranged based on severity of failure or how stressed he is, really. In fact, one man had the skin of his face torn off for talking back—wait, relax. Focus

It won’t happen. Kai Chisaki is somewhere else in the maze. He’s not aware of what happened.

There’s a member with a quirk which lets him melt through walls; the tiny one with a bone white mask. He probably slipped between the rooms and grabbed something then turned the lights off. But that didn’t explain the door...

It doesn’t matter.

You stretch an arm out, gently pushing the door further open, and light spills onto the tile floor. 

It’s a cold, vacant room. There’s a pungent scent of bleach still lingering from a cleanup, but it hits your nose almost like it happened recently. You can’t see much nor do you want to. And your hand reaches around the door frame, trailing gentle fingers along the smooth surface for a switch—

Only, there’s nothing on the wall. 

“Are you serious? Really?” you huff to yourself, stepping round to search for the light. Sure enough, your fears are realized with one look. 

You let out an annoyed groan, and a, ‘stupid switch’ under your breath. Who the hell designs a room and doesn’t put a switch by the door? 

Your eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark, so you can’t see the precise details on the walls. So this leaves you no choice but to step further in, allowing the brightness from the hall to guide you along.

It’s a moderate room with a vaulted wall filled with metal drawers, all large enough to fit an icy corpse in ‘til the yakuza dispose of them. Then there’s the silver surgical table in the middle of the room. It's empty, but the thing’s embellished. There’s protruding belts attached, and a tray on wheels is parked on the side. On top of the tray is a clean towel and a neat row of surgical tools lay flat across. 

Your brows scrunch together, studying the sharp gleam of knives and the sizes of needles. Why are these out? Kai’s an obsessive clean freak, every little thing needs to be put back and organized. All his masked cronies know this rule, so who the hell did this? That is, unless someone’s using them?

Your back is turned to the glow seeping in from the hall, so you don’t see a gloved hand press on the metal door. There’s a push, and the door slams shut. 

You let out a startled yelp, cupping your hands to your mouth. What the hell…! Your heart’s pounding wildly in your chest; for some reason the room feels colder, you feel colder. 

“I must say this is disappointing.”

Light floods the room from the panels above, flickering with a buzzing noise before they settle. You take a moment. A deep breath, a slow exhale. When the initial shock stops tingling in your muscles, you slowly drop your palms. The voice is male, his tone’s calm, ominous and it carries like chill over your shoulder. You know this voice; you know you have to turn around. But fuck, you can’t stop trembling. When you do, you see a tall figure looming near the wall, a gloved hand still on the switch.

Kai Chisaki. 

“I told Setsuno I needed him in the security room. Do you think it’s hard for him to follow directions?”

You stare at him, anxiously. He isn’t wearing his green coat with the violet plumage trimming on the collar. He’s in his iron pressed, black suit and grey tie; the trademark plague mask covering half his face. 

“Setsuno asked me to fill in. He said he wasn’t feeling well...I guess,” you manage to say it as steady as you can. 

The lanky blond hadn’t given you a clear reason when he staggered towards you near dawn. But if you’re being honest, you didn’t really care.You barely looked his way at breakfast, choosing to stare into your dark coffee cup than at the katana resting on his shoulder. The sword was still wet with blood, and you knew he’d been out all night. Though right now, you sorta wish you pressed him more for details.

Kai mutters something slightly bitter, words that are muffled against the material of his mask. But you hear him sigh, then his tone turns crisper. “No matter. It’s inconvenient, but I can work around these...changes.”

His arm drops to his side, walking from the wall. And unexpectedly- those peculiar eyes you see leering at his enemies, have now fallen on you. 

You seize up in mild panic, the pupils in your eyes shrinking; not knowing what to do. You take a scuffling step or two back on reflex��and knock your hip against the table corner. 

Oww—ow, fuck. Hold on, what’s he doing? Why—Your voice bubbles in your throat as you watch him draw near. Though it’s strange, for Kai doesn’t pull at the rim of his latex glove like expected, rather, the Shie Hassaikai boss happens to steer past you instead. 

...Huh?

Your neck cranes, loose hair spilling over your shoulder. He stops a couple feet away and tilts his head downward in front of the tray, no longer regarding your presence and focusing on his work. 

You stand there awkwardly, just listening to the clinks of metal fitting together in Kai’s grip. You’re not fully understanding though, should you leave? It looks like your job’s finished now that your boss is here. Besides, you’re pretty confident Kai doesn't want you here if he’s occupying the room. 

In the long pause between you two, your mind’s made up which prompts you to retreat back and aim towards the door. They’re slow, careful moving steps. 

“Well, you seem busy...I should probably hurry back and watch the cameras,'' you say dismissing yourself. You’re partial toward the comfort of the smaller office, and any chance you have of leaving the macabre storage space you will eagerly take it. 

You don’t make it to the gleaming doorknob—because Kai’s voice holds you still. It isn’t loud, but it grips the room. “No stay. There’s no need for you to leave so soon.”

A mix of fear and confusion read across your features. Kai has never spent a moment alone with you. In fact, you aren’t actually part of the yakuza. The only reason you’re associated with the fallen crime syndicate, is because the former boss offered you odd jobs as a favor. You needed some work to keep from struggling and he had taken a liking to you, sort of how he did with Kai. But then, the leader collapsed. 

Now you aren't sure where you stand. Chisaki is in charge.

“I believe there’s something you can do for me. Will you have a seat on the table?” 

You aren’t sure if you heard him right, or fully grasp what he means. He says it so casually-  but you know better; it’s a demand. You’re just not sure why.

“I’m fine. Really. I should be going-“

“Are you defying my order?” Again, he says it so nonchalantly. This time Kai turns his head over his shoulder; the look he gives is almost impassive, yet there’s a menacing gleam in the yellow of his eyes.

“What? No, I was…! Right.”

You don’t exactly drag your feet, but you do stand hesitant before the edge of the table where countless bodies have been dissected. So much blood, so many organs harvested on this very table.

“I won’t ask you again.” 

You turn around robotically, eyes pointed downward as you hoist your hips onto the metal. The table’s surface is icy, it numbs your fingers the longer you lean on it, which only makes you fold them against your thighs. 

“Roll up your sleeve.” Kai says by your right, holding up a purple band. Your gaze flicks up immediately, nervously, a silent plea for mercy. As if somehow your glossy and delicate eyes will make a difference. But it does nothing toward Kai’s stoic stance. He simply waits, and his own steely eyes narrow back.

You drop your head with a wince; just do as he says. 

You comply, pushing up your long sleeve. Though you make a point not to help much more than that, leaving your arm limp at your side. 

Kai doesn’t seem to notice or care and proceeds to wrap the rubber around your arm. You grimace, unpleased as his fingers skim your arm, and again when he brushes you with a wet cotton swab. 

“You need my blood?” You ask evenly. 

His eyes don’t leave your skin, “Not necessarily.”

“A lot of effort for, ‘not necessarily.’” You say, not too dryly. 

“You’ve seen my work before, you should know by now I take great care in everything I do.”

Kai rotates between you and the now rolled over stand, dismissing your light jab. He sets up the port for blood to flow; all in a well practiced motion. It certainly makes you wonder how many times he’s done this before. 

“I’m curious, when was your last doctor's appointment?” He asks suddenly, hands already prepping the next instrument. The other needle probably, but you don’t want to play as his patient. He isn’t your doctor, for fucks sake.

“A while.” You answer. 

“A while,” he repeats with a subtle chuckle under his covered breath,“Has anyone told you before you’re a feisty one?”

You bite your tongue and refuse to meet his side glance. When you don’t reply back, he carries on with a sigh. 

“I’ve had quite a long day you see, so I’m afraid I’ve exhausted my tolerance for stubborn little girls.”

Suddenly, his hand is squeezing your shoulder, and all too quickly you find yourself thumping against the cold metal, your horrified eyes staring up at the bright ceiling. The next thing you feel is buckles fastening, pinning you against the table by your waist and elbows. 

You're flooded with tingling panic, voice cracking from strain, “Hol—Hold on one second. Please, just one more—”

“—You know they say you should never let the lamb see the knife? Their fear tampers the meat, and ruins the flavor,” Kai gives a sharp tug on the last belt. “But I find yours all the more intoxicating, my dear.”

You stammer, words of protest mingle together as you attempt to be heard, “I don’t understand, why are you…Just stop. You need to let me go!”

Your teeth clench together in a rage that fills your chest. You’re not thinking rationally, your nerves are unhinged. And in your adrenaline high your leg curls up, thrashing a viciously blunt strike toward the point of his beak.

 Before it can connect and batter the bridge of his nose and mark his cheekbones, Kai’s arm flexes quickly. Your foot stops mid air as he catches your ankle with constricting force. 

“Do I?” He asks with a title of his head, there're subtle creases in the corner of eyes, you can imagine his mouth settles in a cold smile beneath. 

In that moment you freeze up. Your lash lines burn, stinging with fresh tears glossing your doe eyes. You don’t breathe, you don’t dare to expand your lungs. Your only thought is begging him not to burst open your calf. 

“You shouldn’t be giving commands. You work under me now,” his nails dig in your flesh, and you know those indents will marr your flesh.“Meaning you’ll have to bear with me while I continue.”

Kai doesn’t loosen his hold, briefly watching your pained expression. But he favors dropping his gaze below to study the stretch of your thigh, your exposed and parted groin. It’s then his nimble fingers reach to unclasp the button of your jeans and he gently pulls down the zipper. You cry out, jerking against the belts, but he isn’t fazed. 

“One of our new drugs is supposed to relax its victims...recently it’s been ineffective if the heartbeat’s racing too quickly, though we’ve made modifications to counter this. My plan was to stage a fight with Setsuno, until...you graciously took his place.”

Kai lowers your leg, both hands roaming across to the edge of your jeans. He still studies you, and decides to push up your ribbed sweater, letting the cold bite of the morgue chill your hips. His latex fingers trace lightly across your pebbled skin, skimming down the dips to your thighs. 

“Yes, this will do just fine. You’re pretty enough,” he muses, softly.

He then tucks his hands into your waistband, yanking them down your legs, before they fall to the floor with a plop. The seamless panties slip off easily, as well. This sends a small prickle through you, and, no, this can’t keep going! The fight in you surges, pushing your knees together to shield your groin. Only Kai doesn’t like that. 

There’s something cold and dangerous in his glare, a threat that twists at your stomach. He’s warning you; don’t make this worse for yourself or you’ll make him snap. And you didn’t want that...You watch both his hands clutch your knees, he doesn’t waste time and he yanks your legs apart, taking in your pretty cunt.

Angry tears trickle down your cheeks in response. Your throat burns from holding back a sob, “Chisaki, please. If you would—“

 Without a moment of hesitation, Kai knowingly finds where to touch you first. A little too skillfully for a false doctor, the pad of his thumb presses against your soft, sensitive nub, stroking tight circles with focus. Your breath catches, falling heavier while he sinks his pad deeper in the forming slick, building steady pressure.

“Still so stubborn, what good will that bring you?”

A broken moan spills on your shaky breath, all against your better decisions. His other hand settles between your legs, and a finger plunges inside your heat, curling upward and massaging the rougher layer of flesh. A sharp gasp inhales into your lungs. He isn’t stopping, no, Kai’s gloved finger moves with vigor the more your pleasurably laced cries pour out from your lips, how desperate they become.

He pushes in a second finger, and then a third thrusting in, stretching you and soaking your walls with your arousal. This causes you to push your hips further against his latex hand. 

“Kai, you fucking bastard!” you sob out, formalities be damned as your back arches. You can feel the building pulses in your cunt tense up, losing yourself to your superior on an icy slab in a fucking morgue. 

“You curse my name as though you’re not enjoying this,” Kai mocks.

 His fingers pump deeper, tightening your abs and your lips fall open. His matching rhythm on the bundle of nerves surges in a crash, sending a hard orgasm that shivers through your body. For a moment, just a little moment, your cares fade away. 

You're left breathing deeply, staring up at the ceiling as your chest rises and falls. The euphoria lasts a moment longer, but only for so long. Reality sets in as you lay there, and much too soon, the warmths gone. 

Kai takes advantage of this.

With your chin tipped up toward cabinets lining the ceiling, Kai unfastens his thinner belt. It’s only when you feel him hook under your knees and pull at your thighs that you snap your head up in startlement.

Kai’s venomous eyes stare you down, “I suggest laying back down little girl, we’re not finished yet.”

“Like hell!”

A second flare of rage strickens across your features, a hard glare that doesn’t unyield, especially as he unzips and withdraws himself from formal slacks. You know he’s relishing in your disdain for him, and this makes you thrash on the belts, hoping to force them apart. Of course, Kai did a good job of fastening these fuckers and simply chuckles at your attempt. 

“You’re still not understanding the position that you’re in,” He slips a hand in his pocket, and pulls out the wrapping of a condom. Taking his time, tearing it open, rolling the rubber down his thick length with precision.

 When Kai’s satisfied, his arms reach for you and grab at your hips, giving them a sharp yank forward. He leans in with a darkly low voice, “You can’t escape me. You’re mine to do with as I please.”

“...You lean any closer and I’ll spit in your face.” There isn’t any bite to it. It’s a calm, empty threat and loses all its appeal as a single tear spills down your cheekbone.

A huffing noise emits from his mask, with his lids narrowing in mild disgust. You catch the words “filthy woman,” rasped low and nasally before he does lean back, wrenching at the skin around your hips. 

When he’s all settled Kai lines himself to your heat, in a slow motion he draws himself inside. You almost don't hear it, but from the mask you note a soft hitch in his breath. He gives shallow pushes and pulls on your hips, an experimental dip that splits you in a painful stretch before he pumps fully into you. They’re slow, long strokes, filling you to the brim.

Another strained gasp rips from your wet lips, and your hands impulsively spring out, clenching the black cloth of Kai’s sleeves. His hips snap quicker, and your breath picks up with him. Heart pounding to his thrust; you can feel the beats in your neck. 

And all of a sudden you hear the sound of plastic clasping together, the squeeze of an injection clip the shell of your ear. Your eyes snap open in horror. What—?

Kai locks on your facial features, his deep pumps lessen though the slapping of skin doesn’t stop. “You’ve been too tense. Why don’t you relax for awhile?”

When did he..? 

He prepped it. The syringe must’ve been tucked away. He did have this all planned. You were just the unlucky one who walked to the table and sealed your fate. 

The serum he injected into your bloodstream has fast results it seems. The tension in your muscles slack against his thrusts, allowing him to carry your body closer and take more of his length. You feel the tension in your wide eyes soften, slowly falling half lidded and weak. 

“That’s a good girl, you're taking to the drug faster than I thought,” he muses a little breathless. Right after he sets the syringe back down, a gloved hand reaches for the strap fastened around his head and pulls. The mask slips off.

It’s at this point he hikes his knees up onto the table and pounds in deeper, letting your walls suck him in. Your body’s folded, and Kai treats your body in any way he desires.

You manage to pull your head from his sharp eyes, your cheek bouncing slightly against the icy metal to Kai’s rhythm. The drawers for the deceased are taken in.

You stare intently. 

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“No.” He manages between breathes, his voice is heavy and laced with lusting growls, “This is merely a precaution. In the event...ah, in the event you overdose...well. You’re in the right place.”

Your head lolls back to Kai meeting his delicate face which is now flushed. You realize this is the first time you’ve seen him behind the mask. He’s beautiful. Soft featues that compliment him so well. If only he wasn’t so cruel...

“In fact, hah, if you survive...I think this will be the start of something new in my work.” He manages the last bit with a shaky chuckle. 

You see him smirk wickedly, and all you can do is watch, because it doesn’t stop. The only sound in the room is the liquid squish of sex, your mixed heavy breaths. And you hope, god do you hope in your hazy state, feeling a numbness taking hold of your body, that you leave this room alive.

[herofics]

Dabi beats up an asshole ex step-mom, but it’s comfort

Guess who isn't doing so well on this wonderful day, you fucking guessed it, me. They’re childhood friends and the reader stayed in contact with Dabi even after he left his family and they both became villains, the reader not so much but they aren’t exactly a lawful citizen. Also can you tell I’m venting some shit, obviously this is highly exaggerated and I wouldn’t hurt anyone, but god does it feel good to get some anger out. I’m 6cm taller than Dabi and much bigger, and I’m saying this because it ended up being a bit of self insert, or at least with a big reader.

You weren’t really sure what triggered it this time. Scratch that, you knew exactly what made it happen, but you didn’t really want to accept it.

“Fuck!” you yelled as you hit the brick wall for the hundredth time that evening.

You knuckles were bleeding and bruised, but you didn’t care, you barely even felt the pain anymore.

“Fucking bitch!” you shouted and struck the wall one more time.

“Ya know, there’s a perfectly good punching bag right there” Dabi said as he leaned against the doorframe.

You turned around, out of breath, and crossed your arms in front of yourself, trying to hide your hands.

“Can you just go away?” you asked, sounding more desperate than angry.

“Sure can, but I’m not gonna” he scoffed and started walking towards you.

You took a step back, but now your back was against the wall and you couldn’t really get away from him.

“Nowhere to run now” Dabi smirked and forcefully twisted your hands away from your sides, to see the damage you’d done this time.

“So?” you asked, looking away from him.

“You didn’t fracture anything did you?” he asked after a while, and let go of your hands.

“I-I don’t think so”

“Good, cause we’ve got something to do” he turned around and started walking out.

You grabbed your hoodie from the floor and threw it on, following Dabi out of the dusty gym.

“What exactly do you have in mind?” you asked as he pulled his hood up and put on a black facemask.

“That hag of an ex step-mom of yours is bothering you again, isn’t she? We’re gonna go greet her”

“How’d you know?” you asked and shoved your hands into your hoodie pockets.

“You yellin ‘fucking bitch’ at the top of your lungs while hittin a wall kinda gave it away”

“Ah” you shook your head.

You walked through the city, without saying so much as a word after that. When you got to her house, you grabbed Dabi’s forearm and squeezed it a little too tight for his liking.

“You’re not gonna kill her, right?” you asked, while still holding onto his arm.

“Like I said, we’re just gonna greet her” he growled and ripped his arm away from your grip.

“Sorry, I-”

You were interrupted by the door opening and that hag peeking out the door. She saw you and you could see her eyes darken. It honestly gave you goosebumps, and brought back a lot of the shit she had done.

“”What are you doing here? I thought you never wanted to see me again” she said spitefully.

“I didn’t, and I don’t, but he does”

Dabi took his mask off and shoved it into his pocket. Even though you could only see the side of his face you knew he had that crazy gleam in his eyes and he was smiling like a maniac.

“Hello Mrs” he said and pushed her back into the house so forcefully, she fell on her ass into the hallway, leaving a smoldering handprint on her shirt.

“Dabi? Isn’t this enough, she looks scared enough”

“No, not what she did to you” he hissed and you could see the smoke coming from his hands.

“What I did?! That brat is-” she started but Dabi pretty much showed his boot into her mouth.

“No one asked you anythin” Dabi growled and waved his finger in front of her face, before taking his boot off her face.

“You said you wouldn’t kill her” you said, not even really sure if you wanted to convince him.

“I won’t” Dabi said.

“But?”

“But ya might want to call an ambulance soon” he said as he grabbed her by the collar with both hands.

The fabric started smoking and burning and your former step-mother screamed, hopefully more because of fear than pain. You pressed your hands to your ears to muffle at least some of the sounds. You stepped outside for a few minutes, before calling the ambulance, but after a while you couldn’t take the noises anymore and you slammed the door open.

“Dabi!” you finally yelled and grabbed his arm.

Dabi turned his head to look at you and stopped struggling against your grip. Even though you looked angry, it didn’t seem to be directed at him. You were looking past him and down to the human sack of shit laying on the floor. Even though you were obviously angry, you also seemed very sad.

“Fine” he sighed and ripped his arm out of your grasp.

“I called an ambulance, it should be here soon, so we need to go” you said, now looking more like your calm self.

You grabbed Dabi’s hand and started dragging him away from the scene of the crime. When you had put enough distance between yourself and the house, you turned around and noticed that he was bleeding from his face and the hand you had grabbed. You figured your former step-mother had managed to rip a few of his staples off.

“I’ll patch you up once we get back to my place, put your mask back on and maybe you won’t look as suspicious as you are” you remarked.

“Yeah, yeah” he said and took his hand back to put his mask on.

You lead the way to your apartment, when you got there you sat Dabi down on the couch.

“Wait there, I’ve got some replacement staples for you and I’m gonna clean off the blood”

“I can do that myself” he argued, but you weren’t having any of it.

“Oh shut up, you’re too angry to do shit right now, I felt how your hands were shaking”

“Fuck you” Dabi growled and leaned back on the couch.

You carried one of the kitchen chairs in front of the couch and sat down on it, setting the wound cleaning supplies on the coffee table behind you.

You grabbed Dabi’s chin and started cleaning the blood off his face. You had to swipe his hair out of the way a couple of times too.

“You’re too goddamn dirty for this to be of any actual help. Go take a shower you dirty gremlin”

Dabi just sighed, but obliged with your request without much resistance, but he still made sure to smack you on the back of the head as he walked by.

“I’ll give you a t-shirt and a pair of my joggers, so throw your clothes in the washer” you yelled as he slammed the bathroom door shut.

You could hear the shower turn on and while he was in there, you decided to patch up your knuckles. You disinfected your hands and wrapped some gauze around your knuckles. Then you left the clothes you promised next to the bathroom door. You laid down on the couch to wait for Dabi to come out of the shower.

Dabi stood under the warm water for a while. How long had it been since he had actually taken a proper shower, with soap and all. He opened a couple of the shampoos and shower gels, before he found the one that smelled the most like you. He decided not to use it, but instead just took a deep breath of the smell and memorized the brand. Maybe he would buy it for you sometime. Dabi put the bottle back and chose something else that would be better for the burnt parts of his skin.

“What am I gonna do with them?” he muttered. “How do I keep them safe?”

Laying there on the couch, you got to thinking, it wasn’t like you had any love left for your ex-step-mom, but you didn’t really know how to feel about what Dabi had done. It’s not that she didn’t deserve every bit of it, it’s more about the fact that you felt like you should’ve done it yourself and not let Dabi bloody his hands again. You knew what he was, you knew who he worked with and the things he’d done, but you didn’t want to use him like some sort of an attack dog.

The bathroom door opened and Dabi stepped out. He was wearing the pants you’d given him but he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He was drying his hair on the towel and when he was done, he draped it over the chair you had brought next to the couch.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine” you said and grabbed the staples and the surgical stapler off the table. “Sit down, and I’ll patch you up too”

Dabi sat down on the couch next to you and was very still during the whole stapling operation. You were used to doing it for him, since you’d been doing this for years, ever since he had had a need for it. You grabbed his chin again and started working on his face, it didn’t seem like the skin had ripped too badly, which was a damn miracle, so you just pressed the stapler close to the old spots and pressed it down. Next was his hand, it looked much worse, but you managed to patch him up with the addition of a few stitches and the staples on top. Even when you were done, you didn’t let go of his hand, you just looked at it and brushed your thumb over the border of normal and burnt skin.

“Do you hate me now?” he asked suddenly.

“I may be annoyed at you, but I could never hate you” you said as you put the last staple to his hand. “Touya…” you used his real name to see if he would react any differently, but he didn’t seem to care. “We’ve been friends since we were kids, and you’ve always looked out for me. You know I appreciate that, but I don’t want to take advantage of your willingness to stand up for me, and I’m not so weak that I would need it anyway”

“I don’t do it because I think you’re weak. I do it because you’re too damn kind to give shitty people what they deserve”

“You might be right about that” you sighed, finally letting go of his hand. “Why’d you choose today to do that anyway?”

“Just felt like it” he shrugged.

“Sure…” you rolled your eyes. “Also, could you put a shirt on?”

“Why? You getting all hot and bothered about it?” he smirked.

“No-no, jackass” you said and hit his shoulder.

“Ouch” he said a bit over dramatically.

“Seriously though, if at all possible, I wish you didn’t have to bloody your hands even more because of me”

“I would burn the whole world down for you, and there is nothing you could do about it” Dabi said quietly, but you could hear he was very serious.

“Thank you, but I’m sure it won’t come to that” you said.

You moved to lay down on the couch but Dabi pulled you down so your head was on his lap. You could feel his hands in your hair and you took a deep breath. He smelled like sea salt and toasted cinnamon. Everything was better like this, just like this.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 21, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Flute Solo

For some reason Wei Wuxian has decided to take a walk outside of the fortress, or behind the fortress, or something? Can people just take a stroll outside during wartime? Seems unwise.

There are guards and these extra-bossy crows herding some Wen prisoners along, and Wei Wuxian stands up above and gets totally overwhelmed by resentful energy.  

He falls to one knee while clutching his chest, in the spot where all cultivators seem to stow a bag of holding. I guess this is the Xuanwu sword? Or maybe it's his surgical incision; those things can take a while to finish healing. I think the golden core is further down in the abdomen, though; this is right over his heart. 

Wen Qing, Granny, and Fourth Uncle are in the group, but Wen Qing has her hood up so Wei Wuxian can't see her, and he's unlikely to remember the other two, since he only saw them that one time at the shrine, and he doesn't remember people he's literally had dinner with.  

The guards decide to be assholes and beat the shit out of a prisoner because he fell down, which inspires some extra aggressive crows to swoop in and attack the not-dead guy on the ground. That is...not how carrion-eaters behave, generally. They're pretty good about waiting for you to stop moving.

Wei Wuxian continues to struggle, obviously having an orgasm in a lot of pain, and starting to leak resentful energy.

(more after the cut)

He brings his flute up and starts playing it, which causes the wind to rise, rocks to fall from a nearby cliff, and the whole group of people on the ground under him to start having Yin Iron lines crawling up their faces.

Would Wen Qing be a beautiful fierce corpse? She would. 

Eventually Wei Wuxian stops torturing everybody, having gotten it out of his system for a bit, and stands up.  The group gets up, skin clearing up, and starts moving along again, a little shook. Wen Qing looks up and sees Wei Wuxian and hides her face in anguish.

She was there in the dungeon, listening to the same flute music, when he was resentfully slaughtering everyone around her in Yiling. Does she understand what she’s seeing, what he’s become? 

Her hood is off and it seems that he sees her, or at least that he is trying to figure out what he's seeing. But Jiang Yanli arrives before he can do more than look puzzled and cast his eyes around.  

Jiang Yanli asks him what just happened and he laughs and says it was the strong wind, in an extremely transparent lie that Yanli nearly chokes trying to swallow. She drags him back to the meeting while he continues to look troubled.

War Council

Meanwhile, the war council is meeting. This is mostly a boring rehash of stuff we already know, but someone has drawn a nice big map that's been installed in a custom frame. Because apparently the table with the mountains on it is not a good enough representation of "and then we will walk from our house to Wen Ruohan's house," which is basically their plan. The gist of this scene is that Wen Ruohan having the Yin Iron gives him an advantage, in case we needed to be reminded of that. 

The doors fly open and Wei Wuxian and his fabulous ass literally blow into the room. 

Everyone reacts in a comically extreme way. 

He casts his eyes malevolently and/or sexily over to Lan Wangji, who is still grumpy with him, while Jiang Cheng comes up and stands almost as close to him as Lan Wangji used to.

He tells everybody that he might have something to counteract the yin iron.

Everybody: Really? Do tell!  

Wei Wuxian: Happy to!

Wei Wuxian: *theatrical side-eye at judgy ex boyfriend* 

Wei Wuxian: Actually, nope.

He says "we'll see in about a month" while fondling whatever is hidden next to his ribcage.

This behavior, while ridiculous, isn't quite as absurd as it seems from a corporate-meeting standpoint. Part of what cultivators do is invent and refine spiritual tools. So when Wei Wuxian makes this speech, the people in the meeting are going to infer that he is creating a spiritual tool to counter the Yin Iron.

Now it's Lan Xichen's turn to ask everybody’s favorite question. Lan Xichen wasn’t at the party when everyone else asked him, and we're apparently supposed to believe these gossips haven't been talking about the not-sword-carrying 24x7.

Wei Wuxian says he's just not in the mood, and we get to see Lan Xichen's impressive ability to hold his face completely still while he represses his desire to slap someone.

Jin Zixun complains about Wei Wuxian after he leaves, but for once his bitching is on point; he correctly surmises that the counter to yin iron is...yin iron. 

Now, to be fair, the yin tiger amulet is different from the yin iron because it exists in the novel Wei Wuxian specially refines it to be more manageable than the sword it started from. And maybe it’s gel coated to be easier on the stomach. But it's basically the same shit.

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue exchange intense gazes, just to prove that the young people aren’t the only ones who know how to eye fuck. 

Lying Is Forbidden 

Lan Xichen talks to Lan Wangji, and we discover that Lan Wangji is perfectly capable of lying. He manages to maintain a reputation for not lying but I think the trick is that he just avoids talking in general, so when, for example, people in later years say "who's your masked boyfriend" he just doesn't answer, which isn't really lying. (How many times did Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen ask “where did you get this kid?” and just not get an answer, I wonder.) 

At other times he actually directly lies, as when he claims he is “just passing through” Yiling on a night hunt. The current conversation with Lan Xichen definitely involves actual lying.

Let's play multiple choice answers with the Lan brothers!

Q:  Why is WWX so confident we can have Yin Iron against WRH in a month? 

a.) Because he's been walking around with that Xuanwu sword for months, and it is obviously made of Yin iron b.) because he used a fucking ghost flute to flay Wen Chao more or less in front of me, so he is clearly down with some dark magics c.) I don’t know

Q: Was the death of people in the Yiling supervisory office really related to yin iron?

a.) obviously b.) maybe he was using some other source of overwhelming necromantic power c.) no, he’s not like that

Q. When you approached Yiling, was there anything unusual?

a.) yes, the talismans had been altered to draw in evil spirits b.) yes, everyone except his particular friend Wen Qing had killed themselves in horrifying, outlandish ways c.) are there rules already set for everything in the world?

Xichen, bless him, actually lets Lan Wangji change the subject like that and answers his question honestly.

Xichen: Actually, rules are pretty much shit Wangji: fucking hell, you're telling me this NOW? What have I been doing for the past 18 years then?

They both look just ridiculously beautiful in this conversation. Lan Wangji’s affect with his brother is so interesting. He’s trusting, emotionally open, willing to be seen...but only because he knows Lan Xichen won’t push past his barriers, won’t force him to speak the truth of what’s on his mind.

Awkwardness

The Yunmeng bros roll up, and awkwardness ensues. 

Wangji is frowning hard. His frowns are of the micro variety just like his smiles, but boy they are consistent and Wei Wuxian and Xichen both know how to read them.

Wei Wuxian gives Lan Xichen a small, sunny smile--it seems genuine, not like the fake ones he's trotting out on demand for his family. 

Then he gives Lan Wangji a pointed gaze of yearning and reproachfulness, which Lan Wangji returns, switching from frowning to a softer expression that seems about equal parts hurt, apology, and thirst.

Wei Wuxian reacts to that by bowing again and leaving, with Jiang Cheng quickly following, wondering what the fuck just happened.

Lans Xichen and Wangji pivot gracefully to watch them go, which Lan Wangji should know is not correct post-breakup behavior; you're supposed to act disinterested, my dude. 

And then Lan Xichen asks Lan Wangji what the fuck is going on. Lan Wangji gets one more lie in, saying he's not worried about Wei Wuxian, before reapplying his frown and walking away from the conversation.

Macroexpression Brothers

OP was wrong about Wei Wuxian not hugging Jiang Cheng any more--here he is hanging on him just like the old days, and Jiang Cheng is shoving him off, just like the old days. However, it emerges that this is mostly an act that WWX is putting on to seem normal. 

Jiang Cheng wants to know what's wrong between him and Lan Wangji, and asks why they broke up. Wei Wuxian points out that Jiang Cheng didn't like him dating Lan Wangji before, so why is he pushing him to get back together with him now, and Jiang Cheng says that now they're allies in a war, so Wei Wuxian needs to do his duty and help keep Lan Wangji in fighting trim, nudge nudge. 

Then he starts lecturing Wei Wuxian about sword cultivation and generally good behavior, and Wei Wuxian theatrically nods and give him appraising looks, telling him he really seems like a clan leader now.

Jiang Cheng headshakes this away. Wei Wuxian actually giving Jiang Cheng a sincere compliment here, disguised as teasing, and he's not wrong. Jiang Cheng has matured and is becoming a strong leader. Not strong enough to ignore peer pressure, but that’s true of most clan leaders in this environment. They’re not supposed to ignore peer pressure. 

Wei Wuxian is pointing it out for his own reasons - he doesn't want to be having this conversation - but it's nice to see him giving his clan leader his due.

Jiang Cheng walks away as Wei Wuxian smiles after him; as soon as he's out of sight the smile falls off of Wei Wuxian's face as fast as fast as gravity can take it. It's like someone snuffed a candle.

No one bites back as hard On their anger None of my pain and woe Can show through

But my dreams, they aren't as empty As my conscience seems to be I have hours, only lonely My love is vengeance that's never free

More Awkwardness

Lan Wangji and his ambivalence come looking for Wei Wuxian, standing outside his door and raising a hand to knock before changing his mind and fleeing. 

Lan Wangji is on the back foot for the first time in his relationship with Wei Wuxian; this boy who pursued and pursued and PURSUED him is now a man who won't speak to him.  This boy who hung on every one of his words, and saw through all of his minute facial expressions, has become a man who won't listen to him. Lan Wangji is in the position of pursuer, now, and it's not a role he's well equipped for.

Yanli stops him as he's bailing. He looks so relieved to see her, but he tries to escape immediately after greeting her. She stops him so she can ask what the fuck is going on. 

Unfortunately, Wei Wuxian rolls up while Lan Wangji is in the middle of talking to her.  He's telling her about the heterodox cultivation, and Wei Wuxian busts him. Wei Wuxian steps up and asks what he was telling her, and Lan Wangji says "Wei Ying," but doesn't get much further than that.

Nunya

Wei Wuxian reminds him that he told him to stay out of Jiang Clan business. Now, here I want to mention that "private" and "not your bidness" are culturally specific concepts. OP, for example, grew up in version of Irish-American culture so secretive that the problems of a person's life and (often) the cause of their death are things only discovered by whoever inherits their papers. [OP inherited 3 generations of letters a few years ago, and HOO BOY]

In the version of Chinese culture which we see in this drama, your choices, thoughts & troubles belong to the family and clan, not just to you.  Wei Wuxian, in shutting his elder sister out of his struggles, is not family-ing correctly. Jiang Yanli is right to try to get around that by asking his friend. His friend is also right to give her--in sanitized form--the information she is asking for. 

Wei Wuxian has zero trust in Lan Wangji at this point, unfortunately. He doesn’t know that Lan Wangji has been lying to cover for him; he just knows he’s being a grumpy aggressive holy roller. Now, when Lan Wangji has just been given permission to disregard all 3000 rules and look at a person’s heart, that person’s heart has been hardened against him. 

Yanli is used to dealing with Wei Wuxian's moods at this point -- after all, a lifetime of Jiang Cheng has got her used to volatile little brothers, and Wei Wuxian is clearly a new, not-improved man since his return. 

She tries to get him to chill out while Lan Wangji gives him a death glare -- not a return to the earlier generalized frown, more of a specific "I can't believe how full of shit you are" frown.

Wei Wuxian calls him Lan Er Gongzi, like a dick. Lan Wangji started this but at this point Wei Wuxian is kind of in the lead for who is being The Worst. Lan Wangji executes a beautiful 180 and walks away at top speed. 

Wei Wuxian asks Yanli if he talked about Yiling and when she says he didn't, he realizes he fucked up. 

He goes running after him and calls him Lan Zhan and says "listen to me" but Lan Wangji is no longer in a listening mood. 

Eat A Dick Sword

Lan Wangji is so far in his feelings at this point that he just hauls out his sword and goes after Wei Wuxian, taking complete control of the interaction and forcing Wei Wuxian to concede the fight. Aww, he’s so angry! I love him. 

This is a rough moment for Wei Wuxian. He really genuinely can't hold his own against Lan Wangji, unless he's going to directly use necromancy against him the way he does later in their final confrontation. 

When they first met he was able to defend himself on the rooftop without drawing his sword, but he's weaker now; Chenqing is an adequate hand weapon against most cultivators and puppets, but it's not a match for Lan Wangji's full attack. 

Wei Wuxian is not enjoying this fight, and can’t win in, so he just throws in the towel, exposing his throat and trusting Lan Wangji's control.

On the surface, this fight appears to re-establish their former rapport, but it puts them on such an uneven footing it might actually drive a larger wedge between them.  I think that Lan Wangji has made a strategic error in doing this.  

Lan Wangji seems to want to prove to Wei Wuxian that his new style of cultivation is inadequate, that he would do better with a sword. Swordplay was the beginning of their relationship; their matched power was the source of their mutual attraction. Lan Wangji can't accept that Wei Wuxian has given it up; he doesn't (yet) respect his agency enough to assume that he has a good reason.

This fight functions as yet another punishment that Lan Wangji doles out to Wei Wuxian; not a physical one, this time, but a psychological one, and their relationship pays the price. 

By attacking Wei Wuxian and forcing him to concede, Lan Wangji is showing that they're unequal. By criticizing Wei Wuxian's lack of progress and asking him the same goddamn question everybody else is asking him -- where is your sword? -- Lan Wangji is humiliating him. 

This encounter does not re-establish Wei Wuxian’s trust in him; it just forces him to accept Lan Wangji’s authority, for now. Which is not what either of them really wants. 

Soundtrack: Behind Blue Eyes, by The Who

Writing Prompt: What would Wei Wuxian have said if Lan Wangji had listened to him instead of drawing his sword?

[sohotthateveryonedied]

I’ll Make a Million Mistakes

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

“Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.”

“I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.”

“Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.”

“Y’all need Jethuth.”

Bruce likes to think of himself as a patient man. Even more, he’d like to think it’s a trait he earned all on his own, but anyone who’s met him would testify that he inherited his patience from the man who raised him, and Bruce would have to agree. This level of restraint he possesses is an acquired skill—one that is reserved for the world’s best butlers and for fathers of six. Karen from the PTA wishes she were on Bruce’s level. His exceedingly calm temperament is the only reason Bruce doesn’t melt into a puddle on the ground now, his bones turning into a milky froth because Jesus fucking Christ, hasn’t he had a hard enough night as it is? No person should have to spend two hours solving riddles because Eddie was feeling manic tonight and then be forced to come home to human children. Duke smiles around a mouthful of bloody gauze. “In my defenth, I’ve never even had a cavity before.” “No, you just got your tooth knocked out.” “Teeth.” “What?” “Ith acthually teeth, plural. I lotht two of them.” Bruce facepalms. “Goddamn it.” He ignores the giggles from his other kids, all of whom apparently decided they needed to be present for this conversation. He’s picking his battles tonight.

“Ith not my fault!” Duke points over at Tim, standing against the Batcave’s wall minding his own business. “Ith hith fault.” “It is not. Bruce, don’t listen to him.” “Oh, yeah? Who knocked me into the railing in the firtht plathe?” “That was Jason’s fault. He’s the one who threw the football.” “Actually,” Jason chimes in, “that was Cass. I was an innocent bystander.” “Liar,” Cass says. “Don’t call me a liar.” “Liar.” “You’re the liar. She’s framing me, Bruce, I swear to god. I’ve never done anything wrong to my siblings in my entire life.” Dick makes a spluttering noise. “You once threw a pineapple at my head because I was breathing too loudly!” “And I don’t regret it one bit.” Bruce sighs. He doesn’t have the energy for this. He gently grasps Duke’s chin, being mindful of his sore jaw. “Where?” Duke pulls out the wad of gauze and opens his mouth wide. He points at the space where his front tooth used to be, then a canine on the bottom left which now consists of half a white shard. “Ith thith one and thith one.” Bruce hums. “I can get you a dentist appointment tomorrow afternoon. They’ll put a couple of caps in and you’ll be good as new.” He’ll have to rearrange a few things in his schedule. At least now he has a valid excuse to skip racquetball with Clark. There is no logical reason a bumpkin from Kansas should be better at racquetball than Bruce is, there just isn’t. “Tho my thmile ithn’t permanently ruined? Thath a relief. Thethe babieth are my betht feature,” he says, all the while bloody saliva dribbles from his lip like a deranged vampire. Best feature, definitely. “Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.” “I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.” “Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.” “Y’all need Jethuth.” “At least it’ll make for a good story one day,” Tim says. “Everyone loves scar stories.” Jason snorts. “People actually like death stories more, but go off I guess.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jay. Find new material.” “You want new material? Check this out.” Jason tugs down the collar of his sweater. He shows off the mostly-faded autopsy scar sliced up his torso and to his shoulders. Bruce winces. Dick yawns. “So? You got autopsied. Big whoop. Scars don’t count if you’re dead when you get them.” He tips his head down, parts a section of his hair with his fingers to show off the fresh scar on his scalp. “Talk to me when you get shot in the head.” Tim rolls his eyes. “You realize how stupid this is, right? We shouldn’t be arguing about who has the worst bodily trauma.” “Why,” Jason says, “because you know you’d lose?” “Because I’ve got you both beat.” He pulls up his t-shirt to display the surgical scar on his abdomen. “Missing spleen. Beat that.” “I lost a kidney. Kidney trumps spleen any day.” Cass rolls up the leg of her shorts to show off her bullet-riddled thigh. “Connect the dots. I win.” “But have you lost a vital organ?” Tim asks. “No.” “Spleens aren’t that vital,” Dick says. “Fuck off, at least you still have one.” “I would prefer to keep my organth,” Duke says. “Juth thaying.” “And you will,” Bruce assures him. “Probably.” “Probably?” “Look, I’m tired. We’re all tired. Can we schedule the scar contest for a later time when I’m hopefully not here to witness it?” Maybe he can ask Alfred to drug his tea from now on. At least then he can rest easy in a drug-induced slumber, knowing all the while that he’s missing the kind of petty arguments no parent should have to hear. “No one said you had to be here,” Dick says. “Anyway, Bane once slammed me against a wall and now my hip throbs when it rains.” “At least your wrist doesn’t click when you move it at the right angle.” Jason shakes his wrist next to Tim’s ear. Tim cringes. “You’re all amateurs,” a new voice says, and Bruce wants to die. Damian and Stephanie appear to have returned from patrol, still in their uniforms. “Try having your entire spine replaced.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “Great, it’s time to hear Damian talk about how much better than us he is. My favorite activity.” “Shut up, Drake. You’ve never experienced pain.” “I got blown up once! I still have burn scars all over my neck and shoulders!” “Eh. I’ve had worse.” Steph grins and holds up her left hand, just happy to be included. (Note to self: ponder whether Stephanie is secretly a golden retriever in human form.) “I have no feeling in these three fingers.” She pokes them to demonstrate. “And should I mention that I was tortured by Black Mask once? No? Because power tools were involved, in case anyone was wondering.” “Do I need to reiterate that I once died in an explosion?” “Jason. Little wing. I’m begging you to shut up about your death.” Cass points to a spot on her ribcage. “Two ribs made of metal. Got shattered during a fight. Four years old.” “My dad used to burn me with cigarettes every time I was bad, so...seven times a week, more or less.” “Oh, same!” Jason and Steph high-five. “My grandfather broke my arm in two places when I made a mistake during a training drill. He made me fight assassins for three hours straight afterward without so much as an ice pack.” Duke looks horrified. “Are you guyth okay?” “No offense, but none of you should talk unless you’ve gone through childbirth.” Stephanie rolls up the top portion of her Batgirl suit just enough to show off the scar across her lower belly. “You think getting blown up is hard? Try spending three hours in labor and having a baby ripped out of you. That’s hard.” Jason wipes away a fake tear. “Boo-hoo, someone had a baby when she was a teenager. Human reproduction doesn’t involve being beaten to death with a crowbar.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jason!” “Indeed,” Damian agrees. “Being stabbed by your clone is far worse than being caught in a little explosion. And I can take a crowbar beating in my sleep.” “I’m gonna kill him, Bruce. I’ll kill him right now. Just say the word and I’ll do it.” Bruce sighs, closing his eyes. “Duke, there are painkillers in the medicine cabinet if you need them. I’ll text you the time of your dentist appointment. The rest of you, please refrain from talking to me for the rest of the night.” Bruce walks away toward the manor, silently praying that he can forget this conversation ever happened. “Hey, who wants to see where Killer Croc bit my ass once?”

[scuttling]

While You Were Sleeping (Okay, in a Coma)

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Derek Morgan & Latina Original Female Character Aaron Hotchner/Latina Original Female Character Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid Word Count: 2,058 Chapters: 1 of ? WIP Tags: SFW so far, Sophie is not in the BAU, While You Were Sleeping (film) AU, Coffee shop, Unrequited love, Canon-typical violence, Slow burn

Summary: What happens when Derek Morgan, the man Sophie Cortes is secretly in love with, goes into a coma, and everyone around them mistakes her for his girlfriend? As if things weren't complicated enough, his boss is sweet, kind, incredibly handsome, and makes sure she's taken care of while Derek is in the hospital. Plus, she thinks one of Derek's coworkers is more secretly in love with him than she is. Feelings shift, but how does Sophie explain to the world that she fell for Aaron while Derek was sleeping, without hurting everyone she's come to care about?

Read on AO3 or read more below! The morning that changes Sophie Cortes’s life forever begins much like any other: she wakes up at 3 AM to her blaring alarm, slides out of bed with a groan, tugs off the oversized t-shirt she slept in and pulls on a sports bra and leggings to go for a run. She knows this makes her sound like a lunatic, but with her schedule, if she doesn’t exercise before the crack of dawn, it just doesn’t happen.

After her run, she goes home to shower and change, grabs her bag and drives to The Busy Bean, the coffee shop she co-owns with her best friend Jocelyn. Jocelyn is the brains of the operation, the one with all the great marketing ideas, the one who handles the finances and vendors and supply issues and makes sure everything is Fair Trade or else—Sophie bakes cookies and makes macchiatos, but everyone’s got their strong suits.

She loves the coffee shop more than anything, its bright brick walls and dark wood floors, the smell of fresh beans and sugar, the bustle of regular customers they get from being so near Quantico; most of them are serious suit types, always in a hurry, but some of them are sweet, take their time to say good morning, like Sophie’s favorite customer, Derek.

She knows Derek is a fed of some sort, even though he’s not usually in a suit. He has that air about him, like he’s powerful and capable, like he’s seen things, but he never fails to flash her a megawatt smile, to lean against the counter while she makes his mocha and ask her how her morning is going. She’s a little bit in love with him.

Jocelyn knows this, and always makes sure Sophie is the one to wait on him; when she calls Sophie out from the kitchen specifically because Derek’s there, she knows he knows, and she flushes, but he says she makes his drink better than anyone, always asks her for a cookie recommendation on Fridays so he can take a box to the office, so she thinks it might not be completely one sided. Maybe. Or he’s just a really, really sweet guy.

On the morning that changes her life forever, he’s still very sweet, but she also sees a side of him she’s never seen before.

Someone tries to rob them. The man walks right up to the counter, no mask, no nothing, and tells her to put all of the money from the register into a cookie box or he’ll pull out the gun he’s got in his pocket and blow her face off. Her first instinct is to be pissed about this, which she knows is really stupid. She takes a step back, looks at the guy like he’s an idiot, crosses her arms.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you know how hard we work for this money? We don’t sit around… playing video games in our mom’s basement, like you do, by the looks of it.” The guy is obviously not happy about this, slams his hands down on the counter, and Derek, who is two spots behind him, leans slightly out of line to get her attention.

“Sophie, is this guy bothering you?” Before she can answer, the guy turns to look at Derek; he takes one glance at his hot, strong physique, and then his gun and his badge thing, and books it out of the shop. Derek tears off after him, and Sophie can see this ending very badly, so she grabs Jocelyn, asks her to cover the register and tells her she’ll be right back.

She jogs outside, expecting to see Derek manhandling the dumbass robber, or at least still chasing after him; she does not expect to see Derek laying on the ground, bleeding out, a bullet wound in his stomach.

“Oh my god, Derek!” She skids to a halt next to him, pulls off her apron—it’s mostly clean, she thinks—and lifts up his shirt, presses it to the wound to stop the bleeding. “Are you okay? That’s dumb, you’re not okay, but can you hear me? Are you going to die?” He chuckles, and that makes her feel a little better, but then he coughs up blood, and that makes her feel much, much worse.

She pulls her phone out of her back pocket, calls 911, and just stays with him, talks to him about nothing and everything, until the police and paramedics arrive. At that point, he has passed out, looks drained and weak, so unlike the Derek she has come to know… and love. Fuck. If he dies because of something that happened at her shop…

“Excuse me, miss, but we need to get him on the stretcher,” an EMT says, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. She backs off, knows he needs to be attended to, but she can’t leave him, she just can’t.

“Can I ride to the hospital with him? Please,” she asks the other tech, and she glances at her partner, who nods. Sophie sighs a breath of relief, sends a text to Jocelyn explaining what happened and that she’ll need to be out of the shop for the foreseeable future.

She notices that Derek’s phone has fallen off of his belt, and she picks it up, since the paramedics don’t seem interested. She absently decides to look through his recent contacts, to see if there’s someone she should inform of the accident: the last number he dialed belongs to someone named Hotch, and she vaguely remembers him mentioning the name before. It might be his boss, or something? He dials the number frequently, anyway, so she figures it’s worth a shot.

“Hotchner,” the man answers after two rings, and Sophie sighs, glad she got through to someone. Even if he’s not the person she should be contacting, he might know how to reach them.

“Uh, hello. I’m pretty sure you’re Derek’s boss, but even if you aren’t, you’re the last person he called, so… There’s been an accident. Derek’s been shot. We’re headed to the GWU Medical Center; I thought you would want to know.” She can hear the man moving some papers in the background, banging something around on his desk, maybe.

“We’re on the way; how bad is it? Is he conscious? What happened?” The paramedics signal for her to hop into the back of the ambulance, so she does, and she takes Derek’s limp hand. Her eyes well up with tears, and it feels real, now, that she has to relive it.

“There was someone trying to rob the coffee shop, and—and Derek went after him; he had a gun, and I guess he shot him. I mean, he obviously shot him. In the stomach. He’s not conscious; I don’t know how bad it is, but he was coughing up blood. Oh, god,” she breathes, voice shaky, and the man on the phone makes a soft sound of reassurance.

“It’s alright. He’s a very strong person, I promise you. He’ll be okay. You said you were headed to GWU Medical Center; are you with him now?”

“Yes. The paramedics let me ride with him. I can text you an update when we get there, his room number if he has one.” She can hear him talking to someone else in the background, but it only takes him a moment to answer.

“Please do. We’ll be there as quickly as we can. Thank you,…?” He pauses, clearly wondering who the hell she is.

“Oh, Sophie. Sophie Cortes.”

“Aaron Hotchner. Thank you. We’ll see you soon.”

The paramedics push Derek into the emergency room entrance, and Sophie follows behind, feeling anxious and out of place, and worried about his injury. They push the gurney through a set of double doors, and Sophie goes to follow, but a stern looking nurse in gold scrubs puts a hand in front of her, doesn’t even look up from her clipboard.

“You can’t go in there.” Sophie’s heart-rate jumps, and she shakes her head.

“I need to go in there, I need to make sure he’s okay. Please.”

“Are you family?” she asks, giving her a once-over; she clearly decides that Sophie is not family, and she doesn’t want to lie, anyway.

“No, I’m not family, but—”

“Like I said, you can’t go in there. Family only.” She moves her arm, waits like she dares Sophie to try, but she just sighs, sags against the wall, and the woman walks away.

“But you don’t understand,” Sophie says weakly, to herself. “I’m in love with him.” She brings up a hand to scrub at the tears forming in her eyes, and another nurse, one with blue scrubs and braids and a kind smile, rests a palm on her shoulder.

“Come with me.” Sophie looks up at her—she looks kind of like an angel, but it’s probably just the fluorescent lighting—and nods, follows.

She takes her through a staff only door, sneaks her into the OR hallway, where they can peer through a window at Derek, surrounded by doctors, surgeons, nurses. Sophie has only seen this kind of stuff on TV, so she doesn’t know how it’s going, but the nurse who brought her tells her to stay there for one second and bustles off.

It’s really scary to watch: there are bloody cloths being thrown around, and tubes and clamps and other medical devices she’s not sure the use for, but after a moment, she can see a doctor lift up a pair of surgical pliers, and there’s a bullet between the prongs. That’s a good sign, she’s pretty sure.

The nice nurse comes back, and she scares the shit out of Sophie when she puts a hand on her arm, making her jump a foot. She smiles apologetically, and Sophie returns it.

“I found out his room number, if you’d like to go sit and wait for him to be brought in. It's an ICU, so technically visiting hours haven’t started yet, but I can make an exception—for an hour, okay?” Sophie nods, wraps her hands around the nurse's wrists.

“Thank you so much. Really—I just need to know he’s okay,” she says, and the woman nods understandingly and takes her to room 104, where Derek will be placed after surgery.

She texts the number to Derek’s boss, takes a seat on the chair in the corner of the room. She gets restless quickly, stands up, uses the bathroom sink to scrub at her hands, because they’re still stained with Derek’s blood. It’s quiet, eerily so, until suddenly it isn’t.

Derek is wheeled in on a bed by a couple of nurses; he looks a little better, all wrapped up in gauze, and they hook him to machines, displaying a steady heartbeat. She breathes a sigh of relief. He’s alright. He’s not dead. That’s incredible news. She takes his hand, wills herself not to cry, murmurs that she’s so happy he’s alive.

As soon as the nurses leave, a group of people who can only be Derek’s coworkers enter the room. There is a tall, serious looking man with dark hair and a dark suit; a woman with thick fringe, a kind face; an older guy with facial hair who looks worried and weary; a skinny guy who looks about the same as Sophie feels; a petite blonde woman with the bluest eyes Sophie’s ever seen; and another blonde woman with crimped hair and glossy lips who has absolutely been crying. They look at Sophie, and she stands, drops Derek’s hand.

“Um, hi, I’m—”

“Who are you?” a doctor says suddenly from behind the group. The kind nurse who let her see Derek is behind him. The serious looking man reaches into his pocket, flashes a badge with a no-nonsense expression.

“We’re with the FBI. We’re his coworkers.” He looks over at Sophie, and she takes a deep breath. Before she can explain who she is, the kind nurse steps around the doctor, flashes Sophie a smile.

“And she’s his girlfriend.”

Uh. What the fuck?

Derek’s coworkers exchange a look that says pretty much the same thing; the tall skinny one looks like his heart has been broken.

Sophie opens her mouth to correct that extremely incorrect assumption, but she can’t find the words, and then she passes out.