it's josh Allen's birthday and stef wants EVERYONE to know it

Weak ~ S.R. (part 2)

A/n: A good song for this part is “Grow As We Go” by Ben Platt. Even though I wrote this inspired by “Weak” by AJR, I feel this song works a lot better :) Side note: for some reason I changed POV halfway through but for only one part? And I didn’t want to miss something so I just left it. Just... ignore that lol.

Word Count: 7000+

MASTERLIST

They call me after dark, I don't want no part. My habits, they hold me like a grudge- I promise I won't budge.

"Hey JJ," Y/n greeted as she braced herself in front of the office she now stood in front of.

"Hey." JJ's voice had become quite familiar in their time talking. Prentiss had also given her number, but they didn't talk as much. JJ, Y/n and Penelope had a group chat though and the three of them talked loads. "I heard you start your new job today. You excited?"

Y/n tried not to think about it. The first time she'd walked into the police station she usually worked at she'd had a panic attack, and even when it had gotten better she still couldn't find comfort there anymore. Everyone understood and they'd given her basically worker's comp as she searched for a new job. They'd even helped her out. But it hadn't worked and she couldn't find any other real work there, so she was back in DC. The place wasn't tainted anymore, but Y/n did miss the small town feel. The real problem was that Y/n hadn't told anyone that she had moved back. She'd just told them she'd gotten a job at the diner.

"Very," Y/n lied. "I have to start in a few minutes actually. Mind if I call you tonight?"

"Oh of course," JJ assured. "I thought you started later."

Y/n chuckled. The woman had become a sort of comfort for her. "I appreciate the check up call," she said. "I'll tell you how it went later." JJ agreed and they ended the call and Y/n walked inside. It was as far from Y/n's dream as she could get. Well, maybe now as far from, but it was just a printing store. You came here to get your pictures printed from a  camera, or you faxed them and they printed here. Posters. Invitations. Anything. Y/n wore a polo shirt and khakis. She was going nothing great for this world, but at least she could pay rent.

The day was long and boring. Y/n was glad to be home, but not excited to call JJ about it. She hated lying and this one might require her to do it. She could just tell JJ she was back in town and working literally BLOCKS from everyone else but... then they might ask to hang out and that would bring her around to see Spencer again and that was what she REALLY wanted but also what she even more needed not to happen.

"Hey Y/n!" JJ greeted. "I'm so glad to hear from you."

"Just get off of work?" Y/n asked.

"Just gave Hotch a new case," JJ corrected, sighing. "It's going to be a rough one." She paused. "I kind of wish you were here. We could get coffee while they get ready." She chuckled.

It kind of came out when she said that. "I actually am." A long pause. "I- I couldn't find a job. I lived here before I moved away, so I moved back. Uh. I could meet you somewhere?"

"Sure," JJ said slowly, processing what Y/n had just said.

Y/n planted her face in her hand. "I'll explain over coffee, okay?" JJ agreed and they hung up. Y/n headed out, meeting her at the nearest coffee shop they'd both agreed on. When the two women saw each other, their smiles grew. They hugged and then they parted, went inside, ordered, and got a close by place that would let them talk without possibly missing their order. JJ didn't have a lot of time before they all left. "Did you tell anyone I'm back?"

JJ pursed her lips. "I got the feeling you didn't want anyone to know."

Y/n sighed, covering her face. "I adore you guys, it's nothing like that. I just-" she laughed nervously, feeling her emotions rising. "Did you know that when I was a kid, I wanted to be a cop?" She laughed, looking anywhere but JJ. "I can't even handle one run in with a bad guy, let alone hundreds. Thousands. I'm not-" Y/n cut off. She was about to say 'worthy'. Something she screamed at herself all the time. But she couldn't say that to JJ- that would lead to her finding out about five and a half years ago. "Strong enough." That would work. "And because of that, I quit a job I really loved. Not even that- I just couldn't work there anymore. Quit and fired leave the idea that anyone wanted me to leave." She scoffed at herself. "And now I'm at Shutterfly printing pictures and talking to practically no one ever, standing around and waiting for someone to ask for a picture or a poster or something. I'm-" she huffed.

JJ reached across the table, hand resting against Y/n's arm. "You are not weak." Her words were so firm and sure that Y/n had a hard time finding something to argue. What had she been so sure of a moment ago? "You were kidnapped by a psychopath, Y/n. You were almost killed. That's horrible. Even we struggle with it for a very long time when it happens to us. The only difference is that we're conditioned to it every day of our lives. The fact that it bothers you is a good sign. We're... numb to it. It's really bad actually." She flinches, sighing. "You SHOULD be upset by it."

Taking a breath to stabilize herself, Y/n nodded. "I just... feel pathetic. And I don't want them to see me like this." She stared at the table, tracing her finger along the design. If she was being honest, it was really that she didn't want Reid to see her like this. After all, she'd told JJ just fine. But she wasn't being honest. When she looked up and met JJ's gaze, though, it was clear she didn't have to be. I guess that's what you get when you talk to a professional profiler.

"Okay." Their orders were called and they got them, heading out. "If I can do anything for you, Y/n, you have my number." Y/n nodded, but didn't say anything more. JJ had an odd look in her eyes that made Y/n nervous. "I promise I won't tell him." Neither had to clarify who she was talking. "Promise, okay?" Y/n nodded again and they hugged before JJ headed off to kick some bad guy ass.

Y/n felt terrible watching her go.

- First Person POV -

"You did what?"

"I got you a job here!" She repeated, sounded ecstatic. I felt horrified, and after my tone she continued at a very quick pace, as if to explain herself. "I figure you can get some second hand experience and see if you really are into this sort of thing. I know a lot of people like the idea, but sometimes when they get into this line of work they learn pretty quickly it's not for them. And that's okay. I just- I mean, it's just like your last job. You'll be an assistant; helping with paperwork, keeping this moving and organized and helping everyone go home sooner. We could use another set of eyes watching our backs- Hotch and I try our best, but there's just too many of them, you know?" It was an attempt at a joke, but when I didn't laugh she continued talking. "Plus, working here gives you great insurance. You could put yourself through schooling, for whatever kind of job you find you like most here. You might like to be a technical analysis instead of a field agent, or you might prefer something like my job that allows you limited field or... whatever." JJ had never sounded nervous before, but Y/n hadn't had too much experience in seeing her nervous in a personal situation, rather than seeing her face press or having to keep everything together under pressure. It was kind of endearing. "I thought it would be nice to know what you're getting into before you do it. And..." She hesitated. "We miss you. I haven't told anyone like you asked, but Garcia is dying to meet you and everyone always talk about how much we wish you were around to lighten up the mood like last time we worked with you.” JJ sighed. "Honestly, Garcia tries her best but keeping things light around here is hard, and it's taking a huge toll on her. It would be so helpful if she had someone to bounce off of."

Y/n found herself smiling. If she could really make a difference... I mean, if the job wiped out all of those who did it, who would do the job, right? Someone had to watch the backs of those too busy watching the backs of others.

She would be working Spencer constantly, but she tried not to think about that. She'd barely survived two weeks- how would she manage sharing a career with him? But, how could she turn him down? Wasn't the whole point of pulling herself together and becoming a better person and getting her old habits bated so that Spencer Reid didn't control her life anymore? This was the opportunity she'd been waiting for her whole life. She had no real excuses- she just couldn't let him hold her back from living her life, especially when he wanted to do anything but. She'd almost allowed her awkwardness with him deprive her of really good friends, which would have left her far from where she was now with this job offer. She needed to take charge and get the fuck over herself.

"You know what JJ, I would absolutely love that."

An audible sigh of relief sounded on the other side of the receiver and Y/n chuckled. "I'm so glad to hear that. I... did talk to Hotch because he's the one who hired you, so I may have fibbed a little about not telling ANYONE else- but he's good at keeping secrets, and everyone else will be shocked when you start. Should I brace them or do you want to break that news in person?"

Y/n couldn't help it- she smirked. "How could I turn down such a dramatic entrance?"

"I thought you would say that." Just from the sound of JJ's voice, Y/n could tell both of them had matching curves to their lips. It was that which made Y/n feel so sure that this would be a great thing for her. It wouldn't even be a big deal, beside maybe the initial shock of it all. She just had to not over think it.

-

Walking into a precinct full of people who were trained to pick apart every person they run across until they get into their head and saw their bare soul hadn't been a thought that crossed Y/n's mind until she walked into the room after JJ's rather dramatic and mysterious introduction. All eyes turned to Y/n and she almost died right then and there because the confusion burning in their gazes demanded to be satiated, and it seemed they were trying to answer the questions themselves rather than just asking. Their gaze bore into her, making her uncomfortable and awkward.

"Guys," JJ reminded.

Morgan blinked first. He grinned, standing up and approaching Y/n. "Oh my gosh! I-" he cut off, his arms twitching. "Are you good with hugs?" Y/n nodded wordlessly. When was the last time she'd been hugged? By... Maya. Oh god let's not think about that. Morgan wrapped his arms around her and she let his warmth distract her from dark thoughts. He gave great hugs- it was easy. She'd missed that feeling, goodness.

Prentiss was next. "Okay so I need an explanation here." She was smiling though, and her tone was as light as her hand as she rested it on Y/n's shoulders. She liked how touchy the team was. It was only in that moment that Y/n realized she was hungering for physical touch.

Pushing those thoughts down, Y/n tried to aim a little better for normal. "I kind of lost my last job because every time I went into the... Well, being back there made me kind of..." she motioned with her hands, trying to explain. Her face went red. "It's hard to return to the place you were kidnapped from." She cleared her throat, but there was no judgement from the people around her, just understanding. That made her feel worse. "Well, it turns out that small towns aren't as much my thing when the only other jobs are really menial, so I moved back to Virginia. I lived here my whole life before moving out there." She shrugged. "I was looking for real work and mentioned it to JJ one day since we talk a lot. And she'd amazing, so here I am." Again everyone nodded, but this time they had smiles on their faces and JJ beamed with pride.

"Well," Rossi began, but he was cut off by someone.

"Everyone out of my way!" The crowd beginning to form around me parted for a pretty blonde girl who was... very loud. Not just like voice wise, but with what she wore as well. It made my heart more full. It was almost a relief compared to all the neutral grey and black and the occasional blue or something. "I am Penelope Garcia, and we're going to be spending a lot of time together so I thought I thought I should ask now, how are with sexual humor and platonic flirting because this is like super essential to my personality."

Y/n giggled and everyone seemed to perk up, especially Garcia. "I'm kind of awkward," Y/n admitted. "But you can do whatever you want. As long as you keep that pretty smile on your face."

Everyone's jaw dropped, and Y/n and Garcia both turned red. Y/n blushed because despite what she'd just said she really was awkward. Garcia blushed because after what Y/n had said, she hadn't expected to be flirted with, neither had she been flirted with by such a cute, innocent person. She was used to Derek who was unapologetically sexy. "Oh," the blonde noticed. "We're going to be GREAT friends."

"I really hope so," Y/n gushed sincerely. Everyone seemed to be cheery already, smiles all around.

Then Y/n saw Spencer. He approached slowly, seeming shy as he gently maneuvered through people to get to Y/n. "Hi," he greeted softly upon finally reaching a comfortable distance.

It was suddenly pin drop silent, and the lack of chatter seemed so heavy that Y/n winced, feeling her chest rage against it. "Hello." Y/n cleared her throat, hoping her burning face could be excused by her interaction with Garcia, where it had started. "So. Anything major happening today?"

JJ saw the cry of help and answered the call instantly. "We have a new case."

"Thank god," Spencer whispered, ducking his head and moving away from Y/n. She didn't think he'd meant for her to hear it, and the words hadn't seemed to hurt anyone else, so she let them roll off of her shoulders. He had seemed pretty happy to see her, if a little awkward. It was probably weird to see her so social when she was so stiff with him was all. And after how heavy the air had been, she was relieved to get away from it herself.

Was this going to be how it always was between them?

Goodness she hoped not.

One sip, bad for me; one hit, bad for me; one kiss, bad for me, but I give in so easily. And no thank you is how it should've gone. I should stay strong, but I'm weak, and what's wrong with that?

- third person POV -

"Hey, G," Y/n greeted brightly, two cups of coffee in her hands. It had been a few days on her first case, and already she understood what JJ had meant by Garcia struggling to keep the mood light. The woman hated to frown, let alone be serious, and unfortunately for her the rest of the team was pretty stoic. Thankfully she could bounce off of Morgan, but now that she had Y/n who was as equally positive - if not as high energy - the two women had come up with lots of things to keep each other in good shape. Like dorky nicknames only they used, and being around each other a lot, and sharing food and drink suggestions. Y/n was usually the one to get them since her job made her feel rather useless since she didn't do much to make a difference, but she could reason to herself that keeping Garcia caffeinated was the best thing she could do for the team other than be out there with them directly.

"Hey, Lovergirl," Garcia piped cheerily. Y/n chuckled at the nickname. Ever since her flirting, they'd been nonstop back and forth in a much more innocent way than Garcia was with Morgan. The man and Y/n had jokingly fought over Garcia, but then she had made a joke about how she had two hands and it had ended there. The sort of pure back and forth had let Garcia giving her more innocent nicknames, like Sweetheart and Lovergirl, rather than Chocolate Thunder over there. Someone had asked if they were dating and they'd both fist bumped after having a laughing fit over it. Somewhere along the way Garcia had mumbled, 'Lovergirl wishes' and it had been making Y/n smile ever since. She'd never had a friend like this before and she was basking in it.

Unfortunately, the rest of the team wasn't having as good of a time.

"It's so good to hear your voice." It was Morgan, making Y/n smile even wider.

"Not as good as it is to hear yours," Y/n replied calmly. "How you doing, Batman?"

The smile was obvious in his voice. "Much better now that you're here." Y/n giggled then settled in next to Garcia. They got to business after that. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing you want to know," Garcia sighed. She tried to keep her tone casual but Y/n could tell she also didn't want to talk about it.

"Fair enough. Anything I can do to help the most beautiful woman in the world?" She asked instead. "Give me literally anything, otherwise I have to leave your amazing presence and then where would I be?"

Garcia was grinning again. Y/n felt proud. "There's actually a lot of that footage still left. I got distracted by what you gave me last time. Want to see if you can get anything else?" Y/n nodded, getting to work.

It took a few hours until she found something, but when she did, her heart stopped. She snagged her phone, dialing Reid immediately. He answered on the second ring. "Y/n?" He seemed surprised, but his tone pitched up like he was happy about it too.

Y/n was too preoccupied to think about it. "What the likelihood of winning gambles at chance games?"

"Well what kind of chance gamble? The odds of winning the Lottery are approximately one in fourteen-million, where a person has a one in three million chance of sighting a UFO. Funnily enough, that's almost five times more likely than winning the jackpot. You are more likely to die of a flesh eating disease at one in a million than winning the lottery."

"Spencer?" Y/n smiled to herself, not being able to stop him. He was adorable. She pushed that to the back of her mind, shaking her head to refocus as well as wipe the smile off of her face. "How often do people have a so called winning streak in gambling? Like in casinos." He paused and Y/n's eyebrows together. "Spencer?" And then she realized her mistakes and her eyes widened. "I- uh- Dr. Reid."

He sucked in air before responding in a rasping voice, "Some scientists  actually believe that luck streaks are real, continued by the fact that people just choose safer odds and then keep on that streak every time they... anyway, the point it, based on how smart you are, you could keep winning constantly."

A thought caught in Y/n's mind. "Have you ever lost a gamble?"

His answer was immediate and clueless. "I haven't, no. Why do you ask?"

Y/n tried not to laugh and managed a soft chuckle. "No reason. Uh-" She shook her head again. God, why couldn't she focus?! "I was looking through more of that footage we got where we saw the masked unsub walking in the shadows and looking for someone to kill. Well I was looking through the extra footage the casino gave us- remember the bonus hours they said nothing happened on, but they gave it to us just to give us more hours? To be annoying, because they were mad or whatever?" Spencer hummed. "Well, a man matching the masked attacker's height, weight, and wearing the same suit shows up the next day gambling. For nearly the entire day, and then he goes home with far more money than he came with and he hasn't lost a single game." Y/n paused, biting her lip. "Not even once the whole day."

Garcia's interest has peaked at this point. She's rolls her chair over, eyes scanning the moment Y/n's paused on on the screen. The footage is from an old camera, so Y/n doesn't even know if they can make out his face. But there he is. Facing the camera and everything. "He wore the same suit," she whispers, horrified.

"Do you think he's killing to increase his luck?" Spencer asked hurriedly.

"No," Y/n answered immediately. Only then did she realized he'd asked Garcia, but the blonde was looking at her to explain her answer so she shot off. "The day before, he was agitated. Today, he's calm. Not confident, but completely at peace. It's not like that one case you talked about where a guy went around killing people because he thought it brought him luck. I looked back on feed for that and he was reckless- almost drunk, high on confidence. This man... it's like he got a good night's rest."

Spencer paused. "How do you know about that case?"

"Oh well JJ made a comment about how this one was similar to that one so I got the file and looked into it. We have the footage and everything on file." She shrugged, then saw Garcia's look of shock. "Should... I have not done that?"

"No you're fine," Garcia voiced. "That's just really impressive catch up playing."

Y/n blushed. "I'm just doing my job." She cleared her throat. "I could be wrong, I just wanted your opinion-" she cut off, catching herself for a second. "Reid."

She could feel him nod, rather than see it since they were over the phone. "Thanks Y/n. I'll tell the others."

"Anything for you, Wonderboy," Y/n teased. The line went dead. She felt her stomach twist. She was trying to treat him like she did everyone else, but every flirt hit different when it was directed at him. Even such easily dismissed ones such as the one she'd just delivered. She could feel Garcia's eyes locked on her so Y/n busied herself with her drink until the blonde had to get back to work, boarding on already wasting time they didn't have.

For now, she had escaped questions but every day it got harder as people seem to take everything she said and looked into it so see the truth where she tried to hide it.

God help her.

-

Y/n slipped into the elevator. This case hadn't gone very well, ending with gun shots ringing through Garcia's phone and a long silence of unknowing whether it was for the unsub or for their friends. Turns out, it was a little of both. One for the unsub, one for none other than Dr. Spencer Reid himself. He'd lost a lot of blood before anything could be done and now he was in the hospital and the entire team had had to pry Y/n out of that room and to her house so she could get cleaned up a little after having gone straight from hours in the office, stressing about work, straight to hovering over his bed waiting for him to wake up for just as long.

Now she entered the room again, nodding to a waiting Prentiss. "They told me to come send you outside next." Hotch had been getting them home one by one, as each of the team had been as worried as Y/n. "JJ and Hotch have kids and Morgan's on Garcia duty to make sure she gets some food and rest. Have you eaten yet?" Prentiss stood, shaking her head. "I've got this, and Rossi said he might drop by to keep me company if he can't get to sleep. Please."

"Thank you," Prentiss whispered as she passed Y/n on her way out. There were frown lines on the edges of her eyes and a strain to her smile. "Don't stay too long. Sleeping here can't be good for your back." It was a weak joke- everyone knew the other girl wouldn't leave this room again until he was awake. And he would wake up. Prentiss caught Y/n's hand. "Hey, you know it wasn't your fault right?"

Y/n flinched. She had been the one to give Reid the information about the unsub. Morgan had been a little skeptical of her idea since she wasn't a profiler, and it had put an edge on everyone else too, even Hotch who was obviously trying not to be partial. The truth was though, Derek was more experienced than Y/n was. He was more familiar with the team and had their trust a lot more. They had said something about Reid being partial, but Garcia and JJ had been pretty convinced too. That didn't help Reid when he went the extra mile to prove to everyone Y/n was right though. That he trusted her for a real reason. That there was merit to her words and observations. It didn't help him when he went a different direction than the others because he had a gut feeling and Hotch encouraged him too. It didn't even help when he'd taken JJ with him, since she was the only other person who believed Y/n as much as Spencer did.

It didn't help him when he got shot on Y/n's hunch. Got shot with her on the phone, waiting on baited breath just to hear JJ freaking out on the other end.

It didn't help him now either, as he lay in a hospital bed.

Y/n looked away. "Yeah."

"I'm serious," Prentiss insisted. "At the time, it was fair for us to doubt you. We-" she cut off, choosing better words. "We shouldn't have, because you did your work like the rest of us. But you are new and untrained, so it was fair to have pause at first. But Reid, JJ, and Garcia all backed you up and we should have been there for that. We could all play the blame game. If we’d just listened to Reid and JJ. If we’d believed Garcia. If we had been more open minded about you... But that’s isn’t fair. It's no one's fault but the unsub's."

That was another thing. The man who had put Reid in the hospital was still out there, already all better and heading out to jail. His eyes were open and there had been a smile on his face when he was getting toted off. JJ had told Y/n while she was in shock. He was fine and Reid was in the hospital and Y/n sat there hating the whole thing. "Yeah," she repeated, because she didn't have the energy to fight herself on how she felt versus what she knew to be real.

Prentiss seemed to see that struggle and recognized that she couldn't get through to Y/n anymore than she already had. So she left and Y/n was there alone. She took back her old spot, where she'd been until a few hours ago. Where Prentiss had been sitting before she came back. Now she sat back down again and rested her elbow on the bed. It was itching into late mid morning and Y/n still hadn't slept. Her eyelids were dragging against her, demanding she rest. She tried to fight it, but eventually her head drooped more and more until it fell next to Spencer's limp arm and the world was lost to her as she fell asleep.

There was a sense of being watched that ripped her awake again. Her eyes shot open and her fingers curled around the sheets, her body going rigid. A pair of hands shot out to wrap around her tense fingers, pulling them away from the bed in an attempt to soothe her. She thought it was Rossi for a second until she sat up and looked over to see a weakly smiling but very awake Spencer. Y/n felt her chest shake as she sucked in a relieved breath.

"Hi," he croaked.

"You idiot." Tears were blurring her vision as she held herself back from punching him in the arm. He was hurt enough. "I oughtta sock you."

He laughed. He actually laughed, the ass. "You were right." He got a little more serious, the look in his eyes becoming soft and his smile being filled with pride rather than amusement. "He was about to kill someone when we came in. You saved a life, Y/n. Maybe even more, depending on how long it would have taken us to get him with where we were taking the case. The profile was just wrong enough he might have gotten a few more people before we stopped him."

That made Y/n relax. "I don't forgive you for getting shot."

Spencer's smile widened. "I'll do better next time."

"You better," Y/n warned. "Or I'LL put you in the hospital next time I swear to god Spencer." His eyes twinkled and Y/n swallowed. "Er, Reid."

He chuckled again. "I like when you call me Spencer. JJ does it too. It's nice."

Y/n tried not to internalize that. "Well if this is us becoming friends then I require you to have a personal nickname given to you by yours truly which only I use," Y/n warned him. After what he had done for her, standing up for her, she couldn't think of them as anything else. It was weird, as the words made her anxiety spike. Was she slipping again? Would these things lead to her obsession again? She wouldn't have to stalk him anymore- now she was right by his side, all alone. What if she was taking advantage of that situation? What would happen if he rejected her friendship? What if they got into an argument? What if his sudden interest in her was just that she was the new kid in town and it faded and they became casual acquaintances after a little while? What if... what if he met someone and that smile he wore now was for them instead?

Y/n felt jealousy twist her gut and she tried not to book it out of the room right then and there.

"I would love that."

Her eyes focused back on him and his smile seemed to waver, picking up on her mood change immediately. "Perfect," she whispered, struggling to speak around the sensation that could only be described as feeling like her ribs crushing into her lungs and heart. She had to blend in though. She couldn't be awkward with Spencer. They were already looking too closely at her. She had to stay calm and keep her distance, but not so much that people noticed and started asking questions. This job meant too much to her she had to get it under control. "How do you feel about Pence?" Her fingers fiddled with each other and his eyes caught the moment immediately. She forced the energy to move to her feet instead, softly tapping where he could not see. "Hm?"

Only then did he answer the question, when she tried to pull his attention away from her body language and to what she had said instead. His eyes stayed trained on her, but he offered a casual, "Whatever you want to call me. I've heard you calling Garcia 'G' and I think that's neat. I've never really had a nickname other than Spence."

"You're right," Y/n mumbled, focusing her mind on the task at hand rather than her pathetic need to be as close to Spencer as possible, in every way she was allowed. GOD she was insane. But that wasn't the concern right now. Right now she needed to think about a nickname for Spencer. "That's too similar. What about just Pen?"

His smile returned and Y/n felt herself relax. "Isn't that Penelope's nickname?"

"We don't use it often, and now people have started to gravitate towards G because I'm a genius and it's way cooler." Spencer grinned and Y/n felt her chest squeeze even tighter. He was beautiful... BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT SHE WAS GOING TO FOCUS ON! "I can think of something else-"

"No I love it," Spencer rushed.

It was Y/n's turn to chuckle.  "I may slip into calling you Penny and you can't judge me for that."

Spencer's fingers brushed hers and she yanked her hand away, seizing up. He seemed to have something suddenly foul tasting in his mouth, but he managed, "I wouldn't ever judge you."

Those words. Oh god. She stood. "I'll get the nurses. Tell them you're awake. You need to eat something." She was gone before he could respond, leaving him confused and alone in her awake.

Boy, oh boy I love ya when I fall for that. I'm weak, and what's wrong with that? Boy, oh boy I love ya when I fall for that. I'm weak, but I'm weak, and what's wrong with that? Boy, oh boy I love ya when I fall for that.

"Pick up," Y/n spat through a locked jaw to the ringing tone she was hearing. It had wrung too many times. She had called him so much and he hadn't answered once. She knew she wasn't paying him to be her therapist anymore, but he had said they were friends. To call him if she needed someone who understood to give her encouragement, or just to catch up. Why wasn't he answering?!

"Y/n?"

Relief flooded her body. "Michael." Her tense body relaxed all at once and it was so nice she almost toppled over. Someone stared at her and she waved at them awkwardly before turning away and hoping they minded their own business. "Michael I'm losing my mind."

He was quiet for a second. "Talk to me."

Y/n ran through everything that had happened since that first day in her old office when Spencer and his team had first entered her life for real, all up until the hospital visit a few nights ago and how she had been avoiding him ever since. "It's coming back, Kel. BAD. I can't get him out of my head, and every time he gets anywhere near my body gets all tingly. I DREAMT about him last night. He keeps touching me and it's like I'm getting struck by lighting. And then he said my name and my chest gets all crushed up again and I want to know everything about him and be around him all the time and GOD I'm so scared that I'm going to end up like one of these psychotic unsubs. I don't want to quit. I LOVE my job. But if I'm doing it again-"

"Y/n, take a breath. You're forgetting to breathe when you talk again." She paused, forcing herself to intake and exhale air so her body wouldn't seize up. One time she'd talked so much about Spencer that she'd stopped breathing and had fully passed out. It was pathetic and she hated herself for it, but it had happened. "Now, I need you to really think about these questions before you answer them okay?"

"Okay," Y/n encouraged.

"Have you taken pictures of him without his permission or without him being aware?"

Y/n flinched at the memory of burning the shoe boxes, but was relieved to be able to say, "No."

"Have you followed him anywhere without his permission or without him being aware?"

"No," Y/n confirmed again, a little confused. "I don't have to, we work together."

Michael ignored the comment. "Have you learned personal information about him without his permission or without him being aware?"

"No," Y/n said slowly after thinking about it. She'd learned plenty of things, but she'd avoided it as much as possible for this very reason.

"Have you watched him in anyway without his permission or without him being aware?"

Y/n considered that. "No," she finalized, nodding to herself. "I- well I stare at him sometimes from across the room. Is that bad?"

Michael actually laughed. "Not necessarily." he paused, letting Y/n calm down with that reassurance. "How would you feel if Spencer told you he was dating someone tomorrow?"

That familiar icky gut twist returned as she thought about it. "Terrible." The word was heavy with mourning. It had slipped out immediately without her meaning to say it, so she hadn't been able to even sugar coat the response.

There was a fat pause where Michael was quiet, but he spoke again before Y/n's anxiety could get her to say something or voice her panic. "What about if he showed up with a pet, or a family member that he was close to?"

Well what an odd question. "I wouldn't care."

A smile wrung in Michael's voice when he spoke again. "Does he have someone he's as close to or closer to than you?"

"Well he's really good friends with JJ and Morgan."

"How do you feel about them?"

Y/n frowned. "I really like JJ. She actually got me this job and has been the most helpful in helping me get settled, other than Garcia. But... Morgan seems to have some trepidation about me. He liked me at first but then one day he started to get really short with me and started to try and convince everyone that I'm like not fit for this job or something."

"And that's why only JJ and Spencer went after the unsub, right?"

"Yeah," Y/n agreed. "Why is this important, Kel?"

A short pause this time. "Y/n I don't think you're old tendencies are back." That stunned her.

"But I'm doing all the same things."

"You're actually not," Michael argued. "And even when things overlap, like the watching and getting to know him, it's not for the same reasons. You're naturally forming a relationship rather than living out a fantasy that he's not apart of in reality. Do you remember the last time I asked you about Spencer having a pet or a partner?"

Y/n flinched again, but much worse. "Yeah," she mumbled, covering her face.

"What did you tell me?" Michael asked softly.

Y/n's eyes watered. "I told you they made me angry. That I..." She closed her eyes. "That I wanted to get them out of the way from me being with him."

"And what did you tell me just now when I asked again?" There was regret in his voice, but that was obviously from bringing up the terrible memories of the past. There was something else too. Urgency. He wanted Y/n to understand something, but it seemed to be going over her head.

"Uh... I told you it made me sad."

"Why does it make you sad, Y/n?"

She thought about that. "Because he wouldn't look at me anymore. He gets this really soft look in his eyes when he looks at me. Like I have something important to him but he trusts me with it completely. Or like he admires me or looks up to me. It makes me feel really good about myself." She chuckled sheepishly, wincing. "That's probably silly." She didn't pause before continuing, and Michael didn't try to interrupt her or respond, knowing how she got when she spoke about Spencer. "When he touches me, it's really gently, like I might break or like he's shy. I-" she snorted. "I think that's because he's a germaphobe."

That caught Michael's attention. "He's a germaphobe?"

"Yeah," Y/n sighed. "He won't even shake people's hands, and he washed them a lot when he's stressed. He rarely even accepts hugs from the others so I haven't offered, even when he was in the hospital. But that's also probably because I'm pretty sure I'm literally crazy."

"You're not crazy," Michael said first. Y/n smiled a little. It was very reminiscent of the times he had helped her out of the darkest place she'd ever been. Made her feel safe when she thought she was a walking crime scene waiting to happen. He had been her best friend for so long... why had she stopped calling him? "Y/n?" She hummed, letting him know she was listening. "He refuses handshakes and is afraid of germs and is even hesitant to take hugs from people who are practically his family from what you say, but even though you've guys only really known each other well for a little over a week, he's already willing to touch you?"

Now that he mentioned it, that was rather odd. She hadn't considered it before. "I... yeah, I guess."

The smile was back when he spoke again. "Y/n last time we talked about him, you couldn't even say his name without gripping something so hard your knuckles turned white. Now you talk about him like it's a relief to say it. Before he brought you stress and angst and wanting, but now he brings you peace and happiness and a feeling of belonging. You feel sad at the prospect of losing him in any way, rather than angry. Usually when obsessive people who stalk their targets see them with someone else, they get angry. Normal people get sad."

Y/n tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Her eyes were wide with fear. A fear that was so different from but still just as bad as the thought of her fears of seeing herself being obsessed with Spencer Reid. Because if she wasn't obsessed... "What are you trying to say?" Her words begged him not to say it.

He did anyway. "Y/n, I don't think you're possessive or obsessed with him." He spoke slowly, every word filling her body with more and more dread. "I think you have feelings for him, but not bad ones. Normal ones. I think you like him, like people like each other. Like, want to date him like him."

"Oh god," Y/n whispered. "I- I'll call you later okay Michael?" He sighed and hummed, so she rushed to explain. "I swear I will. For real this time. I can't thank you for everything you've done for me but-"

"You're panicking," he realized. "I completely understand. Please don't do anything stupid, okay? These feelings are normal and perfectly okay."

"Yeah," Y/n whispered, nodding even though he couldn't see her. They exchanged a tentative farewell and then she lowered her phone, running a hand through her hair. "Well," she whispered, staring at the ground like it was about to open up and swallow her whole. "Guess it's time to quit my job."

-

Tag List: @ajwantsapancake @urie-bowie-mercury

Patchwork

Hello my dear @deducingcircumference  I was your @dcmksecretsanta​ this year! I decided to go for your idea about the Mori family, I really hope you’ll like it! I had fun writing it, even though it was a lot harder than I thought. I’m sorry that I wasn´t able give it to my beta before, I’ll repost it once it’s corrected. Still, I hope you’ll like it! Have am merry, healthy and nice Christmas and a happy new year!

~ Shelling

Patchwork

 He should have known better.

These past day’s the doorbell had only caused him trouble and pain.

Why had he even believed that it would be different this time?

Megure however, couldn’t care less for Kogoro’s grumpy face.  

“His parents are still dealing with the FBI and the Professor has his own little problem right now. He can´t stay in the police department any longer, it would only raise further suspicions.” Megure swallowed, that was something he really didn´t want to deal with, on top of everything right now. However, he wasn´t sure if this really had been the best idea.

His former college looked at him like he’d gone crazy.

“So, you dump him here of all places?” Mori growled, didn´t care about his tone, while he spoke with his former boss. Megure sighed, looking behind his shoulder where the “boy” had only filched beneath Kogoro’s  voice. The officer rolled his eyes, he’d been through this question before, even though it had been the asked in a much higher voice.

The officer took a deep breath and shook his head.

“He’s in no condition to help right now, and neither are you.”

“I have to go back to the hospital! I need to-“  

“You have to wait until visiting hours tomorrow.” Megure interrupted Kogoro’s argument.

He sighed, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I know you’re worried Mori-kun, but there’s nothing you can do for her right now, but you can take care of one another.” Megure swallowed, finally taking a step aside to reveal the grad schooler who’d been hiding behind his legs.

Kogoro took a sharp breath and despite his anger he could feel something inside him stirring at the sight of the “boy”.  However, the detective desperately tried to ignore it, it couldn´t be more than the rising bile in his throat, looking at the lying freeloader.

Conan- or rather Shinichi Kudo didn´t dare to look up. At least the kid seemed to have a little bit of a conscience left. Kogoro knew what happed and why, after his kids – kid- his lovely Ran had gone missing, the truth had slowly come to light. And now Co- Kudo was standing here, asking him to take him in for the night, while his little baby girl was still in the hospital. Alright, she wasn´t frighting for her life- at least not when he believed in the doctor’s words, but she still wasn´t waking up, since a heavy blow to the head, while  tried to help…him. 

The one who had lied to them for over a year, who used them and ignored her tears, being here and safe and fine, while she was still in medical care.

Well fine might have been a little exaggerate.

Actually, he looked more like death warmed over, after he destroyed a whole criminal organization. Even through the brat didn´t dare to look him in the eyes he could see that they where bloodshot, with dark circles beneath them, seeming even deeper due his pale complexion. His hand’s where bandaged, his glasses where broken and a little voice inside Kogoro wondered why no one had told him to put them down. Damn! Couldn´t they see that it was dangerous, the boy could easily lose an eye when the glass- ah but why should he care, he didn´t that’s for sure.

Mori bit his lips and shook his head while his gaze traveled down the boy’s legs, one being places in a walking cast to stabilize it, but even if he tried to hide it, Kogoro could still see that the kid was in pain, clearly favoring his left leg.

“Alright…” Megure’s tone ripped him from his analysis.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone now…” The officer tired to catch the boy’s eyes, but the shrunken detective who’d surprised them all didn´t dare to rise his galnce. So Megure briefly placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder. He was about to leave when he stopped close enough to Kogoro, to make one last request in a low voice.

“… and Mori-kun,… he’s already broken, so please try not to hurt him further.” Kogoro took a sharp breath, ready to protest when his eyes shifted back to the silent child in front of him.

‘Damn right he is.’ A voice inside him seemed to scream, while he watched Megure disappear at the end of the stairs. He couldn´t believe what the man was asking of him, after everything. He grumbled, but when his eyes reached the bruised body of the kid again, he couldn´t help but frown at the slight tremble in the little clenched fists.

Kogoro could feel the emotions inside him shift, putting pressure on his chest. He desperately wanted to believe that it was just anger he felt, but he knew that there was something else hiding in it’s mist. It couldn’t be guilt or worry- even through the boy had lived with them for so long, it wasn´t his job to protect him, he wasn´t his father aft all.

But yet-

“I’m sorry..” the soft voice froze him on the spot, but it where his next word’s or rather the name the boy used that finally brought him back to reality.

“I’m truly sorry Mori-san.”

Right.

Conan = Kudo

Not foster son, but little lying bastard.

He had to remember that.

The boy swallowed, finally finding the courage to look up, but Kogoro had already turned his back to him, climbing the stairs. Shinichi bit his lips, trying again, but Mori stopped him before he could finish his sentence.

“I-“

“Don´t, I don´t want to hear it.”

Mori hissed, taking the last steps to their- to his home and closed the door behind him.

XXX

The beer tasted foul.

It was his first that day- alright his third, but the first one since Megure had dumped the little freeloader at his doorstep. Being kicked out from the hospital, had left him with the urge to drink, to fill his mind with cotton so that the reality would drift far away. But he denied himself to be numbed by alcohol, he had to remain sharp if the hospital called, so he instead called his wife to update her. However, it seemed Eri had already known and of course this woman believed in the nurse words, that she would be alright, that there was no actual damage to her brain and that she simply was exhausted. Exhausted, his Ran, strong and brave, exhausted to the bone. He couldn't believe it, he wished he could, but the fear of losing her filled his mind with cruel pictures.

And it was all his fault.

"Damn brat..." he growled, taking another sip from his stale beer. Days ago he'd been worried when the boy had suddenly disappeared, he couldn't deny it... Since the not-child had been living with them for little over a year now. Of course, he wasn't found of him, he didn't care... why would he? Conan wasn't his son, nope, no way he dared to think of him as his own flesh and blood.

But he couldn´t help to admit that he’d been worried about the boy, before the constructure of lies slowly crumbled around him, he’d struggled to believe it in the beginning, the brat being that high school detective, hiding under their roof all those times.

“And I didn´t even notice, the great detective Mori… pff…”

Kogoro sighed, his eyes wandered from his beer to the clock, before they moved to the front door, which he might have left slightly ajar, by pure accident of course. It nearly been three hours since Megure had dropped Kudo here and he couldn´t help but wonder what the boy might be up to.  But why should he care anyway? It’s not like the great “Shinichi Kudo” wasn’t able to take care of himself, he could be lucky that he hadn´t thrown him out. However….

The sleeping detective chewed on his mustache, they way the kid had looked it would only be responsible to make sure he’s fine, besides so he could make sure that the boy wasn´t messing with his case files- Yes! That was it! He had to make sure that everything was still in place and the kid wasn´t messing up his work.  With that thought Kogoro nodded to himself, rising from his seat before he headed for the stairs.  

The office was dark, but the door was closed now and he was sure he left it open when he’d turned his back to Kudo. Could it be- that he’d left?

With a frown on his face the detective stepped into his agency, still no sigh of live, or of the boy, everything seemed to be like he left it. Kogoro was on his way to his desk, when he finally spotted the little boy on one of the two sofa’s he normally used to talk to his clients.

Conan – no Kudo was asleep, but it didn´t seemed to be a peaceful rest. Mori swallowed, he knew that sigh, the kid was having a nightmare. Not the first he was about to whiteness, but now that he knew that he wasn´t a mere child, shouting his, or most of the time Ran’s name at night he couldn´t help but wonder.

Kogoro barely knew Shinichi, especially since his separation with Eri they hadn´t met the Kudo’s quite so often, before they left Japan. What he knew was, that the boy had a bad influence on his daughter, not to mention that he’d hurt her, disappearing just like that, leaving her in the dark, lying to her while he was right beside her all this time. So maybe it was the kid’s own conscience hunting him at night. But the way the boy tossed and turned in his sleep told him that there was more to it.

The detective made a face when the child suddenly yelped in his sleep, twisting his bruised body around without much care. Kudo was facing him now, even though he was still asleep. Kogoro’s hand twitched, in the attempt to rip the broken glasses from his face, before it could hurt him any further.

With a sigh he took a step towards the boy, slowly shaking his shoulder, even if his voice wasn´t as soft as it normally was, when he tried to wake the brat from one of his nightmares.

“Oi! Co- Kudo-kun! Wake up!” But like so many times before the touch on his shoulder only seemed to stress the little one even more. Conan twisted and turned in his sleep, not caring for his obvious bruised body. Kogoro’s throat grew tight, it was hard not to pick the child up to carry him into his bed, while muttering some calming thoughts into his ears.

“It’s just a dream.” He told him instead, trying to reach for the boy again, but when Kogoro’s fingers touched him, the boy flinched away from his touch, jerking backwards so that his already bruised shoulder hit the back of the couch.  Mori gasped when new blood seemed to break through the bandages and his shirt, all caution forgotten he bent down to the kid, cradling his upper body in his arms, while Conan still struggled in his touch.

“Hey don´t, you’ll just hurt yourself further!” The detective hissed, before he pulled the boy closer to himself, brushing some grime from his forehead.

“It’s alright… easy, Conan-kun.” His voice was gentle now and finally his breath grew even and he stopped to struggled in his arms.

“Come on now, wake up, everything’s alright.”  Kogoro assured the child, who finally stirred one hand searching for the man’s sleeves. He blinked with eyes still heavy from sleep and the nightmare, before he murmured something that made Mori’s chest grew warm and tight at the same time. “O-Othosan…”

Kogoro took a sharp breath, it wasn´t the first time the brat called him that by accident, but while he usually tried to ignore his fluttering heart as well as the words, when he put the kid back to sleep he couldn´t help but feel like he’d been frozen to the spot, unsure what to do. The boy suddenly looked not only broken but also even more tiny and vulnerable in his hands. Luckily the shrunken detective came to his senses before Kogoro had to decide what to do.

Conan blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, but hissed when he moved his shoulder. Kogroro could actually see how he finally caught up with the situation, struggling out of his arms, with the hint of a red on his cheeks.

“Ojisan… huh- ah um Mori-kun.”

There back to normal.

Kogoro took a breath in relive, before he eyed the boy, who still looked up at him. The detective rose and eyebrow, taking a step away from the child both of them ignoring what just happed. He cleared his throat, looking down at the brat.

“What do you think you’re doing here?”  He grumbled, but the boy blushed again, blinking in surprise before he seemed to search the answer on the floor.

“Uh- sleeping?” Mori raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Well boya, but not in my office.” Conan flinched, but Kogoro already took a step towards the door.

“Come on, get up.” The grad schooler obeyed, but Shinichi wasn´t sure if he was supposed to leave or just supposed to follow. But his doubt should soon be answered by Kogoro’s annoyed voice.

“What you’re waiting for?” The older detective asked, opening the door before he nodded upstairs.

“I-uhm, I’m coming.” 

Conan hurried up the stairs as best as he could and he could sense that it took Mori some strength not to hurry or maybe even carry him. But when he finally entered the place he’d called home for so long he took a deep breath, only now getting aware that he’d in fact missed it. But Kogoro cleared his throat pointing to their small dining table.

“Here sit down, I’ll see If I can prepare you something to eat.”  

“But you don`t have to!” Shinichi assured, while Mori just rolled his eyes, disappearing in the kitchen, almost shouting from the other room to answer the ridiculous request of the boy.

“Apparently I do since your folks still dealing with this secret organization and Megure decided to dump you here.” The grad schooler winced but the detective was too busy in the kitchen to notice.

“Besides, when was the last time you’ve eaten something?” Kogoro questioned, when he entered the living room again. He looked at the bruised boy, who looked more dead than alive on his feet.  

“I- uh-“ But the growl of his stomach answered for him.

Conan – Shinichi – the brat, jeez he still had trouble with that, just blushed when his stomach growled in protest of the lie that he was about to tell him.

“I see.”

Conan finally sat down at the table, staring holes into it, it just didn´t feel right, Mori should be fuming in anger at him, not trying to take care of him. However, the boy didn´t notice that Kogoro had moved behind him, before he took the broken glasses form his face. Honestly if he had to see the shade of glass nearly piercing the boy’s eyes any longer he would go crazy.  

“I’ll take these for a while- since you apparently don´t need them.” Mori told him, but when he finally looked down at the kid without the simplest of all disguises, he couldn´t help but wonder what a fool he’d been. How could he not have notice how much the brat looked like the annoying high school detective.

Kudo seemed to notice the eyes on the sleeping detective on his skin and took a shivering breath.  

“Oji- I mean Mori-kun, I’m-“ But Kogoro cut in between his sentence with a sigh and the shake of his head, before he could continue.

“I know… that’s not what you planned to happen.” The detective muttered, while he moved into the kitchen where a very familiar chirm told him, that the brat’s food was ready. He returned with the food and put it on the table with a little bit more force than necessary.  

“Yet I can´t believe that you thought that Ran, that we would be safe with you living under our very roof.” He growled, while Shinichi just seemed to be sinking deeper into his seat.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing kid, I know why you did it and…” He remembered the nightmare, as well as the others before, Conan seemed to read his thoughts since he moved his gaze away from him.

“I know it might have not been easy at times, but I’m still angry at you, and my poor Ran-“

The name alone however, was enough to move Conan’s eyes back to the older detective.

“Any news? About Ran I mean.” The detective swallowed at the despair in the kid’s voice.

“She’ll been fine, she’s just exhausted and needs some rest.”

“What? R-Really?” Conan’s voice was high pitched, he looked at the detective in disbelieve.  Kogoro suppressed a chuckle, and the urge to ruffle the kid’s hair who suddenly looked like the child he was supposed to be, with big shining eyes.

“ Yeah and now don´t worry and eat.”

Conan took a breath in relive before he turned his attention to the “meal” Kogoro had prepared for him- or rather microwaved. A cup of ramen, something he hoped to be rice and he wasn´t sure if the last of the three dishes was a hot chocolate or some kind of sauce.

Apparently Kogoro noticed the kid’s stare, raising an eyebrow at the obvious hesitation.

“What?” Conan flinched, but after a short hesitation Shinichi decided to answer.

“Ah- nothing, nothing… I just- sometimes wonder how you and Kisaki-san survived before Ran took up to cooking.” Shinichi teases with the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Wh- you ungrateful little brat!” Kogoro grumbled.

“Besides, you can be thankful that it was me who put in the Microwave instead of Eri.” The detective added in a lecturing tone.  

“True, otherwise you’d serve me coal.” The older detective smirked, before he remembered that he was supposed to be angry with the brat, so he turned the kid’s head back to the food.

“Pff… now eat- we’re going to the hospital early tomorrow and I need to check that shoulder of yours.”

“It’s fine.” Conan muttered between a spoon full of ramen, but Mori just snorted.

“After everything that happened to you, I Wonder If you even understand the meaning of this word.”

“Oi!” But after a brief glare Shinichi did like he was told, while Kogoro searched his medical cabinet for some new bandages and pain medicine for the size of the boy.

 XXX

 Kogoro took a long shaky breath, he leaned against the cold metal back of the elevator, as he watched how the floor numbers slowly counted higher.  He’d already called early this morning, nothing new, Ran was still sleeping but they expected her to wake any moment now… was that what he was supposed to hear for the rest of his life? Mori felt panic rising in his throat, sure the Doctors told him that she would be find, but he couldn´t help but worry.

The detective bit his lips, his fingers were itching for a cigarette and one glance at the little boy (who still looked kind of creepy without the familiar glasses) told him that Co- Kudo was nervous as well. Even through, he tried to hide it, Kogoro could tell from the tension in his body and his stern gaze to the floor that the kid was freaking out inside. To be honest, even without the bangs beneath his eyes the boy looked pale since they arrived her, with his bandaged hands and the cast he looked more like he should have his own bed in this establishment. After he changed the bandages on his shoulder yesterday, Kogoro had felt sick to the bone when he saw how many scratches and bruises littered the child’s tiny frame.  

 The elevator chirmed suddenly, ripping Mori from his thoughts, when they finally reached the right floor. However, when the door finally opened the detective was met by a familiar face.

“Mori-kun!” A young nurse offered him a welcoming smile.

“Miruna-san, good morning.” Kogoro tried for a smile as well, even though it was a little embarrassed, after his behavior yesterday. But she seemed to ignore the fact that he’d cried, shouted and wept some more in her presence, while she’d reassured him over and over that his daughter was going to be fine. Instead, she focused her attention on the little boy beside him.

“Nice to meet you again! And this must be your son you’d been so worried about yesterday?” She leaned down to the child, offering her hand and a charming smile.

“You must be Conan-kun, right? You shoudln´t disappear like that, your dad was rather worried about you.”

“Uh- he was?”  He looked up to the old man, who deliberately turned his attention away from him, but the redness on his cheeks revealed her words to be true. Shinichi blinked in surprise, still staring up at Kogoro, who cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well- we should go now.”

“Oh sure, sure! You must be worried about your Neechan, right?” She ruffled his hair and Mori could see how the boy fell back to his old act, smiling brightly at her while Kogoro wondered how the arrogant brat he’d known, had learned to endure such a treatment. But the young nurse didn´t notice the frown on the detective’s face, when she turned back to him.

“She should wake every minute now, her heartrate is higher now, maybe you’ll be able to wake her.” Kogoro nodded.

“Thank you.” She smiled and took their place in the elevator.

“yYu’ll see everything will be alright!”

Mori took a deep breath moving forward to find Ran’s room before Conan’s voice stopped his movements.

“So, you’ve been searching for me?” The boy’s face showed a grin, but his eyes revealed his doubt.

“Don´t get the wrong idea, brat.” Kogoro huffed, rolling his eyes before moving forward.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Shinichi followed Kogoro through the hospital hallways, struggling to keeping up with him, with his short legs and the damn cast.

When Kogoro finally entered his girl’s room he took a relieved breath to see that Ran was indeed fine, even though still asleep. He moved to stand beside her, taking her hand in his own feeling her warm skin beneath his. It took him a few minutes to notice that the boy seemed to be frozen in the doorway, staring at Ran’s sleeping face and the beeping heart monitor beside her.

The detective swallowed, horror was written in the boy’s face and he remembered his first visit to the hospital after he’d shot Eri. He took a deep breath, moving over to the boy, who only noticed him, when he put a hand on the slim shoulder.

“Oi, what’s wrong.”

“I- I-“ The boy stuttered, his body tense beneath his grip.

“Come…” Kogoro assured him, pushing him slowly into the room.

“It’s going to be fine.”

Conan followed him beside the bad, but still keeping his distance, while the worried father slowly brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

“Ran…”

Both of their hearts skipped when they saw how Ran twitched beneath Kogoro’s fingers, before her eyes slowly fluttered open.

“Oh- Othosan?” Her voice was weak, as she slowly tried to push herself a little more upright in the bad.

“Ran! You’re awake!” Kogoro exclaimed, almost shouting, before he put his arms around his daughter, holding her close before he moved away from her again, to take a closer look at the high schooler.

“How do you feel? Is everything alright? Should I get you a glass of water- or a doctor or-“ Ran chuckled. “I’m fine Othosan!” But her gaze moved from her father to the little boy beside the bad, who didn´t dare to look up at her.

“Shinichi… Conan-kun.” A sad smile moved to her lips, while the boy’s voice was barely more than a whisper, when he finally found the courage to look up.

“Ran… I-“

But Kogoro was not having any of that right now.

“Oh enough of that!” He cut through the suddenly awkward tension.

“You two can talk later and if you want to rip his head of Ran, I’d advise you do it later, since it wouldn’t make much of a difference right now.” He’d advice, earning protest form the boy beside him. “Oi!”

But Kogoro simply ignored him, grabbing the kid from the floor to pull both of his children in a thigh hug. “For now I’m glad the two of you are alright!”

“Othosan!”

“Ojisan!”

But Mori just grinned and the two started to laugh as well, as broken as they all might be, patched up and together, they made a strange but good family.

On Goro Akechi’s morals and forgiveness (character analysis, but also just a very rambly post)

Akechi is… a very interesting character, I have no doubt about this. Also my favorite of course, if you hadn’t figured that out yet by this giant text you’re about to read (sorry). I have a lot I want to talk about in regards to him since he is so intriguing and we actually don’t have that much info about how his thought process works so it leaves a lot of room for speculation.

In any case, in this meta in specific I’m going to be talking about Akechi’s...morality(?), forgiveness and his relationship with regret. I’m not sure if that’s the best word to define this but I’ll roll with it for now. I’ll try to be fair and talk about things as I personally see them, it’s totally fine if you don’t share my views! Now, onto the actual meta.

Starting off, as people are obviously aware, Akechi is a morally gray character, a darker shade of, but he’s a sympathetic and tragic character nonetheless. That much is undeniable, he was written to be sympathetic, even if I’d argue Atlus did a pretty poor job of it in Vanilla (he was still my favorite ever since then though lol) but he’s reached his true potential in Royal, which makes me immensely happy to see. I get so unbelievably happy whenever I see people saying Royal changed their perception of him and started to like him more! But even then, there are a lot of people who just can’t forgive him for what he did, and that’s only natural. I personally think that, if you don’t try to sympathize with Akechi and truly, truly try to understand his mind and history, you’re doing him a huge disservice. But, forgiveness is something that everyone is free to think and decide if he deserves it or not. In Akechi’s case, I feel like forgiveness is something much more personal to the player, and this shows between the Phantom Thieves too.

There is a visual novel I hold very close to my heart called Umineko no Naku Koro Ni (which I’ll be quoting relentlessly throughout this entire post) that illustrates what I think better than I could put into words, so I’ll be quoting that scene with a few tweaks for better context:

“You said you understood the culprit’s motive.”

“...Yes.”

“Is that motive… a satisfying explanation for why they’d [commit murder]?!”

“Who knows. That’s for you to decide. Even if I say it’s satisfying, that doesn’t mean it will satisfy you. …You have to decide that for yourself.”

I really like this. It reminds me a lot of Akechi’s situation. I firmly believe that this has no “objective”, “most correct” answer to, just your personal feelings, which are the most important. I, as a player, do forgive Akechi, I want him to have a happy ending, another chance at life, manage to live happily with Akira and have some fun for once. That’s what “forgiveness” means to me in this situation, but while some people may empathize with Akechi, they still can’t forgive him. They think he should stay forever in jail or die since he cannot be redeemed in any way in their eyes. Where do I wanna go with this endless blabbering you ask, and I respond, I just want to try and see Akechi’s actions through two different lenses.

Well, I personally don’t like downplaying the crimes he committed and dumbing it down to “he was being manipulated” because, even if this is not false, it is not entirely correct either. Akechi is so fun to speculate about because he’s a character who is always clashing against himself in various ways as if he was in a constant state of internal turmoil, and this is not very different.

Akechi himself made the choice to go to Shido. It is extremely unlikely that he didn’t know he was going to be using his new powers for murder. He may have been very young, but despite the fact that he was a child forced to mature prematurely, he knew exactly which type of person Shido was. When he walked into that deal he was aware of the consequences and had fully made peace with the fact that he’d be taking another person’s life. Now, I’m not saying that Shido never manipulated him because he did, but not with that particular choice. 

This alone tells plenty about Akechi’s morals. I believe that Akechi indeed has some level of empathy for other people, but I sincerely doubt he feels especially bad about the Okumura-like people he had to kill. He might feel bad for the family of the victims or just feel nauseated with himself, however, he doesn’t regret a thing. As if he had grown numb to it. ...Until a certain point, that is, but I’ll talk about that later.

I would also like to elaborate further on Akechi’s continuous conflict with himself, and this particular piece of Maruki’s confidant immediately reminded me of this:

He’s talking about Akira here, but isn’t it interesting to note that Akechi’s internalized and externalized realities are, in contrast to Akira’s, the farthest they could possibly be from each other? His sense of justice, childlike desire to be loved and seen as a hero, in contrast to the cold-blooded murderer he had become? It’s like there are two people fighting it out inside of Akechi’s brain (lol) which must cause him a lot of distress. I don’t believe that Robin Hood is a ruse or that his Detective Prince façade is entirely fake. The way I see it, they are his ideal, which he strayed so far away from he lost grasp of who he himself is.

In my opinion, Akechi has never cared about fame the slightest bit, he used all of that as an opportunity to act out the person he wished he was, just and virtuous, while still being the feral murderer and bloodstained person he is today. These are two integral parts of him that he has never known how to reconcile. It’s interesting to note that in the third semester he was the one who since the beginning advocated firmly to return to the harsh reality but he had spent the entire game living in the comforting “detective prince” dream he made for himself until the engine room scene happened. 

With the third semester context, the engine room becomes so interesting because that scene is akin to Sumire finding out she’s not Kasumi. It’s a cold bucket of water thrown straight to Akechi’s face and telling him to wake up from this lie he made to comfort himself and face reality: he is no hero. Despite the fact that he is, too, a victim, he is simultaneously a murderer who perpetuated with the cycle of his father’s aggressions and he cannot escape that fact. Worse, he was being manipulated all along and his revenge plan and arguably his only reason to live AND justification for his actions was completely crushed.

Once again, this Umineko scene illustrates what I think Akechi’s situation up until that point was like:

Akechi rationalized every awful, inexcusable thing he did as, “It’s for my revenge’s sake” and ran with it. He was incredibly blinded by his hate and ignored the weight of the consequences of his actions up until that point where everything came crashing down right in front of his eyes. There is no excuse and no justification for that.

However, Akechi was also abused himself. There is no excuse for what he did, but is getting back at the person who took everything from him so reprehensible a thought? Is wanting justice against someone who essentially ruined your life not understandable? Many people like to say “cool motive still murder” or things of the like, but I’m asking you again to put yourself in his shoes.

Yet AGAIN with a Umineko screencap:

I played this the other day and one of the first things I thought of was Akechi. A lot of people draw parallels between Akechi and Adachi, but that’s just so damn wrong and make me lose my hair so much and become completely bald because that couldn’t be farther from the truth and I’m gently asking you to reconsider. In the pic above, Adachi would fit the “homicidal maniac” mentioned to a T, and while Akechi is by absolutely no means free of guilt and much less a stellar person, his crimes were moved completely by his heart. 

For the people who use his choice to become Shido’s hitman to say Akechi does not deserve any kind of forgiveness and that he’s a murderous maniac, I ask you to at least think of what state of mind he was at that moment. Think very hard about it, imagine how completely bleak life must have looked like then, to the point that he risked everything on murder.

This is nothing more than my speculation, but I believe Akechi’s thought process at that moment was something along the lines of, “I have nothing to lose since my (current) life is completely meaningless". It was as if he had reached such a numb state he chose to forgo all his morals and humanity in pursuit of at least one thing that would give his life meaning, that being his hate for Shido, which I also think was the only emotion he ever truly understood well ever since his mom passed.

Since Akechi is all about conflicting emotions though, I would also like to remind you how vulnerable Akechi really is to any kind of affection. His “childlikeness” that Robin Hood represents was, by all accounts, still there. Akechi has a desperate need to be loved while simultaneously putting up walls and wearing masks, making it extremely difficult to have any kind of meaningful relationship. This is something that Shido thoroughly takes advantage of, too.

That’s also why one of his lines to Akira hit so much harder for me, following this reasoning. “If only we had met a few years earlier,” expresses many emotions at once. If Akechi had known something other than misery and hatred during that period of his life he would not have latched so thoroughly to that revenge plan. Akechi simply had nothing to lose, since he had nothing at all.

I mentioned earlier that Akechi doesn’t regret a thing, which I still think it’s true. Before he had met Akira, he truly did not regret a thing, but meeting Akira caused him a lot of strife because not only Akira is a person whose whole existence flaunts everything Akechi could have had if he hadn’t fallen into fate’s trap, but Akechi also experiences happiness through his connection with Akira. Hanging out and talking to him truly makes him happy, and it’s something more genuine than he’s ever known. Yet, it’s too late, because his choices were already set in stone and he had already pulled the trigger with no way to take any of the bullets back.

That’s why Akechi is so confusing, so controversial and sometimes uncomfortable to think about. There is no clear line between good or bad, he just is something in the middle. Akechi is both a person who ruined a lot of people’s lives with no regard whatsoever to the consequences but also a victim rebelling and retaliating against the person who took everything from him and made his life a living hell. That’s why it’s so hard for not only some players to form opinions about him but also downright uncomfortable for the Phantom Thieves to think about. There is no objectively best answer for what he deserves. It just doesn’t exist. Should he spend the rest of his life in jail, or dead, because his crimes were inexcusable? Or should he be given another chance at life to learn to be happy? It’s entirely subjective, and that’s why he’s so great to think or discuss about. 

Aaand that’s it, I’m grateful you read so far, hope I didn’t piss anyone off, also not gonna pretend this wasn’t very self indulgent because of the amount of times I quoted Umineko in it. Anyways, thank you!

SIDE NOTE: I didn’t write this recently, it had been sitting on my drafts for some months now and I found it again today and decided to just release it into the wild because why not? I think this was meant to be much longer than it is and to elaborate more eloquently on a lot of points I brought up (like the PT with Akechi) but alas, I lost the train of thought and so it Perished.

Hi again, sorry to bother you.

I submitted this post because I have a few questions (I was typed ISFP 9w1).

I have doubts about Fi-Te.

▪Fe/Fi :

I mean, When I read Fi and Fe descriptions, I relate to low Fe better. I need your view on that.

I relate to the chamelion effect that is often associated with Fe.

Unlike Fi-doms who behave the same everywhere, my behavior changes from group/person to group/person, and the group dynamic and atmosphere indirectly affects me and my performance. <- 9 does this, also 3 fixers do this.

I’m usually reserved when alone, but with energetic people/groups I become more energetic, smile more and check myself less and get comfortable. While if I go into serious or cold groups, I become like that. And If I get uncomfortable vibes from a group, I may get uncomfortable as well, or I might think my presence is not desired or not important, so I try to minimize my interaction with that group. I try not to force myself upon people even though  feeling excluded seriously bothers me. <-- mirroring the group this much again, suggests 9 (and 3?); you are deliberately avoiding conflict through changing to fit the group.

It’s like I have no specific personality or characteristics. I explain my personality with doubt but try to include all functions. I envy people who maintain the same personality and energy-level with everyone or stand up and rebel against things they don’t agree with even when they’re alone. <-- 963 or 936 tritype confirmed

On the other hand, I try to maintain the group harmony and not bother others even when I internally have problem with something or don’t agree with them. I don’t rebel against the majority unless I have no other choice. <- 9 core

I assume being liked or appreciated by others matters to me a lot. As a kid and teen, I acted on this need (indirectly) by getting good grades or doing my homework and being nice to teachers. I wasn’t aware of it much. As I grew up, I became more dependent on other people, their vibe, their motivation or inner thoughts and their views. I miss my teen years because of that. <- numbing out and ignoring things as a teen? again, 9

I am not social expert. I suck at manipulating others or changing the group dynamics. I can’t “MAKE” people think/do something. I can’t stand my ground really well. I don’t even know how to comfort people. <- sounds like Fi-dom, not Fe

My view on good or bad is also relative. I can say pros & cons for things and I rarely view something as pure good or pure bad (It happens but it’s rare).<- Fi-dom has more nuance, is willing to give more benefit of the doubt, and is not as quick to judge people as Fe, since... well, Fi is subjective, ruminating, and inward based.

I also have problem defining when I “should” hold my ground and when I should stay back and keep quiet. <- lack of boundary awareness, a 9 issue

I dislike selfish people who boss others, don’t do their share of work in the group or disturb the group harmony by bringing negativity or drama. <- personal assertion of an ethical preference + 9 hatred of drama and negativity

Unlike Fi-dom stereotypes, I try my best to avoid feelings or emotion. So I try my best not to bother others to avoid potentially nasty confrontations. Every type of feeling is toxic and unhealthy to me. I’d rather deal with data, impersonal facts and professional relations than complicated people, drama or feelings. I’d rather be around impersonal, just, uncomplicated and direct people. <- 9 to the max; let’s not be unpleasant, let’s not let in anything that makes me feel uncomfortable, let’s suppress and ignore feelings as much as possible, let’s not hang out with annoying or troublesome people... this is not Fe, this is a 9 refusing to engage with anything that makes them uncomfortable

Fe-like grips for me happen during three situations. a)Failure or being hopeless about major future goals (which I try to avoid), b)Loss of loved ones or being away from them for a long time, c)Feeling excluded or being in a toxic/complecated/dramatic/unjust environment <- the first sounds like inferior Te frustration

Being in grip makes me sensitive, hopeless and paranoid of other peopl’s intentions. I then wish I could have more social skills and more connections/friends. <- Fe envy + 6ish disintegration

In general, I’m not an F expert and try to avoid that realm. But every once in a while, I wish I had more social skills, could open up to people and be cool around them. <- Fi-dom seriousness and detachment from others

________________________________________

▪S/N:

I agree with Se and Ni over their counterparts. I would be witty/argumentative and also more flexible if I had Ne.

But I still have trouble relating to Se, at least the stereotypes.

Sure, I wish I had more action, excitement and novelty in my life, and I might act on it some day (after reaching my professional goals), and I’m a visual/tactile learner and get bored by small details or impractical theories.

But still, I get uncomfortable dealing with the sensory (and social) realm for a long time and get sensory overload. I sometimes have trouble staying in the moment. Not to mention, I’m physically lazy and need someone more willful and energetic to initiate activities at first. And I’m somewhat of a homebody at the moment and bad which makes me relate to Se-aux even less.

Even my interests differ from stereotypical SP ones and look similar to Intuitive interests. I have little interest in watching team sports or car/F1 races on TV. I much prefer to learn about scientific facts, space, other cultures, different countries and their food/drinks and architecture, languages and different philosophical and psychological views and self-help stuffs. I often google things like that.

I do relate to Ni, as I have my goals/plans and, care about them and try to reach them (and would freak out if I couldn’t which means I lack flexibility about them).

Also, last minute changes of plans, or being kept in the dark about future or a project really bothers me. But I agree with you that having a cynical Ni might mean its position is not dom. Also, I’m not good at things like chess (find it boring), decision-making or guessing test questions (stereotypical Ni stuffs)

Based on the new info I added, Am I still Se-Ni?

... those are a lot of negative stereotypes about ISPs. An SP can sit at home on their butt and watch television all day long and never do anything creative with their hands, it does not disqualify them from being Se. An SP can be an avid reader and love learning about all kinds of things, it does not make them an intuitive. An ISP prefers to have a general idea of what they want and think before they act, it doesn’t make them an INJ. Basically, none of what you said disqualifies you from being an ISFP. I would look at Ne vs Se if you are still not sure, but I’m still seeing IFP 9.

________________________________________

▪T :

I do brainstorm things and read between the lines in my head. But I have little interest in sharing them with people or debating with people. Maybe I don’t debate much because of shyness. I also need time processing and analyzing the things being said, so I rarely challenge someone. <-- introvert, not a thinker tendency; high Ti knows what’s irrational without needing to process it, and will react accordingly by pointing out the illogical statement.

I’m more cynical than positive. If I doubt the truth of something or an statement or a program, I analyze and research about it if needed. I sometimes I argue with my family members or debate about social stuffs, taboo stuffs or some other stuffs. specially when I think what they think/believe is irrational. But I rarely target them directly or attack them about it, unless I know they’re thick-skinned and don’t make a big deal out of it. Also, I dislike it when people change a friendly debate into aggressive personal attacks. <- 9 avoidance of conflict / confrontation

When debating with my family, I use a mixture of facts and brainstorming results as debating tools. But In general I trust proven facts more than personal analysis and specially at school, I used to dislike too much theory, analysis and details. <- proven facts = Te, hatred of theory = Se/Ni

What makes me doubt being a thinker (or even a F-dom)? The fact that I rely on other people to describe myself and my self-worth. And the fact that A toxic atmosphere or exclusion can have impact on my mental health and performance. Also, my shyness and lack of assertiveness in social stuffs and being conflict-averse and fearing confrontations.

I think ISFP 9 is correct. Most of what you describe, as you’ve seen is simply being a 9, and you don’t have the kind of strong knowledge of Te/Ti that an ISTP or TJ would have.

Genie and the Savanclaw boys

So this was someting I wrote to get me out of my sour mood. Latly I haven’t been feeling to great. So I decided to wrote some platonic scenarios between my persona Genie and Jack, Ruggie and Leona, please let me know what you thought of this, I spent roughly six hours on it.

A quick recap of Genie's powers

Vision--  Genie can see small glimpses of a person's past. "Past Vision 2/4" occurs when Genie comes into direct contact with a person's possession (it could be inanimate or their darlings), this allows her to see a quick "video" of their past which can last up to 2 minutes. "Past Vision 4/4" is a longer version of the previous power. For her to be able to view an in detailed vision of a person's past, she must first have experienced a "Past Vision 2/4" of them and this power can only be unlocked while she's in her lamp. Think of it as downloading a video and only being able to watch the first two minutes until you're in "a room with a sort of significance to you." Due to this power also affecting her, Genie is sometimes forced to relive traumatizing events that have occurred to her in the past one thousand years.

Maniacal File-- Note that all of Genie's powers are based on manipulating the "yandere side" of people and or events. Maniacal file lets Genie create multiple scenarios or events for how a person under a yandere influence may act. Think of this as someone having a multitude of one-shots or stories about one particular "character". Now, these "files" allow her to do two different things. One being able to manipulate the person to commit various acts, such as murder, kidnapping amongst other macabre deeds. Two, she's able to mimic almost anything a that a person who's file she "owns" can do. Of course for this to work, the files first have to be shrunk to the size of a USB and inserted into her encephalon manually (or with the use of a bit of magic). The more files she has on someone the better she understands them and the better she can help them with their "wishes", there is also a sentimental viewpoint to these "files". Since Genie is very anti-social and withdrawn these fils are sorta like her "friends". For her to obtain a person "files" she will need to either see them perform a sort of "yandere like" act, stalk them to better understand them or/and have a very in-depth and detailed conversation with them.

Bloody Background-- Certain environments (like the entirety of the Savanclaw dormitory) trigger "bloody background" which always Genie to see multiple "escape routs" or "attack routs". These routes can be used for hiding, stalking and multiple other things.

Jack Howl

Genie’s eyes landed on the warn out beat up door. Scratch marks ranging in size, were left on the wooden entrance, each one a declaration of war. The purple-haired Jinn traced her long slender fingers over a random set of claw marks, debating whether or not to enter the Jackel’s den. For a split second her vision flashed, the ground morphed from marble to rough rock, bones of wild animals littered the ground, the door had disappeared and in its place was the mouth of a pitch-black cave. Screams of terror scorched the air followed by maniacal laughter… She'd seen this place before, stood on the very same flooring and heard the same disparate cries o despair.  “Ten more seconds and then the roar” she whispered. But the visions never last that long, it shattered into a thousand tiny shards and scattered away. Genie once again stood in front of the battered door. Inside she could hear the low grunts and huffed breaths of the ill-tempered first year that resided within. There was no reason for her to enter, she had no need nor business to invaded his privacy like this, her intentions boarded on plain rude…but the curiosity of the matter was eating her alive. She had to know!

Jack Howl first year Savanclaw student with a knack for getting into fights. He had no friends, never showed interest in a darling and the only words he ever spoke where curses and threats. Due to his harsh and brutish manner, Genie had never been able to receive a type three profile on him. Sure she knew all his attack moves and strategies by heart and could predict any action he would partake before he even knew it himself. But that left the biggest question unanswered...what kind of darling did he desire?

Based on pure analysis she could take an educated guess and say a darling whose temper was even shorter than his and who would beat up a defenseless person for kicks. But there were so many "what ifs.." maybe he liked a girl who was the opposite of him. Or maybe someone brave enough to stand in his way and tell him to stop his meaningless fits of rage. All these questions made the young girl's mind race with potential suiter for the boy.

Hesitantly the Jinn pushed on the door, it creaked as it was shoved out of her path. "Um...J-Jack", she counted her heartbeats a thing most Genii tend to do to pass the time. One heartbeat, two--

"GET OUT!" A water bottle flew in her direction, hitting the left side of her face. Ok so maybe she didn't know every move as confidentially as she had thought. "Ow!!" a court whine came after, followed by a stream of tears. Before Genie knew it she had fallen to the floor legs splayed to either side of her and loud sobs escaping from her mouth. The bruise on her head where to waterbottle had hit her pulsed with pain each time her heart beated. She frantically tried to dry the tears with her wrists to no avail. This was not what was suppose to happen, but then again had she expected anything better?

"Hey cut that out" Jack kneeled next to her frame, roughly grabbing both her wrists in one large callused hand. She tried to wiggle out of his grasp for a second debating wheater to kick or headbutt him. Slowly her white hair aggressor lifted his other hand to her face and wiped away her tears. "hey hey no more crying ok? You're going to be alright got it?" His voice was rough and demanding but it held a gentle undertone.

It took a while but eventually, Genie's tears stopped and her sobs died down. When the room had fallen into a semi-comfortable silence jack spoke again. "What the hell was up with barging into my room? Are you trying to get beat up?"

Genie casted her gaze downwards and took in a shack breath. 1 heartbeat, 2 heartbeats, 3 heartbeats...

"I wanted to...to-to talk to you..." Her voice shook with uncertainty and cracked from the strain the crying fit had left on her vocal cords.

"What for?" Jack glared at her, a snarl spread across his lips and his grip on her wrists tightened. "Don't tell me a useless pipsqueak like you want to pick a fight with me?"

In that second a strategy started to map out in her brain, Millian old gears turning and formulating words, tailoring them together to generate sentences. She swiftly lifted her eyes and locked her blood-red orbs with his golden ones.

"I-I've seen you fight, multiple times actually and I...I um came up with some strategies and suggestions for how you can improve...not that you're not tremendous I mean sorta good, already but...but um I can help you improve...if if you want that um that is."

Jack's eyes bore into her soul for a solid moment, he tossed her hands aside savagely. Getting up he stomped in the opposite direction, his bushy snow-white tail smacked her beauty in the face. He paused for when he reached his punch bag, grabbing the role of hand wrap, reapplying it to his bloody bruised knuckles. Finally, he barked out an answer "Meet me by the elephant skull at twelve am sharp, got it!"

feebly Genie stood up, using the wall as a support. "S-sure thing" she replied, surprise evident in her tone "You g-got" a large triumph smile graced her tanned face.

"Oh and bitch?"

Too happy to register the insult Genie cheerfully responded with a chirpy "yes".

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ROOM!"

Ruggie Bucchi

Booted feet pounded on the rough uneven ground. Heavy breathing filled the air. Behind her, Genie could hear footsteps chasing after her. Panic crawled into her mind, stretching its self thinly over her mind. It's ok she mumbled to herself, just realize you've done this a billion of times before.

"Bloody Background" she whispered under her breath. Genie blinked, hundreds of tiny blue circles appeared in her red orbs. A full layout of the land before he appeared in the far left side of her sight, multiple little notes flashed in bright shades of blue and red. navigating through the notes and maps, Genie finally made heads and tails of the situation. Quickly mapping out the most deceitful rout.

--Run 10 meters then take a left, lean to the right there is a 16 cm deep pothole in the middle of the path.--

Accelerating her pace she took a sharp turn, behind her she heard the squeaky raw sound of shows scrapping rock. followed by a few curses. She kept running, watching as a blue circle highlighted the promised pothole. She aimed right, hissing as the rock wall bite into her skin. when she was a good few feet away she heard a scream and 'thump', her pursuer had hit the fallen that should give her a head start of approximately three minutes.

--with a three-minute head start run straight ahead, you'll come to a cliff jump and role down. The current calculations do not predict any major damages to be inflicted, fractures and momentary body shutdowns are not guaranteed to be avoidable.--

Her body was feeling numb, blood rushing to her fingertips. A warm dusty wind hit her face, small bits of sand sticking in her eyeballs. "Thank you Arabian desserts" she mumbled, there really were some benefits of being born in the 8th-century middle east. In front of her the earth seemed to disappear, she braced her self for the jump. Leaping into the air she curled her body into a semi-oval like shape. Upon impact, with the rugged ground, she curls her self further. She finally used the tip of her boot to dig a slow her down. Getting up again she started to run trying her best to ignore the immense pain in her right arms and the various bruises and blooding scratches over her body.

--The skull on an elephant in approaching, hid in the inside of its hollow cranium.--

No, no hiding Genie thought to herself. This whole chase -although exhilarating- was starting to get boring. She scanned the ground, reading the comments trying to find something that might help. The blue comments kept highlighting potentially useful objects and hideouts. Swiftly Genie picked up two rock shards. Holding them tight she switched her path and dashed for the elephant skull in the far right.

She entering through the mouth, quickly taking in her surroundings. Using the jagged bone matter, Genie pulled her self up climbing until she reached the window of the empty eye socket. Looking out she could see Jamil, so he'd been her mysterious stalker. Racking her brain for a second Genie tried to find a reason why Jamil of all people would be after her. Did he need something? Was he having trouble with his darling? Or did he need her for something else?

The second-year Scarabia student was only a few meters away from the skull, his back turned eyes darting every which way trying to find the Jinn girl. Swiftly Genie positioned her self, one foot resting on the opening of the eye, the other ready to push her forward. One arm held her still while the other gripped one of the shards.

One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats...

She leaped forward, crashing into Jamil's back. The third dorm's vice president landed face first in the dirt, Genie straddling his back. She raised her hand with the rock, balling it into a fist and slamming it down on Jamil's head.

"Ouch, cut that out you rouge Jinn!"

Genie didn't respond she struck him again and again. A sickly smile spreading on her face.

"Aw look at you little bunny, trying to beat a man to death."

Turning her head Genie glared at the source of the voice. Her eyes immediately widened. They're on top of an elephant spin sat the savage gluten of savanclaw Ruggi Buchi the vice dorm leader.

He leaned his head onto his hand and smirked down at the two. At that moment Genie noticed just how dark the sky had gotten and how many glowing eyes were watching her. She gulped and rolled off of the boy. Landing on the ground in a w sitting position. Jamil also got up, he placed a hand on the back of his head covering the bleeding wound. With his free hand, he grabbed Genie's wrist. "Listen here you useless genie.." Before he could finish Ruggie had landed next to him, claws leaving deep scratches in his arm. With a painful hiss, Jamil retracted his injured arm. Ruggie walked behind Genie placing a protective hand over her shoulder. "Get off our territory before Leona arrives."

Jamile sent one last glare towards the duo before returning from which he came.

"thanks" Genie mumbles

"Don't mention it, that's what a pack is for" Ruggie flashes her a predatory smirk

Leona Kingschalor

Genie leans over Leona's shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders. A few centimeters in front of them a blue port screen is floating in the air. pictures of multiple girls rotating with their bios on the side.

"We really need to find you a darling big brother" Genie mutters as she nuzzles the crook of his neck. Leona simply takes another bite of the beef jerky in his hands, he chews slowly, relishing the feeling of his beloved "sister's" warm breath over his exposed skin. "Why are you in such a rush? Despreat to have me occupied with someone else so you're all alone and abandoned again?" He could feel her body tense, her breath hitch, and the nervous tick as she dug her long nails into his shoulder.

"N-no you're just getting older and we need to find the future king his queen. That-that's all"

Leona huffed and glared at the screen, there was something rather monotonous about these girls, they all lacked a certain "spunk" to them. Plus how did she expect him to concentrate when she was right there.

Leona didn't know when the entirety of Nightraven had decided that the naive little psycho jinn would become his "little sister" or even why for that matter. If it had been up to him he'd declare her as his darling the moment her lamp had been tossed through that magic mirror in the director's office. But something had happended, some choices, something! What that something was he did not know...only that it kept them apart.

Genie straightened and walked over to Leona plumping down on his lap and grabbing the screen, scrolling through some names and articles mindlessly. Automatically Leona's hands when to her head patting her softs then braiding a section of their hair to match his own. It was the brotherly thing to do, but when had it become so natural? "Look big brother.." Genie turned the screen and showed Leona the "file" of a round-faced hyena girl. She looked cute, maybe even try worthy...just not right now. "She's cute," he mutters turning his emerald eyes to Genie's face. No, he though her Genie's cheeks where come how rounder and puffier.

"I could set up a date if you--"

"NO!" Leona flinched he hadn't meant for it to come out so harsh. He cleared his throat and gently caressed the "young" girl's face, started pulling both her cheeks. "Why don't you give me her number and I'll give her a call after my nap...how's that?" The purple-haired girl tried to nod despite her flesh being pulled in opposite directions. "Good" Leona let go of her face and got up, lifting Genie up in the process. He walked over to the door of his room kicking it open and letting her fall on the bed, not a second later he plumped down on top of her. Genie let out a giggle and squirmed under him until she had some breathing room. "Get some rest  Ruggi tells me you haven't slept in a week." This was concern, it was how an "older brother was supposed to feel for his "little sister". "But I'm not sleepy-" she tried to protest. "Don't care, do that counting thing you do sometimes maybe that'll bore you enough to drift off."

She obeyed like the good little sister she was supposed to be. As sleep took over his sense Leona heard her tiny voice barely above a whisper.

one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats, four heart--

how are you be honest also whats ur fav color (please elaborate)

I go from numb to crying to baking in my kitchen blasting 2010s hits on my headphones feeling every feeling possible, how do you think I’m doing xd I’m hanging in there I guess. Could be better but could be far worse, too. No need to worry though, I’ll survive.

I don’t think that I’ve ever been able to pick a favourite colour. When people ask, I usually say black or red (especially the burgundy/wine shades). I don’t know why those colours appeal to me so much. Maybe it’s that I like to dress in those colours and I’ve gotten used to them or maybe it’s that I’m a lefty bitch lol. Wish I could give a better analysis :d

12 Days of Turn- “Snow”

Levi Tallmadge is back (if you can’t tell already) for the prelude of events given in the 12 days of Turn piece posted a few days ago.  This one follows the very first meeting of the Levi and Adrienne in New York City.  If there was anything that might have confused you about the first piece, this should clear it up entirely.  The series of events from “Cookies” take place after the week in NYC as a direct prelude.  Once again this was created with the assistance of @culper-spymaster​ and if you enjoy it: like, comment, and/or reblog!

Adrienne Fairfax sat bored in her carriage as it trod along the road to York City to visit her godfather before he returned to England.  It was winter time once again in the colonies, and she was going numb in her face and toes with the chill that seeped through the windows.  They stopped the previous night in Connecticut and would press on till they reached the city today.  Adrienne did not have the heart to force herself into an inn somewhere amongst this horribly small township they were passing through.  They were clearly unaccustomed to passersby; the attention of every person the carriage passed was drawn to the carriage windows, attempting to determine who was in the carriage.  Having had enough of the prying eyes, Adrienne moved to close the curtains before making eye contact with a boy that looked far too similar to a Major that she knew, causing her hand to pause on the curtain as she passed the boy, never once breaking eye contact.  When the boy was out of her sight, she shook her head to clear her thoughts of him and finished closing the curtain. She arrived at the ferry way into the city not shortly after, a sentinel accepting the papers and walking towards the carriage to verify the contents.  Adrienne, who had not been paying attention, was startled by the knock on the window, pulling her from her boring analysis of the cushion's fabric.  She moved to open the curtain by her face to speak to the officer, "Is there a problem, sir?" Having realized that she was alone in the carriage, the officer stepped back from the window, "Not a single one, my Lady.  I hope your journey through Setauket was not too disagreeable." The officer then tilted his hat to her and waved the coachman to continue onto the ferry. 'Setauket,' Adrienne mused, 'Perhaps that boy was indeed related to the intelligence Major.'

The city was a harsh contrast, and ironically symbolic, to itself.  One side having proper colleges, churches, stately townhomes, military barracks, and full taverns, while the other housed hovels and ash, people barely making it by to the next day and most without more than the clothes on their backs and a blanket to cover themselves with at nights.  Adrienne was glad that the curtains were drawn to her left.  She did not wish to witness such poverty but found delight in peering past the curtains on her right, towards the grandeur of the city.  She was scheduled to retrieve her godfather from the ship he would head back to England on, and they would dine at a tavern.  She would have to stay at the tavern because General Howe had not foreseen the absence of the matron she was planned to stay with from the city. Adrienne was pulled from her state of curiosity by the halt of the carriage.  She straightened up, smoothing her skirts and hair as the door opened, and a smile spread wide across her face as the man sat across from her. "Godfather," she laughed gleefully, "How glad I am to see you!" He chuckled, "And I you, my dear.  I am delighted to see that you are returned to me, if only for a few days, in good health." She chatted pleasantly with him, her enthusiasm showing how young she really is.  The carriage pulled to the front of a tavern owned by a man Howe had called Rivington, and they climbed out, Lord Howe first.  Once she was flat on her feet, she finally was able to give the older man a peck on the cheek as he patted her cheek with affection.  Adrienne accepted General Howe's arm as she was led into the tavern.  She stayed closer to him than usual, not feeling comfortable in the setting of the tavern. "Relax, my dear," he patted her arm as he led her to the counter at a leisurely pace, "I assure you it is safe here.  You will not be bothered nor harassed in the slightest." She nodded to him, attempting to seem confident but refusing to release his arm, and, thankfully, he did not protest.  The attendee at the bar seemed to be a Quaker man, whose sullen and reserved mood seemed contrary to the city itself. "How might I help you, sir," he spoke, addressing her godfather, but sparing a skeptical look to Adrienne. "One room for the next week, man." The Quaker looked between them, "Will that be two keys, then?" Adrienne paled at the insinuation and looked to Lord Howe, who laughed freely at the man's comment. "No, Townsend," Howe spoke, "Just the one for my goddaughter." The Quaker suddenly seemed far more at ease with her presence, either from eagerness to be in the brothers Howe's good graces or the assurance that she is a Lady of honor.  He wordlessly passed a key across the counter when another man approached them, Rivington, if she was correct. "I am afraid we find ourselves completely booked as of this purchase, madam.  Do forgive us if the tavern is a bit rowdy these next few days.  Should you need anything, Mr. Townsend and I would be more than willing to oblige you, my Lady." Adrienne smiled politely at the man.  She was correct in assuming the man was indeed Rivington. "I am delighted to hear you say so," she nodded her head politely to Townsend, her arm never leaving the General's own, "Sirs." Lord Howe laughed heartily, "Barely an hour in the city, and you are already drawing the attention of the room, my dear." Adrienne flushed pink and smiled politely at the officers looking curiously at the pair before swallowing thickly and turning to her godfather, who called for her belongings to be brought to her room.  Howe led her to the table by the window and called for two flutes of cherie, and Adrienne allowed herself to be comforted by his presence rather than think on what shall happen come nightfall when she is left alone. The door opened once more, and Adrienne paid it no mind, not looking away to see who had joined them.  She remained this way till Lord Howe left briefly to relieve himself and a young man, a familiar young man, helped himself to the empty seat at the table.   Adrienne was shocked by the boy's boldness, gaping at him in a mix of shock and rage before collecting herself well enough to speak. "Sir, you are aware that this chair is not available? " "Yes," the boy replied, raising an eyebrow at her as he casually drummed his hands on the edge of the table. "But you're acting like I should care." He replied, looking her dead in the eyes. "Sir, I must protest-" He snorted, "Sir, she says." He picks up Lord Howe's empty glass as if he is examining it, "Has anyone ever told you that you're-" "Polite?" "Stuffy." They spoke at the same time, causing a higher level of tension between the strangers.  Adrienne narrowed her eyes at the boy when she finally moved to speak, straightening in her seat and adjusting her posture, "Then what shall I call you, if not, sir?" "Levi," he gave her a lopsided grin, "Everyone just calls me Levi." "I will not," she spat sharply, "Call you by your Christian name.  I have not yet known you for a whole of five minutes!" He fixed his gaze on her, his eyes trailing her face before he finally scoffed slightly, "Christian name.  My Pops would like you." The sour glare he received, in turn, seemed to only make him amused, a humorous huff escaping him before he continued, "Tallmadge." "What?" she questioned with a furrowed brow. "The name you asked for, Levi Tallmadge. Don't wear it out," he told her.  His eyes darted quickly around the room; if she had blinked, Adrienne would have missed it, "Look, I need you to give me the key to your room." Adrienne could feel how quickly the color drained from her face and began to protest before he continued. "I just need the room," he clarified, "You just booked the last one available, and I need it." "I am sorry, Mr. Tallmadge," she raised a brow at him and began her question, "But you are aware of how taverns work?  As in, I come and pay for a room on a first-come, first-serve basis?  It is not I that can be blamed for your tardiness." "Yeah, it kinda is," Levi replied, "If you hadn't driven through Setauket in your fancy carriage and caused a big hoo-ha, I would have been here first." "Well," she replied haughtily, "It is not my fault all of Setauket stops for one fancy carriage.  If you had not been snooping around in the business of others, we would not be having this conversation, would we?" He huffed indignantly, "Girls. You think you know everything. It's none of your business why I need to 'snoop' around." Adrienne smiled politely and brought her glass to her lips as she spoke, "Well if you happen to be a 'little squirt getting into more trouble than he should' then I shall be sure to inform the Major you have done a marvelous job in scouting out British ladies for the cause." The boy's eyes grew wide, and he leaned into her slightly. "How did you know that?" he questioned with a serious tone, "Who told you about Ben?" "Ben," she replied with a slightly lower voice, "Told me about Ben." Levi cursed under his breath so she could not hear it before speaking to her with an accusation laced into his tone, "Why on earth would he tell you? You're pretty, but I've seen better.  And Benny Boy needs to shut his trap before someone takes a short drop and a sudden stop." Adrienne clenched her jaw but declined to comment on his statement.  The boy was high in anxiety as he spoke again, "I don't have much time left before Howe gets back-" "I know," she replied smugly. He rolled his eyes, clenching his jaw as well, "Are you going to give me the room or not?" "For the cause?" Adrienne questioned. "No.  Well, yes, but officially no," he replied. "Then, why?" "Because I am here to petition Clinton for assistance in a privateering problem back in Setauket," he responded honestly. "And perhaps this petitioning shall take a week?" she asked him, sipping the wine in her flute once again. "A week?" the boy asked, surprise in his voice, "Why the hell would it take a week for a petition?" Adrienne blanched slightly, causing him to roll his eyes once more and gesture to her for an answer. "Well, some things cannot be done in a week," she made eye contact with him before shifting her gaze out the window, "And some things can." Levi sputtered, "Are you-" "I could use a valet," she turned back to him, "Do you think yourself capable of such duties?" "Look, I'm sure you're great, lady, but I don't really have time for that," he said. "What a shame," Adrienne tsked, "It would have covered your room, and I do not think that any soldier would dare question the valet of Lord Howe and his goddaughter on why he is in places he otherwise should not be." She looked him up and down before nodding to an emerging figure, "Like in Lord Howe's seat." Levi turned around to see who she nodded at, swearing as he realized that Howe was returning. "Fine," he agreed, "I'll do it." "Lovely," she smiled and handed a bag of coins over to him, "I shall see you tomorrow." "Pesky women," Levi muttered as he rose to leave.

Levi snatched the bag off the table and made for the door, avoiding Howe as much as possible.  When he finally made it out on the street, he shook his head, weighing the heavy bag in his hands. That girl was going to give him a headache if this was how she usually acted. 'Well,' he thought, 'That's not at all how that was supposed to go.' Levi gave a crooked smile to the bag as he hid it, 'On the bright side, I think this should be more than enough for my plans.'

Adrienne woke early to the sound of soldier's boots in the hall. "At least George's aides were courteous enough to be quiet in the mornings," she complained to herself as she rose, wrapping her dressing gown around her shoulders, and walked to the window.  Adrienne called for a pot of tea, perching herself on the windowsill, taking a sip from the cup as she looked down at the streets below.  Hoards of people passed through, not giving her so much as a glance, that is until she made eye contact with a smirking blonde leaning on a storefront below.  His eyes gave her a once over before he raised a brow.  Adrienne flushed pink and pulled her dressing gown over her shift before placing down the cup and rising from the windowsill to dress herself. She finished straightening out the pink silk of the gown as she climbed down the stairs, draping her cloak over her shoulders and tying it. "Mr. Townsend, should my godfather come looking for me, tell him I am on a walk with the valet I enquired for." The man nodded with his back to her before turning around to face her, "You enquired for a valet?" "Yes, sir," she called to him as she opened the tavern's door, "He was selected by your own recommendation." Adrienne then slid out the door before he could object and across the street to meet the boy, Levi, where he stood. "You know," she spoke to him as he continued to lean on the wall, "It is improper to spy on a lady in her bedclothes." "It's not my fault you sleep in so late. I've been here for hours waiting on you." "Nothing is ever your fault, is it, Mr. Tallmadge?" she asked. Adrienne pursed her lips as he shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh...Most things are, but the key is not getting caught," he replied. "Secondly, This is an incredibly early hour, Mr. Tallmadge." He scoffed and rolled his eyes, forcing himself from his leaning position. "Yes, of course," he conceded, "For someone who's never worked a single day in their life." This time she rolled her eyes, "Well, you have dragged me out of my pajamas.  What do you need?" "Oh," he shrugged, "Nothing." He laughed at her, indignation, "I'm messing with you.  I promise." "You better be." "Oh, relax.  I did have a reason to show up so early, but I'm not gonna tell you what it is," Levi looked her up and down, suppressing a laugh, "Though maybe I should have.  Would hate to ruin your lovely silks." She furrowed her brow, "If we are to go that far, would we not be better advised in a carriage?" "No," he snorted, "A carriage would be the worst possible idea." He spoke as he began to walk away down a side street. Adrienne rushed to keep pace with him, jogging after him. "Will you slow down?" she called, provoking a laugh to escape from his lips as he halted in place. "I cannot walk that fast in heels," she complained, trying to catch her breath as she stood beside him.   He nodded as he continued walking once more, "You should buy some boots." "Oh," she pouted, rushing after him again, "Will you slow down?" "Nope!" he shouted back to her.

When they began to approach the charred structures, Adrienne rushed forward to grab his arm, causing him to turn casually to her, "Yes?" "Are you sure?" she swallowed thickly, her eyes drifting to the disheveled figures huddled around an open campfire, "This is somewhere we should be?" He raised a brow, teasing her, "Getting scared, Princess?" "Yes," she admitted, "Shouldn't you be?" "Nah," he dismissed her, "But if it helps you any, you can take my arm." She nodded meekly, reaching to take his arm, stepping close to him, "Thank You." He strolled between the houses while Adrienne struggled to keep her skirts from the ash-covered cobblestone. "Where are we going exactly?" she asked. "Nowhere specifically," he replied, "I'm looking for a someone, not a somewhere." "And I needed to come with you?" she questioned shortly before groaning, "All this walking has hurt my feet." "Quit your whining," he dismissed, "If we don't find him soon, I'll bring you back to your plush carriage, I promise." "That is assuming I can make it back before I collapse," she grumbled. "You really don't lift a finger, do you?" "Of course I do.  I have to call for a servant somehow," she joked, face impassive, but lips pulled up into a humorous smile. Levi did a double-take, asking her, "My God, does she joke?  Like actually joke?" He stirred his face from hers and shook his head in amazement, "And here I thought you incapable of laughing." "Well," she spoke impassively, "What can I say? I have forgotten my manners after walking through ash for so long." "I could leave you here," he warned. Adrienne's head snapped to him quickly, her hand tightening around his arm. "You would not dare," she threatened. "I would," he threatened, "And I will."  Levi's eyes trailed across the side of a heavily charred building before locking onto their target, "There he is." "Oh, thank heavens," she sighed with relief, "Hurry and do whatever business a 12-year-old could have in this part of the city so that we might return to civilization." "Thirteen," he corrected, "And already your height." "Height means nothing," she replied haughtily. "Only to the short," he replied, trekking across a plot of charred grass. "Mr. Tallmadge," she called after him, her eyes shifting to the people whose eyes darted to the Adrienne at her shouting before she swallowed and lifted her skirts, rushing after him.  She approached him as he talked to a dirty-faced boy; Adrienne could barely see him beneath the heavy layer of ash and dirt that coated his face, hair, and what she assumed might have been clothes at one time.  Their conversation was held in low voices, but the boy Levi had been talking to stopped talking altogether when she approached. "I thought you said it would only be you," the boy accused Levi. "Well," he scoffed, "I thought it would just be me, too." He turned to Adrienne, "Would you mind waiting over there?" He nodded towards the area in front of the porch, where more dark figures stood lurking.  Adrienne swallowed and went to protest, but Levi cut her off, pointedly, "Now." Adrienne swallowed, wrapping her cloak tightly around her as she walked over towards the porch, staying a safe distance from it and the people on it.  She tried not to eavesdrop on Levi's conversation, which wasn't hard considering how low they were speaking, but her eyes kept drifting over to where they crouched.  She watched Levi nod, clap the boy on the shoulder and hand him over a handful of coins from his pocket.  Adrienne scoffed at this.  Of course, it was her money.  How could it not be?  She should be mad at his use of her coin to pay off some urchin, but she found herself unable to work up the anger as he approached her. "Sorry about that," he said, moving his arm out as she grabbed hold of it once more. "I didn't mean to order you around so harshly.  The arrangement with Henry is incredibly sensitive.  You saw how jumpy he is." She pursed her lips but conceded to his concerns, "I understand.  Does not mean that I enjoy being forced around." "Around by me or around these people?" "Could it not be both?" He shook his head, "Well, at least you've finally admitted they're people." "I never said they were anything other than," she replied as they walked on. "But you treated them like it." Adrienne opened her mouth to protest but soon closed it when she realized she could not honestly argue against his remark. "That's what I thought," he said, letting silence fall over them until he sighed, "Let's get you back to the Tavern." "Yes," she replied stiffly, "My godfather will surely be missing me."

When they returned, Levi held the door open as she walked in, only to be greeted by a disgruntled Howe.  He rose from his seat to greet her, taking her by the arms and inspecting her person before he spoke, "Good lord, my dear, where have you been?" "I went on a walk, godfather," she replied sweetly as Levi walked up behind her, "Might I introduce the valet I inquired for, Mr. Levi Tallmadge." She stepped to the side so that Howe could see the boy. "A valet, my dear," he looked at Levi before he raised a brow back at Adrienne, "Are you sure this lowlife could fit such qualifications?" She jutted her bottom lip out in a pout as she complained, "Godfather, you are unfair to the both of us." "I must ask, my dear.  I meant no harm to you," Howe chided her gently, "Does he have experience?  Recommendations?  Something that would soothe my old soul?" She hesitated before clearing her throat, "Yes, godfather." Her eyes shifted to meet Levi's, a plea for assistance in her eyes, "He was the valet for-" "Major Edmund Hewlett of His Majesty's Royal Army," Levi cut in. Adrienne nodded and added, "And he has a recommendation from Mr. Townshend as well." Howe humphed, allowing a moment before he sighed, rubbing his temples, "Very well then, boy.  Go fetch the carriage." Levi nodded and headed outback. Adrienne sat down at the table Howe had been seated at, with him joining her shortly after. "I must also ask," Howe spoke, "What provoked such a long walk, my dear?  Your feet must ache." "They do," she affirmed him, "But I suppose I was far too distracted by the pretty things that can be found in such a city." The carriage pulled around the front of the tavern, and the two stood, leaving out the door. "Well then, What pretty things might I buy for such a pretty thing?" Adrienne's godfather asked her as they approached. Adrienne laughed sweetly, and Levi rolled his eyes, muttering to himself. "I do believe I have room in my belongings for a new gown," she hesitated, "Or two." Levi's judgemental eyes met hers as he helped her into the carriage, and Adrienne swallowed, giving him a smile. "Thank you," she whispered and sat down inside the warmth of the carriage.

They arrived at a well-kept millinery shop, and Lord Howe sent Adrienne and Levi inside as he remained outside, talking to an officer she did not recognize.  Levi kept his distance from the shelves and items displayed throughout the shop as Adrienne ran her hands over a blue and white pinstriped silk. "Blue?  Are you sure that is wise in Tory town?" Levi joked from behind her, causing Adrienne to smile slightly. "Well, unfortunately, it seems to be a color that is quickly consuming my life," she sighed. "I doubt that," he replied, "I'm sure in a few years you'll be happily married off to a boy in red." She sighed, disappointment unintentionally laced in her tone, "Sooner rather than later, I'm afraid.  And to a boy in blue." Levi did a double-take, stepping closer so he could see her face as he talked. "No way. You're way too British for any of them." "My intended would agree with you," she said, turning to face him now, "Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, aide-de-camp to General Washington." "I have never heard that name," Levi admitted. "Which is saying something. I know a little about everyone." "He is the son of one of the most wealthy families in South Carolina.  His father is Henry Laurens," she spoke.  Levi opened his mouth to speak, but Adrienne cut him off, "Yes, the same Henry Laurens who just finished his term as President." Levi looked around the room quickly before turning to her, "First of all, you really need to lower your voice before someone hears you.  Secondly, you really go big or go home, don't you?" "That is my father," she smiled at the thought of him, "Viscount William Fairfax only accepts the best for his family." Levi conceded with a nod, "Give us ruffians a chance.  You might be surprised by how likable we can be." "That is it," Adrienne exclaimed at the boy's words, "I knew you seemed familiar!" Levi's eyebrows scrunched together, "Huh?" "I know who your brother is, but you do not remind me of him very much," she explained, "But you do remind me of a very particular Lieutenant that was always with him." "A Lieutenant," Levi asked, still confused. "Lieutenant Caleb Brewster and I were good friends," she continued, "As I hope you and I may still be." Levi scoffed, laughing, "Is this your way of apologizing?" "I never said that," Adrienne replied, attempting to stifle a laugh. He shook his head in disbelief, "You really know Caleb?" She nodded, "Yes, I do indeed." "How?" This time it was Adrienne's turn to glance around the room, replying slightly quieter than she had been before. "He taught me to shoot.  And throw his hatchet," she told him, smiling, "Though not in that order." Levi laughed loudly, drawing a glare from the shopkeeper.  He apologized to the man quietly before turning back to Adrienne, "He let you touch his hatchet?" "Yes," she replied, "Though I have no idea why.  If I were him, I would have done anything but, considering he only stepped in after I shot your brother in the foot." Levi bit his hand to stifle the roar of laughter that was about to escape from his lips. "You shot Benny?" he asked with a mix between amazement and amusement, "Like actually shot him?" She huffed jokingly before nodding. "It was not intentional," Adrienne defended, "But yes, I did shoot him.  Thankfully McHenry is an excellent surgeon." "When?" Levi asked, "When did you shoot him?" "Late January, at the Valley Forge encampment." "Ah," Levi groaned, "I can't believe I missed that!  And only by a few weeks too." "Oh," Adrienne flushed pink, turning back to the fabric suddenly, "I am afraid I was completely indisposed from Christmas till halfway through January." "Oh," he hummed curiously at her sudden actions, "Can I ask why?" "I was trying not to die from a bullet wound and the subsequent infection that followed." "Oh.  That sucks." "Yes, indeed."

Okame’s Underbelly: Intoxication |2nd|

(ShinsoxOC)

Katsumi's POV (localvillageidiot#0870) and Shinso's POV (hecker#8339)

Warning: Contains toxic relationships, heartbreak, quirk misuse, and alcohol consumption

Preview:

| Fuck, it’s actually over. The grave reality hit me in the face like a brick. I felt an unfamiliar emotion painfully swell in my chest. It terrified me. So, I did what I knew how to do best: avoid, avoid, avoid. I reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of soju. I twisted off the cap and began downing it; I didn’t even notice the bitter taste. It didn’t take me long before I was ready for the second bottle. My head was    empty. |

1st Chapter - Anticipation

(Katsumi’s POV)

Performances had been going on for a little while. I had shifted my position in my chair a couple of times to get comfortable and finally settled on sitting cross legged with my knees resting on the plush arms. Holding my, now lukewarm, tea in both hands, I inhaled as I took a sip. The minty aroma cleared the fog in my head a bit from the heavy summer air that was being moved around by the slow ceiling fans scattered across the room. I did my best to politely listen to the people on stage as they went through their pieces, but really only one in every five people were any good. I looked at my phone to check the time. There was about 20 more minutes until Okame’s usual time slot. As a particularly boring piece was being performed, I heard some shuffling to my right. Curious and in need of something a bit more stimulating, my eyes wandered towards the sound. Not wanting them to notice my staring, I kept my eyes low towards the ground. I saw a pair of large black chelsea boots stop two chairs away from me. Their owner sat down rather slowly and as my eyes moved up the distressed denim pant leg I caught a glimpse of their hands tensely gripping the arms of the chair as they lowered themselves down. I couldn’t help but stare at those hands as they fidgeted with the loose strands of the cloth chair. The chipped nail polish certainly wasn’t intentional, but the aesthetic fit oddly well with the haphazard chunky rings that adorned their long, rough looking fingers. Am I weird for thinking hands are attractive...?

 Afraid that I would make accidental eye contact but now fully invested in analyzing this random stranger, I adjusted my angle in my chair, so I could easily peek to the side and see the stranger fully. Now that I could get a full look, I could tell for sure that the person sitting nearby was a guy around my age. I watched as he shifted in his seat to take off the black jacket he wore. He set it in his lap and tugged at the seams. I continued my observation. Oh he has an eyebrow piercing too? That’s kind of cute. His whole vibe is a bit Edgelord for me but he pulls it off. My eyes trailed back to his hands, which hadn’t stopped fidgeting. I followed them as he raised them to run his fingers through his hair. The color of it is what struck me first, it was so unique. The shade of purple really suited his pallet. But what the fuck is with that style? Is that on purpose? Is bed head a new trend? Well, I guess it doesn’t look terrible on him... Satisfied with my full analysis and slowly losing interest, I turned my attention to the next performer, who was at least a bit better than the few prior, but still not great. I checked the time again and got a bit excited since it was almost time for Okame to perform. In the meantime, I decided to entertain myself by making up little stories about Mr. Edgelord to pass the time.

I checked my phone casually to see the time. Oh, it’s almost time!  I straightened up in my seat to make sure I could see the stage well. It seemed like the whole room did the same, any side conversations that had been going on suddenly lulled and faded out. The entire room’s focus shifted to the empty stage at the front. We waited in collective anticipation for Okame’s ghost performer to walk up on stage. I peaked around the room for the familiar looking girl but to my surprise, one of the staff members walked onto stage instead. People turned towards each other and began murmuring in confusion. The staff member tapped into the mic to refocus everyone’s attention. 

“Good evening, everyone. The Squeaky Wheelhouse has an announcement to make. As many of you know, typically around this time our resident performer, Okame, has their ghost performer read their work. Unfortunately, Okame has informed us that they will be going on hiatus starting tonight. We are very sorry to see them go but we wish them well and hope they will come back whenever they are ready. With that being said, lets move right into our next performance.” 

The room remained silent for a moment as the announcement sunk in. Then all at once, chairs began to scrape against the floor as people got up to leave. Wow, I had no idea that this many people came specifically for Okame. Among those that got up was Mr. Edgelord. Huh, never would have pegged him for an Okame stan. I wonder what his deal is? When did he become a fan? I’ve never noticed him before. I was pulled out of my thoughts by a gruff, low voice speaking to me. I looked up to see Edgelord standing next to me.

“Excuse me.”

I pulled my legs in to make room for him to pass by, not saying anything. He looks super disappointed. I really can't remember ever seeing him here before. How weird. I looked around to see a noticeable amount of people had left already. I feel bad for the rest of the performers. I should stay for at least a little bit longer. I don't have anything better to do anyway and no one is waiting on me back at the dorms. Despite my best intentions, I could only make it through about another 20 or 30 minutes of performances before I decided that I didn't have to punish myself anymore with tonight’s below-average open mic entries. I gathered my things together and put them into my bag. I headed outside to start my walk back home. As I went to pop my headphones in, my quirk started to pick up an immense amount of sadness coming from someone to my left. I looked over and saw Edgelord hunched over on a bus bench with his head in his hands. Before I knew what I was doing, my quirk was dragging my body in his direction. I gently sat down next to him and reached out to tap his shoulder.

(Shinso’s POV)

If I’m being honest, I barely paid attention to the other performers. I knew I was being rude,  but I couldn’t help myself from impulsively checking for my ghost performer as it was getting closer and closer to the time slot. She liked to keep me on edge so I’m sure she was waiting for the last second to show up.  I heard snaps followed by the crowd hushing as the last performer before “Okame” left the platform. I stared at the stage intently but to my bewilderment, one of the staff members walked on instead.  “.... Unfortunately, Okame has informed us that they will be going on hiatus starting tonight…”  I didn’t hear the rest of what he said after that, his words just became a drone. She didn’t even show up.  After the staff member finished up the announcement he left the stage. My mind was blank, as the empty spotlight burned into my brain. I felt my body lift itself from the chair abruptly. Before I could process what I was doing, I was already making my way out of the place. To my relief, other people followed behind me so I didn’t stand out too much. I brushed past a few people, and luckily my auto-pilot still had some manners to excuse myself. 

My thoughts were racing as my heartbeat pounded in my ears. Fuck this, I’m going home. I swiftly beelined straight to the bus stop near the Wheelhouse. The soju bottles clinked together as I dropped down on the bench. I impatiently dug in my pocket for the pack of cigarettes I was trying to stretch for the week. I’ve cut down significantly and planned to eliminate it from my life completely. Right now is not the time to think about that. It’s actually the perfect fucking time to whip one out.  I put the cigarette between my lips and lit it with a shaky hand. I took one deep drag, the familiar static sensation coating my tongue and throat. If I wasn’t fuming, it might have actually felt soothing. She has some nerves not showing up after fucking around on me. What the fuck does she have to be mad about? 

We were laying together on the couch, catching up on the most recent episode of a show we both enjoyed. We had just finished laughing at the comic relief after an emotionally dense scene, when I saw her phone screen turn on in the corner of my eye. My eyes habitually followed the light to where her phone was plugged in next to me. The unnamed preview message read Are you still with him? I’ll be in the area tonight. I froze. I took in a deep uneven breath before slowly turning  to her.

 “What is this?” I rasped, as I held the phone to face her. 

She looked over and her expression shifted unpleasantly before she attempted to grab the phone from my hand, which I reflexively dodged.  She knew better than to answer my question. I rarely ever used my quirk on her, because it always managed to exacerbate the situation so it wasn’t worth it. If she’s already avoiding my questions, then this must be bad news. 

“Unlock your phone.” I demanded firmly.

 “No, Shinso.” she sighed. “You always let your paranoia get the best of you. Just stop. Don’t ruin tonight. We can always fight about something stupid another day.” 

Her dismissive demeanor irked me to no end. 

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I borderline growled.

 “Leave me alone!” She spat back at me before her face went blank. 

Got her.  

“Unlock your phone.” I repeated steadily. 

She took the phone with a slack grip and entered her password.

 “Give the phone to me.” 

The more I scrolled through the thread of text messages, the more betrayed I felt. I was too devastated to be angry, but I was far from numb. The intense influx of emotions caused me to unknowingly release her mind from my control. I finally realized, when I heard soft choked sobs coming from her. When my eyes returned to her, she looked completely defeated, but I could not bring myself to sympathize with her. I tossed her phone on the couch before getting up and snatching my keys off the table.

 “Shinso, stop! Please wait!” she cried as she tugged my arm towards her. 

“For what?” I retorted sharply. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t need to get more evidence to know that we’re over.” I yanked my arm from her grip. 

She said nothing.  I pushed through the door without looking back.

After reliving the memory, I slowly came back to the present. I flicked the now cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it.  Any sane person would wonder why I still wanted to be with her. The truth is, I’m a big fat hypocrite. I’ve done my fair share of bullshit in the relationship. Granted, I never cheated, but still, it’s not my place to get on my high horse. We’ve gone through so much together, and honestly, I can’t imagine what it would be like to not be with her anymore. And now...it’s actually over. Fuck, it’s actually over. The grave reality hit me in the face like a brick. I felt an unfamiliar emotion painfully swell in my chest. It terrified me. So, I did what I knew how to do best: avoid, avoid, avoid. I reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of soju. I twisted off the cap and began downing it; I didn’t even notice the bitter taste. It didn’t take me long before I was ready for the second bottle. My head was empty.

I stopped keeping track of how much I had consumed. All I knew was that the bus was taking fucking forever. Despite it being cold out, my chest was warm due to the alcohol. I could barely sense that nameless feeling in there anymore. My head was fuzzy, a little too fuzzy now. Is this the third or fourth bottle?  Before I could contemplate the answer, the horizon began tilting before my lowered eyes. I rested the weight of my upper body on my knees and hung my heavy head low, hoping this dizziness would soon pass. 

Dawn, what a masterpiece you have crafted with Silver Rose. I wish you could have seen me reading it live and just the amount of times my face scrunched up and I felt like bawling and sobbing like a baby, because this hurt me so much and I'm going to need some time to emotionally recover from the rollercoaster of a ride this was.

I don't have my laptop rn and can't rb smh, so I'm just going to tell you my thoughts here and then do that some time later okay. be warned. uh.... long, very long rant ahead, because I took this fic personally and would like to thank you but also spew out some profanity because holy SHIT THIS WAS TERRIBLY PAINFUL

wait uhh a SPOILER FOR SILVER ROSE AHEAD!!

where do I even start? from the beginning even, you established this very heavy, very dark atmosphere that like, made me feel like wherever this story was going, it wouldn't end up good and like, yeah that was the dread speaking I think oh gods uhh my thoughts will probably not make sense but bare with me

I can't even come close to imagine the pain jeongin must have been feeling all throughout this and you just described his emotions so fucking well and wow it, just reading it made me so emotional and teary and so reading him just beating himself up over and over and over inside just broke me oh man

and his guilt for "not loving" reader is just, that line in the beginning broke me because IT WASNT TRUE!! YOU DID LOVE HER, JEONGIN!! but it wasn't the same way as reader and he realised it and allowed himself to love her in that way much too late- what I'm trying to say is, he loved her so so so much, but it wasn't romantically, but that doesn't lessen the value any less because cmon man, he cares for reader so much????

"Could Jeongin ever forgive himself?"

NO MAN WTF ALL THE WAY INTO THE ENDING IT JUST PAINED ME BECAUSE EVEN AFTER YEARS AND YEARS HE STILL COULDNT oh dear i-

the reason reader was suffering was all technically because of him, it all led back to him and just imagining the sheer amount of guilt he was facing and it killed me inside when you wrote how even he was shrinking down and sick with worry and everything but the when jeongin finally confessed in that garden, the days after that, he started to get better while reader started to worsen???

the first moment I actually felt so emotionally stricken by was when he told reader to not leave him and that was when I finally cried and it ACHED

and something about the reader saying "One last time" and the fact that she couldn't even get to finish the sentence and struggled… the way jeongin knew that and felt like dropping to his knees and just sobbing his heart out, yet again, right then and there… it hurt

and the contrast between ↓

the parallels are so amazing and heartbreaking

the moment in the garden scene where reader tell jeongin "I love you" directly, it just hurt my heart to read about Jeongin's dams just bursting and him breaking down in tears just from those three words, because reader was dying for that exact same reason, because she loved him is just… my heart reached out for him even though this was just a fictional story

and jeongin begging reader to not hold him back and to let him just…. to just love you

the way reader notices the year streaks on his face after cleaning the bloodied bowl, the time when reader says that she would rather die, knowing that jeongin loved you, instead of just living in that numbness, AND THEN YOU HAD TO HIT US EITH "but he knows he hasn't faced the worst part yet." like, HOW MUCH MORE WRONG COULD THIS GO????

much worse apparently.

him dragging out some time to stay with reader longer before she died because he was still so so so scared of letting reader go?? my heart?? does not properly function anymore??? pain??

there was this thought that I had while reading the silver rose part.

the rose signified a pain, a beautiful pain, right? I just found it so sad, that the meaning was so different to a silver lining. silver linings represent something good amidst the dark and dreary clouds, yet this silver rose just brought so much pain and… fuck you, rose. I won't look at flowers the same way again.

the second time I had to put down my phone and just weep for a moment was near the end, when jeongin finay visits her grave and tells her that he would make her proud, that he would not let her be forgotten. it brought me a feeling of closure, and I felt so fucking bittersweet. THE THINGS YOU DO TO ME, DAWN. WTH.

MY POINT IS, I LOVE YOU AND YOU ARE A LEGEND FOR WRITING THIS ROLLERCOASTER OF A JOURNEY

okay I actually hate Tumblr because I answered this ask and Tumblr just crashed so I have to write it out again zmzhzj

🥺😭❣️ oh my gosh, this is going to make me cry. Your words have definitely made me feel very happy, and your excitement and analysis of the story is making me feel KAKDJLDNSKIS on the inside thank u so much vera :((((

NOOOO I DIDN'T WANNA RUIN ROSES FOR U 😭😂 but your analogy of the silver linings and roses is an interesting thought! I hadn't thought of it that way but now that you've told me it makes sense! It's such a good way to think of the symbolism and 😭🥺😭🥺 you've just made my whole day and your words carry a special place in my heart.

ALSO SKSJSKJS THE PARALLELS THING WERE ONE OF MY FAV LINES FROM THE WHOLE THING!!

Also I had to give these two butterflies closure or my heart wouldn't have let me live in peace ;-; it is very bittersweet and ngl it made me cry when I wrote it smxbxkxn

KSMSKJSKSJ I am no where near a legend dear but just because it's you I will accept that title 🥺😭❣️ and thank YOU for writing me this ask ;-;

ps if u wanna rb the fic via mobile, u can go to my blog and you'll see some self Reblogs of the fic below the pinned post, and u can rb them! Tumblr won't crash when u do that that's how I've been self reblogging them via mobile zjzjzmjzh </3

Katarina + heartbreak

Send me something to drabble about

The first man to break her heart never does it to her face.

It is no tale of romance, of love found and lost. Heartbreak first comes to her in the shape of a blade, crimson blood dripping through her fingertips from a wound that leaves scar much deeper than the obvious mark of failure etched upon her face. Katarina had been scarred before, a thousand times and more; those were marks of devotion, however, of dedication to shaping herself into something deadly and violent and strong and perfect. This one is different; this is shame and humiliation and the explicit message in words he never bothers to say.

You are no daughter of mine.

Not even worth his time, that he would take her life himself; all the General offers her is spite and a death sentence, a nameless assassin he had raised from the city slums to wound her pride, and it hurts unlike anything she had experienced. Katarina had bled before, by accident and on purpose; had felt the blood within her veins burn with poison that would have killed her had she taken the wrong dose. She was no stranger to broken bones and bruised skin; there was no building strength in a golden cage, and she had always been determined to be strong. Yet training endurance and crafting resistance of body and mind did awful little to prepare her heart, inconvenient thing that it had always been, determined to feel too much, too strongly. Emotions had led her astray in her mission, emotions devastated her as she faced the consequences of it; emotions threatened to ruin her, then, daggers clashing against the nameless assassin’s blades with vicious rage (willed forward by each sharp edge of a shattering heart).

Was a daughter worth so little in face of a name?

Was she nothing but a disposable weapon, to be thrown away upon first test and failure?

Her chest rises and falls with quick breath, anger overwhelming. There is no planning, no careful analysis of opponent, but she needs it not; what she needs is the violence in itself, each motion a product of a lifetime of training, each strike delivered with more strength than needed (it would tire her faster, but Katarina did not care; had she not been made to kill? Then kill she would, in bloodiest, most gruesome possible way, so there would be naught left of the nobody her father sent to end her life). 

Her heart aches at that, screaming betrayal; and though instinct moves her as blade nearly guts the other where he stands, Katarina grows careless. She allows herself to get lost in what comes naturally -- the fight, lashing out as she is; the deadly dance of blades matched evenly by one equal to her in skill. In battle, some sort of soothing; it does not numb her to it but dulls violent outpour of emotion, enough so that when carelessness could have cost her life, she knows to acknowledge it is a deliberate withdraw on her would-be killer’s part.

There is silence between them, then, cut only by her quick breath; and though anger subdues, Katarina does not allow it to go away entirely. It is better than giving in to pain; and controlled, it allows her to clear head enough to decide what to do next.

“I failed my mission.” A statement, not a question; she has realized her mistake well before she had noticed the presence of the other assassin. Fingertip still upon her cheek, tracing the end of the wound he had given her; but green eyes do not move away from him, even though he had been first to sheathe blades. “I intend to make it right. I will kill my original target and pay for my mistake. You can stand in my way and die or let me do what I ought to have done already.”

Even as she speaks, chaotic feelings are kept just beneath the skin; he could have killed her. He had the chance, and chose not to. The other assassin did not seem older than she was; and by choosing not to kill her now, he had failed as she had. 

She does not know what to make of that, though it seems not an act of pity. Mercy from a stranger, a nobody, a nameless assassin who sees her choice to atone as worthy enough he would submit himself to judgement for allowing her to leave; if her heart is in pieces, she feels the pieces shatter to dust. Mercy from a stranger, but not from one who had taught her everything, blood of her blood, mentor, father. 

Perhaps it is what leads her to stay her own blades, rather than killing her would-be killer. Perhaps it is what drives her to ask for his name instead. “Before I go, I would have the name of the one he sent for me.”

“I have no name to offer you. My name never mattered.”

“It does now.” Why she was uncertain herself; but Katarina’s tone made it clear she would have an answer, something to call the blade her father had sent. The truth of it did not matter; there was nothing to be gained from that knowledge she could not have taken through violence then and there. It is important for her to know all the same; the nameless nobody had matched her in strength and skill, she who carried the name of one of Noxus’ old houses. They are worlds apart and not at all, children of the same land, mentored by same teacher.

It stings to know the other will not face punishment as she had, favor lost and name disgraced and life threatened, but Katarina knows it to be the truth. 

This was never about her mission, or the Noxian lives she had caused to be lost. This was about a name, and one man’s pride, and though her chest still aches, there is bitter resignation at that. She had failed, yes, because he had failed in teaching her, sharpening her edges to best serve him when she should have been spilling blood not for the man, but for the nation. 

“It matters to me.” She repeats when silence falls upon them once more, and finds it to be the truth. It matters not to the General who had brought them both then and there, to be as they were; of that she has no doubt either. 

But she is not her father, and this is the moment when she chooses to never be. 

“They called me Talon.”

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

The ruin inside is plainly mirrored in exterior by the time she walks towards her father once more.

Katarina needed not make it messy, true, but she wanted to. She could have slipped into the Demacian’s camp undetected, slit his throat in silence, returned clean and freed of the burden of a mission unaccomplished. Could have, but did not. Instead she allowed them to see her, slaughtering her way to her target; and when she reached him at last, his death had been neither quick nor painless, drenching her in blood as head was severed from body.

Katarina needed not make it messy, true, but she wanted to. She could have brought simpler proof of her kill, kneeling before her father and pleading forgiveness in face of her attempt to atone. Could have, but did not. Instead she walks in with righteous fury, confident even when torn apart, and throws the severed head at his feet, gaze sustaining his, even as eyes so alike her own offer her only disdain.

“I would have taken your head instead,” Something flickers in his eyes (perhaps wrongfully assuming this to be threat, announcement of what she would do next?), but she does not flinch. Violence solved everything; and blood had soothed her heartbreak enough it had since turned to deserved resent. Father had not been wholly wrong, however; she had, in expecting their ties to matter more than their mission. “but failure must have consequences.”

“And I have failed.” Sour enough to say it that the bitter taste stays upon her mouth, worsened by each subtle sign of a reaction he displays (barely there at all, but his is a familiar face, and too long she had hungered to see it show pride, learning each shift in order to avoid blatant disregard he now offers). But swell of disdainful pride does naught to smother her own, evenly matched; she is not her father, but blood is thick, and spite only makes her more spiteful. “Not you, but Noxus.”

One of her earliest memories is of being taught not to cry. You do not display your emotions for all to see, or they will know to use them against you. You do not show fear, and you do not show pain; if you are hurt, you endure it with strength and dignity. The assassin is the blade; you wound, and you do not weep. There had been nothing of comforting in his stern tone as he spoke, looming over her in a stance others may have taken to mean General instead of Father (they had always been the same to her). Her tears had dried as soon as she was able to force them back, nevertheless; she did not wish to disappoint him. She promised herself to be strong, and brave, and never cry again.

The memory seemed irrelevant, in spite of coming to her then, father and daughter staring down at one another in deathly silence. If he expects her to request forgiveness, Katarina never does; she merely slips into the shadows once more to take her leave, no permission requested. 

Had her mistake not been enough, she had actively burned that bridge now. There would be no amends, now or ever; there would be nothing but constant reminder of scorn and failure, attempt after attempt to spite her --- to wound, not because he refused to show weakness but because he could, and whichever ties she had been foolish enough to presume, she had never been more than a tool in his vast arsenal.

Rain that pours outside washes away some of the blood; it barely hurts at all as water runs down the wound above her eye. Katarina does not seek shelter from it, in spite of blurred vision and stinging eyes; if she lies well enough to herself, she can almost believe it is just the rain.

Coolsculpting Did Not Function

What Is Fat Freezing?

Content

Lipo Fat Freeze.

What Areas Can I Have Treated With Cryotherapy, Fat Freezing Coolsculpting?

Coolsculpting In Cambridge.

CoolSculpting has freeze discover technology which is a copyrighted technology which constantly monitors the skins temperature. This maintains the therapy area temperature also at 4 degrees, protecting against any freeze burns implying treatment is both risk-free as well as efficient. At Wellness & Appearances we have DualSculpting definition that we can treat two locations simultaneously, reducing your therapy time by half. There is no demand to increase to London for a beauty treatment of any kind of kind. You'll discover an entire series of different therapies suiting every age teams and also problems. To figure out even more concerning how we have actually placed a smile on clients deals with in the past, read our testimonies below for first-hand accounts of a variety of our therapies. as the reviews attest can also learn even more concerning what we think at Elite on our blog, in addition to reading more regarding what journalism states regarding us.

Aesthetic Energy-Based Device Market Analysis Size, Industry Analysis, Cost Structures and Top Manufactures with its types and Applications - KSU The Sentinel Newspaper

Aesthetic Energy-Based Device Market Analysis Size, Industry Analysis, Cost Structures and Top Manufactures with its types and Applications.

Posted: Thu, 14 Jan 2021 15:07:54 GMT [source]

Everyone is various, and also we guide far from a one-size-fits-all approach. Instead, our team believe in using bespoke, tailored treatments to resolve precisely what you desire and need. The CoolSculpting treatment has a special sensor to make sure maximum coolness to the therapy area without harmful or affecting the skin as well as surrounding cells.

Lipo Fat Freeze.

There might some inflammation, small discoloration, tingling or numbness in the treated location, yet this is only momentary and will resolve entirely. Yes, CoolSculpting has a built-in Freeze Identify precaution to make sure there is NO THREAT of damage or burns to the skin during therapy. This is the ONLY tool on the marketplace which includes this safety and security device.

At what temperature does body fat freeze?

Understanding CoolSculpting Fat Freezing Treatment The optimum temperature for fat cell death is actually just above freezing at 39 to 41 degrees Fahrenheit. The threshold for damage to your skin and other tissues is a much lower temperature that CoolSculpting machines will never reach.

This treatment is completely non medical and also pain-free and also as a result, no recovery time is required and you are still able to partake in your day-to-day regimen customarily with no pains or constraints. These outcomes were visible after integrating 2 sessions of the cryolipolysis/fat cold treatment with 6 sessions of the 3D cavitation treatment. We give medicals for UK and also Norwegian Offshore Oil & Gas Medicals, Vehicle Driver Medicals (HGV/LGV), and also Visa Medicals. Your bespoke treatment plan will be tailored to your details needs and requests. River Aesthetics just execute non-surgical treatments that our physicians would certainly undertake themselves. The preliminary stage of the treatment procedure will certainly include among our aesthetic specialists marking up the certain areas to be targeted, prior to applying gel. The safety of our people, medical professionals and clinic team is constantly our initial top priority, as well as we hope that you can be assured by our brand-new plans as well as support to secure versus Covid-19.

What Areas Can I Have Treated With Cryotherapy, Fat Freezing Coolsculpting?

Many patients can go back to their typical tasks promptly after the CoolSculpting treatment. this customer was really delighted with the results she attained with coolsculpting right here at the photo facility, and pleased to share her success story. A complete listing of possible side effects, cautions, contra-indications and also after treatment will be reviewed throughout examination before treatment. 3D Lipo is the honor winning, verified, powerful and also advanced fat-reduction treatment as made use of by Dr Leah Totton, victor of The Pupil. Nevertheless, it is necessary that you take great care of your brand-new body with a balanced diet and also a routine physical activity. A non-invasive, non-surgical therapy that uses ultrasound energy to lift and tighten skin. You can return to your normal tasks promptly after treatment.

The total period will depend upon the number of treatments/cycles you are having. During the treatment individuals can review, deal with their laptops or simply kick back.

Coolsculpting In Cambridge.

Our pleased customers hail from areas consisting of Dartford, King's Hill, Gravesend, Bromley, Maidstone, Sevenoaks, and West Malling-- as well as from further afield. You could experience some bruising and inflammation following your therapy, yet this need to solve in a few days. Coolsculpting treatment times can be fairly lengthy as it only has one applicator, which causes double the treatment time compared to 3D Lipo. The whole therapy takes between minutes relying on the number of areas being treated. Please fill in the type to check consultation bookings, treatments or for a callback. Among our team members will certainly call you to discuss the therapy and respond to any type of concerns you might have.

Our London cryolipolysis treatment is finest suggested for everyone who wishes to really feel comfy in their very own skin once again, without needing to go under the popular 'knife' of lipo.

Shorter, better and also without discomfort or threats versus burning the skin, it is a therapy that provides you remarkable outcomes.

Areas of excess fat would certainly require multiple therapies prior to seeing noticeable outcomes.

The process is less excruciating since there is no suction for this particular area.

Cryolipolysis is a non-surgical fat freezing treatment, which makes use of regulated cooling down to help target trouble areas, such as persistent pockets of fat that resists all initiatives through diet as well as exercise.

coolsculpting arms Rickmansworth from lipo freeze2u is not always practical to pay for our industry-leading therapies in one go. Currently we offer Fat Freezing in 7 of our facilities, sign up for our advertising e-mails above to be alerted when our staying clinics provide this treatment.

I would very advise this therapy as it's pain-free and non-invasive. I have actually constantly located the personnel and also specialists exceptionally friendly and interesting throughout the LipoContrast therapies. Depending on the fat thickness and the desired result, 1 to 3 sessions can be treated on a location over 12 weeks. Much much shorter than cryo-lipo alternatives, giving quicker outcomes. Twin website treatment accessibility to minimize time required enhancing performance for your consumers as well as beauty parlor. Relying on each individuals needs and also objectives, we will tailor treatments and sessions to aid accomplish the appearance desired.

Please keep in mind that this treatment is extremely customer led - a good diet plan and workout regimen have to be complied with by the client in order to see results. You can eliminate unwanted fat without surgical procedure or downtime, half an hour to a slimmer, firmer you. Our bodies contain a limited quantity of fat cells, so the cells will not replicate. Nevertheless, it is crucial that you maintain a healthy and balanced way of life to stop the continuing to be fat cells from expanding and over compensating for the dead cells. Those persistent areas of fat that people find difficult to lose despite fitness center sessions. centrally manage coolsculpting arms Hemel Hempstead - lipofreeze2u.co.uk was always a location of disapproval, despite how much weight I lost. I was thrilled when reading about LipoContrast and am a lot more thrilled with my outcomes.

If you have any more inquiries, please do not wait to contact us or publication an appointment to review your customised treatment. We incorporate 3D Cryo therapies with 3D Shockwave, to even more enhance treatment results, and achieve faster outcomes. Vacuum suction is used to attract the fat in the therapy location in to the 3D Cryo handpiece, before this localised location is then adhered -10 degrees. Cryolipo is mostly discomfort totally free and comfortable, although some do report light wounding in the days after therapy. The hand piece being applied then draws the area up, some individuals report pulling on the skin yet it is not painful. Once they more than the initial sensation we frequently have customers come to be so relaxed that they doze off throughout the therapy process.

Non-Invasive Fat Reduction Market: Focus on Product Innovation to Drives Market Growth - BioSpace

Non-Invasive Fat Reduction Market: Focus on Product Innovation to Drives Market Growth.

Posted: Fri, 08 Jan 2021 06:03:54 GMT [source]

CHAPTER I

Summary: Roman tries to recover the friendship he had with Peter. At the same time, Steve Rogers leads the Avengers on another mission, but it has colateral damage.

Warnings: slightly description of anxiety, but nothing much

Word count: 2776

I guess we could use one of those classic story-beginning sentences. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. But what does that even mean? Obviously, somewhere in the world, it is the best of times for someone.

Roman Vidal has made a nest of himself on the sofa. He keeps doing that - covering himself with blankets and oversized t-shirts. It is summer, though, and he is sweating, but he feels pretty well and safe in his own personal claustrophobia, thank you very much.

His brother had promptly suggested that Roman went to spend the summer vacation at their abuela’s house. Specially after the new wave of miseducation he presented during this first semester. Alícia Maria, his younger sister, decided to make him company, leaving Nicolás to have some peace since he gained their guard two years ago. Since their parents died and Roman didn’t.

His abuela (do not mistake with the long deceased abuelita, God bless her) reads young adult novels (she loves Six of Crows), has determined that she is a Ravenclaw and shows her middle finger to Trump whenever he is on TV. It is a breeze of fresh air.

What he really likes is that no matter what high-stress thing is going on in his world or in the world as a whole (Christmas, SATs, natural disasters, car crashes, disappointing someone he cares about and being worried to death he might puke), there she is, his abuela and her noisy chanclas, doing her thing.

His legs are bent, aching knees close to his chest, and while his whole body is supposed to be hidden, his left arm is partially out of the cover so he can see the bright screen of his phone. A name jumps out of it - a cherry-red name with flecks of silver, one Roman had always loved. No one else is that biased towards a color like Peter Parker.

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Ali asks without taking her attention from the television. She grabs a spoonful of ice cream and shoves in her mouth.

“Have you ever seen me sick?” He retorts, knowing, before she shakes her head, that the answer would be “no”.

That is because he never gets (physically) sick, although the sentiment of sickness is very familiar. No annual spread of the flu, no bellyaches. While his sister is allergic to dogs and needs to use glasses, and his brother has broken the same arm twice playing baseball (how he managed to do that, though?), Roman has a perfect - and slightly better than average, if you must know - vision, and once has accidentally broke someone’s nose during a volleyball class when he was in 6th grade.

Mami had always said to keep his powers hidden - you never know what can happen to you these days. She, though, didn’t call it powers. They were gifts. And if it wasn’t probably blasphemy, would have called this God’s given miracle. Everything weird with Roman’s super resilience and crossing of neural connections was a gift. Oh, there is this other thing… Roman see and feel things most people don’t, and for a long time it didn’t occurred to him that no one else could sense it too.

It’s not something he thinks with frequency, sometimes he even forgets it’s not the norm. It feels like the world is playing some sort of joke on him. A Mourning Dove’s song is yellow and there’s no better way to explain it; the teacher’s obsession with capslock on PowerPoint presentations makes everything too bright to read. But at least there’s always an agreement about how ugly the National Anthem is.

Ali finishes her ice cream and sets the bowl over the table. Roman runs his fingers over his hair - during summer he had let it grow, now the dark curls are fluffy and too rebel. The motion helps him go back to his original anxiety.

Roman has always had a really hard time apologizing if he’s forced to do it. He laughs and giggles, he smiles even when he tries not to because the idea of this forced, fake apology is so off putting he can’t comprehend taking it seriously - what for sure has got him into trouble multiple times. The point is: Roman loathes fake apologies, and he has heard so many of them and actually believed and hugged and cared them, that now any apology coming from himself sounds like a poor copy.

But if he could, if he was at Peter’s door right now, he would cry himself numb to deserve his pardon. But again, if he was at Peter’s door right now, he probably wouldn’t have to do that at all.

So he sends a message. Don’t take it wrong, he wishes he didn’t have to make such a shitty move, but here we are. He did previously thought about calling him, but apparently Peter is “kinda busy”.

It ended up a well balanced apology with equal measures of regret and understanding that speaks honestly from his heart (and overthinker brain). Nothing with “I hate myself for doing it, but I did it because of whatever reason” or any other gross victimization Liam thaught him - we will talk about Liam Reed later, he’s not important at the moment.

Peter has visualized it fifteen minutes ago and doesn’t seem willing to give an answer any time soon, what is a very non-Peter thing to do - he’s not one to embrace passive-aggressive attitudes. Maybe Roman finally got the worst of him.

“Pues mira, Andy-” says his abuela noticing his worried expression. “-al mal tiempo, buena cara.” Then she caress the right side of Roman’s face where the light-colored scar stands as a reminder: a line from his forehead to cheekbone.

He smiles with fondness, noticing the use of one of her catch phrases. His family has many of those. His abuela is also not the only one in his family to call him by his second name (in case of forgetting one, don’t worry! You got three more spares), but that, Roman can’t explain why.

“¿Qué es esto?” The elderly woman points at the movie they’re watching before turning to Ali. “¿No sos demasiado joven para ver esto?”

Certainly, the preachy girl couldn’t just answer the question. “I don’t speak Spanish, aunty. Why don’t you try English?”

Well, their abuela can speak English, but she won’t because she has a point to prove. And so does Alícia.

Roman doubts she can’t truly understand Spanish. From all their close relatives, the only one without Colombian heritage was their father and only him, as he grew up on an orphanage and wasn’t able to share his whatever-european legacy. Sure, just a low handful of cousins could actually speak a second language and their mother did a great job at dousing off her sing-song’d words, but Roman believes the reason why Ali pretends not to know the basics of Spanish is to keep herself unaffected by curses and fights (the bigger the trouble, the sharper the Paisa accent).

People have always compared her to their father, probably just because of the lighter skin tone and, again, the lack of Spanish. But Roman always thought he was very similar to him, more than to their mother. Okay, fine, he does looks a lot like their mother, but he has the “sensibility not praised by the family” - what isn’t praised is not the sensibility per se, it’s the obviousness.

“Usted estás fuera de mi herencia.”

He stays silent until she forgets the question and walks away. Roman could explain the whole concept of ‘Bring It On’ and the politics on Cheerocracy to his abuela, only that talking that much right now would be like moving furniture.

His cellphone shakes sparks in his hand. It joins the others two hundred thirteen (at least a hundred and seventy are from the Vidal family group chat) unread messages he’s received over the course of the day. He leaves them to later.

PETER PARKER

It’s okay

Just move on

There is no sigh of relief or jump of enthusiasm. He would move on, eventually, and act like nothing ever affected his bright personality. But the dread feeling of guilty and danger needed to stop bursting first - it always starts before the actual confrontation and ends a lot after the resolution, like a cup of soda with bubbles brimming at the top. So Roman has to wait until the bubbles seize and leave a bad taste at the back of his throat.

“It’s like the desert in Oz here,” Ali says.

Roman looks over at his sister, who’s already looking at him with a wrinkle between her brows. He takes a deep breath. Things keep on happening, he thinks under her cautious gaze.

“There’s no desert in Oz,” he says instead.

“Yes, there is, in the books. There’s this desert that you have to stay away or it burns you up.”

He tilts his head, blinks, and swallows his self-pity, replacing it by a mischievous look and the edge of a smile. “What if I ask abuela to turn on the backyard tap?”

Alícia’s face lit in excitement. They never had a swimming pool at home and neither does their abuela, so when Nico was younger and less cynical, he and some cousins would use a garden hose to splash water everywhere, pointing it to the sky and pretending it was raining. A tradition - or a romanticized improvisation - passed down through generations.

He smirks. “But only if you bring me ice cream.”

“No.”

“Oh, I see, so that’s how you treat me? If you ever ask me a favor again, anything, I won’t-”

“Fiiiine!” Alícia drags the word just like she draws her body out of the couch.

Roman looks down once again and taps a reply: 'I miss you’. His hand reaches up and grabs his cross necklace, pulling the metal chain against his lips.

PETER PARKER

We’ll see each other when summer ends

Happy birthday, btw

Roman wraps himself tighter in the blanket.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

“Anybody ever tell you you’re a little paranoid? ” Teases Sam Wilson.

Natasha’s controlled voice answers. “Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something? ”

The presence of his partners is only noticed by their cheap talk. Steve Rogers hears through the earpiece the analysis of the new Avengers’ case. “Eyes on target, folks. This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months. I don’t want to lose him.”

On an apartment in Lagos, Nigeria, Steve observes the busy streets hidden by the curtains. He spots a garbage truck pushing its way through traffic, with no regard to pedestrians or other vehicles.

“Sam, see that garbage truck? Tag it.”

In a minute, Sam is able to scan the truck with a small drone he treats as a pet, and report the analysis. “That truck’s loaded for max weight. And the driver’s armed.”

Nat is fast to formulate their intentions. “It’s a battering ram.”

Without hesitation, Steve gives the permission to action. They all hear through the communicator when Wanda - the last, but not least component of the task force - exclaims surprised by the sudden order.

“He’s not hitting the police.”

The grasp of his hand on the shield reinforces the mentality of now being, not Steve Rogers, but the Captain America. Soon, he’s at the courtyard of the Institute for Infectious Diseases, fighting against the soldiers in black armor who successfully broke into the place driving the garbage truck. “I make seven hostiles.”

“I make five,” replies Sam. The mayhem keeps sounding over the speaker. “Four.”

Sam scans the inside of the building, in time to Steve reach him and Wanda. “Rumlow’s on the third floor.”

“Wanda,” calls Captain, “just like we practiced.”

Her Eastern European accent tingles in his ear. “What about the gas?”

“Get it out.”

Wanda hex Steve to lift him up and through the window. He uses his shield to break the glass and quickly immobilize a soldier, pulling off his gas mask. Thanks to the serum, Captain America is conveniently immune to such toxins, but the whole intervention takes longer than he planned, with soldiers shooting in his direction from various corners. Wanda starts to dilute the gas with the air, and by the time Steve gets to the target room, the building is clean of the toxins. Just as the room is empty and the biohazard is out of sight.

“Rumlow has a biological weapon.”

“I’m on it,” replies Natasha on the radio.

An explosion rumbles at the courtyard, Steve runs out onto the balcony and spots Rumlow. A skull mask stares back at him while the man prepares and aims a grenade launcher. The grenade slams into the Captain’s shield and he is thrown back inside. He scrambles to his feet as Rumlow fires two more times, throwing him out of a window, onto a truck, and finally the ground.

The burn sensation on his chest and the ache on his back cause Steve to struggle to get up, but are far from stopping him. “Sam. He’s in an AFV heading north.” With that, the super soldier is running once again into the commotions’ direction.

Sam is the first to locate the vehicle, now crashed over a marketplace. “I got four, they’re splitting up.”

Natasha rides through the crowd on her motorcycle. She abandons it and runs over the hoods of cars, in pursuit. “I got the two on the left.”

Steve is also running across cars when he spots a vest in the middle of the crowd. “They ditched their gear. It’s a shell game now. One of them has the payload-”

Something crashes against the Captain’s shield - a bomb, ticking incessantly. Promptly, Rogers throws the shield in the air and the bomb blows up safely away from the citizens. With the seconds of distraction, Rumlow comes up behind Steve and punches him hard in the back, who collides with the stalls set on the street.

“There you are, you son of a bitch,” says Brock Rumlow approaching the fallen man. “I’ve been waiting for this!”

Another huge strike hits Steve before he can reach his shield. His stiffened back crashes over wooden and his face throbs against the arid ground.

Sam’s voice echoes from the radio. “He doesn’t have it. I’m empty.”

Steve gets up and puts the pain aside, keeping up with the fight and overruling the HYDRA soldier for just a moment, before being cornered.

“This is for dropping a building on my face,” snarls Rumlow. He extends a blade from his gauntlet and knocks on Steve’s direction, who’s able to deflect the blow, hitting the wall instead.

Steve grabs Rumlow’s arm and pulls the gauntlet off, only for him to reveal another knife. But Steve bests him, with a fierce kick to the chin Rumlow is brought to his knees. The man removes his mask, revealing a severely scarred face. “I think I look pretty good, all things considered.”

Captain pulls him by the collar. “Who’s your buyer?”

“You know, he knew you”, Rumlow smiles maliciously. “Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky.”

Steve clenches his fists harder and pulls the man further with a rage he couldn’t blame on the Captain America’s professionalism. His fast-beating heart shouts through his ears. “What did you say?”

“He remembered you. I was there. He got all weepy about it. 'Till they put his brain back in a blender.”

Steve feels a sharp pain in his throat, closing his lungs. A bitter taste in his mouth.

“He wanted you to know something. He said to me, 'Please tell Rogers. When you gotta go, you gotta go.’ And you’re coming with me.”

A second, and the HYDRA agent activates his bomb vest. Steve flinches as Rumlow’s armor ignites, but Wanda shows in time to keep the blast contained, trapping Rumlow in agony. She lifts him into the air; her hex, however, runs from her grasp and gets out of control, as the explosion finally blossoms, devastating entire floors of a nearby building. At the terrifying scene, Wanda covers her mouth with trembling hands.

“Oh my…” Steve gasps. “Sam, we need- Fire and Rescue. On the south side of the building. We gotta get up there.”

The bitter taste in his mouth, he knows, it’s his own sorrow.

Taglist:

@starlight-starks

@dreamofaprilsblog

@everydaymj

@captainamericasdaughter

@intoomanyfandomsstuff

Watchmen - Movie blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t seen this movie yet, you may want to before reading this review)

A movie adaptation of Watchmen had been in development in some form or another since the graphic novel was first published back in 1987. Over the course of its two decade development cycle, being passed from filmmaker to filmmaker who each had their own vision of what a Watchmen movie should be, fans objected to the idea of a movie adaptation, describing Watchmen as ‘unfilmmable.’ Alan Moore himself condemned the effort to adapt his work, saying that Watchmen does things that can only be done in a comic book. But where there’s a will, there’s a way, and in 2009, Watchmen finally came to the big screen, directed by Zack Snyder.

I confess it took me a lot longer to write this review than I intended and that’s largely because I wasn’t sure how best to approach it. Snyder clearly has a lot of love and respect for the source material and tried his best to honour it as best he could. Snyder himself even said that he considers the film to be an advert for the book, hoping to get newcomers interested in the material. So how should I be looking at this film? As an adaptation or as an artistic tribute? More to the point, which of the three versions of the film should I be reviewing? The original theatrical cut, the director’s cut or the ultimate cut? Which best reflects Snyder’s artistic vision?

After much pondering, I decided to go with the director’s cut. The theatrical release was clearly done to make studio execs happy by keeping the runtime under three hours, but it comes at the cost of major plot points and character moments being chucked away. The ultimate cut however comes in at a whopping four hours and is arguably the most accurate to the source material as it also contains the animated Tales Of The Black Freighter scenes. However these scenes break the narrative flow of the film and were clearly not intended to be part of the final product, being inserted only to appease the fans. The director’s cut feels most like Snyder’s vision, clocking in at three and half hours and following the graphic novel fairly closely whilst leaving room for artistic licence.

Now as some of you may know, while I’m not exactly what you would call a fan of Zack Snyder’s work, I do have something of a begrudging respect for him due to his willingness to take creative risks and attempt to tell more complex, thought provoking narratives that don’t necessarily adhere to the blockbuster formula. Films like Watchmen and Batman Vs Superman prove to me that the man clearly has a lot of good ideas and a drive to really make an audience think about what they’re watching and question certain things about the characters. The problem is that he never seems to know how best to convey those ideas on screen. In my review of Batman Vs Superman, I likened him to a fire hose. Extremely powerful, but unless you’ve got someone holding onto the thing with both hands and pointing it in the right direction, it’s just going to go all over the place. I admire Snyder’s dedication and thought process, but I think the fact that his most successful film, Man Of Steel, also happens to be the one he had the least creative influence on speaks volumes. When he’s got someone to work with and bounce ideas off of, he can be a creative force to be reckoned with. Left to his own devices however, and his films tend to go off the rails very quickly.

Watchmen is very much Snyder’s passion project. You can tell a lot of care and effort went into this. The accuracy of the costumes, staging and set designs speak for themselves. However there is an underlying problem with Snyder trying to painstakingly recreate the graphic novel on film. While I don’t agree with the purists who say that Watchmen is ‘unfilmmable’, I do agree with Alan Moore’s statement that there are certain aspects of the graphic novel that can only work in a graphic novel. A key example of this is its structure. Watchmen has the luxury of telling its non-linear narrative over twelve issues in creative and unorthodox ways. A structure that’s incredibly hard to translate into any other medium. A twelve episode TV mini-series might come close, but a movie, even a three hour movie, is going to struggle due to the sheer density of the material and the unconventional structure. Whereas the structure of the graphic novel allowed Alan Moore to dedicate whole chapters to the origin stories of Doctor Manhattan and Rorschach and filling in the gaps of this alternate history, the structure of a movie doesn’t really allow for that. And yet Snyder tries really hard to follow the structure of the book even though it simply doesn’t work on film, which results in the movie coming to a screeching halt as the numerous flashbacks and origin stories disrupt the flow of the narrative, causing it to stop and start constantly at random intervals, like someone kangarooing in a rundown car.

Just as Watchmen the graphic novel played around with the common tropes and framing devices of comics, Watchmen the movie needed to play around with the common tropes and framing devices of comic book movies. To Snyder’s credit, there are moments where he does do that. The most notable being the first five minutes where we see the entire history of the world of Watchmen during the opening credits while ‘The Times They Are A-Changing’ is played in the background. This is legitimately good. It depicts the rise and fall of the superhero in a way only a movie can. I wish Snyder did more stuff like this rather than restricting himself to just recreating panels from the graphic novel.

Which is not to say I think the film is bad. On the contrary, I think it’s pretty damn good. There’s a lot of things to like about this movie. The biggest, shiniest gold star has to go to Jackie Earle Haley as Rorschach. While the movie itself was divisive at the time, Haley’s portrayal of Rorschach was universally praised as he did an excellent job bringing this extreme right wing bigot to life. He has become to Rorschach what Ryan Reynolds is to Deadpool or what Mark Hamill is to the Joker. He is the character (rather tragically. LOL). To the point where it’s actually scary how similar Haley looks to Walter Kovacs from the graphic novel. The resemblance is uncanny.

Another standout performance is Jeffery Dean Morgan as the Comedian. Just as depraved and unsavoury as the comic version, but Morgan is also able to inject some real charm and pathos into the character. You believe that Sally Jupiter would have consensual sex with him despite everything he did to her before. But his best scene I think was his scene with Moloch (played by Matt Frewer) where the Comedian expresses regret for all the terrible things he did. It’s a genuinely emotional and impactful scene and Morgan manages to wring some sympathy out of the audience even though the character doesn’t really deserve it. But that’s what makes Rorschach and the Comedian such great characters. Yes they’re both depraved individuals, but they’re also fully realised and three dimensional. They feel like real people, which is what makes their actions and morals all the more shocking.

Then there’s Doctor Manhattan, who in my opinion stands as a unique technical achievement in film. The number of departments that had to work together to bring him to life is staggering. Visual effects, a body double, lighting, sound, it’s a truly impressive collaborative effort, all tied together by Billy Crudup’s exceptional performance. He arguably had the hardest job out of the whole cast. How do you portray an all powerful, emotionless, quantum entity without him coming across as a robot? Crudup manages this by portraying Manhattan as being less emotionless and more emotionally numb, which makes his rare displays of emotion, such as his shock and anger during the TV interview, stand out all the more. It’s a great depiction that I don’t think is given the credit it so richly deserves.

Which leads into something else about the movie, which will no doubt be extremely controversial, but I’m going to say it anyway. I much prefer the ending in the film to the ending in the book.

Hear me out.

In my review of the final issue of Watchmen, I said I didn’t like the squid because of its utter randomness. The plot of the movie however works so much better both from a narrative and thematic perspective. Ozymandias framing Doctor Manhattan makes a hell of a lot more sense than the squid. For one thing, it doesn’t dump a massive amount of new info on us all at once. It’s merely an extension of previously known facts. We know Ozymandias framed Manhattan for giving people cancer to get him off world. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine the world could also buy that Manhattan would retaliate after being ostracised. We also see Adrian and Manhattan working together to create perpetual energy generators, which turn out to be bombs. It marries up perfectly with the history of Watchmen as well as providing an explanation for why there’s an intrinsic field generator in Adrian’s Antarctic base. It also provides a better explanation for why Manhattan leaves Earth at the end despite gaining a newfound respect for humanity. But what I love most of all is how it links to Watchmen’s central themes. 

Thanks to the existence of Doctor Manhattan, America has become the most powerful nation in the world to the point where its disrupted the global balance of power. This has led to the escalation of the Cold War with Russia as well as other countries like Vietnam being at the mercy of the United States. It also allowed Nixon to stay in office long after his two terms had expired. The reason the squid from the book is so unsatisfying as a conclusion is because you don’t buy that anyone would be willing to help America after the New York attack. In fact it would be more likely that Russia and other countries might take advantage of America’s vulnerability. Manhattan’s global attack however not only gives the whole world motivation to work together, it also puts America in a position where they have no choice but to ask for help because it was they that effectively created this mess in the first place. So seeing President Nixon pleading for a global alliance feels incredibly satisfying because we’re seeing a corrupt individual hoist by his own petard and trying to save his own skin, even if it comes at the cost of his power. America is now like a wounded animal, and while world peace is ultimately achieved, the US is now a shadow of its former self. It fits in so perfectly with the overall story of Watchmen, frankly I’m amazed Alan Moore didn’t come up with this himself.

It’s not perfect however. Since the whole genetic engineering stuff no longer exists, it makes the existence of Adrian’s pet lynx Bubastis rather perplexing. Also the whole tachyons screwing with Doctor Manhattan’s omniscience thing still doesn’t make a pixel of sense. But the biggest flaw is in Adrian Veidt’s characterisation. For one thing, Matthew Goode’s performance isn’t remotely subtle. He practically screams ‘bad guy’ the moment he appears on screen. He has none of the charm or charisma that the source material’s Ozymandias had. But it’s worse than that because Snyder seems to be going out of his way to uncomplicate and de-politicise the story and characters. There’s no mention of Adrian’s liberalism or his disdain for Nixon and right wing politics. The film never explores his obsession with displaying his own power and superiority over right wing superheroes like Rorschach and the Comedian. He’s just the generic bad guy. And I do mean bad guy. Whereas the graphic novel left everything up to the reader to decide who was morally in the right, the film takes a very firm stance on who the audience should be siding with. Don’t believe me? Just look at how Rorschach’s death is presented to us.

It’s very clear while watching the film that Zack Snyder is a big Rorschach fan. He gets the most screen time and there’s a lot of effort dedicated to his portrayal and depiction. And that’s fine. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with that. As I’ve mentioned before in previous blogs, Rorschach is my favourite character too. However it’s important not to lose sight of who the character is and what he’s supposed to represent, otherwise you run the risk of romanticising him, which is exactly what the film ends up doing. Rorschach’s death in the graphic novel wasn’t some heroic sacrifice. It was a realisation that he has no place in the world that Ozymandias has created, as well as revealing the hypocrisy of the character. In the extra material provided in The Abyss Gazes Also, we learn that, as a child, Walter supported President Truman’s use of the atomic bomb in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and yet, in his adult life, he opposes Adrian’s plan. Why? What’s the difference? Well the people who died in Hiroshima and Nagasaki weren’t American. They were Japanese. The enemy. In Rorschach’s mind, they deserved to die, whereas the people in New York didn’t. It signifies the flawed nature of Rorschach’s black and white view of the world as well as displaying the racist double standards of the character. Without the context of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Rorschach’s death becomes skewed. This is what ends up happening in the movie. Rorschach removes his mask and makes a bold declaration to Doctor Manhattan, the music swells as he is disintegrated, defiant to the last, and his best friend Nite Owl screams in anguish and despair.

In fact the film takes it one step further by having Nite Owl punch Adrian repeatedly in the face and accuse him of deforming humanity, which completely contradicts the point of Dan Dreiberg as a character. He’s no longer the pathetic centrist who requires a superhero identity to feel any sort of power or validation. He’s now the everyman representing the views of the audience, which just feels utterly wrong.

This links in with arguably the film’s biggest problem of all. The way it portrays superheroes in general. The use of slow motion, cinematography and fight choreography frames the superheroes and vigilantes of Watchmen as being powerful, impressive individuals, when really the exact opposite should be conveyed. The costumes give the characters a feeling of power, but that power is an illusion. Nite Owl is really an impotent failure. Rorschach is an angry bigot lashing out at the world. The Comedian is a depraved old man who has let his morals fall by the way side so he can indulge in his own perverse fantasies. They’re not people to be idealised. They’re to be at pitied at best and reviled at worst. So seeing them jump through windows and beating up several thugs single handed through various forms of martial arts ultimately confuses the message, as does the use of gratuitous gore and violence. Are we supposed to be shocked by these individuals or in awe? 

Costumes too have a similar problem. Nite Owl and Ozymandias’ costumes have been updated so they look more imposing, which kind of defeats the purpose of them. The point is they look silly to us, the outside observers, but they make the characters feel powerful. That juxtaposition is lost in the film. And then there’s the Silk Spectre. In the graphic novel, both Sally and Laurie represent the changing attitudes of women in comics and in society. Both Silk Spectres are sexually objectified, but whereas Sally accepts it as part of the reality of being a woman, Laurie resists it, seeing it as demeaning. The only reason she wore her revealing costume in A Brother To Dragons was because she knew that Dan found it sexually attractive and she wanted to indulge his power fantasy. None of this is touched upon in the film, other than one passing mention of the Silk Spectre porn magazine near the beginning of the film. There’s not even any mention of how impractical her costume is, like the graphic novel does. Yes the film changes her look drastically, but it’s still just as impractical and could have been used to make a point on how women are perceived in comic book films, but it never seems to hinder her in anyway. It’s never even brought up, which is ridiculous. Zack Snyder’s reinterpretation of Silk Spectre is clearly meant to inject some form of girl power into the proceedings, as she’s presented as being just as impressive and kick-ass as the others, when the whole point of her character was to expose the misogyny of the comics industry at the time and how they cater to the male gaze. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the graphic novel did it perfectly, but it did it a hell of a lot better than this.

Die hard fans have described the film over the years as shallow and ‘style over substance.’ I don’t think that’s entirely fair. It’s clear that Zack Snyder has a huge respect for the graphic novel and wanted to do it justice. Overall the film has a lot of good ideas and is generally well made. However, as much as Snyder seems to love Watchmen, it does seem like he only has a surface level understanding of it, hence why the attention and effort seems to be going into the visuals and the faithfulness to Alan Moore’s attention to detail rather than the Watchmen’s story and themes. While the film at times makes some good points about power, corruption and morality, it doesn’t go nearly as far as the source material does and seems to shy away from really getting into the meat of any particular topic. Part of that I suspect is to do with marketability, not wanting to alienate casual viewers, but I think a lot of it is to do with it simply being in the wrong medium. I personally don’t think you can really do a story as complex and intricate as Watchmen’s justice in a Hollywood film. In my opinion, this really should have been a TV mini-series or something.

So on the whole, while I appreciate Snyder’s attempt at bringing the story of Watchmen to life and can see that he has the best intentions in mind, I don’t think this film holds a candle to the original source material. 

the stronger claim

Warnings for dark themes and noncon/dubcon elements.

Many thanks to drel for holding my hand and doing lit analysis on my words when I sure as hell couldn’t, and to magnus for their suggestions.

when someone put down aphrodisiac jutsu as a prompt, i really wonder if they expected this.

(check ao3 notes for the kinkmeme prompt this is based on.)

summary: 

Kidnapping a shinobi is nothing new. It’s what you do to keep them there, that is the question.

read it on: ao3

The kidnapping of a hidden village’s shinobi is not an entirely surprising affair. 

Shinobi or not, wars have been fought with prisoners of war as a bargaining chip - it will be fought the same way for many wars more. There are far too many reasons to capture an enemy: for intelligence, or the prevention of it; for a bargaining chip to leverage against your enemies - especially if the target is significant to someone high on the authority chain. 

(To act as a suicide bomber upon their return to the village, something whispers. Obito’s eye aches like a bitter reminder.)

Nevertheless, the requisite reaction to such actions in peacetime is to pursue the victim. Losses in personnel are bad for morale, and a healthy discouragement of kidnapping Konoha shinobi, in general, is a good deterrent to future kidnapping attempts (up until it isn’t). And even if retrieval ends unsuccessfully, better for those under the banner to believe that an effort would be made rather than none at all.

Of course, a successful rescue attempt is infinitely preferable - and although Kakashi won't admit it to anyone, this attempt will be personal. 

As a shinobi, Umino Iruka is nothing more than a chuunin, a minor gear in the workings of Konoha. As a shinobi of Konoha, he is a teacher in the Academy, a tenant of the Mission Desk, and a regular visitor of the Hokage. Each position affords him information on various affairs, ranging from clan heirs and their abilities to the missions he reviews and accepts. 

Coupled with the weekly visits he makes to the Hokage’s office for no discernibly official purposes and the way Naruto proclaims his love for his adoptive father figure without the slightest bit of reservation, Iruka makes quite an attractive target if there aren't other more compelling and valuable targets to infiltrate Konoha for. 

But as a person... Iruka is more than all of his worth as a shinobi, more than his sharp words and gentle smiles and unrelenting belief in the Will of Fire; Kakashi can only be pulled into his orbit whenever Iruka passes him by.

But now Iruka’s taken (like Rin before he drove a handful of lightning through her chest) - gone. And Kakashi had always thought that there would be a day he would walk up to the teacher and ask him, maybe, for his time and whatever else Iruka would be willing to give - to let the pieces fall as they may. 

It tears more at him than more he ever thinks it would, that there would never be that possibility, soft and warm and entirely his. 

It fuels him to run faster, to track harder, to go to where Iruka had been taken to; it leads him to the hidden village of Nagisa, surrounded by white sands and rolling waves. A potentially idyllic vacation spot, only tainted by the actions that they have taken against Konoha. 

He directs his team to infiltrate the village, to acquire information on their motives and the whereabouts of their captive. After all their efforts - after the seeping fear of finding Iruka bloody and bruised, broken against a cell wall - he finds himself venturing into a cavern with a foreign seal sketched large and wide onto the pristine sand, the sprawling script of symbols glowing a soft gradient between sea-green and ocean-blue.

He finds Iruka, at the center of it all. 

Iruka, bound. Iruka, writhing. Iruka, gasping as a hooded figure bends low over his prone form and seals their mouth over Iruka's own. 

Perhaps if Kakashi were more level-minded,  he would claim that immediate action was a necessity. That he couldn't wait for a diversion Tenzou was creating on the far side of the village, for a better opportunity. That the seal, an unknown factor, seemed far too dangerous to allow it to come to fruition. 

At that very moment, he knows only that Iruka is garbed in a yukata, thin and light and so very easy to remove. Eye-catching, sprawled helpless against the sand. 

Whatever is planned next, Kakashi doesn’t want to know. He drops down onto the central array sketched within the seal. The symbols around them flare as his feet touch the ground, washing the cavern in a brilliant white. 

The hooded figure jerks their head up, eyes flashing in alarm - but Kakashi only has eyes for Iruka, who arches up in their arms. He doesn't give them a chance to raise their voice; he moves in, the grip on his kunai firm and deadly. 

The fight - if it could be called one - doesn't last long.

When the hood is stained red from arterial spray, Kakashi finally lowers his weapon and turns around to check on Iruka. A quip is ready on his tongue, only to dissipate with a sharp breath when he sees Iruka’s reaction - or lack thereof. 

It worries Kakashi, how unaware Iruka is despite being shinobi - how utterly vulnerable he currently is. He approaches Iruka’s prone form and crouches over him. 

“Iruka-sensei,” he says, urgency rushing his words. "Sensei, we’re here to rescue you.”

It does not bode well that Iruka does not even react. He stares up towards the ceiling, eyes glassy and unseeing. A sheen of sweat glistens upon his skin. The drag of his breaths, slow and audible. 

Perhaps a genjutsu. Kakashi attempts to dispel it. 

Nothing happens.

“Sensei,” he says again. He ruthlessly quashes down thoughts of too late once again. Tsunade can be the judge of that and no one else. “We have to go."

He reaches out to slide a hand under Iruka’s neck -

Iruka shudders in his arms, pressing into Kakashi. Reflex makes Kakashi tense; experience makes him shift towards a defensive position. He expects Iruka to swing at him, perhaps compelled by this foreign ritual, and half-expects at the end of all this to relearn that heavy numbness within his hand, the cold weight of a precious person dead at his feet.

He does not expect Iruka to moan.

Long and low and guttural; Iruka’s head falls back, eyelids a-fluttering; mouth open, inviting. He shifts, restless, his thighs twitching against each other, unmistakably rubbing against each other. A flush rises high across his face, accentuating that scar that Kakashi has always longed to trail a finger across. 

The moan tapers off to something breathy. Needy.

It is a sound Kakashi dared to imagine only in his fantasies, a sound that will feature in many of them to come. His mouth dries, his heart pounds loud in his ears. A blush burns across his face, arousal mixed with mortification - he has never been more thankful for his mask.

It is also a scene he’s familiar with, one that he would not have wished on Iruka. 

An aphrodisiac jutsu.

In that haze of arousal, Iruka weakly turns his head to look at Kakashi. In his eyes, there is a faint spark of recognition. 

“Kakashi-san,” he rasps.  

Kakashi cannot help but track the swipe of Iruka's tongue as it darts out to wet his lips. The muted shine it leaves behind. And - shamefully - all Kakashi can think is: <em>this is what Iruka would sound like in his bed.</em>

There’s a distant sound of an explosion - the distraction he was supposed to wait for, finally come unto existence. It jolts him into action: he hoists Iruka over his head and across his shoulders in one smooth and practiced movement, curling one arm around Iruka's arm and the other around his bare leg but leaving his hands otherwise free to perform a jutsu if need be. Despite the breathiness of the fabric, Iruka is emanating warmth as though he is running a fever - no doubt a symptom of the jutsu placed upon him.

Kakashi resolutely ignores Iruka's trembling, his breathy sighs. He forms a futon to blow away the symbols in the sand. 

Whether it would break the jutsu, he doesn't know. Their first priority is to escape.

“Hold on, sensei,” Kakashi swallows, ignoring the curl of desire within his gut. "We're getting out of here."

-----

He meets up with Tenzou and Yugao at the edge of the village, as planned. Their three-man cell takes quick leave of the area, making the run back to Fire's borders - a grueling three days' journey away.

It takes four hours before night falls, and for darkness to set in proper without the silvery light of the moon. The absence of light is a boon more than a bane: it would be difficult for pursuers to come across their camp.

That is, if there were any. 

Kakashi had expected hot pursuit of their prisoner, or retaliation for the intrusion. But there has been nothing: no jutsu aimed at them, no shuriken grazing their skin, no kunai planted in their back. They leave Nagisa practically unmolested, with their objective in tow; their objective being draped across Kakashi’s shoulder. 

It is discomfiting to refer to Iruka in such an impersonal way. An objective has always been a mark: to steal, to persuade, to assassinate. To use it against Iruka feels incongruous, if not for Kakashi's own affections then to address a comrade. 

But the uncomfortable truth is that Kakashi cannot consider Iruka as anything else, not at this very moment.

For Iruka has been restless, the entire time he was on Kakashi's back. The jutsu has not worn off even with the destruction of the array and the distance they gained. There is a damp patch on Kakashi's shirt where Iruka has been gasping helplessly against the fabric. Kakashi's neck is drenched with sweat, from physical exertion and his proximity to Iruka’s body heat. 

Most incriminatingly, Iruka's groin is positioned just where Kakashi's tactical vest ends.

It is impossible for Kakashi to maintain an unyielding grip on Iruka; it is equally impossible for Iruka to remain still. It is therefore very natural for friction to occur - for Kakashi to feel the way Iruka's cock fills out against his shoulder as they ran, especially through the thin material of the yukata.

A healthy dose of desperation and his iron discipline stave off Kakashi’s own burgeoning arousal. Or so he hopes.

They stop in a suitable clearing. Tenzou creates a thick copse of trees with its trucks curving to form a hollow dome able to fit four at its base, while Kakashi and Yugao set up the perimeter traps and seals. Such is their routine, established by once a plan and now muscle memory; they reconvene in mere minutes.

"Senpai," Tenzou says. There's an undercurrent of concern in his voice.

The cause is clear: Kakashi has refused to set Iruka down even when they were a safe distance away from the village. Iruka is essentially little more than a deadweight at this very moment.

As if in reaction to Tenzou’s words, Iruka shudders again against his shoulder. Kakashi hastily sets him down, positioning him to face away from the others. 

Iruka deserves to have his modesty preserved, as much as Kakashi can provide, even if Iruka's yukata is presently drenched with sweat to the point of translucence. It sticks to him, almost as though it is a second skin. Leaving nothing to the imagination. The way he’ll shiver if Kakashi pushes it off him, shoulder by shoulder...

He tears his gaze away from Iruka and breathes out, harsh. It is only physical relief he can afford. 

"An aphrodisiac," he explains briskly, calling upon his lifetime’s worth of discipline, his experience in imparting information concisely. "I found him in a seals array, and tried to dispel the jutsu, erase the seals." 

Iruka's heavy breathing in a corner of the dome speaks volumes about the success of either attempt. 

Tenzou's eyes flick towards the other man, his face set in neutrality. "What did they do to him?”

"Nothing good if it involves an aphrodisiac," Yugao says darkly. 

"We'll get him back to Hokage-sama," he says, decisive. None of them are medics; he can only hope that the aphrodisiac would run its course. Or that they get to Tsunade before the symptoms can worsen. "Tenzou, you're on first. Yugao, third. We leave at dawn."

Tenzou nods, and darts upwards to perch within the trees he built. Yugao settles in a far corner of the dome. He doesn't miss the way she turns her back to him, giving him the privacy he wants to talk to Iruka; gratitude settles firmly in his gut.

He crouches again, this time a distance away. Iruka probably doesn’t want anyone to see him with his inhibitions lowered, Kakashi included.

“Iruka-sensei,” he murmurs. There’s the minutest of shifting - he takes it as acknowledgment. “I’ll get you back to Konoha. To your students - to Naruto. I promise.”

There’s the sound of an exhale, shaky and forced. 

“Kakashi-san,” the quiet rasp comes again. Kakashi holds himself still. “I have to go back.”

“We will,” he says hastily. “I promise you, sensei - “

“I have to go back.” Iruka’s breathing shudders again, and Kakashi yearns to reach out, to hold him. To comfort. But physical affection is the last thing Iruka needs right now. “But you can’t let me.”

Something cold drains into Kakashi’s body. 

“Sensei,” he says, almost choking on the possibility of his past, repeated. It would be cruel of fate to act so callously. The hoarseness of his voice makes it sound like he’s begging: “Iruka.”

Iruka only repeats, “You can’t."

-----

The wards scream to life as their pursuers finally make their attack.

-----

Something is wrong.

Maybe it’s the way the darkness of the night is supposed to cover their tracks, and the camouflage of Tenzou’s Mokuton-built fortress their presence. Maybe it’s how the pursuers stop far too easily, never giving chase even as they retreat. Maybe it’s how their team is getting run ragged into the dawn of the next morning, as they move camp again and again and again.

Three times. They’ve been attacked three times, within an hour of setting up camp. Had it been once, Kakashi would put it down to unluckiness; twice, coincidence. Three times make a pattern. 

Nagisa is tracking them. 

Kakashi considers chakra sensors - then discards the theory. All attacks so far have involved different shinobi. Sensory abilities are a highly valued skill; Nagisa would have gone the way of Uzushio if other countries realize the number of chakra-sensitive shinobi they’re putting out. 

Perhaps a physical tracker. But none of them has taken anything from the village, and the yukata draped on Iruka (on which Kakashi forced himself to perform the most perfunctory of inspections) is far too thin to hide any tracker sewn into its seams or sleeves. Iruka has been coherent enough to confirm that he had not been fed during his brief captivity.

That leaves only jutsu.

(There remains only one unknown factor in this entire scenario.)

He turns to Iruka - huddled again in a corner of the dome. The aphrodisiac has shown no sign of reducing in intensity throughout the night, raising a whole different set of medical concerns: dehydration and heatstroke, to name a few. More worryingly, Iruka has been incredibly reluctant to press forward, with all attempts at running being best described as faltering. When pressed, he would only shake his head.

(You can’t let me, and Kakashi can’t tell whether he’s remembering Iruka, or remembering Rin. You can’t.)

They had to resort to carrying him but therein arose another problem: Iruka would thrash wildly the very moment Tenzou or Yugao touched him. The only person he would remain still for, would allow to touch him, is Kakashi.

It sets something possessive and dark purring within him, even though he knows that it’s likely due to the jutsu. It also means that Kakashi is the only one who can carry him as they run, limiting his movement and defenses.

Still, the most pressing concern remains Nagisa’s recurring ability to find their camp. And if it’s truly jutsu, then there is one way for Kakashi to confirm: the Sharingan.

He raises his hand to pull off the headband, to direct his gaze towards Iruka… and then hesitates. The Sharingan burns memories into his mind, this he knows. He also knows how utterly mortifying it is to be vulnerable, to curl away from pitying eyes. 

If he looks at Iruka, he'll remember him like this, forever. Even though Iruka should be standing with his head held high, his ponytail tied back proper, confident and assured. All the things Kakashi respected him for. 

And he will be those things still, Kakashi tells himself, but only if Kakashi can get him back within the safe boundaries of Konoha. 

(As though you won't remember him like this when your hand is wrapped around your cock, something small and nasty whispers to him.)

Better traumatized than dead, Kakashi repeats and pulls the headband off. 

The strain sets in almost immediately. The sluggish swirl of the tomoes within the eye begins to quicken as it greedily absorbs any and all information it could perceive, the blurry haze of chakra settling into proper place as his vision comes into focus. 

Iruka's chakra levels are running low, with the occasion flicker and flare Kakashi expects from a loss in control. What alarms him is a thin cord of chakra running from Iruka's heart, through the gaps of Tenzou's Mokuton dome and out into the distance. 

There is little doubt that at the other end is Nagisa. 

The cord is cool when Kakashi reaches out to touch it, to run a finger down the line. He flicks at it, noting how the chakra is foreign from Iruka’s fiery own - and the ephemeral flash of inscriptions running across Iruka’s form.

"Senpai," Tenzou says hesitantly.

Ah, right. He must look quite peculiar, touching nothing midair. Actually, now that he notices - the cord seems to go right through Yugao's knee, with her none the wiser. 

Curious. 

"I think," Kakashi says in lieu of an answer, "we need to ask them some questions."

-----

It takes a counter-ambush to capture a Nagisa-nin. It takes the Sharingan to get her to tell them what Nagisa did to Iruka. 

It takes a sick mind to come up with what they did. 

The tethering jutsu, Nagisa calls it. A fuuinjutsu, a forbidden technique: the sealing of foreign chakra into another person's body. As long as the source of chakra existed, Nagisa would be able to track Iruka wherever he went. 

Placing trackers on prisoners and marks is nothing new, least of all to Kakashi. While physical trackers like the Aburame's insects are far more common, infusing raw chakra into the body is not unheard of. Still, as most jutsu do, such methods have their limitations - in this case, weakening or dissipating entirely after a certain distance is gained. 

Nagisa's jutsu entrenches the chakra more firmly, the transfer of chakra augmented by emotional intensity and physical intimacy. 

In blunt terms: by sexual intercourse. 

(The aphrodisiac jutsu certainly makes that easier, Kakashi notes clinically.)

The tether also acts as a reel, one that constantly compels Iruka to return to the source of the chakra. Even though Kakashi killed the caster, apparently they were but a mere conduit for the source: the sands of the cavern, chakra-infused over the years. 

Loyalty to one is a danger to all, the Nagisa-nin murmurs under the swirling Sharingan. Better to bind to a place rather than a person.

There is little need to ask why such a jutsu is so necessary, not when it is clear how small Nagisa is compared to other hidden villages of similar status. The low birth and high mortality rates of shinobi lifestyles are problems Konoha chose to answer through a relatively open (for hidden villages) immigration policy. Nagisa merely circumvented the lengthy background and security checks through the forced conversion of foreign shinobi to bolster its own forces. 

After all, why invest in training when you could appropriate a trained shinobi? Why keep your best assets at home performing menial jobs and administrative tasks when you could send them out into the field?

A policy that makes sense on paper. A policy where someone looked at another villages’ shinobi and considered them resources instead of people. The results instead of the means.

(Even so, there’s a twisted part of Kakashi that is relieved - that it is but a tracker instead of a ticking bomb. That when he said ‘back’ he meant to Nagisa, and not to Konoha. That Iruka will not go the same way as Rin.)

Behind him, Tenzou’s chakra sharpens, glass-shard sharp and glinting. Kakashi wagers the idea of loyalty to one's village being ripped away so easily disturbs him. In direct contrast, Yugao’s chakra simmers, roiling bursts contained within a chilly veneer.

He turns back to the captive. “How do we break the jutsu,” he demands. “I interrupted the ritual - it shouldn’t have taken hold.”

A blank gaze. “There were other conduits attending to him,” she finally says, the hungry pull of the Sharingan drawing the information out of her. “A claim has already been made. An interruption is merely another."

Other conduits. How many of them had laid their hands on Iruka before he had gotten there? The very thought turns Kakashi's voice vicious; he snarls, again - “How do we break it?” 

“We must let go of him,” comes the placid reply. “Or there must be a stronger claim.”

-----

“Senpai.”

Tenzou finds him outside of the dome. Kakashi is staring out into the distance, for the possibility of more ambushers, more pursuers, more lives to take - something he knows how to do better than solve this problem before them.

“Tenzou.” Kakashi doesn’t turn to look at him. “What are our chances of making it to Fire?”

He doubts they can even make it to Konoha. What an ingenious plan - instead of facing their opponents head-on, Nagisa merely tires them out until they are forced to give up from sheer exhaustion. He’d appreciate it when it isn’t done against him.

To his credit, Tenzou doesn’t soften his words. 

“Very low." Kakashi thought so. "Even with chakra pills, we’d be drained of chakra long before we reach the borders. And with that fever Iruka-sensei is running...”

He breathes out as Tenzou trails off, sifting through the various plans he has come up with. A single guard while the others slept would mean they'd have to carry that guard alongside Iruka. A decoy would be useless. And if any of them were caught and brought back to Nagisa…

“I won't abandon him.” The words tear themselves out of Kakashi’s throat, unbidden. Cutting losses, sacrifice - concepts they’re both familiar with. The choice to save three over a compromised one. 

But it means letting Iruka go back. Back where they can finish the ritual.

That isn't an option.

Tenzou nods slowly, his faith in Kakashi absolute. “I know."

Kakashi shakes his head sharply. Those who abandon their comrades are worse than trash - but this is more. More than camaraderie, more than loyalty. More than the guilt of allowing someone to be ripped away from their home, never to return, only to be part of a system that will never value their choice.

But to keep Iruka, to return him to Konoha...

It has to be Kakashi. The jutsu would not accept Tenzou, nor Yugao - it recognizes only Kakashi as a competing claim. If they were all to get away from Nagisa alive, then Kakashi would have to - 

He’d have to -

“I can’t,” he says, hoarse. 

"I know.” The answer jolts him out of the maelstrom of his doubts; he finally turns to look at Tenzou. His friend looks back at him, steady as the trees he built. "But you have to."

Duty calls. Kakashi closes his eyes. Tenzou is right, he has to -

"You have to ask him.” Kakashi’s eyes fly open. They meet Tenzou’s own, dark and piercing. "Ask him, senpai."

To ask Iruka - 

"He's out of his mind.” Kakashi's fist clenches, tight, almost as though lightning would build in his hands. As though he could punch his way through the chest of this problem. "He won't know what he's saying."

"Better he decides than you decide for him," Tenzou tells him bluntly.

Kakashi stares at Tenzou, searching his face for another solution, another possibility. As though there'll be another way to bring all of them out unscathed. But Tenzou remains unwavering in his conviction. Firm. 

"Go and ask him, senpai," he says again, not unkindly. 

Kakashi stands.

------

When he steps back into the dome, he finds only Iruka. Curled small and tucked away into a corner, the previously pristine yukata now creased and sweat-stained. His gaze remains vaguely vacant, staring into the distance, but his eyes flick weakly to Kakashi as he sits down in front of Iruka. 

How to even begin this conversation? Iruka-sensei, if you don't want to go back to Nagisa, you'll have to let me fuck you. 

Iruka-sensei, I don't want to rape you, but if I don't do it Nagisa probably will. Would you rather be raped by me or them?

Iruka-sensei, I'm sorry. 

(There is one more path, one where a kunai is put to Iruka's throat and pushed in deep. The one where Iruka becomes unreachable, untouchable - but remains wholly his own. 

Kakashi refuses to even think of suggesting it.)

Kakashi takes a deep breath, to say something - but Iruka's voice is the first to cut through the silence. 

"I'm sorry to put you in this position, Kakashi-san," he whispers. 

Kakashi should be apologizing, not Iruka. He should have done more reconnaissance before plucking Iruka right out of the ritual. He should have watched and waited - but fear had driven him more than caution had then. 

"Maa, sensei." He forces his voice lighter and smiles wanly through his mask. It was comforting then, their easy-going banter - he can't help but wonder if Iruka finds it comforting too. If he still does. "We've all had a tracker planted on us before. Yours is just a bit harder to get rid of."

He thinks he sees Iruka's twitch upwards, just the slightest bit - but that might just be wishful thinking. 

"You heard about how to break the jutsu." Iruka dips his head downwards, and Kakashi doesn't know whether it could be called mercy that he doesn't need to say it again. That he doesn’t need to say it aloud. 

It doesn't stop his throat from clogging up, to cement what comes next into words. Into reality. 

Ask, the echo of Tenzou's voice reminds him. 

"Iruka-sensei," he forces out. "I... What do you want?"

Iruka stares at him. Kakashi can see the heated glaze of his eyes, the damp sheen of his skin. What was he thinking, asking - but he can't make this decision for Iruka. Tenzou is right - and even if the choice is not much of a choice at all, Kakashi has to give Iruka anything that he can. 

God, he'd give Iruka everything that he can. 

"We can break the jutsu now," he continues. "Or - or, we can - "  - let you go back to Nagisa, except that choice isn't a choice at all, not one he could let Iruka take any more than he could let Iruka commit suicide. 

"We can wait until the borders," he says instead in a moment of great weakness. It comes out like a plea. "We'll just run all the way there. They wouldn't risk invading Fire -"

"The borders," Iruka murmurs. "The borders, they," - he cuts off with a shudder, before forcing out a strained, "three days away."

"We'll make it," Kakashi says, desperation dripping through the cracks in this terrible plan. 

Iruka lifts his head. Before he even says a word, Kakashi knows. 

"Kakashi-san is a very kind person," Iruka breathes out. "But I... one man isn't worth all this."

You are, Kakashi wants to say - you are, you are worth all the miles I ran after you, worth all the rain drenching my clothes and the sun beating down my back. Worth the burn in my muscles and the strain in my shoulders. 

But it’s not about Kakashi, not here, not now. 

“I’ll be fine,” Iruka is saying. He’s even smiling - a weak, reassuring smile, as though Kakashi is one of his students needing reassurance for a skinned knee, or from a violent storm. “I can take a few weeks more of captivity. I promise.”

Like how Kakashi promised him a few hours ago. “I promised that you’d return to Konoha, sensei. Would you have me break that promise too?"

“If it means keeping everyone safe,” Iruka answers. “Yes.”

All of them, duty-bound. Martyrs and fools. If this is Iruka’s choice, Kakashi has to respect it - but…

“You know what will happen,” he says. A nod. “You know you might not see Konoha ever again.” If Nagisa decides Iruka is valuable enough, they would increase the security and begin negotiations with Konoha - rescue would be immensely difficult. Yet, still, another nod. “Then why?”

“Like I said,” Iruka says, softly. “I don't want to put you in this position. You shouldn't have to do this."

"I shouldn't have to," Kakashi repeats, uncomprehending.

“I couldn’t…” Another tremor sweeps over Iruka. The sight of Iruka’s throat working around the words, the shift of his Adam’s apple under the skin - it catches Kakashi’s eye and keeps him there. Keeps him wondering how it would taste, if he puts his tongue to it. “I couldn’t be so selfish.”

Selfish, he says. No, Kakashi knows what selfishness is: the urge to tear off the arms off any ninja that would attempt to bind Iruka to their cause. The depths of Kakashi’s want, to be the only person Iruka should ever tether himself to. The hollow grief at the thought of an Iruka-shaped absence in the part of Konoha Kakashi considers his, even though he would be alive in Nagisa.

This is also selfishness: the absolute dread at the idea of Iruka never wanting to see Kakashi again for as long as he is alive.  

"It would be selfish of us to leave Naruto worried,” Kakashi says instead. He avoids saying ‘you’, an effort to soften the blow - an effort in vain from the twitch that would have otherwise been a flinch. “Your students. Your colleagues. Friends.” 

“They’ll understand.” They won’t. No one possibly could, least of all Kakashi. “They’ll carry on.” 

Iruka looks at him - soft and resigned. Final. “You’d look after Naruto for me, won’t you?”

In any other situation, that is a promise he can make easily. In this situation, it is a promise he is not yet willing to give. 

“You’d go back to Nagisa just to spare me.” Kakashi says quietly, confirming.

Iruka nods again, exhaustion getting the better of him.  "And that's the only reason." Another nod, slow and languid. "I see."

"Thank you," Iruka says. His weak but sincere smile rends Kakashi apart - and the wretched part of it all is the gratitude. That he would be left to the wolves just to spare Kakashi. 

And in that very moment, Kakashi knows what he is willing to lose.

"You're wrong about one thing, sensei," he says. There is a flicker of confusion in Iruka's eyes as Kakashi holds them with his own. They widen when he pulls off his headband yet again so that they might better see the strands of chakra tethering Iruka; further still as he pulls down his mask. "I'm not kind at all."

He reaches out to curl a hand around Iruka's nape, pulling him close - close enough for Kakashi to press his lips to Iruka's own.

"I'm very, very selfish," he confesses into the space between their mouths, and begins to stake his claim.

The Itsy Bitsy Spider 13

WOOHOO!!! Another chapter is done! I don't know where this story is going, but I want it to have some more cute small Peter fluff in it, so I'm probably going to deviate from the plot line a little bit, also to get more chapters in hopefully lol. As always, don't forget to comment because I love hearing from you guys!! Later!

Helen Cho stared at the boy for a moment, before she took action. "I'll need an X-ray of the his entire body!" The medical team nodded and burst into action. She directed Tony to one of the beds. "Put him there," she said. "Easy," she whispered as Tony transferred the boy from his hand onto the mattress just below the pillow. "Mommy! Daddy!" Morgan cried out from where she was being treated, trying to push the doctors away. "Hold still, sweetheart," the man treating Morgan said patiently, but the girl wasn't having it. "No! I need to see Peter!" the girl shouted. "And you will, honey. But, we need to clean your hands a little, okay? We need to make sure there's no rocks or glass in your cuts." He smiled at the girl and waited patiently. "You want to sit next to Peter?" Pepper asked with a soft smile.Morgan nodded at this, sliding off the bed that she was on and stood in between her parents. "Is he gonna be okay?" she asked. Tony nodded. "Yeah, Morguna. He'll be fine." "Okay. You know, he's like my little big brother," she said, shocking the two adults. "I really like him. I wish he could stay with us, but I know he can't. He told me about his aunt, and how much he missed her the day we played hide and seek." Pepper looked at Tony and the man nodded. "Well, when all of this is over, and he's able to go home, he'll be able to visit whenever he wants." Morgan's face lit up. "Really?" she asked, and her father nodded. One man brought a cleaning solution and two chairs over to Morgan and her parents. Pepper placed her daughter on her lap and watched as the nurse that was treating Morgan before was back with a warm smile on his face as he dipped the girl's hands into the warm solution. Another person brought the portable scanner and held it over Peter's body, snapping a few pictures of the boy's bones before handing it to Helen, who expanded it into a holographic form to get a better look. And she wished she hadn't. She hadn't seen someone this bad since Tony had battled the Hulk. One thing that caught her attention was that his ankle was already trying to repair itself, mending the bones where they were. That was not good. "Peter," she crouched down to see the boy on his level. "Your bones are already healing, but they're healing incorrectly, which is dangerous. I'm sorry, but we'll have to re-break the ankle and set it properly." Plus, she would have to figure out how the boy was already healing. "Without knowing your weight and height, we can't put you to sleep for this, but we can give you something to numb the pain if we have time." "Height is approximately three inches, weight is five point two ounces," Friday told them. Shit that was small. Tony didn't realize how small the kid was. "Okay, okay, we can deal with that.." he whispered. The boy shook his head with a groan. "Won't work," he ground out as a wave of pain hit him. "Scientists tried all sorts of drugs to put me to sleep, poison me, you name it. But I burned through everything too fast." Helen's eyes widened. What the hell had happened to this boy? "Okay, so we can't do pain pills. It will be over in a minute, Peter. Just bear with me, I'll try and be as gentle as I can. But, I'm going to have to cut the clothes you have on, though." She moved and towered over the boy, snipping what she had to of the clothing that was left, then, with her hands poised over the broken bone, she stopped. How was she supposed to fix this? She had never worked with such a small patient before and was afraid she would hurt him even more. But, she had to. So, steeling herself, the doctor moved the magnifying lens over the boy and gripped the small leg, feeling the small bones against her fingertips. Then she tried gripping the boy's foot, but it was too small. Someone then handed her a pair of forceps and she looked up to see Mr. Stark staring at her, his eyes clearly said he was worried.Steadily she took Peter's foot into the metal grips and flicked the tool a bit, hearing a 'snap' and the boy cried out and went limp a second later. Quickly she moved the bones into place. "Friday, give me an analysis," she ordered shakily. "All bones are connected," the AI said. "Heart beat and blood pressure is elevated, breathing is shallow but even." Doctor Cho breathed and went to setting the unbelievably small ankle into place, using two small blunt pins she was handed as a splint, then wrapped the entire leg in gauze. She repeated the process on Peter's wrist. "The shoulder will be tricky. Mr. Stark, hold him down for a minute." Tony nodded and placed a hand over the boy gently. "It'll be alright, kid," he whispered to the unconscious teen. Helen pushed on the boy's shoulder as much as she could, and the joint popped back into place, Peter let out a whimper in his passed out state, then quieted. Morgan, who had watched the whole thing, wanted nothing more than to comfort her friend, but her hands were being wrapped as well, so she just cried for him as the nurses started treating the smaller things that could wait and cleaned his bloody feet. "It's all over," the nurse told Morgan, his voice patient and kind. "It's all done. He's safe now." He smiled at her. Morgan glanced over at her friend on the bed, reaching for her father's hand, which gripped hers carefully over the bandages. "He'll be fine," Tony said, more as a mantra to himself. "He'll be fine.." Morgan looked at the boy's ripped and cut clothes when she remembered the gift she made for Peter. "Daddy," she whimpered when she reached into her pocket. "I..I made this for Peter..." She brought out the small cloth bag and with a wince, pulled out what looked like what the boy was wearing when they first found him. Tony gently took the outfit and turned it between his thumb and pointer, seeing the duct tape holding the legs together, the blue and red material evenly distributed through the arms and legs and the silver Hydra sigil gone. "This...this looks so good, Morguna. I'm sure Peter will love it." Morgan smiled. "I can't use needles, so maybe you or mommy can sew it." Pepper hugged her daughter tighter. "I will, baby. Come on, let's go get something to drink. We'll come back later when Peter's awake.. And thank you, whoever fixed Morgan's hands." The nurses and doctors smiled and nodded, watching them go. ~~~~~~~ Helen waited until Morgan was out of the room before turning on Tony. "Mr. Stark, who and what is this boy?" Her voice was angry, hateful. Tony shook his head, running his hand over his face. "I don't know what to tell you. He kind of...fell into my grasp one day. Little accident." He didn't want to go into detail with Helen. He trusted her medical judgement, but she answered to Fury. And he didn't want that man anywhere near Peter. At least not yet. "No, I will not tolerate that answer. Did you do this to him?" "No, definitely not," he denied vehemently. "I would never hurt a kid, you should know that." he said lowly. The doctor studied him with narrowed eyes before nodding. "Alright. We'll keep an eye on him overnight. You're welcome to stay with him, if you need to, but I will be in the room if you do." The man nodded, pulling his chair over and sitting. "Yes, I need to. You," he pointed to a male nurse. "You do Starbucks runs, right?" "My staff are not your personal errand boys," Helen snapped. "I pay them, so I get to order them to do what I want. He's not busy, are you?" The man shook his head. "See? It's fine. Friday will send you what to order." He set his eyes on the man, raising his brows. "Well? Go on, go, shoo." he waggled his fingers at the nurse and he practically ran from the room. "See what happens when you're above everybody's pay grade?" Helen shook her head and walked out, a frown on her face. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hammer was angry. No, he was more than that. He was absolutely livid. He'd gotten the best droids he could get with Hydra's help, had them boosted with his own weaponry, and they still lost! What was worse, one of the droid's also had the thing in its grasp! Adrian turned to look at the man as soon as Hammer walked into the garage. Toomes had anger  written on his face, a tool in his hands. "A kid?" he asked in a demanding tone. "Hydra wants us to steal back a kid from the Avengers, after Hydra did who knows what to him!?" The man had seen what the bot was after, the screen in his goggles, and he was still in shock, which had gotten his wings broken. "He's just a fucking child! I would say he's in better hands with the Avengers!" Justin just stared at him, giving a confused smile. "Are you saying you're out of the deal? Because, if so.." he pulled out his phone, slowly bringing it to his ear. "NO!" Toomes screamed, making Herman and Phineas jump. "I'm going to keep my family safe, so that means I'm not backing out. I'll go along with your plans...but this time, I'll be acting alone. NO help from you, you got it? You almost killed that kid, today. I won't have that blood on my hands." Hammer nodded and sat. "Okay, okay, I hear you. Hydra never said they wanted him back alive, but I think they would appreciate that he were living." Toomes glared at him. "I'll keep a watch on him and see when I can grab him. You stay out of it. Me and my guys will handle everything from this point on." He was going to get his family back, then live with the money he'd made and get out of this business. He had to if this is what it brought for them all. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Peter woke to not so subtle pangs of pain and the boy's brows furrowed as he opened his eyes, rolling his head to the side. He winced from the bright light, hand going in front of his face. He felt the soft mattress shift and dip a lot. "May?" he asked, hope lighting his voice. "Sorry, kiddo," Mr. Stark's voice was closer than normal and Peter turned to see the man leaning his head on the bed, massive eyes focused on the boy closer than they'd ever been. "I can call Natasha in if you need an Aunt Hottie," he joked. "Ha ha," the boy groaned when he tried to sit up, holding his middle when his ribs protested, so he laid back down. "Where are we?" He looked at everything, taking it in and studying everything he could. "Med bay. You got pretty banged up out there." Suddenly Peter's eyes went wide and he tried to sit up again, struggling against Mr. Stark's finger that kept him down. "Morgan," he gasped. "How is Morgan?" "She's fine, bud. Just a few scrapes and bruises." They were lucky nothing worse happened to her. "That's good." He moved his shoulders and hissed when they burned. "Note to self, do not lift a child until I'm back to normal," he joked. "Oh yeah, I was wondering about that." Mr. Stark's head popped up and his finger moved from Peter's chest to his face, pulling his chin to look at him gently. "How in the hell were you able to lift a five year old, who is clearly at least one thousand times your weight?" The teen's nerves took over at the look the man gave him, then it hit him. Mr. Stark was busy with the droids to see what had happened. He couldn't really explain it either, actually. "I-I don't know," he answered shakily. "I really don't, Mr. Stark..." he shook his head, wincing when it caused him some pain. "All I knew was that she was in danger, and I had to do something." She was like his little sister, and he couldn't let the girl just fall to her death. "Hmm....I'm starting to agree with Steve and his 'tests', of the non sciency variety." "Does that mean I get to train with the Avengers?" the boy asked, excitement making his face glow bright. "Well, not exactly." Mr. Stark finally removed his finger when it looked like Peter was going to stay down.  "And, I know this is gonna suck, but you have to stay in bed for at least three days, just to monitor you before you're allowed to move on your own. The good news is you're allowed to be in your own room." Peter tried to argue that he was fine, but Tony wouldn't have it. "Not my call. Be mad at Dr. Cho, whom I agree with totally." He sighed. "But, all kidding aside....I want to thank ou for what you did. You saved my whole world back there." And, what he didn't want to admit to the kid, he'd almost lost a piece under asphalt. "And for that, I know you've been feeling cooped up, and I'm to blame for most of it. But, I think we can have a little leeway for you. Only upstairs in my suite, and in Bruce's lab, are you allowed on the floor to walk around. We will have a talk with Morgan, too. But, I think I can remember to look down through the night, and I'll have a reason to use those floor lamps I installed. I already built and installed a tiny bathroom in your room on your nightstand, as well as put one of the Avenger's tubs you liked so much there, too." Peter blushed at the mention of that. "Thank you," he mumbled, meaning it. It was amazing that he was finally going to get to walk around by himself without being carried, although he was sure Mr. Stark enjoyed it. He jumped and winced when the man clapped and stood. "Okay, let's get you settled and I'll let Morgan know you're in your room, okay? And I'm pretty sure Pepper wants to see you, too. Probably give you a big sloppy kiss. Lucky." He winked at the bandaged boy who gagged.

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