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#yes and! if my prompt hinges on something being true don’t say it’s not
pre-hiatus · 3 years
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we need a ship rp on Omegle beginners hand guide
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dreamkidddream · 3 years
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Hiya~ Can I request quote 9) "Are you jealous?" for Lucifer in Obey Me! pretty please😊
This was so much fun to write! Luci know that he gets jealous but never wants to admit (his jealousy is worse than Mammon but you didn’t hear it from me 🤭) and sorry this got kinda long! Reader is gender neutral!
TW: suggestive/spicy themes, but nothing extremely graphic is mentioned
Prompt: “Are you jealous?” with Lucifer!
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Lucifer is pissed.
He’s tapping his foot, and constantly checking his phone, waiting in his study for you to either walk in or call him. It’s late, and you’re still not home yet. He asked his brothers where exactly you are, and when Asmo told him that you’re out with the same “friend” you seem to blow all of them off for some time now, it just makes his mood turn even more sour, the scowl on his face deepening.
Now, Lucifer is not opposed to you making friends, as long as they aren’t a threat to you, his family, Lord Diavolo and the other exchange students. He understands that it’s very easy for you to connect with others, intentional or not, and he encourages it to a certain extent. However, this same “friend” that you’ve been increasingly been hanging out with for the past couple of weeks is starting to rub him the wrong way. Of course he’s met this “friend”, a classmate from your Seductive Speechcraft class (which just made him feel more unease with you being with them), and they seemed harmless enough (for a demon at least). Annoying, but harmless, at first.
Then began the constant need for your attention.
It started with the messages and calls under the guise of studying, the “innocent” demon begging you for help so that they can pass the class, and you being the naive nice human that you are of course obliged their request. Then it escalated from once a week, to three times a week, to almost staying after school every day just to “help”. He didn’t like that, as it’s him or his brothers that always walk you home every time, and this demon (who he found is Yuki, a demon who feeds off of sexual energy nonetheless), is messing with the routine, but he kept his cool and forced his brothers to do the same. He- They weren’t happy about this, but at the end of the day, you’re still coming home to him- them, and nothing is changing that. Not to mention how he made sure that someone had their eyes on you, whether it’s Mammon, Beel, or even himself (which he preferred).
Until Yuki decided that you need to hang out more, without him or his brothers.
That’s when he made it known of his dislike towards them, and dislike is putting it lightly.
You started to come home right at dinner, right before Beel devoured your plate. Mammon obviously voiced his displeasure aloud, with the others silently agreeing or making passing comments, but Lucifer would just shut the conversation down before anyone gets too upset, mainly for himself. He doesn’t want to lose control over something trivial like this, he can’t, he won’t- he’s well above some minuscule pest like them, and it would be a waste of time and energy to be worried about someone who is clearly below him!
He’s already irritated with Yuki integrating themselves into your everyday life, but he’s also trying to fight the increasing sinking feeling in his stomach the more you both bond.
The more you two become more than acquainted with one another, the more Lucifer tries to fight and hide this feeling. He buries himself in more paperwork, practically locks himself in his study, avoids anyone’s questions or concerns, and has become overall snappier than usual. He’s even snapped on Lord Diavolo, Lord Diavolo of all people!
(Granted Diavolo just thought it was overall stress, so he just simply laughed it off, but it didn’t go unnoticed by everyone, including you).
Now Lucifer is not stupid, he’s a very intelligent and powerful demon, and he doesn’t have to say it to be known. He made sure to do some research himself on Yuki, and didn’t put anything past them. You’re still surrounded by demons who wouldn’t hesitate to swallow you whole if allowed, and some are still desperate enough to try anything, so he’s very cautious with others being around you.
Which leads to now, you being out again with that demon at The Fall. Ever since, Lucifer retired to his study, constantly checking his phone for any updates. He refused to look distressed in front of everyone, and he knows that you’re smart and not so gullible, you’ll be okay, you had to be.
It’s well going on 1 in the morning, and you still haven’t answered any of his calls and texts? You swore that you would always answer him, so something had to happen. What exactly were you doing? What exactly were you two doing? We’re you okay? Are you safe? Has that Yuki tried anything with you?
Were you two doing anything now?
All of these questions swirling around in his head, his worry only adding on to his frustrations and building tension going through his body.
He already marched down to the door, coat forgotten and tie undone, flinging it open and scowl so deep that his fangs were bared. That Yuki better hope that you come home in one piece and spotless, or else he will make sure that they regret being alive-
He couldn’t wipe the surprised look on his face when he made eye contact with you, who was matching his own expression, hand frozen in the air mid knock.
“Lucifer? What are you still doing up? Are you about to go somewhere?” His expression quickly morphed to one of high distaste, the irritation displaying clearly on his face and his grip tightening on the door.
“I was still awake waiting for you. Have you forgotten how to use a phone, or are you too good for one now that you’re with your ‘friend’. And I remember specifically telling you to let me know when you leave, did I not?”
“Oh. Well...my phone kinda died, but I was already on the way home and-”
“By yourself?! Do you know how irresponsible that is? Do you forget that you’re a mere human?”
His irritation is rising to pure anger at this revelation. So that demon didn’t even have the decency to walk you home? To make sure that you arrive safe? And yet you still have the nerve to spend time with them and practically ignore him?!-
“Well- um, Lucifer? Lucifer!”
He snapped out of his murderous thoughts, and stepped aside to let you in.
“Come inside now, it’s late, and we have much to discuss.”
Your face scrunched up, showing confusion in how he’s acting. You know that’s he mad about your phone being dead, but he’s mad enough to leave the door barely hanging on its hinges? But you knew that arguing or pointing it out would just make things escalate, so you just stepped past and began to make your way up the stairs.
You can feel his eyes bore into the back of your head, but you just didn’t understand why. It’s about more than just your phone, it seemed like he’s been on edge for awhile now. You want to approach him, to ask him what’s wrong, to have him open up, but of course Lucifer being Lucifer, it was to no avail.
You racked your brain as he lead you to his room and began the “conversation” about how irresponsible you were being (really it’s just him getting whatever he needed off his chest and not you giving any input). Was it because of you going out so late? No, you didn’t drink, you and Yuki stayed together the whole night, and you let him know hours before. Was it Yuki? Now that you’re think about it, he has been frowning more it seemed like every time you brought up their name-
The pieces are starting to fit together now.
Oh my Diavolo.
You couldn’t stop the words escaping from your mouth before you could realize it.
“Lucifer, are you jealous?”
He choked in the middle of his sentence, and the room went quiet. You’re pretty sure that you can’t even hear him breathing, and his face just went entirely blank, no expression whatsoever.
Oh no, you broke him-
A gust of wind erupted, so strong that you had to shield your eyes for a second, and when you removed your arm, you were met with massive black wings and a very enraged demon.
“Excuse me?”
You stepped back until you stumbled onto the bed, as he stalks closer and closer to you.
“Care to repeat yourself?”
You knew better than to respond, and you felt frozen on the bed. You also know that Lucifer won’t attack or try to kill you, but it didn’t take away from the fact that he has moments where he’s very intimidating, one of those moments being now.
He’s looking down at you like a predator would to its captured prey, his ruby eyes glowing deviously in the dim room. He didn’t stop moving until he was on top of you, caging you in.
“Me? Jealous?” He scoffed. “I am the Avatar of Pride, the most powerful being in this house, yet you assume that I’m jealous of a demon that’s beneath me? You insult me, MC.”
He took hold of your chin, “Do you not remember what I said when we made the pact? You are mine and mine alone. Not anyone else’s, but mine.”
You felt like your nerves were getting the best of you, but you couldn’t force yourself to tear away as he leaned closer. He sealed his lips against yours in a heated kiss, one that you gladly accepted, not before uttering the words that made your heart race even faster.
“Maybe I should remind you of who you belong to, hm?”
—-
“Had a fun night, MC?”
“Yeah, it was”, you coughed in your hand. “Very nice, very fun. We had a great time.”
“Hmmmmm...you and Yuki or you and Lucifer?”
“Asmo!”
He giggled, “I’m just saying dear. I don’t sense the pent-up sexual frustration from Lucifer anymore, and he seems back to normal and even relaxed. Though I must say MC, I wish that you had spent the night in my bed instead.”
“Of course you do Asmo.”
“Besides, I would have covered your hickeys much better-”
“ASMO-”
“MC, are you ready?”
Speak of the devil and he shall appear has never been more true than now, as Lucifer appeared behind you both, placing his hand on your shoulder.
“Huh? Oh, yes, sorry.”
“Eh? Where are you two going?”
“Out.”
“And without me?!”
“Yes. Now, leave us be”. Lucifer moved his hand from your shoulder to your own hand, leading you both out the door. You two had plans for the day after the...eye-opening talk from last night, and he didn’t want to waste anymore time than he already had.
Bonus:
Asmo waited until he heard the door click, and then quickly whipped out his D.D.D. to text Yuki. He knew that the plan was going to be a success! A tense Lucifer made things more difficult for everyone, and he has too much pride to open his mouth so he decided to step in and team up with Yuki, who already knew about the whole ordeal.
Lucifer was already on the edge of snapping and letting his primal instincts take over anyway, so Asmo just gave him a little push in the right direction.
Thank Diavolo the plan worked, or else it would be hell for them both. He did owe Yuki some exposure on his socials in exchange for this and backing off of you now, but it was well worth the trouble.
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fruitcoops · 3 years
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Hi!! So I was listening to paper rings by Taylor Swift today and the lyric 'I like shiny things but I'd marry you with paper rings' made me think of coops and o'knutzy. Could you write a prompt about this?! <3
This song is so perfect for Coops and it’s the best way to start of the long-awaited wedding series! Yay! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!
Combined with:
1. Domestic Coops
2. Remus making fun of Sirius’ initials
3. Sirius trying to make Remus moan while he’s on the phone with his folks
4. From @colored-rain: Taking Hattie to the vet
TW for mild smutty content, taking a pet to the vet, and the inherent stress of wedding planning
I: Six Weeks Before the Wedding
“Where are we even going to do this?” Sirius asked, running a hand through his hair.
Remus shook his head silently, pressing his forehead into the wooden edge of the table. “What if we elope?”
“Celeste would skin us both.”
“True. Oh, god, my dad would cry if we did that.” Remus slid down in his seat and stared up with sad eyes. “Can’t we just be married already?”
“I could get tinfoil from the kitchen and just…” Sirius mimed wrapping it around his ring finger and Remus snorted.
“Baby, I would marry you with paper rings, but I think we want them to last.”
“You like shiny things!”
“I do, that doesn’t mean I want tinfoil on my hand for the rest of my life,” Remus laughed, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “Alright, let’s go through our list again. We agreed on small, right?”
“Just the team and families. We still want it to be outside?”
“Yep.” Remus checked off two boxes on the piece of paper they had been grappling with for the past four days. “Rings have already been ordered?”
“I’m doing that this afternoon. What kind of cake do we want?”
“Uhhh…an edible one?” Remus shrugged. “I don’t have a huge preference. Chocolate is really good but all the ones from the store are spongy.”
“Wow, an edible cake, so original,” Sirius teased. “We can ask Celeste what she thinks.”
“Good plan.” He paused for a moment. “Where outside will we do it? We need an actual venue. I think people would be upset if we just had a wedding in a public park.”
“The media would be all over it, too.” Sirius scrunched his nose up in thought just as their timer went off and both sighed as they headed for the door. “It’s going to be hard to focus on practice when we know next to nothing about the wedding we’ve been planning for over six months.”
“We’re disasters.”
II: Four Weeks Before the Wedding
“We’re not putting that on the cards.”
“Why not?” Sirius frowned and looked down at the mock-up invitation. “It’s our initials. It’s cute.”
Remus blinked at him. “Sirius. Your initials.”
“Do you not want my initials on our joint wedding invitation?”
“I would love to have your initials on our joint wedding invitation, except for the part where it’s the same acronym as ‘son of a bitch’.”
Sirius paused, then groaned and put his hands over his face. “Fuck, I forgot about that.”
“You forgot your own initials?”
“I forgot the son of a bitch thing!”
“Okay, I clearly don’t tease you enough for that,” Remus snickered, wrapping an arm around his waist to kiss his cheek. “Alright, attempt number eight is a bust.”
III: Three Weeks Before the Wedding
Sirius ran his fingers gently through Remus’ hair, feeling him shift in the darkness. “What’s on your mind, mon amour?”
“Are we changing our last names?”
“Did we…not discuss that?” Sirius wracked his brain, but it was so exhausted from wedding topics that he came up empty.
“I don’t think so.” Remus scooted around so he was on his side, facing Sirius. “Both our names are super connected to our jobs. Plus, Lupin-Black might be a little long for jerseys.”
“I’d rather not go through the whole name-change process.” There was a beat of quiet. “Though I do like the sound of Sirius Lupin.”
Remus’ breath audibly caught and he leaned closer to Sirius, nuzzling against his shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
IV: Eighteen Days Before the Wedding
Remus’ back hit the mattress with a soft bounce that was quickly stilled by Sirius’ weight pressing him down by the hips, his mouth skimming along all the right places on Remus’ neck. “Yes,” he hissed as Sirius ground down, their bare chests bumping together. He dipped his hands beneath the waistband of Sirius’ sweats and he shivered, nipping the hinge of his jaw.
“Wait,” Sirius gasped, pulling back to straddle Remus’ waist.
“What? Is this a flamingo moment?” Remus panted, still buzzing with arousal.
“Did we invite your parents to the wedding?”
Remus stared at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“I don’t think we did.”
“Sirius, you are literally about to—holy fuck, did we invite my parents?”
“I don’t know!”
Remus groaned and let his head fall back against the pillows before tapping Sirius’ hip and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and dialed his mother’s number, taking a few deep breaths to collect himself as it rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, mom, how’s it going?”
“Oh, it’s going fine out here. How’s wedding planning?” Hope asked. Remus could hear her smiling.
“That’s what I’m calling about, actually. Did you—” He bit his lip as Sirius’ fingertips trailed up his thigh. “Uh, did you get an invitation?”
Hope was silent for a moment, save for a few rustling sounds. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think so. Lyall! Honey, did Re send us a wedding invitation?” There was a low humming noise as his father responded. “He says we didn’t get one.”
Remus winced. “Sorry about that. I can text you the details, if you want.”
“Will you mail one as well? I want to put it in our memory box.”
Sirius’ hand slid further along Remus’ leg, growing closer to his inner thigh by the second and doing nothing to quell his frayed nerves. “Yeah—yeah, mom, we totally can.”
“Are you alright? You sound a bit out of breath.”
“Hattie was running around and being a little crazy.” Remus covered the speaker with his hand and turned to glare at Sirius, who grinned and kissed his cheekbone.
“Okay,” Hope sounded skeptical. “So you’re not getting sick or anything?”
“Nope. Healthy as a horse.” The last word came out a little breathless as Sirius licked a stripe up his neck and bit down on the junction to his shoulder, making Remus’ eyes flutter closed. He smacked Sirius’ hand halfheartedly and felt him grin.
“How’s Sirius doing?”
“Fine, he’s fine. We’re a little stressed with the wedding planning and everything, but things are good here.” Really good, he thought as the heel of Sirius’ hand pressed down just next to his dick. He swallowed down a moan and squeezed his eyes shut. “Alright, I’ll text the details to you this afternoon love you mom bye.”
“Love you t—”
A millisecond after the call ended, Remus slammed his phone into the nightstand and pushed Sirius into the sheets, bracketing his face with his elbows. “What the fuck was that?”
“I’m just keeping things interesting.” Sirius tugged his lower lip between his teeth and smirked, which really left Remus with only one option: kissing him senseless until he couldn’t even remember his own name.
V: Three Days Before the Wedding
Sirius’ leg bounced up and down nervously and he gripped Remus’ hand as they waited in the lobby of the vet’s office. “She’ll be okay.” His voice was noticeably higher than usual and he cleared his throat. “She’ll be fine. It’s just a cough.” A cough that’s been going on for four and a half days.
Remus hummed his agreement, though he hadn’t stopped twisting Hattie’s leash in his hands since they arrived. “Just a cough. Probably a cold, or—or something like that.”
The doors ahead opened and both of them stood as Hattie trotted out next to the vet tech, who looked rather amused. “What’s wrong with her?” Sirius asked, scanning her for any signs of illness. “Is she alright?”
“She is a very talented actress,” the vet said, rubbing Hattie behind the ears. She whined pitifully and cuddled into Sirius’ side. “Have you two been busy lately?”
“We’re planning for our wedding.” Remus looked as confused as Sirius felt. “Why?”
“Because Miss Hattie here is one of the healthiest, snuggliest dogs I’ve ever seen.”
“But she was coughing.”
“She was faking.” The vet knelt next to her and petted down her back, raising an eyebrow. “Weren’t you, munchkin?”
“Hattie!” Sirius exclaimed, torn between relief and shock. “You little monster!”
Remus frowned and tapped her forehead lightly as he slid her leash on over her head. “We were so worried about you! Why would you do that?”
“She’s probably been sulking because you’re busy with wedding stuff,” the vet said with a smile. “Quite the drama queen you’ve got there.”
“Tell me about it,” Sirius huffed as he kissed her head. “Don’t ever do that again, young lady. You’re in big trouble when we get home.”
“Thank you for your help,” Remus said, shaking the vet’s hand. “We really appreciate it and we’re so sorry for wasting your time.”
“Are you kidding? She was the best part of my day,” he laughed. “All the other techs can’t stop talking about Hattie cuddles now. Have a good one, you three.”
+1: The Lions, the Media, and the Locker Room
Word spread like wildfire in media circles, and the rumor mill had never worked harder once news of the Black-Lupin wedding came out.
Naturally, the Lions decided to have a little fun with it.
“Pots! Pots, what can you tell us about Black and Lupin’s wedding?” Four different microphones were shoved into his personal space, but James put on his best confused face.
“What wedding?”
A wave of murmuring spread through the reporters. “So you weren’t invited to Sirius Black and Remus Lupin’s wedding?”
“There’s a wedding?”
Across the room, two other interviewers mobbed Thomas Walker in his stall. “Talker, do you know anything about Black and Lupin’s wedding?”
“Who?” he asked with a perfect act of innocence.
“Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.”
He bit his lip. “I don’t think I know them, sorry. Are they fans?”
“Talkie!” Remus tossed him a towel from the adjacent stall, and he caught it with a grin.
“Heads up, Loops!” Talker threw it right back and headed toward the ice baths with a wink to the cameras. “Good chat, guys.”
One of the interviewers muttered under their breath and hurried over to Pascal, who was still unlacing his skates. “Dumo, when is the wedding between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin?”
Dumo frowned. “Quoi?”
“The wedding. You were invited, yes?”
“Desole, je ne parle pas l’anglais,” he said regretfully. “C’est un…wedding?”
“Yes, the wedding between your teammates.”
“These words, I don’t know them.” His French accent was almost comically thick as he shook his head. “Desole.”
Out of view of the cameras, Sirius gave him a thumbs-up and reached over to high-five Pots.
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firefly464 · 3 years
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Hey look at that I wrote a Bear SMP oneshot :D
Basically I was bored the other day so i asked the discord for writing prompts and the prompt I got was:
“Jonah visiting R for the first time, to welcome them, and to also inform them of the walls. R questions the safety and friendly nature of the smp, but jonah defends it”
~~~
Jonah took a deep breath, staring up at the dark, imposing castle that sat above his house. His task was simple. Go inside, talk to the new person, and inform them of the rules that Bear had set in place for the smp, as well as the new towers that had sprouted from the ground. 
It was supposed to be easy, something that he could have done in his sleep. Hell, Jonah was about 99% sure that Bear had already told her all of the rules and expectations, so it really shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. All he needed to do was reiterate what she already knew, and perhaps introduce himself in the process. 
He just needed to make sure that this new person was actually safe. After all, that was his job, wasn’t it? Keeping everyone else safe. He had sworn to it when he had decided to become a knight. 
What he couldn't understand was why this was so damn difficult. He had done this several times before, and he’d never had trouble with new people. Hell, he rather enjoyed learning about others and hearing stories of their adventures. 
So why was this time so much harder?
It’s because you’re scared, a small voice in the back of his mind muttered gleefully. You don’t know if this person is dangerous or not, and you’re scared that you’re not going to be able to protect everyone, just like what happened with Bill and Neptune. 
“That’s not true,” he said aloud, trying to silent the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone. “I can protect everyone just fine. I’m just… worried, that’s all. I can do this.”
Jonah closed his eyes briefly, taking a final deep breath, before stepping towards the castle. 
Each step forward felt like a step towards his demise, his boots growing heavier and heavier with each passing moment. Perhaps it was just his anxiety and fears getting the better of him, but he could have sworn that the air got colder and colder with each step, biting into his skin naturally.
Jonah shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts away. He was on a mission. Make sure that the new person didn’t try to do anything stupid, and make sure that Bear wasn’t making a mistake by letting them stay. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. 
The dark, wooden door towered above him, almost taunting him in a way, calling him weak, pathetic. A large, golden knocker rested in the middle.
With a trembling hand, Jonah raised the knocker, and let it fall. 
Three thundurus crashes echoed across the valley as he repeated the action, letting the knocker fall twice more. The only response he got was a deafening silence. Nothing moved, the entire world holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen to the foolish mortal who dared to intrude on the newcomers' peace and quiet. 
A minute passed. Then two, then three. Jonah let out a small sigh of simultaneous relief and despair. On one hand, this meant that he didn’t have to actually talk with the new person, but on the other, he was supposed to be checking on them, to make sure that no one would get hurt because of them. 
He was about to turn around, to determine that his journey had been a waste, when the silence was broken by the hissing of gears and pistons all firing at once. It was a subtle sound, one that easily blended into the background sounds of wind and nature, but it stuck out to Jonah like a sore thumb. 
The hissing was quickly followed by the sound of wood creaking and groaning, along with the squeaks of hinges that weren’t quite strong enough to support the weight they were given. It was enough to send a shiver of apprehension down his spine.
Jonah wasn’t sure what he was expecting. An imposing warlock, perhaps? Or a terrifying creature of the night, that preyed on anyone unlucky enough to cross their path. He didn’t know.
Regardless, he hadn’t been expecting this. 
Standing in the now open door way, was a woman. Her skin was pale white, creating a stark contrast with the dark hair that framed her face. A dark dress swept across the floor, hiding what Jonah assumed to be a pair of heeled boots underneath, just based on the sound that they created when hitting the floor. 
What stood out the most, however, were her eyes. Piercing red, they seemed to stare into Jonah's soul, picking apart every possible weakness and secret that he hid. It made him squirm, uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny. 
Still, despite her terrifying appearance, there was something… strange about her. Perhaps it was the curiosity that sparkled in her eyes, or the glowing fire that crackled behind her, at odds with the coldness of the rest of the castle. 
It was odd. Jonah hadn’t been expecting this. 
“Hello? May I help you?” The woman asked, her voice deep and rich. 
“Ah! Yes, um, hello! My name is Jonah, I just came to introduce myself and to welcome you to the Bear SMP.”
The woman gave him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You may call me R.” 
Jonah couldn’t help but let out a small huff of laughter at the exchange. Everything felt so… formal. It was almost like he was suddenly a knight again, introducing himself to the lords of neighboring kingdoms, trying not to make a fool of himself. 
But that wasn’t the case here, was it. This wasn’t some court gathering, it was just him going to meet his neighbors. He tried to smile, to show that he meant no harm. 
He wasn’t sure if it worked. 
“It’s wonderful to meet you R. How are you settling in? Is everything going alright?” 
“Hm? Oh, yes, I’ve been settling in just fine. It’s been a rather nice change of pace from what I’m used to.”
“Ah, well that’s good. It’s always nice to break away from the norm once and a while.” Jonah tugged at the sleeve of his coat, unsure how he was supposed to breach the next topic. So far, R seemed to be rather lovely. 
But so had Bill and Neptune…
“I-” he started, trying to figure out the right words to say. 
However, he was quickly cut off. “Excuse me, Jonah?” R started, staring at him with a strange mixture of curiosity and apprehension in her eyes. “I apologize if this sounds rude, but may I ask a question?” 
Jonah shook his head, trying to catch up with what was going on around him. “Wh— I— Sure?” 
“Why do you carry your sword and shield on you at all times? Why is it that you always seem to be wearing your armor? Is there something that I need to be aware of concerning my safety?” She asked, gesturing to the metal plates that always seemed to be present. 
Well shit. At least Jonah didn’t have to worry about gently breaching the subject now, right? R had taken care of that problem rather quickly. 
He was silent for a minute, trying to figure out the right words to say. 
“I’m a knight, it is my job to protect people.” There. That was good, right? Simple, straight to the point. 
His words seemed to have the opposite effect of what he wanted. Instead of calming her down, the woman’s eyes narrowed, the red glinting dangerously. 
“You’re a knight?” 
“Yes, I am.” 
“And who exactly are you a knight for? Who is it that you are protecting? I was not aware that there were any lords in this place,” she drawled, her voice now holding a threatening edge. 
Jonahs hand drifted towards his sword, preparing to pull it out at a moments notice if anything happened. “There are no lords here. I simply protect the people, that is all. It is my job to make sure that no one gets hurt, whether it be from an outside threat, or an internal one. That is why we have the towers in place.” 
“The towers? What towers?” 
“The ones that border our lands. They are to help ensure that no one comes in with the intention of hurting our community.”
R took a small step backwards, her tall heels clicking against the floor. “You have towers, ones that are designed to keep people out?” 
“Yes, that is our intent.” Jonah couldn’t help but shudder at how formal he had gotten. It was so… unlike him. It didn’t feel right, not anymore. But it was his default state of being whenever he felt like he was being interrogated. 
“So it isn’t safe here, is it?”
“No, I never said that. There are simply things that Bear would like us to keep an eye on, and this is the best way to do that. The SMP is perfectly safe, I promise.” 
She took another step back, the sound echoing throughout the great hall. “Sir Jonah, I think it’s time you left. I need some time to myself.”
“I-” Shit. He really fucked this up, didn’t he? Still, he gave a deep bow to R and stepped back into the cold air. “Of course. I will leave you to it. Have a wonderful day, R.” 
She didn’t answer him, only turned her back and walked away. 
The final thing that Jonah saw was a pair of dark, heavy doors slamming closed, sealing the woman inside. 
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ssfghfrrggf · 3 years
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Heavy is the Head Chapter 7: Full on Bull Fight
Ao3 link
“Hey, where’d you sneak off to this morning?” Stella asks, catching up to Kelly on their way into work. Today was the first day in a long time that they’ve driven separately and when she woke up this morning he was already gone without so much as a word to her. And it’s not the first time he’d done it in the past week.
“I had some errands to run,” he says with a shrug, and a distant look on his face; Stella doesn’t like it. He’s been acting weird since Christmas, and seems to be floating farther and farther away from her like he has something to hide.
“What kind of errands?” she asks, bumping his arm with hers playfully, trying to prompt some kind of reaction out of him, but he seems to be going iceberg mode on her.
“Just stuff.” he replies.
“Okay, well I’ll see you in the briefing room,” she says with a frustrated sigh and walks faster, leaving him behind her looking a little baffled and confused like he can’t figure out what he did wrong.
“Hey-” Sylvie starts as she steps into Stella’s office with plans to tell her about her growing suspicion that Casey’s going to propose in the near future, but she’s interrupted by Stella.
“Don’t let me anywhere near anything heavy today, because I really might end up hurling something at Kelly’s head,” she says angrily.
“What’d he do now?” Sylvie asks, and pushes the door closed. She can feel Stella’s frustration, and in some ways she shares in it. Kelly always seems to be doing something stupid. Him and Stella will be doing fine for a long time and then his emotional presence will just drop off the face of the earth.
“I don’t know! But he’s been acting really weird for like a week now and he keeps sneaking off, and then when I ask him about he acts all confused or- or evasive like everything’s normal,” Stella says angrily. “And I seriously don’t know what to do-”
“You don’t think he’s-”
“Don’t even go there Brett. He wouldn’t,” Stella says defensively, cutting her off but Sylvie can tell from her tone that the thought has crossed her mind.
“Because if he is, I know of a lot of fields in Indiana where they’d never find a body,” Sylvie adds.
“I said don’t go there!” Stella cries. “He wouldn’t cheat. His mom thought he might, but he wouldn’t. He’s an idiot but he’s not a dick.”
“Okay,” Sylvie agrees. She believes Stella on that one. Severide can be a bit of a mess, but he’s not an unfaithful mess, which means something else is going on. “Maybe it’s something to do with Conway?”
“I don’t know Brett,” Stella says shaking her head. “We talked about that and decided it was best to handle that together. But there’s definitely something going on with him. And I’m so scared he’s heading toward another shut down and I don’t know if we’ll survive that again.”
Brett sighs, it makes her mad how worked up Stella is getting with this and how scared Severide has her. It makes her want to throw something at his head too.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk about?” Stella asks, shaking herself off.
“Oh, nothing,” Brett shrugs. It seems a little ill timed to start talking about how well things are going with Matt, especially since him meeting her parents, when things seem to be getting ready to hit the fan between Stella and Kelly.
“You sure?”
“Yeah-”
“Truck 81, lift assist.”
“That’s me,” Stella sighs and get up. “We’ll talk later.”
“Be careful out there,” Sylvie orders as she follows Stella out of her office.
Stella is barely gone from sight before Severide is emerging from the laundry room and grabbing Brett by the arm.
“We need to talk,” he says tugging her toward his office.
“Yeah, I know we do,” Brett snaps, and follows him into his office, needing no more prodding from him. She’s about to give him a very big piece of her mind, and he’s practically begging for it.
“What the hell are you doing, Severide?” she demands before he even has the door closed all the way.
“What do you mean-”
“I mean what the hell are you doing?” Sylvie repeats. “Everyone knows by now that your whole stone cold iceberg act doesn’t fly with you and Stella. So whatever your problem is you need to get sorted out or she’s going to dump your ass.”
“But I haven’t been…” he trails off, the confusion on his face melting away to realization as Brett glares at him. “Oh. damn it. I have.”
“Yep,” Sylvie says.
“I didn’t mean to,” he says, getting a kind of nervous that Sylvie’s never seen from him before. “I just- this is so messed up. I’m just not sure how to…”
“How to what, Severide?”
He runs one hand through his hair awkwardly and reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small felt box.  “Ask her…”
Sylvie can feel her eyes going wide as she stares at the box in Severide’s hand. “Is that…?”
“Yeah,” Severide breathes. “I just don’t have the slightest idea how to actually do it, which is why I wanted to ask you for help-”
“You want me to help you plan your engagement?!” Sylvie squeals, unable to contain her joy. This is like a dream come true, she’s always wanted to help someone plan an engagement.
“Please,” Severide says, sounding relieved. “It’s like suddenly everything I know about Stella has left my brain and I just don’t know where to start. And it’s gotta be amazing because she deserves only the best.”
“Okay, okay, yes I’ll help you! But the first thing you need to do is find some way to reassure her, or you might not have a girlfriend to ask by the time we get this all planned out,” Sylvie says, already trying to think of some cover story they can spin for why he’s been acting weird for so long. And being able to pull that off and making it believable kind of hinges on Severide’s ability to stop acting weird, and Sylvie isn’t super confident he can.
“How do I do that? I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I was just trying to avoid accidently giving myself away.”
“Well, I’m sorry to say it, but with your track record it could be construed as a lot of different things,” Sylvie says, starting to formulate a plan. Maybe having Severide be the one in charge of making sure Stella doesn’t dump him isn’t the best idea if they want this to be a successful proposal. “Maybe I should be the one to make sure she doesn’t dump you. And you should just like not touch anything or talk about anything.”
“Okay, that works,” Kelly says blinking a couple times. For not only a squad firefighter, but a lieutenant at that, he really is quite flighty, and she can tell he’s absolutely terrified and overwhelmed by what he’s planning.
“That was a joke. I’m not planning your entire engagement for you. It has to come from you.”
Kelly frowns. “What if I just left the ring in her locker or something?”
Sylvie glares at him.
“That was a joke too?” He says, but it sounds like more of a question.
“You’re hopeless,” Sylvie says, pinching the bridge of her nose. Everyone always jokes about what a disaster Kelly is, but it really isn’t funny.
“Hey, Brett, sorry to interrupt, but the chief wants us in his office,” Mackey says, wrapping her fist against the door and poking her head into Severide’s office. She hesitates and glances back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t know what you two are talking about, but be careful you don’t give lieutenant Severide an ulcer.”
Sylvie glances over at Severide whose forehead is wrinkled up in his stressed look that he always gets when he gets concerned or perplexed.
“Look, don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. We’ll talk about this later. I promise.”
“Thanks Brett,” Severide says sounding lost and bewildered.
***
“No! Way!” Sylvie cries before she’s even all the way inside Casey’s office. The amount of pure joy on her face at seeing Foster standing in the office, makes Matt smile. “I don’t believe it! Mackey! This is Foster, she’s amazing- foster what happened to Med school?” Brett cries hugging her old partner.
“It’s expensive,” she laughs, “and chief Hatcher graciously said I could come work part time the days I don’t have class.”
“That’s amazing-” Sylvie trials off, a look of confusion crossing her face. “Wait. 61 already has two medics.”
“We got cleared for a third one,” Casey explains. “The CFD has been trying to get busier house three man ambo crews.”
“Oh! This is great!” Sylvie says excitedly. “You two are going to love each other! This is so exciting!”
Matt smiles, this probably the happiest he’s ever seen her, but he could tell before she even saw Foster that she was excited about something else too. The excitement in the room seems to freeze for a second as the tones sound.
“Squad 3, water rescue.”
Sylvie seems oddly relieved by this, but not in the way that she’s glad it’s not her call. There’s something else going on.
“Is that all you wanted?” she asks. “Can we go get Foster acquainted with 61?”
“Yeah, but I want you to hang back a second so we can talk,” Casey says, dismissing Foster and Mackey with a short head nod.
“What’s going on?” she asks, studying him.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Casey replies, studying her. 
“Oh,” Sylvie says and a guilty expression comes across her face like she’s trying to hide something that’s making her really happy. “I’m really not supposed to talk about it. I’m terrible with secrets if I-”
“If you?” Casey prompts, curiosity getting the better of him.
“I can’t say!” Brett says, like it’s hurting her not belting it out. “Severide’ll kill me.”
“Sev’s involved?” Casey presses.
“Matt stop! I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone!” Sylvie protests. “I gotta go help them with the rig.”
Before Matt can say anything she’s gone and has the door closed behind her. He’ll have to talk to Severide when he gets back from the water rescue call.
***
“Marks and Gallo, you two are on inventory duty for the day,” Stella says she climbs off the truck once they’re safely back at the station. “And Mouch I want you to clean out the inside of the rig. This thing looks like a pig sty.”
“Who pissed you off,” Gallo mutters under his breath, and she wastes no time pinning him down with a glare. 
“Do you want to be mopping the bay too?” she demands.
“No lieutenant,” Gallo says respectfully.
“Then just do the inventory,” she snaps and turns her glare to the empty spot where the squad truck is usually parked. It’s mighty convenient that Severide is out on call.
“Stella! Get over here!” Brett shouts to her from across the bay. Her attitude seems to have done a complete turn around since their conversation this morning in Stella’s office and she’s jealous. She’s been racking her brain all morning trying to figure out the hell could’ve possibly sent Severide off into another spiral of self isolation. She knows it’s impossible to ever have him completely figured out, it’s impossible with everyone really, but things had been going so well between them for so long and now she feels like she’s being out all over again, and she hates it.
“What-?” and before she can get her full question out, Foster is jumping out of the back of 61.
“Surprise!” The paramedic shouts enthusiastically and hugs Stella.
“What are you doing here?!” Stella cries happily and hugs her back. She allows the excitement at seeing her old friend push away her annoyance with Severide. It’s not worth her time right now.
“I’m working part time!” Foster says excitedly. “And I heard you got your bugles!”
“I did!” Stella says and flicks the collar of her shirt displaying the little bugles embroidered there.
“Wooow,” Foster says, faking a swoon. “They look way better on you than of the other idiots running around here.”
“Why thank you,” Stella says with a playful hair flip. “But seriously, how long are you here for?”
“I’m currently on break, so I’ll be working shifts with you guys for the next few weeks, and then off and on for the rest of the year.”
“This is so great, the four of us are going to own this place,” Stella says, and points at Mackey. “You don’t know this, but the three of us used to be the bosses around here. And we’re going to show the key to house domination.”
“The first lesson is don’t put up with idiots,” Foster says.
“That’s probably the most important one,” Stella agrees, Severide immediately jumping to mind. She doesn’t really agree with it. Some idiots are worth putting up with.
“Speaking of which,” Sylvie says. “We need to go have a chat. We’ll be back in a few.”
“What’s up, Brett?” Stella asks when they’ve made it out of ear shot of Mackey and Foster.
“I think you need to give Severide a chance,” Sylvie says awkwardly, like there’s something she desperately wants to say, but can’t figure out how.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Sylvie replies. “Trust me and trust that he loves you. Just give him a week.”
“A week- Brett what is going on?” Stella asks. She doesn’t need Brett and Severide keeping secrets from her.
“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling. Give him a week before you do anything drastic, okay?” Brett says and looks her in the eyes. “Trust him, and if you can’t do that trust me. It’ll be fine.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust him, Brett,” Stella says. “I’m just scared. I know where this kind of behavior goes. We’ve been down this road before, and I’m really scared, only this time it’s worse because I don’t have the first idea what’s wrong so I don’t have a ballpark for what I should be trying to ask him-”
“Truck 81, elevator panic button triggered.”
“Stella, it’ll be okay, I promise,” Sylvie says confidently. Stella’s not sure how she can be so sure, but she wishes she shared the paramedics confidence.
***
“Is everything okay with Stella?” Mackey asks as Sylvie comes back over to 61 to help with refreshing Foster on the inventory. 
“It will be, hopefully,” Sylvie relies with a frustrated sigh. Severide just needs to assure her everything’s fine and quit avoiding her and everything should work out. If he doesn’t then she’s not exactly sure how much good her speech to Stella about trusting him will go. “She’s just going through a bit of a rough patch with Severide.”
“Do I need to knock some sense into him?” Foster asks, hoping down from the back of the ambo and looking like she’s ready for a fight.
“No, it’s not like that,” Sylvie assures her, as squad 3 rolls back into the station. “It’s a communication error that will be ironed out shortly… I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
She meets Severide on the passenger side of the truck just as he’s climbing out.
“We need to talk,” he says, beating her to the punch.
“Your office?”
“Yeah,” he says and heads for the doors leading inside.
“You need to tell her something and give her some kind of believable reassurance,” Sylvie says and closes the door to his office behind her. “She’s scared. I think I kinda bought you a little time, but you still gotta give her something.”
“I’ll talk to her as soon as she gets back,” he promises and looks worried. Despite having worked around them for close to 10 years, Sylvie’s never quite been able to understand firefighters; they don’t so much as flinch running into burning buildings but anything regarding feelings or emotions is like having teeth pulled. “And I had a couple thoughts about how to ask.”
“Oh! What are they?” Sylvie asks excitedly. This is the fun part- the planning of the actual romantic gesture is definitely way better than working on a plan for how to have Stella not break up with him before he can pull it off, equally as important for sure, but a lot more fun.
“So I know this guy who does winter scuba diving in the lake, and ever since I showed her the basics a year or so ago she loves it…”
“An underwater proposal?” Sylvie asks.
“What? You don’t think that’s good?” Severide asks, looking a little disappointed.
“Honestly? I think she’d love it. I just feel like there’s a lot that could go wrong. Like do you really want to be freezing cold and wet when you get engaged?”
“It’s better than just going out to some fancy restaurant. That’s so predictable,” Severide retorts. “How about taking her hiking at pictured rocks? She loves it up there, and I know where her favorite spot is, and then take her out for a nice dinner after?”
“Oh that’d be great!” Sylvie says excitedly. “I’d tell you it’s too cold for hiking, but you two are crazy, so it’s perfect.”
“You think?”
“Yeah!”
***
“You just couldn’t stay away from us, could you?” Herrmann laughs and offers Foster a coffee.
“How could I? I love all your ugly mugs,” she jokes.
“Aw, that’s so touching,” Cruz says sarcastically.
“So how have things been for everyone since I left? I wanna know everything.” It’s nice being back here even if it is temporary. She’s missed everyone so much, she didn’t really realize just how much until now- until being back in the cozy common room surrounded by the crew she got to be so close to.
***
“Smoke break?” Casey asks, poking his head into Severide’s office. He looks busy and stressed out and like he could use the break.
“Sure,” he says and closes his laptop.
“Sylvie’s been acting weird lately,” Casey says as they walk outside together. It is, admittedly a little cold to be having a smoke break.
“Mhmm,” Severide mutters, but doesn’t give much of a response other than that.
“You know something,” Casey accuses, he can tell by Severide’s expression that he knows something.
“No!” Severide says defensively. He’s great at pretending his fine when he’s not, but any other lie? His poker face sucks.
“It’s what her mom said at dinner a couple weeks ago, isn’t it?” Casey guesses. “She wants me to propose.”
“Um, not you…” Severide says, shifting awkwardly as Casey frowns at him. “I’m gonna ask Stella and she’s helping me out.”
“Oh! Congrats man!” Casey says excitedly.
“Don’t jinx it!” Severide shushes him. “I haven’t asked her yet and there’s a lot that could go wrong.”
“Right,” Casey says, ducking his head. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Severide look this nervous before. “Well, I’m sure she’ll say yes.”
“Hopefully,” Severide mumbles, sounding very unsure of himself.
A horn blast from 81 interrupts their conversation as the truck pulls into the driveway.
“Sorry to cut the conversation short, but I actually need to go talk to Stella real quick.”
Severide makes it to the door and then the bell rings.
“Truck 81, Engine 51, Ambulance 61, Squad 3, structure fire.”
***
There’s two kids standing outside when they arrive, and Casey’s glad he decided to ride on this one because it’s already looking like they’re going to need additional units.
“You have to help our parents!” one of the kids shouts, running over to meet Casey as he gets out of the car, tugging his little sister along with him. “They’re still inside!”
“We’ll get them don’t worry,” Casey promises getting down on eye level with the young dark-haired boy. “Is there anyone else inside?”
“No,” the boy shakes his head. “Just mom and dad. We were playing at the neighbors’ and they were at home napping.”
“Okay, kiddo, where is your parents’ room?”
“Upstairs,” the boy says frantically. His sister is crying.
“Severide, Kidd, we’ve got two victims, most likely upstairs,” Casey shouts to two of his lieutenants. “Herrmann, I want you guys to start knocking down a path for Truck and Squad.”
“You got it, chief!” Herrmann calls, already directing Ritter to pull a line off the truck.
“Nathan and Mouch, I want you to up top venting. Gallo, you’re making entry with me and Squad.”
It takes the crews less than a minute to get organized and make their push through the front door.
“Okay kids, you see that ambulance over there? I want you to go see those nice paramedics, okay?” He wants to say something more encouraging to them, but the fire’s already pretty bad and the chances of them being able to get the parents out alive are slim to none.
***
“Come here guys,” Foster says gently and guides the two kids into the warm back of the ambulance. She’s missed this, being on the streets, in the action, being right there on the front lines with people.
“Give them these,” Mackey says and hands her a blanket, while taking one herself and wrapping it around the little girl’s shoulders.
“Here you go, sweetie,” Foster soothes and wraps the little boy in the blanket.
“Are our parents going to be okay?” the boy asks, looking at them with pleading eyes. Mackey glances to Foster before answering.
“They’ll be okay. They have the best firefighters in the city looking for them,” Mackey promises, comfortingly. Foster isn’t sure if the other paramedic actually believes it or if she’s just trying to be encouraging, but regardless Foster doesn’t share her confidence.
***
“Chief, this is Squad 3, we’ve got the parents, but we got separated from Severide,” Cruz reports, making Casey’s heart skip a beat. Mouch just informed him the roof was too soft to get on and properly vent, which means inside is probably filling up with smoke.
“Get the victims out of there, then we’ll worry about Severide,” Casey replies. Severide can handle himself.
“Chief, I’m fine,” Severide says a couple seconds later, and Casey relaxes just a little at hearing his friend’s staticy voice over the radio. “I’m with Kidd, she got separated from Gallo.”
Casey closes his eyes and lets out a frustrated sigh. “I want all units to exit the structure immediately.”
“Son of a bitch!” a shout from Herrmann grabs Casey’s attention as him, Cruz, Capp, and Tony exit the building with the two parents who look to be rough shape. “Where’s Ritter?! He was right behind me!”
The engine lieutenant tries to make a run back inside but Cruz grabs him before he can.
“No one is going back inside!” Casey shouts, he hates having to make the call, but he can tell even from the outside that the house is about to flash over at any second and he already has four firefighters lost inside. He doesn’t need to throw a fifth one into the mix. “Ritter, report.”
“I’m fine chief, I just fell behind,” Ritter reports.
“Chief! That’s my guy in there!” Herrmann protests.
“I know, but he’ll be fine. He knows what he’s doing. If he says he needs help then I’ll let you go in, but for now you just have to trust him.” Casey gets it. He really does. Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to run inside to go find his lost people, but no one’s called a maybay. They’re all just working their way out.
***
It’s pitch black, not like the movies where everything can be seen clearly, no, it’s darker than a night with no moon or stars. The smoke is so thick the light from his flashlight barely reaches a couple inches in front of him; Gallo has to hug the floor, nearly flat on his belly just to escape making the intense that’s starting to make his skin crawl. And worse still, he’s alone; he lost Stella what seems like hours ago, but from the glowing air gage on his regulator it can’t be more than 10 minutes ago. He knows she’s still relatively okay because he’s heard her over the radio a couple times since they got seperated, she’s with Severide now, and she knows he’s okay because they’ve had one very brief exchange only lasting long enough for them to decide the best course of action was to not waste time and air, both critical things in a fire like this, trying to find one another in the impossible blackness and find their way out on their own. So he’s alone and his only comfort in the overwhelming blackness is the presence of the hose under his body as he scoots himself along the floor.
He feels a little bit like a child again, like he’s still hiding in that closet hoping and praying that someone will come find him and save him. He’s alone and tired and yes even scared, not the same paralyzing fear that had taken over every muscle in his body like it had that day, but it’s a nagging tugging fear that’s eating away at his last nerve. It’s exhausting. He’s exhausted. He just wants to lay down on the hose, call in a mayday, and wait for someone to come get him; it’d be so simple and easy to let RIT come in and pull him out. But it’d also be dangerous. He can see small slivers of flame fingering in the smoke, they’ll flare up and dance through the smoke in little playful wisps, some of them right above his head. They’re beautiful, but precursors to something deadly and terrible. They’re there to remind him he doesn’t have time to lay down and let RIT come and save him. This place could flash over at any second and he’d have no escape. 
“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Firefighter Ritter, entangled and low on air!” 
Gallo’s blood runs cold at the sound of his friend’s mayday call.
“All units mayday has been called, clear the channel.”
“Ritter, what’s your last known location?” It’s Casey that replies to Ritter’s mayday first.
“Upstairs, southwest corner!”
Gallo clenches his teeth, he just came from that way. He’s close, he can get to Gallo before RIT can. So he turns around on the hoseline and begins his crawl back to where he came from to go find his friend.
***
There’s always the human instinct to press on when met with resistance, but in firefighting that can be a deadly mistake, sometimes in order to survive you have to let yourself go limp and lay completely still. It’s terrifying, laying completely still in the hot pitch black of a burning house especially when every inch of you is screaming to get up and keep fighting. But Ritter’s tangled up good and somewhere in his process of trying to fight to get himself free, he lost his cable cutters. He honestly thrashed around a good bit longer than he should’ve before laying still. There’s no telling how much air he wasted doing that, but now the bell on his pack is ringing annoyingly right along with his pass device. It’s deafening, but right now that’s a good thing it means he can be found and helped.
“Hey man.”
Ritter didn’t even hear Gallo approaching over the sound of the various alarms sounding so close to his head, and he startles  when his friend’s hand touches his shoulder.
“You really know how to get tangled up,” Gallo says, Ritter can’t really see him through the darkness of the smoke around them, but he can feel his friend running his hands around his body trying to find all the cords he’s stuck in.
“How’d you find me?” Ritter asks, he can feel the cables starting to fall away from him, which means Gallo almost has him free.
“It was kind of hard to miss you,” Gallo jokes. Darren’s really not sure how he can sound so light hearted and breezy right now. “Chief, cancel RIT. I’ve got Ritter and he’s free.”
“How are we gonna get out of here?” Ritter asks and sits up slowly being sure to feel for anything that might snag him.
“A window,” Gallo replies. “I was in this room earlier.”
“We’re on the second story,” Ritter protests. He’s heard stories about firefighters jumping out of windows much higher, but he has no desire to do it.
“I’ve got the hose,” Gallo says calmly. “We’ll use it as a pole and slide down.”
*** 
“Ritter and Gallo are out.”
Stella breathes a sigh of relief as Casey reports that the two young firefighters are out. Now the only thing she has to worry about is getting her and Kelly’s sorry ass out.
Stella keeps one hand on Kelly making sure she doesn’t lose him; that’s the last thing anyone needs right now, another lost firefighter and another RIT team deployed- more people coming into this flashover waiting to happen. And keeps the other hand on the wall trying to feel for a window. They’re on the second floor, but if shit hits the fan they’ll jump, it doesn’t matter how high up they are.
“You got anything, Kelly?” she asks, glancing in his general direction, the only part of him she can really see is his flashlight. 
“Nothing,” he replies and she can hear him rustle around. “I’m going to attach my webbing to your wrist and go out a little further to try to find a hose. Stay on the wall.”
“Kelly wait,” she says and pulls him back as her hand finds what feels like a window cill just a foot above her head.
“Stella we don’t have time-”
She sees the flicker, it’s like lighting crackling in distant black storm clouds and the already suffocating heat gets worse. The room’s about to flash. Without thinking or waiting even a second she grabs Kelly by the shoulder straps and launches herself out the window dragging him with her. The fire comes after them like a hungry beast surging forward to devour them as they hit the slanted roof and roll. Between the immense heat from the fire, the fire itself shooting out the window behind them, the adrenaline rushing through her body and the feeling of being put through a spin cycle Stella can’t get her bearings fast enough to stop her and Severide from sliding off the roof. She can feel her side scrape the gutter and then they’re free falling.
***
One second Kelly’s on his hands and knees next to Stella talking about finding a hose and the next he’s being tugged out the window before he can even react- and after that he’s hitting water then the hard bottom of what’s probably a pool but he’s too disoriented to tell for sure, and the winds been knocked out of him so he can’t breathe. He fumbles under the ic ny cold water trying to find his footing so he can push himself to the surface with the weight of his gear and the sudden inability to breathe he can’t get himself righted and his mask starts to fill up with water. Panic isn’t a feeling he’s used to and the unnaturalness of it makes things worse. He can’t be panicking- but he is and that alone makes him want to panic more. 
A hand grabs him by the back of his coat and yanks him upward. His head breaches the surface of the water and no sooner than it has, Stella is knocking the helmet off his head and freeing his mask from his face. He gasps breathing freely at last as soon as she has the thing clear from his face. She’s laughing as she cups his cheeks in her hands for a second before hugging him close.
“Please tell me you knew there was a pool there,” he coughs, his teeth chattering together from the cold and buries his face in the shoulder of her wet bunker coat. That was close, too close, if she hadn’t grabbed him and taken that dive when she did they’d both be toast. So much happens on fire scenes- or any scenes for that matter. Any call could be your last. Life is too short, especially in this job. It’s too short for keeping secrets and having pointless fights and bottling things up- any second it could be over and there could be things left unsaid that shouldn’t be left unsaid.
“I’m going to refrain from answering that one,” Stella laughs, keeping one hand on the back of her neck. He can feel her shaking.
“Stella-”
“Are you guys okay?” Brett calls to them from the edge of the pool as they pull apart from each other just a little, but Stella keeps both hands on Kelly, steadying him almost, or maybe just hanging onto him to make sure that he is actually there and that they both did actually make it out the window. She looks amazed and worried
“We’re good,” Stella calls back as she looks him in the eyes. She’s still laughing and it’s probably her adrenaline still burning off.
“Stella-”
“What is this, round ten of me saving your ass? You should think about bringing me onto Squad-”
“Stella,” he chokes, a little louder this time. He can’t wait, maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the fact they both just almost died (again), maybe it’s just all his feelings bubbling up inside of him all at once, but he can’t wait. He can’t wait for a weekend trip or a romantic date on a boat. “Stella I love you, and I’m sorry I spent the past couple days avoiding you. I was being an idiot, but I need you to know I didn’t mean to, I was just trying to figure something out-”
“Kelly, let’s not do this right now, we just survived jumping out a window to escape a flashover, let’s just-”
“Marry me.” Kelly blurts. He doesn’t want to wait a second longer. Stella’s eyes widen in shock like she’s completely taken off guard by the question. Even Kelly’s a little surprised with himself for throwing it out there so quickly and rashly and unromantically. He tries to think of a way to recover. “I mean- I love you Stella Kidd. In this job there are so many ups and downs and you never know what's going to happen- if you’ll make it home, but there’s one constant and that’s you. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you-”
“Yes! Kelly yes!” she gasps and grabs him and kisses him. “You idiot, yes I’ll marry you!”
“I was gonna ask you normally, I swear. I had the ring and a plan- ask Sylvie,” he mumbles, trying to justify what was probably one of the worst proposals in history. No one proposes on a fire scene.
“Is that why you were acting weird?” Stella asks, pulling away from him just a little. She looks relieved and amused.
He nods his head. He can’t stop shaking, and it occurs to him it’s probably because they’re standing in freezing cold water in January in Chicago. “I didn’t know how to do it, and didn’t mean to make you think something else was going on.”
“Kelly, it’s okay,” Stella promises, cupping his cheeks in her hands. There are tears in her eyes. “It’s okay.”
Then she’s hugging him again, and it’s the best feeling in the world
“We should probably get out of the pool now,” Stella says without lifting her head from where it’s tucking into his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he breathes. He can barely even feel the cold, either that or he just doesn’t care. The only thing that matters is that Stella said yes.
“You had one job, Severide,” Sylvie scolds, throwing a blanket over his shoulders as he climbs out of the pool behind Stella
“Yeah, and wasn’t it to get her to say yes?” he chuckles, shaking his head as the paramedic 
ruffles his wet hair fondly.
“You crazy idiot,” Brett says fondly, shaking her head with an amused smile. “Looks like you got the freezing cold and wet engagement after all.”
***
“You two are both going to get checked out at Med, right now,” Casey says as soon as Severide and Stella walk around to the front of the house with Brett escorting them. He’s just now able to breathe at a normal rate. He’d thought for sure that they were both goners. Gallo and Ritter too. But by some miracle they’d all managed to find a place to bail out before the flashover happened. It was all to close for comfort. “And probably taking the rest of the shift off.”
“Casey-”
“That’s an order, Severide. You and Kidd just took a dive out a second story window into a pool. You’re getting checked out-”
“No, Case, she said yes,” Severide says with a grin.
“Yes to- wait-” Casey breaks off astonished. Only Kelly Severide would ask the love of his life to marry him after jumping out a window into a pool in the middle of january.
“And I need a best man.”
“Come here you!” Casey cries joyously, and grabs Severide. He doesn’t even care that the lieutenant is sopping wet. After everything he’s been through he deserves this, Stella too. “Of course I’ll be your best man! Congratulations you crazy son of a bitch!”
Severide laughs and gives Casey a slap on the back. “I had this whole plan, and then that happened and it just popped out!”
“We’ll celebrate after shift, but you two still have to go to the hospital,” Casey says. He hasn’t seen Severide this happy in a long time, he’s laughing and can’t stop smiling.
“And you’ve still got a house fire to take care of,” Severide says, gesturing to the house. 
***
“Hey man,” Ritter says and sits down on the back bumper next to Gallo who is glaring into space. He looks angry and relieved all at once. “You okay?”
“We almost got cremated in there,” he says under his breath and shakes his head.
“But we didn’t, and hey, thanks for coming and getting me,” Ritter says offering his friend a water bottle. Gallo’s not the only one shaken up. Things could’ve ended really badly if Gallo hadn’t found him and if they hadn’t found that window.
“Of course,” Gallo says, finally blinking away his spacey expression to look over at Ritter, and rests a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll always come get you. I’m not leaving any more of my family to face fire alone.”
Ritter gives him a sad smile. “It’s that family, isn’t it?”
Gallo nods solemnly. “They just lost everything, and those kids might still lose their parents.”
“They got them out pretty quick, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Ritter tries to sound reassuring, but the two parents had some pretty bad burns and severe smoke inhalation. Gallo turns away and keeps glaring, there’s something more bothering him than just the similarity to what happened to his family. “What else is bugging you?”
“It’s not just this family.”
“What do you mean?”
“The one on Christmas, the one with the three kids before that…” Gallo trails off and looks to the flaming house. Things seem to finally be dying down, 51 and the other engine companies on scene are hitting it with everything they got.
“Talk to me man,” Ritter presses. “You can’t bottle this stuff up or it’ll eat you alive.”
“I know, I just… I don’t know Ritter, something seems off to me,” he shrugs and takes a sip of water. “But I can’t put my finger on it. They’re all so familiar.”
“Because of the families?”
“No. Families live in houses, houses burn down. That’s not strange or out of the ordinary- so I mean I guess it is familiar, but not in the way I’m talking about,” Gallo replies, glancing at him.
“You think someone is setting these fires?” Ritter asks. He hasn’t noticed anything peculiar about the fires, they just seem like fires to him, different from the previous ones but just as deadly. But Gallo clearly sees a link between each of them, even if it’s just a gut feeling. He trusts his friend’s gut- that gut is what got them out of the fire today. And this fire almost got not only the two of them killed, but Severide and Kidd too, so even if it’s just a hunch, it’s a hunch worth looking into.
“I don’t know,” Gallo says and stands up. “I’m going to ask to stick around here to go over the scene with the arson investigator.”
***
“Chief, can I stick around and go over the scene with arson?” Gallo asks, approaching the chief as he waves 61 to leave the scene with Severide and Kidd.
“We’re a little short handed right now, Gallo,” Casey says without showing him a whole lot of attention. The chief looks happy and pleased- too happy and pleased for a chief that just almost lost four firefighters. “With Kidd going to the hospital truck is down to three people, so I can’t spare you. Sorry. But I’m not leaving 81 with a two man crew.”
“Chief, please,” Gallo pleads. He doesn’t know how to describe the chief, the feeling deep in his gut that there’s more to this fire, more to the other ones too.
“I can’t do it Gallo. I’ll let you know when arson finds the cause but I can’t spare you right now,” Casey says curtly, making it very clear that the conversation is over and that Gallo should go find something useful to do with his time.
“Yes sir,” Gallo mutters and starts to walk away but stops, not ready to roll over. “Chief, there’s something off about this, and the last couple fires we’ve had. I want to stay to look around for myself.”
Casey sighs. “You’re not staying, Gallo. We don’t have the man power. Besides, the reports for those fires already came out. They were accidental.”
“Chief, I’m telling you-”
“Gallo, this isn’t a discussion. And I know these fires probably hit close to home for you, but you’re not staying,” Casey says, shortly. He’s getting pissed, but so is Gallo.
“Don’t do that, please-”
“Gallo! We’re done talking about it. If you keep trying to argue, I will make you go sit in the truck.”
Gallo tightens his grip on his helmet that’s dangling from one hand. He wants to throw it, smash it against stuff, and shout, but he bites his tongue and decides to go help Ritter with his yard line instead.
“How’d it go?” Ritter asks, as he sets his stream on the house.
“He completely blew me off,” Gallo grumbles. “He’s going to regret it when I’m right.”
“That wasn’t a threat or anything right?” Ritter asks sheepishly.
“No, but he’ll see that I’m right,” Gallo replies and squats down on the hoseline behind Ritter to help him keep the thing steady.
“This call has been a lot, maybe when everything’s calmed down he’ll be more willing to talk about it,” Ritter suggests.
“I’m not holding my breath.”
***
“I just got off the phone with arson,” Casey says as Gallo slips into his office a couple hours after the fire. Matt had decided it was best for him to cool off a little before he tried going for round 2 talking about what happened on the scene with Gallo. “And they said it was an accident. The residents had a gas stove. The gas got left on and it got sparked.”
This seems to strike a cord with Gallo, but whatever the firefighter is thinking he doesn’t say it out loud. “What happened to the two parents?”
Casey ducks his head. He wishes he had better news on that front. “They didn’t make it.”
Gallo closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath.
“And I know you wanted to stay and look into that fire, but you have to understand where I’m coming from. And I can’t have you arguing with me on scenes.”
“And what about where I was coming from?” Gallo demands, he’s pissed and Casey can tell he’s trying to hold back shouting. It’s a valiant effort really.
“I have more firefighters to worry about than just you Gallo!”
“Yeah! And I’m not the only one who almost died back there! Ritter, Severide and Kidd were in there too!” Gallo claps back, finally losing his edge and raising his voice. “Just because everything ended up okay and you get to be your buddy’s best man doesn’t make that go away!”
“Go home Gallo.” Casey isn’t putting up with this. Gallo walks the fine line with insubordination just about every day, but he just took a flying leap over it. “And I would advise against saying anything else because I have yet to decide if I am going to write you up!”
“Fine! And maybe I’ll come back with a pink slip and transfer back to 90 where my captain at least listens to me!” Gallo snaps, raising his voice to a shout and before Casey can say anything else, he’s gone and closes the door behind him.
***
“I don’t mean to question your infinite knowledge, chief, but why’d you send my guy home?” Stella asks, slipping cautiously into Casey’s office. She can tell he’s still pissed about whatever went down in her absence. “Oh, me and Kelly got cleared by the way.”
“He crossed a line,” Casey says as Stella sets her and Severide’s discharge papers down on his desk.
“What kind of line?”
“Insubordination,” Casey replies, grudgingly. “He wanted to look into those fires, and then fought me when I said no.”
Stella nods her head. “Okay, but why not let him look into them?”
“I can’t let him now, that’d be rewarding bad behavior. He’ll make a habit out of it.”
“Chief, the kid’s got a good head,” Stella says after a moment of thinking. Arguing with the chief right now is risky, but she needs to have her people’s backs especially when they might be onto something. “Good instincts. Sure he’s a hot head too, but he’s not the only one.”
“What are you saying?” Casey sighs.
“If you think there’s a chance he could be right don’t let your hurt pride get in the way of letting him pursue it,” Stella replies coolly. “What if he’s right and you’re wrong and more people die? What if it’s one of us who dies next time?”
***
“Hey, You okay?” Ritter asks as Gallo opens the door for him. He came to check on his friend as soon as the shift got over. 
“Not really,” Gallo says, and he’s angry. It also looks like he hasn’t slept since getting kicked off the shift. “Casey won’t listen to me, and I’m right.”
“Maybe if you tried apologizing-”
“I’m not apologizing to him!” Gallo snaps, cutting Ritter off mid-sentence.
“Before you jump down my throat would you hear me out?” Ritter asks patiently, deciding not to be insulted by his friend’s harsh interruption. “You don’t have to actually have to mean it. You just have to make Casey think you do-”
“Why? So he thinks he’s right?!”
“No, because locking horns with him and having a full on bull fight with him obviously isn’t getting you anywhere. You dig in, he digs in. You have to take a different approach, because the one you're taking now is gonna get you fired.”
Gallo lets out a frustrated sigh. “An apology isn’t going to get him to let me investigate, especially since the case is closed.”
“It’s closed already?” Ritter asks. He decides it’s best not point out that if the investigation is already closed then it probably wasn’t arson.
“Yeah.”
“What was the cause?”
“A gas burning stove. The gas was left on and sparked a fire,” Gallo replies. “That’s how my house burned down.”
“But the other two fires were a christmas tree catching on fire and a burner being left on,” Ritter points out.
“I know, but there’s a connection. I just don’t know what because I haven’t been able to look at any of the scenes.”
“Have you tried asking Severide? He’s a genius at arson investigation, and he’s got connections,” Ritter suggests. The squad lieutenant seems to have an appreciation for following hunches, and he’s probably the best investigator in the city.
“You think he’d help?” Gallo asks, perking up. 
“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Plus he was one of the people who narrowly escaped that fire, so he probably feels pretty strongly about it too.”
“We’d still have to get approval from a chief to reopen the case, and Casey’s made it pretty clear that’s not happening.”
“Maybe just investigate on the down low, you know keep it under the radar until you have something solid to give him that proves your right,” Ritter says. He’s not sure if Gallo is right about all this, but he’s going to have his back with it and be there for him. “But I’d try the apology route first.” 
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krypticss · 4 years
Text
FIVE DAYS — Hvitserk.
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Hvitserk x Reader
PROMPT: 12.  “I feel sick… so anxious and sick and like my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.”
SUMMARY: The reader goes missing after they raid York.
WORDS: 1.845
WARNINGS: none?
“I feel sick… so anxious and sick and like my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.”
It had been five days since the Vikings invaded York. Five days since their conquest had gone as smoothly and as gratifying as it could possibly have.
Five days since anyone had seen you. Hvitserk had walked day and night, through every inch of the town, looked through every house and under every block of stone. You were nowhere to be found. Before you left Kattegat, a feeling haunted him, something dark and filled with sorrow. He should not have let you come, he knew it in his gut.
“Brother,” Ivar wiped his lips of the remnants of ale, “had something happened to her, we would have found her body. It’s (Y/N), she is fine.”
Hvitserk’s leg bounced up and down, his hands passed down his face. The plate in front of him was untouched, he found no appetite in himself.
“Eat. You will feel better.”
The plate flew to the nearest wall as Hvitserk hurled it with all his strength. His body burned with the frustration, nothing would simmer down the fire in his eyes. The words spat from his mouth before they could be contained, “I don’t want to eat, I want to find (Y/N).”
His brother was unbothered by the petty behavior. Hvitserk might have been the oldest, but he rarely acted as such. Ivar shrugged.
“Don’t eat, then.”
He huffed, and paced around the old church. Ivar was insufferable. He didn’t understand. How could he? He didn’t know what if felt like to love you. To have your bare skin pressed against his chest as he laid kisses on your head. To feel your smile intoxicate his being to the bone.
To not have you by his side was waking up to a morning without the sun.
Hvitserk would rather face an army on his own than to bear the thought of you joining the gods so soon. You could not go to Valhalla. Not yet. He wouldn’t allow it.
“We must gather the men and search for her.”
Ivar contained his laugh, but the taunting smirk remained on his face, “You would have us leave York?”
“Some of us.”
“You see, brother, this is why I am in charge.”
“Don’t push me, Ivar.” He warned.
Ivar might underestimate him, treat him like waste, but he could never forget, Hvitserk was more than capable of unleashing chaos and walking out unharmed. He was still a son of Ragnar, after all.
“Two men will accompany you. Don’t wander off too far.”
Hvitserk’s jaw clenched tight, it was not what he had in mind. If it was up to him, he would have half the town looking for you. He nodded, nonetheless.
“Good.” Ivar smiled and sipped on his drink. Hvitserk was ready to leave the church, the confined space had become enough to suffocate him breathless, much more with his little brother around. As he opened the grand doors, Ivar called out to him, “She would be disappointed.”
He was frozen in place. Fingers clasped the handle tight, nearly breaking his bones. Every breath became more rapid, every heartbeat echoed louder in his ears.
“All this time,” Ivar continued, “and you still underestimate her.”
Hvitserk made sure to slam the door behind him.
-----------------------------
The group had been on the road for three days when they came upon a small farm east of York. Hvitserk, a shieldmaiden and one of Ivar’s most trusted men. The sun had barely shone its rays in the sky. It was quiet. The cold breeze ruffled the tree branches above them. If they concentrated enough, the heavy waves could be heard as they crashed in the distance.
Hvitserk’s heart fluttered with hope. It was the only place that consisted of more than trees and dirt in miles. You had to be there. They rounded the farm with care, but no living soul was to be seen besides the sheep and cattle. At last, they checked the wooden hut, where the farm owners were likely to be asleep at such early hours.
With his axe in hand, he slowly opened the door. Its hinges creaked to announce their arrival, but the room remained still. It was empty. There was a door, left ajar. It led to the only other room of the house. Hvitserk approached it, his boots pressed hard against the floor with each step.
The door burst open once he was within reach, a round shield was thrown towards him. Hvitserk was barely fast enough to block the impact with his forearm. He did not bother to attack its owner, he recognized the familiar patterns of the paint that dried on it.
He had watched you paint the shield with delight. Your favorite part of fights and battles was not the thrill of violence, or the trial of skill. It was testing your weapons to their limits until they broke and you could improve them. And then, at last, decorate them. You loved painting your shields until they became uniquely yours. So your friends could find you miles away on the battlefield.
You were nothing like Hvitserk. The thrill he found in action, you found in watching. The love he found in talking, you found in listening. The two of you were not similar, and that’s why he loved you with all his heart. The broken pieces of you seemed to fit in each other with perfection.
“Stop! It’s me!” Hvitserk laughed as he blocked your blows. Joy consumed him, so much he could take on the whole of England right then and there.
You stopped your axe mid air and took the moment to analyze the man before you. Within the adrenaline, you had failed to recognize his voice, but the laughter was unmistakable. “Hvitserk!”
The axe and shield dropped to the ground and you threw your arms around his neck. Hvitserk held you tight, taking in the feeling of having you in his arms. The scent of your hair, your body warm against his.
“I thought I lost you,” He mumbled against your shoulder.
You pulled away from him with a frown but kept your bodies entwined. “Lost me? Why would you have lost me?”
“You disappeared, (Y/N),” He breathed, “I searched all of York, and I couldn’t find you. No one could find you.”
“During the raid, I saw a man leave the town with a child. She cried and screamed, and he dragged her with so little care, it felt… wrong.” You explained, your hands dropped from his neck and you sat at the table. “I followed them. When they got here I saw how he mistreated her and I intervened.”
“You killed him?”
“He attacked me first.” The words came out more aggressive then you had intended. “I waited for her mother to arrive, but she never came. I would ask the child, but… I do not understand a word she says.”
Hvitserk’s sigh was heavy with emotion he had to hold. “Have you stopped to think she might not have a mother? Or any other family? What will you do then?”
You bit your lip, “I will take care of her.”
“No, you will not.”
“Yes, I will.” You stood up, your lips pulled tight into a frown. One of the few similarities the both of you had, one could be just as headstrong as the other. Arguments turned into fights, and fights tended to not end well for either of you. “It is not your decision.”
His voice was low, his hands slid to your waist gently, “(Y/N), if you wish for a child, I will be more than happy, you know this. But not like this.”
But it wasn’t so easy. The gods knew you had tried, both intentionally and unintentionally, but there had never been a sign of you bearing a child. It vexed you. So much, your worst fight had been when Hvitserk suggested the possibility that, perhaps, you simply… couldn’t. It wasn’t unusual. You refused to accept it, but a part of you hung onto it, in the back of your mind. A poisonous seed among your thoughts that always told you it could be true.
“It’s not about that,” You shook your head, “I cannot leave her alone.”
Out of the corner of your eye you saw the two warriors share a look as they fidgeted in the spot. Whatever they had been here for, it most certainly wasn’t to witness a couple arguing. Recomposing yourself, you cleared your throat.
“Forgive me,” you smoothed out the night gown you had been wearing, “You must be tired. There is ale on the jar, I will arrange a place for you to rest.”
Inside the bedroom, the little girl hid under the bed in fear. You gathered the furs you had been using for yourself and some clothes from her parents so you could make a decent bed for your companions. You set everyone in the main room of the house to not frighten the girl.
The sun was high in the sky as the two warriors slept. On the other side of the room, you and Hvitserk were still wide awake. His chest heaved up and down with each breath, his heartbeat faint as a dream against your head. Your thumb rubbed small circles on his arms, he was the most relaxed he had been the entire week. Even so, he couldn’t find it in himself to fall asleep. He finally had you in his arms, and he didn’t want to miss a second of it. He was afraid he would wake up and you wouldn’t be there anymore. Blown out of his reach like petal in the wind once again.
“Why did you come?” Your voice was a whisper, barely audible. But he heard you.
“I was worried about you.”
You lifted your head to rest your chin against his chest, “I can take care of myself, Hvitserk. This was a simple raid.”
His fingers played with your hair, he was lost in thought. He knew you like the back of his hand. You were a shieldmaiden. A viking, just as much as he was. Strong, determined, headstrong. Hvitserk also knew the other side of that. The adventurer, fearless free spirit. The part who would be the first to run to the top of a hill to find what was on the other side, whose curiosity could not be eased. It was not hard to believe that you ran from York without a note of warning. In fact, it sounded just like you, running to the rescue of the innocent.
“I know,” He pursed his lips, “when it concerns you, (Y/N), I tend to act by my heart, not my head.”
Your expression softened, “How could I ever blame you for that?”
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Note
You asked for a prompt... random thought for you. What would happen if the whole time travel thing was causing Steve's serum to fade out in a sense? Like endgame with skinny Steve and he gets all adorable and worried about things?
this is prob not wnat you want, but enjoy almost 3k of rambling. 
--
This had happened before.
When he stood inside Peggy’s office, looking at an older Peggy with gray in her hair, he felt like his breath had been taken from his lungs. He felt like the walls were closing in on him, his chest felt considered smaller than what it had become. 
At the time, Steve had other things to worry about than what he passed off as just an overwhelming sense of emotions, he had the fate of the world resting on his shoulders. Yet now that it was over and he stood with a bloodied shield in hand, he could feel his legs giving out on him, and his world was growing considerably smaller.
He never felt his body hit the ground.
“...don’t know, notes were gone.”
“What do you mean we don’t know? It’s been...fuck...years.”
“Exactly that, we don’t know much about the serum. We only know what the monitors tell us and that’s nothing good.”
“You do know I’m awake, right?” Steve grunted as he forced himself to sit up from the hospital bed. 
Something wasn’t right. Hell - a lot of things weren’t right. For one, he couldn’t see color. No white or chrome or Shuri’s golden bracelets, Bucky’s silver and golden arm, or even Sam’s red goggles.
His left ear, it was tingling. He could barely hear Bucky’s low grunting whisper to Shuri’s ear. He could barely see her shrugging. Even as he sat there, staring at the trio, he could feel his vision worsening.
Without even taking a lungful of air, he knew how hard it would be to breathe. He’s had nightmares on this - even recently - about his ailments, about waking up small and powerless. His chest was aching with the desperate need of a full breath he was terrified to take, not wanting to have his fears to be concerned. Even without it, there was that low, dull ache in the base of his spine that followed into his stomach, like someone twisting a knife.
He’d lost the serum. 
It had lasted him until the battle and -
Steve’s eyes fell to the bandages around his wrists, slowly peeling them back. He slapped away Bucky’s hand that reached out of habit to stop him from picking, a decades-old habit neither had grown out of. Underneath the bandage confirmed his fears to be true (as if everything else hadn’t), a jagged scar from where Thanos’ blade had cut into him. Healed by Shuri’s technology but still a scar, proving the serum couldn’t save him.
Question was, even as three sets of eyes stared at him, waiting for some sort of reaction, what now?
He still knew the answer, that hadn’t changed.
She’d love him anyway.
--
“Steven?” 
The name was whispered as if anything louder would cause the veil to break, to break what only could be a dream between them.
Her hand reached out before sense seemed to catch up to her and it was jerked away. She stood in the doorway of a yellow house with a wrap-around porch, her newspaper still sitting at his feet. He could smell her, smell that familiar perfume she wore during the war. It still made his eyes water with how strong it was. 
She took up the whole doorway, hand curled around the frame and jaw tense. He’d seen that look before, her jaw twitching ever so slightly. Even without being able to see it, he knew her hand around the frame was clenching it tightly. 
“Well?” Peggy snapped, drawing Steve out of his thoughts.
He was still staring at her, mouth opened, just in unbelievable belief that he was standing in front of her. That he was here, with her, that he was home. 
“I-” He swallowed, throat bobbing. “I’m sorry what?”
Her lips twitched, almost threatening to smile. “I asked who in the hell are you because you’re obviously not Steven Grant Rogers. Captain Rogers died a year ago. Either work has finally gotten to me or you’re an imposter. A failed imposter at that.”
It was Steve’s turn to smile and he could’ve sworn her eyes softened 
“I can swear to you that I am, P-Peggy.” His breath hitched, trying to keep all these overwhelming emotions tamed. Last he needed was to have a panic attack on her doorstep. “I know it doesn’t look like it but I-I can’t...you won’t believe me.”
Reaching into his pocket, Steve pulled out the compass that never left his pocket. It had a few more dents than she last saw, a little more rusted. The hinges squeaked as Steve slowly opened it and passed it to her. Peggy’s fingers delicately brushed over his own as she took it, her face paling of all color as she looked up at Steve.
“But...how? We looked for you. And you’re...the serum…”
Peggy Carter was the last person ever to pity him. It wasn’t pity in her eyes, it was concern because she knew what the serum meant to him, but she also knew the health advocates that came with losing the serum.
She was worried for him and Christ if that just didn’t make him love her more.
“I can explain. There’s a lot you won’t understand but I...I can’t explain. Can I…?” 
A shiver ran up his spine as he tilted his head into the room, a chill washing over him as the fall wind blew. 
“Of course… Let me call Chester and tell him I won’t be at work. I won’t say anything about you,” she quickly explained at Steve’s panic look. Despite it, he knew she didn’t agree with that line of thought - not yet.
--
“Let me get this straight,” Peggy sighed, lowering the warmed mug of brandy. Steve remembered just how she liked her winter drinks. “You were in the future. Then…”
She waved her hand and sighed heavily. They’ve been at this for hours. For the most part, Steve had done all the talking but she’s commented a few questions that couldn’t wait, down to a few comments. At first, they started at opposite ends of the couch and now were sitting thigh-to-thigh. 
Steve’s head tilted, his downy soft, blonde locks falling in his face. Her eyes tracked his hand as they brushed it back. “Go on. Yes, I was in the future.”
She shot him a look that he flushed out - Lord, she’s missed that flushing. “And now you’re small because...time travel?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that and unless we want to call Howard, tell him I’m alive through time travel, that time travel exists, then...I don’t think we can get into a full explanation. To be honest, I understand it but I don’t understand it. Something about the...the effects of time travel through this-”-Steve held up the watch-like device she’d seen earlier-“and the serum, reverting my cells to before the serum.”
“No, no, and no. We are absolutely not calling Howard to tell him time travel exists. We will eventually call him to tell him you’re alive. In the morning. He’s out of the country, I’m afraid, until tomorrow.” And to be honest, she’s selfish. The second she lets the important people know that Steve is alive like Howard, Phillips, and the Commandos, then all hell will break loose. She’s selfish and just wants this one night with him. “Second, that doesn’t explain how you’re...better.” 
His plush, pink lips pursed together, in the same manner, they always did in thought. His eyes fell from her face, down to the steaming drink, and even further down to his hands. “I’m not, not exactly. I…” He tilted his head back and sighed. “It’s complicated, I think? Or maybe I think it’s complicated. You remember that girl I told you about? Shuri.”
“Yes? What about? You said you...”
“I woke up and was just smaller after-after the battle. After a long discussion on the possibilities, we worked on solutions for everything else. The asthma, the hearing, my sight, colorblindness, the...well everything. I’m small and for the most part 90% better thanks to her technology.”
His face pinched in a manner that told her yes he was grateful but this was a bitter pill for him to swallow. To accept he was smaller.
“She fixed everything the serum did but just not...the serum.”
“Shuri offered to replicate it, she was 90% sure she could and I had faith in her but…”
“But something told you not to.” Peggy’s eyes softened and she took his hand in her own. “That must’ve been hard for you to decide to do.”
“It was but I…” His mouth opened and closed and not for the first time, Peggy could truly see just how exhausted he was. It was deeper than just what a good night’s rest could fix, it was deeper than a soldier returning home. Steve had loved and lost. He’d been broken and repaired, his hope snatched from him, just to crack his facade even more. Her heart broke for him. “I wasn’t sure how it would be with...what little is in me and...well...everything.”
There was no true answer to why he denied Shuri’s help. Pride maybe, but it felt like more. Maybe betrayed Erksine. Maybe he just wanted to rest. Maybe he was just selfish.
Maybe he was terrified if it worked, it could be taken from him again.
“Question is,” Peggy mused after a long moment of silence that was only broken up by the sound of her fire crackling. “What are you going to do now?”
Steve smirked, suddenly aware of how close they were. He could see the shine of red on her lips, smell the brandy on her breath. It felt like home as their lips pressed together.
“Help you change the world.”
--
“Explain...explain this to me one more time.”
Howard was laid back on the chair, legs thrown up on the ottoman. He had at least pulled on a robe for them, even if it laid open and his chest hair was exposed. His hair was a devilish mess, having constantly run his hand through it. He still wasn’t looking at Peggy, his eyes firmly on the small guy in front of him that said he was Steve.
He wasn’t drunk. No, it was still 1 pm, even if he just woke up. These were sober hours. Peggy wouldn’t let him drink.
“How are you small?”
Steve couldn’t help but share the look with Peggy, then with Jarvis (who just looked so relieved he was here). Jarvis knew the full truth (thus, so did Ana because they never kept secrets from one another).
“I told you,” Steve sighed, hating lying to Howard but Howard didn’t need to know. Time travel and Howard was a dangerous mix. “I was found in the ice and-”
“Bullshit!”
He’d never seen Howard move so quickly. The man looked almost angry and Steve’s breath picked up as he took a stumbling step back. He was caught by Peggy before he fell.
“What sort of idiot do you take me, Rogers?” Howard bellowed, eyes moving from both parties. “The both of you! I looked! We both looked! We looked and looked and looked and-” 
“Sir.” Jarvis was by his side, leading a distressed Howard back to his chair. “May I suggest that you calm down?”
“No,” Howard grumbled, closing his eyes, rubbing at his temples. “I looked. How are you suddenly here? A-a year later. How? How?! We looked, I-”
“Time travel,” Peggy suddenly spat, hating how distressed her friend look. She sighed and took Steve’s hand. “Time travel, and no, Howard, we won’t go into details. I certainly don’t understand it and you do not need to know the details of time travel. Or-or any of it. Not yet, Steven need to rest, we can discuss perhaps later if-”
“Steven is fine,” Steve grumbled, taking his hand from Peggy’s to stand up. He looked back at Howard’s shocked face. “Okay, the cat’s out of the bag. I used time travel to come back to Peggy. I’m sorry Howard, we just worried how you’d accept it - that time travel exists.”
For once, Howard Stark was too shocked to say a damn thing in his life.
--
“So, Howard knows,” Peggy sighed, rubbing at her temples, “about time travel. Not something I had hoped we’d discuss but here we are. We agree he’s to know very minimum amounts about the future.”
Steve’s head bobbed along from where he rested against her lap on their shared couch. It’s quickly become their favorite spot. “It wasn’t worth lying to him, to see his distress. It killed me. It reminded me so much about T-”
Peggy’s eyes fell to his and her hand scratched at his scalp. “Tony,” she finished. He nodded and she picked his head up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry we lied to him too, but now he knows the truth. I’m still not getting over him running over that table to hug you once he’s over the shock.”
“Never known him to be flexible.”
“Wave the right amount of alcohol in his face and you’ll learn new facts about Howard,” she snickered, making Steve roll his eyes.
“So I’m just the trophy husband?” he teased her, making Peggy laugh. “Howard provides the funds.”
“Howard provides the charisma. You are certainly the best trophy husband I could ask for.” She kissed him and he felt his body slack into hers. “I love you, Steven.”
“I love you too, Peggy.”
--
“When you said you had an urgent meeting with us, Pegs, this isn’t what I expected,” Dugan grumbled as he adjusted himself in the chair. “Back on stateside with Phillips coming in? What’s going on?”
Peggy, for her sake, sat on the edge of her desk that had come to the start of serving as the threshold of SHIELD. Phillips and Howard were behind her (Steven, of course too because they couldn’t get this far without his future references). She pulled on the suit she was wearing, a habit she couldn’t help. She did her best not to look where Steve waited in the side closet that often served as a nesting room when she was too tired to go home.
Before Steve had returned of course.
The Howling Commandos were patient as ever, meaning they weren’t one bit patient. Dugan was squirming like a kid in his chair, already knowing he was in trouble. Jones was bouncing his leg, Pinky was fiddling with her pen, Jim was folding a sheet of paper into an origami butterfly, and Montgomery and the others had walked off to find coffee. 
“And what did you think the call was about, Dugan?” Peggy challenged, raising an eyebrow.
Dugan, for his sakes, shrugged. “I don’t know. Nothing good, I supposed. Trouble follows you.”
“Only because you bait it,” Jones spoke up, making her laugh.
“We thought it was to tell us you’ve officially taken over the SSR as a one-woman show and needed our help,” Jim spoke up, blowing on the butterfly so it fluttered towards her.
Peggy caught it with ease and smiled. “That’s on the back burner - this is more important. I-”
The door slamming open cut them off. Phillips was a grump - he hated being woken up in the morning by a call that made no sense.
“Alright, Carter, tell me why I am here at 4 in the goddamn morning, with no coffee and why did you pull these guys from their project, if-”
“Steve is alive,” Peggy said firmly, cutting off Phillips’ I’m a grump rambling. 
That surely shocked them into silence. She saw Phillips and Dugan’s shared look - no doubt a conversation that has had about her beforehand and her dedication to finding Steve shortly after his death. 
“Peggy,” Phillips breathed, his eyes told her all. He wasn’t her boss, he was her friend, her gruff friend who was worried about her. “We-”
“Holy shit,” Montgomery breathed from the doorway, dropping the coffee he was holding. No one paid attention to it shattering on the floor. Their eyes were on Steve in the doorway.
A much skinnier Steve than they remembered.
“What the fu-”
“Language, Jones,” Steve said, out of instinct. He could see Peggy’s grin, a relieved look on her face. “There’s a lady present.”
“A lady that curses more than this sorry lot,” Peggy snorted, instantly taking Steve’s hand. She turned to look back at Phillips with a raised brow.
“I demand an explanation,” Phillips breathed, taking half a step in, glass crunching under his foot. “Kid, I knew you were too stubborn to die. Too stubborn to be told no. It’s so good you’re alive.”
“Small, but mighty,” Dugan chimed in with a tearful grin. “Christ, Stevie, come here.”
All Peggy and Phillips could do were look on as the 5’4 Captain was soon overtaken by the numerous hugs and shouts that echoed around her empty office at four in the morning.
--
“Are you ever going to tell me the truth?” Phillips huffed at her, making Peggy smile over the cup of coffee hours later.
The Howlies had finally left to catch a few hours of sleep, Steve had fallen asleep on her office couch. The poor guy was just tired. An exhaustion she feared he’d never rested. Sleep never seemed to be enough.
“I did,” Peggy mused, lowering the cup to her desk. She didn’t need to look up to see Phillip’s glowering look.
“He’s lucky to have survived at all,” Phillips sighed, looking over at Steve. “Frozen, the future, and returning back to you. The life we lead, it’s amazing.” He gave a small laugh as he raised his cup in cheers towards Steve. “You really got that second chance at being with him.”
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saiilorstars · 3 years
Text
Tell Me Something
***One-Shot*** // Masterlist to other stories
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Spencer x OFC
Summary: It's always been hard for Spencer to say what he feels. Words are just not easy for him but there comes a time when that simply won't do. And given his line of work, he should've guessed it was only a matter of time until the job forced it out of him in the worst situation ever. Aitana would've never guessed it.
Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @maaaaarveeeeel @anotherunreadblog [If you would like to be added to this OC's taglist please let me know!]
Author's Note: Hi! Hello! This is the first time I write for CM so I'm still pretty rusty but I do hope to publish a full story in the following months with the same OC! In the meantime I'll stick to one-shots and AUs to test the waters!
Pronunciation of the OC's name sounds like "eye-ta-na"
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It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It was a case like any other, terrible and gruesome but nothing they hadn't seen before. But for some reason, this time around, things went terribly wrong.
"Go, go, go!" Spencer practically yanked the smaller brunette woman with him in a complicated run. One second less and they would be caught in the open.
Aitana pushed back her short curls and rubbed her freckled-face once then twice, and then a third. She tried pushing away those memories but if she was okay then it meant she had the duty to remember how things happened, how she let Spencer down. She didn't even register the ER nurse coming by her bed to stitch her right ankle up, nor the concerned Emily by her side.
"We have to try to get out of here!" Aitana yelped when Spencer made a swift turn down the left.
"The chances of us making a turn back and getting out through the front door don't look so well!" He said in a quick-paced ramble. He wasn't searching for a way back around the building. They started one way and they had to follow it until the end.
"Yeah, but they're coming!" Aitana could hear the running footsteps behind them.
"Which means we either have to be faster or hide!" His answer came in the form of a tight alcove.
"But—" Before Aitana even knew it, Spencer had crammed her in first. He then had to maneuver his way in. It was, admittedly, a bit painful being that type of squished but if it meant staying alive then so be it.
"Listen, there's a door a couple feet down from here. We just have to run for a bit but if we can reach it, we'll be good." Spencer was saying as he simultaneously tried peering out. They were coming. "On the other hand, we might need to compartmentalize and separate."
"What? I'm not leaving you!" Aitana exclaimed a tad louder than she should've.
"Shh!" He and Aitana made the mistake of looking at each other. Being squished and crammed meant there was zero space between them. Absolute zero. "Listen Aitana, I can't promise that you'll always be safe around me but I can promise that I'll always try to keep you safe. I'll do anything I can and right now, this is me trying." Spencer offered her a soft smile despite their current situation. Even then, Aitana felt the reassurance he was trying to give her. She believed him entirely.
Aitana couldn't remember another moment that had brought them that close to each other. If she concentrated hard enough, she could remember the feeling of Spencer's heartbeats against her chest. If she thought hard and pushed through her guilt, she could rival his eidetic memory by remembering every last detail of his face. So concerned, scared, and yet still kind. She had mainly been the middle kind but Spencer always knew how to pick and choose what to be in the worst of situations. He was logical.
"Aitana?" she flinched when Emily touched her arm. "They're done."
Aitana followed the pointing finger to her ankle. Stitches now adorned it. "This shouldn't be it," she muttered with disgust. "I shouldn't just have stitches."
"Aitana—"
"I should have more! I should have bruises and cuts and everything else because that is what I deserve!" Hot tears stung Aitana's eyes the more she went on. No matter what Emily tried to say, Aitana wouldn't desist. How could she get Scot-free with a few stitches while Spencer was God knew where...all because of her.
"Alright, we have one small window of opportunity here..." Spencer was no doubt making his calculations in his head. The footsteps were getting far too close. "We'll run and whoever gets to that door first keeps going no matter what.
" I am not leaving you behind," Aitana reiterated, though she had a good feeling that he would make it first. He did have long legs after all. If he got out, she would be fine. He would get the backup that they couldn't call for in that moment.
"On my count," Spencer started. He tried raising his hand to count off with his fingers but the moment he accidentally dragged them over the side of Aitana's waist he dropped that intention. He thanked the darkness that covered his momentary flush. Unknowingly, Aitana was thanking it too for the same reasons.
As soon as he reached 'Three!' they made a run for it. Not even 5 seconds later did they hear the "I see 'em!" that was followed by gunfire.
They were ridiculously outnumbered to try and fight back.
"C'mon!" Spencer reached the door first and yanked it open. He was mighty disappointed to see a small backspace with a gate closing them in but it wasn't that tall. They would have to climb.
Aitana yelped. A bullet had caught her ankle. "Son of a—" Spencer whirled around to see her doing a cross of a limp and run. "You need to go!" She waved him to get going. "Close the door and go!"
Spencer glanced back at the gate. He would be able to climb it pretty quick but leaving Aitana behind?
"GO!" Aitana yelled at him.
Spencer shook his head. "No!"
"What—"
He dashed back for her and pulled her with him even when her limp was getting in the way. She protested with the natural claims she was slowing him down but he wouldn't budge.
"I found 'em!" They heard one of the men announce. They could even see the silhouette of him getting closer.
"Spencer, let go and run!" Aitana tried prying his hand off her arm. "You said whoever—"
Spencer shoved her out the door and just in time because a second later a bullet crashed against the door hinge.  "Climb up and go!"
She knew his full intentions now and there was no way she would let him do it. "Don't you dare!"
"Aitana, just go! You'll be safe! Plus, someone has to know if Melody is alright! They won't kill me!" Just as Spencer claimed that, another bullet struck far too close to his arm.
"Spencer!"
"Go!" He pushed her again and shut the door on her.
"NO!" Aitana screamed and ran back for the door to open it. "Open this door right now! Open it!" She frantically banged her hands against the door with all her might. "OPEN IT!"
"Go!" she barely managed to hear Spencer because soon after, she heard more bullets.
Aitana's eyes snapped open. She gasped lightly. "Where's...?" She started shifting on the bed, reminding herself she was in the hospital.
"It's alright," Emily was beside her. "You had to be sedated."
"Seda..." Aitana briefly remembered the battle she ensued against the nurses and even Emily herself. "Oh God..." She pushed herself up in a sitting position.
"Hey, hey, lay back down," Emily tried to keep Aitana on the bed.
"You guys got away with a sedation the first time but not again!" Aitana was fierce but Emily Prentiss was more.
"You can't go anywhere! You got a bullet in your ankle!"
"A petty thing!"
"NO!" Emily's yell was enough to freeze Aitana and cause several eyes to come their way.
Aitana looked Emily in the eyes and, little by little, tears welled up in hers. "Emily, I..." Her lip trembled and soon, the tears rolled down her face. "I left him. I left Spencer in that place."
"He told you to go," Emily reminded her.
"But I wasn't supposed to actually go!" Aitana brought a hand up to her forehead and rubbed harsh circles over her skin. "We're friends, we're...I wasn't supposed to leave him!"
Emily doubted that Aitana remembered all the rambling explanations she gave when they first found her. Everything the team heard was enough to make their own conclusions. One of them had to make sure that their missing victim was still alive and putting one FBI agent in the mix would ensure that most of the potential harm came their way and not to the victim. Frankly, Spencer made a call that any one of them would've made too.
"I have to go help look for him," Aitana made another move to get up and since Emily wasn't in the mood to have another round with her, she told her what had recently happened.
"We already found him!" As Emily expected, Aitana froze midway getting up. Her expectant look prompted Emily to explain what happened during her sedation. "What you said helped us piece together where the unsubs could've taken Spencer to, where Melody could be held at."
"What-what happened? Is he alright? M-Melody?" Aitana swallowed hard. The way that Emily was looking at her had her heart skipping jolts. Emily pursed her lips together. "Emily, are they alright?"
"They're here in the hospital." That was subtly evading the true answer and Aitana knew it.
"And?"
Once Emily sighed, Aitana knew the real answer was finally coming her way. "Melody has a few cuts and bruises, nothing her body won't heal from."
"Apart from the mental torture, I'm sure. And Spencer? How is he?"
"Uuh, last time I heard was that he'd gone into surgery—"
"What!?" Aitana sprung from her bed before Emily even blinked.
"Hold on! Hold on!" Emily managed to grab Aitana's arm, thanks to the limp in Aitana's ankle, before the latter could fully ran out on her.
"Emily! You just said that he was in surgery! He's there and I'm here!" Aitana's face crinkled with disdain. "I left him and now he's in surgery!" She believed that was enough of an explanation for her behavior and determination to get out of the ER. Even if it hurt her ankle like hell, she was going to wherever they brought Spencer to.
It was for that reason that Emily decided to help her and not fight. She helped Aitana up the floors until they found the team in one of the waiting rooms.
"Have the doctors come by? How is he?" Aitana hobbled her way into the room. "And Melody? Is she—"
"He's still in surgery," JJ answered her before she started throwing more questions until she lost air.
"But surgery? Why did he need surgery?"
"There was a..." JJ trailed off, eyes drifting past Aitana to Emily, even behind JJ there was Morgan with a pretty grim face.
"If none of you tell me, I'm just going to ask one of the doctors," Aitana impatiently said. They could not be sugarcoating anything for the likes of her right now. She was already terrible enough.
"There was a bullet wound," JJ finally gave her the answer, though as soon as she saw the reaction on Aitana's face, she regretted it.
"Oh my God, where!?"
"Abdomen..."
The noise that came out of Aitana was not possibly human. "No, no, no!" Aitana stumbled back and because of her own wound, she nearly fell if Emily hadn't been swift to catch her.
"Aitana, don't go down that road," JJ said with all the experience lacing her words. "Decisions were made and you can't blame yourself for something that Spencer decided."
Aitana wrestled free from Emily's hands. "It's easy to say when it's not your fault he's in surgery."
"I've been there—"
"Then you should know better than to try and talk me out of it!" Aitana shook her head. "I need a moment." She turned and rushed out of the room without hearing another word.
"She shouldn't be alone," JJ said, about to go after her when Morgan caught her arm.
"Did you want to be around people when you were there?" He gave her a pointed look urging her to really think about her memories.
JJ sighed. No, no she didn't. Because when she and Spencer split up and he was kidnapped, she blamed herself. She didn't want anyone around her, much less people trying to tell her that it wasn't her fault.
"Hotch and Rossi are going to be here soon, maybe all of us together and coax her to let us be with her," Emily said. "I can't imagine what she's going through — what on Earth possessed Spencer to do this? I mean, we profiled the Unsubs as torturers, not killers. They wouldn't have hurt Aitana nearly as bad as they did to him."
"You really don't know why?" Emily didn't understand the look on Morgan's face.
"It's terrible but...Aitana was clear, Spencer reached that door first," she shrugged. "He could've made it out. Aitana would've been alright. We would've found her just like we found Spencer in the end."
"Yeah, and then Aitana would've been the one in surgery right now," Morgan shook his head. "Look, Spencer made the call based on what he saw and what he knew would happen. The unsubs were about to get Aitana and take her just like they had with the last victim. We know what the previous victims went through and so did Spencer. He knew exactly what would happen to Aitana if she stayed behind, so he decided not to let it happen. And you know what? If the girl I loved was in that situation, I would've done the same thing too."
That was a lot to take in for Emily and JJ but it paled in comparison to what the actual recipient of that situation was now going to go through.
"What?" Atiana had returned with Hotch and Rossi behind her. They'd convinced her to come back to the room so they could wait together for news about Spencer, but never did any of them think they would be walking into...this. Aitana felt like her head was throbbing but there was no way in hell she was going to let go what she was sure that she heard. "Morgan, what did you say?"
"Um..." Just like he was sure about everything he said prior to this moment, Morgan was also sure that he knew what Spencer would think right now. "Aitana, I didn't mean..."
"Morgan, I have had a very terrible day and it only got worse when Spencer went into surgery because of me so for the love of God repeat what you said right. now," Aitana's teeth gritted together.
Morgan exchanged looks with the others. Emily was simply puzzled but it seemed like JJ, Hotch and Rossi were all giving Morgan the same pity look. He had royally messed up, a la F.R.I.E.N.D.S' style.
Aitana snapped with the silence. "Derek Morgan—" she hissed, "—you tell me right now what I want to know! Does Spencer..." She was flailing with words and air at the same time. "Does he...love me?" The question had come in a quiet, frail whisper that resonated with her entire self right now. Never had she felt so small in front of the people she considered family.
And perhaps it was for that reason that Morgan decided to give her the truth. She suffered a lot already and he wasn't there to make things worse. With one simple nod, Aitana had everything she asked for. Her eyes teared up all over again when she truly accepted the answer.
"I need another moment," she said fast and pushed her way through Hotch and Rossi to escape the suddenly small room.
"That's going to be fun to explain to Reid," Morgan muttered with the longest sigh to follow.
~ 0 ~
When JJ found Aitana, the latter was outside of the hospital. The need for air became real that Aitana couldn't see herself staying in the building for another minute. As soon as she saw JJ, two things came to Aitana's mind: stay or leave? She could leave, go home, and possibly try to rest but...would she really be able to do that? The answer was a clear no. She had to stay and know what would happen to Spencer, it just didn't mean that things were any easier.
"Aitana..." JJ stopped a few inches from the bench Aitana was sitting on.
"I'm a frikin profiler and I didn't see it," she buried her face into her hands.
"Aitana, c'mon," JJ took those last steps to the bench and sat down beside her, "Did you really not see it?"
At her tone, Aitana lowered her hands from her face. JJ's expression was a mix of sympathy and amusement, the last things Aitana expected right now. "What? I don't..."
"It's like you said, you're a profiler — and a damn good one to — so did you really not see it? Or did you convince yourself that it was nothing?"
Aitana brought her index fingernail to her mouth for a good bite, a long time sign of her nerves. It was one of the things that the team pointed out when she first joined them. Right now, it was completely selling her out.
JJ decided to help Aitana out a bit. "My wedding, for starters..."
Aitana actually bit through her fingernail.
It hadn't taken much to start the party after JJ's and Will's wedding. There was finally a cause to celebrate for. No one was going to stay behind so when the drinks came along, no one refused. Some people should have after they hit their magic glass number.
Aitana could not remember a time where Spencer was as carefree as he was right now. It was fairly amusing and, if she was being honest, nice. Spencer always seemed to be cautious around her. Caution — from his perspective — wasn't a thing right now. He asked her to dance in the middle of a bemusing ramble of mythology. Aitana hadn't even heard it the first time and only realized it when Spencer pulled her towards the dancefloor. His lanky arms had scooped her in an awkward hug that somehow turned into an actual sway of a dance.
"I think you could be Asteria," he said just a tad loudly.
Aitana chuckled. "Really? And who's that?" She looked up in time to see him twitch his nose.
It seemed even the great Dr. Spencer Reid would have to think extra hard when he was drunk. "The...goddess of astrology, also sometimes known for nighttime divination."
"Ah, could be — I do like space but I don't really think it has anything to do with human affairs."
"Yeah, you're right. I'm a little slow right now. And sleepy." He slowly lowered his head to her shoulder.
She smiled with the tickle his hair left over her exposed neck. "I can't imagine how comfortable my shoulder must be right now."
"You've always made me comfortable," he said a bit too automatic.
For a moment, Aitana's smile dropped as something fluttered in her stomach. Her fingers sprawled over his back and for a moment she wondered if he even realized what he said. Of course not, the sharp voice in her head was quick to say. He's drunk.
"Aphrodite, you're Aphrodite," Spencer murmured. " Goddess of love and beauty. Or maybe Themis, for justice?"  He pulled his head from her shoulder and by the time he looked at her face, she was back to smiling like nothing ever crossed her mind.
Aitana exhaled deeply when she was finally able to shake the memory off. Spencer had gone through at least ten more goddesses she could be like, each one more insane than the last. He didn't stop dancing with her either, even when they were each asked by others for a quick song. Aitana convinced herself that it was nothing. Spencer was drunk, he would've clung to anyone in his state. It never meant anything, not even the next day when, in a better lucid state, Spencer presented her with his final decision about the Gods.
"I think you took this a little too seriously," Aitana  moved around the BAU bullpen with Spencer following closely behind.
"I don't remember much—"
"Ah," Aitana turned around with a teasing smile ready on her face, "So you don't always remember everything like you claim." It was hard not to laugh at his deadpanning expression.
"Anyways," Spencer made it clear that he wasn't even going down that road, not with the likes of her, "I do remember our conversation and I have it! Algaea!"
Aitana sighed. "It's too early to look like an idiot next to you so just...who is that?"
"Algaea was one of the 3 Graces. She was known as the goddess of glory, adornment, beauty and splendor."
"Okay, so far I like it. What's the intelligent explanation behind your reasoning?"
"Your name means glory!"
"Huh," Aitana leaned on one hip to review that fact with herself, "You're right."
"You love decorating for the seasons — hence adornment — and I think it's obvious why beauty and splendor are a good fit. You're...pretty." Spencer awkwardly cleared his throat. Aitana swore his fingers were squeezing his usual messenger bag's strap just a bit tightly. "What do you think? Do you like it?"
His hopefulness did nothing to calm the fluttering in Aitana's stomach. Why would he be hopeful about something as casual as this? They were just following up a drunken conversation, nothing more. There was never anything more.
"Aitana...?" JJ had watched her friend fall distant for minutes now and she could only hope that Aitiana was reviewing key moments that would make her see the reality.
"No!" Aitana suddenly exclaimed with a fervent shake of her head. "I didn't convince myself because...because there was never anything..."
"And yet you sound like you're trying to convince yourself right now."
Aitana snapped her head in JJ's direction. "Because it wouldn't make sense. He's, you know, him."
"Oh, I know who he is. This is the same person who doesn't know how to use chopsticks."
Aitana couldn't help the light chuckle fall from her lips. "It's endearing," she said offhandedly.
"Ah, 'endearing'?" JJ gave her a teasing smile. Aitana blushed but rolled her eyes in an attempt to be nonchalant. Just as JJ meant to say more, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Spencer was out of surgery.
~0~
He would be outcold for God knows how many days given his condition. Aitana only found strength to breathe when she heard the Godly words of "he's going to make it". After that, it was a blur of how they each waited their turn to visit Spencer's room. By the time it was Aitana's turn — she'd been mysteriously left for last — she couldn't help the sprint in her pace even though it hurt like hell with her wound.
But there he was, just like promised, sleeping in his bed. Aitana scurried to his left side and stayed there, motionless. She was taking in his battered appearance and letting her heart slowly crack from guilt. There were the brands of stitches peeking out from his hospital gown sleeve. A bruise was already forming over his right cheek and Aitana was sure there were more under the gown. She was thankful it covered the obvious bullet wound.
"Look at you; all my fault," she mumbled grimly.
"Oh my God!" Aitana nearly squealed in the bullpen. Five minutes ago, she'd been the sleepiest agent the team had ever seen! She was gawking over the most charming glass coffee pot terrarium she had ever seen — it was the only one she had ever seen.  "Spencer, this is amazing!" she exclaimed. She was sitting at her desk with the coffee pot right in front of her.  She wanted to admire every last detail of it.
It had bright white sand on the bottom with blue river rocks sprawled over. Three air plants were arranged along the glass of the pot with green moss behind them. Amethyst and quartz crystals sparkled under the light and more so whenever Aitana shifted the coffee pot along.
"You like it?" Spencer still thought that he needed to ask but really it was just to see her reaction again. He always committed everything to memory but this was one memory he wanted to specifically hold onto.
Aitana fell right into it. Her small curls bounced with each nod of her head. "I love it! It has a nice space theme to it!"
Spencer smiled. "I was going for that." It was her favorite topic after all. "I figure the silver and violet from the crystals would compliment the blue river rocks. "I just wasn't sure about the green moss..." It was the only color he wasn't so fond of but it was all he could find.
"I'm in love with this, seriously!" Aitana stood up from her desk with the biggest grin on her face. "What possessed you to give me this?" For a moment, she swore he seemed to be in a struggle. She could even say she spotted a light pink tinge on his cheeks but she had to be imagining things.
"I know our last case got to you so...I just...I wanted to..." He was failing with the right words and that alone was concerning for Aitana. Why would he suddenly be out of words? "I wanted to cheer you up," he finally settled with.
It was then Aitana who sported a blush but she fought hard to push it away. Spencer was being nice, that was all. He was overly kind with everyone. She couldn't make things where there was nothing. "Mission accomplished," she smiled.
The coffee pot still resided in her bedroom to this day. Aitana loved seeing it every time she went to sleep and woke up. "You always give me the best things and what do I do in return? I give you this." His condition was all her fault and no one could tell her otherwise.
She pulled one of the seats in the room to the side of the bed. She wanted to stay with him for as long as she could. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered to him. Her hand rested on the bed, inches from where his right hand laid.
~ 0 ~
Aitana lost track of time dwelling over her guilt. She was in the same position as before when Penelope walked in. She was the only one who had been missing earlier and her devastation of wasted time showed on her face.
"Oh my goodness," she rushed up to Spencer's other side. "Look at him! Oh, you poor thing! But don't you worry, we caught those men! They're getting what they deserve as we speak."
Aitana could find a smile for Penelope's concern and her overall way of being, especially when it came to Spencer. "They said he'll wake up soon..."
Penelope nodded and stepped back. The way she looked at Aitana told the profiler that she was in the loop of Morgan's grave mistake. "You know," she started and unknowingly caused a great force of dread to wash over Aitana, "he would want to hold your hand right now."
Because Aitana's hand still remained inches from Spencer's but with Penelope's comment, Aitana pulled it to her lap. "He doesn't like holding hands," she mumbled.
"With you he would," Penelope said with the most innocent shrug to follow. When Aitana said nothing, Penelope helped her out with an instant where that had been true.
Aitana was absolutely afraid and no one else seemed to bother with her. Apparently, her fear for the spooky street was misplaced.
'It's just decorations!'
'It's Halloween, have some fun!'
'It's all fake, you know!'
Morgan was the only one who seemed to be more on her side. Everyone else was game for the street decked as a haunted path for anyone who dared to go through.
"Nope, you can't make cross that thing," Aitana stood firm in her spot in front of the street. She wasn't in the mood to be chased around by God knew what with ungodly weapons. She did that for a living!
"It's not that bad," Spencer was beside her. Everyone had already gone in, including one hesitant Morgan. They were the last ones and Aitana knew that Spencer was close to running head into the street. He was all about Halloween, after all.
"If you feel like being spooked, go for it. I will happily wait on the other side." Aitana folded her arms over her chest.
"Hey!" Penelope walked up to them, absolutely excited just like Spencer. "Are we the last ones?"
"Yeah, but Aitana doesn't want to go. It's too scary apparently."
"It'll be fun!" Penelope said, making Aitana groan.
"If I hear that one more time—"
"But it is!"
"I'm scared, alright?" Aitana shook her head. "My brothers used to take me to these haunted house things and then leave me when something jumped out! It was hilarious for them but terrifying for me! I don't want a repeat!"
"Aitana, I promise that I won't do that to you." Spencer did the most unexpected thing and held his hand out for her. It left her wide-eyed — even Penelope had to look twice. "Trust me?"
"Well yeah, of course, but—" Aitana glanced at the street, "—what if we get separated or something?"
"I would find you," Spencer said a bit too fast to be completely normal. Aitana's head snapped back to him. He was still holding his hand for her and apparently he would do so until she agreed with him.
Even now, Penelope still 'aww'd' at the moment she'd been privy to. "That was so cute."
When Aitana felt her face go completely warm, she looked away. She remembered that moment all so well. She had eventually given in and taken hold of Spencer's hand. He had kept his promise not to let go until they were on the other side of the street. That same night Aitana had gone over that experience and asked herself why it had happened. Eventually, just like always, she convinced herself that it was just Spencer being himself. Overly kind.
"It was nothing," she tried to argue but it was far too frail for anyone, including herself, to believe in it.
"Right," Penelope snorted. "And I don't like cute kitty pictures." Aitana sighed. "Did you never really see it?"
"Penelope, I really don't—"
"Oh c'mon!" Penelope exclaimed. "I have been waiting for this to happen forever! You really didn't see anything?"
Aitana rubbed her face. "What was I supposed to see, Pen? He's Spencer, my friend, my co-worker!"
"Who always gives you the lovey-dovey eyes! If he was awake, he'd be doing it right now!"
Aitana looked over to Spencer, wishing nothing more than to see him opening his eyes. Even if it was to be under his scrutiny, she would take it despite the pain it would bring to her heart. She was scared out of her mind waiting for his reaction when he woke up. She was sure there'd be no such 'lovey-dovey' eyes for her.
"JJ was right," Penelope said quietly as she watched Aitana gaze at Spencer. "You really did convince yourself it was nothing...and if you did that it's because yooou like him too." It was against her entire being not to smile the way she was. "You love him."
Aitana wouldn't even get mad at it. Plus, she didn't want to look away from Spencer. "For a very long time now," she whispered.
Penelope beamed at the admission. The only reason she was holding in her 'Aha!' was because of the situation.
"Penelope, he was at that door first," Aitana started again. "He was there, he could have gone out and gotten help just like we planned. It's what we planned, what we agreed to..." Tears filled her eyes when she heard the bang of the door being shut in her face, leaving her and Spencer on opposite sides. "He pushed me out, Pen..."
"Oh honey," Penelope rushed around the bed until she could hug Aitana from beside.
Tears were already rolling down Aitana's cheeks. "I screamed for him to open the door again but he wouldn't. And then I heard gun fires..." She put her hand on the bed, inches from Spencer's.
"He made the choice, Aitana," Penelope rubbed comforting hands up and down Aitana's arms. "He made a selfless choice because that's who he is."
"But look where that got him?" Aitana sniffed. "Because of me!" She moved her hand over Spencer's until she had taken it completely into hers. Even when Penelope had left, it stayed the same.
Once more, Aitana lost track of time. She hadn't budged from her spot, not even with all the persuasion in the world. She couldn't leave Spencer, not until he was awake. By the time she actually felt him flinch, she was beyond exhausted. She didn't register him shifting until he opened his eyes.
She stumbled out of her chair to be closer to him when he was finally able to see. "Hey there," she greeted nervously. "Welcome back."
"Where'd I go?" He tried shifting his body but the pain caught up with him quick. He groaned.
"Oh, don't move so much," Aitana said, hands hovering over his body as if to keep him still herself. "Sorry, you're going to be sore for a while..."
"Right..." It was coming back to Spencer how it was that he landed in the hospital. "You think they could...bring in some jell-o?"
Aitana chuckled. "I-I can talk to someone about that."
Spencer took in a final breath in before his vision cleared up. He then easily picked up on Aitana's state. "You look tired," he said. "How long have you been here?"
"Doesn't matter," Aitana waved him off. "How are you feeling? Do you need something? I can get one of the nurses—"
"I'm good," he cut her off.
"Really?"
"Yes."
Aitana nodded. She was nervous beyond belief even when Spencer hadn't said anything yet. She was a fool to think that he wouldn't notice again.
"What is it?" he asked her.
There was no point in prolonging the inevitable. She had to say something and now was as good of a moment as ever. "Do you remember exactly how we were separated?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "Of course I do."
Those words and his certainty pulled the tears from Aitana's eyes. "Spencer," she sniffed, "Why would...you were at the door first! We agreed, dammit!"
"Aitana—"
"Whoever got to the door first would go!"
"Aitana—"
"And you were there first! You had an opening and you came back for me! You pushed me out, Spencer! Why would you do that!?"
Even though his arms still felt pretty limp, Spencer tried his best to reach for one of Aitana's hands but since she was moving so much he found her forearm instead. "Hey!"
Knowing his condition, Aitana didn't dare to move and hurt him in the process. But the tears wouldn't stop. "Why, Spencer?" Her tone was frail. She needed a straight answer from him.
"You were shot," he answered as if it was the most obvious reason, and perhaps it was. It seemed that way to Aitana. It was nothing to what the others had said.
"Just that?" she asked for some reason. She expected the pain to come from Spencer's anger towards her for leaving him behind but this wasn't from that. Aitana knew it wasn't.
"Just that?" Spencer repeated, puzzled for a moment. He reviewed the simple question and by the third time he realized there was disappointment in her tone. "Why else...?"
Aitana plastered on a smile for him. "Of course not, there's nothing else. There never is, right?"
"What...?"
Aitana resolved to move on and focus on what was most important right now: his health. "I'm going to go find that jell-o for you," she announced.
"Aitana, hold on," Spencer called for her when she was midway out the room. "Are you upset?"
"What?" Aitana would've laughed if he wasn't in his current state. "Me? I wouldn't have any right to be! Look at yourself!" She came back to him in a hurry. "You're here because of me!"
"No, I'm not—"
"Yes you are! Just say it!"
"No!" He frowned.
"Say it!"
"I'm not—"
"Please just say it before I lose my goddamn mind!"
Spencer looked her dead in her teary eyes. "No." That was final.
Aitana had no idea what to do with herself. She ran a hand through her messy hair and focused, for the moment, on regulating her breathing. Watching her struggle that way made Spencer feel terrible.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Aitana, again, almost laughed. She dropped her hand to her side and stared at him incredulously. He was apologizing to her. He was apologizing to her. "You've got to be kidding m..."
"I think you should go rest," Spencer was sure that she was in desperate need of it. If he remembered correctly — the meds were still going strong — she was wearing the same clothes she had on the last time they saw each other. "I'm not going anywhere..." His light sarcasm had her wanting to smile and this time, even when she fought against it, she lost.
"I don't deserve your attention."
"My attention?" he raised an eyebrow at her.
"The attention you always give me," she shrugged. "I don't deserve it but for some reason I have it." She found his hand and curled hers around it.
"He doesn't like holding hands."
"With you he would."
One point for Penelope because instead of pulling his hand away, Spencer found a way to squeeze Aitana's hand. He then offered her one of his usual smiles.
"You should go home and rest," he told her again.
"I look that bad, huh?"
"Never." His smile widened.
Aitana shook her head. "For a moment there, you sounded like Morgan." Spencer laughed until his wound acted up. "Probably shouldn't do that," Aitana warned him. "I'm no doctor but, um, yeah..."
"I'll believe you," Spencer's face scrunched as he tried making himself comfortable again. "And about that jell-o..."
Aitana smiled. "I'll find it, promise." She regretfully had to pull her hand from his but she wouldn't move away from his bedside just then. She didn't know why — nor with what courage — but she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Actually, she knew exactly why. "Thank you for saving my life," she murmured. She had done everything but actually thank him for what he did.
Unsurprisingly, it seemed like it was the last thing Spencer expected. Aitana did, however, take note of the flush of his face. It warmed her heart, as well as starting that fluttering in her stomach again.
"Uh, y-you're...u-um..." he stuttered. She had taken him by surprise, a complete and utter surprise. "I'm..." If he could just get his words out, everything would be good — things could actually be better. It was always his problem: getting things out. Here was Aitana, looking as pretty as ever, waiting for him to say whatever it was he started, but he was failing.
"I'll be back," Aitana said, completely oblivious to his inner struggle. However, just as she was moving away, he grabbed her wrist. If he was going to say it then it had to say it now.
No more backing out. For once in his life he had to take a leap of faith. "Um, Aitana, there's..." That was wrong. He was doing it all wrong!
"This is a stupid question to ask but are you okay?" Aitana could feel his tight grip around her wrist. "Should I call one of the nurses?"
"I'm just really bad with words." That was an easy admission for Spencer. It was something everyone knew.
"Sometimes but most of the time you say what we need to know, what we need to hear," Aitana smiled. "Trying to keep me safe? I think you did a very good job."
"Hm, don't think I didn't notice the limp in your walk," he said. "Your ankle..."
Aitana sighed. "Forget about that. I think you took the worst part of it. I'm really sorry about this. You were at the door, you could have gone out first."
"Can I tell you a secret?" He was looking at her oddly and even if he was smiling it still didn't make it any less puzzling. "I was never going to let you stay there."
"What?"
"It didn't matter who reached the door first, I wasn't going to leave you behind." It was funny how easily the words came to Spencer then. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, what he wanted her to know. Sure his heart may have been racing but seeing her genuine shock was more than worth it.
"But we made a plan..." Aitana whispered, even then going back to that moment to remember exactly what he'd said. "You said whoever reached—"
"I remember the plan we made, but I lied," he shrugged, an act that left him feeling a bit more of the pain. "What did you expect? I would never leave you."
"But I did," Aitana said quietly. Her gaze started lowering as new guilt fell over her shoulders.
"Hey," Spencer lowered his hand from her wrist to her hand, "I closed the door on you. I didn't give you another option. You did exactly what you were supposed to do."
"I never wanted to leave you," she sniffled. "But when I heard the gun firing...I had to get help."
"And you did," Spencer smiled at her. "I can always count on you."
"Why me?" Aitana found herself asking. "You said...the plan, it was always...why me?"
For a moment, Spencer felt all the courage in the world. "Isn't it obvious?" Everyone always said it was but it never seemed to be for Aitana.
"I don't..." she trailed off. She swallowed hard.
"Aitana, I love you. I thought...I always thought I was overly obvious — I was never really great around women. I'm still not, apparently. I just...I didn't really know how to put my words together so eventually I sort of just stopped trying. Plus, I felt my chances weren't all that great."
"No, they would've been — they are! Um, I did wonder sometimes but...I sort of convinced myself that it was nothing; those moments were just me overthinking."
"Really?"
Aitana nodded. "Y-yeah, I'm...I'm not all that great with words either."
"I think you're perfect," Spencer said far too easily and with the certainty that left Aitana startled. He smiled at her softly.
Eventually, Aitana smiled back. "You lied again."
"I did?"
"Mhm, you're perfect with words." She leaned down again to kiss him. It was short but fulfilling nonetheless. Aitana pulled away enough to meet Spencer's gaze.
For some reason, he was twitching his nose. "Did...did that really happen? Sorry, the meds are still going strong..."
Aitana laughed. "Yeah, it did."
"Okay," he nodded. "Can I...can we..."
Aitana couldn't help but laugh a second time. "Something tells me the meds aren't responsible for this fumbling."
"Yeah...that's-that's me..." Spencer sighed. "This is me."
"Good, I wouldn't want you any other way," Aitana told him with the same certainty he used earlier. She leaned over to kiss him another time.
~0~
It would be evening again when Spencer got a late visitor. He'd been waiting for this specific visitor to drop by ever since Aitana told him the story.
Morgan was cautious in ever way he could be coming into the room but it faded when he spotted Aitana's sleeping form next to Spencer on the bed. She couldn't have been comfortable but she made herself fit with Spencer's body in some way that didn't seem like she'd even tried. She just fit. One of Spencer's was around her, keeping her from turning away.
"Hey," he greeted with a cheeky smile.
"O-kay," Morgan started smiling the closer he came to the bed. "So I'm not in trouble?"
"I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you," Spencer said and looked down at Aitana. Even asleep she was careful not to hurt him. In turn, he warded off any nurse trying to get her off the bed. They'd have one angry FBI agent on them if they tried waking her up.
"I'm happy it worked out," Morgan gestured. "But I do have to apologize. I'm sorry I let it slip, kid. I didn't...I was explaining to JJ and Emily why you did what you did out there and—"
"Morgan, it's okay." Spencer knew there was no way Morgan would ever do something like that intentionally. Aitana made a convincing argument as well. "You know I was never great about telling Aitana how I felt but...back there...I didn't need the words. I just knew what I had to do."
He'd always been certain about what he felt for Aitana but he never found the right way to tell her. When he realized that he was better at showing her, he just went with that. If she was having a hard time, he always tried finding ways to cheer her up. He knew her favorite snacks she liked to munch on, her favorite movies to watch with her, her favorite places to go to — he just knew.
Where words failed, he tried making up for it with actions. The last time they were with each other, the line between words and actions became skewed. He told her what he always tried to do: keep her safe. He'd seen how terrified she was and he couldn't stand it. She needed to know what he would do for her. She saw it.
Morgan nodded. "Well, I think it's safe to say that now she knows exactly how much you care about her."
"I'm going to show her everyday," Spencer promised the sleeping Aitana beside him. He dropped a kiss to her hair. "And tell her everyday."
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Text
Winter Solstice Gift for arisprite
I hope you find something to enjoy in this, @arisprite :)
Read On AO3
*****
This Piece of You
The forest was dark around him, but Wei Wuxian had walked the path often enough that he was confident of finding his way back.
The fruit wine dulled his senses and made his strides loose and careless. At the edge of his awareness he could feel the spirits of the Burial Mounds like a lingering tension in the air, more restless in the night than the day. Enough to know that they would come if he called, and that they would not bother him if he didn’t.
He came to the end of the clear path, to the wards that marked the boundary of the modest haven they had carved out for themselves, and continued past. The path was narrower here, overgrown and in some places nonexistent. He weaved languidly between close-set trunks, the occasional low hanging branch catching at his hair like it wanted to draw him close and hold him there. He brushed them away, and they let him go.
He walked, and his mind swam with thoughts.
He thought of his sister in fine red robes he would never see, and the sting in his side from his brother’s blade. He thought of Wen Ning, pale as death, and Wen Qing’s happy tears, and the indulgent smile she had given him before heading to her bed. He thought of Yuan, the cling of his small hand, his smile as he pulled himself into Lan Zhan’s lap - and Lan Zhan, he thought of Lan Zhan, and he ached.
Only the occasional sliver of moonlight managed to penetrate the thick canopy, and much of the time he made his way by touch and instinct alone. It didn’t matter; he had no destination in mind. He had simply wanted to walk, to be away, just for a while, even as exhaustion and alcohol had dragged at his limbs.
He stumbled, his foot catching on the uneven ground. He caught himself, tree bark rough against his palm.
He thought about duty, and justice, and the kindness of the people he had sworn to protect, and their gratefulness. He thought of the slow, suffocating feeling he dared not name for fear it would overwhelm him. He thought of lakes crammed with lotus leaves, and a table littered with peanut shells and half-drunk cups of liquor, and the crisp air of a mountainside where he and Lan Zhan had - where Lan Zhan —
A rustle of movement ahead of him stopped him in his tracks. It was too regular to be the whisper of the wind through leaves. Anywhere other than the Burial Mounds it might have been an animal of some kind, but none larger than the occasional bird or rodent deigned to live here. As he listened it became louder, and finally coalesced into something recognisable. Footsteps.
He considered hiding, but then, what could truly be a threat to him here? He planted his feet more firmly, his balance swaying only slightly, and pulled Chenqing from his belt.
A breeze shifted the branches above him, scattering moonlight onto the path ahead. It caught on something pale, shifting in the darkness: a figure, familiar to him even at a distance, even in the low light.
He lowered his hand, Chenqing dangling loosely from his fingers, and stared.
Lan Zhan strode towards him, unhurried but purposeful. If he was a hallucination created by Wei Wuxian’s desperate mind he was an eerily accurate one, but it was more likely than Lan Zhan actually being here. Only hours earlier Wei Wuxian had watched him go, and known in his heart that he would likely never see him again - that there was no reason for him to return.
Lan Zhan continued towards him at the same steady pace, and Wei Wuxian realised, belatedly, that in the dark he must not have seen him, though he stood on the path unobscured. He should go to him, or call out, but he found himself frozen where he was, staring dumbly, until they were only a handful of strides apart - when Lan Zhan stopped abruptly, his whole body going tense with surprise, his gaze locked on Wei Wuxian’s.
Wei Wuxian briefly forgot how to breathe.
“Wei Ying?”
His head felt thick and hazy, his thoughts clamouring for attention then slipping away before he could focus on them. Lan Zhan was dressed as he had been earlier in the day - had he gone all the way back to town before returning? What reason could be so urgent that it could not wait until the morning? What reason could be so urgent as to make him come at all?
A shock of concern, suddenly. Had something happened? Was he - no, he looked well, not even a little fatigued, despite the late hour and having apparently made at least some of the journey on foot. He looked wonderful in fact, real and solid and close enough to touch.
His voice returned to him in a rush. “What are you doing here?”
Lan Zhan looked at him for a long, breathless moment. Even with the wash of moonlight it was too dark to read his expression properly, but it seemed clear that if he had an answer, he was struggling to find the words to express it. When he lowered his gaze there was an uncertainty about it, perhaps a hint of sheepishness. He took something he had been holding in his left hand, along with his sword, and held it up with his right.
It took a few seconds for Wei Wuxian, squinting at it through the gloom, to recognise what it was: a thin wooden stick with the shape of a rabbit sitting at one end, the back legs hinged so they moved when shaken. It was one of several toys Lan Zhan had bought earlier that afternoon. He gave a confused laugh. “I don’t…”
“I found it,” said Lan Zhan. He definitely looked uncertain now, but the hand holding the toy didn’t waver. “When I returned to my room. It was in my bag. I must have put it away and forgotten.”
Wei Wuxian laughed again, but it sounded sickly even to himself. Of course. Of course. For a blissful, hopeless moment in between his question and Lan Zhan’s answer he had imagined - well, it didn’t matter. “This is why you came all this way, in the middle of the night?”
With Wei Wuxian having made no move to take the toy, Lan Zhan lowered his arm. “I am due to leave tomorrow.”
“Right.” It shouldn’t have stung the way it did. It shouldn’t have made any difference at all. “You know you shouldn’t have bothered. You bought him so many, he probably wouldn’t have noticed this one was gone.”
“Even so.”
“Aren’t there any children at Cloud Recesses who could have had it?” He felt off-kilter as he spoke, as if the effects of the wine, previously faded, were flooding back to full strength. “Surely even Lan children play with toys.”
An emotion too quick to parse flickered across Lan Zhan’s face. There was a tight pause as he considered his response. “Yes,” he said finally. “But I bought it for him.”
They looked at each other for what felt like too long.
Wei Wuxian’s reactions were sluggish and his self-control weak, but then, Lan Zhan wasn’t breaking eye contact either.
His mind felt crowded again, too many thoughts, moving too fast. “It’s so late,” he said, without really deciding to. “It’s - it’s dangerous to be here so late.”
It was true. For anyone, even someone as powerful as Lan Zhan, to be in this part of the forest alone so late at night was to put oneself at the mercy of the spirits who resided there. They might not attack as such, but they could disorientate, confuse, weaken. A journey that could be taken safely during the day became an entirely different matter in the dark.
Lan Zhan blinked. “You are here.”
“It’s not dangerous for me.” He saw Lan Zhan preparing a response and spoke again quickly before he could give it. “You can’t go back alone.”
This was also true. He couldn’t in good conscience allow it. He could walk with him to the safer road, maybe even further than that, as far as Lan Zhan would let him. They could talk, or not, if Lan Zhan preferred it, it would be enough just to be with him. They could say goodbye properly, again, like friends. He could watch him walk away until he could no longer see him. Or…
“It would be quicker to come back with me, than go back into town.”
Wei Wuxian half expected an argument. Lan Zhan had already refused once, and must know that if he had insisted on heading back to his lodgings, Wei Wuxian would have gone with him.
Yet Lan Zhan nodded without hesitation.
*
Instinctively he had reached for Lan Zhan’s wrist. It had felt good, a visceral confirmation that Lan Zhan was truly there; the way Lan Zhan did not resist, allowing himself to be led along the path. How many times had they done this? How many times had he pulled Lan Zhan along with him, and how many times had Lan Zhan followed, maybe with a little resistance at first, but always staying with him in the end?
He held on for longer than he needed, buoyed by the excuse of the darkness and the rough path. It was only when they reached the wards, and the clearer path beyond, that he reluctantly let go.
“What was your plan, really, Lan Zhan?” He glanced at him, before returning his eyes to the path. “Break the wards, sneak in, wake me in my bed?”
Lan Zhan kept his eyes forward. “I would not expect you to be asleep at this time.”
“Ah, I see.” It was funny, really, the idea of Lan Zhan doing something so spontaneous, so positively reckless, but it didn’t make him feel like laughing. Instead he pictured himself waking to the sight of Lan Zhan at his side, and the thought hurt. He pushed it aside. “You should have stayed, before.”
Lan Zhan didn’t answer. Wei Wuxian, prompted by his silence, turned to look him. He was still staring straight ahead, apparently focused intently on picking his way through the winding path.
“Wen Ning had prepared a feast. They hung lanterns - well, you’ll see when we get there. There was wine.” He watched Lan Zhan duck deftly under a grasping branch. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t care for that.”
As if on cue, the warm glow of the lanterns became visible up ahead, twinkling through the trees.
“Almost welcoming, isn’t it?” He turned to look at Lan Zhan and was overwhelmed, once again, by the sight of him, clear now in the lantern light. It hardly felt real that he was there at all, and perhaps that was why he felt able to reach for him again. There was no excuse for it now the way ahead was well lit, and there was certainly no excuse for him to take Lan Zhan’s hand instead of his wrist, clasping their fingers together. Wei Wuxian found himself grinning, elated at his own audacity.
He led Lan Zhan inside, lighting candles as he went. When they reached the space which could modestly be called his room, he stopped and turned to him.
Lan Zhan looked out of place. It was more stark now than it had been during the day, when Wei Wuxian had played the proud host, covering any shame he felt at his circumstances with stubborn bluster, daring Lan Zhan to pity him. Now, though they stood together almost exactly as they had only hours earlier, he felt exposed. Exhausted, worse for drink, wearing the rough clothes he had walked and run and sweated in for a full day.
And Lan Zhan - Lan Zhan was radiant.
His cheer left him all at once, and he dropped Lan Zhan’s hand.
Instead he reached over and plucked the toy from Lan Zhan’s other hand, more for something to do than for any other reason. He recalled Yuan had not favoured it as much as some of the other toys, which would explain how it got missed. It had been ridiculous, really, the amount Lan Zhan had bought. But it had been sweet, too.
“I’m sorry for what I said before.” He gave the toy an experimental shake, making the rabbit run. “I know Yuan will be pleased to have it back.”
He glanced at Lan Zhan, catching a hint of a smile.
“He asked when you would visit again, you know. Maybe you - I think he would like it, if you gave it to him yourself. He always wakes up early - not as early as you, but - if you stayed. Just until then.”
Lan Zhan swallowed visibly. “Wei Ying, I…”
“I know, I know.” He turned and walked purposefully away to place the toy on an empty ledge near the bed. “You need to leave early tomorrow. I understand, forget I said anything.”
He waited for a response for as long as he could bear. When none came, he took a second to gather himself before turning round. “You must be tired.” He waved awkwardly towards the bed. “It doesn’t look much, but it’s actually quite comfortable.”
Lan Zhan didn’t look tired, as such, but there was that uncertainty in his posture again. His held his right arm a little stiffly by his side, as if unsure what to do with it now Wei Wuxian was no longer holding his hand. His eyes followed Wei Wuxian’s gesture before returning to his face. “I will not take your bed.”
Wei Wuxian should have expected it, he supposed, but it still caught him off guard. “Of course you will,” he said after a beat. “You’re my guest.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Oh I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I can take a spare blanket on the floor. Or…there’s where Wen Ning— ”
“No.”
Wei Wuxian huffed. “Will you insist on making me a poor host, Lan Zhan?”
It came out more sharply than intended, and while Lan Zhan didn’t quite flinch, his expression tightened in a way that indicated the words had hit their mark.
Wei Wuxian felt suddenly very tired. He turned to the bed - a simple, narrow frame pushed up against the wall. It was in no way designed to accommodate more than one person. He shrugged again, and said lightly, “I suppose we’ll have to share, then.”
As much as Lan Zhan tolerated his touches in small doses, Wei Wuxian knew this would be a step too far. He would relent, Wei Wuxian would spend one uncomfortable night on the ground - far from his first - and it would be worth it.
“Alright.”
“What?”
“I agree.”
Ridiculously, Wei Wuxian felt his face flush. “Okay. Fine. You settle however you like, in that case. I can sleep any way, I don’t mind. How about I go nearest the wall? That way if you’re uncomfortable - I know you don’t like…” The way Lan Zhan was watching him, something in his expression, made him stumble over the words. “What I mean is, you won’t be…hemmed in.”
Lan Zhan seemed to change his mind several times before settling on a quiet, “Thank you.” Then without ceremony, he carefully placed Bichen against the wall and began unfastening the sash at his waist.
There was nowhere for him to put his clothes, Wei Wuxian thought suddenly. He tended to simply bundle his own at the foot of the bed, on those nights he bothered to properly undress at all. But Lan Zhan’s robes were beautiful, he would want to fold them neatly somewhere, where they wouldn’t get covered in dirt or candlewax or…
“Wei Ying.”
“Hm?”
Lan Zhan had removed the sash, which he had indeed folded and placed on the ground beside his sword. His hands hesitated on his outer robe. He made eye contact, briefly, then glanced away. “Are you…”
“Oh. Right, yes.” Wei Wuxian flashed him a smile he didn’t quite feel, and began to undress. A flicker of memory. A different cave. A different time.
If they had found themselves sharing a bed back then, or even a year ago, would it have felt like this? It would have been as unexpected. It would, he was sure, have caused the same spark of excitement. But there was a weight to it now that would not have been present before. An illicitness. Lan Zhan should not be here. Wei Wuxian should not get to have the honour of his company, let alone his touch.
Lan Zhan did not strip to his underclothes, stopping once he was down to a plain white inner robe and ensuring each removed item was folded and placed perfectly atop the pile. He seemed intently focused on doing so, his face turned away from Wei Wuxian to complete the task. Lastly he removed his hair ornaments, until only a single hair tie and the ribbon across his forehead remained.
When Lan Zhan finally turned round, Wei Wuxian was struck by the intimacy of it. He looked - not younger, exactly, but softer, bare in a way Wei Wuxian did not recall ever seeing him before. Even on those rare occasions when they had shared rooms, they had always allowed each other a certain level of respectful privacy. If Wei Wuxian had ever glanced Lan Zhan in a less than put together state, it had been accidental or a necessity.
This was the first time, he realised, that Lan Zhan was not only allowing it, but offering it.
The process of getting into the bed was fraught. He insisted Lan Zhan lie down first, then once he was settled, slid himself in the space between him and the wall. Even with Lan Zhan clearly making an effort to allow him as much room as he could, neither of them were small men and there could be no way for them to avoid being pressed up against each other.
He tried not to look at Lan Zhan as he arranged himself in the small space, but he caught a glance of him regardless: lying stiffly on his back, arms tucked close to his body, eyes resolutely downcast, and the faintest, barely there blush across his cheeks.
He turned to face the wall, tucking and untucking the blanket around himself, until Lan Zhan very quietly said his name in a way that he understood as a polite but firm request for him to lie still.
He tried to remember the last time he had shared a bed with another person. He recalled, vaguely, a couple of occasions when he and Jiang Cheng had still shared a room - his brother, scared from a nightmare, wordlessly shoving Wei Wuxian over until there was room for him under the covers, never mentioning it the following day. He remembered how it was to be squashed together with another person, not comfortable, exactly, but comforting.
There was the ache again, that hollowness he tried to ignore, flaring at the thought. When he had first noticed it he had pictured it where his golden core had been, as if he was cold there because that piece of him had been scooped out. But in truth, the feeling was more recent than that. Since he had left Lotus Pier. Since Jiang Cheng had put the wound in his side.
The Wens were so good, and they worked hard, all of them, to make this home. He could not claim to be uncared for. There was always Wen Qing’s hand on his shoulder, Yuan’s small arms wrapped tight round his thigh.
He thought of Jiang Cheng, arms crossed grumpily but leaning into his embrace anyway. He thought of his sister’s hand smoothing down his hair.
Then he closed his eyes and could only think of Lan Zhan: the outside of his arm pressed between Wei Wuxian’s shoulder blades. His quiet breaths, shallower and faster than they should be at rest. The warmth of him.
He slipped into sleep by degrees.
*
He dreamed of fractured things, flickering images, fleeting emotions. Lotus Pier, the courtyards washed red. Cloud Recesses in flames. Bodies hanging from gates, not daring to look closer to discover their faces. Wen Qing, pale and tight-lipped, tearing out the very heart of him. The forest closing in, skeletal branches reaching for Wen Ning, roots dragging Yuan beneath the soil. Corpses clawing their way out of the earth and turning to him, expectant.
You cannot protect them without us.
Don’t you want to protect them?
Wei Wuxian.
You need us.
You need…
“Wei Ying.”
It was a whisper, so quiet he thought he might have imagined it. He listened in case it came again, but he heard only a heartbeat, steady against his ear.
His head lay not on the pillow, but on something firmer, warmer. Silk-soft fabric against his cheek. A touch, light against his hair, the weight of an arm across his waist, keeping him in place. If it was a dream - if it was a dream, he —
He opened his eyes and saw his own hand a short distance from his face, resting against Lan Zhan’s chest, fingers curled into the neckline of his robe. He should probably feel awkward, but he did not. He felt loose with sleep, calm even with the vestiges of the nightmares lingering in his consciousness.
He felt, for the first time in many, many months, safe.
Still, he must have shifted without realising, or his breathing changed, because after a moment Lan Zhan’s hold on him loosened and the hand on his hair moved away.
Reluctantly, he lifted his head. Dizziness rushed at him and he squeezed his eyes shut against it until he had shifted back far enough to lay on the pillow.
Lan Zhan remained on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Sharing the pillow like this, he was close enough to see the flutter of Lan Zhan’s eyelashes. Close enough that when he felt a tickle along the bridge of his nose, he could not be sure whether the cause was Lan Zhan’s hair or his own. Like this, it would take hardly any movement at all for Wei Wuxian to press his lips to Lan Zhan’s cheek, or nuzzle against his neck.
As soon as the thought formed, he struggled to think of anything else.
“Lan Zhan...” His voice cracked, and he could taste the residue of wine on his tongue.
“You kicked me.”
It was such an absurd thing for him to say it dragged a dry chuckle from Wei Wuxian’s throat. “I kicked you?”
“While you slept.” His chest rose with a deep breath, and it was only then that Wei Wuxian realised he still had his fingers gripped loosely in his robe. “I tried to wake you, but…”
Wei Wuxian stared at his own hand, unable to look away. Lan Zhan’s skin was so warm against his knuckles.
“I could not. It was the only thing I could think to do. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be.” He smiled, forcing lightness into his voice. “I was the one being a terrible bedmate. I had no idea that was something I did.”
Minutes passed, and Lan Zhan did not answer. Wei Wuxian wondered if they could go back to sleep like this, if Lan Zhan would allow it, their faces a breath apart and Wei Wuxian holding on to him like an anchor.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s gaze remained on the ceiling, and there was a pinched tension faintly visible around his jaw. “What did you dream of?”
It was only then that his sleep-slow brain caught up with the implications of what Lan Zhan had told him. What must he have looked like, kicking out in his sleep hard enough to wake the person next to him, but not waking himself despite that person’s efforts? What ugly state must he have been in, that the only way Lan Zhan - of all people - could think to calm him was by effectively holding him down?
Embarrassment bubbled up inside him - embarrassment, and that familiar defensive defiance that had told him to push Lan Zhan away time and time again. If he had listened to it earlier when they were still in the forest, if he hadn’t been so weak, he could have saved them both this discomfort.
“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan was looking at him now, his head turned on the pillow to meet his gaze.
“Nothing. I mean, I don’t remember.” There was concern in Lan Zhan’s eyes and Wei Wuxian hated it, and craved it. “Just a nightmare. You must have them too.”
Lan Zhan frowned and glanced away.
If only he would start talking about calming music again, Wei Wuxian thought. About the dangers of using resentful energy. If Lan Zhan would only judge him, he would have something to fight against.
But Lan Zhan said nothing, a worried line between his brows, looking like everything Wei Wuxian wanted and couldn’t have. He walked through a forest of graves in the dark to come to Wei Wuxian’s home. He slept beside him without disgust or fear. He let him touch - he let him keep touching.
“Lan Zhan.” He swallowed, and it did nothing to relieve the sudden lump in his throat. “Did you really come back because of the toy?”
Lan Zhan’s gaze snapped back to his.
Then without warning he was turning, shifting gracefully onto his side to face Wei Wuxian, a mirror of his position. Wei Wuxian’s hand slid from his chest but now they were touching in so many other places - his toes brushing Lan Zhan’s ankle, Lan Zhan’s knees up against his - and their faces were so close they could see nothing but each other. There was still concern in Lan Zhan’s expression, but there was heat too, and a fear that matched Wei Wuxian’s own, and a bravery that Wei Wuxian did not possess.
He only caught a glimpse of this, before Lan Zhan slid closer and brought their mouths together.
It was almost chaste at first, a stillness that came from Wei Wuxian’s surprise, and possibly from Lan Zhan’s as well. It was the sense that Lan Zhan might be moving away, a slight lessening of pressure, that spurred Wei Wuxian to action. He moved without thought, his hand returning to the front of Lan Zhan’s robes, clutching fervently at the material before skirting higher to slip fingers between the collar of the robe and the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He gripped him there, hot skin and taut muscle beneath his palm.
They kissed, and the feel of it thrummed through every part of him. Lan Zhan’s hand was on his arm before moving up, up until he was cradling his jaw. Lan Zhan’s mouth was soft and persistent, and he was trembling - Wei Wuxian could feel it everywhere they touched, and hear it in the breaths that slipped free in those brief moments that their lips parted.
He felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids, an overflow of emotion that he could not control. He pushed through it; the alternative was to stop, and that would be worse.
Eventually they slowed, their grip on each other loosening. Wei Wuxian was the one to separate them, tilting his head so their mouths were apart, but their foreheads rested together. He could feel the metal of Lan Zhan’s ribbon pressing on his skin.
“I did find it.” Lan Zhan’s voice was low, a hint of hoarseness that made Wei Wuxian’s heart skip. “When I was back in my rooms. I did want to return it.”
Wei Wuxian inclined his head in a small nod. His nose brushed against Lan Zhan’s, a barely-there touch, and he had to resist the urge to kiss him again.
“I was not going to. But I - I could not stop thinking about what you said. You told me you had no choice. And I realised - that I do.” He stroked his fingers tentatively along Wei Wuxian’s cheek before resting there, then pulled back to look at him. “So I chose.”
For all Wei Wuxian searched his gaze, he could find no doubt there, not a shred of uncertainty. Lan Zhan looked at him unwaveringly, stubborn, his fingers gentle on Wei Wuxian’s face.
He wanted to laugh, at Lan Zhan’s foolishness. He wanted to cry, at his earnestness.
In the end he did neither. In the end, he let Lan Zhan kiss him again. And finally, for a little while, his thoughts were filled with only this.
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hiddendreamer67 · 4 years
Text
Borrower Analogical (14)
Chapter Summary: November 24th? 2019. Logan begins to wonder what sort of pet Roman expects him to be; meanwhile, Patton asks a favor.
October Prompt #14: Pet.
(Check my reblog for links to the previous chapters)
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“Woah!” Roman rushed to catch the little guy after it had darted off again. Though Roman had tried to make playtime a more contained activity, the tiny always seemed to find a way around Roman’s barriers at just the right moment. 
Roman held him up briefly, giving a slightly annoyed sigh. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d almost say you wanted to throw yourself off the table.” Of course, the little person didn’t say anything. He never did. All Roman got was the now familiar feeling of struggling that meant the smaller figure wanted to be put down so that the whole thing would start all over again. 
Instead, Roman just put the guy back into the cage and locked the door. It was a bit exhausting trying to chase after him all the time. Roman began to pack up the various toys, deciding it was time for a break.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” Roman caught the brief glare shot his way. “Playtime’s over.”
Logan quickly turned away, going to sulk in the back corner of the cage with his arms crossed. Though he hated the derogatory term of ‘playtime’, implying he was a human child, Logan did prefer those instances to being cooped up all day. It was a welcome change of pace. Now if Roman could stop halting his escape attempts and grabbing him like a doll, Logan could even enjoy himself.
Logan rubbed at his sides subconsciously as he thought about it. It was always terrifying to find himself gripped between Roman’s fingers. However, despite a small amount of bruises from a few incidents when Roman had grabbed too quickly, Logan had to admit that at least Roman had not taken the opportunity to injure him. Whenever Logan showed true discomfort that grip would immediately lessen, allowing Logan the proper breathing space.
It was...odd. Logan wasn’t sure exactly what Roman expected of him. Surely Roman viewed the borrower as some form of pet and simply didn’t want to be a cruel pet owner. Yet was that truly the case? Roman still was insistent on the fact he wanted to converse with Logan. It was the only topic on which Roman never wavered, and the one sense of independence Logan was able to maintain was keeping silent.
Logan wasn’t sure what to make of it. After all, the way Roman spoke to him (though still degrading at times) was less like the usual ‘pet talk’ Logan had viewed in the past. Logan sighed, letting his head rest against one of the cool bars. Whenever the borrower thought about this conundrum too much, his head hurt.
“Hey.” Roman leaned down, looking into the cage to see the little guy moping again. “Are you okay?”
Logan frowned. There it was again, that concern. Why should Roman care? It didn’t matter what Logan felt. It wasn’t like anything would change.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Roman insisted, leaning closer.
Logan shook his head slightly, but quickly disguised the action as merely shifting his position. Logan’s heart pounded in his chest for a moment. Though Roman was insistent in his belief that Logan could understand the human- which to Roman’s credit was true- Logan had never acted in a way to encourage that belief. The more reactions he gave Roman, the more questions Logan would be asked.
And the less freedom the borrower would have.
There was a shifting sound, and Logan tensed in anticipation of yet another round of prodding to get him to speak. However, with a familiar creak of hinges, Logan didn’t need to look up to know that Roman had left the room. 
Roman sighed, closing the bedroom door behind him. He headed to the kitchen, spotting Patton on the couch on his way.
“Hey, Pat.” Roman waved in greeting, causing Patton to jump slightly. Clearly his roommate had been lost in thought lately. Roman supposed they all were.
“Roman!” Patton got up, putting his textbook down and following him to the kitchen. “I was looking for you.”
“You were?” Roman smirked, looking back at Patton’s pile of notes. “In a textbook?” 
“Well, ah, no.” Patton said sheepishly. “I got distracted.”
 Roman pulled out a loaf of bread, intent on making a snack.
“In that case, what made you seek out my presence?” Roman gave him an over the shoulder teasing smile as he stuck a slice of bread in the toaster. “Did you miss my charming personality so?”
“Of course, Roman.” Patton giggled, rolling his eyes. “I was actually going to ask a favor of you.”
“Oh?” Roman pulled out the crofter’s jam to ready himself for the toast.
“Well, my dad wants me to visit him for thanksgiving.” Patton admitted. Roman gave him a sympathetic glance. Roman and Patton were childhood friends who grew up on the same street, which meant Roman was well aware of every messy detail of his parent’s divorce. “And I didn’t want to, but he insisted on paying for my plane ticket, and since it’s so far I don’t want to push my luck and only stay for a single day but break can be a long time-”
“What’s the favor, Pat?” Roman decided to spare Patton from having to give a long-winded mix between an explanation and an apology. For this, Patton looked grateful. 
“Could you come home early from break?” Patton skipped to the point. 
Ah yes, Thanksgiving break. The first few days when college kids got a taste for freedom, going home to enjoy their mother’s cooking and ignore the fact final exams would be just around the corner when they came back.
Roman considered it for a moment, pulling the toast out when the toaster beeped at him.
“I know we decided it’s a bad idea to travel with the little guys,” Patton explained, after all he could hardly bring Virgil on a plane, “but I can’t help but worry that something’s gonna happen and it would mean the world to me if you’d check in on them. Both of them.”
“Of course I can, Pat.” Roman said decidedly, slathering jam onto the toast. After all, Patton was not alone in his worry. Roman was also concerned about leaving the tiny people alone. “I’ll just drive out tomorrow and come back on Friday, they’ll hardly be alone a day.” Thomas might be a bit disappointed, but Roman was sure he could come up with some excuse.  
“Oh, thank you!” Patton gave Roman a hug from behind, looking relieved. “I’ll be back sometime Sunday, hopefully.” He squeezed Roman slightly to try and convey how happy Roman’s decision made him. 
Roman turned around and returned the hug, before turning back to his toast and letting Patton return to his studies. 
Now left alone, Roman concentrated on his task at hand. He cut the bread into smaller squares to make it a more manageable size. Satisfied, Roman returned to his bedroom. He walked over to sit at his desk, the familiar feeling of tiny eyes watching his every move.
Roman pulled out his key, going through the motions to open the cage door. Gently grasping the corners of the tiny bread piece between his fingers, he held it out to the miniature figure who always looked at him with so much suspicion.
“Here you go.” Roman said softly, looking hopeful. “I figured you might want a snack.”
Logan approached slowly, uncertain. 
“I know it’s your favorite.” Roman gave him a small smile.
Logan paused. How did Roman know that? Had the human really paid that much attention the few times it had been offered to him during captivity? But if Roman knew this was indeed Logan’s favorite food, why would Logan be rewarded for what a human would most likely classify as ‘bad behavior’?
“Consider it an apology.” Roman explained, holding it a little closer.
An apology for what? Logan didn’t understand this human. Roman was too much of an anomaly for Logan to comprehend.
...nevertheless, Logan took the toast.
It was delicious.
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salenakingston · 3 years
Text
Decided to forgo the prompt thing this time around and write a little something that came to my head on my way home from work. Been writing a lot more backstory related stuff to the main trio, and I don’t intend to stop. It’s so fun to play around with.
Prompt: None
Warnings: Medical Procedures (minor), Blood
Timeline of Events: Whitegale Estate (Backstory)
Total Word Count: 3,117 words
The halls of this estate seemed to just go on and on. Guess that was to be expected when being invited to a place like this. The Whitegale name was one that stretched far beyond the reaches of Sweden, for a number of reasons. Alexander’s wealth and power was nothing to scoff at, but more than that, it was what he had chosen to do with it. He could very well be running his own country with the number of contacts he had, and the people that flocked to him on the promise of a good paycheck. The Whitegales never seemed to be short of work.
And that’s why he was here.
News articles continued to pile up on top of one another, the gap between his own kills becoming shorter and shorter. It seemed that since discovering his project had been a failure, he was not allowed much room to breathe. The demon had put up with him before then, no doubt already knowing the outcome before even his host had learned the price of dealing with those that were already dead.
Magic was real, but even in this new world, there were laws that had to be obeyed. No one could come back from the dead without being broken. Pleas and cries haunted the mind, be it in the waking world or when asleep.
He couldn’t stay at his office anymore, not without risking getting caught. His brain argued with him that he deserved to be taken in. He had lost count of how many lives he had stolen away, be it from those that deserved death or not. He did not care so long as he could get a laugh out of it. He would take.. And take.. And take until there was nothing left of who he once was. Life was slipping away from his fingers.
Sometimes he even wondered what the point of fighting was anymore.
Malceum had found himself on the steps of the estate, mostly by chance. Forced to flee his home country. It was quite the jump to make, Germany to Sweden. Anywhere else might have been a better idea, a place where he might be able to isolate himself so that he couldn’t thrive off the thrill of others… but there was one thing that drew him in to the promise the Whitegales proposed.
Stability.
A roof over his head.
A job.
He could be left wandering country to country without the promise of being able to see anyone. No one owed him anything, and he couldn’t very well work and move at the same time. He needed a new place to call his own. While the estate itself didn’t belong to him, since Alexander had taken him in, he was granted his own space along with the other medical personnel in the building. He had work, or at the very least, something to keep him occupied. On the plus side, with so many people around, he couldn’t just do as he pleased. Someone would notice if one of the staff went missing, or if he had slipped out of the building.
It was a bit of a win win actually.
Unfortunately, it didn’t keep the hollow’s witty commentary silenced.
Alexander had called upon him specifically for a task. Guess the man himself had been impressed by the surgeon’s work. At least that’s what he assumed before stepping inside the office. It was for a stranger reason that he had been chosen. Alexander’s wife had seen him in a vision. Said woman was quite the enigma. Seeing her was rare outside of briefings and events. He had gazed into her unseeing eyes, and could swear that she was somehow still staring back at him. It was enough to unsettle anyone.
He didn’t believe her vision, at least when it seemed like it was something so minor. It was just another surgical job. What did it matter if he was the one who did it, or someone else. Alexander had explained that he never questioned anything his wife had seen, nor was surprised at Malceum’s skeptic tone.
Well… whatever. He had a job to do.
Returning him back to his path through the halls. He had finally managed to figure out where he was going, though it probably helped that he dropped the files he had been flipping through from his eyesight. Anything already on a person’s medical record could help him to understand his patient’s body. Their strengths and weaknesses, at least on a physical level, and what kind of treatments one had already undergone. Which worked, and which ones did not.
But this file just left him dumbfounded.
It was for someone by the name ‘Salena Kingston.’ The first thing that struck him as odd was the inclusion of a ‘species’ tag on her records. Species? It labeled her a wolf, but this had to be some kind of mistake. True, magic was a possibility, but this just seemed too much of a stretch as to what could be considered real now. Humans seeing the future? Believable at the very least. Humans channeling enough energy to bring the souls of others back from the dead? He had seen it first hand. Humanized animals? Unheard of.
Brushing past this mistake, he got into the meat of her records. It baffled him that the list of problems with her physical attributes grew longer and longer with each person that had seen her, yet they had all cleared her to return to duty. Were all of them so negligent with their jobs, doing this on purpose so they could make another sum of money from their wealthy employer? Or was this Alexander’s own doing? It was clear he had contact with everyone on his medical team. Surely he wouldn’t be worse than the doctors.
Well, he wasn’t going to be like them.
Malceum stopped as he came to the medical wing. He knew the path here, but not to this specific room. It seemed strange to be directed to one room, as many others he had taken care of were spread through to whichever space was available. This was ‘her room.’ Just how often was this person here to have a room all of her own?
The surgeon steeled himself, and then opened the door. Strange that this door requires a pin number to open, sliding rather than opening like any normal door.
A pair of blue eyes peered over at him.
The door shut behind him, effectively locking him in the room with a literal beast. So that species part of her documents hadn’t been a typo after all. There, sitting in the bed, was a wolf with a humanized figure. He couldn’t find one thing to focus on, his eyes moving all around her. Her red face markings, visible scars across the top of her muzzle and neck, the curved notches in her ears, the traces of bags under her eyes, but mostly that piercing gaze that fell on him.
A gaze that seemed to be narrowing the longer he stood still. He even found his hands shaking slightly. No, it wasn’t fear that was causing this. He seemed delighted by this turn of events.
“Hey.”
What? Oh that was her voice.
“Are you going to stand there gawking at me, or are you actually going to do your job?”
Malceum was taken aback. Never in all his career could he recall a patient speaking to him in such a way. Annoyance replaced his surprised expression. Oh, he could tell he wasn’t going to enjoy taking care of this one. He set her file down on the small table next to her bed. As he drew closer, he noticed the tubes sticking out of her nose, a tank on the opposite side from where he was standing. Oxygen? Was she having trouble breathing? There were so many problems on the list, it was likely his brain skipped over it, much like the fact of her ‘species.’
“Hey.”
“Y-Yes, st-top.”
His hands were shaking again. She’ll be fun to play with.
Y-You ca-an’t-t.
Oh I’ll find a way.
He gave an audible sigh, an eyebrow raised on the woman? Wolf? In bed. Right, he must look like a crazy person. She was glaring at him at this point, so he might as well match her attitude, “W-well M-Ms. Kin-ngs-ston, I can h-hones-stly s-say in all m-my l-lif-fe I’ve n-nev-ver se-e-een s-som-meo-one as b-brok-ken as y-you are a-and-d s-stil-ll w-wil-llin-ng to m-mout-th off t-the p-per-rson w-who’s-s b-been a-assig-gned to h-help you.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble Sorrowgrave. You’re hardly the first person to be assigned to me as you put it.”
She knew who he was? He hadn’t even been here that long, and he’d never seen her before. Did Alexander tell her about him before summoning him? He mentally shook off that train of thought, scoffing at her, “S-So I’ve s-see-en, a-and it s-seem-ms n-non-ne of t-them-m h-have b-bee-en t-treat-tin-ng you p-pr-rop-perly.”
“And you think you can do better?”
“I k-know-w I c-can.”
“Doubtful.”
Now he was getting more than just annoyed. Were it not for the mask covering his mouth, he was sure his sharpened teeth would be flashing to accompany his growl, “Y-You d-doub-bt my s-sk-kills-s?”
Her tone didn’t change. From the moment she first started talking to him, it seemed she was intent on holding onto her level of sass, but content. Was it acceptance? It was too soon to tell. She didn’t shut up, “Oh no, I’m sure you’re great at what you do. I’m just saying I doubt there’s anything you can do that the other doctors haven’t already tried, or improve upon. My body’s fucked.”
Und-der-rst-tatem-ment-t.
“T-Then-n c-care to ex-xp-plain to m-me w-why y-you’v-ve b-bee-en cl-lear-red e-ev-ver-ry s-sin-ngle t-tim-me y-you’ve b-bee-en h-her-re wh-hen ev-ven you are a-awa-are th-hat s-somet-th-hing is w-wron-ng w-with you?”
“Have you been paying attention? I told you there’s nothing that you can do to improve my condition. You’ll either clear me like the rest of them or I spend the rest of my life sitting in bed. Sounds far too dull.”
“Wh-hy are y-you h-her-re t-then?”
The bitch seemed to roll her eyes at that question, “Did Alexander not even bother to tell his new surgeon why he was being sent here? Just send him off with a file and expect him to wing it?”
Obviously she wasn’t pleased, but was that directed at him, or at her employer? She had to be working for the man if she was in her own private room, but also referred to the Whitegale man by his first name. How was it that she seemed more annoyed than he was having to put up with this? He glared over at the file, as if it had committed a crime by simply being in the room, “H-he s-said his w-wif-fe s-saw me h-her-re in a v-vis-sion.”
That was the thing that seemed to shut her up. Her attitude melted away, head moving up slightly from its slouched over position, “Cassandra saw you? I see.”
So she knew something about the man’s wife too. Just what was so special about this woman and what she could see? Why was it a driving force for so many decisions made around here? It was largely irrelevant for the present moment. He still had a job to do. He found his face easing slightly, “N-Now t-th-hen. W-What-t are y-you in f-for t-tod-day?”
“I need stitches. The staff have been able to do what they could for the wounds, but they won’t heal properly without that work, and Alexander won’t let me do the ones I can reach myself. I’ve been instructed not to move as much until someone got here to take care of the problem.”
She’s capable of doing her own stitch work? Perhaps their employer didn’t want her to do it, feeling more confident with a professional surgeon on staff. Guess his reputation from his home country had something to do with that.
There was a spot for Malceum to prepare for this small task, doing his best to get his hands to stop shaking before he got to work. When he turned back around, he noticed that she had placed her wrists above leather straps on each side of her bed. Restraints, yet she was so casual about their use. She was looking so expectantly at him, “I d-don’t-t s-see a n-nee-ed to hav-ve to u-use t-thos-se.”
“Look Sorrowgrave, I know you’re new here, but trust me on this one. Unless you want to risk my claws finding your skin or impaled on accident, you will strap me down.”
“Y-You c-can’t-t do wor-rse t-than-n wh-hat has al-lre-eady b-bee-en d-done to me.”
“What?”
What?
She didn’t seem to buy that, trying again, “Trust me on this one Sorrowgrave. You’re going to want me restrained. I wouldn’t ask you otherwise if I didn’t think there was any danger to this.” It baffled him in a way that she was willing to be tied down, for his own sake. She was aware of her own power, able to assume she had some from the way she phrased her words, and took her own measures to ensure the staff’s safety. Seeing no need to fight her further, he stepped over to her bed, tightening the straps as tight as he could around each wrist. Her eyes turned forward, waiting now.
He only stepped away to gather his materials before coming to her side, “I’ll n-nee-ed to re-em-move y-your g-gow-wn.”
“Go ahead.”
He had done this so many times before, so there was no need to be so hesitant. The gown was laid across the railing closest to him, his eyes focusing to the new bundle of white and red along her shoulder. So one wound there. He could see the same along her upper chest, another spot along her side, and one last one near her thigh. Whatever mission she must have been on didn’t include an instruction on being careful.
His hands moved around the bandages, removing them. Sure enough, the cuts were deep, jagged in some places. He couldn’t help but notice the ones along her upper chest were different. They were straighter, each one with more than one line next to them. They looked very similar to scars that already littered her upper body. Eyes narrowed, staring on them, and she must have caught onto him again, “As much as I would love for you to keep gawking over my body, do you mind getting on with it? I hate sitting still.”
A low growl passed through his lips, sitting back up so he was at a better angle to do his job. No point in entertaining her rebuke. The sooner he could get these stitches done, the sooner he could leave. A syringe moved towards her wrist, sticking her in a safe place. It shouldn’t take too long for her body to grow numb. While he waited, his eyes moved over the wounds. Whichever medical personnel came to see her before him did a good job cleaning them out. All of them were clear of any signs of infection. Good. He would have hated to do more work than necessary.
He was always careful with his work, testing to make sure the anesthesia was in effect before the needle even touched her skin. Salena barely moved during the entire procedure, making this far easier. Guess he was right that she actually didn’t need to worry about the restraints. He couldn’t help but manage a smug look behind his mask. Good thing she couldn’t see that.
Clean bandages were wrapped back where the dirty ones used to be, leaving the surgeon with nothing else to do aside from clean up. He took care of himself before returning to his patient’s side, freeing her wrists and offering the discarded gown back to her. She snatched it from him, draping it back over her form. Guess his work here was done, so he could leave.
Before he could input the pin to the door panel, he heard her voice again, “Wait.”
Wait? Why? He thought she would be thrilled to have him leave her space. She was rubbing one of her wrists when he turned his eyes back onto her. Her gaze moved to the side, “Thanks. Let me compensate you for your work. I know something you may appreciate more than whatever Alexander will pay you.”
Weird. What could she possibly offer someone like him. Eyes widened when a pocket of magic She stuck her arm inside of it, pulling out a vial. What had he just witnessed? Truthfully, he wasn’t sure, but it fascinated him. Just what was this woman capable of?
Eyes trailed down to the vial, the magic having disappeared, and this what was offered out to him. He took it in his hands, fingers rolling it back and forth as it rested along his palm. The vial contained some kind of green liquid. He was about to question her when she noticed his confusion, “It’s a dreamless sleep potion. I can see the dark bags under your eyes. If they’re anything like mine, I can guess partly why you’re not getting sleep at night. Figured it might help.”
“I-It’s a w-what-t?”
It’s a what?!
One was thrilled, and the other panicking. He couldn’t lose the only outlet he still had for the time being to break down his host. Malceum’s hand began to tremble, grip moving around the vial. Audible cracks from the glass rang in the small room. He tried to save this small act of mercy she had offered him, but he was stronger. The vial shattered, potion spilling between his fingers. Tiny tears pricked at his eyes, red mixing with green along his hand.
He turned around, punching in the code to allow himself to leave, racing down the hall once the door opened.
She didn’t miss the orange flickering in his gaze.
He could tell she was a danger. She had something that could help him, and he made them flee. He wanted to go back to her, beg her for another one, but it was useless. He was going to make him pay for this new found hope.
Salena’s eyes didn’t leave the man, even as he sprinted past the window looking into her room. There was something very wrong with him. Cassandra saw him being sent to her. There was some reason they were meant to meet. Her gaze shifted down to the puddle on the floor, green mixing with red. He wanted that.
Something else made him break it.
And she would find out what.
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honeymoonjin · 4 years
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day 17
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If I were able to write an accurate review of how I truly felt upon reading this chapter, it would be similar to that of a three-page dialogue filled with indecipherable fangirling garbles and ineloquent threats in the form of pterodactyl screeches. I found myself toggling between overtly thirsting over Yoongi (like any other warm-blooded person would) and giggling like a poorly developed cartoon villain for the majority of the chapter, questioning whether or not I should even send in my thoughts since most of it would simply be *insert keysmashing here*. It wasn’t until I began thinking about the prompt distributions for this week that led me to the idea of “choices”.
There’s a reason why writers are told over and over again to “show, not tell”; actions speak louder than words. Oftentimes these actions reveal things to the audience about the characters that perhaps even they do not realize about themselves. For example, Yoongi chose this prompt. Why? The answer hinges on how the prompt was specifically written as it was most likely open ended to leave room for interpretation. But if one were to even infer what the prompt might have been, it boils the prompt down to the idea of “control”. Now, the contestants do have quite a bit of say in how they carry out their prompts (with little in way of instruction or restrictions) but if one looks at the restrictions that they do have that hold them back, Yoongi getting to take back some of that control feels almost liberating. This is spectacularly juxtaposed with the “truth or dare” game that takes place over the duration of chapter – a perfect example of something that he has no true control over – (which also coincides with Yoongi’s day-long prompt fill; *phew* our lady had her WORK cut out for her in the most delicious way!!). In the “truth or dare” game, Yoongi had a disastrous day but he was also getting to WORK on Y/N throughout the runtime of it. One could call it losing the battle but ultimately winning the war? Because it truly is a battle at this point. By monopolizing an entire day to complete his prompt, he inadvertently took a day away from the guys to complete their prompt. Coupled with the fact that he got to choose who got what prompt, this week is shaping up to be Yoongi stacking all the cards in his favor. And let’s be real, isn’t that exactly how he would want it?
Okay now that all of the analysis out of the way, I can finally gush about this chapter the way I want to: *ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh* I LOVE YOONGI IN THIS DAMN VERSE SO MUCH YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. Y’ALL other chapters better bring your mofo A-GAME this week or else they will just PALE in comparison to the Trifecta of CUM-tastic scene stealing moments from Day 17!! OMG!! OMFG!! This chapter was amazing!! (sidenote: Despite the fact that I might have noticed that this chapter felt like it was… on a bit of a “time crunch”, it was still good. There wasn’t a problem with the pacing, it just felt like the writer trying to finish it before an imaginary time bomb went off. That being the case though, it did not deter it from the awesomeness that was day 17!! Also did you notice that our lady’s lovely sweater turned from a pretty yellow shade to pink by the end of the chapter? I chalked it up to the flavored soju Y/N and Kookie were sharing.) Fave stuff list style: Hobi used to be in cheer?!, unintentional crop top sweater wearing Namjoon, YOONGI BEING THROWN UNCEREMONIOUSLY INTO THE POOL!! This is extra funny bc we all know that Yoongi in RL hates being wet, Jungkook’s ideal sexual scenario! ALSO, ALSO!! Jan doesn’t really like degradation (it’s kinda hard for me to read) but you somehow manage to weave it in so tastefully. It’s probably because I trust you as a writer which is amazing that you’re able to convey that sense of trust between the characters thus, the reader also trusts that the term is used as a term of endearment rather than to degrade her value as a person. *making it rain brownie points* 
*tucks away rabid fangirl Jan* I’m so sorry about her… I don’t usually let her out because…  she can be a bit uncouth, but this chapter did things to me so… This really set the bar like astronomically high for week 3. I was already so pumped for this week (my BFF – let’s call her 🍊 – and I discussed this excitement at length over the last week), and to have it start off like this, I am just so ecstatic for what is in store for the rest of the guys this week! They have their work cut out for them for sure as Yoongi-centric chapters, for me at least, will forever be “objectively superior”. Thank you so much for your continued hard work. I know it’s gonna get more and more tough considering you’ve started your final semester of uni but I shall be cheering you on from the sidelines like Park Jimin in the stands cheering for b-balling Min Yoongi! Thank you for sharing your amazing talent for storytelling once again; I honestly feel so blessed to have it to look forward to every week! 💜 Jan
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ahhh i’m sad to hear that me rushing comes across in the chapter lmaoooo but yes i def was fighting the clock to get it done in time. i need to be better with time management rip jsdkfsd
i’m so GLAD to hear, on the other hand, that you were such a fan of the yoongi goodness in this one kfsjd you’re spot on about that contrast between yoongi’s control and advantage in the bigger game, yet his abysmal run in the mini game. i don’t think it was even intentional as i wrote since i used a randomiser to draw the truths and dares, but it certainly makes for a fun ride ! 
it was jin that used to be in cheer ! but ahh i had so much fun adding in these little stories and facts about them, it’s really fun writing them getting to know each other more as we go along <3
i’m super excited to release the next chapter, because it is i think a very different style to d17, and as always thank you for writing such kind words and i look forward to hearing from you again xxxx
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lovelylogans · 4 years
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booyah! (emphasis on the boo)
TOUR GUIDE GARRETT: Now, I'm gonna tell you something a little spooky. The morning of October 25, 1894, Sir Aldridge awoke furious when his breakfast was not waiting for him. So, he called to his servants, but none of them responded. Why? Because, during the night, one by one they had each been stabbed to death in their sleep. It was later discovered that they were murdered by his eldest daughter, Gertrude Aldridge. Sir Aldridge once wrote in his diary, 'I know God makes no mistakes, but I believe he may have been drunk when he built Gertrude's personality.'
-ghostbusters, 2016
ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?
warnings: recreational drinking, mention of homophobia, murder mention, absolute fucking disaster gays, claustrophobia maybe (stuck in a closet while anxious, not specifically because of the closet) 
pairings: logicality, eventual prinxiety
words: 2,244
notes: so, this is for the 13 days of halloween prompt over at @sanderssidescelebrations​! today’s prompt is ghost hunting! i am essentially rewriting a premise i once wrote in an old fic of mine, so. here we go. let’s see how my writing stacks up a couple years apart.
They’re all drunk on shitty wine for one of their intermittent wine-and-whine nights when Virgil brings up his haunted apartment. 
When Virgil says it, Logan heaves a massive sigh from where he’s got his head pillowed on Patton’s lap, where Patton’s playing with his hair—Logan swings between sleepy drunk and ranty, rambly drunk, and he’s landed on sleepy tonight—and grumbles, “Ghosts aren’t real.”
“Now, Logan, let’s hear him out,” Patton says. “Virgil is, after all, one of our best friends in the whole wide world who should be cherished and loved because he is one of the bestest little boys.”
Patton, on the other hand, solidly embodies the whole “cuddly-complimentary-drunk-girl-in-the-bathroom” stereotype.
“Yeah, yeah, I wanna hear this,” Roman says, from where he’s sprawled out on Virgil’s rug, grinning loose and easy, making Virgil’s stomach flip-flop. “You’ve been living here, what, a year, and you’re just now talking about how it’s haunted?”
“I know,” Virgil says, “I know, I know, but—but I basically have proof, this time, all the other stuff seemed, y’know—creaking furniture and things not being exactly where I remember and whispers in the night, that kind of thing.”
“Proof,” Logan sighs, and rolls his eyes. “All right. What proof is there.”
“It locked me in a closet.”
There’s a brief, thoughtful pause.
“So, like, the ghost is homophobic?” Roman says. Patton nearly snorts wine out of his nose as Virgil feels his face heat—well, even warmer than he already is, from the alcohol—and he sets down the novelty Thanos-glove-themed cup of wine with a thunk.
“I mean, probably!” Virgil says heatedly. “If you look at, like, all of historic times—”
“Homophobia was fairly frequent, yes,” Logan says, musingly. “But it’s not as if you’ve particularly shown off homosexual activity in this apartment.”
Roman starts laughing so hard he nearly falls off the couch, and Virgil fights the urge to chuck a pillow at either Logan or Roman.
“You didn’t have to at him like that, L, oh my God,” Roman says, and snorts, giggling still, and Virgil wishes that it didn’t practically melt away all of Virgil’s irritation at him—it does heighten the embarrassment, though, because he’s been single because he’s been hopelessly pining over Roman. 
Logan glances up at Patton, confused, and Patton explains, “It kind of sounded like you were saying there wasn’t much reason for a haunting because Virgil’s been single for so long, honeybear.”
“Thanks,” Virgil grumbles. “All of you, great, thanks so much, I’m painfully single, we get it, can we get back to the ghost that’s bullying me into going back into the closet and managed to trap me there for two hours—”
“Two hours?!” Roman exclaims. “You were stuck for two hours and you didn’t, like, slam your body into it until it flew off its hinges or something?!”
“I tried, but it wouldn’t budge,” Virgil says. “It swung open again after I, like, learned my lesson, or whatever, and then I spent all of last night not able to sleep and with all the lights on and now I’m wondering if I’m going crazy.”
“So that’s why you called for a wine-and-whine night,” Patton says, which is mostly true. He’d been planning on calling one because he’s going grocery shopping sometime this week and he wanted to clear out the remaining dregs of his bottles of three-dollar wine now before he goes and gets new, unopened bottles, but it’s been rushed up the line because Virgil’s hands won’t stop shaking and he can’t really look too closely at the closet that he’s got propped open through all the means he could think of, and sage burned, and he’d been researching the paranormal all day, which made him even more anxious. So he just says—
“Yeah,” Virgil says. “Just in case something else happens.”
And nothing else does—well, Logan falls asleep pretty quickly after that, and Patton goes on a tooth-rottingly sweet ramble about how much he loves them all and how much better his life has been since they all came into it and how he thinks Logan is The One for him and he’s so grateful they’ve all been with him on this life journey, and Roman wraps an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and leans his cheek against Virgil’s hair and lets out this soft, content sigh that makes Virgil kind of absurdly happy—but ghost-wise, nothing happens.
At least, not until a couple weeks later.
They’re all at Virgil’s apartment again—this time, they’re all doing separate work time, Patton settled under Logan’s arm as Logan read a book and as Patton flipped through a notecard set, and Roman with a script strewn about the floor, Virgil taking notes on a reading he has to do—when there’s a loud noise. Virgil freezes.
There’s another noise—like someone slamming their fists against the floor. Like someone trapped underneath, trying to get out.
Roman glances up from his script. “What was that?”
“Gertrude,” Virgil says through a dry mouth.
“Gertrude?” Patton says, curious.
“The ghost.”
Logan scoffs.
“It’s not funny, Logan, I’m being serious,” Virgil says, and decides fuck it and then digs out his printed-off pages of research. “There used to be a manor here and this lady named Gertrude Aldridge apparently killed all the family’s servants and then her dad locked her in the basement to spare the family public humiliation and she died down there, so—“
Roman makes an interested noise, reaching for the folder, and Virgil hands it over. Roman’s a big fan of true crime and ghost stories and also Buzzfeed Unsolved, so he really probably should have roped Roman into this earlier. Also, ghost research wasn’t even the most pathetic excuse he’d tried to use in order to spend time with Roman alone, he really should have used it.
“So you think Gertrude,” Logan says, voice dripping with disdain, “is going to... kill you.”
“Well, now I am.”
Logan heaves a massive sigh, and sets aside his book. “Look, Virgil, I can understand that you are anxious, and I can understand the popular narrative of ghost stories offering a simple explanation for various noises and occurrences, though there are dozens more logical explanations for—”
He’s cut off by a distant, feminine howl of outrage.
Logan pauses, before he says, “Your neighbor.”
Logan’s book then proceeds to pick itself up and throw itself from his hands.
Logan looks on the verge of saying still not a ghost, but Roman howls “holy SHIT!” before he can, nearly falling backward off the couch in his quest to scramble away, grabbing Virgil’s hand and tugging him back before planting himself in front of him, arms spread wide, like he’s guarding Virgil, like he’s shielding him, and if Virgil wasn’t so scared shitless right now he’d think it was noble or sweet or something, but as it is, Virgil’s legs are trembling underneath him and he distantly, hysterically, imagines himself swooning into Roman’s arms like some kind of southern belle.
And then the floor starts rumbling, and then Roman grabs Virgil’s hand, and Patton yelps, and Logan grabs Patton—Logan shoves Patton down and rolls underneath Virgil’s dinner table—and Roman hauls Virgil closer to his bedroom, and before Virgil can say wait, don’t—
—the door swung shut behind them, and, in the dark, Roman said, “Ah.”
“We’re trapped,” Virgil said. “In my closet. Again.”
“Well,” Roman said, breath a warm puff against Virgil’s neck, “It’s my first time being trapped in your closet.”
Virgil giggles, a bit hysterical because the fucking ghost started shaking his whole apartment, and Roman huffs out a laugh, and Virgil can feel the hot air on his neck, and wow that sure was a strange mix of emotions, adrenaline and fear and a hint of embarrassment at being so close that he can feel Roman’s fucking breath on his neck and a twinge of heat deep in his stomach.
“So,” Roman said, and swallowed audibly. “Should I try slamming against the door?”
Virgil shuffled aside as much as he could, stepping on a pile of what’s probably dirty laundry and trying not to trip directly into Roman as he wobbled for balance. “Sure.”
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
That repeated a few times, before there was a voice outside the room. “Roman? Virgil?”
“Hey, Logan,” Virgil called, trying not to wince.
“Your closet again?!” Logan said, exasperated.
“It’s not like we chose this, Ego-ist Spengler!” Roman snapped. 
There’s the sound of someone trying the handle, then someone more enthusiastically trying the handle, then a huff.
“It’s stuck.”
“Yeah, Logan, we know,” Virgil said. 
“Is that them?” Patton’s voice sounded.
“Yeah, it’s us,” Roman said.
“I think I’m going to go find some kind of toolkit,” Logan said decisively. “Virgil, do you have one?”
“One, a toolkit won’t work against a ghost, two, no, what do I look like, Bob the Builder?” Virgil snapped, and Roman snorted—he must have been equally pressed against the other wall of the closet, so that they’re as far apart as they can be.
Logan sighed, irritated, and said, “Well, you should have one. Do either of you have your phones?”
“I’ve got mine,” Roman said.
“Fine. Virgil, where are your keys?”
“You’re leaving?!” Virgil demanded.
“Yes, to procure the tools necessary to free you,” Logan said. 
“At this point, you should maybe take the door off the hinges, kiddo,” Patton suggested.
“That won’t work against a—! You know what, fine, yeah, go, my keys are on the kitchen table.”
“Patton and I will be back shortly,” Logan announced. “I’ll ask your neighbors first and if we have to visit a store, I’ll text.” 
There’s the sound of footsteps, and the even more distant sound of Virgil’s front door closing.
There’s a long pause.
“Well,” Roman said. “We’re stuck here because of your homophobic ghost.”
“Gertrude. Yeah.”
Virgil tried to take in an even, good breath. 
“Hey, you okay?” Roman asked, all soft and concerned, and Virgil’s breath hitched as Roman’s hand gently closed around his wrist, fingers grazing delicately along the veins there, the soft skin above them, the tendons standing out stark, and if Virgil’s heart started racing a little faster, well. Roman wouldn’t be able to tell why.
“Fine, mostly,” Virgil said, a little strangled. “Just—y’know. Ghost in my apartment. Even stronger than I thought it was. And now I’m trapped in a closet” with you, my unrequited maybe-love but I haven’t even gotten close to unparsing those feelings and I’m freaking out about enough right now “with no way to really get out, so. I’m just peachy.”
“Right, yeah,” Roman said, still soft, almost uncharacteristically so. “D’you want me to count, or—?”
“Just—“ Virgil said, and swallowed. “Distract me?”
And then Roman does something entirely unexpected.
Roman’s hand slid to cup his cheek, his hand sure and warm, and then he leaned in and pressed his lips against Virgil’s. Virgil’s mouth parted in surprise, and his eyes went wide, but he couldn’t see in this stupidly dark closet, the strip of light from the door only enough to dully illuminate the gold stripes running down Roman’s jacket sleeve. Roman kissed him harder and it felt like finally, finally, and Virgil was grateful now for only that little strip of light as they parted because he was sure he was gaping like an idiot.
“Like that?”
“I,” Virgil said, fumbling, “I—”
“I’ve liked you,” Roman said, stubborn and a little shaky, just around the edges. “I’ve really liked you, for a really long time, and I think you—I think you maybe like me too, or at least I hope you do, and if you don’t this is so embarrassing and I’m gonna spontaneously combust and also never talk to you again just to save you from the—”
Roman couldn’t say anything more, though, because Virgil’s fumblingly grabbed at the lapels of Roman’s jackets and hauled him close, and just like that the kiss went from finally to scorching, Roman biting hard at his lip and Virgil letting out a startled, gasping, embarrassing noise at the sensation of it.
“Fuck that homophobic ghost,” Roman growled. “I’ll show her—”
“Roman, shut up,” Virgil said, sounding closer to a wheeze than anything, and then Roman did shut up, quite tidily and for quite a while, until—
There’s the sound of Virgil’s front door opening, and Virgil pulled back from Roman, who made an incredibly ego-boosting noise when he did, and he attempted to quickly finger-comb his hair into some semblance of array.
Logan’s voice rang out, “One of your neighbors had a toolbox, so we were able to borrow it from them for a bit, if you’ll just—”
“Yeah, yeah, uh, sure,” Virgil called, avoiding the gruffness to his voice as he heard Roman similarly, hastily, making sure that he’s in order, and then the door swings open.
“There we—“
Logan fell silent. Virgil cleared his throat, tugging at his hoodie, making sure it covers any part of his neck that Roman had touched, or kissed, or bit. Logan and Patton looked between them.
“You know, when someone experiences physiological responses related to fear,” Logan said, sounding absolutely exhausted, “people often mislabel those responses, it’s called misattribution of arousal—”
Virgil, cheeks burning, leaned down to grab a t-shirt at random, balling it up and hurling it at Logan.
“It’s not just,” Virgil began heatedly, but then he saw Patton beaming, all gleeful and delighted, and talking about arousal in front of Patton is a bit like talking about arousal in church or something equally awkward and slightly taboo.
“You two,” Patton said, “you two—”
“Yeah, we—yeah,” Roman said, and looked to Virgil. “I mean, we—we are. Yeah?”
“—yeah,” Virgil said, and couldn’t stop his grin. “Yeah.”
“How romantic,” Logan said dryly.
Identically, Roman and Virgil reach out and shove at Logan’s shoulder.
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Title: Maybe Tomorrow
Author: @midnight-run-amok
For: @kumipen
Rating/Warnings: T
Prompt: Post Dr3 island Kamukoma (though I did include a bit of the prompts kamukoma drv3 & kamukoma post Dr3 casefic in there as well)
Author’s Notes: This ended up being so much more challenging than I thought it would be, but it was a lot of fun to do. I hope you like it. <3
“Hey, are you dead?”
Kamukura Izuru opened his eyes to find Komaeda Nagito leaning over him, his gaze feverishly bright even in the dimly lit cabin.
This was not an extraordinary occurrence.
Komaeda was a constant visitor to his cabin. Not a welcome presence exactly, but a familiar one as his luck made slipping past his locks a simple matter of faulty hinges or weak welds. He often returned to his cabin in the evenings to find the door leaning off-kilter in its frame and Komaeda inside rifling through his things or cleaning his shower or sitting carefully at the edge of his bed waiting for him as if he were afraid he’d muss the blankets if he were to sit on it properly while he waited for him to return.
He sat up from his bed, unsurprised to find Komaeda was standing just far enough out of the way to avoid collision. Nor that he was somehow still standing just close enough that Komaeda’s hair brushed against his cheek as he swept past him.
Komaeda Nagito’s hair was soft against his cheek, a likely by-product of the same luck that kept his own hair smooth and untangled no matter how little attention he paid it or how long it got, no doubt.
He smelled like coconut, but then everything on the island seemed to reek of coconut so that wasn’t surprising either.
“No,” Izuru answered finally. The answer wad belated and unnecessary, but he’s been trying to make an effort to answer even the most boring questions. “Meditating.”
Not sleeping, never sleeping, his mind was always too restless to ever relax enough for conventional slumber even now. Many things had changed for him since Enoshima had coaxed him from his room beneath Hope’s Peak, but that was not one of them.
“Ah,” Komaeda murmured, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I wasn’t worried, of course, someone as extraordinary as you wouldn’t die so easily. Though I’m sure if you did the others would have persevered and found hope even in your untimely demise.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied dryly. “Why are you here?”
Komaeda sighed, “Aren’t you supposed to already know?”
They’ve had this conversation before.
“I don’t know everything that’s going to happen,” he sighed, tossing a pillow at Komaeda’s head.
Komaeda was already stepping out of the way before it left his hands… and directly into the path of the second pillow he threw right after it which startled a laugh out of him and apparently caused him to relent as the next words out of his mouth were an explanation of sorts.
“They found a body at the school.”
He frowned, ducking to the side as Komaeda threw the pillow back at him half-heartedly.
The they could only be the Future Foundation.
He glanced down and found Komaeda’s bare feet covered with damp beach sand and sighed, “You realize the whole point of having Souda rig up an excessive number of death traps around the island was to discourage drop ins.”
“I suppose it was lucky I was taking a walk on the beach when they showed up so I could disable them.”
“Yes. Lucky,” Izuru replied dryly. “And what do they want us to do about their body problem?”
“You don’t already know? What’s the point of being overstuffed with artificial talent if you can’t divine something as simple as that?” Komaeda huffed, crossing his arms over his chest his lips knotting in a disappointed frown.
“I’m surprised you could be bothered to pull yourself away from basking in the light of all that legitimate talent long enough to come find me,” he replied flatly, rolling his eyes as he crossed the room to dress for company. “If they’re looking for someone to blame, none of us have left the island in weeks and killing people with my mind is not one of my talents.”
Komaeda huffed a laugh, following him to the closet and leaning against the door as he shed his night clothes and changed into the suit he kept on hand for dealing with the rank and file of the Future Foundation when they came to call.
He’d greeted them in one of the more casual outfits he usually wore once, but while their reaction hadn’t been boring, it would be tiresome to deal with a second time. The novelty of being treated as an ordinary teenager by men he could have killed with his little finger if he’d been so inclined had worn off rather quickly.
“If it were, I imagine there wouldn’t have been much of a Future Foundation to speak of by the time we entered that simulation.”
“That would have been boring,” Izuru replied easily, glancing back over his shoulder as he tugged off his shirt to find Komaeda very deliberately not looking at him as he kicked off his shorts and pulled on a dress shirt.
“It would be understandable, wouldn’t it?” Komaeda murmured, his shoulders right and his voice filled with soft amusement that made his shoulders tighten involuntarily. “For them to blame us? Who would be a better scapegoat than the remnants of her Despair? Think of how much safer the world would feel, how much Hope it would bring if we were no longer in the world.”
“Don’t care,” he replied, shaking his head briefly. It didn’t matter to him what the people of the world felt, he never had. He’d only helped save them last time because these people, his people, had wanted to save them. “They can clean up their own mess.”
“Oh. I suppose it’s just as well then that they just want us to help them investigate then.”
“Us?”
Komaeda’s mouth knit into a thoughtful frown as he finally glanced back at him now that he had pants on and was buttoning his shirt, “Well, you, but I don’t think you should go alone even if I’m not very useful and you’d be better off taking someone else, anyone else really would be more help, I’m sure, but I’d still rather it was me.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine. I would have asked you anyway, but we’re not going to the school.”
He’d been very clear about boundaries the last time he’d spoken with Naegi when he’d informed him that Souda was putting in a full defensive array around the island and that rebuilding that school was a terrible idea and he had no intention of having any part in it.
“Oh… good. Then I suppose it’s lucky Naegi-san made them bring the evidence with them, photos of the crime scene too.”
Of course he had.
That was to be expected, he supposed.
Izuru glanced back at Komaeda, studying him as he  finished buttoning his shirt. His pale cheeks were flushed and he was deliberately not looking at him again, “What is it?”
Komaeda shook his head and shrugged, stepping past him into the closet and taking a tie from the shelf. He’d finished doing up the buttons on his shirt and popped up the collar at the same moment Komaeda looped the tie around his neck, taking hold of the dark material and tying it with quick, efficient movements.
He stood still, watching Komaeda’s pale brow furrowed in concentration, as he knotted and pulled the tie snug around his throat before straightening his collar.
They lingered there for a long moment, Komaeda’s fingers dropping to rest against his chest bracketing the tie. He knows what he’s going to do a moment before they collide, but it never occurs to him to move aside. Komaeda’s lips are rough and cracked where they brush against his own.
It’s a new.
Different.
Nice in a way few things are.
Whatever moment they’re having, Komaeda ruins it by turning his face away just as suddenly as he’d brought it close and bursting out into laughter. It’s too loud and too high, nervous and jittery, to be true amusement and his hands are shaking where they’ve caught and rumpled his shirt front. He frantically tried to smooth it out, “Sorry, I… I… didn’t mean….”
He reached out and grabbed his wrists before he could skitter away and allow his own insecurities to consume him, “It was fine.”
Which was obviously not the correct thing to say based on the uniquely unimpressed look Komaeda gave him, all the nervousness melting away from him like ice baking in the sun.
This is not one of his talents.
He could make a bed with perfect corners and he could shoot down a goose or a plane from a mile away, he could anticipate and dodge almost anything, but he wasn’t good at this.
At knowing what to say to people.
To Komaeda especially.
“We shouldn’t keep them waiting,” Komaeda commented and this time when he pulled away, he let him go. “I’m sure they have much better things to do than wait on us.”
“Fine,” Izuru sighed, shrugging into his jacket and following Komaeda to the door. “Let’s go find out who their good intentions killed this time.”
The walk to the beach is silent and terse and he’s faintly surprised to find them waiting there alone, clearly having been unnoticed by the others. That was lucky. There was a good chance they might be able to get this business concluded and the Foundation off the island before anyone else’s day had to be interrupted by their presence.
While they don’t seem particularly pleased to be taking Komaeda aboard their ship, they don’t fight him on it anyway. Which was probably the best option available to them as there really was no telling what would happen to their boat if they upset either of them.
“Thank you for agreeing to come with us,” one of the men commented. He was nondescript, unremarkable, and painfully boring.
“We’ll try not to take up too much of your time,” the other commented, equally unremarkable though he was taller and had a talent. He’d introduced himself as the Ultimate Negotiator. He was never completely certain why they bothered to introduce themselves to him in such a way. He wasn’t impressed and he didn’t care. “We just need you to look over these files and we’ll get you right back to the island.”
He glanced back toward the shore to gauge the distance. 1.24 km… he could easily swim that distance if he had to, even while carrying Komaeda.
“You were in the 70th class, weren’t you? I saw your picture on the alumni site. That seems like it would be a really Hope-inspiring talent, negotiation. Of course, we’re happy to look over anything you’d like us to look over though I can’t imagine what you think we can do that the Ultimate Detective can’t. Our talents can’t begin to compare to that, can they?”
He could probably even manage to reach the shore before he felt compelled to attempt to drown Komaeda for being Komaeda.
Probably.
“Kirigiri-san thought an extra set of eyes would be helpful considering,” the man replied evenly, ignoring Komaeda’s flattery.
“Considering?” He inquired softly, as he reached down to take hold of Komaeda’s synthetic hand and pull him gently away from the Negotiator.
“Whose body it is,” the man replied as he stepped into a darkened room beckoning then to follow.
He could feel Komaeda step in closer, a line of unfamiliar warmth against his back, the awkwardness of the cabin forgotten or pushed aside.
It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling, but not unwelcome.
Artificial light flickered to life with a soft hum revealing an open box and an array of pink-splattered photographs spread across the table at the center of the room.
Izuru stared at them for a long moment before stepping further into the room and turning his attention to the contents of the box: a knife tacky with blood, a blood-splattered book, a hair clip, and a baseball.
He didn’t need to open the book.
He knew exactly what this was.
Predictable.
Despair was easy.
Hope was difficult.
Especially in a world that was already remembering all its petty grievances, reigniting old fires the moment there was no longer despair to battle in such a literal form.
The world was boring that way.
They knew that better than most.
And the Future Foundation should have known that better than anyone.
“You’re here to tell us they’re making a movie,” he commented flatly, turning his narrowed gaze on the man smiling pleasantly at him from the other side of the table.
“A trilogy, actually,” he replied, obviously pleased with himself for his presentation. “There were some who weren’t onboard with the idea, but fortunately cooler heads prevailed and overruled those who were perhaps a little too close to the events to understand what could be gained, how the world could benefit hearing the full story.”
How they thought giving the world an abbreviated version of a complicated series of truths would make it a better place was obvious, but that didn’t mean it would be effective.
He could see the consequences stretching out into the future. Movies to tv series to reality tv to a society dependent upon upon that show, their show.
For all their empty promises of a better tomorrow, the Future Foundation had only ever truly excelled at paving the road to despair with their efforts to reach it.
“You’re all very stupid,” he replied finally, earning a huff of breath against the back of his neck that could almost have been a laugh as the Negotiator’s face contorted briefly with rage before settling back into an expression he probably thought masked his irritation.
“You shouldn’t say that, I’m sure their talents would make a film version of events shine brightly and bring hope to many,” Komaeda commented his voice soft and almost reverent. His admiration for them had dimmed a bit in the years since Hope’s Peak and all that happened there, but it would take more than a brainwashed, despair-fueled murder spree to put an end to it altogether.
“And despair to even more. Being talented doesn’t make them smart.”
“I suppose not,” Komaeda admitted finally and he didn’t need to see his face to know the look of disdain there. “Did you think we’d be more supportive about this then they were?”
“No, they didn’t,” Izuru answered before the Negotiator could speak. “But they don’t know what happened here, only what Naegi, Togami, and Kirigiri told them. They came to convince us to give them the recordings.”
“Recordings?”
“Naegi had recordings made of our time in the simulation made in case the Future Foundation needed proof that we had changed.”
“How exactly would recordings of us murdering each other be helpful? Ah, that’s right, it was supposed to be the virtual reality equivalent of a get-along shirt originally, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”
“If you two are quite finished,” the Negotiator snapped, red-faced, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Since you have it all figured out you could just make this easy and tell us where the recordings are.”
“Destroyed them.”
That much should have been obvious.
“Wh-what?”
Apparently not.
“I destroyed them,” he repeated, more slowly though he doubted saying it again would make him understand it any better. “Make something up.”
“Oh. I… I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell us what happened to you?” The man asked, flustered and grasping at straws. He was smarter than he’d assumed if he were skipping threats and moving straight to just asking politely.
Komaeda laughed, leaning away to cross his arms over his chest, “Don’t you have the Ultimate Novelist working for you? Why not ask her to write something for you? She does still work for you, doesn’t she?”
“We did. She told us to… uh… go… well, that is, she said no,” he finished sheepishly. “So, um… won’t you… please tell us what happened?”
He could sink their boat, kill both of them here and now… but there would be others. Others who would come and disturb their peaceful days again and again. Though in the end they would finally give up and just tell whatever story was most convenient for them, it would be several long months of regular irritation until that time.
They liked to think of themselves as the good guys, after all, and good guys at least tried to tell the truth. Even if they had to badger the details out of a group of traumatized people to do it.
Better to just put a stop to it now.
“The same thing that happened during the first killing game,” Izuru offered finally. “Only with different people and in the end it was all a simulation and the killing game was initiated by a virus. The survivors escaped and everyone woke up, alive and well and free of the brainwashing program that had made them despair in the first place. I’m certain you know the rest.”
“But that’s….”
“All you’re getting. Figure out the rest of the gory details yourself. Don’t come back. We’ll see ourselves back to the island.”
“We will?” Komaeda inquired, but he didn’t protest when he took hold of his hand once more and used it to tow him out of the room past the nondescript man who watched them go in silence.
The swim took longer than he anticipated though he still didn’t attempt to drown Komaeda and they arrived back on the shore in time to collapse against the sand as the boat vanished into the distance.
As they lay there on the sand, catching their breath, he finally asked the one question he didn’t know the answer to.
“Why did you kiss me?”
“Because I wanted to. Did it surprise you?”
“It did.”
“Oh,” Komaeda commented thoughtfully, flopping over onto his back and splaying out like a starfish. “It was awful, wasn’t it?”
“No.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I don’t have enough comparative data to make an accurate assessment.”
“Oh. Well,” Komaeda rolled onto his side and he could feel the weight of his gaze though he didn’t turn to make it. “We could try it again sometime. If you want.”
“Okay,” he replied after a moment, turning his head just enough to see the smile that turned up the corners Komaeda’s lips. “Maybe tomorrow.”
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can you do a ship prompt for polypie but like mission goes super wrong and one actually dies for like real and,,, sadnesss
(First of all, I just wanna apologize to anon for how long this took?? I kept forgetting to take my medicine because I was off my medicine,,,It literally only took a few hours to write I was just too busy procrastinating and being gay (also adhd but shh.))
The Asylum Case
Rating: PG-13, SFW
Ship: Poly P.I.E. (Ghost/Toast/Spooker/Colon)
Warnings: Lots of angst, Major Character Death, Descriptions of intense pain, Sadness >:3 (Tell me if I missed anything!)
Summary: Ghost recounts exactly how he got into his current predicament, which is dying.
Word Count: 1,829
They’re approximately 30 minutes into the investigation when everything, in Ghost’s humble opinion, goes to shit. “But every P.I.E. investigation goes to shit!” you say. Yes, that is, in fact, true, but Ghost has decided that bleeding out on the floor - very slowly, might he add, which is decidedly not fun - constitutes the creation of a new category of “gone to shit”. “But,” you say, “Why not just respawn?” and again, usually, Ghost would do just that - but there’s just one issue; he can’t. Let’s rewind.
They entered the decrepit asylum, joking and teasing and generally enjoying each other’s company - unsuspecting of the horrors yet to come. Once they were inside, the ghost wasted no time in introducing itself; it screamed its sob-story from nowhere in particular, voice bouncing off the walls and echoing down each corridor, all lined with empty cells. Ghost thought he heard sobbing from the one beside him, and so, using the keys the caretaker - who had been the one to call them to investigate, and who looked about as old and decrepit as the asylum - had given him, unlocked the door and (ignoring the disapproving sigh from Toast, and the alarmed yelps from the other two) entered. A girl sat huddled in the corner, long, matted, black hair cascading over her small form, blocking her face. Her tattered white dress hung loosely, and one sleeve slid from her small trembling shoulder as he approached and knelt down. A familiar dread washed over Ghost as he gently asked, “K-Katrina?”
Abruptly, the girl stopped shaking, before giggling once, twice, and then, neck cracking violently, her head shot up and she stared into his eyes with a wide, manic smile. He edged away, wondering why the others hadn’t entered, hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even made a sound since he’d approached Katrina, but he couldn’t look back, not now, because when he stumbled to his feet, backing away, she followed, neck craning oddly to one side. “Katrina-” he started, pleading, “Kat, hey, it’s me, Johnny! Remember?” He fumbled for the door handle, careening into the hall when it opened. No one else was there.
“Yessssss,” Katrina hissed, drawling, “I remember youuuu…” but she didn’t slow her advance; instead, she just kept hurtling towards him. As he ducked beneath a wild swing of her claw, he glimpsed it - the small, red, rope-pattern lines wrapping around her neck, exposed by its unnatural angle - and choked back a sob. “God, Kat, I’m sorry - I’m so sorry!” he heard himself plead. She didn’t seem to hear him, only muttered, “Johnny, Johnny, I remember, yes I remember Johnny. Johnny!” and took another swing. He scrambled back, gritting his teeth when a razor nail clipped his shoulder, and Katrina’s crazed grin widened. Something inside Ghost twitched at the sight, but he pushed it down, he didn’t have time to panic. “Toast?” he called as he scrambled down the empty hallways, “Spook? Colon?!”
No one answered, and Ghost felt his heart sink.
He fumbled with the keyring, detached it from his belt loop - which proved to be much more difficult while his hands shook violently - and jammed a key into the first lock he came across, throwing open the cell door and slamming it behind him, locking it back.
The old door’s hinges creaked dangerously with the force of Katrina’s hands slamming against it, and Johnny could only pray they didn’t give out under the stress. Slowly, the banging subsided and, hand over heart, he sighed in relief. Pulling out his phone, he hit Toast’s contact, and pulled the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. It clicked, and Toast’s blurted in a near-shout, “Sir, where the fuck are you?!” in the background he heard a short hysterical laugh, and Ghost felt one of his own bubble out past the tightness in his chest and the burning in his shoulder. “Just getting chased by a murderous vision from the past - you know, the usual.”
“Are you injured?”
“She nicked me, but its nothing serious.”
“Don’t do anything dangerous,” Spooker said in the background, “A ghost said we can’t respawn here and we don’t want to chance them being right.”
“Where are you, Sir? We’ll come find you.”
“Er,” Ghost muttered, trying to recall where he was, “I’m in a locked cell right now, not sure what floor - I think it’s B-hall though, so first floor probably,” he paused, putting on a cheery, guide-like voice, “Just follow the sounds of screeching and growling, and you should see a crazy lady pacing outside the door,” he said peeking through the small, barred window. Katrina spotted him and slammed a palm against the door, snarling. “take a sharp turn there and - remember this step because it is crucial okay? - sock her right in the face.”
Toast barked out a sharp, brittle laugh, “We’ll do our best.”
“I’ll see you in a few, I’m gonna hang up now because I don’t want to attract too much attention - these ancient hinges don’t exactly appreciate the abuse we’re putting them through.”
“Alright Sir, be careful.”
And careful he was, but you can’t exactly count on ghosts to obey the laws of physics, or even manners, really, because out of the blue, there was the caretaker, and boy did he look smug. “What a lovely reunion between old friends,” he croaked, “It’s almost enough to warm my cold, dead heart!” then cackled wildly. When Ghost didn’t so much as blink in surprise, he sobered, snapping at him, “Why aren’t you surprised? Everything went perfectly, none of you suspected a thing!”
“Dude, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I hunt ghosts for a living; this plot-twist happens every other week.”
“Damn! Well, either way, you’re gonna die here, so I guess it doesn’t really matter. Dead men tell no tales and all that.”
“Again, hate to do this, but literally every case a ghost says something along the lines of “Ohohoho you’re gonna die anyway, so it doesn’t really matter!” and here I am, alive and only slightly harmed.” Another bang reverberated around the room, and Ghost shuffled uncomfortably but couldn’t look away from the immediate threat.
“Oh, uh, exactly how many cases have you done?”
“Dunno,” Ghost shoved his hands into his pockets, “I’ve been doing this since I was like, sixteen, and our schedule’s kinda all over the place because you can’t really predict when a ghost is gonna show up, but we get at least three to seven cases a week, and about half of them are real.” Another slam, followed by creaking and a final loud rattling sound.
“Huh, half, really?”
“Yeah, people are stupid.”
“Agreed. Speaking of stupid, you let your guard down.”
“Oh.” Things seemed to slow down, a sharp pain stabbing through his back. He looked down, watching three claw-like fingers withdraw from his chest, leaving three little holes all the way through. He collapsed, head falling to the side as he coughed wetly, tasting iron. Almost calmly, he watched as blood pooled around him, before glancing up to the doorway, where the door had been ripped open, and now teetered ominously on its hinges. Katrina loomed over him, blood coating her claws.
And that’s it, that’s how he got here. Seconds later, he hears someone shout his name, and he feels the caretaker’s presence vanish. Katrina glances back, but it doesn’t give her enough time to react before a bullet rips through her solid form, followed by another, then another. She screeches and stumbles back, blindly tripping over the lump of Ghost while trying to shield herself from the incoming bullets. He groans as she falls over him, kicking his wounds. The puddle beneath him ripples, blood traveling in tiny rivers through the imperfections in the concrete floor. Absently, Ghost notes that his sight has gone fuzzy at the edges, and black static is creeping in. Katrina lets out one last screech before disappearing, and as soon as she’s gone Toast, Spooker, and Colon all rush to his side. He smiles weakly as Colon pulls his head into his lap, eyes watery. The other two looked similarly panicked, and Ghost finds himself wheezing, “Hey, it’s really not that bad, okay? You guys can just carry me out of here and I can respawn.” Blood bubbles in his throat as he speaks, and he has to turn to the side to cough it up when it scratches at his throat.
The others glance at each other and Ghost frowns, confused. “What?”
“If we moved you now,” Spooker explains, chewing his lip, “you’d probably die of blood loss before we got outside. And I’m not a doctor but I’m pretty sure you have a punctured lung.”
Ghost’s brows furrow and he laughs sadly. “Sucks to be me I guess…” he ignores the liquid gathering in the back of his mouth, swallowing. “Anybody here magically know first aid?”
They all grimace, shaking their heads. “Ah, well, worth a shot,” he rasps. He feels a tear drip down, catching on his jaw. His chest burns; a hot-cold sensation that tears through him every time he breathes. He can’t focus his eyes anymore, but he looks at the blurry figures he knows are his closest companions - the loves of his life - and smiles, even as more tears follow and he chokes down a gasp of pain. Someone’s holding his face and speaking to him gently, and he can’t understand the words, but he thinks it might be Colon, so he looks up at him. At the same time as a pair of lips meet his temple, and then again and again, until he’s being peppered with kisses. He can feel the body under him shaking now, and through the white-hot burning and the growing ringing in his ears, he makes out stammered apologies and ‘I-love-you’s, and he feels it aching in his bones because it’s not their fault, he did this, and he wishes all the way down to his core that he could go back, that he could undo the pain he knows paints their faces, but he can’t - he’s going to die here, slowly, painfully. The ringing is piercing now and the black static has spread to cover most of his vision, and he thinks he might be screaming, or apologizing, saying goodbye, but he can’t hear anything over the ringing so it’s possible that when he tries to tell them “I love you too” it comes out garbled and incomprehensible. His throat is raw now so he must be screaming, and it’s all so loud until suddenly everything stops.
There’s no ringing, or panic, or crying, or pain. Just empty blackness and total silence. He can’t move, because there’s nowhere to go, there’s nothing here, there’s only void. That is, until the sound of a single raindrop, followed by another, then another, breaks the silence, and like waking up, Ghost blinks, and finds himself standing in front of a grave.
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bonjourmoncher · 5 years
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The Book in Three Sentences
We’re all in sales. Ambiverts are the most effective salespeople It’s easier to sell something to someone when you know doing so will improve their life — and maybe even the Hamilton Lindley world. The Five Big Ideas “Like it or not, we’re all in sales now”. “The ability to move others to exchange what they have for what we have is crucial to our survival and our happiness”. “Adam Grant has discovered that the most effective salespeople are ambiverts, those who fall somewhere in the middle of the introversion-extraversion scale”. “The most effective self-talk doesn’t merely shift emotions. It shifts linguistic categories. It moves from making statements to asking questions”. “Anytime you’re tempted to upsell someone else, stop what you’re doing and upserve instead. Don’t try to increase what they can do for you. Elevate what you can do for them”. To Sell Is Human Summary “Like it or not, we’re all in sales now”. “The ability to move others to exchange what they have for what we have is crucial to our survival and our happiness”. “Whether it’s selling’s traditional form or its non-sales variation, we’re all in sales now”. “Ferlazzo makes a distinction between ‘irritation’ and ‘agitation’. Irritation, he says, is ‘challenging people to do something that we want them to do’. By contrast, ‘agitation is challenging them to do something that they want to do’”. “Those who’d received even a small injection of power became less likely (and perhaps less able) to attune themselves to someone else’s point of view”. “The notion that extraverts are the finest salespeople is so obvious that we’ve overlooked one teensy flaw. There’s almost no evidence that it’s actually true”. The three key steps to strategic mimicry:
Watch. Observe what the other person is doing. Wait. Once you’ve observed, don’t spring immediately into action. Don’t do this too many times, though. Wane. After you’ve mimicked a little, try to be less conscious of what you’re doing. “Attuning yourself to others—exiting your own perspective and entering theirs—is essential to moving others”. “Adam Grant has discovered that the most effective salespeople are ambiverts, those who fall somewhere in the middle of the introversion-extraversion scale”. “How to stay afloat amid that ocean of rejection is the second essential quality in moving others. I call this quality ‘buoyancy’”. Interrogative Self-Talk
“The most effective self-talk doesn’t merely shift emotions. It shifts linguistic categories. It moves from making statements to asking questions”. “On average, the self-questioning group solved nearly 50 percent more puzzles than the self-affirming group”. (Senay, Albarracín and Noguchi, 2010) “People who’d written Will I solved nearly twice as many anagrams as those who’d written I will, Will, or I”. “[Interrogative self-talk], by its very form, elicits answers—and within those answers are strategies for actually carrying out the task”. “Researchers say, ‘[interrogative self-talk] may inspire thoughts about autonomous or intrinsically motivated reasons to pursue a goal’”. “People are more likely to act, and to perform well, when the motivations come from intrinsic choices rather than from extrinsic pressures”. “Declarative self-talk risks bypassing one’s motivations. Questioning self-talk elicits the reasons for doing something and reminds people that many of those reasons come from within”. “Those who’d heard the positive-inflected pitch were twice as likely to accept the deal as those who’d heard the negative one—even though the terms were identical”. Explanatory Style
“In human beings, Seligman observed, learned helplessness was usually a function of people’s ‘explanatory style’—their habit of explaining negative events to themselves”. “People who give up easily, who become helpless even in situations where they actually can do something, explain bad events as permanent, pervasive, and personal”. “Agents who scored in the optimistic half of explanatory style sold 37% more insurance than agents scoring in the pessimistic half. Agents in the top decile sold 88% more insurance than those in the bottom decile”. “The salespeople with an optimistic explanatory style—who saw rejections as temporary rather than permanent, specific rather than universal, and external rather than personal—sold more insurance and survived in their jobs much longer”. “[Hall] is not blind optimism but what Seligman calls ‘flexible optimism—optimism with its eyes open’”. Question: “Can I move these people?” “Answer it—directly and in writing. List five specific reasons why the answer to your question is yes. These reasons will remind you of the strategies that you’ll need to be effective on the task, providing a sturdier and more substantive grounding than mere affirmation”. “When something bad occurs, ask yourself three questions—and come up with an intelligent way to answer each one “no”:
Is this permanent? Is this pervasive? Is this personal? “The more you explain bad events as temporary, specific, and external, the more likely you are to persist even in the face of adversity”. Enumerate and Embrace
“One way to remain buoyant is to acquire a more realistic sense of what can actually sink you. You can do that by counting your rejections—and then celebrating them. It’s a strategy I call ‘enumerate and embrace’”. Enumerate. “Try actually counting the nos you get during a week. By the end of the week, you might be surprised by just how many nos the world has delivered to your doorstep. However, you might be more surprised by something else: You’re still around. Even in that weeklong ocean of rejection, you’ve still managed to stay afloat. That realization can give you the will to continue and the confidence to do even better the following week”. Embrace. “’It was my way of showing that I didn’t quit’, [Goldbery] says. ‘I got all these rejections, but kept going’”. “Allow yourself what [Fredrickson] dubs ‘appropriate negativity’—moments of anger, hostility, disgust, and resentment that serve a productive purpose”. “[Fredrickson’s] work has shown that thinking through gloom-and-doom scenarios and mentally preparing for the very worst that can occur helps some people effectively manage their anxieties”. Rejection
“If this approach sounds useful, present yourself with a series of ‘What ifs?’ What if everything goes wrong? What if the unthinkable happens? What if this is the worst decision of my life? These Hamilton P Lindley questions could prompt answers you didn’t expect, which might calm you down and even lift you up”. “One way to reduce their sting [of rejection], and perhaps even avoid one altogether, is to preempt the rejecter by writing [a rejection] letter yourself. “Once the rejection is in writing, its consequences can seem far less dire”. “More important, by articulating the reasons for turning you down, the letter might reveal soft spots in what you’re presenting, which you can then work to strengthen”. Saving
“Three in four Americans have less than $30,000 saved in their retirement accounts”. “Our biases point us toward the present. So when given a choice between an immediate reward (say, $1,000 right now) and a reward we have to wait for ($1,150 in two years), we’ll often take the former even when it’s in our own interest to choose the latter”. “Those who saw images of their current selves (call them the ‘Me Now’ group) directed an average of $80 into the retirement account. Those who saw images of their future selves (the ‘Me Later’ group) allocated more than twice that amount—$172”. “Those who saw the image of themselves at age seventy saved more than those who’d simply seen a picture of a seventy-year-old”. (Hereshfield) “The problem we have saving for retirement, these studies showed, isn’t only our meager ability to weigh present rewards against future ones. It is also the connection—or rather, the disconnection—between our present and future selves”. “Envisioning ourselves far into the future is extremely difficult—so difficult, in fact, that we often think of that future self as an entirely different person”. “This conceptual shift demonstrates the third quality necessary in moving others today: clarity—the capacity to help others see their situations in fresh and more revealing ways and to identify problems they didn’t realize they had”. Problem Finding
“The ability to move others hinges less on problem solving than on problem finding”. “As Csikszentmihalyi saw it, the first group was trying to solve a problem: How can I produce a good drawing? The second was trying to find a problem: What good drawing can I produce?” “When he tabulated the ratings, Csikszentmihalyi discovered that the experts deemed the problem finders’ works far more creative than the problem solvers’”. “In subsequent research, [Csikszentmihalyi] and other scholars found that people most disposed to creative breakthroughs in art, science, or any endeavor tend to be problem finders”. “You can raise that question by framing your offering in ways that contrast with its alternatives and therefore clarify its virtues”. The following five frames can be useful in providing clarity to those you hope to move.
1. The Less Frame
“Of the consumers who visited the booth with twenty-four varieties, only 3 percent bought jam. At the booth with a more limited selection, 30 percent made a purchase”. “Adding an inexpensive item to a product offering can lead to a decline in consumers’ willingness to pay.” “Framing people’s options in a way that restricts their choices can help them see those choices more clearly instead of overwhelming them”. 2. The Experience Frame
“Several researchers have shown that people derive much greater satisfaction from purchasing experiences than they do from purchasing goods”. “Even when people ponder their future purchases, they expect that experiences will leave them more satisfied than physical goods”. “Framing a sale in experiential terms is more likely to lead to satisfied customers and repeat business”. 3. The Label Frame
“In the Wall Street Game, 33 percent of participants cooperated and went free. But in the Community Game, 66 percent reached that mutually beneficial result”. “The neatest group by far was the first—the one that had been labeled ‘neat’”. “Merely assigning that positive label—helping the students frame themselves in comparison with others—elevated their behavior”. 4. The Blemished Frame
“Remarkably, in many cases, the people who’d gotten that small dose of negative information were more likely to purchase the boots than those who’d received the exclusively positive information”. “The researchers dubbed this phenomenon the ‘blemishing effect’—where ‘adding a minor negative detail in an otherwise positive description of a target can give that description a more positive impact’”. “But the blemishing effect seems to operate only under two circumstances. First, the people processing the information must be in what the researchers call a ‘low effort’ state. That is, instead of focusing resolutely on the decision, they’re proceeding with a little less effort—perhaps because they’re busy or distracted. Second, the negative information must follow the positive information, not the reverse. Once again, the comparison creates clarity. ‘The core logic is that when individuals encounter weak negative information after already having received positive information, the weak negative information ironically highlights or increases the salience of the positive information”. “If you’re making your case to someone who’s not intently weighing every single word, list all the positives—but do add a mild negative. Being honest about the existence of a small blemish can enhance your offering’s true beauty”. 5. The Potential Frame
“Participants, on average, gave the veteran player with solid numbers a salary of over four million dollars for his sixth year. But they said that for the rookie’s sixth season, they’d expect to pay him more than five million dollars”. “People often find potential more interesting than accomplishment because it’s more uncertain, the researchers argue”. “Next time you’re selling yourself, don’t fixate only on what you achieved yesterday. Also, emphasize the promise of what you could accomplish tomorrow”. Off-Ramps
“Once you’ve found the problem and the proper frame, you have one more step. You need to give people an off-ramp”. “Among the students in the least likely group who received the less detailed letter, a whopping 0 percent contributed to the food drive. But their counterparts, who were more disposed to giving but who’d received the same letter, didn’t exactly wow researchers with their benevolence. Only 8 percent of them made a food donation”. “However, the letter that gave students details on how to act had a huge effect. Twenty-five percent of students deemed least likely to contribute actually made a contribution when they received the letter with a concrete appeal, a map, and a location for donating”. “A specific request accompanied by a clear way to get it done ended up with the least likely group donating food at three times the rate of the most likely who hadn’t been given a clear path of action”. “Clarity on how to think without clarity on how to act can leave people unmoved”. Motivational Interviewing
“On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 meaning ‘not the least bit ready’ and 10 meaning ‘totally ready,’ how ready are you to study?” “Why didn’t you pick a lower number?” “In the old days, our challenge was accessing information. These days, our challenge is curating it”. The three-step process for curation (Kanter):
Seek. Once you’ve defined the area in which you’d like to curate, put together a list of the best sources of information. Then set aside time to scan those sources regularly (at least fifteen minutes, two times a day). As you scan, gather the most interesting items. Sense. Creating meaning out of the material you’ve assembled. Make an annotated list of Web links or regularly maintain a blog. Tend to this list of resources every day. Share. You can do this through a regular e-mail or your own newsletter, or by using Facebook, Twitter, or LinkedIn. As you share, you’ll help others see their own situations in a new light and possibly reveal hidden problems that you can solve. “The folks at IDEO, the award-winning innovation, and design firm, have taken a lesson from the under-five set in one of the methods they use to find design problems. They call their technique ‘Five Whys’”. “As IDEO explains it, ‘This exercise forces people to examine and express the underlying reasons for their behavior and attitudes’”. “The purpose of a pitch isn’t necessarily to move others immediately to adopt your idea. The purpose is to offer something so compelling that it begins a conversation, brings the other person in as a participant, and eventually arrives at an outcome that appeals to both of you”. Dan Pink’s six successors to the elevator pitch:
1. The One-Word Pitch
“The ultimate pitch for an era of short attention spans begins with a single word—and doesn’t go any further”. 2. The Question Pitch
“By making people work just a little harder, question pitches prompt people to come up with their own reasons for agreeing (or not). And when people summon their own reasons for believing something, they endorse the belief more strongly and become more likely to act on it”. 3. The Rhyming Pitch
“Participants rated the aphorisms in the left column as far more accurate than those in the right column, even though each pair says essentially the same thing. Yet when the researchers asked people, ‘In your opinion, do aphorisms that rhyme describe human behavior more accurately than those that do not rhyme? the overwhelming answer was no”. “Rhymes boost what linguists and cognitive scientists call ‘processing fluency’, the ease with which our minds slice, dice, and make sense of stimuli”. “If you’re one of a series of freelancers invited to make a presentation before a big potential client, including a rhyme can enhance the processing fluency of your listeners, allowing your message to stick in their minds when they compare you and your competitors”. 4. The Subject-Line Pitch
“The researchers discovered that participants based their decisions on two factors: utility and curiosity”. People were quite likely to “read emails that directly affected their work”. But they were also likely “to open messages when they had moderate levels of uncertainty about the contents, i.e. they were ‘curious’ what the messages were about”. “Utility worked better when recipients had lots of e-mail, but ‘curiosity [drove] attention to email under conditions of low demand’”. “Ample research has shown that trying to add intrinsic motives on top of extrinsic ones often backfires”. “Along with utility and curiosity is a third principle: specificity”. 5. The Twitter Pitch
“The mark of an effective tweet, like the mark of any effective pitch, is that it engages recipients and encourages them to take the conversation further—by responding, clicking a link, or sharing the tweet with others”. 6. The Pixar Pitch
After someone hears your pitch, ask yourself:
What do you want them to know? What do you want them to feel? What do you want them to do? “In those circumstances and many others, you’ll do better if you follow three essential rules of improvisational theater: (1) Hear offers. (2) Say ‘Yes and’. (3) Make your partner look good”.
1. Hear Offers.
“Once we listen in this new, more intimate way, we begin hearing things we might have missed. And if we listen this way during our efforts to move others, we quickly realize that what seem outwardly like objections are often offers in disguise”. 2. Say “Yes and”.
“Instead of swirling downward into frustration, ‘Yes and’ spirals upward toward possibility. When you stop you’ve got a set of options, not a sense of futility”. 3. Make Your Partner Look Good.
“Today, if you make people look bad, they can tell the world. But if you make people look good, they can also tell the world”. “But Grant and Hofmann reveal something equally crucial: ‘Our findings suggest that health and safety messages should focus not on the self, but rather on the target group that is perceived as most vulnerable’”. “Raising the salience of purpose is one of the most potent—and most overlooked—methods of moving others”. “While we often assume that human Hamilton Philip Lindley beings are motivated mainly by self-interest, a stack of research has shown that all of us also do things for what social scientists call ‘prosocial’ or ‘self-transcending’ reasons. That means that not only should we ourselves be serving, but we should also be tapping others’ innate desire to serve. Making it personal works better when we also make it purposeful”. “Merely discussing purpose in one realm (car-sharing) moved people to behave differently in a second realm (recycling)”. Serving Others
“This is what it means to serve: improving another’s life and, in turn, improving the world”. Greenleaf on “servant leadership”: “The best test, and the most difficult to administer, is this: Do those served grow as persons? Do they, while being served, become healthier, wiser, freer, more autonomous, more likely themselves to become servants?” “If the person you’re selling to agrees to buy, will his or her life improve? When your interaction is over, will the world be a better place than when you began?” “Upserving means doing more for the other person than he expects or you initially intended, taking the extra steps that transform a mundane interaction into a memorable experience”. “Anytime you’re tempted to upsell someone else, stop what you’re doing and upserve instead. Don’t try to increase what they can do for you. Elevate what you can do for them”. Other Books by Dan Pink Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us by Daniel H. Pink Recommended Reading If you like To Sell Is Human, you may also enjoy the following books:
Getting Things Done: The Art of Stress-Free Productivity by David Allen Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces that Shape Our Decisions by Dan Ariely Work the System: The Simple Mechanics of Making More and Working Less by Sam Carpenter Buy The Book: To Sell Is Human Print | Kindle | Audiobook
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