Hot take - instead of saying Irish names aren't said how they're spelt, lets fucking learn that thats because they aren't fucking English. If i see one more person complaining that Saoirse is Shersha and not said how its spelt, i will personally call my da to fight all of you. It is time we have respect for activly dying languages- sincerely, someone whose grandfather didn't get to learn his families language because of cultural genocide.

after death do us apart

Summary: Levi thinks his house is haunted.

Levi is in his kitchen, busy with a very important task of measuring leaves for the tea when he hears a loud, obnoxious thud, coming from his living room.

He softly curses, grabs his cane and rushes, as fast as he can with his body not as strong as it was before, there.

When he arrives, he sees that everything else is in order, except a picture frame that is now lying on a floor.

Levi's blood boils, an annoyance bordering on anger rushing through him. This picture - that one that now lies on the floor like some kind of useless shit - is his most priced possession. It is the only thing that keeps the memory of them alive, the one thing that reminds him during cold and dark nights that he might be alone right now, but there was a time where he wasn't.

It's a picture of him, Hange, Erwin and Mike all standing together with their arms around each other. He doesn't remember if that had ever happened, but that's what he had found in one of Moblit's notebook and after he made that discovery, he just couldn't leave it behind.

No picture of them exists - Mike and Erwin were gone even before they found out what a photo camera was, and in her last years, Hange was always too busy to take a single photo.

He regrets it now, not pushing her to take it, but Moblit's picture is vibrant enough. He doubts a photo could capture their essence quite like his sharp eyes and skilfful hands could.

Onyakopon tells him there are more pictures of Hange now. There are portraits made by talented artists that paint Hange as the last Commander of Survey Corps or during her last moments on Earth.

They're hanged in museums and various memorials but Levi doesn't wish to see any of them. He doesn't care about them, those pictures - they were drawn by talented artists, and Levi doesn't doubt that.

But they never knew Hange, not like he did. So how could they come up with something worthy of the light she bestowed on this world? How they could ever hope to put it on paper?

Levi crouches down, his bones and protesting, and picks up the picture frame.

Thankfully, it is still intact.

But just as his old, broken heart swells with relief, there is another thud. This time, the book falls down, nearly missing Levi's head.

He curses again, loud and vulgar, letting out the best of profanities the Underground taught him.

He whirls around, his eye searching for the offender. The room is empty, though. It's mostly silent too, the only sounds flowing around are those from outside his window. But then he hears it, a faint, feeble murmur that sounds almost like "sorry".

His heart clenches, his hand gripping the cane to keep himself grounded.

He knows that particular sorry. Heard many times many years ago - ehen he stumbled over the barely conscious, sleep deprived body, when his shirt got soaked in tea, soup or some kind of possibly dangerous chemicals, heard it repeating over and over as gentle, trembling hands inspected his injuries and wiped away the blood.

It was sometimes accompanied by cheerful, loud laughter, other times - with quiet, broken sobs.

He couldn't hear that sorry. He couldn't.

It was just a trick of imagination, nothing more, nothing less.

I am not old enough to go senile yet, he thinks as he puts the picture where it belongs to.

It was just a trick of imagination, he repeats and leaves the room.

He goes back to the kitchen and resumes his task. The skin on the back of his neck is prickling, like someone stares intently at it, but Levi chases that feeling away, convincing himself that he's simply being paranoid.

He pointedly ignores the quiet sound, the one that resembles a sigh of disappointment and the one he heard too many times too, during long nights at the lab and inside Commander's office, as well.

***

It's not the first weird (unexplained, she would say) thing that happened in his house. There are instances happening all over the place, each of them brings a different degree of strangeness

Windows and doors - close and open on their own volition, lights turn on and off, books, his clothes, kitchen ware - disappear for hours only to appear in the most random of places, bangs and knocks sound at all times of the day, merciless to his sleeping pattern.

Logically, he knows that it isn't normal. He also knows that he probably should talk about it with someone. But he was never good with that thing - talking. All the people he was somewhat comfortable sharing his troubles are now dead and gone.

He theoretically can discuss it with Gabi and Falco, but he doesn't want to, because, well, no matter how big they think they are, they're still children. Onyakopon is out of question too, because he might just get too worried and then send him into that building on the edge of the town - mental institution, he calls it.

And Levi might be old, but he's not senile. Yet.

Probably. He hopes so at least.

His mind is still his own, broken but not shattered. He knows right from wrong, sees the difference between reality and a dream.

He still functions properly, and yet those instances don't back away.

He'd ignore it, write it off as a product of imagination or strange coincidence. If only it happened once. Or twice. Three times even. Three weird happenings in a row is hard, but possible to ignore. But when it happens every damn day, for almost dozen times, it's not just hard to ignore. It's fucking annoying too.

He knows a name he can put to describe it all, of course. Born and raised in the depth of Underground, how can he not? Stories like this were well known and greatly appreciated down there. They were children of the dark, after all, friends with shadows. Everything dark and scary, anything feared above their little world was welcomed and encouraged.

Isabel used to warn him about enraged, vengeful spirits that hunt those who wronged them or those who disturbed their resting place. Kenny - when he was in a less shitty, kinder mood - used to tell him about souls that die without fulfilling their purpose and were destined to roam through the land of the living for all eternity, unable to sleep with their business unfinished.

Before putting him to bed or whenever she felt especially sentimental, his mother used to speak of those unlucky ones who died before their loved ones did.

"They cannot find peace even in death," she said. "And so they come back to our world and stay close to the ones they still cannot let go, watching them until they are able to reunite."

He never believed in those stories, though. Perhaps, he was born and raised in the Underground, but he got out of it, lived his best years with the sun shining on his face and wind blowing through his hair.

He thought ghosts doesn't exist.

But now that his best years are behind him, now that he has seen enough shit to know that anything is possible, now that some days he himself feels like a ghost, he starts thinking of them more and more.

Hange is gone, he reminds himself, she's gone and even though you miss her like crazy, it won't bring her back.

Hange is gone, and none of it is real.

But, god, does he really wishes that it was. *** It is the middle of the night, and Levi feels a presence behind him. It's not ominous like in that book about ghosts he recently found. It's quite soothing, actually. It makes him almost content.

It's not looming or hoovering over his form either. It's right next to him, as though this something - or someone - lays on a bed close to him.

It doesn't bother him anymore, nearly not as much as it did before. It brings him comfort, in some sort. It reminds him of-

No. It doesn't.

The presence behind him shifts and Levi feels the blanket slip from his legs.

No, that won't do.

He tugs the blanket back, but either he's getting too weak with age or that presence, ghost or whatever is so much stronger than him, but he can't get it back. They fight for it for a while, each struggling to get the upper hand. Levi yanks it back, applying all the force that's still left in him, but bears no result. He grits his teeth, sweat gathering on his temples as he pulls the blanket.

"Give it back, you little sh-"

He doesn't get to finish.

The loud, snapping sound of ripping cloth cuts him off.

"Fuck!" Levi yells, frustrated. It was his favorite blanket. "Is this so funny to you, you piece of shit? Why do you keep tormenting me?"

There is a bit of silence, and then lights in his room turn on. With wide eyes, Levi watches the paper levitate from a small pile on his desk. Pen appears next, and it hovers above the paper, the sounds of furious scribbling filling the dark room.

Before he can say anything else, shout more profanities or threaten the invisible fucker to get out (he may not be as strong as he was before, but he has a cane and he still knows how to use it effectively), the paper starts flying, catching him right in the face.

Levi takes it in his hands, squinting his good eye to see what's written there.

It IS funny, but i didn't wish to torment you. You know that, right?

Something resembling a sob escapes from his lips. Levi fists his hands into sheets below him, but eight fingers is apparently not enough to ground him and keep him from falling.

"Who are you?" he asks shakily, his voice breaking.

The pen starts moving again, flying over another paper. This one isn't thrown in his face. It's gently laid next to his thigh. Levi takes it, and his hands shake so much it gets hard to read. Words swim between his eyes, but Levi persists, laying the note on his lap and bending over to see better.

His whole world shakes when he finally deciphers the words.

Haven't you guessed already?

He closes his eyes and some sound escapes past his lips, he's not sure if that can be called a sob or a chuckle, or a combination of both, but his whole body is trembling as he tries to fight strength to whisper,

"Hange?"

From somewhere close to him, on his left side where she always used to be, he hears a delighted, happy laughter.

He looks around the room, his eye shifting, desperate to find her, but he sees nothing.

Fear grips at his heart.

So just a hallucination then? Simple wishful thinking?

"Where are you?" he murmurs, giving it all another chance. "Hange-"

"I'm here," a warm sensation travels up his forearm. It doesn't exactly feel like an ordinary touch would, but it's there, it seems real and it fills his chest with hope. "Right here, a little to your left," she continues. "Just look at me, Levi."

He does, immediately he does. But there is no one next to him. The gentle sensation doesn't fade, gets more persistent if anything, but Levi still can't see her.

"You need to look a little bit harder," Hange murmurs. "If you can hear me, I'm sure you can see me."

Levi stares, his eye focused on the empty place next to him. He strains his vision, moves his gaze up and down, huffs in frustration and then finally, finally, he sees something.

It's vague, indistinct, barely visible in the dark, but he makes out the outline of the body. He can see the mop of brown hair, and they're messy as always, can see strong arms and wide shoulders, that long, prominent nose, that rosy, soft lips that are stretched out in a hopeful smile, those brown, sparkly he missed so much.

"Hange," he breathes out, his voice barely above whisper.

He wants to touch her, god, he wants to touch her so much, but when he puts his hand above hers, it goes right through her.

"The situation is not exactly perfect," Hange laughs. "I don't think you can touch me, and I can't exactly touch you as well."

"I don't care," he shakes his head and moves his fingers, until his and Hange's are close. He doesn't feel much, but something warm is still there and it still makes his breath stumble.

Hange is here, she's not gone, not completely, she's here, with him. It is more than enough.

*** They fall into a sort of routine after that. It's easy with Hange, as it always was.

She disappears for short periods of time, refusing to tell Levi where she goes.

"They asked me not to tell you," she says enigmatically, and doesn't ever elaborate, no matter how many Levi asks.

At first, he still worries he's going crazy, but then Falco, Gabi and Onyakopon show up. They all sit down around the small coffee table in Levi's living room, chatting amongst themselves and sharing the last news and gossips.

"You look healthier," Falco remarks, as Levi brings the tea from the kitchen.

As soon as he puts the cups down, the chaos begins.

The door shuts with a loud bang, the windows rattle and chandelier above them starts to dangerously tremble.

Levi also notes that Hange is careful not to make any mess, but she still acts so damn loud. And dramatic. He hides a sigh as he continues to sip on his tea and watch Onyakopon, Gabi and Falco lose their shit in front of him.

Gabi ducks behind an armchair, Falco close on her heels, curling around her. Onyakopon keeps frantically looking around, his breath quick and shallow. Levi can almost hear the sound of his panicked heartbeat.

"Stop it, four-eyes," he murmurs, too softly to everyone else to hear (not that they could pay attention to him amidst all that clutter anyway).

Everything stills immediately. Silence washes over his apartment, interrupted only by Onyakopon's gasps.

Hange snickers beside him, but Levi is the only who can hear her.

"This was fun," she giggles, running a hand over his shoulder.

Levi can't disagree with her on that one.

"What was that?" Onyakopon exclaims, clutching his heart. "Was it-"

"A ghost?" Gabi cries out, looking both horrified and excited.

Levi glances at Hange, silently telling her 'she looks just like you'. She waves him off and turns back to Gabi.

"Is is the first time it happens?" Falco asks.

"No," Levi answers, shrugging. A week ago, he'd be as disturbed as his friends are, but now he moved past disturbance to acceptance to delight. "It's been happening for weeks now."

"You aren't safe here," Falco, bless his young soul, looks genuinely worried, down to the deep crease on his forehead. "We should look for another apartment."

"Don't bother. I'm quite comfortable here."

Of course, he's comfortable. Hange is here with him, after all.

"But!" Gabi tries to protest, but Levi silences her with a raised palm.

"I'm not injured or unwell," he gestures on himself, as if to illustrate his point. "And, besides, it gives house some character, don't you think?"

"A very scary character," Onyakopon notes.

"Well," Levi almost smiles, hearing Hange's laughter behind his back. "The house is not very different from its master then."

His guests leave soon after, but not before Gabi and Falco make him swear to call them if anything 'more dangerous and scarier' happens.

As soon as they're out, Levi sits down in his favorite armchair. Hange flies over to him.

"So," she looks up at him, and the bright sparkle in her eyes, even though it is still a bit indistinct, sets his heart racing. "Have I convinced you that you're not going crazy?"

He wants to ask how, opens his mouth even, but then promptly shuts it closed. Of course, it is Hange. She knows his thoughts better than he does.

And if he had any doubts about her realness, they've disappeared right in that moment.

*** Hange is almost always next to him, hovering over his shoulder and constantly chatting into his ear. It almost feels like the good old days.

Although now he can't kick her leg whenever she starts teasing or rambling too much. His trademark glare has to be good enough, though.

He brings Hange books and introduces her to all kinds of new technology. She is beaming like a child at every new thing he shows her, and Levi's heart is so full of love for that weirdo, he's afraid it's going to burst.

Hange accompanies him on his strolls too, and his poker face has never put to trial more than during those moments, when Hange starts joking or fooling around, making him almost lose all of his composure.

He can't laugh or even berate her in public, and she knows it, goddamn. And uses it for her advantage, the asshole.

Levi gets his revenge when they're back at his house, refusing to give her new books until she swears to behave.

She swears every time, hand on her chest and all that. And she breaks that promise the very same day. Levi can't stay mad at her, though. He never could.

*** "You know, I thought you were a vengeful spirit at first," he shares with her one evening.

He sits in front of the fire, his legs outstretched to the source of warmth. Hange is laying on the floor, book hovering above her. She closes and turns to Levi.

"I could be," she says. "But, unfortunately, the people I'd like to haunt are long dead as well. Floch is gone, Eren is too..." Hange scoffs, shaking her head. "And I can't very well haunt every bloodthirsty soldier back in Paradise. Too much work for the old, frail me."

Levi lifts an eyebrow. "You don't look that old to me. Especially, when compering with me..."

"Oh, Levi," Hange rises and gets closer to him. She sits down on his lap, and Levi feels warmth spread through the skin of his cheek as Hange puts her hand on it. There is a smile on her lips, the one that Levi knows too well. The one that means that Hange is going to say something very, very stupid. She opens her mouth and proves him right once again. "I was always more attractive than you," Hange murmurs. "Nothing changed since my death."

He rolls his eye and laments that he can't flick her nose.

Hange is still smiling, and when she leans in, he can almost feel a ghost of a kiss on his lips. *** "Don't you ever feel regret?" Levi asks one day.

He is sitting in his wheelchair, looking at the bright setting sun from the small garden near his house.

Hange is on top of him, her long legs dangling from the wheelchair. As he speaks up, she turns to him, and the happy expression turns into something more thoughtful.

"Regret?" she repeats, frowning. "What can I ever regret?"

"This?" Levi gestures around. "I know, you're still here, but don't..." he frowns, struggling to find the right words. "Don't you wish for something more? For us to have a proper chance?"

Hange looks up at the sky, and for a moment she's quiet. Levi thinks if he should take his words back, change the subject completely but it's something that's been bugging him for a long time. He's happy, so happy, that Hange can still be with him. But there are moments when he wishes for... more. To be able to hold her hand and share meals with her, to walk with her through the streets without worrying that someone might think he's some drunkard or lunatic who talks to himself.

He knows it's selfish to even think about it, he already received so much more than he deserved, but isn't selfishness an inherent part of a human?

Sometimes, he just can't help but long for something more.

"I'm sure you know what a method of trial and error means," Hange begins, looking back at him. Her words confuse him, but before he can open his mouth, Hange shushes him and continues. "Remember those days at my lab? Nothing ever worked out, every experiment turned into an ever bigger disaster than the previous one, and I was so frustrated I wanted to crawl up the wall. But there was a certain beauty in it all - I tried, I failed, I tried again. Over and over, until something good came out. And, boy," she chuckles. "When something worked, it worked perfectly. And, maybe, all of this, all of us," she swiftly runs her fingertips through his brow and Levi shivers at the warm, gentle feeling that spreads down to his soul. "As a failed attempt. We tried, it didn't work," she pauses, and her eyes are bright, much brighter than the sun behind her. "We can try again."

Her words stir something inside, a long forgotten feeling of hope. But he still can't accept it so easily, the cynic in him fights to make himself known.

"But you're already dead," he protests.

"And that means this attempt has failed. Not as spectacularly as that time when my experiment blew up and burned Moblit's eyebrows, but... not a perfect success either. We can try again, though. We can say goodbye, walk from each other and then meet again, in some other place and time."

"And what if we fail again?"

"Then we try again. And again, and again, until we can get it right. And when we finally do, oh boy!" she exclaims, flailing her arms into the air. "Wouldn't that be spectacular?"

She laughs, so happy and free, and Levi wishes to gather her in his arms and never let go. All he can do right now, though, is circle his hands around her waist, imagining that he's holding her.

Just like always, he trusts Hange.

They will meet again, and, maybe, it will all fall apart in a disaster worse than this one. But they can try again. They can keep trying, until... forever.

And, perhaps, that's the true beauty of life.

see? - [Reid x Reader] - Chapter 3

masterlist

previous chapter // series index // next chapter

Summary: Months after Reader left, Reid has tried to put his life back together. He’s never stopped trying to find Reader, but he may find her in the worst way possible. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k for Chapter 3

Content Warning: Normal Criminal Minds stuff. Mentions of drug addiction. This series has a villain, and he harms women. There is no s*xual assault, but there is brief talk of torture, and then the death of the victims. Spoiler: Our unsub targets pregnant women, one of the infants does not survive. Reader and her baby are fine. I don't go into detail, but if you need to skip this, I understand. 

A/n: How can I ever thank you all enough for being so patient with me? That being said, this chapter does end on a cliffhanger that you probably saw coming if you read “River” by @yours-truly-r​. She shared this plot with me, so this is my version. I’ll try my best not to make you wait too long for chapter 4. Chapter 3 & 4 are in Spencer’s point of view, but the remainder of the series will be in Reader’s POV. 

-- Linear Progression -- 

(Spencer’s POV)

The night we came back from my first case with the BAU, Morgan declared that he was going to a bar near his apartment to "get lucky." When I pointed out the fact that it was almost 2 am, he had told me, "time is an illusion, Pretty Boy."

That was the first time he called me pretty boy, along with the first time I tried to explain a theoretical concept he had no interest in hearing.

He was right to a degree. The way we understand time is an illusion. Time doesn’t happen in the linear way that we as a society perceive it to. The physics of time are still widely debated, but the running hypothesis is that everything that has ever happened is still happening right now. Every single moment in time is happening all at once, and it always will be.

Morgan didn’t “get lucky” that night, but he did give me a ride back to my apartment. I think that was the beginning of our friendship; I had never been able to understand the social constructs of relationships and friendships, but I think he felt some sort of responsibility for the skinny kid with glasses who was babbling about the physics of time at 3 am.

My friendship with Derek Morgan was one of the most important of my life.

Which is why I wasn't going to murder him for banging on my door at 7 am.

“Open up, Pretty Boy!”

Grumbling, I got out of bed and padded down the hallway towards my living room where Morgan was pounding on the door so hard, I was concerned it was going to fly off its hinges.

“If you break my door, you’re gonna fix it,” I muttered out when I finally pulled the door open.

The man who was the closest thing to a brother I had just smiled at me. “I restore houses, kid. It’d be an improvement.”

Smirking, I waved him into my apartment. In the months since…Since February, Morgan had made it a habit of coming by several times a week whenever we were in town. I don’t know if the rest of the team knew he did it, I don’t know if they were as worried about me as he was, but it wouldn’t have surprised me.

“Coffee?” I asked, making my way into the kitchen.

"We'll grab some on the way," he said, flopping down on my couch. "We have a case; I told Hotch I'd swing by and get you. It's wheels up as soon as we get there and finish the briefing."

I frowned. “I didn’t get any message.”

“I know. I asked Garcia to let me wake you.” He turned his head around to look at me. “You haven’t been sleeping, kid.”

He wasn’t wrong. “It’s…I’m trying, Derek.”

I didn’t need to say it, because he knew it. Much like time, recovery isn’t a linear process. You start, you stumble, you go back, sometimes you go up then down. It’s an imperfect journey because there isn’t a finish line; addiction can’t be beaten, only beaten back.

Derek Morgan had been beside me through every step of my recovery.

Lumbering off the couch, he walked over to stand before me. “Reid, you’re doing the best you can. Everyone stumbles.”

I shook my head. “It’s different. I can…I can still see it. I can still see it all, Morgan.”

I could still see the look on Ben’s face when he found the vials of Dilaudid I had hidden all around my apartment. I could still remember the look on Hotch’s face when he told me she was gone. I could still see the anger on Garcia’s face when she refused to help me find her.

Most of all, I remember how y/n looked when I told her I would kill her, give up her precious life, for one more moment with Maeve. Every morning, right before I wake up, that memory flashes behind my eyes.

I’ve called in every favor I’m owed, reached out to every connection; no one could find her. She vanished.

I quickly realized the only way she could vanish like that is if she had help from inside the bureau, and if I had to guess, I’m sure I know who helped her. If she went to all these lengths, she didn’t want to be found, least of all by me.

"We'll find her, Spencer," Morgan said gently, pulling me from my thoughts.

He said the words to comfort me, but even he knew they weren’t true. No one would find y/n y/l/n until she wanted to be found.

Nodding my head, I made my way back towards my bedroom to get ready for the case.

Making amends is very big in the recovery process. I wanted to make amends to y/n, and while I wanted that to be in the traditional sense, I settled for a symbolic one.

I tried to make myself into the man she thought I was before that night. Every time I felt the itch crawl up my spine, I thought of her face. It didn't make the craving go away; it just made it easier to bear.

I didn’t deserve to have her back in my life, but I wanted to be someone who did.

After I had finished getting ready, I made my way over to my bedside table to pick up the coin I carried with me everywhere, running my fingers over the edges before placing it in my pocket.

Two hundred and forty-seven days sober, and each one of them was for her.

--

We never made it to the bullpen that morning. Hotch called and informed us that it was wheels up "immediately," and that we would debrief on the plane. Morgan and I were the last members of the team to arrive. He took a seat on the couch beside Callahan while I opted to sit at the table across from Hotch and JJ.

“Garcia is going to be out for the remainder of the week. She has the flu,” our unit chief informed us, his eyes fixed on the tablet in front of him.

Morgan toyed with his phone, no doubt trying to text his ‘baby girl’ before take-off. “Who is going to be running things from here since she’s out? Kevin?”

Hotch nodded, but I couldn’t help but notice he seemed distracted. “He’s the most familiar with Garcia’s systems.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days,” Rossi muttered just a bit too loudly, earning a mock glare from Hotch, a confused look from Kate, an eye roll from Morgan and JJ, and a soft huff of laughter from me.

“Let’s get started,” Hotch ordered, drawing all of our focus back to the present. “The Oregon State Police have requested our help.”

I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at the tablet in front of me, further proof Garcia wasn’t on this case. Despite how mad she was at me over Y/n, she still always accommodated my wishes for paper files.

The state police?” Morgan asked. “Not the locals?”

"No," Hotch answered, right as I brought up an image on my screen. "He's not sticking to one county."

I heard a strangled gasp from JJ, but I didn't need to look up to know why. “How many?” I asked.

“When the original request was made two women had been abducted. Both of them were pregnant, days from giving birth, and both from the same town of Silverton, Oregon. The first victim was Iris Jenkins. She was a 31-year-old woman, and she was 40 weeks and 2 days gestation when she was taken by the unsub. The M.E. estimates he held her for less than 24 hours before she died.”

“The baby?” JJ asked, her voice thick with emotion.

“He was left outside of a local hospital in Silverton. He was completely unharmed. The next intended victim is Nancy Williamson. She was abducted outside her workplace. Also 40 weeks pregnant with a boy.”  

“Could that be a coincidence?”

Hotch still didn’t look up from his tablet. “It could have been before the latest victim.”

“But Nicole Williamson escaped?” Morgan asked. “That’s lucky. Did she give a description of the guy?”

“No, she said he kept her blindfolded and bound to a chair.”

That caused me to pause. "That doesn't make sense. Why would the unsub blindfold them if he plans on killing them anyway?"

Rossi spoke for the first time. “Psychological torture? Sensory deprivation?”

I thought about that as I swiped through the crime scene photos; pausing when I saw a photograph of a letter on the screen. "He makes them write letters?”

“Just the first victim and the third. The one that got away was only held for 12 hours.”

I frowned. “Is this blood? Or just red ink?”

“The first is red ink, the second letter is still being processed.”

It was obvious based on the letter spacing and how many loops were in the letters that a woman wrote this letter. Based on the contents of the letter, I could also assume she was under duress.

Hotch spoke again, pulling my focus. “Morgan, I'd like for you and JJ to drive up to Silverton. Visit Miss Williamson and ask if she's up for a cognitive interview, then visit the M.E., ask him if he remembers anything about the first victim.”

“Where was the…” JJ’s question trailed off when he got to the same image Kate’s hand had been frozen over for the last 47 seconds, the same photo that was described in the incident report that Hotch had on his screen.

My unit chief, my friend, cleared his throat before he spoke. “Kayla Whitmore was found an hour ago in Eugene, Oregon. The autopsies are already underway, and the scene is being processed.”

“The cause of death seems pretty apparent,” Morgan said with a look of disgust on his face.

"The time between this most recent kill and the last abduction is much shorter. We need to move fast," Hotch said, his voice grave. "Kate, I'd like for you to come with me to the FBI satellite office in Bend, that's where we're landing. Kayla Whitmore's credit card was used to buy gas right outside the town limits. Rossi, I'd like for you and Reid to ride out to Eugene. It should be undisturbed."

"I already don't understand this guy," Rossi muttered. "The first baby survives, the third doesn't. The second victim is blindfolded, but it doesn't appear the others were. He makes them write their own letters. Then he uses the third victim's credit card. This behavior…it's erratic."

“Is the message on the wall the same in both crime scenes?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

--

The media hadn’t named our unsub yet, but I was sure it wouldn’t be long, especially once word of Kayla Whitmore reached the public. This type of violence always draws attention.

Rossi was moving around the room, silent, but his eyes moving rapidly over everything. “He’s a cocky son of a bitch, I’ll give him that.”

I nodded. “Do we have the original note?” One of the deputies brought over an evidence bag, inside of it was the wrinkled piece of paper. “Have we analyzed this yet?”

The man nodded. “It’s red ink, just like the last.”

"It makes sense; blood might start to coagulate and make it more difficult to work with. Rossi, come here." I called, offering him the note.

“Give justice to the weak and the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked,” he read. “It sounds biblical.”

“It is. It’s Psalm 82, verses 3 through 4.”

“Was the first note biblical?”

“The first victim was made to write, ‘Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them.’ That’s from Ephesians. There are similar themes in both letters.”

“So, he’s perverting the bible to fit his own fucked up narrative? How original.” The older man handed the paper back to me. “We have to find out how he’s choosing them.”

My gaze moved over to the right wall of the room. "Did the unsub leave any prints when he wrote on the wall?"

It wasn't the first message I'd seen written in blood, but I don't think it's something you ever get used to. “’Do you see this, son of man?’ could be another biblical reference. It’s Ezekiel chapter 8, verse 17. “Do you see this, son of man? Yet you will see still greater abominations than these.’”

“So, are the children abominations? Or the mothers?” The deputy said quietly.

“The mothers,” I answered. “He doesn’t harm the children. I think it must go against his…moral code.”

The deputy scoffed behind me, and I was inclined to agree; the idea that someone could do something like this and have a moral code was almost impossible to imagine.

But devils hide in plain sight all the time.

“His rage is escalating,” I pointed out.

I heard the deputy ask Rossi what that meant.

“This guy is a bum,” the man who developed the art of profiling explained. "He can't get a girlfriend, and he has this idea in his mind that it’s the women’s fault. He thinks women owe him sex, love, whatever he wants.”

I walked away from the wall, turning to face the two men. “He thinks they’re dirty, unclean. It’s why he makes them write the note.  By making them say they deserved what he did to them, he’s humiliating them even after death.”

The deputy’s face was pale as he survived the scene around him. “Why does he make them leave the messages in their own blood?”

“Only one message is from them,” I replied, gesturing to the evidence bag. “The message in the blood is from the unsub.”

Before we exited the room, I turned back to that message again, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Both victims had been discovered in the exact same way. The women were naked, stabbed multiple times, but with no signs of sexual assault. They were positioned in the middle of the blood-soaked mattress, their arms spread wide.

He had left the same message on the walls of the room, written in the blood of the woman he killed.

“Do you see this, son of man? Do you see?”

--

“The media is calling him The Prophet.”

Rossi scoffed. “I bet it was that wet behind the ears deputy who leaked the note and told him the kid’s biblical theories.”

Rossi and I had arrived at the FBI office in Bend, Oregon about an hour ago. Kate and Hotch had already set up; JJ and Morgan were on their way back from Silverton now.

“So, what do we know about this jag-off?” Rossi questioned, staring at the evidence board.

Hotch came to stand at the head of the conference table, his eyes sharp, his voice clipped. "Reid, Dave, what did the M.E. say about the Eugene autopsies?”

"He said he suspected it was a botched c-section. Kayla was just over 40 weeks pregnant, but he said it's not uncommon for first-time mothers to go up to 42 weeks.”

“I know that’s right,” I heard JJ mutter from the speaker placed in the center of the table.

“Indicates a lack of medical knowledge,” Morgan offered. “Because we know this guy isn’t squeamish.”

I agreed with my friend but didn't comment on it; my mind already on another topic. "What's interesting is that Kayla had an anterior placenta, meaning it attached to the front of her uterus. Usually, the placenta attaches to the posterior wall, meaning it's more towards her back. Because of the unusual placement of the placenta, I think that the death of this fetus was accidental."  

“It wasn’t a fetus, Reid,” Kate snapped. “It was a baby.”

I cleared my throat, meeting her angry gaze. I knew Callahan was the guardian of a young girl, and based on my years working with fellow agents who were also parents, I knew it was best not to argue about definitions and semantics. "I'm sorry, Kate," I murmured.

Her gaze softened. "It's fine. Sorry. This case is just…this is a lot." She looked down to swipe across her tablet screen. "This child was a boy too?"

I nodded. “All three of the victims were pregnant with boys.”

“So, he wants boys?”

Rossi turned to Kate. “He wants mothers of boys. Probably his way of killing his mother over and over again.”

“But how does he know the babies are boys?” JJ asked.

“So, what do they have in common?” Hotch asked. “Let’s add Nicole Williamson into the mix too, what do we have?”

“There were quotes from the bible in the two complete notes. Those specific verses are often referenced when they speak about protecting children,” I said, my eyes moving over the files. “The women were all in their 20’s. They were all at least 39 weeks pregnant, and...huh, there’s not a father named in any of the medical charts.”

“But how does he know that!” JJ huffed again in frustration.

“And are we sure this unsub is a guy?” Callahan questioned. “There was no sign of sexual assault.”

“If we follow statistics, women take babies, and men take children. With that in mind, it would be safe to assume this was a woman, but the amount of rage we’re seeing makes me think it’s a man.” I turned my back to the team, my eyes moving over the crime scene photos. "The letter was written under duress, but the language is very misogynic. Based on the information Kevin gathered about Kayla's online life, she had a normal amount of self-esteem. It's out of character that she'd talk about herself this way. By all accounts, she was excited for the baby. It's also incredibly difficult to stab someone 54 times. All the women would have fought him until the end. He'd have to be stronger to subdue her. It's a biological instinct, mothers' will stop at nothing to protect their children."

Hotch had pulled out his phone before I finished speaking, dialing Kevin Lynch to give him the criteria of the person we were searching for. "We need women in the Bend, Oregon area that are close to giving birth. There will not be fathers listed on the medical charts. She'll be at least 39 weeks into her pregnancy."

“Alright, so that would leave us with…” Kevin wasn’t able to finish his sentence before an alarm started blaring over the speaker, almost drowning out Kevin’s yelp of surprise.

“What is it?” Hotch asked. “Did something happen?”

"I…I don't know, sir," Kevin answered after he had finally gotten the alarm to quiet. "I was running the search, and…it triggered some sort of system-wide alarm. It completely locked me out of Penny’s system.”

Morgan clicked his tongue. “That doesn’t make any sense. Penelope wouldn’t set some alarm without a reason.”

“Wait. Kevin, was there any sort of message that came up when you triggered the alarm?” Hotch asked, his tone urgent.

There was a weird tension on Hotch’s face while he waited for Kevin to reply. “Yeah, uh, just a dialogue box that says ‘Nightingale.’”

“Nightingale?” Kate asked. “Isn’t that the…”

Hotch didn't reply; he hung up abruptly while Kevin was still speaking. I felt a chill run down my spine when I noticed his hands trembled slightly.

“What is it, Hotch?” Rossi asked urgently.

But he never got a chance to answer; a deputy stormed into the room. "We just got a report of an abandoned car outside of a grocery store about half a mile from here. It's registered to a young woman, and there was an empty infant car seat strapped in the back."

Hotch took the paper from him but didn't look at it. His eyes were screwed shut, and his shoulders were tense.

I heard when the voice spoke on the other end of the line. I heard the deep breath Hotch let out before he spoke.

“Penelope, I need to know where y/n is.”

----------

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The Miys, Ch. 152

I’m not going to jinx it, I’m not going to jinx it, I’m not going to jinx it...

Okay, maybe I am. I managed to queue up the chapters I had in the barrel! Yay!! Which also means that I have a super duper exciting chapter coming up, which I can’t wait to write and can’t wait for y’all to read. I just need it to be perfect.

That said, thank you to @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog for your help with this particular chapter.  I love when we are all three in one of these sessions and just descending into chaos in the chat. Also, @mamayoda (who I can’t tag but I do want you to know I see your likes in my notes!) for love-bombing my notes recently.

“Is it just me or is everyone really jumpy?” Charly asked as I set my food down across from her.  It was our thrice-weekly lunch dates in one of the public mess halls, and she definitely had a point.  I had already noticed three people scowl distrustfully at the food consoles, hugging closely to the prepared food side of the room instead.

I sighed. “It has to have been Derek’s stress test.  It wasn’t supposed to impact systems we didn’t design, but…”

She snorted loudly. “Tell that to the week I spent taking cold showers again.  At least this time, the doors didn’t play any music when I walked through them.”

“Did your doors at least open consistently? I was stuck in my quarters for a whole day until we figured out that I could walk through if I had an escort.”  I laughed and shook my head before digging in to my food. “And, come to find out, we actually do manage the water systems, thanks to BioLab 2.”

Contrary to myself, Charly was entirely unperturbed at this revelation beyond sniffing her hoodie and shrugging. “My doors worked fine as far as I know, but Coffey and I tend to work the same hours, so… Maybe that was it.  Oo!” Her cheer of enthusiasm caught me off guard as she started bouncing in her seat. “OOOOO! I bet he activated the routine Xiomara had running when you and Jokul weren’t friends yet!”

“There was a routine!?” I asked, exasperated. “I behaved, thank you. It wasn’t necessary.”

“Meh. Just in case. What do you think her deal is?” She tilted her head to the side, at a table near us.

Sure enough, the woman at that table was darting glances around the room, her shoulders hunched, elbows close to her body, eyes wide.  I could practically feel her shaking from where I was. “I can’t tell if she looks suspicious or afraid,” I murmured, hoping the woman couldn’t hear me. “But the fact that I’ve met mice and chihuahuas who shook less, I’m going to go with afraid.”

As I watched the woman, weighing whether or not a stranger trying to comfort her would make it better or worse, Mona’s familiar face approached her instead.  She was speaking softly enough that I couldn’t make out words, but the woman clearly recognized her and only jumped slightly.

I was so focused on the sight of Mona comforting the woman that I nearly hit the ceiling when Parvati’s voice came from entirely too close to my right shoulder. “Rebecca.  She lost her family twice, first her parents, some cousins, and an uncle when the hack happened, and then her partner and children in the After.  It’s understandable that she’s terrified right now, after the stress test. Too many bad memories.”

My face flushed in humiliation. “Pranav and Zach sent a ship-wide alert that the stress test was happening - “

A perfectly manicured hand clapped over my mouth, one dark eyebrow arched in eloquent disbelief. “Sophia. You of all people know that mental scars do not heed logic.”

Charly’s hair flew around her face as she nodded enthusiastically. “After day three of cold showers, I flinched every time I went through a door in case that stupid song started playing again, no matter how many times I reminded myself that it was a stress test and I had decidedly not given Derek boba tea again.”

Both my hands flew up in surrender. “I stand corrected, I just feel awful to see people react like that.” Gazing around the room, I was suddenly much more aware of all the darting eyes, protective postures, seats turned so that backs were against walls.

Charly had obviously seen the same thing. “We may need to talk to Pranav about limiting the tests to one or two systems at a time.”

“I wish we could,” I admitted, stabbing a potato out of my pie slightly harder than necessary. “His department was passing the tests with flying colors when Derek was limited to one or two systems at a time.  But they failed this last test miserably, it turns out.  As soon as they would react to one thing, Derek would switch to another system, and they couldn’t be everywhere at once as well as they convinced themselves that they could.  And they can’t just be good at small scale attacks: the revolt that happened before the End brought everything down at once, from multiple access points. It was… kind of elegant, in a terrible way.  Very clean.”

Charly squinted at me and Parvati in suspicion. “Are you supposed to know that they crashed and burned in the test.”

I rocked my hand back and forth while I chewed on a mouthful of crust.  It had way too much butter in it, but at least it was actually crust this time. A week ago it had been something pretty close to paper mache. “Technically we don’t officially know that.  Officially, all we know is that Pranav has requisitioned enough additional staff to increase his team of programmers by seventy percent.”

“Asses handed to them, got it,” Charly nodded in understanding.

“We also officially know that Pranav currently owes Hannah quite the enormous favor,” Parvati confided.

“How big?” Charly ventured slowly.

“Big enough that his grandchildren may be indebted to hers,” came the laughing response.

Charly shook her head and clucked her tongue. “He should know better than to bet against Derek.  He breaks the systems for fun, and they asked him to really go for it. What did they expect?”

“Apparently to put up a better fight at least.” I forced a smile, but guilt weighed on my heart as I studied the room again, fully seeing the microexpressions of anxiety, fear, and anger.  It felt like the entire Ark was constantly swinging between hope and fear. The random drills weren’t really helping, either.

“They aren’t,” Parvati agreed, letting me know that I had been thinking out loud. “Everyone is sleep deprived, on high alert, and then all of a sudden all the computer systems went on the fritz for a week.”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead, pushing what was left of my pot pie away from me, appetite gone. “We need to talk to Grey and Antoine about getting counselling for everyone, seeing as how Xiomara and Pranav pretty much just triggered the entire ship. I mean, everyone knows counselling is available, but I think allocating training and resources to the therapy teams is going to take priority over Pranav’s request for the moment.”

Charly tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Do we have the space for some quiet rooms, like you set up for the Food Festival a few years back? That may be a good idea.”

Snapping into work-mode, Parvati flicked her datapad open, bangles clattering as she started making notes. “The quarters left by those who relocated closer to the Archives are still uninhabited, those can be used.  We may be able to convince some people to relocate so we can spread the rooms out more evenly, but even if we can’t, just having those rooms available will help.”

“Make a note to add in the proposal for Grey: possibility of having specific vendors permitted to serve food in BioLab 2.  Encourage mental health days and picnics.”

Parvati nodded in acknowledgement of my request, before adding her own spin. “As a contingency plan, find vendors who will pre-package picnics.  Between the current distrust of the consoles and the fact it will remind everyone of the annual Festival, the good emotions will help.”

“I like it,” I confirmed. “What else?”

“Paintball tag day in the corridors,” Charly announced, without preamble or warning. “Make it a holiday, everyone is off work, limit it to one end of the Ark.”

I shook my head. “Guns, not the best idea.”

“Ew, no. No pew-pew.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was thinking more paint-soaked splash bombs.”

Finger guns deployed, dual wielding. “I am so here for a paintball tag day in that case.  The flavored paint?”

“Not the scotch bonnet please,” Parvati begged. “I just know someone will get that in the face, I don’t care how much Else likes it.”

“Got it, no more pepper spraying people,” Charly agreed seriously. “OOO! I could test the new arrows out!  With something like buttered popcorn paint, obviously. Maybe kiwi on the other team.”

“Just limit the pull on the bows, okay? I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Fiiiiine…”

Parvati smiled and added to her notes. “So, we probably want someone to correlate the current date to whatever the date would be on Earth… Just in case we need to get a consultant for Holi.”

“Good point. Conor is alarmingly good at that, so I can ask him.  It would be a nice cultural event if we could do that. If not, we can totally work on celebrating Holi when it comes around.”

“Final suggestion for right now, because I have to get back to work,” I sighed happily. “This is going to be the biggest ask, and the smallest at the same time…” Both nodded at me to continue. “Care packages, for everyone. And I mean everyone on the Ark.”

“Sophia,” Parvati scolded me. “That’s almost ten thousand people and sixteen animal companions.”

“Well aware,” I forged on, “We’ll talk to Sam about the bows, I can wrap them. Commission some of those really nice chocolates, or maybe some taffy from Simon. And something salty.  I know there is someone on the Ark who makes aromatherapy candles, Tyche is bananas about them.”

Shaking her head, she added it to the list. “If you insist on that, I insist on a celebration for the drop out of FTL.  Hannah and I can use some of the plans from the Food Festival, include Charly’s paint tag - “

“And Kink Night!”

“- and Kink Night, apparently… have several events going on across the Ark, since we already discussed declaring a holiday.”

“Get Bash’s permission to use the Undine again, and I won’t object,” I surrendered before standing. “On that note, I really do have to get back to work.  Come on, Vati, we have work to do apparently.”

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∘◦  ღ  ◦∘  Harrison Osterfield - Quarantine  ∘◦  ღ  ◦∘

A/N - I wrote this during the first lockdown that Britain were in. ow we’re in the third, and almost a year later, I’m uploading this onto my Tumblr from my Wattpad. And yes, before everyone says it, I am fully aware that the Holland’s and Haz were isolating in two different houses and haven’t been living together for months, but this makes it more amusing, and as I say, it was written a while ago. I do not know Harrison, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - cursing, smut, detailed sex, cockwarming, oral, kinky names, mentions of sleeping around... you know the drill by now.

Summary - Quarantine with a bunch of sex deprived twenty-odd year old boys isn’t your idea of fun, especially not when the only one you want refuses to pay even the slightest bit of attention. Taking measures into your own hands is only simple until you get caught.

YOU AREN’T SURE HOW, but in some strange twist of fate, you’ve ended up in self isolation with the Holland’s. But it doesn’t end there, no, not just the Holland’s, but Harrison and Tuwaine too.

You have a bed in the attic, the other side of Harrison’s room, but you’re hardly sleeping in it. Seeing as you’re the only girl among an entire collection of (ahem, horny) and barely adult boys, you were most certainly on their beckon call. You didn’t mind being called to Sam, Harry’s, even Tom’s rooms late at night; you simply wished that you'd be asked to sleep with the one you actually wanted. Harrison.

You and he had been friends as long as you could remember, neighbours from age 4 and friends ever since. Even through uni when you studied a double major and you had zero free time, he was still constant in your life. You’d met Tom and the boys, the twins being closer to your age, and gotten on with them all as well. It just so happened that you ended up on a job with Mr Holland, and that’s what brought all of you closer together with you being in their house often to work on this project it also just so happened that you’d been hanging around with them all when lockdown was announced, leaving you to be in trouble if you drove halfway across London to your own home, so they invited you to stay and had any and all necessary items mailed to you by your roommate. You were only trusted to stay with Harrison after your history together and nothing ever having come of you two, though Mrs Holland did not trust the other boys enough with you and therefore did a bed check every night and every morning to make sure you were alone, though it was always a deceitful check on everyone’s behalf. 

You didn’t thank Tom, Sam or Harry post-sex since you’d always have to return to your own cold bed, next to a sleeping Harrison, a sleeping Harrison who wouldn’t dare use you as a booty call like the other three did. It was safe to say that Harrison also had no idea of your truancies since he slept like a light and no one would discuss your actions at the dinner table to save your dignity, and their own necks.

Tonight though, you have other plans. Harrison has some papers to look through and will therefore be sitting at his desk, procrastinating before his computer for hours, only to be left to flick through the contract at an utterly ungodly hour, and he’d proceed to sleep tomorrow, all throughout the day. You were going to help him relax: maybe a massage, a cuddle, a blunt. Or you’d sit on his lap, watch to see whether he’d tense or relax beneath your bare legs, or whether he’d pick up on whose shirt you were to wear. That was the only tell: you’d steal a shirt from each brother to wear as a mark the next day, but you’d simply claim they were more comfortable than your own tight fitting button downs and crop tops. Harrison hadn’t noticed, not yet though as far as you knew, but each brother wore a slight smirk every day that you wore their shirt.

It hurt that Harrison wouldn’t be able to tell with his usual obliviousness, but you’d shower before seeing to him tonight, and wear one of his shirts so that when he got it back it might smell like you, a scent he claimed to enjoy.

As soon as dinner finishes, you leap away from the three boys all vying for your attention.

“I have work to do, and a shower to have. Plus, I’m tired.” You respond to all three on your journey up the stairs, hearing Harrison groan very loudly from the attic, followed by his head hitting the keyboard of his laptop. You smile sadly to yourself, a mix of nervous anticipation and excitement expelling from your body while the water lashes at your skin, soothing any pain or fear you may be feeling. You increase the heat, allowing the steam to fill your pores as you lean your head forwards to keep your hair dry, held in a messy bun.

You imagine his touch all over your bare body, his finger tracing your jaw, but a knock on the door and a yell to hurry up snaps you from your trance, making you turn off the water and wrap a soft towel (that you know to be Harrison’s) around yourself. You scowl at Harry on your way out, in response to which he sticks his tongue out childishly. 

You end up mostly dry after taking a longer than usual walk up the steps to the attic, lingering on each one until the balls of your feet become sore. You peek your head around the door, only to see Harrison in a hoodie and boxers, a grimace on his lips while attacking his keyboard with a ferocity that you’ve scarcely seen. His anger causes you to furrow your brows, silently wishing that you succeed in calming him instead of making him feel worse. 

You slip into a pair of panties and grab your favourite of his shirts off one of the hangers. You pull out your phone under a guise if he spots you, absentmindedly scrolling through your feed while eyeing Harrison. He slows his typing and begins clicking his mouse at the screen slowly, intently reading the reams of white on his laptop. 

It’s time, you tell yourself, standing up from the bed and walking behind him. You place your hands on his shoulders, splaying your fingers and digging your thumbs in. Harrison’s body goes lax, his hands falling from the laptop to the desk, laying his hands flat on the wood. He lets out a groan and rolls his head back, falling right onto the pillow of your chest. You continue to rub his shoulders, enjoying the way he’s slowly relaxing under your therapeutic touch, that is until he swats you away with a small, sad smile. You sigh, having none of it, and crawl your hands down to the hem of his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his tone dripping with boredom. “I have this contract to read, you know I do.”

“Exactly.” You reply after thinking for a moment. You want to say the right thing, you want this to go seamlessly, so every word has to be perfect, not to mention every action.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t battle against your bid to remove his hoodie, and obligingly lifts his arms up over his head so that you can pull his jumper off. You toss it to the side and hear something fall to the floor, but that’s somehow the least of your concerns. You reward Harrison with a kiss to the soft, unblemished skin of his neck - but it won’t stay that way, not for much longer. 

You thread your fingers into his beautiful brown locks and tug a little, just to let him know that you mean business. His lips part as though intending to let out a groan of some kind, but it doesn’t come, so with disappointment you continue to play with his hair the way you love to. He doesn’t stop you, so that’s something, right?

When he hasn’t given you attention for too long, albeit about five minutes, you walk around in front of him. His eyes are forced to retrain from his screen to where your breasts show in his top. Apparently, going braless in one of his tops has its perks, not talking about your nipples.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs. He pushes his chair out and gestures for you to drape yourself over his legs and lap, which you do more than willingly while wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging at the wonderfully soft curls at the nape.

“I know this isn’t ideal, you need to do proper work and be having contact with your girls, but I’ll get you out soon, I know the boys are a lot.”

You simply hum in acknowledgement, adjusting your seat on his bare legs. Skin on skin, electrifying in every sense of the word. 

“That is why you’re doing this, right?” He asks, nervously almost, and you instantly feel as though you’re molesting him, until he wraps his strong arms around your back. You could moan at the contact, his muscles tensing all around you, the feel of Harrison and his smell radiating around you, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You move your hands to his shoulders and begin to massage again, just from the front this time, a feeble attempt to procrastinate against your goal. Harrison’s gone back to reading his screen, so while he’s still gathering what he’s reading, it’s your only shot.

You twist on his lap until you’re completely straddling him, your forehead pressed to his. The beautiful blue-green of his eyes sends you into a trance, melting your insides. You can swear that you see him nod a little, so you begin to move your hips. You grind and swirl on his lap, undulating your hips in a perfect figure of eight when you feel him harden beneath you.

With your ministrations paused momentarily, you take a sharp intake of breath and say, “This was never about attention because I’ve been stuck with the boys, this is because I want you.”

Harrison’s face instantly melts into an expression of relief, a goofy smile on his (what you hope to be) soft lips.

“I thought you didn’t want me because you were sleeping with the others,” he says, and you shake your head, tears of relief and happiness almost spilling from your eyes. You feel warm and fuzzy despite the guilt, shame and anger bubbling from your truancies with the Holland boys. 

“You knew then?”

“How couldn’t I?” He remarks, “you’re all they talk about when there’s no adults and no Paddy in the room. What they did to you, how many times they made you cry out their names, the marks they tried to leave on you until your own dominant side came out. Every conversation I had to excuse myself out of mainly respect from you, because what they said upset me but I just couldn’t say so, but then I just came up here and imagined what you’d be doing to me.” Your heart hitches in your throat, butterflies filling your stomach and travelling into your every limb, making your skin tingle. Your stomach rises in goosebumps, as does the skin of your thighs, and you notice that it’s because Harrison has his hands underneath your (his) shirt, and he’s skimming over your waist and legs, holding you and savouring the feel of your skin beneath him. He kisses your neck, once, twice, and it’s gone.

He turns back to his computer and continues his work, looking over your shoulder and letting his eyes train every tiny black line of script on his screen. Your neediness is at an all time high, one hand resting absently on your hip, just above your bum while his other hand clicks at his keyboard and mouse like it’s second nature. The speed of his fingers makes you even needier, craving for him to be inside you already, so you climb onto his bare thigh and trap it between your own. 

You dig your hips down into his leg, grinding and aching for friction, and you already know that you’re dripping onto his skin. The fine hair on his thighs gives a delicious amount of friction - not too much but not too little. As you go further, your mouth parts a little more, allowing you to let out a strangled whimper. Your thigh brushes Harrison’s cock through his boxers, and you feel his hand grip your waist tighter, almost painfully.

Your pussy starts throbbing, aching for more of him, while your hands rake his back, leaving scratch marks in their wake. Your head falls to the crook of Harrison’s neck as you approach your high, moving your hips more fervently and letting out moans is anticipation. You wonder if Harrison is even able to pay attention to his contract anymore with what you’re doing to him, but that thought is set to rest when you’re right on the edge, but both of his hands grip your hips and move you off his thigh, the skin glistening with your essence. 

For a minute, you think he’ll be angry, make you clean it up, but instead he just kisses you. His lips catch yours more desperately than you could’ve dreamt, immediately biting down on your lower lip, trapped inside his mouth. You let out the loudest moan you could in the moment, but Harrison finds it heavenly, delving his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss while his hands grip your ass. He pulls away, looking at you with those puppy eyes that he knows you can’t resist. 

“Sit on my cock? Just ‘til I finish this section, then I’ll take you as hard as you want.” 

You look sceptical, and Harrison can tell, you know because he kissed you again and moves his hands from your bum to wrap his arms around your whole body and keep you close to him. His lips pressed against your own is enough convincing, so you move your panties aside and accommodate while Harrison takes his boxers off.

When he does, you’re surprised at how big he is, bigger than any of the lads you’ve been with before. Long and substantial, you want to drool just looking at his dick standing proud against his stomach. Nervously, you slide down on him. His girth stretches your every wall and his tip hits new spots until finally you’re balls deep. He groans and exhales, eyes closed while trying to gather his bearings. 

“Fuck.” He says. “Your cunt bottomed out on my cock, keeping me warm and hard, you’re an angel.”

His words drive you crazy, making you moan and involuntarily clench around him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You wrap yourself around him like a koala bear, craving to have as much skin to skin contact as is possible. Your head lays on his chest to stay out of his way, and he seems thankful to be able to see the screen but also feel you. 

You stay seated on Harrison for no more than ten minutes as he taps away at his keyboard and scrolls through the pages. Occasionally he moves, stimulating you enough for you to gasp or tighten around him, and in those instances he kisses behind your ear. 

You listen to his heart, slowing or increasing its speed depending on your movements. The steady heave of his chest moving with his breathing is strangely calming, making you feel closer to him, more stimulated and comforted, something like love.

Suddenly, his laptop slams shut and he thrusts up into you. You yelp a little and snap your head up, nose nudging with his and your lips grazing. 

“You’ve been driving me crazy, and you’ve done it on purpose. Were you sleeping with the others to get my attention? Am I better than them already? Bigger?” You whimper, his words building a fire inside you. “You don’t have to answer, love, I can already tell by your body.”

You cling to him even tighter than before as he clears everything off his desk, breaking a pencil pot while he’s at it, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“You choose a desk to fuck me on when we have two beds up here, both of which will make a lot less noise?” 

He looks downcast and releases a giggle. “Yeah, didn’t think of that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, cupping his jaw and caressing his stubbled cheek, “you can fuck me harder on this and let the boys know who I belong to tonight.”

He places you down beneath him on the desk, still hard inside you, but instead of attacking you again in a ferocious kiss, he looks down at you and marvels in your beauty just for a moment, his scrutiny surprisingly doesn’t phase you, it only makes you feel treasured, so as your eyes follow the movements of his rippling muscles, he smiles faintly and kisses you softly. 

“Fuck me Haz,” you whisper, those simple words being all the motivation needed, because he pulls out, leaving you whining at the emptiness of only his twitching tip inside your core, but within seconds he pushes all the way back in. 

He feels heavenly, your eyes rolling back into your head and a surprised moan leaving your lips. He smiles down at you before pulling out and thrusting back inside you, setting a steady pace. Every move feels like paradise, every jolt of his hips swindling shockwaves of pleasure through your craving body, having been desperate for him for a good while.

He feels heavenly inside you, his tip grazing that special spot inside you. “Harrison!” You cry, as quietly as you can. He leans down and pulls the neck of your (his) shirt down so that he can get access to your breast, immediately latching his lips onto your nipple, biting at it viciously while pressing his hands onto your spread thighs. You feel yourself approaching an edge, a timed coil curling inside your stomach as his ministrations continue. 

He’s so much better than the others - not that they weren’t good, they have a basic idea of what to do with you and how to use you, and they’re decently sized, but they can’t make you feel the way Harrison can. 

“I’m close...” you whisper between incoherent murmurs. He’s not too noisy, which may or may not be a blessing paired with the slamming and squeaking of the desk beneath your bodies, it’s mostly just breathy grunts and occasional curses.

“Me too, beautiful.” He dances his forefinger up your thigh and rubs circles around your wetness, allowing you to let go.

The coil within springs open, and you feel your body fall loose, vision blurring with stars in your eyes and core clenching around Harrison - it feels like heaven. Feeling this, he climaxes soon after you and to save from screaming, kisses you in a messy fight of teeth and tongues, half muffling the pornographic moans that would otherwise be bound to spill.

Harrison falls down onto you, chest heaving and breathless, but nonetheless he still places open mouthed kisses to your neck.

“I’ll wait for you to get your breath, shall I?” You tease while running your finger up and down his spine. He chuckles and climbs fully on top of you, cuddling you into his chest. “Well, now I can see why you don’t have a girlfriend yet. Can’t even go for one round without ending up flustered. Lucky that I’ll have you no matter.”

He hums into you, holding you and savouring the silence filled with only your breathing and a few sounds from downstairs, but soon the wood becomes too uncomfortable.

Harrison slips an arm beneath you and carries you across the room to his unmade bed, as opposed to your neatly tucked in one with your entire collection of clothes and makeup on top of the sheets, but his bed is probably comfier since he’s always in it. 

“Round two?”

Your heart rate increases, a burning blush rising to the tips of your ears as well as a shy smile snaking its way across your lips, still swollen from Harrison’s attack, not to mention the swollen parts of your skin where he paid a little more attention, leaving marks and memories for days to come.

“I’d like to see you try.” You tease, keeping your cool resolve despite feeling anxious straddling him, his eyes flitting between your chest, eyes and lips, unsure of what to do or how to use his mouth, a definite rarity for someone like him.

He seems desperate, putting his hands on your hips and thirstily jolting his hips upwards - if you’d been a few inches further down, he would’ve been straight back inside you, and maybe that’s what he was hoping for.

“Any hole’s a goal, isn’t that what Tom says?” 

He loves it when you tease him, that much you’re learnt over the years. Every girl he’s been with you’ve found a way to tease him about it, anything he says, anything he does, and he loves it since it usually ends in a play fight and him surrendering control of the tv remote to you. This time however, it ends in something far different.

He tugs the shirt up further and pulls you roughly so that your calves are either side of his neck, your once again dripping core hovering above his face and awaiting tongue. 

“Only if it’s yours.” He says, his breath sending shockwaves through your body straight from your core.

His tongue deftly finds its way through your folds and inside your tensing cavern, and it feels heavenly. His nose nudges at your clit while his tongue laps up all around you, his lips working in tandem while his tongue dances inside you. The moans leaving your mouth are otherworldly noises that you’ve never quite made before, maybe because you’ve never sat on anyone’s face, never mind someone as experienced as Harrison, something that you’re now learning is far from a bad thing. 

“Harrison!” You cry when he delves a little deeper. His eyes remain between your own and the way your boobs bounce inside his shirt while you squirm on top of him. Every noise the pair of you make masks the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to the attic, and muffle the sound of knocking on the door.

Harrison’s mouth continues its assault on your needy heat, your one hand weaving into his hair while the other massages your breast through your shirt, bringing stimulation to your nipple and bringing your climax closer and closer...

“Haz, we get that you hate work but you really don’t have to make so much noise- OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

You freeze, your recently shut eyes shooting open and darting over to the door, ajar with Tom standing just over the threshold, staring right at the two of you with a face of horror and disgust. Harrison however, bites down on your sensitive nub in his state of shock, and your second orgasm washes over you in such a state of unexpected euphoria that you lose all your bearings. 

You cry out Harrison’s name like a prayer, chanting it while he cleans you up, and it’s not for a solid minute after your climax ends that you realise Tom is still in the room with you, rendered speechless, mouth agape and dumbfounded. 

When you clock what’s happening, you grasp Harrison’s duvet and yank it up to cover you both while you climb off Harrison’s face, his lips still glistening with your cum. He seems lost for words, too, blanching more and more with every passing second. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. No one moves, except for Harrison’s cock twitching under the duvet.

“It’s not what it looks like...” you say, your words getting lost in the thick tension of the room, like a rubber band pulled so tightly that it could snap at any given moment.

“Really? Because it looks like Harrison was just eating you out!”

You can’t fault Tom's logic, it is exactly what it looks like, so you just blush and pull the duvet up to your chin while wishing for a black hole to swallow you up. 

You can’t help but notice how beautiful Harrison looks though, plump lips and that wonderful glint in his eyes, messy hair and no top. 

“Ok, so it’s exactly what it looks like, surprise?” You can’t figure out what to say to him in the current situation, but instantly feel relaxed when Harrison begins to rub his palm up and down your thigh beneath the duvet .

“What- oh, this is why you called?” Sam now makes an appearance, folding his arms and standing next to a resolute Tom. You can’t decipher if he’s angry, amused or something else. “Our plan worked!” He suddenly shouts, and within seconds, Harry arrives beside the pair, a smirk on his lips.

“Really? So shagging Y/N and talking about it in front of me was all a ploy to get us together? And if so, why does Mr Fancy Pants here look so angry?” Harrison asks, and you can feel him willing his boner to wilt while in the presence of the brothers.

“Yes!” Comes paddy’s voice from the doorway, swiftly standing in front of Tom. 

You smirk, but Harrison scowls, unable to accommodate this situation within his mind.

“He’s probably shocked because he walked in on you two... you know. But yeah, it was all a plan, sorry by the way.” Harry says, you just wave it off but Harrison’s grip on your leg tightens.

“Don’t be angry, it worked didn’t it?” Sam chimes in, patting Paddy on the back before making his way out.

Tom has to have the last word, you can see it on the settling lines on his forehead, so you brace yourself closer to Haz. “And don’t I bloody know that it worked!”

Maybe the drama was worth it for the laugh out of Tom’s reaction, though Harrison would argue with you there.

Yakimono

2x07

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.2k 

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, jail, insinuations to smut

Author’s Note: I am having so much goshdarn fun with this and seeing yalls reactions makes me soooo happy. I love doing this and I really hope y’all enjoy this episode! Also more gifs than usual but I couldn’t pick lmao 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary : When Miriam Lass is found alive, evidence at her rescue site exonerates Will; Dr. Chilton (Raúl Esparza) tries to confide in Jack but is rebuffed.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​

(not my gif)

Will looked at Jack Crawford beside him in the car. He had just left the hospital and was ready to go back home, see his dogs, see you. But first he had to see where Miriam Lass had been found. 

“Am I gonna get crap for this?” Jack asked. Will glanced over at him.

“In what regard?” 

“From Y/N.” Will laughed and shrugged, nodding a bit but holding back a bit of the laugh. The thought of you beating Jack to a pulp had crossed both men's minds, followed with the realization you would likely not do that. But who knows.

“Hopefully her happiness of me coming home will override the anger,” Will muttered. Jack glanced at him and he couldn’t help but think about when he saw you at Hannibal's the other morning. He wanted to tell Will but figured you must have already told him. Still, he brought it up. 

“She’s pretty close to Hannibal for her to believe your accusations,” Jack said. 

“So I’ve heard.” Will didn’t like the fact that Jack knew this though. He wondered what he had seen. 

“But she loves you,” Jack mumbled. It was true and they both knew it. “She has been harassing me the whole time.” Will laughed and pushed the thought of Hannibal Lecter out of his mind.

“She’s strong willed.”

“She has to be to keep up with you.” 

-

You were buzzing. You haven't been this excited in a long time. You couldn't’ remember the last time you had been this excited. You wanted to jump and down with excitement. You had a couple of texts from Hannibal about Miriam Lass but you literally couldn’t even answer them.

You were happy Miriam was alive. Really. You were happy Hannibal didn’t kill her. 

But you were more happy because Chilton had called you this morning saying Jack and Alana had come to get Will. You were mildly annoyed that no one had told you to come but you thought it would be best. You wanted to see Will at home. 

You figured Jack had taken him to see where Miram had been held. You figured Will would ask him to. You cleaned the whole house which you usually wouldn’t have even attempted. You were tempted to wash all of the dogs but figured you didn’t have time.

You heard the car pull up outside and held your breath. You had imagined this moment since the second that Will had been put in the hospital. You wanted it to be perfect. You saw Wills’ car which had been dormant since he left. You opened the door and the dogs ran outside to greet him. You stopped at the porch and just watched. 

He fell to his knees, petting them, laughing at their happiness to see him. You held back tears as your fingers physically ached to touch Will. Will pet the dogs each a few times and shushed them a few times with a smile. 

Finally he looked up at you. 

And despite the fact you had been otherwise arguing about Hannibal and the fact you had both attempted to actually kill a person there was an almost sob that you wanted to escape your lips. And Will hadn’t kissed you in so long and the second he saw you his heart lurched. 

Love.

You were both in love. 

He stood up and you ran over to him. You threw your hands over his shoulders and kissed him. You touched him desperately and he did the same which he never did. His hands were in your hair and on your sides and when you pulled away he kissed you again. 

You finally had to pull away for good, despite the wish to continue.

“They let you out this time!” you said with a smile and laugh. He wiped the tears brimming in your eyes and nodded. 

“You said they were. I guess you were right.” 

“I’m always right. You know this Will Graham.” 

He laughed and kissed you again. 

“Come inside you idiot,” you whispered laughing. “I got your blanket out. I even set your alarm even though I’m not sure if you have a job or anything.” You grabbed his hand and started to drag him inside. “I thought you lost your glasses, I’m glad that they kept them. I’m also not letting you get a haircut because this length really vibes with me you know.” He shut the door behind him and grabbed the other arm that he wasn’t already holding. “Oh also-”

He cut you off by kissing you. This time you didn't’ move away. 

-

Jack sat across from Chilton. Chilton was shaking. 

“Yes, I have an agenda. Living. I should be assigned an FBI escort. Everyone who believed Will Graham about Hannibal Lecter is dead,” Chilton said. Jack pursed his lips.

“Except you. And Y/N.” 

“I don’t think Hannibal would lay a finger on her that she wouldn’t want. Me on the other hand?” He shook his head. “I’d like to remain not dead for the foreseeable future.” 

-

The judge was on the ground, stitched into the bodies of the color pallete. You stared down at him and you knew Hannibal was walking around you, even though you couldn’t see him. Suddenly the judge turned into Will and you stumbled forward onto the ground, trying to rip the stitches out. 

“I don’t want him to die,” you said and you realized suddenly that you were crying.

“He won’t.” 

“How do you know?” 

“He won’t die unless we let him.” 

You woke up with a start. You didn’t scream this time but you were sobbing, gasping for air. You brought your hands to your face and tugged on your hair in sadness. You didn’t even have the mind to cover your bare chest. The tears kept coming in waves. 

Will got up beside you and he almost scared you. You had forgotten he was home. 

“Are you okay? Are you crying?” he asked, voice raspy from sleep. He moved your hands away from your face and replaced them with his hands on your cheeks. You sobbed and tried to hold it back, worried about him seeing you this way all of the sudden. He had seen you cry before. But usually you tried so hard to put up a front for him when he was breaking. 

“What happened?” 

“Nightmare,” you said through a sob. Will looked at your face and felt his heart break. You never had nightmares before. He figured they had started when you killed the judge which meant you had had many nights of being alone, in this very bed, sobbing to yourself. 

Unless.

Unless, in his sleep deprived mind Will wondered, you weren’t alone. 

Should he thank Hannibal Lecter for helping you sleep? Or yell at him for sleeping beside you? 

Either way he reached forward and held you to his bare chest so you could cry some more.

“These are new huh?” he whispered and you nodded. You held each other as you would when he had nightmares. “I wish I could have been here when I wasn’t,” he whispered. 

“Not your fault,” you said and it sounded like you were able to pull back a bit. “Just don’t…” You pulled back and looked him in the face. “Don’t leave me.” He put his hands on your cheeks . 

“I won’t.” And as much as you believed him you couldn’t help but realize the lack of nightmares you had with Hannibal. 

Will didn’t have the superpower. 

-

You got up in the morning and stared at Will’s sleeping face. You had missed that. Peace. 

Dewey mornings of peace. 

When his eyes opened you smiled a bit. 

“Goodmorning Mr. Graham,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. He rubbed his eyes. 

“Morning Miss. Y/L/N.” 

“You’re the only one who calls me that you know. Everyone else just defaults me to your last name.” Or Hannibals. But you didn’t say that. 

“We’ll get around to legally changing it one day.” You smiled.

“You going somewhere today?” you asked. 

“Going to talk to Miriam Lass. You?”

“Work.” Will scoffed.

“You still work?” You nodded.

“Someone has to pay the bills.” Will didn’t like the idea of you working for Hannibal anymore. He liked it to an extent. The extent that you knew stuff about Hannibal. He could pick your brain. But he didn’t like the idea of you in danger.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so close to him,” he whispered. You didn’t know how to explain to the man that you loved what Hannibal meant to you. But he understood. Will and you understood one another. You looked away from him and moved up to sit against the headboard covering your chest with the sheet, despite the fact that Will had seen everything. 

“I know you couldn’t help that you were in jail,” you started but he noticed your voice sounded far away, “and that Hannibal was mostly to blame. But he made me feel less alone.” You paused and he waited. “When I felt like I would never hold you again.” You looked back down at him and he looked up at you with those gorgeous blue eyes. 

He didn’t say anything. Instead he just sat up beside you and put his arms around you. You let him hold you. 

“I love you Will Graham,” you whispered and you weren’t lying. 

“I love you too.” He paused for a moment and thought about his words. “Y/N.” You smiled at his avoidance of your last name and buried your head in his neck.

-

You walked into work and Hannibal was waiting for you by your desk. You raised your eyebrow and walked up to him.

“How’s Miriam?” you questioned. 

“She didn’t identify me as the Ripper.” You pursed your lips.

“I didn’t think she would.” Hannibal didn’t read too much into that, instead he moved forward with the conversation. You knew he had probably messed with Mirams head in a similar way that he messed with Wills. 

“How is Will?” Hannibal asked.

“I thought you had separated from him,” you observed.

“I was inquiring into your life. You’re my friend.” 

“What a funny word. Friend.” You didn’t push it and neither did he. You leaned into your desk. “How did you sleep?” He shrugged.

“The nightmares seem to be fading.” He paused and looked at you. “How did you sleep?” You shrugged. 

“Fine.” 

He smiled in the knowledge that you were very clearly lying to him.

-

That night you were at home. Hannibal walked into his home and Will was waiting for him. 

“That same unfortunate aftershave. Too long in the bottle,” Hannibal said as he turned around. 

“Out last kitchen conversation was interrupted by Jack Crawford. I’d like to pick up where we left off. If memory serves, you were asking me if it’d feel good to kill you.” Will held a gun up to Hannibal.

“You’ve given that some thought.” 

“You wanted me to embrace my nature, doctor. Just following the urges I kept down for so long, cultivating them as the inspirations they are,” Will said, voice steady. 

“You never answered my question. How would killing me make you feel?” 

“Righteous.” 

They stared at each other. 

“Did she sleep well last night?” Hannibal asked. “Or did she wake up crying?” The barrel of the gun shook but Hannibal looked past it into Will’s eyes. 

“You hung up the judge like a puppet,” Will said simply, ignoring his words. 

“If I’m not the Ripper, you murder an innocent man. You better than anyone know what it is to be wrongly accused. You were innocent, Will, and no one saw it.”

“She saw it. She saw the innocence that is no longer there. You saw to that.”

“If I am the Ripper and you kill me, who will answer your questions? Don’t you want to know how it ends?”

Will thought about this. And he stepped away.

-

“I still can’t cook. I mean you went to jail and I didn’t learn how to cook,” you told Will as you thought about what to make for dinner.

“We can try,” he said. He had been craving some actual food and anything you made would likely make him happy. “I’m gonna take the dogs out.”

“I’m coming.”

You slipped on Will’s shoes and stepped outside. You opened the door and the dogs ran past you as you looked up at the stairs. You locked eyes with Frederick Chilton who was drenched in blood and holding a bag. 

“Can I use your shower?” 

You crossed your arms.

“I don’t know maybe you should wait until next week,” you said simply. Will opened the door and stood behind you, slowing at the sight of Chilton.

“Please,” Chilton muttered. Will grabbed your arm and you shared a quick look.

“Alright, fine,” you muttered. Chilton rushed past you and into the house. Will pointed out where the shower was and he walked over there. You and Will stood together on the porch.

“Why’d you do that?” you whispered.

“He believes me,” Will whispered. 

“You just got out of jail Will!” 

“And Chilton is about to go in.” 

“Are you calling Jack?” you whispered. He gave you a look and you nodded. He was calling Jack. 

-

Chilton stood in one of the doorways to the house. Will sat on a chair while you leaned against the wall just beside him. You had your arms crossed.

“I have the same profile as Hannibal Lecter. Same medical and psychology background. We are both doctors of note in our fields. Of course it would be me. Hannibal was never going to kill me. I’m his patsy. I have to leave the country. I’m leaving the country.” 

“If you run you look guilty,” Will said. 

“You didn’t run and you looked plenty guilty. Abel Gideon was half-eaten in my guest room. I have corpses on my property, you just threw up an ear,” Chilton explained as he messed with his getaway bag.

“There’s an APB on you right now. They’ve canceled your credit cards, they’re tracing your phone,” you explained dumbly. 

“I have cash and I tossed my phone. Jack Crawford thnks I killed two agents, three agents. You know what tends to happen to people who do that? Shoot on sight.” 

“I’m going to prove that Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will said.

“I know you will.  When you do I will read about it from a secure location and reintroduce myself to society at that time. Great plan by the way, getting your girlfriend to sleep with him. Jack told me.” Will glanced at you but you didn’t even flinch. Jack's car pulled up and Chilton saw it through the mirror. “What did you do?” 

“You’re an asshole Frederick,” you whispered. 

Chilton brought a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at you. Will stood up calmly and Chilton shook. Neither of you showed any signs of distress as Will walked in front of you.

“No. Stay there,” Chilton said. Will almost laughed.

“You’re not a killer, Frederick,” Will said and the both of you walked out the front door. You stood on the porch but Will walked forward to Jack. “Why did you come alone, Jack?”

“Where is he?” 

“Why did you come alone?” Will repeated.

“Is he in the house?” 

“I told you everything isn’t what it seems. The Chesapeake Ripper is still playing with us. All of us.” 

“I’m not playing,” Jack said sternly.

“The Chesapeake Ripper isn't’ playing all of us, Will. He’s playing you.” Jack pointed at you who was standing behind him. “And you.”

“Jack. Wait. Let me bring him out, he’s got a gun,” Will said. 

“Good,” Jack muttered. 

Jack pushed past both of you into the house and you were then alone on the porch. Will didn’t look at you.

“Did you sleep with Hannibal?” Will asked. 

“I did not have sex with Hannibal,” you said. “Jack saw me at his house in the morning. I stayed because of the nightmares,” you admitted. And Will knew that was the truth. Because you didn’t lie to each other.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry you had to do that.” You shook your head.

“I didn’t eat anything,” you promised. He half smiled in the knowledge that you had him and his ideas in mind, even when you were with Hannibal.

-

You sat at your desk when Will walked into the waiting room. You looked up at him, leaning back from your seat. He looked handsome, hair slicked back, wearing a nice shirt.

“Something wrong?” he asked. 

“Is Hannibal in a session?” 

“No.” He nodded.

“I want to return to my regular therapy session.” You raised an eyebrow, very clearly surprised. 

“Why would you…” you trailed off and nodded. Will was going to do something he knew he could. And you were going to let him. “Okay.” You stood up and walked around the desk past Will. You put a hand on his shirt and smiled a bit. “I like this shirt.”

You turned around and opened the door to the office. Hannibal looked up at you. “Your appointment is here.” 

Hannibal stood up from his desk and walked over to you.

“I don’t have…” he trailed off when he saw Will. “Hello, Will.” 

“May I come in? Y/N said you don’t have an appointment. Left my standing appointment open.” You, Will and Hannibal hadn’t been in the same room together in a long time. You stood still as Will walked into the office. 

“Do you intend to point a gun at me?” Hannibal asked. You raised an eyebrow.

“What was that?” you asked. Will shook his head, dismissing you.

“Not tonight.” 

You looked at both of them. They looked at you. They looked at each other. No one's motives were clear but everyone's motives were clear. 

“I’ll see you after the session,” you said. 

“Alright.”

“Okay.” 

They spoke at the same time. 

The door shut between you and them but it didn’t feel like you had been shut out. In fact, you knew you would hear the details of this session from two perspectives. 

You were a part of Will and Hannibal indeed.

2x08

Take My Hand ~ Lucifer x Reader

For so many, even those who know him, Lucifer is an enigmatic riddle that will never be solved. A question with no answer. A blank, white puzzle.  He keeps his stoic facade at all times, overworks himself on anything Diavolo gives him, and if he runs out of work, he finds more, from somewhere that nobody, even the young Prince, has no idea.

He’s always so strict and proper, dresses royal and there is seemingly no imperfection to him. Hell, even Asmo, the most narcissistic brother, is not-so-secretly jealous of his beauty and dominant and mysterious aura that engulfs him, that makes him even more enticing than one could think.

So what is the mysterious of this overly strict Fallen, the one that God loved the most, the one that led the Rebellion of the Celestial War aeons ago, actually hiding? What emotions is he so desperately trying to hide behind those sharp, ruby eyes of him that read into you like infrared?

What kind of fragility is trying to hide being that frozen block that became his heart that aches and burns harder than the Sun itself?

Perhaps that is something that only someone with a fresh perspective shall witness, someone who walks around like a ghost, unnoticeable, yet her eyes are wide and attentive, that can peer right into the depths of anyone’s soul.

They are complete opposites, and yet, they are more alike than anyone could even begin to realise - That is, if they are so adamant to be ignorant, as they’ve always been.

Apart from Solomon, not one, but two other humans were brought into Devildom, and that is because fate made it so that Lucifer chose a girl that had a sister.

A twin sister.

So of course, you cannot separate twins, so Diavolo was okay with bringing both of them, thinking it would be reminiscent of the 6th and 7th brothers, especially for their personalities are like light and day, like the Sun and the Moon, both of them beautiful, yet completely different.

And that was quickly made obvious once they arrived, for the brothers quickly swamped all over the younger sister, since she was a lovable, social butterfly, an extroverted free soul who loves to fool around and bend the rules to breaking point.

The older sister, however, was an introvert of few words, yet all of them were meaningful. She was incredibly diligent and hard-working, studying since the first day in RAD, she was much too busy to even bother going out of her way to break the rules, and had to do everything in her power to get her sister out of trouble, including doing her homework, to avoid detention.

The eldest brother, the most attentive, was quick to realise that all the brothers were attracted to the sunshine like moths to the fire that they didn’t even bother approaching the zircon wrapped in a velvet handkerchief.

He was, however, completely drawn to her...Or maybe it was the mystery surrounding her that he was interested in? He read once, in a human book, that the most intriguing is the journey, not the destination, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if it was similar to going to one’s soul.

Y/N’s soul was pure, it was bright, it was beautiful and tempting, which went in complete anti-thesis with the facade she pulled for everyone - And just like twins are, like Yin and Yang, she was truly the complete opposite of her bright sister that held a dark soul.

But days began to rapidly pass by, and with each day, countless of problematic events happened, that made Lucifer, and not only him, pissed off beyond belief, at the younger sister, and the older one was forced to bare the consequences and solve the problem..

These continuous occurrences started eroding her soul, bit by bit, darkening it, overshadowing her light, and it was beginning to concern the raven haired man, for, in the end, it was still his job to make sure the humans are okay and comfortable in Diavolo’s Kingdom.

Exams were coming along, and Lucifer could see Y/N was beginning to become much paler and less talkative. He didn’t see her as often outside of the classroom, and even to meals that they would always share together...And he began to worry.

He knows very well that humans are very frail, weak and sensitive creatures, that constantly needed to be taken care of, and he knew very well that she wouldn’t have much until she’d collapse.

“Does anyone have a pen, please? All of mine have been completely used up, and I need to urgently finish an assignment.” 

Speak of the devil, Lucifer thought, as his D.D.D.’s notification sound popped on his study desk, where he, himself, was also working on his own assignments, and he chuckled at the coincidence, and pondered over if he should tease her a bit, to provoke her, or not.

Something that Lucifer always loved was to push someone’s boundaries...Not some pushover like Mammon, clearly, but strong, dominating people, much like Satan, much like himself. He wanted to see how far can he push someone until they get angry, until they lose their composure, until they show their true face, until their facade crumbles, and they are no longer the self they show to everyone.

It’s satisfying seeing others step on their pride...

Since he would never do that, clearly. He isn’t the Avatar of Pride for nothing.

Asmo: Nope! I only have my personalised, engraved pen, and I can’t give it to everyone! Beel: Sorry, I accidentally ate all my pens while trying to write my homework. Belphie is sleeping. Levi: I don’t have pens, I write everything on my laptop. Satan: I always misplace mine. I only have the one I keep in my notebook. Mammon: Lol, you’re doing homework? Hah, what a dork! Sorry, I ain’t using Goldie to buy pens! Why not ask your sister? Anyka: You bought 10 pens barely 2 weeks ago, how the hell did you even finish them? Y/N: I have a lot to do. Do you have any spare pens? Anyka: Lol nope x Ask Lucifer or idk Barbatos??

The opportunity is shining, so...Should he start provoking her? Or would that break her even more? This should certainly be interesting... And if anything happens, he always knows when to put a stop to this charade. “I have a spare fountain pen, if it would do.” he sent her a DM, waiting for an answer. “Perfect. Are you in your study, or your bedroom?” she sent an immediate answer, which made him smirk. “Study. If you beg me nicely, I can also give you the ink for it.” he was playing with fire, and damn, was it exhilarating. “You...Want me to...Beg? For a pen and ink? To do my assignments? I don’t think Diavolo would be pleased to hear that.” she typed after an obvious few moments of hesitation. “Sometimes compromises must be made in order to achieve your goal. You are aware, I am sure, that if you do not finish your homework for tomorrow, you will receive detention.” this was getting very interesting, and he couldn’t wait to see what her next step would be. “Fine. I will ask Barbatos then. Thanks for the offer. Have a pleasant night.” she cut him off with clear acid in her words, which made Lucifer chuckle in satisfaction.

She was though, and entertaining. What an adorable little lamb.

And it was true, she asked Barbatos, who told her that he couldn’t go over to the House of Lamentation, for he has to take care of Diavolo, and he refused to allow her to leave the dorms without someone by her side to make sure no stray demon attacks her.

That was a true bummer.

So...She had to step on her pride to get a stupid pen to finish her assignments.  It wasn’t even homework, but she still had hours of work she had to do. It was barely midnight, she couldn’t even attempt to go sleep now.

Going to sleep means obvious overthinking, which means lack of sleep, so better be productive and work, then destroy yourself more than you already are, doing nothing, while staring and cursing the ceiling.

Y/N sighed, breaking the pen in two out of anger, and wobbly got out of her study chair, making a bee line to Lucifer’s study and knocking on the door, waiting to hear the approval word to enter the room. She barely opened the door, walking in front of the seated form of Lucifer, who held his spare fountain pen almost mockingly in front of her.

He was watching her like a hawk, every movement analysed as if under a microscope, almost as if he was carefully searching for any flaw or mistake she would make. However, he could see she wasn’t well. She was sleep deprived, her complexion was much paler than normal, she had dark bags under her eyes...And her posture was slouched, almost sloppy. Lucifer knew she has always been a diligent person, so the homework couldn’t possibly be long overdue. She would have done it in the day it was given. So...What was the urgency? Could it be that...She was...Just like him?

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to beg for a pen, but, Lucifer, may I please borrow your pen? I promise to return it to you tomorrow, buy a new ink, to your preference, as soon as classes are over and I can go to proper shopping.” her voice was tired, just like her mind and body. She held no emotions in her words. It was almost as if she was intentionally damaging herself to make up for-

Oh.

Perhaps she wasn’t as different from him as he thought she was, and now, at least, he can better understand why she was deteriorating as fast as she was.

“You can keep it, I don’t mind. However, as the head of the student council, and the one who has to overlook this exchange program, I would have to advise you to take better care of yourself and rest, instead of overworking yourself.” Lucifer told her, with a less condescending voice, only to receive a sarcastic scoff, which confused him. “Tell me that when you’re going to follow your own advice.” and she left.

A chuckle escaped his mouth as soon as the door was closed, and for the first time in ages, he actually went to bed early...For his standards. He had to be very attentive of this one, however...She was much more interesting than he believed.

And the first thing he saw in the morning, as he stepped in the classroom, he saw Y/N handing a file to her sister - A file with all the homework for the whole week, that is - And now he could understand why she was overworked. She was going about life in all the wrong ways...Not that he should be one to talk. He knows his own faults, but admitting them to another is a complete different matter.

But things were going to take a horrid turn for the worst, beginning with Diavolo calling everyone for the Student Council meeting, only to announce that the exchange students were going to have a lowered pass/fail line anymore, but will have to work and achieve the demons’ standards and rise to the challenge given.

“If you’re going to control a demon’s powers, you need to have a proper understanding of them and how they should be used.” Diavolo said, which made him realise that the twins, somehow, managed to make pacts with all of the brothers...All of them, sans one. That one being himself, of course. “Hey, whoa, that’s a bit sudden, don’t you think? Exams are just around the corner!” Anyka protested, obviously shocked. “RAD exams are surprisingly tough.” Belphie nodded in agreement. “I’m sure both of you are going to do great, especially if you’ve studied a little bit throughout the semester.” Diavolo smiled, as usual, and the older twin mimicked no emotion on her face. “But...! But I haven’t! I had fun with the brothers all this time...What am I gonna do?! Y/N, say something!” the younger twin shook her sister, waking her up from her trance. “Hmm...? What should I say? He’s right.” she shrugged, not bothering to look at anyone. “I’ve already considered that, and I have a plan. Satan, you are going to be tutoring Y/N and Anyka up until the day of exams.” Lucifer dumped the responsibility on the blond brother, who was barely able to say anything from the shock of being put on the spot. “Oh, that’s perfect! Thank you soooo much, Satan! You’re the best!” Anyka jumped on the 4th born, who chuckled awkwardly. “Thanks, but I can do this by myself. If this was all, then I’m going to see you during the exams. Bye.” she gave a brief peace sign, before leaving to her room, no doubt continuing her studying.

Obviously, Lucifer knew she had it in the bag if she focused. She’s a smart girl, she won’t have any problem...If she stays healthy, that is.  There was something about her that made him want to approach her, to hold her face, to look her in the eyes and tell her to stop doing this to herself. There was something about her innocence and heart that made him want to protect her at all cost, even if that meant protecting her from herself. He pondered offering to tutor her, but what could he even tutor her about, when she clearly knows everything there needs to be learnt about the exams?

He wanted to kiss her hands and reassure her that everything will be okay, and he wanted to hold her tight and help her fall asleep without having running thoughts through her head all the time.

But he can’t do that, can he? If he were to approach her, she’d run away, like a scared little baby fawn trying to find her mama, while being chased off by a hunter. He had to be gentle with her, delicate, to lure her into a sense of security and safety...A warm haven by his side...

But can he really manage to do that, when he’s supposed to be the Big Bad Scary Wolf who punishes everyone and doesn’t allow happiness in the dorms, as per so gracefully described by his lovely brothers?

The first day of the exams came much faster than Y/N realised - She had no idea how time flew by so fast, it felt like she just blinked and bam, exam days - So here she was, drinking her 3rd coffee for the morning while writing her answers for the exam.

Caladrius Blood was the third ingredient for that famous ancient elixir that required Powdered unicorn hood and bittergrass root, for the Magical Potions exam from that morning...

A forest, what covered the surface of Devildom shortly after it came into existence, the answer for the History exam from the afternoon...And a three-legged crow being the relief sculpture at the entrance to the Devildom royal tomb...

Yes, these were all incredibly easy questions, she had no problem, clearly. And that was the same for the 2nd day, with the hexes and curses... And then came the practical exam...Seductive Speechcraft test.

She looked around the classroom with a frown, knowing she had to pair up with someone, but all the brothers were crowding around her sister, and she could only sigh, looking down with her arms crossed, not knowing what to do.

“Would you like to pair up with me, Y/N?” Lucifer’s voice rang soothingly in her ear, making her turn around, her eyebrow raised in confusion. “You...Want to pair up...With me?” she asked in a slow, unsure voice, which made him smile and nod. “Yes, is something wrong with that?” he bent down slightly, getting closer to her face. “No, of course not. I was just...Surprised that anyone wanted to pair up with me. Anyway, we should get started.” she nodded, looking away from him and guiding him to a more secluded part of the classroom. “You have to be the one doing the seducing. I am really curious how you are going to proceed. Could you, perhaps, be...Scared?” with his infamous smirk, he looked smugly at how her otherwise unfaltering facade began to break slightly. “No...It’s just...If I knew I was going to be the one doing the seducing, I would have put on some make up this morning, so I wouldn’t look like I just woke up from death after being buried for 100 years...No, make that 1000 years.” she corrected herself after taking a quick look at her reflection on her D.D.D. “I can assure you, your appearance, for us, demons, won’t change a thing. It’s the words and gestures that matter.” he let out a soft chuckle, watching her nod in acknowledgement. “Okay, if you say so, then I will have to believe you. Can you promise me that you won’t attempt to kill me...Again...No matter what I say or do? Trust me, I want top grades, and I’m going to do anything in my power to snatch them.” her voice now was much firmer, and it sounded clearer, more confident. It was clear that her pride and ambition were on the line, and he wanted to see how she was going to seduce him. He could feel electricity running through his veins from the excitement. “Yes, of course. I won’t do anything to you. In fact, I will be the human, and you will be the demon. You have all the power now. Amaze me, Y/N.” he watched her turn to the side slightly, as if preparing her A-Game face - He was expecting her to try out an impersonation of a succubus, since they were plenty in Devildom, but what she did...Was beyond Lucifer’s power of comprehension.

Her eyes held a glimmer of innocence and pity, her soul somehow seemed to glow with purity and light, just like it was when she first arrived. Her demeanour wasn’t assertive, confident and mysterious, but held a tint of submissiveness and glowing affection, as if she wanted to touch him, but she was too afraid to approach a deity.

He thought that, as he gazed with interest at the girl in front of him, only to be shocked completely by how sweetly alluring her voice could sound, and he almost felt the need to have her cup his face so he could melt into her warm, soothing caress.

“Lucifer...Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? Have you noticed how your health is starting to decline? I know you are a demon, and a few hours cut off your usual sleeping schedule won’t mean much for you, but you are exhausted, Lucifer. I hate seeing you like that...Overworking yourself...Finding more work to get piled under, even if you’ve already finished your assignments. I worry about you, and your health...But more...I worry about the reasons for your overworking. I know you’re trying so hard to keep away all the intrusive thoughts that keep plaguing your mind...You think that working to exhaustion is going to keep your mind busy, so you’ll sleep without having to overthink.” hearing those words, Lucifer truly wondered if she had veela or succubus genes in her family, or if her tongue was laced with the sweetest poison there is. She slowly approach him, gingerly holding both of his hands, looking down, imitating a timid kitten, and guiding him to the nearest chair behind him, so she could be at his height...Just a little above, creating the perfect angle to change from a submissive expression, to a more dominating, seductive gaze.

“You’re always so concerned about your brothers, wanting to make sure everything goes perfectly, to the plans that you create, because if things go out of control, you are afraid they will have to suffer...Just like it happened when you led the Rebellion. You still feel guilty for what happened. You are afraid that they regret following you...And so, you are purposely hurting yourself...And this self-inflicted pain became your own sense of comfort and defense. You are afraid that, if somehow, you indulge in your pleasure and the pain disappears, things are going to go out of control completely. You are afraid of the unknown and what it could bring...But trust me, Lucifer...I promise you...They love you. They love you, just as much as you love them. They don’t regret following you. You are a family, and they are happy and content staying together, all 7 of you, together. You deserve to be happy too, Lucifer. You deserve to allow yourself a day off from all this mess, and indulge in your pleasures.” she was so close to him, whispering in his ear, then crouching down, holding his hands, keeping them together and kissing them softly, sending shivers down his spine...But more, he froze completely on the spot. He was shocked...His mind was almost completely blank...Because...How could she possibly know all of this? How can she speak like that? She’s just a human...So...How...? Surely, his brothers had no idea, so how could she, a mere human who came by less than an year ago, understand and know him so well? His heart was beating fast, and it was in pain. It was expecting...It was conflicting everything he ever stood for. A day off? A day for himself? A day of self-care? A day...With her...?

“Won’t you allow me to take away the pain, just for the night? Allow yourself to feel something else other than pain and misery. Allow yourself to be happy. To feel emotional pleasure. Allow yourself to be yourself again, only for a night, because Lucifer, you are not a robot, or a machine, you are not programmed, wired, or running or petrol or gasoline. You have a beautiful heart that feels so much, but you are afraid of the myriad of unknown emotions that are desperately trying to burst out and scream at you to let loose...Because you can. You showed me that you are capable of letting loose, when we were stuck in Levi’s game. Do you remember, Lucifer? We were up on the roof, you had your hair in my lap, and I stroked it gently...You were smiling so beautifully...So carefree...Because you had no worries on your mind or heart. You were yourself. And you were happy.” she put her forehead to his, speaking softly, barely above a whisper, but despite her tone, her words spoke loudly, strongly, into his heart, making it pump faster and faster, energy shooting through his every nerve, vein, artery and capillary...His mind was completely captivated, and his heart was captured. Without even realising, his lips were parted and his eyes were wide from the shock, imagining himself in this utopic paradise that she created merely with her words.

“All you have to do is take my hand and follow me. It’s simple. You can do it, Lucifer. Let yourself feel. Let yourself be...What do you say?” she was perfect. She didn’t break her act for not even a split second. The sparkle in her eyes was there from the beginning to the end, and he could feel her fast-beating heart - It was regular for her, as she had the heart rate of a rabbit - It almost seemed natural for her to persuade and sweet-talk anyone like that. Without even realising it himself, he took her hand, looking at her eyes with an expression of wonder, awe and complete fascination...Until she gave him a devilish smirk, and her eyes started glinting with mischief, which made him frown slightly in confusion.

“I won.” was the last thing she said to him before pulling away from him completely, retorting to her bland and pained, exhausted demeanour. “If I made even Lucifer look at me with glazed eyes and made him take my hand, to take him to some dreamland oasis, then I’m sure I deserve the highest mark in the class.” she chuckled with a deadpan expression on her face, not looking at him. “How...Did you do that?” he asked in a low voice, almost not believing what just happend. “Oh, that was possibly the easiest thing I’ve ever done in a long while. You see...I hold great pride in being incredibly intuitive, perceptive, detail-oriented and being able to properly read people...And their hearts. If I had Asmo, I would have told him that he has an amazing personality, and he’s not just all-looks. If it was Mammon, I’d have showered him with praises. If it was Beel, I would have played the family, Lilith and guilt card...And the list goes on. If you, however, are asking how I managed to say all the right words to you...Well...It’s a bit different...And personal.” she spoke, looking at the teacher with a half-smirk as she was given the highest mark, and rightfully so. “What could be so personal that you managed to speak to me as if you are some ancient demon who has been luring people for aeons with her sweet words laced with acid?” he stood up, looking down at her with a stern expression, yet his mind and heart were fighting a war of conflict. “...I told you everything I would have liked someone to tell me all this time.” the raven haired man could see sadness clouding her face, before leaving to her room.

That was a true experience for Lucifer, he couldn’t deny that to himself, and more, for the whole day, no matter how much he tried to work - Her words kept haunting him, and as soon as he picked up the pen, he immediately thought back at the exam and threw it back on the desk.

He tried taking a hot bath, tried listening to that TSL soundtrack, but she was the one to give it to her, after she spent a fortune on Akuzon for his birthday present, but of course, he thought back at her, and he had to stop the music altogether.

Everything he did, he was reminded of those words that held the flavour of the Poison Apples he eats so often, and it was driving him insane. He could feel his brain overheating, and the pressure on his chest was so great that he wanted to dig his nails into his chest and rip apart the flesh, take out the heart and stomp on his heart, because he couldn’t take it anymore.  He was a demon, and he was a heavy sinner - He NEEDED to grab her hand and escape the horror of reality. He needed to feel that he wasn’t bound by space, nor time, a body or a brain - He needed to be just one soul, bound to another, to feel no more pain, no more reality - Only euphoria, content, happiness, pleasure.

He couldn’t believe he was so willing to give in to his desires, and it was only because of her. It was HER fault. And yet, her last words before her departure from the classroom kept echoing constantly - 

“I told you everything I would have liked someone to tell me all this time.”

He was right all along.

She truly was like him. She was the only one who could properly understand him, and likewise, he was the only one who could take her pain away.  Maybe it was his guardian-complex, having to constantly look after someone, needing to be useful to someone... He needed her, as much as she needed him... Because, unlike him, she could easily waste away, as she is nothing more than a human resembling the first Snowdrop in Spring. He could resist until the end of this world, just as he has done until now, but she couldn’t.

The endless train of thoughts was interrupted by yet another knock on his door, that proved to be the same person that plagued his mind - The little lamb walked into the wolf’s den, almost as if summoned, out of her own accord.

To bring him back his fountain pen, along with the promised high-quality ink...It made him chuckle at how adorable and thoughtful she was being, without realising.

“...You are troubled by something. Do you...Want to talk about it...Or should I leave you alone? I did say some pretty heavy words today, I understand if you wouldn’t want to stay in the same room as me for a while.” she gingerly put the items on his study, not looking up at him. “How come you never looked me in the eyes until then?” he asked, looking at her from the office chair. “I...Was never able to look anyone in the eyes, in my life. Now even my sister or my mother. It makes me start panicking...I get intimidated and scared...So I look away. I forced myself to behave the way I was supposed to, but it was the last thing from comfortable. Don’t take it personal.” she chuckled awkwardly, stepping back. “I was surprised that your words had such an impact that I was ready to follow you...But would you follow me? Would you be able to do the very thing that you told me just today? Would you be willing to strip away that facade of yours, take care of yourself, and allow your heart to feel again?” he asked, stepping slowly in front of her, almost resembling a predator prowling to its prey. “...I don’t want to break down and cry, because if I do...Things will only go downhill, very fast and very hard. I’m...Usually on a downward spiral, but when the wave hits...It takes a long time to swim back to the surface...And I’m sure for how many more times will I have the strength to move and breathe.” she muttered, shuffling on her feet, and Lucifer could understand very well. He could see how frail she has become, and it was all because her brain was working against her so heavily, for whatever reason that was eroding her so badly. “If you promise to stay by my side, I will be here to hold your hand and pull you out of the stormy tides. I will walk next to you for your whole journey, until you get tired of me. You just have to take my hand and let yourself be...Let yourself feel. Let out all the pent up emotions, then smile at me, because you have a beautiful smile, and I haven’t seen it in ages. I know you are afraid...It is frightening walking alone, in the dark, with so many monsters around you, ready to gnaw and maul at you...By I will be there, waiting for you, guiding you with a flashlight, ready to hold and protect you...So...What will you do, Y/N? Do you seek salvation and happiness, or are you ready to give up on yourself and want to succumb to the bottomless pit of the abyssal ocean you were thrown into.” he mimicked the way she talked, the way she moved, the way she articulated her words, as he took his gloves off, touching her face and softly caressing it, bending slightly to peer into her eyes.

He could see that she was afraid - She was beginning to tremble, her eyes were glossy, brimming with tears, her bottom lip was quivering and the conflict of good and evil was obvious inside of her - Her hands were in the air, ready, but not entirely, to grab his hands...

“All you have to do is take my hand and follow me. It’s simple. You can do it, Y/N. Let yourself feel. Let yourself be...What do you say?” he mimicked her own words, wanting to see if it would be enough of a push for her 

Choosing was truly a mortifying experience, but she was strong, he knew that - And that was made obvious when her shoulders finally started shaking, her breath becoming ragged....

And she threw her arms around his torso, letting rivers and rivers of tears fall down her already exhausted face. Her body was so small compared to his, so small...And so cold, in his warm arms...He couldn’t help but hold her tighter, stroking her hair soothingly, putting a kiss on the top of her head.

“Please take care of me, I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I-I don’t want to leech off of you...I’ve always been everyone’s therapist...And I know how much it sucks...B-But you’re the only one who ever bothered to show me any kindness and understanding. Please, Lucifer, don’t let me drown...I’m so tired of swimming...I can’t go on.” her sobs were so pitiful and broken that it shattered his heart and resolve, and all he could do was guide her to the bed, knowing she was too weak to sit up for too long, and started rocking her gently, as he would do with his brothers long ago, in the Celestial Realm, whenever they were upset or had a nightmare.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I’m here, and I’m not going away until you tell me to. You won’t drown...You grabbed the lifeline the second you took my hand, and I’m going to make sure you keep floating above the sheen of the water and have no problem breathing.” he reassured her, knowing very well how hopeless it feels being in that situation...But now they could at least cling onto each other for help, support, love brightness.

“How...? How did you know everything...?” she asked, clutching on his shirt, almost as if the harder she pulled, the better the chances of survival. “Because the very words you told me are what you needed to hear the most.”

Dead or Destitute

- a geraskier fic (warnings for blood, mild gore, swear words)

"What the fuck?" Geralt snarled at Jaskier who had just opened the door, wearing an amiable smile and the most ridiculous robe of silver-broquaded burgundy that flared out at the sleeves and the bottom with frilly cuffs. It was buttoned closed save for the top three which fell open to reveal a glorious patch of chest hair. Jaskier's lips looked wine-stained, his hair was tousled, but when he saw Geralt the haze of light intoxication lifted into a brilliant grin. A grin that went straight into Geralt's heart. Fuck. "Geralt. Didn't expect you to come calling, how'd you know I was around?"

"I didn't." "What? Then why are you here?" "Uh..." Geralt cocked his head. Sniffed. Yes, definitely red wine, but only half a glass. Jaskier wore a new perfume too, rose scented. He was partial to almost all flower scents whereas Geralt couldn't stand them. He preferred Jaskier's natural odour. "I'm looking for the Viscount de Lettenhove? Some Duchess from Novigrad sent me because apparently he owes her a large sum of money. You know this man?" Obviously, Jaskier knew this man. If the state of his appearance was anything to go by, he had probably been thoroughly engaged with this man before Geralt had knocked. Which caused an uneasy twinge Geralt pointedly ignored. So, Jaskier was courting trouble once more, nothing new here. "Sorry, what? Sent you? Geralt, are you playing debt collector?" Jaskier asked, stepping closer. The smile was persistent, stuck to his lips as he brushed a spot of Roach hair from Geralt's chestplate. The undertone of that statement, however, was accusatory which made Geralt defensive. "It's not like I enjoy it, but I've been going through a drought and it's like the monsters are hiding or something. Needed to feed myself." "Shit, that bad?" Jaskier crossed his arms, eyes raking up and down Geralt's body to look for signs of destitution. To the outside world, Geralt knew he looked like a regular old Witcher, but Jaskier might just be able to tell the smaller signs of his dry streak. "I will manage." He always did. "So, where is this man? Viscount. Whatever." "He's standing before you." "What... you?" "Surprise? Honestly, I had always assumed that you knew." Knew that Jaskier was secretly nobility? Geralt wrecked his brain for conversational fragments he might have overlooked, information he had simply forgotten, and came up short. "I didn't." "Well, now you do. Oh, but this is fun. Say, Sir Witcher," Jaskier licked his lips and peered up at Geralt from under thick lashes, the blue of his eyes stark in the waning light of day. Geralt furrowed his brow. "Are you entirely sure that I have to pay you back in coin?" Jaskier winked and something boiled over in Geralt's chest, bubbled up from out of nowhere. Gods, this man was infuriating. "Is this what you do when you owe people? Suck their cocks to get them off your back?" Geralt didn't give two fucks how that sounded. Jaskier might not be gifted with enhanced perception, but even he could comprehend jealousy when it was so blatantly put before him. As it was, Geralt's voice was drenched in it. Jaskier let out a humorless laugh, harshly contrasting his earlier mirth, and put his hands to his hips. "That's the road you wanna take with this? Truly? I had meant it as a jest, Geralt. In case you hadn't surmised from the fact that am a travelling bard, usually I'm not here when tax lawyers and debt collectors come calling and it's not like I constantly owe anyway. Besides, I can suck on whatever cock I like to." Technically, sure. It was just that Geralt wanted it to be his and only his. He couldn't very well say that, so he went for the second-best emotion he felt in regards to Jaskier pulling out sexual favours. "I just don't want you to whore yourself out, someone could hurt you," he said and was rather proud of how earnest that came out. "I'm not, I wasn't. I was just being flirtatious," Jaskier sighed, anger deflating. "Why would you be flirtatious with me?" "Why ever? Now that is a question I will only answer when I've had at least a bottle of Lambert's home-brewed vodka." "What?" "Never you mind. Come in, I may be dead broke, but I can still offer you a cup of tea." Jaskier stepped aside to let Geralt into a square foyer/living area which had a skylight and several settees and couches scattered around it. Three doors lead away from it as well as a winding staircase that disappeared behind a velvet curtain. The middle of the room was dominated by a table with half a dozen chairs, its light surface covered in parchments and dirty dishware. Jaskier's lute case sat next to the door, his traveling wardrobe was lain out over a dark purple couch. As if he had just arrived. Or wanted to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. "Sit, please," Jaskier said and gestured towards a back corner, the only couch without stuff on it. "Make yourself a home, I shall be right back. Chamomile, is it?" Geralt nodded absentmindedly and sat. This wasn't at all what he had expected. Neither from Jaskier nor from some Viscount. It was  a nice house, definitely excessive compared to a commoner's lodging, but it wasn't grand. It was....cosy. Jaskier returned with two mugs, plain, one chipped, and sat next to Geralt, close enough that their shoulders bumped together. "Did you wash off the perfume?" "Uh, yes. I know you don't much care for it, messes with your senses and all." Jaskier shrugged and sipped on his tea, then cursed and put it down, rubbing his lower lip. Geralt wanted to kiss it better, astounded by Jaskier's perceptiveness. Fuck. In terms of doing his job, this was going sideways. "How'd you accumulate so much debt anyway? You break an ancient relic or something?" "Ha-ha. Actually, no. This state is entirely due to my great compassion and sense of selflessness. See, I have this friend who was a gambling problem. Asked me to help out and I couldn't say no," Jaskier explained. "Are you the friend?" "No, Geralt, I'm not, but thanks for believing in me..." Jaskier mock-pouted and Geralt laughed, but quickly sobered up when he remembered how insistent his contractor had been. Either the money or the Viscount's head. Geralt would not behead Jaskier, or anyone for that matter. He had planned on a simple Axii strategy. Now... well. "You could have come to me," Geralt said softly. He emptied his tea in two drags to hide how silly he felt. Why would Jaskier have come to him? And even had he wanted to, how would he have found him? His mouth ran away with it. "We could have sorted it out, we still can." "That is very sweet of you, dear, but you literally just told me you only took this job because your short on coin yourself. Anything else, sure, yes, you will always be my first address when I'm in too deep. This is something I have to get myself out of. I could-" "No," Geralt interrupted, slamming his mug down onto the table. Tea sloshed over the rim of Jaskier's. "No. We find some contracts. Wasn't there a plague in Vizima? Sure to be loads of Ghouls and Graviers around. Besides, cities are jack-full with crowds for you to play. We could save up, there's still time." "There really isn't." "Jask," Geralt pleaded, and for what? Truth be told, there was only one simple way out of this. "The Duchess, what did she tell you to do if I couldn't pay up?" Jaskier asked, worrying his lower lip which was entirely too distracting. "Bring her your head." Jaskier gulped audibly. "Well, guess I will have to fake my own death then..." "No," Geralt said. On an impulse, he took Jaskier's hand between his own and pressed his forehead to Jaskier's knuckles. "Give me three days. If I'm not back by then, you run." "Geralt, what are you planning?" "Do you trust me?" "With all my heart," Jaskier replied without missing a beat. A dusting of pink clung to his cheeks when Geralt let go of his hand and stood. "Three days," he repeated. He promised himself to make it in half that time. Two days later saw Geralt back in Jaskier's house, exhausted from sleep deprivation and the hunt that lay behind him. He held his trophy aloft for Jaskier to see. The bard stood a few feet away from Geralt, back in his standard arrangement of doublet and shirt, all a faded, dusty violet. "Geralt, is that a head," Jaskier whispered, wide-eyed. Something clammy and cold wafted over from him, but was promptly replaced with little bursts of adrenaline that melted on Geralt's tongue when he inhaled them subtly. He grunted and dropped the head onto the table where it splattered the parchment collection and dirty silverware with blood. "Fuck me..."  Jaskier said, staring at it. The long blond curls were matted with grime, the once regal cheeks sunken in. Here was one Duchess past her zenith. "Are you not pleased?" Geralt asked and cocked his head. "This solves your problem." "It does, in a rather drastic fashion." Jaskier seemed to struggle with himself, mouthing words Geralt couldn't make out. Then, his shoulders dropped and he crossed the distance between them, put his palms flat against Geralt's chest. Tucked his face against Geralt's neck and Geralt grew very still. Careful to not give Jaskier cause to pull away. "But I thought you only killed monsters." The words came out shaky and when Geralt noticed that, he also picked up on the slightest tremor that hushed through Jaskier's body. What was going on? Had it been the wrong move after all? Geralt huffed in frustration, unable to read Jaskier after all the time they had spent together, and brought his hands up to cup the bard's shoulderblades. Jaskier shuffled closer. "Shouldn't have hired a Witcher," Geralt said. It' was a weak retort, didn't make all that much sense. The crystalline truth was that he had no ethical explanation for this, no code of conduct to refer back to. He had had more than ulterior motives for this one and, fuck, but it had been worth it. Even if Jaskier despised him for it, even if that made him the monster. He had done it to save a loved one from certain persecution, possible death. A loved one. Oh shit. "Suppose so..." Jaskier trailed off, nuzzled Geralt's neck and that was a weird feeling, created a tingle that made it hard for Geralt to swallow. The corners of his mouth twitched upward. He dared to splay his hands over Jaskier's back. "Jask?" "Yeah?" "Are you okay?" he murmured, hiding his smile in Jaskier's hair. "I'm conflicted," Jaskier admitted. "How?" "Uh... just thinking that this shouldn't turn me on as much as it does." "Oh." Jaskier peeled back a little to catch Geralt's gaze and they both burst into silly giggles. Those faded quickly, however, when Jaskier bumped his nose against Geralt's and his breath caught in his throat. Geralt tilted his head forward and dared to claim a kiss. Then two. Then a million, all at once. They broke apart for another stupid burst of laughter. Reaching behind himself, Jaskier brushed  the accumulated junk off the table, head incluced, and hopped on it, drawing Geralt between his legs. "My knight in shining armour," he sighed and kissed the corner of Geralt's mouth. "My beautiful princess," Geralt shot back. He had meant for it to come across as sarcastic, but it sounded more like a sweet declaration of surrender. "Thank you, love." "You're welcome." Geralt leaned down to kiss Jaskier properly, framing his face with both hands. They tangled up, got lost in each other, resurfaced only when Jaskier grew breathless. "Geralt?" "Hmm?" "We're still broke." Ah, fuck. Well. That was a concern for another day.

Right Hand Man (Loyal to the End) Pt. 5

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: You were like Talia’s daughter. The only thing was that you weren’t and instead, you had grown up in the foster care system and at a young age were taken by and personally trained by Talia. Along the way, you meet Damian and the two of you start to work side by side and eventually, after some time become closer and closer. However, when disaster in the league strikes, you face balancing an old, forgotten life as a normal child and the burden of right hand to the demon heir.

Note: I know that this is long and that there are a good number of time skips, but I didn’t want to make this into a series and just wanted it as a long fic because .... well because I can lol

Also, I didn’t want to have Damian so young in this so just go with it. I’m thinking maybe early 15 or almost 16 at the most. Idk I just don’t like writing for young Dami.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4812

Masterlist for Series

      You woke without an alarm with the 4am birds. It was a sound that you weren’t used to. Typically, you’d head down to one of the indoor training rooms and join Damian. It wasn’t unusual for one of you to be a few moments late but after that you’d get breakfast. This time though, you didn’t want to see Damian. You went instead out to the gardens. Instead of really working out or training, you decided that the best thing to do was just sit and meditate.

        Walking down the hallway some the opposite way of where you were going, you saw that Damian’s door was open. Wanting, to avoid him, you went out one of the side doors. He would be in the cave training for the most of what you could tell. You walked outside greeted by the morning air. It was cool outside and the birds had stopped chirping for the most part. You walked towards the sounds of the fountains along the cobblestone path. The trees and shrubs were cut perfectly in different shapes and animals in some areas. You smiled walking through it all, the moon being the only light.

        Once at the fountain, you sat down. There wasn’t really anything you were focusing on. Everything just swirled around in your mind. With no indication or signs on what was going to happen, the only thing you felt like you could do was keep on the tightrope that you had been thrown onto. The start of it all was a blurry and foggy mess. The end however, was even worse. You had no idea where this new life was going to take you or Damian. It was easier when you had an idea. That didn’t make it better.

        You were consumed in your thoughts for the longest time before getting up and walking around more. This was the longest you’d been alone to wander freely like this since God knows when. It was nice but was eventually interrupted. You turned upon sensing that someone was there. Carefully, you reached for your dagger but didn’t pull it out yet.

        “Miss Y/N, breakfast has been prepared. Miss. Gordon will be here soon to take you to the shopping mall.” Alfred said, “I hope you are not about to pull a weapon on me. I will warn you, I don’t fancy being attacked.”

        “N-no. It’s just...” You slacked a bit.

        “Training. I understand.” Alfred gave you a reassuring look, “You seem to be adjusting better than Master Damian even on your first day here.”

        “That’s because I wasn’t born in the league. This is just like some distant home to me. I was in the foster care system until Talia got me.” “I also got to go on more missions outside of the compound.” You informed the older man.

        “I see.” He sighed, “Well, I hope that you will eventually find some sort of comfort here.”

        “Thank you.”

        It was strange hearing words of good wishes. Not that you hadn’t heard them before, it was just that it was rare and typically in a secret kind of code for lack of a better term. No one dared give well wishes directly, only in little ways. You and Damian did that the most out of anyone you’d ever met. It was just normal in that sense.

        The walk back inside was quiet. Alfred informed you of a few other details that you’d need during your stay. Most had to do with the boys. He said that they would be behaved but that they can get a bit... rowdy. It was just in their nature. You understood and told yourself to expect it. Walking inside you prepared for the worst. What you did get though was a very sleep deprived looking teenage boy, a tall man who was almost zombified, you knew that was Bruce, a very chirpy young adult male with bright blue eyes, and a tall red headed girl rolling her eyes at the younger man.

        “Master Dick, Master Tim, Miss. Gordon, this is Miss Y/N. She came with Damian last night and will be staying in the manor now.” Alfred said introducing you.

        Tim looked up, “Hi Y/N.” He then proceeded to down his cup of coffee.

        “Um, hello.” You replied. It was unusual to see someone like that but you also related to his actions deeply. You thought it was kind of funny anyways.

        “Hey, I’m Dick. So, did you get here last night?” He asked smiling and said the last part quietly, “You’ll have to excuse Timmy over there, he’s a bit tired from a case he’s working on. Just wait, he’ll eventually fall asleep somewhere for a day.”

        “Yes.” You shrugged, “And I understand where Drake is coming from.”

        That made Dick chuckle, “You seem to be less temperamental than Damian.”

        Barbra hit him with her elbow some, “Really Dick?” She looked at you, “Sorry about him, he gets excited about new people.”

        “I am only the temperamental type when I need to be. Other than that, I find it partially unwise to try and scare everyone with anger. Silence works just as well for me.” You sat down at the table with breakfast.

        The meal looked like something out of heaven. It smelled fresh and looked like whoever prepared it had been doing this for a while. You took the first bite, and after that you devoured the entire meal. You then remembered that Barbra was taking you shopping and started worrying about what was going to happen.

        “So, Y/N.” She said seeing you drift off into your own thoughts, “I was thinking that it might be best if we go to the smaller shopping center first. That way you might not feel so uncomfortable there. They’ve got some things I think you might like.”

        “That sounds suitable.” You answered, “Um, I have seen the more recent fashions from previous missions, however, I’m hoping that there are still stores that carry items of reasonable value instead of ... absurdly over the top garments.” “Avant-garde if you will.”

        “Oh yes, you’ll have plenty of options.” She laughed some at the concerned look on your face, “But I agree that some people do wear some very over the top things.”

        You nodded in an understanding way noting her tone. In these cases, she probably means that the clothes are normal and what you have seen is just avant-garde clothing worn by the rich to turn heads. While you had walked by the mall countless numbers of times on missions, and even inside, there was nothing that really caught your interest. Besides, missions were never for shopping you had the job of staying on task at all times.

        “Oh, and I invited Steph but she had previous arrangements so it will just be the two of us today.” Barbra said.

        “Very well.”

_______________________________________________________________________

        You and Barbra made your way inside of the mall. It was deemed best if she was the one to drive everywhere since Alfred and the limo would draw unwanted attention. Bruce did still have to figure out how he was going to break yours and Damian’s arrival to the press. He’d probably just pull another adoption stunt in your mind. It wasn’t rare and at this point, the media just accepted that he has an obsession with it.

        The two of you made it through the parking lot and into the building, you on high alert the entire time.         “You’re tense.” Barbra commented, “I can practically feel the tension coming off of you.”

        “Unfamiliar settings may lead to all too familiar circumstances and fallouts. I find it most wise to keep on guard in a place like this. It’s open to any assortments of attacks. With the right variables, a disaster could strike at any given moment.” You replied back looking around overwhelmed at the options of stores not noticing Barbra giving an understanding yet concerned look, “I uh- where do we start?”

        “I have some suggestions. Although, I think the first store that we should try is something with a bit of variety so that you might be able to find something that you like.” She said.

        “I think I might have something in mind. Maybe something a bit dark, classical, refined, but also something that might be able to be turned down to a more casual piece.” You listed some features you were interested in with an almost inquisitive look only to meet Barbra’s eyes which portrayed an almost warm and kind look.

        “I think I know just the place.”

_______________________________________________________________________

        You and Barbra walked around the shopping mall sipping on coffee from the Starbucks and eating some of the pastries.

        “These are not too bad.” You commented speaking about the treats, “I must admit, I have never had anything quite like this before.” “It tastes...”

        “Commercial?” Barbra asked laughing some making you shrug in agreement, “There are better places we might go some time. I just figured this would be suitable for the time being.”

        “Well the decision wasn’t ill placed.”

        “Oh, we should try this store up here. Steph and I are always finding some good items here.” She commented leading you into another store.

        At this point you had almost lost track of everywhere you’d been. It was like navigating a more organized jungle. This time however, the animals were people and there was no North Star nor moss to guide your way.

        “You were talking about more classic. This place has some clothes I think you might really like.”    

        Walking in, there were rows of all sorts of clothes including fitted and paper bag pants, pencil skirts, turtle necks in some places, tweed jackets, blazers, sweatshirts, hoodies, and almost anything you could have desired. You gawked at the sight and started wandering off on your own to explore the vast new area you had found. Slowly, you took what you thought looked best and gained an eventual plethora of clothing articles before heading off into the dressing room with Barbra in close pursuit.

        “What do you think about this?” You asked stepping out in an outfit you had put together from the clothes you’d picked.

        “I like it. I like it a lot. I do think though, that we might be able to add some jewelry to spice it up a bit.” She replied, “Change back and then we can go jewelry hunting.”

_______________________________________________________________________

        Once outside of the dressing room, you and Barbra checked out and went into the jewelry store that was down the hall and across the walk way on the second floor which you were already on. You headed inside and were immediately drawn to some plated jewelry. It was simple and elegant, just what you were looking for.

        “These look nice.” You gestured to some, your own ring on your finger flashing some in the light. It was an ever so slightly worn gold ring that you wore on your right ring finger. On it had intricate braided designs and a symbol that represented an eternal bond or promise.      

        “I didn’t notice you had a ring already, it’s very beautiful. You were allowed to keep it?” Barbra questioned pointing it out.

        “Thank you. But no, actually, I’ve had this ring, and smaller versions of this ring as I grew up. They were given to Damian and I when we were young. It is a symbol of promise. I’m his right hand, I go where he goes, and stay where he stays. Think of it as a contract of sorts, or maybe even a wedding ring. It’s just a daily reminder of my place.” You explained.

        “Interesting. Was there anything you did keep or was this is?” She asked.

        “I um.” You fiddled with something around your neck, “A necklace from my parents. It’s a moon and stars, the only thing I have from before the league really. The piece was the only thing I could keep.”

        She didn’t ask any more questions, instead opting for the task of browsing for jewelry. You picked out a few pieces, some with jewels and others just plated and empty. Barbra picked up a black watch to throw into the mix saying that it goes well with everything. You didn’t really doubt her. There was no reason to thus far. Once you left the store though, the two of you started to notice shopping’s effects and how the pastries and coffee had worn off.

        “I’d say we try the restaurant down the block. It’s got some really great options and I think you might really like the burgers there.”

        “It sounds like a decent plan.”

_______________________________________________________________________

        You and Barbra walked inside of the place. Inside there were booths and tables along with a bar and waiting area. It was the run of the mill nicer business which thankfully, quickly got you seated. With drinks and even food ordered, there was a silence. It was kind of uncomfortable and awkward, you weren’t the greatest with social skills and starting conversations with new people. Damian wasn’t either which made it so easy to be around him. Well, at least when you weren’t fighting. You sighed thinking about it.

        “You’ve got that look on your face.” Barbra noted making you snap out of your thoughts.

        “Look?”

        “I know that you have just arrived and have much on your mind, however, you have that “boy issue” look plastered all over your face.” “Did something happen between you and Damian?”

        You weighed your options. Typically, these things worked themselves out. Damian wouldn’t be able to be rid of you unless he killed you and that would breach one of the highest codes of honor in the league. Typically though, these arguments were stupid or at least simpler like too many missions or being hurt on the field. This time, his grandfather had died as a result.

        You huffed some and took a deep breath, “Damian and I were in an argument last night because of my mission. I have been assigned since day one a location and route that would take him to Gotham in case something like what did happen, happened. For years, I’ve trained for this like some prepare for Armageddon. However, Ra’s al Ghul died in the battle. He blames himself mostly but also claims I have some part in it. Although, I think he might have changed that outlook since the fight last night.”

        Barbra looked shocked at what you told her, “Ra’s al Ghul is dead?”

        “Correct.” You answered grimly, “Heavy arrow fire took him.” “And, you don’t have to give your condolences, I know of what has happened at his hands and how that is viewed.”

        She nodded, “So you and Damian have just been avoiding each other all morning hoping that this all blows over?”

        “Precisely.” You sighed, “I for one know that this might never be worked out if there isn’t a final confrontation on the matter at hand however, I’m not quite sure how to approach that.”

        “Well from what I’ve seen, it might be best to just be straight forward with him. Letting this drag on and on isn’t going to solve anything whatsoever.”

        “I would have to agree with you Gordon. You have my appreciation.”

        “It’s no problem.” She smiled some.

        “I do have one concern and the only reason I’m mentioning it is because I trust my instincts and they tell me you can be trusted.” You said.

        “That is?”

        “How, how are we supposed to adjust to a different culture, life, policies, and circumstances in a matter of a few weeks. I mean I assume that Bruce will introduce us to the public and then with the blink of an eye, we’ll be out in public being swarmed by the media. I worry about Damian’s more impulsive and temperamental behavior with the newer surroundings and how he will cope. I think it will be difficult for the both of us to start abiding to certain ... rules if you know what I mean.”

        Barbra didn’t comment for a few seconds and instead took what you were saying all in.

        “I cannot say that I understand your position. I can say though, that I think that you of all people are more than capable of doing this. From what I have seen, you know what is best for the two of you and will stick to those beliefs, you’ve got the mindset of a fighter and strategist. Whether it be training or even turning away from some of it, I think you will find a way to adjust. And I know that it’s hard to trust people at first. That part I understand, however if you need anything, Alfred and I are always there.” She explained carefully almost washing away all of your fears.

        “Thank you.”

_______________________________________________________________________

        You and Barbra were back at the manor now. Alfred had taken your new clothes for cleaning and you had your new room decorations and jewelry to put into place. You didn’t get many things seeing as the room already decently matched what you felt most comfortable with, however you were not going to protest against a few touches of your own.

        Once upstairs, you closed the door and got your new record player set up. Picking one that looked the most suitable and got to work making things as you pleased. You hadn’t noticed how much the time had passed before there was a knock at your door. You turned the music off and opened it to reveal Alfred with an assortment of clothes on hangers and another stack of freshly pressed and folded clothes.

        “I have your new garments ready to be put away.” He informed you.

        “Thank you, I can put them away myself.”

        “It is no problem Miss. L/N.” He handed you the clothes, “Dinner shall be ready at 6pm sharp.”

        “I understand.”

        Once he had left, you closed the door only and started putting items away only for another knock to interrupt you once more.

        “Yes?” You opened the door again, “Oh... hello demon.”

        “General- L/N, I wanted to talk to you about last night.” He said almost sheepishly.

        “Very well. You may enter.” You closed the door behind him, not wanting anyone else to hear the conversation.

        “I must apologize, my actions of last night were impulsive and guided by misjudgment from the events that have taken place prior to now.” Damian sat at your bed as you were still putting away clothes in the closet, “I stepped out of my place questioning your choices because I did not know under the circumstances they were made.” “You did nothing wrong.”

        “I accept your apology Damian.” You said making him almost sigh in relief, “I understand where the outburst came from.” “As cheesy as it might sound, I have thought over what happened last night.” You went and sat down at the end of the bed and looked him in the eyes, “The only thing we can really do now is stick together. We have no one else here that knows about where we came from and the worst choice we can make for ourselves in splitting apart. Especially over a recent quarrel or smaller dispute.”

        “I agree.”

        There was a small passing of silence, “Just promise me that you will try everything you can to make adjusting as easy as it can be on yourself. It will be a challenge, but you don’t have to do it alone. We’re both in the same boat on this one Damian.”

        “I promise, just as you have done so many other times before.”

        There was a small ringing from the phone you had gotten at the mall.

        “That means it is time for dinner.” You got up and turned off the alarm quickly before walking towards the door, “After supper I expect to see you for some sparring?”

        “I will be there.”

_______________________________________________________________________

        You and Damian were sitting next to each other at the dinner table. It was awkward and quite for some time, no one really wanting to bring any conversation up.

        “So how did you feel about Gotham Y/N?” Bruce asked you trying to start some sort of conversation.

        “It was fine.” You replied, “it’s comparable to a darker version of Chicago with a hint of New York.”         “When did you go to either one of those cities?” Dick asked inhaling his food.

        “I went to Chicago on a mission a year ago and New York three years ago.” You replied, “It was only for two nights at maximum.” “The people are strange though.”

        Your comment made everyone either smirk or chuckle which lightened the mood a bit. You could tell that Damian was uncomfortable in this newer situation however. He wasn’t one for talking to those if he wasn’t bragging about something. You never commented on it while he was doing it, only glaring some to get your message across to him. He’d typically get to a stopping place but on the rare occasions he wouldn’t, you’d actively end the conversation or bite your tongue to keep from saying anything regretful.

        “I took Y/N to that joint near the mall you told me to go to Bruce. It was good.” Barbra commented.

        “Agreed.” You responded, “We also picked up a great plethora of items from the shopping center. Thank you for letting me go. It is greatly appreciated.”

        “You are most welcome Y/N.” Bruce replied with a look of approval showing on his face, “And Damian, because you have opted not to go out with one of the boys, Alfred has had a selection of items delivered to the manor. They should have arrived already.”

        “Yes, they did father.” Damian said quickly, giving you a slight glance.

Damian’s POV:

        You seemed to be adjusting well. It was typical of you to take what you understood of your circumstances and adapt so quickly. You were just like that. He’d always admired it but right now, it was strange seeing you as the best adapted like you were. The strange distant feeling of seeing you not in armor or commanding a squad got to Damian. New surroundings like this were uncomfortable and unpredictable. He watched you fake your every move like it was nothing, the way that you carefully examined everything around you intrigued him. Then again, you were doing too well. He knew you were covering something. Old habits, old nightmares along as new ones, new yet familiar styles in the way you dressed, he saw your walls hold higher, most of the ones you “dropped” were mere props in the way you played. You’d always said life was a game or a gamble anyways, you just had to know how to play it.

        The conversations at the table were forced. At the Leauge, typically there were either no conversations, or they were over missions and training. Though, it’s not like he really enjoyed any of it to begin with. He reached over just enough so that no one would noticed and lightly tapped your leg.

        “most forced conversation I’ve had.” He tapped in a shorter way of speech than typical with Morse code.

        “same.” You answered back quickly, “wonder how long we’ll be here.”

        “hours.”

        “very funny demon.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Your POV:

        Damian was right, it did feel like hours. You didn’t really know when it was alright to leave, so you stayed until Bruce left. He was sitting at the head of the table, so he was in control of when you could leave. At least, that was how it was when you were raised in the foster care system. Damian left when you did and you both got suited up for sparring. You two met up outside of your own rooms when you were done, swords, daggers, and armor in all. If someone wasn’t familiar with the situation, they would have thought you were coming from a dress up party or cosplaying in some sense. That would have been insulting to you if you didn’t care about keeping your cover.

        “Woah there kiddoes, where are you two heading dressed like that?” Dick asked coming down the hallway.

        “Daily sparring.” You answered sharply.

        “With all of that?” Steph chose to comment as well.

        “Correct.” You continued, “They are merely swords and a few items of weaponry, nothing that should be too out of the ordinary seeing as you have the regular superhumans or even super heroes coming in and out regularly.”

        Dick nodded and let you two through after Steph got him to stop pestering you two with questions. You and Damian exchanged looks of distaste in regards to your interaction. Rolling your eyes, you continued, eventually making it to the cave. Once on the mat, you started training. There was no conversation at first. There didn’t need to be. You’d always thought that if there was no room for conversation, there was no need to squeeze it in. If conversation wanted to add more space, it would naturally.

        “So, how are you?” You asked, “Adjusting wise.”

        Damian looked around some before responding to make sure no one was there, “I am doing as well as I can be. I find that we are being underworked in responsibilities however. It’s boring here.” “You seem to be adjusting well.”

        “In standards of not beheading the shrubbery,” You smirked at the glare he gave you, “I’m... just testing the waters at this point.” “It feels strange not having a squad to command, I don’t like it that much but it is what it is.”

        You didn’t reveal everything or really anything close to the most. What you were supposed to do anyways? It’s not like you were going to reveal all of your struggles in one training session. You weren’t ready or willing to do that anytime soon. Deep down though, everything felt wrong. Not having your position anymore was just the surface of your issues. The constant urge to pull yourself back into your old habits was overwhelming. At a strange noise, you found yourself reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. When someone tried to talk to you, you immediately put even more walls up trying to figure out what they wanted to really know. You needed action and something to focus on besides keeping up some imagine like you always did. At night or in the moments you were alone, the constant shadow of your former self was there to greet you like a figment of your worst flashbacks. You knew exactly what was wrong, you just didn’t know how to express it because of the quantity in which your problems amounted in. So, for now, you’d keep it to yourself.

        “Understandable.” He said pinning you down to the mat.

        You went to flip him over and then stopped in mid motion where he didn’t hesitate to take you down before standing up.

        “That was far below your own expectations for yourself in combat Y/N.” He said offering a hand up.

        You felt your fight or flight mode kick in the moment everything happened thinking back to the arrows falling from the sky. Taking a deep breath, you reminded yourself of where you were. There were no arrows flying. No screaming from those around you. You looked around to reassure yourself before hearing someone come up silently from behind you.

        “Hey love birds.” Dick said loudly walking up behind you.

        You felt him go for a pat on the back. Clearly, he was just being stupid for the time being but you could control what you did. Taking the man by the wrist, you used all of your force and some of his own weight against him to slam him over you onto the mat. The rush of adrenaline faded when you saw who it was laying on the mat groaning in pain.

        “Holy shit.” He mumbled.

        Damian’s jaw dropped to the floor seeing you pull something like that. You snapped out of your temporary trance and immediately extended your hand to help him up.

        “M-my apologies. I mistook you for someo-“

        He stopped you, “No it’s fine. Should’ve known not to do anything too sudden like that.” Dick looked at you for a second, “You put up a fight Y/N. Although, I wouldn’t expect anything less from a high general.”

        You sighed some at the comment, “Thank you. I must be leaving now.”

        The two watched you swiftly head up the stairs. You made sure to travel through the manor as quietly and quickly as possible. The last thing you needed was for anyone to try to touch or talk to you. Once you made it to your bedroom, you immediately grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the shower. A hot shower was the only thing you thought would help. At least, that’s what you were hoping.

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@idkmanicantenglish​ @queengeorgiaaa​ @lucy-roo​ @reclusive-chicken-nugget

I have a weird scenario and i want to ask about its implications, mostly focusing on soliditary confinement aspects. So I am writing about this all powerful being who is immortal+eternally youthful (with a human like mind) who gets trapped in basically a big snowglobe created by his powers. Its a big mostly open space set inside a forest with a magic mansion to occupy him and provide him basic needs and the limits of the globe are very defined. {1/4}

{Weird anon} After some time alone he comes to create a friend to accompany him and make sure everything goes well during his absence using his powers. This friend can and does leave for periods of time to fullfill his duties but comes back. The being also realises during his imprisonment his powers dwindle with time and the globe starts to get smaller as he starts to age, meaning he will either die from old age or the globe shrinking. {2/4} {WA}After what he thinks must be a long time, his graying hair biggest indication, kids who knew about his legend come to discover him. They then bring him their older sibling, then their parents to talk and after some plot he gets to get some of his powers back and be free. (Posting my questions in the last part) {3/4} {WA} I was wondering if the confinement area being comfy and big, him having this friend would help during confinement? How could he react to aging/idea of dying? Although this isnt very possible in RL, could the fact he had to create this friend ,but mostly the fact he would have no one else if he didnt, get to him? How could he interract with kids/people who found him, i know people tend to have difficulty with interractions after time. Ty for your help! {4/4} {WA EXTRA} Forgot to mention these but 3 kids are 10 to 12, older sibling is 14-15, parents are mid thirties . Again, thank you for your time.

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That’s an interesting fantasy scenario (and not even close to the weirdest thing I’ve been asked) thank you for sharing it :)

 I think the first thing to grasp is that this character isn’t constantly in solitary confinement here and that’s a smart writing choice. You’ve got the character creating at least one companion and even though that companion isn’t always present that means it’s likely they’re both getting at least 1-2 hours of contact most of the time.

 That doesn’t mean this isn’t a stressful situation and it doesn’t mean there are no periods of solitary confinement.

 But it gives you leeway to make the effects of this fairly realistic even with the fantasy concept.

 Having a big, comfortable space doesn’t really make a difference to how well people deal with isolation. Socialising is a physical need for social species like humans. But the presence of a companion makes the world of difference.

 I think the first thing to decide is exactly how long it takes him to make his companion. A lot of people really overestimate the time we can withstand isolation.

 For reference the safe period is about a week. After that most people will start to show symptoms and the symptoms are a lot more likely to persist after release. A month is more then enough time for the character to be seriously effected. A year is a really extreme amount of time. And by the time you start getting to multiple years the chances of suicide attempts are… significant.

 With the kind of story you’re describing I get the impression you want long term effects but don’t want symptoms etc to take over the story. I think 1-3 months is a perfect time frame for that. The character would develop long term symptoms but it’s still in the realm where it’s survivable. Which means it’s less likely to take over the whole narrative.

 You’ve probably seen my masterpost on solitary confinement but here it is again just in case :) I really recommend Shalev’s Sourcebook on Solitary Confinement which is linked as one of the sources on the post.

 As with the symptoms of torture more generally you’ve got some scope to choose symptoms because not everyone will experience every single symptom. There’s still some debate about how common individual symptoms are. However broadly depression and anxiety seem to be very common and hallucinations are less common (though they seem to become more likely the longer someone is confined). It’s a good idea to pick a mix of physical and psychological symptoms.

 If you choose insomnia as a symptom remember that sleep deprivation also causes problems which you can read about in the masterpost here.

 If this is your first time writing something like this then picking out symptoms can be daunting. I try to think of it in terms of what adds to the story. I try to consider the characters, plot and overall themes. Symptoms that give you opportunities to show aspects of the character’s personality, change their relationship with other characters, highlight themes in the story and/or create interesting problems in the plot later on are all good picks.

 It’s also important to consider what you’re comfortable writing and what you feel able to write. If you don’t want to write self harm for example that’s a perfectly good reason for ruling out that symptom.

 I have a post that outlines my process for picking symptoms that might be helpful for you. :)

 I think that brings us round to the more fantasy side of the questions.

 I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know how people generally deal with the idea that they’re going to die soon. I suspect that there’d be a lot of individual variation. I think you’ll get the best answers by looking up charities that support people with terminal illnesses.

 I found a couple of links at Marie Curie that might serve as a starting point. There’s this page on palliative care. This general page (with lots of links and first hand accounts) of living with a terminal illness. You might find this page about emotionally processing a terminal diagnosis helpful.

 I would treat the emotional issues around the created companion the same as a character who is reliant on only one person for their social needs. Which can put a lot of weird strains on a relationship.

 I’m not a psychologist and what I say here is based on impressions I gained from interviews with people who are very isolated. If you see a mental health professional or someone who studies isolation more seriously saying something different take their word over mine. Because my reading and knowledge is broad rather then deep.

 Relying on one person for all your social needs isn’t healthy. We all have different needs and it’s a lot easier for those needs to be met when we’re interacting with more then one person. Being entirely reliant on one person puts a lot of pressure on that person. It can make it seem like any problems or issues the more isolated person has are the other person’s fault.

 Because they’re not magically meeting all of someone’s needs. And I say ‘magically’ because it’s almost impossible for one person to do the ‘job’ of a dozen people.

 There can be a lot of guilt, resentment and anger floating around in this sort of dependant relationship. Even when both parties are genuinely trying their best and trying to be healthy.

 Any depressive period or severe mood swing on the part of the reliant character might be interpreted as failure by the companion. As if it’s their job to ‘fix’ the mental health problems he has. And that can lead to a lot of internalised guilt and shame.

 Conversely being aware of how dependant he is could make the confined character resent the comparative freedom of his companion. They get to leave. They’ll survive the end of this snow-globe. They’ve never had to be alone as he was.

 The companion has a lot of power in this scenario because the confined character is entirely reliant on them. They also have the power to leave. Knowing that can breed resentment, whether it’s rational or not. And if it’s irrational and ‘undeserved’ that can lead to a degree of self hatred and guilt.

 For both parties anger at each other and the situation seems likely. Not necessarily all the time but I think it’s likely to come up over and over again.

 The companion has their own desires and wants. But the confined character is entirely dependant on them and may well expect them to drop everything to help him/meet his socialisation needs. And the thing is that’s unfair on both of them, because the situation is unfair.

 That’s not a critique of the story. It’s unfair for the confined character to expect the companion to be able to meet all his needs and to drop everything to help him. But it’s also not unreasonable for the confined character to grasp at his only option for fulfilling a fundamental need.

 I think that if you wanted to treat this ‘realistically’ then it would lead to a pretty unhealthy co-dependant relationship however much both characters tried to avoid that.

 But you do have the ability to reduce or avoid that in your story. Because you choose the rules for how this companion feels, acts and behaves.

 The confined character may be human-like but in a lot of ways the companion does not have to be. A realistic human-like person would not be able to support all the social needs of another person. But there’s no reason the companion has to be that human.

 If you do choose to deviate from a more human-like character I think my advice would be to think through any changes you make logically. And be consistent. If for instance the character can’t feel angry or resentful towards their creator think through what that might mean.

 Which leaves the final question about interacting with others and how difficult that can be after periods of isolation.

 The exact way this effects interactions depends chiefly on the symptoms you pick out and the character’s personality.

 Generally mentally ill people do not want to be assholes or upset other people. But we do tend to have greater difficulties interacting with people and our social interactions can go badly in ways that healthy people don’t tend to experience.

 For instance say we have a character who has a severe anxiety disorder and this disorder is often set off by noises they don’t expect. That’s a fairly common symptom and a fairly common trigger for it.

 That means that kids running around, shouting or just talking loudly about something that excites them, could set off an anxiety attack.

 Some people would get angry in that situation. Because they’re in pain and, even though they did not mean to, those kids ‘caused’ that pain.

 Some people would abruptly remove themselves from the situation. Which could leave the kids wondering why/how they upset their new friend so much.

 Some people would stick around and not blame the kids. But they might have visible signs of their anxiety attack that could be very frightening for a child who doesn’t understand what’s going on. If an adult they care about suddenly starts shaking and breathing hard and needs to sit down and looks pale- Well worry is natural. And it’s difficult to explain triggers/mental health problems while you’re in the middle of an anxiety attack.

 So there’s a set of issues that are symptom driven and around the extra difficulties interacting while mentally ill. There’s also a set of issues around… basically forgetting how to socialise.

 This doesn’t necessarily mean being age in-appropriate.

 I think the best way to think about it is a combination of finding it harder to interpret other people’s emotional cues and being less aware of the cues they’re sending out themselves. It might take longer for the character to realise they’ve upset someone or they might misidentify the other person’s emotional response.

 They might also think less before they speak. Which can mean things like- I guess not moderating what they say to account for other people’s feelings? They might come across as blunt or thoughtless or scatter brained as they jump from one topic to another. They might also have less of a grasp of when to give the other person space and let them speak.

 The biggest thing I see survivors of solitary report is that normal social interaction makes them much more anxious/nervous then it did before they were confined. Socialising has a bigger ‘cost’ then before, in terms of energy and emotional impact.

 And this often means they withdraw from it more quickly. They need to take breaks. Or they start getting more stressed and frustrated.

 I think the main thing to navigate here would be how to explain these conditions and needs to children in a way that doesn’t seem like it’s blaming the kids. Which is certainly possible, but can take some time and care to get right.

 I think I’ll leave it there and if you’ve got any further questions drop them in when the ask box reopens. I hope that helps :)

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Disclaimer

Hey can I get some headcanons of your relationship with your F/O parents bc y’all are such a cute family dynamic and I wanna hear more about how you all interact🥰💗

and @arianatheangelworld 

asdfghjkl; omgggg~ you’re all gonna kill me asghj 🥺😭😭thank you darlings omggg ~ 🥰🥰🥰💗 I hope that you all enjoy this, it’s always so bittersweet but also so comforting and fun to explore my dynamic with my parental F/Os and, well... isn’t that the point of it all?💖 Thank you thank you thank you for supporting and enabling me omggg ~ 💙😊

Word count: 3, 184 (holy shit I am so sorry... not😂)

It’s a quiet life, but there’s lots of underlying tensions beneath it all.

By quiet, I mean because I spend my days in my bedroom studying (not so far from reality, these relationships😂) but there are underlying tensions because no one in the household knows who Edward Hyde really is - it’s a secret between my parents and I. 

What that means is that it’s tricky for Papa and myself to spend time with one another if other members of the household are awake - as far as they are concerned, Father is my parent and so is Mama, and Papa has no part in that. So as you can imagine, questions would be raised if Papa and I are caught spending too much time together (plus, this is set in the Victorian Era, so you can imagine the scandal of an unmarried twenty-three year old woman spending lots of time alone in a room, unchaperoned, with a man old enough to be her father...)

This is why Papa and I only have our time together late into the night, when said members of the household have gone to bed and it’s only my parents and I who are awake. It’s safer for all of us that way - it protects Father and his name, his reputation and his career, which in turn protects the household members from being turned out onto the streets due to a lack of employment and this in turn protects Father’s family, who always come first.

From the moment I wake up, my parents are there. As you’ve probably gathered from previous posts, I sleep with my parents a lot so it isn’t unusual for me to wake up with one of them. Rare and special occasions mean that I get to wake up with Mama and either Father or Papa. 

Mama’s always up by five in the morning or she’ll fall behind on her chores so if she’s the one I slept with in the night, then I’ll get up when she does. She always insists that I go back to bed and that I go to sleep, but I rarely do. I much prefer to have those early hours with her so that I can help her with her chores and maybe, if I’m very lucky... I’ll get to be the one who takes Father his breakfast tray so that I get to see him early in the morning and so that I can crawl into his bed and get me some extra cuddles before I start my day.

If I sleep in with Father, then the opposite happens and I’m woken up when he gets brought his breakfast tray (7 AM on the dot!), and of course I end up getting up when he does because even though he won’t kick me out of his bed, he also knows that if he leaves me to my own devices in a soft, warm bed, I’ll end up falling asleep until noon and then I’ll beat myself up about it, so he makes sure I am awake and up before he’s done with his breakfast (and if Mama knows I slept in with Father, she’ll bring me some breakfast too!) to save me any emotional distress. 

Father always wakes me up gently... up until a certain point. He will shake me gently while saying my name, which usually gets a sleepy groan from me. Then, it’s onto talking, with his voice going from a whisper and increasing in volume until he’s just above his normal speaking level. He never raises his voice at me and we all know why. If that doesn’t work, then Father will just “accidentally” pull the covers off of me. He isn’t subtle, but he also isn’t mean about it, and if I do genuinely need some more sleep, then he will let me have that. But for the most part, he makes sure that I’m up once he is on the nights I’m in his bed.

I never ever get to wake up with Papa. It just doesn’t happen for various reasons. Firstly, because Papa’s constantly moving around like a lion stuck in a cage and he loves me dearly but not enough to stay in one place for more than a few hours unless he’s already sleeping. Secondly, because he can’t be caught in my bed or vice versa by anyone other than Mama to protect Father’s name etc. Thirdly, I may wake up to Papa crawling into my bed or easing himself in his own if I fell asleep in his bed, but I don’t ever get to start my day with Papa. Our time is night time and that has to be non-negotiable. It does upset me if I wake up in an especially needy mood, but Father and Mama will get me through the day in the meantime.

Mama likes to sneak me items of Papa’s or Father’s clothing to wear when I go to bed. She’s not supposed to but Mama is sleight of hand and I can be quick when I need to be. She and I often have silent conversations in a crowded room and all it takes is for Mama to “accidentally” make a noise, like a quick scuffing of her boot on the floor or for her knuckles to make a noise against the wooden table and I just look at her.  Mama catches my eye and then gives me A Look before she turns back to her ironing. I walk past and at the point where our lower bodies are hidden by the ironing board, she stuffs an unironed shirt in my hand (usually Papa’s) and I walk off, the shirt stowed away under my arm and then placed for safe-keeps under my pillow for the night time. Sometimes it might be one of her night-dresses, but I am comfier in either Papa or Father’s clothes.

There are so many secrets between myself and my parents which are kept from the other members of the household. Between all three of us, we manage it as best as we can, though I have no doubt that the others think we're a little odd. 😊

There are periods which are weeks long where Father is so busy in his laboratory that no one sees him. It's communication .via. letters on the stairs and that's all anyone hears from him. Mama and I worry immensely but Father's always been this way and all we can do is be patient and wait for him. He's a workaholic and he often makes himself sick from all of the working and everyone in the household knows what to do when these times arise, which are getting more frequent as Father gets older.

In especially bad times, even Mama won't be able to get through to Father. I get upset if that's the case, because if he shuts away the one person he loves above all else, it's a serious warning sign. Mama and I have a pact that if she can't get through, then I will. Father is always so protective of me, and now it's my turn to protect him. I take this very seriously, understandably so, and I wait up until two or three in the morning, so late that even Mama's gone to bed and is sleeping. I wait in his study for that time, reading one of his old medical journals, and then I go downstairs, out the back door, and into the laboratory.

It's freezing in there because there's where Father used to carry out dissections and lectures back before his illness (never canonically diagnosed but it's believed to be depression or similar) got worse, so I always take him his old smoking jacket (which doubles as my blanket when I take naps in his study). By this time in the night, Father will be so tired and sleep-deprived that he's more likely to be honest with me, and it's for this reason that I also stayed up so late - Father will assume I'm unable to sleep because I'm so worried about him, and while that's true, it's also because I know him well enough to know what time of night is best for an intervention. Yes, it's slightly manipulative on my end of things, but I am my Papa's daughter and it's with good intentions so I don't linger on this thought for too long. It won't do me any good and my Father's most important. I'd do anything for him.

I find Father where I knew he would be - scribbling in a journal by candlelight, his fingers covered in ink, his hair a mess, yawning every few seconds. A cold plate of mutton is left forgotten by his elbow, only half eaten. I'm just like him when I study so I don't lecture my Father on his bad eating habits -he and I have the same work ethic so I would be a hypocrite to tell him off for something he usually tells me off for. I announce myself by putting his smoking jacket over his shoulders. Father pulls the jacket around himself with a shiver and I smile. You're welcome.

"You should be in bed, Erika." Father frowns in disapproval and I almost want to call him out on his hypocrisy.

"So should you," My tone is sharp with worry and frustration and Father takes a moment to look at me - I never speak to him like this. "Mama's really worried about you. So am I. We haven't seen Papa for weeks, and we - " Just like always, my anger turns to upset and I move away, trying not to cry.

"Erika." I turn back to my Father and I see that he has tears in his eyes, too. He's hurting and even though he's been trying to find a cure for years, he's never been able to find one which really helps him. "I am sorry, I - my work, it is. Well, let's not discuss the details." A pause. Neither of us know what to do, even when there is no one to see or hear us. "Come here." He pats his lap and I make a happy noise, which makes him smile. I love sitting on my Father's lap - it's been something I've done ever since I was a child and it always makes me feel so safe.

I go and I sit on my Father's lap (and have a quiet cry - he knows but he doesn't say anything about it because he doesn't want to embarrass me) and he continues to work, but as the hours drag on and we both get increasingly tired, Father knows that the time for working is over. On these nights when I manage to find my Father in his own mind and pull him back with just my presence (and my very existence is a reminder of what he holds most dear), I also spend the night in his bed.

"Thank you, Erika, for..." Father trails off, but I know what he's saying to me.

I snuggle into his bed, feel my Father kiss my forehead and whisper his love, and then I sleep.

The night is half the battle - getting Father to take a break tomorrow morning will be an even bigger battle, but by then Mama will be awake and we'll work together to save Father from himself.

It's not the first or the last time, but all of us in the family have our Own Moments which require special attentions and solutions, and we love each other even harder during those times.

The reunion with Papa after getting Father to take a break from his weeks of working always makes me cry, too.

Over the years, it's become almost a... tradition, of sorts, for Papa to greet me this way after a long separation.

I could be doing anything - reading in Father's study, writing in my bed, studying at my desk - and all of a sudden, out of nowhere -

"Erika."

Whispered so casually, so quietly, but my entire body freezes. I know that voice anywhere. I drop whatever I'm doing, I tear up, and I turn, slowly...

Papa's smirking at me, a cold and calculative look in his eyes, but I'm not afraid. I'm not even nervous. Anyone else would make me step back with this look, but not Papa. No.

"Oh, my - Papa!" I step forward into his embrace and I melt into the parent I've been missing most of all. I cry, of course I do, and Papa says nothing about it (he and Father aren't so different at all, once you get to know them, though I'd never tell them that. Or Mama. It's a thought I keep entirely to myself.) because he doesn't see why he should need to; he only holds me tighter.

I can almost hear his fond eye roll and it makes me smile.

"It's difficult to understand someone who is entirely incapable of asking for what he most wants, wouldn't you agree? You're the only one he listens to," our daughter.

There is pride in Papa's voice but just like always, I can hear what he doesn't say, just as he hears what I don't say. It's just how it is between us; Papa and I have a level of understanding between us which we don't have with anyone else.

That night, Papa sleeps in my bed with me. I'm never ready to say goodbye to him, or goodnight, either. The following conversation is a nightly ritual because of this:

"Just five more minutes, Papa?"

"I'll be here tomorrow night. you know that. Sleep, child."

"But - "

"Erika."

A warning. No one else receives warnings from the Edward Hyde and lives to tell the tale. So I listen.

"Fine." I know he will be with me tomorrow night. "Stay with me 'til I fall asleep?"

Papa sighs, rolls his eyes, and pointedly lays down, watching me the whole time. I couldn't hide my smile if I tried, so I don't even bother to - Papa taught me to show my emotions and to not hide them.

"Goodnight, Erika."

"'Night, Papa. Love you."

A kiss on the top of my head, and all else fades to black.

My parents and I are very physically affectionate with one another and it's... unusual, especially if you consider the fact that it's in the Victorian Era, but the members of the household find it touching. They get hugs and affection, too! Even if they don't necessarily know how to react to it, they still do get their hugs in the morning and late at night just before they all go to bed (which is between 10 and 11, whereas I go to bed anywhere from midnight to 3 AM).

If I have a nightmare or a bad dream, I am at total liberty to climb into any bed in the house, but of course I make a beeline typically for Mama's bed. She knows nightmares well and she'll simply hold me until I feel safe, and then she'll hold me some more because I get clingy and I don't like letting go. There's been times I've cried because she let me go before I was ready for the cuddle to be over (though those times were when I was much younger) so now she just lets me decide for myself when I've had enough.

With the way I sleep with my hair in two braids, I always get a mass of tangles at the back of my head. Always. I hate it and it always makes me hesitant to brush my hair, which is now midway down my back (so I can’t not brush my hair every day), because I know it’s gonna hurt me. I’ll brush the front parts of my hair and I’ll try to brush the knots out, but it hurts so I stop and I don’t want to brush my hair. 

A part of me is always tempted to just leave it, but at the same time I know from previous experience that hair knots can and will get worse, so during these times I’ll take my brush to Mama. She’s always so gentle, not just with me, but also just in her nature. 

She is such a tender-hearted person and I admire her so deeply for that. She’s incredibly busy so typically I’ll leave brushing my hair until the evening, when she has more time to help me. I don’t always ask her for help with my hair, so when I do, she knows immediately that it’s because I really can’t do it myself.

“Mama, there’s a - I have a knot. Can you help me?”

A small smile and she goes to get her wooden comb. It’s gentler on knots than my own hairbrush, which pulls more than it needs to, and we both know it. Mama is so gentle that it barely hurts me, and within minutes she’s done what I’ve delayed all day.

“How do you want it tonight, Erika? One braid or two?”

I fondly roll my eyes - like she needs to ask. My smile is in my voice as I ask for two, and Mama and I get to spend some time with one another quietly enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes I return the favour by helping her brush out her hair, but she’s incredibly self-sufficient and she largely prefers to do it herself. Which is fine... I’ll find other ways to help her!😊

“Thank you, Mama.” My words are doubled up with a tight hug, and then I’m ushered off to bed because it’s late and she’s exhausted.

I technically have three parents and each one fulfills a different need for me, so all together, they meet all of my needs and I try, I try to be a daughter that they can be proud of, that they can respect and that they can love unconditionally. I try so hard every day to live in a way to honour their places in my life.

There's nothing I wouldn't do for my parents. I would die for my parents, to give them a happy ending, to give them the time to be together, but in many ways... I am that happy ending, even if things aren't perfect. It's a fight sometimes to keep secrets exactly that, but we make it work. We have to.

I tell them each and every day that I love them, I hug them and cuddle them and help them out where I can, because they deserve the world.

They are my parents and I am very grateful to and for them. They have made me who I am today and they'll be with me forever, no matter where I go or what I do or who I become. I just hope that they'll continue to walk with me for the rest of my life, because I wouldn't be alive without them... in more ways than one.

Holding On, And Letting Go

request: Would you wanna write a Bucky imagine where he was sent to kill the reader when he was the winter soldier and he hurt and a few years later they meet again when she’s an avenger and she’s scared of him? Please make a fluffy ending!

pairing: Bucky x Reader

word count: 2500

warnings: just so much angst. also fluff at the end as per request! mentions of panic attacks, being shot, implied ptsd, ONE bad language word 

author’s note: okay first of all I AM SO SORRY it’s taken me so long to write this. I did not expect to get as many requests as have come through the past few days and it got me a lil overwhelmed so anyone who’s requested I AM WRITING IT i’m just a lil backlogged right now hehe.

More to the point, thank you so so so much anon for this amazing request, I love it so much I may even make a second part... Maybe even a third? Who knows. Anyway, hope you enjoy and stay fabulous my lovelies! ~ Toria <3

Tijuana, Mexico. July 24, 2011. 02:00.

“Fighter 1 this is Echo Sierra, where the hell is that medevac!?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes frantically scanning your surroundings. The team of Marines sent to extract you from your undercover op looked just as unnerved as you did. The rescue chopper was supposed to be here two minutes ago. But overhead, there was only silence.

“Fighter 1, do you copy?”

The sound of an explosion behind you made cry out, and you ducked for cover as the men surrounding you burst into action. Gunfire rang out around you like a chorus of thunder, making your heart rate soar as adrenaline took over. Over the coms, you heard Sergeant Mills frantic voice.

“It’s him.”

You let out a sob of despair, the scene in the street in front of you was like something out of a nightmare. Bodies littered the floor, Marines who had come here to save you, lifeless and bloody.

Your gaze was drawn from your hiding place to the end of the ally, where a lone man materialised from the raging fire of the destroyed building. He moved swiftly, taking out the advancing Marines with sickening efficiency and precision, before his eyes locked on you.

Eyes as blue and as furious as a maelstrom, raven black hair, metal arm…

Hydra’s fist. The one they all talked about, the Winter Soldier.

He’d found you.

You needed to get out of there. Now.

You were running… So much noise… So much blood… You couldn’t get away… Couldn’t get away from him… Eyes as blue and as furious as a maelstrom, raven black hair, metal arm…

A gunshot.

Searing pain, so much blood.

Then, only darkness.

Avengers Tower. April 15, 2017. 04:56.

The rhythmic sound of your first connecting with the solid leather of the punch bag in front of you echoed out around the gym. Accompanied only by the sound of your ragged breaths, the occasional grunt of frustration escaping your now dry lips.

You had been down here for hours, last you checked it was a little past four in the morning, but you’d given up keeping track. Sleep did not come easily to you these days, and you figured you may as well make use of your insomnia by getting in some extra training.

You had been preparing to be an Avenger for weeks now, and so far, you were acing every test they had thrown at you, particularly the physicals thanks to your late-night work outs. Everything was going perfectly as you worked towards joining the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

The only problem you’d encountered so far had arrived the day you’d been sat in the conference room, waiting to meet the mission partner you’d be assigned to, nerves and excitement making you practically vibrate in your chair. 

Oh, sweet blissful ignorance.

To say you were shocked when the Winter Soldier had walked through the door, would be the understatement of the millennium.

The scene that unfolded after your initial shock had subsided was… Far from your proudest moment, to say the least. It’s one thing to have a panic attack in front of a complete stranger, but in front of your new boss and the man who once tracked you all across Mexico and then put a bullet through your chest … Well, it certainly wasn’t going to make your ‘top five moments as an Avenger’ highlight reel.

It hadn’t taken long for Fury to reveal his knowledge of you and the Soldier’s past, nor had it taken him long to explain the fact that James Buchanan Barnes and the Winter Soldier, while sharing the same body, were technically not the same person. Or the fact that Barnes was now ‘cured’ and fighting the good fight. It certainly hadn’t taken long for you to say hell no and flee the room, hyperventilating and shaking head to toe, without looking back.

That had been three weeks ago, and ever since you had been studiously avoiding anywhere Barnes might be. You ate about ten blocks away from the tower, you only ventured into the gym during the early hours of the morning. Unfortunately, there was nothing you could do about being in the room next door to the guy, but at least it allowed to you keep track of when he was home and when he might be wandering the Tower corridors.

Eventually, you knew you’d either have to face him, or look for new employment. You two were mission partners after all, and after extensive conversations with Steve, Nat and the on-site therapist, you were now almost certain that what Fury had told you was true, and that Barnes was just as much a victim of the Soldier’s actions as you were.

But still, you couldn’t help the creeping sensation of dread, or the flashbacks you suffered, every time you caught sight of the man.

It was at that moment that the sound of the gym door swinging open and closed brought you out of your musings with a start, and you turned on your heel, eyes scanning the dimly lit room to identify the new arrival.

Your breath caught in your throat, your entire body practically electrified with fear and apprehension as you narrowed your eyes at the last person you wanted to appear in front of you in an empty room.

Barnes.

Just your damn luck.

As soon as his eyes raked over you, he froze, although his expression was entirely unreadable.

Your expression, on the other hand, may as well have come with sirens and a bullhorn screaming ‘danger, danger’.

With a sigh, Barnes raised his hands in a mock surrender, taking a tentative step into the room. You immediately took a step back.

“Y/N…Right?”

His voice was gravelly with exhaustion, and even from this distance you could see the black rims around his eyes. Clearly, the guy was as sleep deprived as you right now.

You nodded curtly, eyes hyper fixated on his every movement.

“I… Uh… Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d tire myself out. Would you mind? I’ll keep out of your way…”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. This really was far from the man who had murdered an entire squad of US Marines and left you with a gaping hole where a few ribs used to be.

When you offered him a tentative nod once more, he made his way towards the treadmill, and you could feel him tracking your every move from the corner of his eye. Clearly, he trusted you about as much as you did him.

The silence of the gym was practically deafening, and after a moment of mind-numbing panic, you found words leaving your lips of their own accord.

“Do you remember me?”

Barnes froze then, mid stride towards the machinery. Without so much as a glance in your direction, he spoke in a voice entirely void of emotion.

“No.”

You let out a breath you were unaware of holding, digging your nails into your palms painfully hard to keep from crying. When you spoke again, you could not keep the virulent anger from your tone.

“July 24, 2011. Tijuana. You were sent to kill me… Why?”

Barnes dropped his water bottle then, the sound of it crashing into the wooden flooring making you jump. He rounded on you, his eyes glassy and red, and you simply stared back, unable to keep the shock and apprehension from your face.

“I’ve read the file. But, like I said, I don’t remember.”

He let out an uneasy breath, moving to sit on one of the benches against the wall. You stayed put, trembling from head to toe, your mind entirely numb as you tried to process the fact he truly had no recollection of trying to kill you. Barnes continued.

“I don’t remember a damn thing. I wish I could, so I could give you answers. But I’ve got nothing for you, Y/N."

His eyes visibly darkened, clouded by years of torment, and for a while you both remained mute, both lost in your respective musings. However, eventually Barnes broke the silence with a tentative cough, and your eyes snapped up to meet his.

“Does it still hurt?”

He trailed off, gesturing towards your chest, where the scar of your last encountered lay. Snarling, a constant reminder of your pain. You nodded.

“Can I… Can I see it?”

You looked at him incredulously for a beat, and he faltered.

“It’s just… I may not ever be able to remember what I did to you, to those Marines. But, at the very least, before I apologise, I want to understand as best I can. Otherwise, it’s meaningless.”

He shrugged then, earnest gaze fixated on you, and despite yourself, almost as if in a dream, you found yourself moving towards him, eyes never leaving his as you approached.

Barnes raised himself from the bench, taking a few tentative steps in your direction. You paused briefly, contemplating the insanity of getting that close to the person who once tried, and very nearly succeeded in, killing you. But, a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach willed you on.

Give him a chance. Maybe, just maybe, you both need this.

With a short sigh, you stepped forward, coming to rest just centimetres from his chest. You swallowed hard, refusing to allow your gaze to stray away from his own for even a second, fear and apprehension causing a thin sheen of sweat across your forehead.

Barnes offered you a gentle half-smile, and you cleared your throat, tossing your hair over your shoulder to give him better access, staring stonily ahead. He searched your face for a moment more, looking for any sign of objection. When he found none, he tentatively reached out to push your tank top aside, to reveal the full extent of the injury.

You heard him take in a sharp breath, his thumb delicately tracing the lines of the scar tissue. Under his touch, you couldn’t help but note the increase in your heart rate, anxiety causing your whole body to shiver with apprehension.

He glanced at you apologetically, but you shook your head as he moved to back off. As nervous as it made you being in contact with him, you had to trust him, and he you. You were supposed teammates now, after all.

After a few more minutes of inspection, Barnes finally broke the silence once more, his voice raw with emotion.

“Y/N… I am so, so sorry…”

You exhaled deeply, gaze coming to rest on your scar. And the thumb of the man who put it there, gently caressing it, as if he could rub it away like a smudge on glass.

Except… He didn’t put it there… Technically…

You cleared you throat.

“You know for the longest time, I’ve hated you. For what you did, to me, to those Marines.”

You swallowed again, lifting your eyes to meet his own, studiously ignoring the way your body shivered from the intensity of the guilt in his look.

“And now?”

You could see the hurt, the years of torment, the sleepless nights, all of it shining through his gaze in that moment. From the mournful expectation in his tone, you could tell this was not a man familiar with being forgiven.

Could you forgive him, though?

You lost yourself in your inner turmoil for a moment. Undeniably, there was more to James Buchanan Barnes than met the eye. The man in front of you was not a heartless, killing machine. That much was obvious. But those fingers had squeezed the trigger. Those eyes had met your own coldly as you’d screamed for fallen comrades. It was quite the predicament.

After a few more seconds of debating, you settled your resolve. This was a new chapter in your life, and while you could not rectify the past any more than Barnes could, you could certainly work towards giving yourself, and maybe even him, a better future.

You sighed, meeting his gaze once more.

“I don’t hate you, Barnes. I’ll admit, being around you scares the shit out of me.”

He nodded sombrely, stepping away from you in defeat. You instinctively reached out to catch his hand in your own, holding him in place. Wide eyes met your gentle ones, and before Barnes could question you, you continued.

“But I understand now, that wasn’t you. I don’t want to be afraid anymore, and if you promise me I can trust you, Barnes, I’d like to get to know the real you.”

You offered him as sincere a half-smile as you could muster in that moment, dutifully ignoring the tear that was now rolling down your cheek.

Barnes stared at you in disbelief for a second, as if expecting the proverbial other shoe to drop. However, when your resolve did not waiver, the nodded slowly to himself, reaching out with his free, metal hand tentatively. You did not flinch as the cool metal glanced over your cheek, wiping the stray tear away with a gentleness that caught you entirely off guard.

“Bucky… You can just call me Bucky.”

Barnes’ voice- Bucky’s, voice was a barely-there whisper, so quiet you almost lost it in the silence of the gym hall. He offered you that half-smile again, only this time his eyes glittered hopefully in the dimness around you, and you found yourself captivated for a moment. Now that you weren’t on the defensive, you could truly appreciate just how beautifully the light from the hall beyond the gym door framed his profile, and you felt a slight warmth growing in your cheeks under his gaze.

The two of you spent the rest of the night in the gymnasium, talking until the sun came up. As the Tower began to come to life again under the first rays of dawn, the two of you walked side by side up to your shared floor, a planned day of training exercises and even lunch at Bucky’s favourite Italian place down the road ahead of you.

You couldn’t keep from smiling to yourself as you stood in the shower, readying yourself for the day ahead, as you considered the irony in how well you and Bucky actually got on, considering your prickly history.

This, you thought to yourself, could be the start of something interesting.

Perchance to Dream

Written for @gentronlegendaryfriendships

Day Three: Telepathic Bond | Crying in Front of the Other

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

​Prompt: Sleep Deprivation

Word Count: 5,092 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Characters: Keith & Lance Read on AO3 My house, my rules, my ko-fi

Story Summary:

In the stress-filled days following Shiro's disappearance, it becomes clear that Keith is in desperate need of a good night's sleep. Lance and the rest of the team are determined to find a way to make that happen.

It was understandable that Keith would be in a bad mood as of late. After all, now that Zarkon was out of commission, a lot of political matters across the galaxies were up in the air, and the paladins were constantly meeting with one planetary leader after another. They were still having to keep up with battles and missions, and although the Blade was lending its assistance wherever it could, it still felt like they were spread thin now that they were short one paladin, and battles were that much more difficult now that they couldn’t form Voltron.

And, of course, there was the matter of what Shiro’s absence meant for Keith.

The other paladins didn’t have a whole lot of detail about what Keith had gone through when Shiro had disappeared on the Kerberos mission, since Keith wasn’t exactly eager to share any details about his past with anyone, but there were some things he couldn’t hide, not when some of his teammates were witnesses to them. Like the fact that Keith had been expelled from the Garrison for disciplinary issues within a week of the news of Kerberos breaking, or the fact that he had been living in self-imposed isolation for a year afterward, with no sign of having had contact with any sort of family or friends or of any family or friends even existing, until Shiro had finally returned, whereupon he steadfastly took up the role of Shiro’s right-hand man while remaining stubbornly closed off to everyone else in the Castle of Lions.

So, some emotional regressing was probably inevitable, and the rest of the team had formed an unspoken agreement to let it slide when Keith was snappish with them, when he skipped group meals and bonding sessions, when he stormed out of meetings, when he’d take the Red Lion out on yet another fruitless search for any sign of Shiro without letting anyone else know he’d be gone.

It was understandable, sure, but that didn’t mean they weren’t allowed to be irritated by it. And Lance was accustomed to being irritated by Keith, so it wasn’t like this was anything new. Just more of the same.

And more of the same also meant more venting about his Keith-related frustrations to Pidge and Hunk, who were annoyingly not particularly receptive to hearing about it.

“Look,” Pidge told him during one of these rants, cutting him off right in the middle of a very impassioned tirade about Keith having rammed into his shoulder in the hallway earlier that day without even stopping to apologize, “I’d be annoyed too, but cut him some slack. He just lost his brother, again. He has the right to be in a bad mood.”

“A bad mood, sure,” Lance said. “But there’s a limit to mood badness we should be willing to tolerate. Not like he’s never been a grouch before, but now it’s at the point where it’s messing with public image and missions. And team morale.”

“Him shoulder-checking you in the hallway really screwed up your morale that badly?”

“There’s no fucking way he doesn’t know he owes me an apology,” Lance snapped. “He’s just intentionally being a dick.”

“You always say that when it comes to Keith.”

“It’s always true.” He sighed. “Come on, help me out. When you get into a really bad mood about the situation with your brother and dad, you still pull yourself out of it after a while. What’s the difference there, huh? What do you do that Keith doesn’t?”

Pidge bristled. “I don’t get into ‘bad moods’, it’s perfectly justifiable to be pissed the fuck off when a tyrannical empire kidnaps your family and - ”

“Hang on, whoa, I wasn’t saying it wasn’t justifiable!” Lance said hastily. “I was just - ”

“So, what, does it mess with your fucking morale when I get grumpy about - ”

“I think what Lance is trying to say,” Hunk cut in, “Is that, when you’re feeling extra upset about the whole setting, the anger still settles. It’s just not sustainable to stay so angry for a longer period of time, you’d completely burn out and wind up basically breaking down. You’re mad about the whole thing, and rightly so, but you temper it enough that it doesn’t keep you from functioning and interfere with daily life, right? Meanwhile, Keith’s temper’s been flaring a lot longer than is healthy. It’s no good for him to not be coping.”

“Yeah,” Lance said with a nod. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was gonna say.”

“Like hell it was,” Pidge muttered, but thankfully she let it go for now. “It’s not like I’m doing anything to work through the anger, really. Just, like you said, it burns out. Eventually I just gotta sleep it off, get some air, wait ‘til I can focus again.”

“Ah, okay, so Keith has to sleep it off,” Lance said. “I’m sure a nap will make everything all better again.”

“Hey, you asked how I deal, and I told you. Not my fucking problem if you don’t like the answer.”

“Well,” Hunk said slowly, “It… actually could help.”

Lance frowned over at him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s kind of a well-known fact that lack of sleep basically kills your mood, right? Just think of how cranky toddlers get after they miss a nap. I mean, I’m not trying to say Keith is a toddler or anything, or that this is a temper tantrum, nothing like that. But, well, he’s been really pushing himself trying to find Shiro, and he hasn’t really been recharging. He’s still up earlier than the rest of us, and a couple nights ago when I woke up halfway through the night and went to get a snack, he was up pacing the hallways.”

“Huh,” Pidge said. “Come to think of it, I’m usually the last one to bed, but I have heard Keith still moving around in his room a few times while I was heading to my room to sleep. And he’s been yawning a lot in diplomacy meetings. More than usual, I mean.”

“Oh!” Lance said. “And our last team training session, I was totally kicking his ass on reflex time against those drones! Normally he’s like, almost as fast as I am, but he was stumbling around like a drunk! Think that was because he was tired?”

“Lance, he normally has the fastest reflexes out of all of us,” said Hunk.

“No, no, we’re pretty much even. My reflexes just look slower to you guys because you’re more used to seeing them.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s how it works,” Pidge said, rolling her eyes. “But hey, the point stands. Bit of sleep would probably do him some good.”

“Well, if it means a possibility of a slightly less pouty Mullet stinking up the place? It’s gotta be worth a shot.”

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

The next time Lance encountered Keith in the hall, he didn’t wait around to get brushed off or bumped into. Instead he strode straight up into the path of Keith’s stomping boots, earning himself a level glare that he pointedly ignored.

“Hey,” Lance said, “Cancel any plans you’ve got for tonight. We’re doing a sleepover.”

“... What?” Keith said, blinking uncomprehendingly.

Lance wasn’t sure if Keith was just taken aback by his abruptness, or if he actually didn’t know what a sleepover was. Just in case, he explained. “You know, we all gather together, have some quality bonding time, get as comfortable as possible, then pass out and sleep through the rest of the night and, if we did it right, half of the next day too. We’re all meeting in the paladins’ lounge, at - at half past, uh… fuck it, Altean clocks are stupid. Once you start seeing someone heading that way in pajamas, it’s time.”

“No thanks,” Keith grunted.

He moved to step around Lance, and Lance held out a hand to block him. “Wait, you gotta hear me out first. We’re all gonna put on our paladin pajamas and lion slippers - that’s all mandatory, by the way, sleepovers are very strict about dress codes - and gather up all the pillows and blankets we can find, and we’re going to basically transform the lounge into a massive blanket fort. And Pidge is gonna bring her caterpillars along to join, and they’re basically the softest things in all of existence, and we’re gonna taste-test some of Hunk’s new dessert recipes he’s trying out, get nice and stuffed before we go to bed. Basically, this is gonna be the best night’s sleep any of us have had in years.”

“I’ll pass.”

“No, look, you can’t pass. It’s team bonding.”

Keith huffed. “We do plenty of team bonding in all our battles and meetings. And speaking of which, we’ve got more important things to be focusing on than blanket forts.”

“Well, yeah, but how are we going to be able to focus on those important things if we don’t take some time to relax in between? All work and no play makes Keith a dull paladin.”

“All… what are you talking about?”

Lance sighed. “Okay, look, I’ll level with you. The whole team’s been kind of, uh, concerned, lately. About your mood. And Hunk noticed you haven’t been getting much sleep lately, and frankly it’s making you even more of a grouch than usual - no offense, I mean - so we figured - ”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Keith growled. “Yeah, I’ve been in a bad mood. Do you wanna guess why, Lance? Can you think of anything that might have happened lately that may be worth getting a little bit upset over? What could I be concerned about, huh? What could I possibly have going on that’s more important than a goddamn sleepover?!”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about,” Lance said. “Maybe if you got a decent night’s sleep, you wouldn’t be yelling at me right now.”

“I’m not yelling!” Keith snapped. “And I definitely don’t need you to be monitoring my sleep schedule!” He stepped around Lance, and this time, Lance didn’t stop him. “Have all the sleepovers you want, but leave me out of them,” Keith muttered as he left.

Lance slumped as he watched him go. He had figured that it would take a bit of convincing to get Keith on board for a sleepover, but he hadn’t actually expected him to get angry over it.

God, he definitely needed a nap.

“Stupid, stubborn Mullet,” Lance grumbled under his breath, scuffing his shoes against the floor as started back to the lounge.

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

The sleepover may have been a no-go, but that didn’t mean they had to give up on Operation: Make Keith Actually Get Some Sleep quite yet, especially since, in the coming quintants, the dark bags under Keith’s eyes, the disheveled state of his hair and his clothes, and his irritability were all increasing before the very eyes of the rest of the team. If any of them had had any doubts over whether he was sleep-deprived, they were certainly dashed by now.

But since apparently Keith had some sort of issue with his teammates actively encouraging him to sleep, they agreed that they would have to try more subtle methods to get him past his insomnia, help him sleep without letting him realize they were doing it.

Lance initially proposed raiding the med bay for some sort of sleeping tonic and slipping it into his food, but that idea was shot down immediately by Pidge explaining that it would be too risky to use a medicinal sleep aid on someone when they didn’t know how it would react with his biology, and Hunk saying that drugging Keith without his knowledge and consent was just an extremely sleazy and messed up thing, and making it clear that he found it very disturbing that he even had to point that out to them.

But there were other things to try, discrete ways to try to make the Red Paladin a bit more susceptible to some solid sleep. Hunk planned out dinners over the next few nights that heavily featured poultry and whole grains, which he explained to Lance induced the production of some sort of sleep hormone - Lance honestly had sort of zoned out the moment Hunk started throwing science into the conversation. Pidge messed with the lighting in the living quarters to dim the lights in Keith’s room, just enough that he probably wouldn’t notice the difference, but would also have a slightly easier time falling asleep despite the light.

Even the Alteans got in on it, as it seemed the human paladins weren’t the only ones who had taken notice of Keith’s insomnia. Allura had them all do meditation shortly before the castle’s night cycle began, under the pretense of it being a training exercise for the paladin bond. Coran, who it turned out was an ardent advocate of aromatherapy, pumped some sort of faint fragrance into the air vents in the living quarters, which smelled a bit like lavender and vanilla, although with a certain tartness to the scent that was distinctly Altean.

And yet, even after all of that, they still weren’t seeing a change. It was frustrating, to say the least.

Lance decided to try his own hand at it a few quintants into their new subtle approach, figuring it couldn’t possibly hurt. He waited in his own room with the door kept open, until he saw Keith pass by in the hall and called him in.

“What?” Keith asked. The word came out sharp and tetchy, but lately that was how everything Keith said sounded, so Lance paid it no mind.

Instead, he simply held out his headphones. “Would you mind giving this a listen for me? I think something’s a little weird with the audio, like it’s scratchy or something, but it’s hard to tell. I wanna know if I’m just imagining it.”

“Wouldn’t Pidge be better with audio stuff?” Keith asked.

“With fixing it, yeah, but right now I just need someone to give a second opinion.” Lance bounced the headphones in his hand. “Come on, please?”

Keith let out a long, low breath, but he obliged, taking the headphones and sitting on the edge of Lance’s bed as he placed them over his ears. Lance gave him a thumbs-up and pressed play on his music player, watching Keith’s face carefully. This was a special mix he’d been using for the last couple of years, and the fact that he’d had his player in his backpack with him when they’d wound up in the Blue Lion was a godsend. A playlist of soft guitar songs and light Caribbean ballads with steady and melodic percussion beats, all interspersed with ocean sounds. It had lulled him to sleep every night since he’d been in the Castle of Lions.

The mix played for a few minutes before Keith moved one of the earphones aside and said, “I don’t hear anything weird.”

“You positive?” Lance said. “Listen real closely, all right? Close your eyes, it’ll help you concentrate.”

Keith did, and his eyes stayed closed for another few minutes before he shook his head. “It all sounds fine to me.”

“Well, that’s good,” Lance said. “Guess it was all in my head after all.” He accepted the headphones as Keith handed them back to him, then cleared his throat. “So, ah, did you like that music? You looked like you were enjoying it.”

“Sure,” Keith said with a shrug.

“Hey, that’s - that’s cool. Gives us something in common. You know, if you want, you can borrow my music player for a while.”

“That’s all right, you keep it.”

“No really, I think you’d like it. You could, like, give the whole mix a listen, let me know what you think. I bet you’ll enjoy it, I’m sort of known for having great taste in music.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Lance asked.

“Since when are you so eager to let me borrow your things?”

“Uh, since always? I’m generous.”

“Lance, last week I accidentally used your toothpaste instead of mine and you acted like I had stabbed you.”

Lance huffed. “Our bottles look completely different, how could you possibly have - ? You know what, not important. Just, I’m up for sharing now, okay? So come on, just take the music. You’ll like it.”

“Not until I figure out what you’re trying to - ”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m just trying to help you, Mullet! This is supposed to be relaxing! So could you quit being so goddamn stubborn for once in your life and just take the stupid headphones already?!”

A pause of silence stretched between them as Keith’s expression slowly fell to a dark scowl. “Oh my god. Is this seriously about that stupid sleep thing again?!”

“Yes,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “You know what, yes, it is. And honestly, we shouldn’t be having to go to this much trouble to get a grown-ass adult to actually take a nap, and this is getting really ridiculous - ”

“Wait a minute, ‘we’?”

“Well, it’s kind of really fucking obvious that you haven’t gotten half a dobosh of sleep in ages, but since apparently you’re too proud or something to admit you actually need help, the rest of us have had to intervene to keep you from just straight up dying of exhaustion.”

“For the love of - I don’t need anyone’s help to sleep!”

“Oh, like hell you don’t. Look at you, the bags under your eyes are so big I’d have to check them at the ticket counter. I don’t know why you’ve gone and decided that having trouble sleeping is something you’ve got to be ashamed or whatever’s going on in your head, but - ”

“I can sleep just fine! I don’t want to sleep!”

“What, because you’re being so damn productive in those extra waking hours you get when you don’t? You’re not exactly doing yourself any favors here.”

“It’s got nothing to do with that!”

“Well then what’s it got to - ”

“Do you know what happens every time I fall asleep?” Keith snarled. “You know what I see every single time?”

“Uh…” said Lance.

“I see Shiro.” Keith crossed his arms, his scowl deepening. “Every time I close my eyes to go to sleep, it’s Shiro. Sometimes I see him bleeding out in the hall of a Galra base. Sometimes I see that gladiator arena he told us about, and he’s in the middle of it, barely hanging in there. Sometimes he’s just floating out in the middle of space and he’s cold and he’s too far from anyone or anything to get help. And sometimes it’s just the Black Lion, getting shot to smithereens right in front of me in the middle of battle and I can’t do anything to stop. He’s hurt and he’s dying and I just do nothing.

“Because that’s what I did, didn’t I?” He choked out a dry laugh that was completely devoid of any humor. “He got taken, right under our noses, and we didn’t even know until we got back to the hangars. He could be dead, or being tortured; maybe the Galra have something in mind for him that’s so horrible we can’t even fathom it. And we could have prevented it, but we didn’t. And it’s all I can think about, and when I’m asleep, it’s all I can see.

“Hell, I got nightmares after the Kerberos thing too, imagined his shuttle crash-landing against that stupid moon and wound up with that playing over and over every night. But at least that time, it wasn’t like it was my fault. Not like I was there and could have done anything. Not like I’d ever seen Shiro hurt and scared before, so my stupid brain couldn’t use that for reference. This time, though?” He tapped his temple. “It’s all there. Just waiting to play out.”

He took a shaky breath. “If I stay awake as long as possible, though, just let my body pass out when it can’t handle being awake for one more second, I don’t dream. I guess I’m just, like, too exhausted for the subconscious to do anything but wait for me to wake up. So I can’t sleep until I absolutely have to, you know? Because if I don’t I end up - I have to see - ” He gritted his teeth and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“... Shit, dude,” Lance said, slowly lowering himself onto the bed next to Keith. “I, uh… I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” Keith grunted. He lowered his hands and Lance could see the glistening of tears there before he brought his knees up, wrapped his arms around them and buried his face in them. “God, you’re not supposed to see this.”

“Why not?” Lance asked softly. “Keith, if you’d told us what you were dealing with, we could’ve helped you out.”

“How?” Keith snapped. “You can’t control what I dream about, you can’t undo what happened to Shiro. I just - I have to deal with this.

“Keith, you don’t need to - ”

“Yeah, I do.” He sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “Okay? And this isn’t me being stubborn or anything, I’m just stating facts. This isn’t something that can be fixed, it’s just something I - something I have to figure out. Somehow.” He coughed. “So, please, Lance. Stop trying to help. Tell the others to stop trying to help.” With one last sniff and failed attempt to blink away the now cascading tears, he stood and turned away. “I’ve gotta go,” he mumbled. “Should really get to the training deck.”

“But - ”

“Don’t - don’t tell the others. About this. It’ll just… make them worry.” And before Lance could say anything in response, Keith was out the door.

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

It was several vargas later that Keith finally stopped training and came back to the living quarters, and by then the castle was well into its night cycle. Keith was drenched in sweat, trembling somewhat from exertion as he trudged his way back toward his room.

So, the sight of Lance standing in front of the door probably wasn’t a welcome one, and Lance was unsurprised by the glare he received as Keith approached, which deepened further as he spotted the music player in Lance’s hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Keith asked.

Lance took a deep breath. “I, uh - I had a bit of an idea. I know you said you don’t want me to, like, get involved in - in this whole thing going on with you, but I gave this a lot of thought, I really did, and I think you should hear me out. I’ve got something you really need to try.”

“Lance,” Keith sighed. “We already went over this. I don’t need you to help me fall asleep. And besides, the music, the beach sounds? They just don’t work for me, okay? There’s no point in - ”

“No, okay, I know we went over all of that,” Lance interrupted. “But this is different, I swear.”

“Lance - ”

“Look, this is either going to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done for you, or a stroke of absolute genius. It’s like fifty-fifty and we won’t know which one it is until we try it. So, here.” He held up the headphones. “Just give it a shot.”

Keith frowned down at the headphones, but slowly, he obliged, taking them from Lance’s hand and positioning them onto his head. “All right,” he said, closing his eyes. “Ready.”

Lance nodded and pressed play, then watched Keith’s face. At first he remained stoic, then, gradually, his brow began to scrunch in confusion. Lance held his breath as he watched, and after about a minute Keith’s eyes opened to look warily at him. “What… what is this?” He moved the headphones down, and Lance could just hear the sound of the playing track: a voice, soft and tinny at this distance from the earpiece but still confident and sincere. “We’re entering a new era of human exploration of the unknown universe, and every one of you has the ability to become part of history.”

“That,” Lance said, “Is a speech that was made about five years ago at my middle school, and probably a couple hundred others. By a certain Galaxy Garrison lieutenant I admired very much.”

“Yeah.” Keith brought the headphones off his head completely to stare at in his hands. “Thought I, um, recognized it. How did - how did you even get a recording of it way out here?”

“I downloaded a video of it that was on Youtube, converted into an MP3. Listened to it while I worked on my Garrison application, because that stupid application process was frustrating as shit and I needed the motivation. Guess I just never deleted it.”

“...Oh.” Keith kept staring at the headphones for a while longer before slowly moving them back up onto his head and closing his eyes again. Lance watched as he stayed still, for long enough that Lance was starting to wonder if Keith had forgotten he was there, when Keith finally opened his eyes back up and pushed the headphones aside again. “It’s… nice,” he said softly. “Hearing him talk. I’d… forgotten… how nice that was.”

Lance gave him a small smile. “Yeah. That’s the idea. See, I got to thinking, about the stuff I was having you try listening to before, and how you didn’t find it relaxing the way you were supposed to, and I realized, like, the reason that that stuff calms me and helps me sleep, is because it’s for me, specifically. Like, the Timba music is stuff I’ve been listening to my whole life, that I’d play in my room at home all the time, and the ocean sounds, they make me think of swimming and going to the beach with my family and laying down on a surfboard to watch the sun and stuff. And, you know, stuff like that, it makes me feel at home, right? It feels peaceful, and familiar, and safe, and that’s all good for getting a good night’s sleep, and for keeping the bad stuff away.

“But for you, well, none of those sounds are really home to you, are they? The music genre’s kinda niche, and I figure you’re more into… I dunno, punk rock? Post-hardcore? Some genre where your mullet might be considered acceptable. And as for the ocean sounds, I mean, you lived in the middle of the desert and you don’t even swim.”

“I can swim,” Keith said.

“Eh, you don’t so much swim as just ‘not drown’, but whatever,” said Lance. “Point is, they weren’t the right sounds for you. So I asked myself, okay, what sort of things would make Keith feel at home? Duh, explosions. But then I realized explosion sound effects would probably be hard to sleep through, so I went searching through my MP3s and found this. And, like, it works doubly well because if you fall asleep with this playing and Shiro shows up in your dream, then your subconscious or whatever might connect the two. So instead of him, um, going missing or - or stuff like that, dream-Shiro will start giving a motivational speech instead. You know, how sometimes when you’re asleep and dreaming and you hear a sound in real life and your brain just sort of incorporates it into the dream? I mean, it’s just a theory, but it has to be worth a shot, right?”

“Lance, I dunno if - ”

“Yeah, I don’t really know for sure either. Might be a little out there. But, you know. I just thought maybe this could be, uh - this could work. Here, you can set it to play the track on a loop like this, see.” He held up the player to show him. “And the whole thing is about an hour long, so it’ll probably only make it through one loop, if even, before you fall asleep, so you don’t need to worry about it getting super repetitive and driving you crazy. Now, the real motivational stuff is only at the beginning and the end. The whole forty-five minutes or so in the middle is mostly just talking about the Garrison’s programs and how to apply and stuff like that, but that’s still probably better than nothing, right? You can dream about Shiro in teacher-mode or whatever.”

Keith bit his lip in thought, eyes darting between Lance and the headphones, before quietly saying, “... Yeah. Maybe.”

“Try it, at least. For the team’s sake, yeah? ‘Cause we’re all kinda worried about your health at this point, and - and I don’t care what you say, you really need a good night’s sleep.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay?”

Keith nodded, reaching and hand out to take the music player from Lance. “I’ll try it, at least.”

“Great!” Lance said, face brightening. “Let me know tomorrow how it goes, okay?”

“All right,” Keith said. “And, um - just - for the uh, for the - I just - it’s, um, it’s nice to know that you guys all - ”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, Mullet,” Lance said. “Now, go the fuck to sleep.”

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

For the first morning in a long time, Keith wasn’t the first paladin up and about. In fact, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge were all already halfway through their breakfasts when Keith finally showed up in the kitchen, blinking drowsily against the light. But it was a different drowsiness than usual. The sort of drowsiness that came from just having woken rather than from desperately needing to go to bed.

Wisely, none of them made any remarks about the change. They bid him good morning and asked if he’d like to join for breakfast, as casually as they would have on any given morning on the castle before Keith’s whole insomnia episode began, and he accepted, his focus entirely on the food in front of him.

Lance waited until Hunk and Pidge started their own conversation, distracted enough by each other not to pay the rest of the table any mind, before tapping the table near Keith’s plate and giving him a questioning thumbs-up. Keith nodded, and Lance smiled as what he had already suspected was confirmed: Shiro’s speech had worked.

Lance was a goddamn genius.

And in the following quintants, as Keith gradually grew less irritable and the bags beneath his eyes started to fade, it became easier to believe that maybe, the team could get through this. Keith could get through this.

He just needed his goddamn genius teammates to help out a bit sometimes. That’s all.

Miraculous Rewrite: Origins Part 2 (Chapter 5)

Been a long time... whoops... Welp, Adrien and Marinette meet, Chloe attempts to threaten Alice (fails badly fyi) and Alya makes bad life preserving choices! Have fun!! Also if Alice seems harsh this chapter, the people who need to listen aren’t listening and she has to deal with dumb people, you’d be stressed too! It’ll get better by the end of Part 2 I swear!

Marinette storms into the classroom glaring at the boy, ah jeez not good. “Hey! What are you doing?” Adrien struggles to answer the angry girl, confusion crossing his face, I let go of his arm and raise my hand to cover my cringe at the situation. Chloé and Sabrina laugh at the girl, I don’t see what’s so funny, it’s disgusting and unsanitary. Marinette looked at the two girls before her eyes widen in realisation at what she thinks has happened. “Okay. I get it. Good job, you three. Very funny.” Her voice blunt and tired, upon looking closer she looked a little red around the eyes like she had been crying and a little sleep deprived, I couldn’t help but avert my gaze in guilt.

Adrien tries to defuse the situation, grabbing Marinette’s attention. “No, no, I was just trying to take it off!” I step forward.

“Wait, Marinette, he’s…” I’m cut off by the two witches cackling even louder.

“Look, Alice. I appreciate you trying to look out for me, but just stop.” The blunette avoids my face as she stresses. She spins to face Adrien. “And you! You’re friends with Chloé, right?” Adrien looks at her in shock.

“Why do people keep saying that?” He whispers, but Marinette hears him and scoffs, returning to her seat before pulling out a tissue and covering the disgusting blubber. Adrien looks to me as if asking for help. I stare at him.

“After school. Kid… Get new friends.” He looks even more shocked and the blond witch glared at me.

“What? Do I need to teach you to respect me too? Adrien is way out of your league!” Her shrill voice worsening my already growing headache.

“Oh Chloé, I assure you, if you try that with me, I promise you’ll regret it.”

“Is that a threat Wattson? I’ll have you know my Daddy, THE MAYOR, can have you deported you know!”

“Yeah, but I’m sure you’re Daddy would be thrilled to hear that his daughter is trying to put bodily fluids onto people. If your fathers not interested, I’d be happy to spread that info around to everyone who is, and let’s say I do somehow get deported, I’ll happily plead my case and sue your precious daddy. I may not like lawyers, but I know a few who have a licence to practice globally, plus… I wonder what kind of dirt I could pick up on poor Mayor Bourgeois before I am deported huh?” I sneer at the blond in front of me as she huffs and goes back to her seat. Adrien looks at me as if disappointed in the way I handled the situation. While I may have been a little overdramatic, for people like her, you have to be or else they don’t get it. Not doing anything, let alone not saying anything would be worse! Also… I can’t afford to be deported because some rich brat is throwing a tantrum, I better try to dig up some dirt on the family, for insurance. I take my seat in the back and watch the two interact with their seatmates… I sigh… teenagers.

Bustier walks in and greets the class with a smile like nothing happened yesterday. I look to Ivan and notice he’s not in his seat. Where is he… Oh no… this feeling, it’s gotten to the same intensity as yesterday. An Akuma? Could it be…

“Agreste, Adrien?” Bustier called, patiently waiting for him to answer. I need to get out of here, with them. Nino leans over and whispers into the boy’s ear, only for him to jump up eagerly with his hand raised. “Uh, present!” He squeaks, the others laugh at him, his cheeks turning red as he sits down and fist bumps his seatmate, hey… at least he’s following my advice, wait, no, focus Alice, gotta hurry.

Bustier giggles at him, moving onto the next name. “Bourgeois, Chloé?” Chloé says present back to the woman and I raise my hand nervously.

“Miss? Erm, may I go to the toilet?” Alice? Toilet break… five minutes after class starts? Really?

“You should have gone before class. Let me get through attendance and today's task, and then you may go.” Marinette turns her head to look at me suspiciously. “Bruel, Ivan?”

Suddenly, the Akuma from yesterday, busts down the door, crap, too late! “Present! Mylène?” The giant scans the chaotic classroom, people running away from the room. Adrien jumps over his desk and runs out of the classroom. “Wait!” I try to get his attention, but he’s too quick, at least he’s quick to react. Ivan, no Stoneheart spots Mylène and reaches to grab her.

“Let go of me, Ivan!” She screams, but not in pain, even when taken over, he’s still so gentle…

“I’m not Ivan anymore. I’m Stoneheart!”

“Why are you doing this?”

“So you and I can be together forever!” Anger fills me, a part of me remembers that this isn’t how the Moth Miraculous should be used, it allows those possessed to reveal and obtain their true desires, but not like this tainted with darkness, instead of loving her, the Akuma has made him obsessive.

My anger is interrupted by the annoying ring of Mayor’s Brat on her phone, speaking loudly… is she that stupid? “Daddy, the monster is back!” Stoneheart growls at the girl and grabs her tightly, making her let out a small shriek of pain. He breaks the wall of the classroom and jumps down onto the street level, crap oh crap… that’s a problem. I turn to Marinette to find her cowering under the desk, the same fog in her eyes from yesterday lingered, swirling in deep fear. Alya slides to see her with a grin. “Come on! Let’s follow him!” She’s almost vibrating from the excitement; does she not care that her classmate is probably going through the roughest time of his life?!

“Uh… Oh, no. You go. I’m finding myself a safe place to hide.” She stutters. Alya just shakes her in her excitement.

“Girl, you’re gonna miss Ladybug in action!” Marinette looks at the bag on the table before picking up, it’s Alya’s bag. Wait… the energy coming from it… no! That idiot!

“You and Ladybug will both be better off without me…” She murmurs, ashamed of her past mistakes. She holds the bag out for Alya to take. The fangirl just shrugs ignoring the girl’s gesture and runs out the room. I sigh in relief but Marinette panics running after her. “Wait! Your bag!”

I run after her, taking my hoodie out of my bag and wrapping it around me. Marinette notices me and cries in annoyance and frustration. “Why are you following me? I told you to leave me alone!”

“Well if you would just listen to me instead of wallowing in self-pity, I’d be happy to! What the hell do you think you’re trying to do?! You can’t just give away your Miraculous to some girl!” I know this makes me sound like a hypocrite, but now is not the time!

“H-how did you know?! And self-pity?! I failed, what else could I do!” I was about to answer, but we were coming closer to Alya who had started filming the disaster in front of her.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with. My daddy, the mayor, will bring in the police, the army, the entire cavalry!” I’m pretty sure he already has… Swinging in on his baton, Chat hits Stoneheart only making him bigger.

“And don’t forget the superheroes! …Oh no. My bad…”

“Ugh. Super incompetent, you mean!” Chloé screams at him.

“Focus Chat! Just keep dodging!” I shout out, he nods, not taking his eyes off the giant golem.

“Ugh! You wanted the cavalry? Well, here it is!” Crap, I hear the rumbling of the smaller giants running amok and they begin to surround Chat. “Seize him!” I dodge the ones that run in from behind us, Marinette curls up into a ball, making herself as small as she could to avoid the stampede, while Alya jumped onto the pavement. Mylène screams.

“Ivan! Where are we going?” Terror clouding her eyes.

“To deliver a message. Then we’ll be brought together forever by a pretty black butterfly!” A message? From who? My thoughts cut short by his other captive.

“Ugh. All this lovey-dovey stuff is making me sick.” Is she trying to get killed?

“Don't worry, little monster. I'm gonna take care of you, too.” Chloé cringes at the implications behind Stoneheart’s words as they get away.

I turn my attention back to Chat and notice Alya moving closer, what the hell is she doing?! Chat is suddenly slammed to the ground, holding them back with his baton. “If you can hear me, Ladybug, I could use a little help!” His voice strained and they begin to pile on top of his stick. Suddenly one of the giants flip over a car, sending it flying towards Alya, I reach out in vain, but the boy quickly throws his stick to save her, however, it still pins her, and the baton is slipping. The giants grab Chat and carry him away. “Let go, let go of me you rockhead!”

“HELP!!” She screams. I turn to the frozen Marinette, she stares at the trapped girl conflicted on what to do, her body twitching as if trying to react. I skid in front of her and shake her.

“I- I… It’s all my fault if I had given it to her sooner… If I had become Ladybug…”

“Oh, my Kwami! Will you quit it with the pity party! Marinette, you made a mistake, so what! You have the power and ability to fix that, so what exactly is stopping you?! Your partner and friend need you! I know you’re scared but you need to be brave! Marinette, what do you want to do?!” Her eyes instantly clear up, burning with courage and determination, that-a-girl! She pulls the box out of Alya’s bag and puts on the Miraculous. Tikki zooming out with a smile, happy to see her chosen again.

“I think I need Ladybug!” Tikki’s eyes brightened at Marinette’s words.

“I knew you’d come around!” Marinette shook her head and looked at me.

“Well… I’m still not sure I’m up for this, but… Alya’s in danger! I can’t sit back and do nothing! I want to save her!” I smile, understanding her desire and fears.

“You know the magic words then!”

“Tikki, spots on!”

Hey!! Could you write something shippy about Boimler and Mariner? What if Boimler regularly spent time in the holodeck acting out certain scenarios and situations with Mariner? 👀

A/N: This was way angstier than I meant it to be. And way less sexier. I apologize in advance.

ao3

She glares at him, mouth pressed into a thin line. “What happened to having each other’s backs? I put my ass on the line for you. Repeatedly.”

He winces. This conversation is not going how he’d planned. “Mariner, I-”

Mariner clenches her fists and straightens. “No, you don’t get to say anything after what you pulled. Fuck you.”

The image freezes and Boimler resets the simulation.

What seems like years ago, he remembers lecturing Tendi overusing the Holodecks for fun. The details are fuzzy. It was before the “GUYS I MADE US INTO A MOVIE'' incident with Mariner, but after that weirdass thing with Rutherford and his rogue program. He thinks she and Mariner had been using it to watch Ransom in an array of—what he now admits-hysterical situations—but can’t be sure.

She and Mariner have gotten up to so much shit, he can’t keep track.

He doesn’t know why he’s remembering it now. It was a random conversation that happened a long time ago—a few months after Tendi was assigned to the Cerritos? –so there’s no reason why he should be thinking about it right now.

Liar, a smug voice intones in his head. It sounds vaguely like Mariner. Boimler aggressively shoves it down.

This isn’t for fun, he anxiously tells the voice in his head. The voice is quiet. It does nothing to soothe the turning of his stomach.

It’s been three months since Boimler requested a transfer back to the Cerritos. Three months since he’d run into Rutherford and Tendi on shore leave and the three of them got swept up into a ridiculous, interplanetary civil war that took three different starship crews to settle out. Three months since he’d almost died more times than he can count on all his fingers and toes, three months since he thought Tendi had died, miles away from her home, on a world which would never remember her name, three months since Mariner swept in and fixed everything.

It’s been three months.

Not that he’s counting.

Somewhere between being in a remote alien prison with Tendi and hiking for a month in a perpetually dark wilderness with Rutherford, Boimler had come to the belated conclusion that his career didn’t take precedence over his friends.

(Also, if he’s being completely honest, he missed the chaos of being a lower deck ensign. Not that he still doesn’t want to be in the upper ranks. Just not without his dumb, dumb friends.)

After it was all over—and he’d realized that Tendi was alive—he put in his transfer request, surprising all his peers.

“This just isn’t a good fit for me,” was his official statement.

Captain Riker gave him a bland look. “You worked with Beckett, didn’t you.” His voice was flat, but his eyes were amused.

“Is it that obvious?”

“She rubs off on people. Don’t let her give you a hard time,” he added, signing off on the request. “It was nice working with you, Boimler. If you ever need anything, let me know.”

And so here he is, a newly minted ensign again, on the lower decks of the Cerritos.

(Captain Freeman is thrilled. “All operations have been down by 18% since you left. Good to have you back, Boimler.”)

Tendi and Rutherford seem hyped to have him back-Tendi especially, who’s been a little clingy with everyone since her near-death experience-but are acting uncharacteristically nervous around him. This isn’t a surprise. The tension between him and Mariner when she’d shown up on Roxadt II was insane and was only getting worse with every day. It’s been six weeks since he’d transferred, and she’s found a reason to be in a different room for all six of them.

Hence the simulations.

That makes absolutely no fucking sense, the Mariner-esque voice in his head sneers. Just talk to her you fucking wimp.

Boimler ignores it.

“Scenario A-187,” the clinical voice of the simulation intones. The simulation restarts.

It goes exactly the same way 186 other scenarios had gone. He corners Mariner. She stays quiet. He apologizes. She explodes.

Mariner’s anger had always burnt red hot. He’d first experienced it when an ensign got a little frisky with Tendi after she’d repeatedly told him no. Mariner’s fury at the situation felt justified. Vindicated. The ensign had been demoted so hard, Boimler was certain they’d seen the last of him for like. Well, forever.  At the time he’d been astonished that she’d managed to pull it off, but after finding out about her familial connection to the Captain, it made sense.

He’d seen a glimpse of that anger a few more times—when Captain Freeman had forced her to go to therapy, after Rutherford had been captured by rogue Klingons, that one-time Ransom tried to promote her.  But never toward Boimler.

Oh, she’d get irritated with him.  “Loosen up, Boimler, it’s not that bad.”

“Look, the worst that’ll happen is that we get a note to file-stop yelling!”

“Dude if you don’t chill the fuck out I might actually throw you out of an airlock.”

Standard Mariner reactions, right? Yeah, she’d been pretty pissed when he took the promotion (his voicemail had been blowing up for the first 48 hours after he transferred), but it had died down fairly quickly so he had logically assumed that she had gotten over it.

He assumed wrong. If her icing him out was to be taken into account. So here he was, six weeks in, desperate and stressed from his friend’s apparent dismissal. The obvious solution, his sleep deprived brain decided, was to simulate a conversation with her using his high-tech program on the holodeck.

This may have not been the best idea. But he’s calculated the probability of anything going wrong and it’s under 3%, so he’s almost guaranteed success.

(So, of course, it blows up in his face, in true Boimler fashion.)

“Okay, I have a pretty high threshold for weird, but this might take the cake,” a voice slowly says.

Boimler startles. Whirls around. Shuts down the simulation. “Ohhh shit-”

“Yeah shit,” Mariner says, stalking into the room. “What the hell, dude?”

“This isn’t what it looks like!” Boimler sputters out, panicked. The simulation is shut down, leaving them in the empty holodeck room, but the echoes of Holo-Mariner’s rage still resonate between them. Actual Mariner is staring at him, face somewhere between completely shocked and furious.

“Did you use your dumbass hyper realistic program to simulate a situation with me so that you could cheat later?”

“I mean, kinda?”

“Then it’s exactly what it looks like!” Mariner slaps a palm over her eyes.

“Well what was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know—maybe talk to me like a person? Not use your creepy, hyper realistic simulations to roleplay it?” She drops her hand and glares up at him.  

Boimler rolls his eyes. “You literally created a simulation to kill the entire crew because your mom made you go to therapy.”

“Yeah and it fucking worked.”

“Then why are you yelling at me?!”

“I’m not!”  she shrieks. “I’m very calmly telling you to fucking talk to me next time!”

“There’s not going to be a next time!”

Mariner stops, mouth open. “What?”

“Look, I get it. I fucked up and you apparently don’t do second chances! I was trying to make things right but clearly it isn’t working. I’ll stay out of your way now.”

Instead of pacifying her, this seems to make Mariner even more furious. “You fucking asshole. what am I supposed to say to that?” she shouts, stomping up to him.

He groans in exasperation. “Apparently nothing, considering you don’t want to talk to me!”

Her hands grab his collar, pulling him down to eye level with her. “I literally just said to talk to me next time!”

“And how was I supposed to do that if you’re avoiding me?”

“You’re the one who fucked off in the Titan to god-knows-where,” Mariner grits out.

So they’re actually doing this. Boimler swallows hard. Takes a breath. Tries to quell the anxiety welling in his gut. “I’m sorry.”

“Right after you said you didn’t care about rank or shit,” she adds, twisting the knife.

“Yeah. It was really shitty of me.”

“And then you ghosted me for like six months.”

Boimler winced. “Yeah—I. Yeah.”

Mariner’s iron grip on his shirt loosens, but she doesn’t let go completely. “That was really shitty of you.”

Not sure what to say, beyond apologizing again, Boimler gives a jerky nod.

“You came back.” She stares at him, eyes unfathomable. “The Titan wasn’t everything you dreamed it would be.”

It’s not a question.

Boimler still has an answer, though. “It was.”

She stiffens. He pushes forward, intent on getting this out while he still has her attention. “It was everything I wanted in a career. I was doing what I wanted, everyone took me seriously. Our missions came straight from the Admiralty and they treated us like we weren’t a joke. I loved it.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I care more about my friends then I do about people taking me seriously.”

Mariner freezes and then lets out a strangled laugh. “Now I think you’re the simulation. Who are you and what have you done with Boimler?” She pokes at his cheek.

He grins. And then falters. “For what it’s worth—and I know it’s not worth much—but. I am sorry. I wasn’t a very good friend.”

“Yeah you weren’t.” She lets go of her grip on his shirt completely and draws back. “You said you were my best friend and then you left. For Riker.”

“That makes me sound like the love interest in a cheesy drama. And like I’m hooking up with Riker.”

“I said what I said.”

Boimler laughs. It feels real for the first time in a long while. “Are we good?”

“No.” Mariner smiles. “I’m going to give you so much shit and you’re gonna grovel for like months and then I’m going to tell my mom that you used to holodeck to simulate certain situations with me.”

“If you do that I’m transferring back,” Boimler tells her. “Your mom finally likes me; I don’t need her ejecting me out of an airlock.”

“She wouldn’t do that.” Mariner waves him off.

“She totally would.”

“Yeah, she totally would,” she agrees. Grabs his arm and begins dragging him out of the holodeck. “So maybe I won’t tell her. I am telling Tendi though and she’s gonna give you so much shit considering you reemed her out over misusing the holodeck.”

Boimler makes a face. “I’ll probably let her too. I’m such a hypocrite.”

“You are, but it’s super weird to hear you be honest about it. Stop being all apologetic, it’s weird.”

They’ve reached the corridor. Mariner steers them in the direction of the bar. “Only if you promise to deck me if I ever make a dumb decision like that again,” he says, giving in and allowing himself to be manhandled. It’s the least he owes her.

“Deal. And the next time you use your weird, hyper realistic simulator—which doesn’t even fucking work by the way, I’m not that much of a bitch—you gotta promise you’ll use it for sexy reason only.”

“Sexy reasons only,” Boimler deadpans. “You know they log everything we do down there.”

Mariner wiggles her eyebrows up and down. “I know.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re uptight, but you’re the one who was playing with simulations of me.”

“That sounds way worse than it actually is,” he cringes.

“No, it doesn’t. I would take some sexy action over your sad, sad trauma simulations any day. Next time I catch you, you’d better be having fun with it.”

“Mariner, what the fuck—”

They dissolve into good natured bickering. She says something lewd and he rolls his eyes and elbows her and she squawks in protest and threatens to get him thrown in the brig. It’s normal, but it’s also not. There’s something new in the air between them that wasn’t there before. Tension, but not negative. It’s charged with. Something else.

Boimler doesn’t examine it too closely. Better to let it work itself out naturally. After all, he has all the time in the world now.

29. Surprises. I default to Eme/Mereel but also I would thrive with any ship.

I KNOW I’M MORE THAN A MONTH LATE BUT HERE IT IS

Prompt number: 29. “surprises” Fandom: Mass Effect, Republic Commando crossover Ship: Commander Emeline Shepard / Mereel Skirata Rating: PG words: 1100~ Warnings/Tags: none that I can tell, ask to tag if needed Summary: Twice he’s surprising, and once where he’s surprised. Notes: I really meant for this to be a short thing, but then it got away from me (as ... apparently everything I write tends to do lmao). I hope you like it, Eme/Mereel always holds a special place in my heart 😭💕

xxix. surprises

  He comes around the corner a touch too sharp and a hair too fast and he nearly collides with the Commander—or he would have, if he were a very different man, and she a very different woman. As it stands, she sidesteps him in a swerve to be remembered for the ages, and his steps falter as he's compelled to watch her go. 

He's been on the ship for only one day, but one day is more than enough time to field a first impression.   

*

  Training on the Normandy is a rote affair—but not for lack of trying to change things up. Space, and resources, and time—they're all desperately limited by need, and availability. The inevitable end of everything is coming, and unlike the Krogans—and the other expat Mandalorian refugees—everyone else seems to take that as a demotivator.

Right up until Mereel hashes together an Armax-Arena-friendly simulator out of pieces and parts everyone else swears shouldn't be able to work together. 

He catches a glimpse of a rare sight—Emeline Shepard's smile—and counts his lucky stars. 

Right before Vega blows a new hole through his holographic head, anyway.  

* 

  Night cycle on the ship is an interesting affair—different from the rotations in the galaxy he fled from. It’s a bitterness he usually keeps folded politely away, out of sight and out of mind of those who wouldn’t or couldn’t understand—and shares in the rare call to one of his vode. But here, in the dark recession of the Normandy’s mess hall, under warm if dim light to simulate nighttime, he holds a mug of behot in hand and scrolls through the feed as it updates periodically on his datapad. 

He isn’t as alert as he should be—hours of missed sleep and high anxiety does that to a man, no matter how jatnese be te jatnese he might be—so he doesn’t pick up the sounds of careful footsteps as she comes around the corner behind him. 

Mereel doesn’t jump, he doesn’t startle, he doesn’t even react—just tilts his head up in muted surprise as she places down a plate piled with cookies on the table in front of him. She takes another step to the side, and takes a seat to his right. 

It’s still dark, and the lights are still low, and the Mess is just as empty as it was before, with only one more person in it that wasn’t him, but the mood shifts in a way he can’t quite pin down. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says. She eyes the datapad beneath his graceful fingers sliding over its surface, settled flat on the table. Her brow arches as she looks back to him. “I’m guessing you can’t either.” 

He wants to say something clever. Uphold the charming, devil-may-care appearance he wears in the light. 

But he’s tired, and she just brought him cookies, unprompted—and she doesn’t, can’t, know what sweets means to him, specifically, but it’s… 

What can he do? 

“You know,” he says, in the way he does when he can’t be bothered with a segue into another topic bridged from the one before, as he taps the datapad to put it to sleep. He leans forward so his elbows meet the table, and his hand can raise to motion emptily at the ceiling, “where I come from, the lights don’t change on big ships between the day and night cycle.” 

There’s something in her gaze that says she’s equal parts annoyed as she is curious, which, really, is par for the course when anyone converses with him, so he’ll take that as approval. 

“Never noticed it was a thing could be done,” he continues, “until I got here.” 

“Here, the Milkyway, or here, the Normandy?” 

He smiles at her, soft, as he reaches for a cookie. It doesn’t quite crumble in his hand, but it flakes and comes apart if he holds it too hard. The crumbs gather on his fingertips as he tucks it away between his teeth, and chews silently beneath the dim light. 

It goes well with the behot, which is a surprise all on its own. 

“Me and my brothers,” he says, “are a very expensive, very high quality product. And, generally, most don’t quite care to concern themselves with the emotional state of an object.” 

There it was. That bitterness that had settled in his heart. The sharp bite of anger he couldn’t quite contain, though he could easily redirect it, now, to and fro. 

“Who do I have to kill to correct that?” she asks, and his brows jump high on his head. 

It appears she has as much difficulty as him to control her anger when she’s sleep deprived. 

He smiles wider, suddenly fond of this mysterious Commander and her wayward cookies, and her style. But, of course, it was her style that brought him here to begin with, wasn’t it?

“Careful, Commander.” His tone flirts warm as he takes a sip of behot to clear his throat. “Get anymore heated, and I’ll wonder if this is less about justice and more about impressing me.” 

“Please,” she snorts as she leans back in her chair, casual and arrogant and altogether put together in the way he didn’t feel so late in the day. “You’re already impressed.”

He laughs, then—warm, delighted, and echoing in his surprise; and so, so careful not to be too loud and risk waking anyone within earshot. 

“I am easy to please,” he says, when he really meant to say impress, but the way she stares at him across the table makes him forget to correct himself. 

He reaches for another cookie.

“Mereel—”

“They’re long gone, Emeline.” He taps the cookie against the mug that holds his herbal tea, and watches the crumbs fall to the saucer it rests upon. “And if not dead then far, far away—and soon to be.” 

He lifts the cookie to his mouth and takes another bite. It crumbles, and parts fall onto the table, but he figures he’ll just clean it up later. The sugary sweetness is an immediate comfort, soothing and healing all in one.

And then she reaches across the table, and gently grasps his chin in her hand. He holds still as her thumb comes up, and swipes away the crumbs caught on his lower lip. 

“Good,” she says, low, and oh. His heart dances in his chest. 

They’re both tired—sleep deprived—and she’d given him plenty of space in the week, but now he finds himself caught in her orbit, unable and unwilling to pull away. 

He gently kisses the pad of her thumb just as she pulls away. 

“Don’t tease me,” he says. 

“You like to be teased.” Her eyes twinkle with amusement in the dark. She stands up, deliberately slow, and he doesn’t look away. “Enjoy your cookies.” 

“I think I will,” he says, as he watches her go. 

She rounds the corner, and out of sight—taking the long way to leave—and he takes a steadying breath. Heart still rattling awake in his chest, he rolls his head back and closes his eyes. 

Now how is he going to fall asleep, after that?