#but seriously please take this idea into consideration at least

[privatebooth]

When they get back together Hawke doesn't rush to be intimate with Fenris. The two are very affectionate, hugging, kissing and touching each other with no restraint, but Hawke never initiates or insists on anything more (even when Fenris doesn't seem to mind it).

He is a little bit worried about the possibility of Fenris feeling guilty about their breakup and the three years of time wasted, and fears that Fenris may feel obliged to please Hawke, doing something he doesn't really want to do. He knows that Fenris is not entirely free of his slave mentality, and wants to help him work through it (but remain subtle about it). I just have a lot of feelings about Fenris giving friendship points for reminding the world on his behalf that he is not a slave, like he needs constant reminders and reassurence ;_;

So Hawke simply wants Fenris to make the first move and make it explicitly clear what he wants.

However Fenris is confused at first. They've had a number of encounters that by all accounts (in Fen's mind) should have led to sex. Fenris gives it some thought.

At this point he has no doubt that Hawke cares deeply about him and wants to be with him. He concludes that Hawke, burned by the experience of their first time, is afraid of scaring Fenris off by being pushy. He might even assume that Fenris finds sex off-putting? And because Hawke was always painfully understanding, considerate and supportive of Fenris, he thinks it totally like Hawke to put Fenris's wellbeing before his own wants.

Fenris finds it endearing, but a little frustrating. He's a free man now, and wants to have what a free man can have. He wants to get all and everything out of his relationship with Hawke, including sex. Yet he doesn't dare to start something himself because... Should he? Is it really his place to do so? He decides that he can at least tell Hawke that he doesn't need this kind of coddling. He can and he should. He knows in his heart that Hawke will understand! Fenris seriously struggles to find the words to bring up the issue, so he decides to act.

The next time they return to Hawke's mansion after another battle they bath (separately) and clean up. Hawke lets Fenris finish first, then goes himself. Fenris tries to remain calm awaiting Hawke's return - naked, holding the used towel that covers nothing.

When Hawke appears he is surprised by the sight and can't look away.

If there were any lingering doubt (like what if it's something else? What if there is something you don't know?) Hawke's awestruck expression erases all trace of it and fills Fenris with confidence. He ditches the towel altogether and approaches Hawke without a hint of constraint.

He says that he'd been thinking on how to get Hawke's attention, explains that for some time now he's been dreaming of feeling Hawke's touch again (Fenris takes Hawke's hand and decidedly puts it on his chest and places his own hand above Hawke's heart). He states that he still very much wants Hawke to touch him, wants to feel him inside, yet Hawke doesn't seem particularly interested. Matter-of-factly he wonders if perhaps Hawke doesn't want him anymore.

They keep touching, remembering the not forgotten feel of each other's bare skin. It's been so long! Hawke is very happy to know that Fenris isn't shy about speaking his mind and that he acted on his own. In the softest tone that he can manage he says

I'll never not want you.

With a mischievious smile he adds Just say the word.

He probably makes some joke about him having wanted to be seduced by Fenris.

Fenris looks him in the eye and says

I am yours, so take me.

Hawke thinks to himself Close enough. This will have to do for now. It's a start.

Then they kiss and Hawke sweeps Fenris off his feet because it needs to happen at least once!

I think this takes place after that convo where Varric brings up the subject, and Hawke was inspired by his idea. Probably thought it would be cool)

[jesuschristwhatsgoingon]

“You are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desire.Night and day,I dream of you.Do you even know all the ways a lady can be seduced?The things I could teach you” and “You have bewitched me body and soul” but make it an Aesop Sharp x reader(No OC’s) fanfic.

Pssst feel free to use and please tag me if someone decides to use this idea

This lives in my mind rent free

[delicatebarness]

The Barnes-Rogers Family Adventures | Welcome to the family, Alpine! #004

Summary: Peter asked for a puppy, Bucky and Tiny came back with a kitten...

Warnings: This post and series are safe for work (SFW) regressions. Nothing explicit. However, please be aware that the rest of my blog is NOT. NSFW accounts are welcome to read and reblog, but please keep all comments SFW out of consideration for other littles.

Word Count: 583

Series Masterlist

A/N: Oh, he'll get that dog. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @sapphirebarnes | Let me know if you want to be tagged specifically for this series.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602

For weeks Peter had been talking about puppies. He was reading books about them, drawing pictures of them, and he even had dreams about them. Each day, he brought it up to Steve and Bucky, hoping they’d agree. 

One afternoon, Peter rushed into the living room to find Steve, a hopeful expression spread across his face. “Papa, can we get a puppy? Please?”

Sighing, Steve looked up from his book. “You know it’s a big responsibility, Buddy. We have to make sure we’re ready.” 

Peter’s face fell, but he was not standing down. “I promise I’ll take care of him! I’ll feed him and walk him, and everything!” 

Just then, you and Bucky came home, stepping into the house with your arms full of shopping bags. Your eyes twinkled with excitement as you beamed. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow as he stood, taking the bags from you. 

A secretive smile tugged at both your and Bucky’s lips. “We’ve got a surprise,” Bucky said, glancing down at you. “Why don’t we show them?” 

You nodded eagerly, running to the little box Bucky had placed by the door. Carefully pulling out a small, fluffy, white kitten. Its tiny meows filled the room as you held her to show everyone. 

“Look, Papa! She’s a kitten!” you exclaimed, face glowing with joy.

“A kitten?” Peter’s eyes widened in surprise before his face fell once more. “But I wanted a puppy…” 

Steve had been skeptical about a pet, however he was now struggling to keep a straight face. The kitten was adorable, and it was undeniable that his resolve weakened. “Well, I suppose a kitten is nice too,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady and nonchalant. 

Bucky brushed his hand through Peter’s hair. “We thought a kitten might be a bit easier to manage, at least for now, Buddy.” 

Peter’s initial disappointment faded as he watched the kitten playfully bat your fingers, causing you to giggle. “Can I have a hold?” he asked, cautiously stepping closer.

You nodded, carefully handing the kitten to Peter. “Daddy said we gotta be gentle,” your voice full of all the seriousness that you could muster.

Holding the kitten close, a smile spread across Peter’s face. “So soft,” he said, looking up at Bucky. “What’s her name?” 

Steve was now fully charmed by the tiny creature, he crouched down beside Peter. “How about Whiskers?” he suggested as he reached out to pet the kitten’s head.

Bucky shook his head with a laugh. “That’s a bit cliche, don’t you think, Steve?” 

You had been quietly watching until you suddenly piped up. “Daddy likes Alpine!” you said, clapping your hands together. 

Peter looked down at the kitten, debating each name. “Alpine?” he mumbled before looking at you, he grinned when he saw the light in your eyes. “Welcome to the family, Alpine!”

As the evening went on, Alpine quickly made herself at home. She explored every nook and cranny of the house. You and Peter took turns playing with, laughter filling the house. 

Steve and Bucky watched you all from the count, contentment settling over them. “You know, a kitten was a great idea,” Steve admitted, leaning into Bucky’s side.

Smiling, Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve, pulling him closer. “I thought so, but, you know he’s not going to give up on the puppy.” Peter overheard their conversation causing his eyes to flash with a spark of mischief. He most definitely was not giving up on a puppy.

---

Series Masterlist

[njdevilsdarling]

the ‘costume thing’ | jack hughes x reader

*pairing: jack hughes x gn!reader

*summary: a simple misunderstanding between you and jack turns into a full-blown argument

*word count: 896

*tags: angst, miscommunication, happy ending

*a/n: goodness gracious, this was supposed to be fluff but it grew into this angsty monster. i hope you enjoy !

happy halloween !!

you’ve been trying to convince jack since september to wear matching costumes this year. jack didn’t agree to do it last halloween so maybe this time, it’d be different, but nope. he still shot down every suggestion. it’s starting to get on your nerves. you’d never force him to do it but it’s hard not to feel jealous seeing all of your friends dressing up with their partners.

and you thought you’d had some pretty good ideas, too. your best friend straight up cackled over facetime when you told them your favorite (the angel and devil thing is so overdone but jack has always looked good in white).

now, it’s two weeks before the 31st and he still hasn’t said anything. he doesn’t even pay attention anymore and you suspect that he isn’t listening whenever you bring it up. it fucking sucks.

at first, it was just annoying- something that was just aggravating enough to get under your skin- but now, it’s starting to hurt.

it’s beyond just a costume. it’s about him ignoring you and not even taking your opinion into consideration.

fine. if he wants to play that way, so can you.

“c’mon, just talk to me.”

you cross your arms and stare at him, shaking your head. oh, now he wants to talk, got it.

“did i like, forget to do something or make you upset?” jack says, sounding genuinely concerned. it’s nice to know he cares but you’ve been paying attention to how long it would take for him to approach you. three days is shitty.

you stand there in silence while he fidgets awkwardly, clearly frustrated by your lack of a response.

“can you please say something?”

you sigh, rolling your eyes. the low simmer of irritation and hurt that’s been under your skin finally boils over and you can’t stop yourself from lashing out at him. “it doesn’t feel very good to be ignored, does it?”

immediate regret sets in as you watch the look in his eyes shift rapidly from sadness to sharply annoyed. “is this still about that costume thing?”

“are you serious?” you scoff, full on glaring at him, “you think that’s why i’m upset?”

“yeah, i guess. i don’t know.”

“i’m upset because you’re not listening to me. every time i try to talk to you, you just brush me off, and that’s if you even care enough to respond,” you snap at him. you feel your eyes begin to burn and it only serves to make you more upset. you’d never considered yourself someone who tries to hide your emotions but fuck, crying over this in front of him is embarrassing. “it’s like you don’t even want to hear what i have to say. and i feel ignored.”

it’s quiet but the silence between the two of you is thunderous. jack opens and closes his mouth, struggling to find what to say. you sniffle, using the back of your hand to dry your eyes. it isn’t fair for you to spill everything you’ve been feeling lately out to him and to him to stay still and speechless. it feels like hours before he finally says anything.

“i’m sorry,” jack mumbles, and it’s so genuine that it’s almost like you have to look up at him. “i should have listened to you.”

you laugh wetly, wrapping your arms around your body. “yeah, you should have. you never even told me why you didn’t want to like, dress up with me.”

“i don’t know why.” he shrugs. at least he looks bashful. “that’s a shitty answer, isn’t it?”

he’s right. it’s a horrible answer but he says it in such a way that makes you giggle, hiding it behind your hand. hearing you laugh causes him to smile.

“i didn’t know you felt like that. i wish i would’ve, though.” jack bites his lip, his hands in his pockets. it sucks, seeing him so dejected, but part of you is glad that he’s taking this so seriously. it’s such a contrast from before; he’s actually, really, listening to you now and it’s damn satisfying. “i don’t like seeing you upset.”

you take a deep breath, nodding slowly. he’s trying. one conversation isn’t going to make everything okay but it’s a start.

“just… i need you to talk to me. fighting like this is stupid. i don’t wanna spend most of our time together arguing,” you say quietly, the last of your tears drying on your face.

jack pulls you into a crushing hug and for a moment, you stand still, before hugging him back just as tightly.

“me too.”

he’s got such a way with words.

jack flicks his headband with a frown and you watch the little halo attached to it wobble.

“quit messing with it,” you hiss, elbowing his arm when he goes to hit it again, “you’re going to break it.”

he pouts, rolling his shoulders back. maybe the wings were a little too much, but he just looks so cute in them. “and why am i the angel again?”

“because,” you say simply, flashing him a grin, “you’re always a devil. it’s my turn now.”

you quickly pull your phone out, using the camera to check if your horns are still on straight. in the top left corner, jack readjusts the wings you ‘forced’ him to wear.

you can’t fucking wait for tonight.

[burntsaltsblog]

tw: drug use, mdni

Chapter Four

"Never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down. Never run around and desert you."

A steady headache at the base of my skull pulsed in time with the beat, which was courtesy of Rick Astley. But I couldn't even hear Rick singing, thanks to MM, who was belting out the tune like he had written the song himself.

"Never gonna make you cry. Never gonna say goodbye. Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you."

He had claimed this was the only way he could adequately prepare for a mission, and I wasn't one to judge a guy for the way he chose to get in the zone. But, as soon as Rick Astley's voice blared from the mini Bose speaker in the common area of the basement for the 27th time (yes, I had been counting), I was contemplating storming from the confines of my room and hurling the stupid speaker against the wall until it inevitably shattered into a thousand different satisfying pieces.

I assumed I had finally gone deaf when the song cut out midway through the second verse, but then Hughie timidly eased my door open and slipped inside. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Well, I'm alive, aren't I?" I replied dryly, flipping through the latest issue of Vogue that Frenchie had swiped for me from the bookshop down the street.

"Yeah." Hughie said, hesitating before continuing, "Anyways, we're about to head out, and I wanted to say goodbye."

My gaze drifted from pictures of Chanel bags to Hughie's nervous face. "Alright. Well, Godspeed. And if you happen to use Butcher as a human shield, which results in him getting maimed, then please do so. I can promise to compensate you for your efforts."

Hughie perched on the side of my bed, taking an unusually great interest in a loose string in his jeans. "How long do you plan on staying mad at Butcher for?"

"Why?" I questioned as I resumed paging through my magazine.

"Because the tension between you two is making it a bit awkward for the rest of us if I'm being honest."

"I'll stop being mad at Butcher when he stops being a world-class ass. And knowing him, that could take a while. So I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

"Why don't you just key his car or something?" Hughie sighed. "You know, perform some dramatic act of revenge so you can get even with him and move on?"

I titled my head in consideration before I found fault in my friend's idea. "One, he'll just get his stupid car fixed, and two, my revenge needs to be something that's going to impose lasting pain. Emotionally and physically. And that's going to take me a long time to figure out."

"You're insane," Hughie muttered as he stood, adjusting his jacket. "Oh, and by the way," he added, heading for the door. "Butcher told me to tell you to be on your best behavior while we're gone. He also told me what he would do to you if you didn't in significant detail, but I do not feel comfortable repeating any of it."

"That kinky, huh?" I smirked, watching Hughie squirm uncomfortably.

"Seriously, Jo," he lamented. "Can you at least try not to be reckless tonight? I know that's asking you to go against every basic instinct of yours, but Butcher is right. You need to stay here and rest so you can get better."

"I make no promises," I replied sarcastically before I took stock of Hughie's desperate face and relented slightly. "But I will try to be good. Is that better?"

Hughie nodded, offering me a small wave before closing the door behind him.

I strained my ears to hear four different pairs of shoes trample up the basement steps before clamoring loudly over my head. Butcher hadn't returned since his anger-induced exit earlier, so I assumed he was somewhere outside waiting for them.

A sting of jealousy flowed through me as I pictured them all embarking on this mission without me. Evading a security system as tricky as the CIA's was right up my alley, and I was exceedingly bitter that I was missing out on all of the fun.

I looked around my room, mindlessly studying the tattered posters I'd hung on the wall to cover the cracked walls. Tom Cruise stared back at me, dawned in his pilot's outfit, and I glared at him. If I lived in the film Top Gun, I wouldn't have to live with Butcher and his infuriating face, which I would confess was quite handsome if I wasn't so pissed at him.

Bored of Dior's spring line and Harry Style's exclusive interview about the highs and lows of fame, I tossed Vogue aside, picked up my phone, and scrolled through my unopened messages. Brandon had texted me under an hour ago, informing me of a party he was throwing at his apartment. Apparently, he was being evicted tomorrow, so he was hosting a rager the night before to trash the place as a big "fuck you" to his landlord.

I had to admit that the party sounded fun. I'd been alone for roughly five minutes, and I was already bored out of my mind. My biggest problem, though, was that I had the matter of my brand-new stitches. After MM sewed me up for the second time this afternoon, he'd made me swear that I wouldn't move a muscle so as not to rip them again. So, I suppose it was a good thing I'd had my fingers crossed behind my back because how could I break a promise that I technically never made?

I took a deep breath as I sat up in bed. Other than a small amount of lightheadedness and some minimal pain, I felt surprisingly good. And I knew after a couple of drinks, any discomfort would be a distant memory.

After rummaging through my small collection of clothes, I pulled on a clean pair of black jeans, a long-sleeved shirt that had the faded Vought logo, and my trusted combat boots. I studied my reflection in the camera of my cracked phone and felt satisfied enough, so I headed out the door and started for Brandon's place.

I was careful to shut off my phone when I was still inside on the off chance that Hughie tried tracking me if the guys returned to the pawn shop before I did and noticed I was gone. However, I figured the odds of that happening were pretty low, considering I only planned on staying at this party for a little while and breaking into the office of the deceased deputy director of the CIA would surely take all night.

Brandon's door was closed, but music and the hollers of guests could be heard loud and clear. I peeked through one of the bullet holes in the wood and saw it was a packed house. But that was no problem. Since becoming a wanted criminal, I haven't socialized much, so it would be good to see everyone.

"Holy shit, I can't believe you came!" exclaimed Brandon as I entered his apartment. He threw an arm around me before instructing me to 'help myself' as he gestured to the powder that covered almost every surface.

But I wasn't in the mood for coke. It was too exhilarating for this time of night, and I was craving something with less evident and lasting effects. I spotted a vape that was being passed around by Heath, one of my old buddies back from my dealing days, and I promptly approached him. I didn't have much trouble nicking the vape off of him, and I settled into the comforting high from the weed as I conversed with everyone.

They were all thrilled to see me walking around free and not locked up. I was ambushed for details on my anit-supe work, but I was dubious with most of my answers, only doling out basic information and keeping most of the details to myself. I considered almost everyone here to be a friend, but paranoia danced around my head, and on this rare occasion, I listened to the internal warnings and kept my mouth shut.

Time flew by, and before I knew it, I had moved from weed to more potent stuff. Molly was my newest friend for the evening, and it caused me to deviate from my original plan of leaving early. One hour turned into two, and pretty soon, it was nearing four am, and I was passing out on Brandon's couch.

༺༻

Light snuck between my swollen lids, piercing my eyes, and I groaned, slapping a hand over my face as I searched for some much-needed darkness. Someone nearby was shuffling around the room, and the noise quickly became too irritating to ignore. I assumed it was Hughie, and I wrenched my eyes open, intent on telling him to shut the fuck up, when I realized that it wasn't my best friend causing the noise, and I wasn't under the pawn shop. I was still in Brandon's apartment from the night before.

I abruptly sat up and watched as the stranger causing the ruckus shuffled out the door, not even bothering to close it behind them. My teeth sank anxiously into my lower lip as I pulled out my phone to check the time. After the device finally powered on, my eyes widened as I saw the numbers flashing before me.

10:29 am

Fuck fuck fuck. I was completely and totally fucked.

The boys were definitely back by now, and I was sure that they had noticed my absence.

Right on cue, notifications of missed calls and texts began flooding in, and my stomach flipped when I saw the ninety-three missed calls from Butcher. Hughie had called a whopping forty-two times, and there were a few messages from MM and Frenchie telling me to get my shit together and come home. I couldn't help but scoff at Frenchie; he and I ran in the same circles, and not a day went by where he wasn't high. Saying that I was miffed at his hypocrisy would be an understatement.

I stood from the couch on weak legs, fought the fatigue that was encompassing my body, and forced myself to focus on the act of getting home somehow. I was too tired for the almost hour walk, but I didn't have money for a cab either.

As if my phone could read my thoughts, it immediately lit up, notifying me that I had an incoming call from Butcher. I guess he thought that the ninety-fourth time was the charm.

I stood in Brandon's apartment, which was lacking the owner himself, amongst other passed-out partygoers who I assumed had stayed overnight unintentionally like myself as I contemplated whether or not to accept Butcher's call.

In the end, as I silently cursed myself, I took the call. I brought the phone up to my ear but quickly drew it back when Butcher's voice bellowed from the other end, not even giving me a chance to say hello.

"Where on God's bleedin' earth are ya'?"

"Uh, Brooklyn," I responded hoarsely as I walked through the open doorway and scanned the empty hall.

"Stay where you are. I’m coming to get ya’."

"Butcher, it's fine. I can get home on my own."

"The hell you can. Send me your location."

I didn't have the opportunity to argue before the line went dead. So, with multiple knots in my stomach, I begrudgingly dropped him a pin of my location. I was already in deep shit, and now I was forced to face a car ride with Butcher, where he'd have ample time to yell at me. And with my blurry vision, chapped lips, and overall feeling of sickness, I was not in the mood.

I stumbled out into the December morning air just as Butcher pulled up in his beat-up Cadilac. He shot out of the driver's seat and stalked towards me like I was prey that he had finally cornered after much anguish. I suppose that wasn't far from the truth.

I barely had time to attempt an escape before Butcher had me slammed up against the car with a firm hand on my chest, keeping me pinned in place while he used his other hand to point a threatening finger inches from my nose.

"Dontcha ever pull some shite like that again. Do ya’ understand me? I was out all night, runnin' around like a fuckin' headless wanker lookin' for you, only to find ya’ here in this bloody crack den."

"This isn't a crack den."

"Well, it makes our little bunker look like Buckingham fuckin' Palace, don’t it? And if I ever catch ya' here again, I swear to God almighty, you won't be able to sit for a fuckin’ year."

Butcher's threat was low and husky as his whisky-tainted breath fanned over my face, and desire pooled in my belly.

"Do you understand me, Josephine?"

"Wow, you're using my full name? I must really be in trouble," I snickered. Any sane person would immediately agree to appease someone like Butcher with his bugged-out eyes and bared teeth. But I had fallen off my rocker years ago.

My breath hitched when Butcher raised his hand to my neck and squeezed in a warning. "I would choose your next words very carefully, princess."

I stared up at Butcher, challenging him as our breaths began to mingle. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Yes, but that won't stop me from throwin' ya' over my knee and spankin' your arse till it’s red and raw. I don't care if we're in the middle of the goddamn street. I bet your other druggie friends around here would like a little show."

My pussy clenched desperately as images of Butcher punishing me out in the open like that swarmed my mind, but I reeled them back in as I did my best to keep myself together. I prayed he didn't notice my quickened heartbeat and sweat that now coated my forehead, telltale signs that my body craved for him to take control of me right here, right now.

With much-needed force, I shoved Butcher off of me and watched in satisfaction as he stumbled back. His shoelaces flew around his feet instead of doing their actual job and keeping his boots laced up.

"Don't make promises you can't keep. It's not attractive on a man your age," I commented passively as I opened the passenger's side door and plopped down in the car.

I kept my eyes staring straight ahead as Butcher rounded the front of the car and gruffly sat down behind the wheel before starting the engine. He navigated the narrow streets of New York City, weaving between cabs and delivery trucks and honking at pedestrians loitering on the curbs. "These fuckin' kids have no place better to be? When I was their age, I had a job to keep and rent to pay. I didn't have time to hang around street corners like a fuckin' muppet until my next wank."

"Yeah, well, when you were their age, electricity was still new, so people liked staying indoors more."

I couldn't resist peaking over at Butcher to see his reaction, and I caught him rolling his eyes before changing lanes. "Good to know all that dust didn't wipe out your charmin' personality."

"Actually, I didn't do any lines last night. I was a good girl and stuck with some nice MDMA. Aren't you proud of me?" I asked, with a mocking smile as I twisted my shoulders to face Butcher head-on.

"I don't think proud is the right word, sweetheart. More like so bloody furious I might handcuff you to your bed so ya’ can't sneak out again."

I raised my brows as my smile turned from mocking to teasing. "Damn, I didn't realize you liked to get so frisky, old man. Exactly how deep into BDSM are you? I mean, for someone with your level of anger issues, I'd guess pretty far."

Butcher growled, illegally parking his car in the alley next to the pawn shop. He slammed on the brakes, throwing me forward, and dug his fingers into the roots of my hair, tugging till my eyes bored into his own. "Get out of my fuckin' car before I make good on my earlier threat. Don't be so naive, darlin', to assume I would pass up the opportunity to teach ya’ a lesson on obedience, you little cunt."

My arousal from earlier returned, more powerful than before, and I was all but panting when Butcher used the hand that wasn't holding my skull captive to throw my door open. "Get," he barked.

After I removed my seatbelt, noting how my hands shook ever so slightly, Butcher shoved me out of the automobile. I had barely landed on the ground, my boots thudding loudly in the process before Butcher was zooming away. His tailpipe blew exhaust all over me, and I coughed and sputtered, throwing my middle finger up in the air, hoping he would see it in the review mirror.

When his Cadillac was around the corner and out of sight, I turned on my heels and headed into the small pawn shop. I avoided making eye contact with the tattooed man behind the counter and quickly descended the basement steps.

I kicked off my boots and tossed aside my jeans and shirt after entering my room and climbed into bed. I curled up into a tight ball as I tried to ignore the intense throbbing between my legs because I refused to give in to the pleasure that I so desperately craved. Even though it wasn't necessarily true, it felt as if touching myself to the memory of Butcher's harsh yet tantalizing threat felt like I would be letting him win. Winning what, I wasn't sure. Nevertheless, I was too sore of a loser to go through with it.

Eventually, I began drifting in and out of sleep, and it was only when I couldn't take anymore that I pulled my underwear to the side and ran a finger through my slick folds.

I shivered, biting my lip as I attempted to suppress a moan that was on the tip of my tongue. Once my restrain was broken, there was no holding back. I pushed two fingers into my dripping hole and wasted no time in finding a fast tempo. The heel of my hand slapped against my swollen clit every time my fingers entered my cunt, and I came embarrassingly quick.

After clearing my head from my intense orgasm, I examined the juices that coated my thighs. This was all Butcher's fault. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be such a fucking mess right now.

Resigned to the fact that I needed a shower, I tiptoed through the common area, desperate not to be caught in this state, and snuck into the cramped bathroom. I wish I could say that I practiced the art of self-restraint and didn't touch myself again as Butcher's voice echoed in my head, but that would be a lie. It wasn't until the water ran cold and my legs began to weaken that I actually cleaned myself up before darting back to my room and swiftly passing out in bed.

༺༻

I woke up to panic ensuing in the common area. I stumbled out of my room and regarded the scene through my sleep-hazed vision. Everyone was running around tossing things in bags as they threw clipped commands at each other.

Finally, MM spotted me and rushed over, shoving an empty duffel bag into my hands. "Pack fast, kid, we gotta go.”

"Why, what's going on?" I called as he crossed the room and busied himself, placing our spare laptops and other electronics into brown corrugated boxes.

"We've been burned, mon ami," Frenchie informed me as he passed by, with his arms full of different bottled chemicals.

It took me a moment to process what he said before my heart stopped, and I clutched the bag closer to my chest. "What? How in the fuck did that happen?"

“Don't know," Butcher said, loading his handheld. "But, my guess is that someone spotted ya’ at that little swarae you went to last night and followed ya' back here."

"No, there's no way," I insisted. "I knew everyone there, and none of them would ever do that to me-"

Butcher charged forward, abandoning his gun on the coffee table as his eyes darkened in anger. "Don't be such a daft cunt. Of course, one of them turned ya’ in. You're the most wanted criminal in the fuckin' country; turnin' ya’ in is the dream of every junkie in the Tri-State Area who's desperate to get their possession charges wiped from their record. You handed yourself over to them, all wrapped up in a crimson bow."

I opened my mouth to debate Butcher, but MM walked in between us, pausing the dispute. "Butcher, I get that you wanna to rip her a new one, but we gotta leave. We're lucky if Homelander isn't already here.

I glared up at Butcher, conveying that if it weren't for MM, I wouldn't be backing down from this fight.

"Go," MM begged, pushing me back into my room. "Pack only the essentials."

I took a deep breath to steady my racing heart as I threw the ripped duffle on the floor and knelt under my bed, pulling out all of my belongings, which consisted of another pair of black jeans, a couple of t-shirts, some magazines, my hygiene products, and my earbuds.

I dumped everything into the bag, forgoing any form of folding or organizing, and swung the bag over my shoulder before heading back into the common area, surveying the chaos that was still transpiring. I had already pulled my clothes and boots from earlier back on, so I was all set to go. Since that was the case, I offered myself to MM, helping him finish packing the rest of our equipment.

Minutes later, an eery silence fell over the group as we huddled together before Butcher spoke. "I think it's best if we split up. For safety, that is. We'll be harder to track in smaller groups, thus makin' it harder for those twats to find us. We can meet back up in a couple of weeks or so once things have calmed down a tad."

"Butcher's right," MM agreed. "So the question now is who's going with who?"

Kimiko quickly linked her arm with Frenchie as she smiled, signaling to the rest of us that they were paired up.

"Alright, kid. You're with me," MM said, waving a hand to Hughie.

Misery settled in my bones when I realized my fate.

I was stuck with Butcher.

The devil himself flashed a toothy grin at me as he trotted over and slid an arm across my shoulder. "I guess that means you're with me, princess."

"Shoot me," I groaned as I pushed Butcher away and followed the rest of the group up the rickety stairs for the last time. Even though the place was a fucking hole, and I had honestly been in crack dens that were nicer, I was still going to miss it. In the three months that we'd lived here, we'd managed to make it a home, and I had enjoyed the feeling of having one after so long on the run.

I exchanged goodbyes with the rest of the group: a kiss on both cheeks from Frenchie, a pat on the back from MM, a hug from Hughie, and another bone-crushing one from Kimiko. She stepped back and beamed up at me as she moved her hands into different positions, communicating with me. I recognized them from the time she had spent teaching me her sign language. "Bye. Be safe. I love you," she said, and I signed the same sentiment back to her.

"Oi," Butcher yelled, opening the trunk of his Cadillac. "We don’t got all bleein' day, sweetheart, unless ya' wanna die by Homelander laserin' your gams off."

I rolled my eyes before hugging Kimiko one more time and jogged over to Butcher. "No, I'd prefer if my gams were left unscathed."

I dropped my duffle bag into his trunk before rounding the car and settling myself in the passenger seat. I watched everyone peel away in their respective vehicles, and my stomach knotted at the realization that I was now alone with Butcher, and that's how it would be for the next few weeks. Fourteen days might not seem that long to some people, but spending the entire time with someone you simultaneously hated and loved sounded like borderline torture.

"Here," Butcher mumbled, dropping a blanket in my lap before turning the key in the ignition, and the old car roared to life.

My brows creased as I ran my fingers over the soft fabric. "What's this for?"

"S'pposed to be quite chilly tonight, and we've got a long drive ahead of us," he replied, avoiding my eyes and instead focusing on the road ahead.

"Oh." A warmth covered my cheeks, and I kept my head down, pretending to hyperanalyze the blanket.

The conversation ended there as Butcher turned on the radio and cranked up the heat. Don Mclean's voice spilled from the staticky speakers, and I curled up with Butcher's blanket, appreciating the extra warmth. I didn't bother to ask where we were going because I soon learned our destination when Butcher entered the highway and followed a green sign that had New Hampshire printed in bold letters.

My head began lulling to the side before I finally rested it on the window, and my eyes fell shut, letting sleep take over for the second time that day.

༺༻

“Oi, sleepin' beauty, get the hell up. We're here."

"Where?" I asked groggily as I brushed the hair out of my face. I noticed the greased strands at the crown of my head and made a mental note to take a shower the first chance I got.

"Haverhill, New Hampshire." Butcher announced before departing from the car and walking around to the trunk.

I stumbled out of the automobile after him and wrapped the blanket he gave me around my shoulders. As I leaned against the car, I yawned as I waited for him to get the bags. My eyes traveled the expanse of our surroundings that I could see so late in the night: green grass, red brick buildings, and paved streets. When I finally looked at Butcher, I saw him with both our bags in hand, regarding me with an expression I wasn't used to. His features were softer, not forced into hard lines like they usually were.

"What?" I prompted, wrapping the blanket tighter around my frame. The Brit silently shook his head before walking past me and up the stairs of the quaint Bed and Breakfast he had chosen for us to stay at for the time being. I hurried after him and nodded in appreciation as he held the door open for me.

I was immediately greeted with decor that exuded way too many pastels. Floral wallpaper and dried flowers covered the walls. The whole place looked as if it had fallen from a Beatrice Potter book. Butcher rang the bell at the front desk before shoving his hands in his coat pockets and whistling an unintelligible tune under his breath.

After a brief waiting period, an older man with snow-white hair exited the back room, smiling widely at us. "Good evening, travelers. Welcome to Ed and Eva's Inn."

I had to turn away, snorting at the corny name. And even though I tried to be discrete, Butcher pinched my arm, causing me to whine softly. But he ignored the sound as he focused on making introductions with who I assumed to be Ed, one of the owners of the Inn.

"Evenin', Govonor. Fancy givin' us a room?"

"With two beds," I added.

Butcher merely shushed me before turning back to Ed. "Preferably one with a nice view."

"I've got the perfect room for you both!" Ed beamed as he opened a drawer under the counter and produced a shiny brass key. "How long are you folks staying?"

"Don't know. But we'll be here for at least a couple weeks."

"Wonderful." Ed clasped his hands together before adjusting his green cardigan sweater. "It's forty a night."

"I'll cough up five hundred and sixty smackers upfront. Sound good, mate?"

Ed agreed, and Butcher pulled out his wallet and handed him multiple hundred-dollar bills. "I only pay in cash. I don't trust those dodgy banks."

"Fine by me. We don't even have any fancy gadgets you need for credit cards anyway," the elderly owner chuckled.

Upon his words, I took inventory of the front desk, noticing it indeed lacked a computer and anything resembling something from this century.

"So, where are you folks traveling from?" Ed asked as he began counting the cash.

"Boston," Butcher said, wrapping an arm around my waist. "We're actually here on our honeymoon."

"Oh, well, isn't that sweet," Ed smiled as he handed the key over.

"We're not actually married," I cut in. "It's more of a legal agreement if you want to know the truth. He's gay." I pointed to Butcher. "I'm just his pesky beard. You know how that goes." I waved a hand as Butcher tugged me away from Ed and up the flight of stairs. I'd never forget the look of shock Ed had, and I knew it would comfort me in many years to come.

Butcher grumbled profanities as we stopped outside of our room and fumbled with the key. He threw the door open, and we were met with what I could only describe as Cinderella's bedroom.

"Ugh, it looks like a fairy godmother threw up in here."

"I think it's lovely," Butcher proclaimed, dropping our bags and walking over to close the curtains.

"Of course you do. You only like it because I don't."

Butcher made a snarky reply, but I missed it because my eyes had finally landed on the bed in the middle of the room—the one bed, to be exact.

There was one fucking bed.

Fuck me.

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[thetarttfuldickhead]

As much as I love the notion of Roy as the reluctant but resolute resident Jamie Tartt Caretaker (duties include: cuddling, Special [and sometimes insane] Rules just for Jamie, loving concern disguised as shouting, and thoughtful nodding while wondering what the hell Jamie is on about) I’m growing increasingly amused by the idea of Jamie as the team’s official Roy Kent Whisperer, now that Ted’s clicked his heels three times and fucked off to Kansas.

Say Roy’s in a mysterious foul mood and running everyone ragged to the point where even the tying together of dicks starts to seem reasonable? The team turns to Jamie: “The fuck’s going on with Coach?” 

Jamie shrugs and makes one of his exceedingly expressive faces. “I don’t know, I didn’t do nothing.” 

Isaac’s eyeing him like he maybe doesn’t believe that. “Well, you need to talk to him. Figure out what’s going on before he fucking kills us.”

Jamie makes another face, scoffs maybe, partly because uh you think this is bad you wouldn’t survive a single one-on-one training session with him, and partly because he’s still a little contrary at times and also doesn’t like getting saddled with things. “Um, why me?” he demands. “You’re the captain.” 

Isaac is unmoved. “Yeah, well, and as your captain, I’m telling you to go talk to Coach.” Off a nudge from Colin, he adds: “Please.”

“Yeah, come on, boyo,” Colin adds. “You and Roy have this whole thing, he’ll listen to you, mate.”

And that’s true, innit, and the thought of that cheers Jamie up considerably, so yeah, sure, he’ll talk to Roy, don’t worry about it, lads.

Jamie’s many and varied tactics for getting Roy to open up ranges from point blank asking what’s going on and refusing to stop making empathic faces until Roy tells him, to cunningly sharing something vulnerable about himself in the hopes that Roy will reprociate, or having Roy join him for some sort of activity designed to eventually lower Roy’s guard, or following Roy around and being obnoxiously cheerful until Roy gives in from sheer exhaustion (and also, but secretly, from being a little bit soothed by Jamie’s happy presence). The whole process usually involved Roy telling him to fuck off at least thrice and possibly the repeated slamming of doors, but Jamie’s nothing but tenacious and in the end he always gets his man. With time and Roy’s continued sessions with Dr. Sharon the need for this sort of intervention becomes rarer and rarer – but when the call comes, Jamie is ready! 

(Having Jamie be the spokeperson when it come to special requests is a bit of a gamble, though, because a lot of the time Roy is actually far more likely to say no to him than to anyone else. And, of course, any concerns not tied to Roy being in a mysterious foul and/or weird mood that needs particular handling, is sorted by Isaac, who takes his duties as captain very seriously.)

[rosesloveletters]

midnight rain.

pairing: Commodus x Fem. Reader

word count: 3,777

warnings: toxic/unhealthy relationship dynamics(?) and mentions of specific gender roles (I don’t know how else to describe it)

summary: A retelling of the ‘frightful dream’ scene . . . Your husband Commodus requests some time alone while he reads scrolls from the senate. When night comes and he still has not sent for you, you take matters into your own hands; you find him fast asleep, but never at peace. // Reader stumbles upon her husband Commodus who’s been crying and offers him comfort. 

author’s note: I never thought I’d write for Commodus again and I am so pleased that inspiration struck! A few things before reading: I am not trying to promote toxic masculinity or the idea that men shouldn’t cry or express emotion, but at the time, it would have been viewed as a weakness especially from someone of Commodus’ social standing. I wanted to delve into his mind a little and write a softer side to him that he surely has, but that we did not see too much of onscreen. His descent into madness intrigues me and I wanted to explore that in this fic somewhat. All seriousness aside, I just want to hold Commodus while he cries and writing this allowed me to do so, at least, in some form. If you read this fic, I hope you enjoy it. 

Edited. 

The emperor was midnight rain.

Winds rich with humidity blew through the open palace halls, carrying the pungent scent of fresh herbs, smoke from guttering torches and the heavy rains yet to come. Storms were brewing on the horizon and while the people of Rome slept, unbeknown to them, there too was a cacophonous melody playing inside of their Caesar’s tired mind.

It was far too late for you to be wandering the palace alone, but Commodus had bid you leave; he was to spend the twilight hours poring over scrolls from the Senate, as his father was apt to do in the past. The young emperor sought not to follow in his father’s footsteps, but be that as it may, some things cannot be helped.

You had busied yourself in the gardens earlier, when the light still stretched across the sky and plunged the Roman landscape in a vibrant orange glow that slowly faded until the wispy clouds high above your head twisted into a mesmerizing purple-pink majesty. You found solace amongst the flowers, watching idly as little bees busily buzzed from bloom to bloom.

When the light died and you still had not been sent for by the emperor, you took leave of the gardens and reentered the palace through the open doors.

Inside, you made yourself comfortable in the library for a few hours to delve into a book or two, devouring the words on each page like your mind was starved of food for thought.

Immersed in another world were you and did not pay mind to the bustling which took place beyond your imaginings.

Servants passed through the halls, completing their evening duties, lighting torches for ease of sight as the night set in, cleaning the already spotless floors, checking and rechecking stock to be certain there was enough of everything… Even the ghastly praetorians and their looming, statuesque figures faded while you were so captivated by ink on a page.  

As the pitch black of midnight bled in through the outer walls of the fortress, the hustle and bustle of evening had dissipated considerably and the only prevailing sounds were those of the whispering winds through silk curtains billowing in the minor disturbance or a barely imperceptible clink or grate of armor as a praetorian moved from his post.

Still, no word from your emperor.

That fact disturbed you, though you knew he was safe. The palace would have been thrust into chaos had anything been amiss, yet it still gnawed at you that this was highly unusual.

Commodus was protective to a fault and rarely let you out of his sight for any length of time, but he had been pulled in many a direction for the duration of the week at hand and you had to find entertainment where you could. The Senate and the people of Rome needed him now; you could wait.

When Commodus became emperor, everything changed like midnight.

You put your book back in its place on the shelf and quietly crept from your sanctuary. Your guards, stationed at the door, fell into step behind you and trailed you down the hall like phantoms of night. It felt silly to be so cautious inside the palace, but it was Commodus’ orders; what was the use in listening to him if he was just going to forget about you?

Turning, you dismissed them and, with a shared, confused expression between the two of them, they branched off and left down a side hall.

It appeared that you were finally alone, but such was never the case in Commodus’ domain.

You forged ahead beneath the watchful gaze of praetorians you knew were there, but you could not see them. They were there for your protection, to diligently guard the palace and the emperor, but their strict stoicism and the serious air about them made you nervous. The unwavering loyalty between emperor and his personal guard was strengthened by one man’s resolve, though your Commodus had been plunged into manic paranoia until it became oppressive.

Your footsteps carried, heightened by the fact that there were no other movements or sounds coming from elsewhere to blend with yours.

You took yourself straight to Commodus’ chambers.

There were two guards posted at the doors that were still shut tight. All was as it had been when you left, except these guards were fresh and bright eyed, having replaced the two that had been there before.

You approached them and bid they let you enter, “I request that you allow me access to the emperor’s chambers,” you said.

“Caesar has requested that he not be bothered,” one of them spoke, unconvinced to let you pass despite your connection to the emperor.

“I can assure you that, should Caesar be displeased by my admittance, it will not fall upon your shoulders.”

They seemed uncertain, but soon relented, stood aside and allowed you to enter.

You did not want to disturb him and you did your best to keep any sound of your entrance to a minimum as you slid through the doorway and into the vast room.

The cold floors were contrasted by the wet winds that blew in from the open terrace. Night was well under way and you were worn, though your walk from the library to your emperor’s chambers had accelerated your heartrate considerably. It would be nice to relax with him, alone, if he had found himself at a proper stopping place with his scrolls.

Upon initial inspection, the room looked relatively unchanged. The desk was still covered with open scrolls, parchment and ink. His quill rested idly by and, though all appeared well within your initial inspection, the only thing out of the ordinary was that the emperor was missing from his workspace.

You cast a look over your shoulder, noting the miniature scale of the colosseum was unchanged, and your searching gaze landed on the bed. Commodus was curled in on himself tightly, his back to you, as he snoozed lightly on the plush mattress.

You smiled to yourself, reasoning that he must’ve gotten so absorbed in his work that he’d not realized the time, grown exhausted and retired for the night before he could send for you.

Odd as that may have been, it was plausible. Commodus had never been known to have forgotten you before, but things were different now. He made a conscious effort to please the Senate and that meant spending extra time revisiting scrolls, passing legislation and participating in, as well as negotiating, Rome’s politics with the dry old men your emperor had once been so critical of.

Commodus rarely slept, at least, undisturbed sleep was near impossible for him to achieve. Perhaps the scrolls kept him from thinking of it, you thought, and that was why he had been able to visit the land of dreams, but you were relieved that he had finally found peace.

Your fingers skimmed one of the jade marble pillars as you shifted about the room, uncertain of how you should bridge this gap. Torchlight streamed in from the carved stone latticework, coating half of the room in a spectacle of oddly shaped shafts of light, including the curtains which framed the imperial bed.

To avoid the embarrassment of awakening him, you swiftly removed your sandals so that the noise of you walking would not echo. You shivered as the chill of the marble floor penetrated your skin and sank deep within you – a pleasant reprieve from the humid air.

However, when the wind blew in through the open terrace particularly hard, you drew your yellow stola in closer about your shoulders. You noticed that Commodus’ own garb had been removed – his cape and armor lay on a table not far from the colosseum model – and he slept in just his tunic.

It puzzled you that he lay on top of the linens and your brow creased in thought.

Tentatively, you approached the bed, careful to remember to step up onto the raised platform; the thought of tripping and unceremoniously toppling onto the emperor of Rome as he slept was not a pleasant one, but the thought still made you smile. If something of that nature were to happen, it might make Commodus shriek in terrible fright and send the guards at the door into a frenzy, but once he realized it was only you, there would have been no repercussions, only gentle laughter as he pulled you into the bed beside him.

You had fallen in love with the young Roman prince, before he had become emperor, three summers ago when the heat of late August was not the only thing which left you feeling breathless.

There was nothing he would not have done for you then and that was still the same now, even if everything else was different.

You remembered fondly how he had courted you, eventually asking for your hand in marriage and how you had eagerly accepted. You were wed the summer before this; little did you know those few months would be the last time that things would ever be so simple.

You sank onto the bed and the mattress dipped beneath your weight.

Commodus murmured softly and folded in on himself a bit more, instinctively protective of his vulnerability. It pained you to witness his paranoia, even while he slept. The ever-present thought that at any given moment someone might burst through the door and try to hurt him kept him from ever letting his guard down completely. That, among other things, kept him awake most nights.

The torches and oil lamps still burned bright; the fuel had been replenished earlier by some servants while Commodus was busy with his scrolls. Your heart ached for the young man who never slept in the pitch black of night; he was afraid of the dark and maybe that was why he never would look in the mirror either, because that same darkness lived in him, too.

You were compelled to reach out and touch him, then, gently stroking your hand along the curve of his face and as you did, you gasped in surprise, almost drawing your hand away; his warm cheek was damp with tears.

It had not been long since the emperor had fallen asleep, cried himself to sleep, you painfully reminded yourself.

Why had he not sent for you?

Resisting the urge to wake him, you shifted your weight as you settled in behind him and draped an arm over him. Soon, the solid press of his back against your front eased your nerves and you carefully and deliberately reached up and combed your fingers through his dark hair. He cooed softly in his sleep, sniffling a little as he relaxed beneath your touch. The tension flooded out of his shoulders while you held him like this. Even in his sleep, he could sense that the comfort was yours, brought to him by his cherished wife who loved him more than his own father ever had.

His father.

Commodus had tried to be the son that the great Marcus Aurelius had wanted. He had tried to make his father proud, but nothing he had done was good enough and, what was worse, he did not know why. Why did his father not love him? Commodus did not know the reason, but in the end, it was clear: Marcus Aurelius had longed for a different son.

Since then, Commodus had tried to squeeze love from various sources but it never satisfied him.

Not until he met you.

“My love…” you whispered to him, careful to lift him gently out of his dreams, “please awaken and talk to me.”

Commodus moaned and for a moment you were not sure if he had heard you until he responded with a full-bodied stretch and the rustling of fabric met your ears as he turned to glance at you over his shoulder.

His eyes were green like freshly sliced limes and just as bittersweet; they were red-rimmed and tired, lined with dark circles that alluded to the many nights he had suffered through without sleep.

He said nothing, but turned over until he was able to wrap his arms snugly around your shoulders. He remained that way for a time, clinging to you while his body adjusted to wakefulness after the impromptu nap.

His heavy eyelids fluttered and his head dropped to your shoulder, “I’m sorry…” the apology was whispered into your skin and you almost did not hear him.

When he looked up at you with an almost childlike expression on his face, you cupped his cheek in the palm of your hand and stroked across it with the pad of your thumb, “Commodus,” you started, “is everything alright, my love?”

He craned his neck and kissed your palm, “it is,” he said, “now that you are here.”

Your hand fell away and reached for his, sliding your fingers into the spaces between his own thicker digits. He squeezed you tight, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips before he looked away again, “I meant to send for you, but I was in such a state…”

He did not need to tell you more. He had been crying, that much was confirmed by the drying tear tracks upon his smooth cheeks and the redness in his eyes. Commodus’ emotions were often left unchecked; he felt so viscerally, violently and brutally and the tears would come, whether they were born out of pure sadness, or frustration and rage.

It was one thing to express emotion, but it was another entirely to witness it from the emperor of Rome.

The only time he could fall apart was when he was by himself.

He was supposed to be a fearless hero but instead he cried more than some women did and that was unacceptable.

At least, it had been for the stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius, who had once grown tired of his son’s outbursts. Commodus doubted it would be any different now. The palace was his own, but this new life was not.

He did not want his servants or his guards to see him crying while asking after you; that was not an image he wished to paint for them.

While he waited for the tears to subside, he had relaxed on the bed until he succumbed to his exhaustion.

“That is alright,” you assured him, “I was reading in the library for a time because I thought you were still at work.”

“No,” he responded, the dulcet tones of his honeyed voice was indicative of sleep, the vestiges of which still clung to him like ivy on stone, “I finished with that some time ago. These senators demand more from me each passing day that I have no choice but to work as I do now, just like my father had done.”

That sentiment hit some nerve within him and was certainly the source of these tears and what had brought them forth, “Commodus,” you repeated his name but the sound of it did not reach him.

He was looking through you, unsettling as that was, he was prone to it. Often did you wonder what he heard and saw in these moments that were lost to the wind and rain. These elements were, too, present within the emperor who was waning into crescent, tearstains glittering like stars on his cheeks – this man was made of midnights and he was hauntingly beautiful.

Only, when the darkness had overtaken him, he did not reemerge anew.

You tenderly kissed his forehead; his skin was warm against your lips. He drew you closer through the barely imperceptible inhale as his nose rested at your collarbone and you tilted your head back, allowing him to find comfort where it was needed.

He had dropped your hand in favor of holding you while his full lips pressed bruising kisses against the bare column of your neck. Your fingers found his hair again, giving it a gentle tug of affection that made him groan appreciatively.

He lifted his head and leaned close, his sweet breath fanning across your face as he pressed his forehead to yours. His eyes flickered in the lamplight as he looked at you, “do you know what my father said once?”

You languidly chased his lips with your own, but he eluded your desires, resolving to let you capture and conquer him in his own time, when he was ready.

“I don’t,” you replied, “won’t you tell me?”

“He said that it’s a dream…a frightful dream, life is.”

You looked into Commodus’ eyes, but he was somewhere else. You did not have the courage to speak up until he asked you, “do you think that’s true?”

You hesitated, momentarily assessing how best to respond.

“Sometimes it is,” you settled on a half-hearted agreement for now and his shoulders slumped into you as though out of some sort of relief.

“And I have only you to share it with…” Commodus’ eyes brimmed with tears and he bit back a sob, “but I have no proper time with you now. It is all like some great nightmare!”

Your arms encircled him comfortingly and you rubbed his back to soothe him, understanding that his tender state was in part the fault of his father who had failed him as a child, but also because Commodus was just so tired. In his fitful sleep, it was difficult to reach him, but even more when he was awake because he could not escape his nightmares even during the day.

There was a slowly burning madness inside of him and soon it would boil over.

But, not tonight.

“Shh, Commodus.”

You held him close while he cried, shoulders shaking with the force of each painful sob that carried and reverberated off the palace walls and made it seem all the louder.

You pulled him in against you, your bodies flush to one another and you could feel his heart beating rapidly against your chest.

Commodus scrounged for love in every aspect of his life, searching for fulfillment in dealings with his guards, the people of Rome and occasionally even the senate. He desired love himself, but he also wanted to be the provider of love to his people because if they respected him then perhaps, they might love him, too.

It was you who gave him what he needed, only, it seemed that it was not enough.

He had an empire to run, scrolls to read, legislation to propose and citizens to care for; Commodus was meant to be an emperor first and a husband, second.

His sobs grew quieter and more restrained, changing from full-bodied cries to soft whimpers. Your cheek rested against the crown of his head, your hand still rubbing his back as you held tight to him.

Many times had you found yourself in this position, but few of them were like this.

The tearful emperor would have been perceived as weak by anyone who might have seen him like this, but not you. You knew what he was capable of, even if no one else did. The moon might only reflect the sun’s light back upon the shadowed earth, but there were things one could only dream of that lurked in the darkness that not even the light of day could brighten. There, too, were demons veiled by the emperor’s dark side and once in a blue moon they were revealed by the light.

He was quiet now, but he breathed deeply, dragging in oxygen harshly through his nose while his cheek rested gently against your chest. He could listen to your heartbeat in this position and his lips bore a marginal smile.

“You know I love you,” Commodus whispered to you in that unassuming, hushed tone his voice took on when he was calm.

His lips found purchase on your neck again and you released a pleased sighed, “and I love you, too.”

The storm had passed.

The drought had been the worst, but the rain was over and the clouds had begun to part; Commodus was returning to himself, and after the downpour, you both would flourish again.

When he was overwhelmed, Commodus had to purge the emotions that consumed him.

“Shall we ready ourselves for bed, darling?” you posed the question as not to disrupt him; he seemed comforted by your closeness, satiated and remedied now that you were in his presence once more.

You felt him nod once, “I think that would be for the best,” he agreed, lifting his head when the sound of rain suddenly flooded into the room.

Beyond your chambers, the sky opened and rain came down from the heavens like you had anticipated might happen into the night. The gods were crying with the emperor, watering the lands of rich, fertile soil for the flowers, plants and food that would grow here.

Commodus smiled wistfully as he gazed out to watch the droplets fall to earth, “What did you mean?” he asked.

The sudden question perplexed you.

“Meant what, darling?”

“That life is a frightful dream, only sometimes,” he clarified, “implying that it is not so all of the time.”

He had turned to look at you and your heart skipped a beat. Your lover’s eyes held their usual mischievous brightness that enchanted you, sparkling like springtime and full of icy vitality. His full lips parted as he waited for your response and you had to steel your imagination against kissing him instead.

Your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck that had grown long enough to curl a little, “well,” you began and felt him press even closer, if that were possible, as he hung on your every word, “life does often feel like a dream to me, but not always an unpleasant one.”

“Yes,” he appeared childlike as he agreed with you, “I suppose that for all of the unpleasantness, there are still good things.”

“Like you,” you said, “us.”

Commodus expelled a brief, lighthearted chuckle, “you are right about us, my love.”

That is a good thing. We are a good thing.

You heard the admission in his voice, he did not need to say it because you felt it. It was there, in all that he did. You were enough for Commodus and you always would be, even on days when he was pulled in different directions that did not lead to you; he would always come home.

The love was present in the way he held you, kissed you, made time for you, loved you.

Yes, Commodus loved you.

He always had.

[amoransia]

Really late, but here's my ekuoto chapter 70 commentary. Nothing special, just me freaking out. You know. The usual.

Watch out for spoilers!

Dante got a very special dialogue balloon with "..." in it. Which is curious to me. I'm sure it means some sort of reflection or surprise happening within him; I really want to what he's thinking. How do you feel? Knowing that the that child you were entrusted can't even bear to be awake anymore? That he runs to escapism? Must suck. Anyway.

On the other hand, dearest Daniel is real composed. Good job on getting info out of Belphegor. That's not really a high bar, though lmao... I mean, how are you a demon and can't LIE? Embarrassing... Go back to demon high school or something. Fall from grace again! The whole premise of your existence is being a lying thing that leads people to sin, and you're here having communication issues??? Dude. That's so moe.

Everyone thinking Belph's got something up his sleeve is fucking hilarious. No. Sorry. He's not Kira or anything like that. It's not all according to his "keikaku". He's just kinda dumb and suffers from Villain Monologue Syndrome...

Him saying "my witch", though... ough! (takes critical hit)

Really funny how he showed him off sleeping and everything. Why are you bragging? Is this something to show off? I guess it is for you... I'd be embarrassed if all my coworkers suddenly saw me sleeping on a plasma 100" inch TV, though. Maybe have a little consideration! Also, I don't think anyone's mentioned this before, but I think it's a cool detail that Priest's in a fetal position. Not only does this position bring one comfort, but it can also represent how he's about to be "reborn" as a witch of Sloth. The sphere he's sleeping in can kinda be a uterus, right?

Belphegor and Mikhail replying to each other while Leah was suffering out of confusion was funny. She got the straight man role forced onto her. Miha's "I see!" was cute. Very casual, as if he wasn't talking to a Demon Lord lol. To be fair, Bel is not really intimidating.

Meanwhile, Vir is busy trying to lead his shounen manga team to victory... (or not really.) They'll definitely get some piece of Belphegor though. I wonder what it'll be... he doesn't have anything like Asmodeus' eyes sticking out, so this is a mystery to me.

Me when I get excited about an interest of mine and end up yapping too much

Dante and Vergilius are heading to the same place, so they'll meet up again... I'm looking forward to the mess that comes out of that 👀.

Imuri needs to step up her game, or I'll be taking matters into my own hands because this is ridiculous. Femme Fatale? Wtf are you talking about. Fraudmuri. The Demon Lord of Fraud. Her true title.

Her biggest crime so far is being more in love with the idea of being in love with Priest than actually caring for him. Does that make sense? So far, she hasn't done any effort in actually coming to know him. She needs to KNOW!!!! At least I can respect that she also takes male rivals seriously... and her aggressiveness towards them. Lole.

She doesn't call Priest "sleepyhead" in the JP raws. I don't really mind the addition, but I thought it was worth noting here anyway. Makes it cute.

"It'll be over soon" Naw bro Imuri is coming at you with a fucking sledgehammer. Watch out.

Tiny Imuri is so fawking cute. I've been craving these Imuri flashbacks for forever because we know virtually nothing about her. What moves her. Why does she long to love!! We'll know in due time, I guess. But please show me a bit of it, Aruma-sensei...

Asmodeus being considerate enough to make sexual things vague to Imuri is nice, but it confuses me a bit. Well. I shan't dwell on it, lest my head blows up.

Imuri seems to have some complex about being a demon with no demon power, because she keeps asserting that she is a demon? Am I explaining this properly? Like in this chapter (ch.70) and chapter 3.

Anywho.

Imuri imagining the BL route... save me... my fucking sides... I burst out laughing the first time my eyes laid on that panel. True to her succubus nature, she didn't even consider the possibility of them using blood or whatever else instead of straight-up KISSING. Those are still bodily fluids, right?? Calm down, girl! Stay put!!!

"I'm not letting his first kiss go to some guy that just appeared!!" HE'S BEEN THERE FOR A DECADE! YOU ARE THE NEWCOMER!!! IMURI, GIRL!! You absolute buffoon! Clown, even!

Whew. Lmao.

This arc also feels like a callback to that one "sleeping beauty" comment from chapter 3.

...except their roles have switched.

This time, Imuri will be the one kissing Father on the cheek to wake him up, and it'll be so, so cute. Trust. Trust me. This will happen. (Going insane).

Go and make him your witch, Imuri... Dew it... Make a move... (screaming and crying)

[cosmic-cogs]

So, I want uh... an Autobot (NB) reader and Soundwave, both pinning on each other and in a more calm battle (maybe 2v1) readers "subtlety" compliments him in his battle skills and the other member of the team prime is like 'THAT'S THE ENEMY' while Soundwave is completely calm about it, at least in the exterior and beating their asses. You are welcome to add whatever you like, and if it was headcannons I would be pleased

(I am aware that that would be extremely ooc from Soundwave but it's was a funny idea in my head 😔)

You get both hc's and a short blurb, aren't I so delightfully evil? Also I don't know how I managed to make this into angst but I hope you like it.

Pairing: tfp!Soundwave x nb!autobot!reader, romantic

Missions with Bulkhead were, simply put, fun. There were no real restrictions, safe for the obvious once like "don't cause human casualties" and "aim for the spark but torture isn't cool". No one would complain in the background as the wreckers lived up to their name and utterly wrecked the surrounding area.

Bulkhead didn't complain about the mess, no, but he did complain about… other things. 

"Oh! Such elegance and grace! He moves like he's air~' the bot practically purrs in admiration as they stare at the sleek Decepticon who's very much so trying to get somebody killed today.

"Uh- hey you do remember that he's the enemy, right? Haven't hit your processor and forgotten that, have you?" Bulkhead asks as he barely dodges another attack from Soundwave, giving his teammate an opening to shoot, which they gladly take. To no one's surprise Soundwave gracefully moves to the side and dodges the energy blast, "I knoooow, it's such a shame the cute ones are all Decepticons, right?" "I- have you lost your mind?!" "First Knockout, then Breakdown, and now him!  I mean seriously, what's with that?" "(N/N) now is not the time for this" talking and fighting at the same time come to the pair like breathing comes to humans, at this point it's just how things are. They kick ass and exchange their thoughts in the process. 

"If not now, when?! I can't just gush over him at the base! Arcee would yell at me" they frown, taking another shot at the con, finally landing a hit though it barely even scrapes his paint job. 

Bulkhead is so done. If it was anyone else- correction- if this was an autobot his friend was gushing over he'd be nothing but supportive. Truly he wishes them all the best. 

Not with a goddamn Decepticon though. He's internally begging that they're just messing with him.

They aren't. 

Miko definitely sneaked through the groundbridge to witness the battle and yeah she definitely heard and yeah she definitely ships it.

In a sense, Soundwave is completely unaffected by the compliments. Of course had this been a time of peace he would have entertained the thought of returning the affections, but he knows it's a foolish thought now. His spark may yearn for a lover but he denies the call, he won't betray his cause, not after everything he's done in its name, and he knows the autobot is unlikely to betray their friends.

He's neutral toward the compliments, he doesn't need the praise, he's not blind to his talents. He knows he's graceful, agile, and though he doesn't give it much consideration he knows he's beautiful in the eyes of many.

Though slowly and slightly he warms up to the bot. They seem kind, he might be a Decepticon but that is still a trait he admires, even if he more often than not would take advantage of such a trait.

As time goes forward, slowly he starts to go just slightly easier. Gives them a second longer to dodge, doesn't immediately go for their spark. 

Small changes, but once he hopes they can notice. 

Maybe after the war is over, regardless of whose victory it'll be, maybe then he could spare them more of his time, get to know them a little better. Return their compliments, allow himself to open up to them.

But that is all wishful thinking, he's aware of as much. But it's a wish he keeps close to his spark.

Perhaps he would meet his doom by their servo, or perhaps he would extinguish their spark before that wish ever came true, they were in the middle of a brutal war after all. 

He's fully aware that each fight could very well be his last, or theirs. He knows that each time seeing them could be the last, he tries to savor those brief moments.

Either way, whatever the future holds, however the story goes, he hopes that their face would be the last thing he sees. Be that because they bested him in battle, or because they'll be the last thing he'll be thinking of, along with his long lost cassettes.

There was a time they met alone in a barren battlefield, or, now it was just a field.

There was no need to fight, no real desire to.

Both were standing face to face with an enemy, yet neither made the move to kill.

No, for that brief moment they looked around and exchanged their wordless confessions. 

The world was still, for a moment it felt like the years of endless bloodshed were yet to happen, or almost as if they never existed at all.

It felt like they were back home on Cybertron. The other's presence didn't feel like the one of an enemy, no. Instead it felt like they were both new sparks who had met for the first time, yet at the same time it felt like they'd known each other for all their lives. 

It felt like all these eons spent at war had been pointless after all. 

They stared at him for a little longer and he stared back, he didn't need to say a word, they understood the meaning easily.

"After the war"

"After the war"

That was a promise he could only hope he could keep.

But as the cruel and unrelenting fate, which at this point he assumes to be vengeful, would have it, he was right. That accursed moment of separation came eventually. Not because death tore them apart, rather it was the fault of humans. 

Now he was to roam this lonely realm, Shadowzone, alone, silently watching as the bot he'd made his sweet promise had to quietly grieved for him in solitude. 

After all, Bulkhead was under the impression they were merely joking, and how could they ever tell the others the reason behind their sparkache? As if they'd understand the pain that came with this loss, one they needed to cope with by their lonesome. He was their enemy yet he was undeniably loved by them. But now it seemed that said love could never truly bloom, not even after the war as they'd once promised to one another.

He never left their side, not till they went too far for him to follow, back to Cybertron. 

Now he's alone.

Even still, he hopes that one day he'll be able to keep his word. 

"After the war"

He'll wait for that moment for as long as it takes, but at the same time he wonders.

Will they be waiting for him as well?

[ladystoneboobs]

[Jaime, to Brynden Tully:]"I will permit you to take the black. Ned Stark's bastard is the Lord Commander on the Wall." The Blackfish narrowed his eyes. "Did your father arrange for that as well? Catelyn never trusted the boy, as I recall, no more than she ever trusted Theon Greyjoy. It would seem she was right about them both. No, ser, I think not. I'll die warm, if you please, with a sword in hand running red with lion blood." -Jaime VI, aFfC

there's always been some debate about how seriously to take the blackfish's words about jon here, and whether he's actually trying to keep the lannisters in the dark about jon being a possible new kitn according to robb's will. for me, after due consideration, what seals it (but seems to be overlooked whenever this subject comes up) is the reference to theon as equally mistrusted by catelyn. except she never did distrust theon in that way! cat may have found his constant smiling suspicious, but if anything, she trusted theon too much and took the loyalty and obedience of ned's hostage completely for granted.

[Catelyn, to Brienne:]"Bran and Rickon tried to escape, but were taken at a mill on the Acorn Water. Theon Greyjoy has mounted their heads on the walls of Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy, who ate at my table since he was a boy of ten." -Catelyn VII, aCoK

there's no sense of being proved right when she learned all that theon supposedly did at wf, only that he was a member of their household for 10 years, without any mention of his being a hostage from an enemy family as the only reason he lived with them.

and if that's not conclusive enough, let's look back to when cat reunited with robb after ned's arrest while theon was still a member of robb's entourage.

[Catelyn, to Robb, about his leading the northern army:]"No one?" she said. "Pray, who were those men I saw here a moment ago? Roose Bolton, Rickard Karstark, Galbart and Robett Glover, the Greatjon, Helman Tallhart … you might have given the command to any of them. Gods be good, you might even have sent Theon, though he would not be my choice." -Catelyn VIII, aGoT

yeah, she said he wouldn't be her first choice, but still the fact that she presented theon as a viable option at all, not her best suggestion as an advisor imo. can you even imagine foreign hostage theon leading an army of veteran northmen--a number of whom must have fought against balon's first rebellion alongside ned--to save ned? (not to mention that theon was 5yrs older than robb but in no way more experienced as a commander or warrior in any sense, and not any better trained as a leader in his perpetually subordinate captive squire position.) before that, she accepted theon's bs embellishments about ned being a second father to him and knowing his family owed hers a great debt without even a thought of doubt. and when she did argue with robb about sending theon back to the islands it was framed as distrust about balon only, not disputing robb's assertion that theon proved his loyalty by fighting in battle for them and saving bran's life in the wolfswood before that.

in conclusion, any idea that catelyn distrusted theon all along and was only proven right about him without any shock would have to a rewriting of history on her part, of which there's no evidence in her own pov in asos. it's possible she could have presented this false narrative to the blackfish sometime offpage in asos, just like it's possible she wrote letters to him in the vale airing her family's dirty laundry and complaining endlessly about jon's existence without ever mentioning that communication in her own pov, but the simpler and more likely explanation imo is that this discrepancy is bc the blackfish was lying to jaime. esp considering the blackfish was also in robb's inner circle and as both were non-povs all of their convos without catelyn would have to take place offpage moreso than brynden's with catelyn, and that edmure, another tully and the one in riverrun least close to robb, witnessed robb's will, and that sers desmond grell and robin ryger, two long-serving, high-ranking, and trusted riverrun retainers, did take up jaime's offer to go to the wall, which seems an odd choice if the blackfish was indeed wholly against that institution under jon snow's command and presumably would have tried to dissaude his men from joining. and i'd say there's no evidence catelyn ever suspected jon of willingness to work with ned's killers and robb's enemies or even hated him as much as the people who killed ned and twice tried to kill bran. which makes brynden's absolutely wild accusation of jon owing his rise to tywin lannister well beyond anything cat said or thought about jon in her own pov, which only further makes me thinks his words were insincere. (she may, at times, have wanted to believe jon untrustworthy to justify her own feelings about him, but such suspicion was not the source of those feelings. idt she actually needed to see him as a true enemy to dislike him when being ned's (alleged) bastard was enough without any sins of jon's own.)

[justicerikai]

Charisma House - Superhuman Sharehouse Story “Charisma” - #83 The Tendou Household

Please read alongside listening to the drama track on Youtube.

Let me know if I missed something!

TL note:

Seiza: Japanese sitting position where one sits politely on your knees.

Atami is a place known as a resort town and for its hot springs. The perfect place to cleanse your soul and soak into relaxation. This is also a location in the easter egg ending of AI: The Somnium Files. This part is irrelevant. I like making people read more than necessary. 

Everyone: Ahahaha

Sarukawa: …..

Sarukawa: A dream, huh…

Sarukawa: …! 

Sarukawa: Where, am I….

Housemaid 1: Ah, Sarukawa-sama!

Sarukawa: !?

Assistant 2: Nakagami-sensei, what’s the report?

Nakagami: Our personnel and budget got cut, and we must refrain from any conspicuous actions for the time being.

Assistant 2: I knew we went too far, even if it was done in the name of capturing the Charismas. 

Nakagami: This damned decrepit country prioritizing appearance rather than results. 

Torahime: No matter, Torahime will follow Sensei to the depths of hell!

Nakagami: What’s the destination of the Charismas

(Hitting desk sound) 

Torahime: Ngagh!

Assistant 3: Please look at this!

Assistant 1: What is it

Assistant 3: This is the house where Tendou Amahiko was born, but isn’t this place…

Assistant 1: !? Don’t tell me… Tendou is…THAT Tendou!?

Assistant 3: The esteemed family behind generations worth of skilled doctors. The kind whose connections run deep in politics and finance. 

Assistant 1: Not a chance we’d even come near if this is where they’re hiding…!

Assistant 2: I’m sure the higher ups wouldn’t want any kind of conflict either…!

Assistants: ….! What do we do… To think it’s really….

Nakagami: Do not falter!

Assistants: !?

Nakagami: It’s irrelevant. Whatever the situation at hand may be, we march to capture them. 

Nakagami: No matter the risks we must take.

Assistants: ….!

Torahime: Sensei… 

(The sound of housemaids moving around) 

Sarukawa: ….

Sarukawa: Um… ‘m seriously doin’ fine here, no need to go outta yer way like that now.

Maidservant 1: How preposterous! 

Maidservant 1: Such considerate arrangements are a given when you’re a bosom friend of young master Amahiko!

Sarukawa: We ain’t no chums

Manservant: Sarukawa-samaaaaaa~! 

(Sound of running through the corridor, sliding into seiza position)

Manservant: Here, my good sir. Hair wax of the finest caliber in terms of holding power.

Sarukawa: WHA-!?

Manservant: I’m well aware of the peril and life-dangering risks Sarukawa-sama has gone through to keep his hair standing upright, no matter the cost!

Sarukawa: That’s embarrassing! The fuck did you get that from! Who told ya!

Maidservant 2: Sarukawa-samaaaa!

Sarukawa: What’s it this time!

Maidservant 2: It appears that your bosom friends have made their return. 

Sarukawa: Eh?

Maidservant 1:  Welcome back, Terra-sama!

Terra: Thaaanks~~

Manservant: Welcome, Motohashi-sama!

Iori: Sorry to keep you waiting~

Terra: It sure warmed me all up~

Rikai: Honestly, such a pleasant hot bath.

Iori: Riiight~

Sarukawa: Huh?

Iori: Ah, Saru-chan’s awake! Good morning

Rikai: Looks like you’re fine, what a relief.

Sarukawa: The hell have you guys been up to?

Fumiya: Vacation

Sarukawa: Huh!?? WUH!? EH!? HUEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!!!!!??

The five of them: Huh?

Sarukawa: VACATION?

The five of them: Yea

Sarukawa: While I was knocked out you went on VACATION!?

Terra: To Atami

Sarukawa: NO WAY!

Iori: The hot springs were amazing. 

Rikai: Not to mention how beautiful the ocean was.

Sarukawa: WAITwaitwait, you GOTTA be pulling my leg. What the fuck are you idiots doing 

Terra: I mean, it’s not like you were able to lift a finger or anything for a while. So we had time to kill in the meantime.

Fumiya: Then I got an idea. Now's the chance! Let’s go to Atami, like that. 

Sarukawa: Don’t just get used to this shit!!! Show some concern no matter how many times this happens!!!

Ohse: Sorry, Sarukawa-san. At the very least take this as a souvenir.

Ohse: A drawing I made of Atami’s sea.

Sarukawa: AS IF I NEED THAT!!!!!!

(Sarukawa throwing a tantrum, the others calming him down)

Iori: Calm down, Saru-chan…! There’s a good reason for this!

Sarukawa: Hahn!?

Maidservant 1: Young master Amahiko, her ladyship is…

Amahiko: ….Understood.

Sarukawa: Hah? Ya bailed outta this place?

Fumiya: Yeah

Fumiya: The Tendous are no small-fry

Fumiya: Timing was just right to get away under the guise of you needing rest, but a new problem popped up.

Rikai: The family has been investigating us.

Rikai: What kind of people we are, what our relationship is with their precious son.

Rikai: And it’s not as if I can say that we’re a ragtag bunch of misfits, save for me.

Terra: Why? Nothing’s stopping you

Rikai: Absolutely not! Amahiko-san’s the worst one of all!

Iori: That’s why, Saru-chan, we had to take shelter for a bit.

Iori: A vacation in name only.

Ohse: It was all an act. 

Sarukawa: …..

Sarukawa: That’s what’s up, huh

Sarukawa: So, wasn’t like y’all actually went out on a lil’ trip, huh

The five of them: No, we did.

Sarukawa: YOU DID GO!?

(Sarukawa throwing a tantrum, the others calming him down)

Maidservant 2: Everyone?

Four of them: Wuh!

Maidservant 2:  Dinner has been arranged.

Four of them: …

Rikai, Ohse, Iori: …….

Rikai: Terrific…

Ohse: Is such a thing really okay…

Iori: …Unbearable---

Rikai, Ohse, Iori: …….

Terra: YUM! I think Terra-kun’s gotta go for seconds

Fumiya: Unfair, Terra, I want too. Excuse meeeeee

(Sound of a small whistle being blown)

Rikai: You two…! Your behaviour…! And how can you two be so unbothered?

Ohse: Where’s Amahiko-san?

Iori: Dunnooo

Rikai: And where did Saru go?

Iori: Drinking his sorrows away alone in his room

Ohsa: Uwah… 

Amahiko’s mother: Is it to your liking?

The four of them: Wah!

(Rikai being flustered)

Rikai: Terra-san, Fumiya-san…! Seiza…! Straighten your back and…! C’mon, hurry…!

Amahiko’s mother: My apologies for showing up during your meal.

Four of them: No no not at all, Ma’am

Amahiko’s mother: Once again, I am Amahiko’s mother.

Amahiko’s mother: Thank you for always taking care of my son.

Rikai, Ohse, Iori, Fumiya:  No no no it’s us who should say so, don’t mention it at all.

Amahiko’s mother: How do I say… What sort of person is Amahiko you all… 

Rikai: …Eh?

Amahiko’s mother: Ah, please excuse my impoliteness.

Amahiko’s mother: He never mentions anything to us.

Amahiko’s mother: Could you kindly tell me about it, if that is alright with you all?

Rikai: …Ah

Amahiko’s mother:  What is his occupation at the moment?

Rikai, Ohse, Iori, Fumiya: HUH!?

Amahiko’s mother: Eh?

Rikai: Huh?

Amahiko’s mother: Hm?

Iori: Wha?

Amahiko’s mother: Uh huh?

Ohse: Mhm?

Amahiko’s mother: ?

Fumiya: ?

Amahiko’s mother: Did I ask something I shouldn’t have..?

Terra: Amahiko-san’s job, right? He’s the World Se--

Rikai, Ohse, Iori, Fumiya: @@@@@@@@@@@!!!!!!!!!!!

Amahiko’s mother: Huh? World?

Rikai: Ah, no, ah, uuum, well, you see with world, um, yes world yes, um right ma’am you see, it’s it’s it’s that yes Yes uuum Amahiko-san’s work is world, um, Yes! Basically the world! Amahiko-san goes around the world, doing all kinds of wonderful labor!

Amahiko’s mother: Oh my! That’s overseas then.

Rikai: Exactly!

Amahiko’s mother: And what does he do overseas specifically?

Rikai: EH!? 

Terra: Stripping and pole da-…

Rikai, Ohse, Iori, Fumiya: @@@@@@@@@@@!!!!!!!!!!!

Amahiko’s mother: Excuse me?? Stripping????

Rikai: With stripping he means, um, that, that there’s a lot of circumstances surrounding it which Minato Ohse-kun will explain further.

Ohse: Wha-!! You jest, milord!

Rikai: You can do it.

Ohse: …! Um… stripping is like, um, uuuh… poop…? No not poop, absolutely not poop…!

Ohse: …!

Iori: With stripping it’s not meant in the sense of taking off clothes, but stripping yourself of any prejudice towards others.

Amahiko’s mother: Huh

Iori: In other words, Amahiko’s work overseas pertains to helping out any kind of person no matter who they are, isn’t that right, Ohse-san. 

Ohse: Yes, exactly that.

Ohse: (IO-KUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Amahiko’s mother: …Some kind of humanitarian aid, then

Iori & Ohse: Yes!

Amahiko’s mother: And what does that include then?

Terra: Asparagus, Assparagus-

Rikai, Ohse, Iori, Fumiya: @@@@@@@@@@@!!!!!!!!!!!

Amahiko’s mother: Asparagus?

Rikai: Amahiko-san developed a new variety of asparagus!

Terra: Bobongalinga---!

Amahiko’s mother: Bobongalinga?

Rikai: Bobongalinga is a region under conflict at the moment.

Rikai: Asparagus is being distributed, free of charge, to the refugees and children in need 

Terra: ECSTASYYYYY---!!

Iori: Is what the people feel thanks to the economic benefits from cultivating this new form of asparagus.

Terra: Propagating sexy--

Ohse: Scientists are propagating how to grow this new species of asparagus 

Ohse: It’s referred to as the Se-XY method, which involves Selenium and the XY system, in order to grow more

Amahiko’s mother: Oh wow… It's as if he’s performing some kind of liberation campaign overseas.

(Sound of dishes rattling)

Rikai, Ohse, Iori: LIBERATION CAMPAIGN! THAT!

Iori: Just as you say, ma’am

Rikai: Indeed, ma’am, it’s truly praiseworthy.

Ohse: Amahiko-san never fails to impress

Rikai, Ohse, Iori: Ahahaha…hahah…

(Sound of the door sliding open)

Rikai, Ohse, Iori: !?

Sarukawa: ★◎◆∴▽★◎◆∴▽★◎◆∴▽!!!!!!!

Rikai: (Saru!? At this timing!?)

Iori: (He’s awfully drunk!)

(Sarukawa throwing a tantrum, the three of them calming him down)

Sarukawa: I’MMAKILLYA!!!!!!!!

Amahiko’s mother: KILL!?

Fumiya: (Slides in)  You’re mistaken, ma’am. He’s speaking a different language

Fumiya: He’s a foreigner

Amahiko’s mother: From what country?

Fumiya: Bobongalinga

Amahiko’s mother: Oh my! This guy is!?

Fumiya: He’s one of the children in need

Fumiya: Tendou-san rescued him, and thus brought him to his own home. 

Fumiya: His overwhelming joy led him to have one too many drinks, and is unconsciously speaking in his native language.

Amahiko’s mother: Although he seems to be upset for some reason… 

Fumiya: Interpreter Motohashi-kun.

Iori: Yessir!

Iori: “I will never forget Tendou-san’s favor. He’s a good man beyond words.”

Iori: “Which is why, Ma’am, no further inquiry is necessary.”

Iori: “ok I’m going to bed now goodnight.”

Sarukawa: WE GOTTA GO NO MATTER WHAT, TO ATAMI! ATAMIIIII!!!!!!!!!

(Rikai and Ohse bringing Sarukawa away)

Amahiko’s mother: …..

Amahiko’s mother, Rikai, Ohse, Fumiya and Iori: Ahahaha… hahaha

Amahiko’s mother: Hahaha.. (cough, cough)

Amahiko’s mother: Fufu.. sorry.

Amahiko’s mother: Thank you, everyone. Your kindness has put me at ease as his mother.

Amahiko’s mother: He’s working hard in his own way. 

Rikai, Ohse, Fumiya and Iori: Aah, yes you know, he’s truly wonderful yes…!

Terra: Hmph

Terra: ….

Ohse: (Terra-san wasn’t the only one who thought so.)

Ohse: (If all of this was okay.)

Ohse: ….?

Ohse: …Amahiko-san?

Ohse: …! That’s…!

Amahiko’s father: How far must you indulge yourself to finally have your satisfaction.

Amahiko’s father: You’re a man of the Tendou family. Any more selfishness will not be forgiven.

Amahiko: …..

Amahiko: ………Duly noted.

Amahiko: Dear father…

Extra TL notes for the TL notes enthusiasts:

There’s a pun with 脱いで (nuide, get nekkid) and 一肌脱いで (hitohadanuide, to pitch in and help). This became stripping.

Iori makes a pun on ecstasy with エクスタ市, read as “ekusuta-shi” with the shi part meaning city. Tried to make a pun like, ecsta city, but ECSTA exists as the European Council for Student Affairs. Pun has been just circumvented by turning into something else, especially considering sexy gets the same treatment with セク市 (pun on セクシー).

[dr-futbol-blog]

Sanctuary, Pt. 9

Elsewhere, McKay is trying to rationalize his feelings and intuition as concern. And unlike Sheppard, Weir appears to be taking his concerns seriously (of course, it was never that Sheppard didn't trust his judgement or take his concerns seriously, it's that he made a different call and just failed to communicate it to McKay because he saw what he wanted to see). They have a walk and talk:

Weir: Where are we at? McKay: Well, either she knows where the weapon is and she's playing us, or else she has no idea, in which case, we are wasting our time. Weir: So what do you suggest? McKay: Take another team back in the jumper, scan the planet for energy signatures. Chaya's people won't have a clue what we're doing from orbit, unless they're a technically advanced race that are pretending not to be… which has happened before.

Neither of them have fond memories of the Genii, so caution is warranted. She's with him on that one.

Weir is asking the questions, McKay is providing her with answers and options. What notable is that while they have to have this discussion using words, Sheppard got this very same information from McKay without having to ask, just reading it off of him:

Weir: And there's no way this could be a natural phenomenon? McKay: A perfectly timed, directional energy burst that only affected the Wraith ships? Weir: That's a no? McKay: That's a no.

And again, it's not that Sheppard didn't believe him or disagreed, it's that he's using the information provided by McKay to try to gain access to this weapon. He's one step ahead of them, not trying to ascertain whether there is a weapon but to secure a means of using it. He trusts McKay's reading of the events that much.

I want to also point out the fact that McKay looks really good, here. Like he's showered and changed, was really making an effort as a representative of the welcoming committee. And in contrast, Sheppard is still in his fatigues, does not appear to have showered while waiting for the medical examination to be completed, and his hair is even mussier than usual. He looks almost haggard, at least compared to his usual countenance. Can't imagine he's smelling very fresh, either.

Sheppard is guiding her through the hallways, showing her around. While he's trying to work her over, she's gathering intel.

Chaya: How many of you are there? Sheppard: Counting all the Athosians on the mainland, you might get a couple of hundred, which leaves a very large, empty city. Right now, we're living in one section, because we don't have the power to spread out more than that.

His torso is not turned toward her like it often is when he's walking and talking with McKay. He also doesn't look at her very much outside of trying to gauge her reactions, to get a read on her. This isn't a man breathlessly admiring someone's beauty, this is a man trying to figure out whether he's having an effect on her:

He communicates to her that there are not that many of them (for her people to take in), and in spite of having considerable resources that might be worth bartering for, they are in need. All things that are designed to make her want to help them out. He decides to test her to see where they stand now:

Sheppard: What do you think so far? Chaya: I think it's wondrous… But ultimately, the decision is up to Athar.

He's not pleased to hear this. The woman is either more religious than he thought and deprogramming someone from a religion he knows nothing about is going to be difficult, or she's too simple-minded to be socially engineered. Either way, he needs to find a new angle. You can actually visually see his mood change by the lighting in the scene:

As much as he has been leading her on, his frustration in getting nowhere with her is visible enough for her to make note of it. You can tell by his reaction here that the whole time leading up to this, he has not been nice just to be nice or because he just finds her so lovely, but has been doing it to get something from her. And it does not seem like it's working.

He decides to try one last thing, the truth. This is the actual first time since meeting her that he has taken the mask off, letting her see him as he is. He drops the pretense.

Sheppard: Look, Chaya… I respect that you believe. Look, I can't talk to Athar; I can only talk to you, so let me ask you this: what if the shoe was on the other foot? What if your people were in trouble and we could help you? Would you just take no for an answer?

This is where she must have realized what he was doing. That he was not going to take no for an answer. That all of this had but one goal and that he would keep digging until he arrived at the truth that she had never intended to share with them. She watches him silently for a moment. And then she touches him.

I mentioned the rule of three at the beginning of the episode. Twice now we have seen someone express concern to her (Abbot worried about her leaving, Beckett suspicious about their perfect health) and she touched them only to have this worry suddenly vanish into thin air. The supernatural nature of this touch was underlined by the breeze coming from behind her when she touched the Abbot.

If she put the whammy on the Abbot and Beckett, she's really doing something to Sheppard here. There's an actual wooshing sound in the soundtrack. She holds onto him for quite a while. Symbolically, we see her guide him through a doorway and only then release him. Sheppard is a new man on the other side of the door, his earlier upset suddenly entirely forgotten.

And just as suddenly, not only does Sheppard's worry seem to dissipate, he's also honest with her.

Chaya: It must have been very hard to live your entire life under the shadow of the Wraith. Sheppard: Don't misunderstand me. Teyla and her people have known the Wraith forever, but when I say we're new, I mean we just got here. We're from another galaxy. A planet called Earth. Chaya: Earth? Sheppard: It's very far away. You know those clusters of stars you see in the night sky? Some of them are called galaxies, and they're even further away from you than the stars. Earth is in one of those galaxies. Chaya: You came through the Stargate. Sheppard: That's right. Chaya: And can you not simply return? Sheppard: Well, not simply. We knew going into it that it was probably going to be a one-way trip, but we thought what we would find here would be worth the risk.

He's telling her things he would not have told her under normal circumstances. He's putting Earth in jeopardy by revealing things to her that she has no reason or need to know. He doesn't just tell her they're newcomers from Earth, he basically gives her the home address. He's doing tactically unsound things. After he walks out of that door, something has definitely changed.

It's now that he actually starts behaving the way McKay thought he was behaving all along, her presence overriding his reason. But it's not because he's thinking with his dick, it's because she did something to alter his mind, likely shutting down some mechanisms of discernment.

But not all the way. I've discussed previously how Sheppard's strong ATA gene makes him mentally different. Even here, you can tell that he can tell something isn't right. Like the face he makes when he hears himself saying 'Earth':

That is not something Sheppard would normally have done. That's something he shouldn't have done. He seems frankly confused as to why he's telling her all of these things.

Truth be told, all of this is much much too subtle for a casual viewer to notice (and hence, they had to spell it out later using, not accidentally, Lucius Lavin with his lax approach to the concept of consent to do it). The casual viewer will get the romancing of the alien priestess story. And yet, this is supported by set design, lighting, sound, direction, acting, dialogue. It's there. A beautiful Ancient is trying to seduce John Sheppard. And between you and me, it's not all that great.

Continued in Pt. 10

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 13: Budding Spring - Episode 27: Ba-dump, Crisis

Banri: We’re takin’ a 20-minute break starting now.

Masumi: They uploaded a video for the KniRoun stage.

Sakuya: Woah, they did!

Chikage: Lancelot stands out quite a bit.

Tsuzuru: They also showed the sword fighting practice, looks like it’s been tough.

Banri:  Nah, he seems to be havin’ a ball, he’ll be fine.

Citron: Itaru is having fun~

Rento: Heee~ He’s debutin’ overseas? Great goin’.

Rento: But seriously, comin’ back on the first day of performances is crazy.

Izumi: I suppose you’re right about that…

Izumi: But, even if it was unthinkable before, I think the Spring Troupe can now handle such a tight schedule.

Banri: Well, if they keep this tension going til the first day of the performances, they’ll be fine

Tsumugi: I hope Itaru-kun got to the airport safely.

Sakuya: I think it’s about time for his flight.

Chikage: Let’s look at the chat.

Izumi: Ah, he just sent a message on LIME…

Itaru: “bad news: i can’t get on a plane bc there’s a strike going on”

Tsuzuru: EHHHH!?

Sakuya: A strike won’t end any time soon, will it…!?

Tsumugi: That’s hard to tell. It could end in an hour, but it could also go on for days…

Banri: What do you wanna do? We can go through the first day with an understudy, or postpone it entirely…

Masumi: We chose the first day after careful consideration, so there would be as little competition as possible and our views would increase, so I don’t want to move it if possible.

Izumi: That’s true… And refunds will also impact voting…

Izumi: We would have to deal with refunds if we had to use an understudy, too. But at least then they would be minimal.

Banri: Got no choice but to go for an understudy, do we.

Sakuya: Um, can we wait until the last minute?

Tsuzuru: Please. Let us wait until it seems impossible for Itaru-san to return in time.

Izumi: …

Tsumugi: I’m ready to go any time, so it’s alright with me.

Sakuya: Thank you so much!

Chikage: I’m arranging a flight for him from another airport. If he makes it there, he’ll make it here in the nick of time.

Chikage: Tell Chigasaki to hurry and get to a bus.

Tsuzuru: ‘Kay!

Tsuzuru: “itaru-san, go to the nearest airport from there as soon as you can!”

Chikage: The next bus should be there in–

Citron: “i’ll say a leafage so you’ll make it in time!” (1)

-

Announcer: The plane has arrived at Narita Airport with a two-hour delay.

Announcer: We would like to offer our deepest apologies for this weather-related delay.

Itaru: (Citron used Leafage! It’s super effective…!) (2)

UC: Start running, Chigasaki.

Itaru: (I’m running!)

Saku: You can do it, Itaru-san! Curry: the director said she’ll come pick you up taruchi: it’s ok. going by taxi would be faster

Pedestrian A: Eh, why is the line for taxis so long?

Pedestrian B: Must be tourists~ Let’s take the train.

Itaru: (Huh? The line for the taxis is endless? Are you fr…)

Itaru: (Can I ask Director-san to pick me up now?)

Itaru: (But she’s probably busy with preparations, even if she comes, we won’t make it in time for the show–)

previous episode | masterpost | next episode

NOTES:

(1) citron says 青海苔 (aonori, green dried seaweed), i have absolutely no idea what he actually meant and acted under the assumption he meant お祈り/祈り (oinori/inori, prayer), one thing lead to another, and it became leafage (yes, the pokemon move; bulbapedia link) even though...

(2) ... itaru does not outright make a pokemon reference, because i had no idea how else to translate his line without it sounding extremely wonky

[feverishly-kpop]

Beomgyu & TXT - Anxiety

A/N - as the title implies, this story contains themes of mental illness and anxiety. Please be kind to yourself and considerate of your own mental health when determining if and when to read this!

“I think that’s good for today, yeah?” Soobin looked around at the others who were all equally as sweaty and tired as he was. Yeonjun, Taehyun and Kai all nodded in agreement, relieved that practice was finally over and that they had the next day off. It was their last full day off before their comeback so Soobin had instructed them to try and rest in order to be ready for the hectic few weeks that were to come.

Soobin couldn’t help but notice that Beomgyu didn’t seem as eager to leave as the rest of the members, intentionally avoiding eye contact with the leader as he paced back and forth in the far corner of the room. Yeonjun noticed as well. He had been keeping an eye on Beomgyu for the last week or so after he noticed how anxious Beomgyu seemed.

At first he was just quiet - his usual enthusiasm about the most minute aspects of their lives very obviously lacking. But as the days continued it seemed that Beomgyu was continuing to withdraw. Yeonjun took stock of how physically tense his dongsaeng seemed as well as how emotionally despondent he had become. He has tried to approach him about it on more than one occasion but each time Beomgyu insisted he was just fine and that Yeonjun’s concerns were unfounded.

Yeonjun knew that they weren’t.

Soobin and Yeonjun locked eyes, sharing a knowing glance before diverting their attention back to Beomgyu, whose brow was furrowed as he wandered back and forth.

“Head down with them, I’ll be there with Gyu soon” Soobin quietly instructed Yeonjun. “Just give us a few minutes, okay?”

Yeonjun nodded before rounding up Taehyun and Kai. All three paused in the doorway and looked back to Beomgyu before Soobin gestured for them to leave him and Beomgyu alone.

The silence loomed overhead for a few moments until Beomgyu stopped in his tracks, seeming to finally notice that the rest of the members had left apart from Soobin who was standing quietly on the other side of the studio.

“Sorry, I guess I got distracted” Beomgyu said, pasting a fake smile across his face. Soobin nodded, giving his next actions some thought before taking a seat against the wall with his water bottle and indicating for Beomgyu to join him.

“What’s on your mind?” Soobin’s tone was light but had an underlying sense of seriousness. Beomgyu sat down next to him but didn’t respond. ��Gyu, talk to me, please.”

“I’m fine. Just…” Beomgyu trailed off, seeming to be at a loss for word. “I’m going to stay a little longer. There were a few parts of the choreo that still feel a little awkward. Hopefully I can work them out tonight.”

Soobin wasn’t fond of the idea of leaving Beomgyu alone given how off he had been acting lately. At the very least he seemed exhausted and needed some sleep. But Beomgyu seemed to have read his mind, quickly reassuring him that he wouldn’t be too late. Soobin finally relented and stood up to collect this things. It wasn’t that he was fooled by Beomgyu’s feeble attempt to convince him that he was indeed absolutely fine, but he knew his dongsaeng well enough at this point to understand that he wouldn’t be receptive to a conversation right now.

“We’ll talk later then? Text me when you are on your way back” Soobin replied. Beomgyu nodded in response but he had a distant look in his eyes. They’d talk later, Soobin would make sure of that.

*~*~*~*~*~

You’re worrying them.

Get it together.

Beomgyu’s thoughts were racing as he threw his empty water bottle across the room causing a loud thud to echo in the silence.

He hated lying to his members and it felt way too easy at this point. It was certainly easier for him to tell them that he needed to keep working on the choreography that he had truthfully mastered weeks ago than to confess that he hadn’t been able to sleep and that most of every meal he was given ended up in the waste bin. Nobody else needed to know how overwhelmed he was as the comeback approached or how his anxiety had driven him to the point where be could barely function.

So he did the only thing he could bring himself to do. He curled up in a ball and closed his eyes, desperately hoping that the solitude combined with the level of exhaustion he was experiencing after a long and physically demanding dance practice would be enough to force his body to sleep, if only for a little while.

*~*~*~*~*~

Taehyun glanced down at his watch again. He and Soobin had been waiting up for Beomgyu to come home but it had been over three hours without any indication that he’d be returning soon.

“Still no word from him?” The fatigue in Taehyun’s voice was evident but he was adamant about waiting up for Beomgyu.

Soobin shook his head in response before standing up and grabbing a hoodie that somebody had left on the couch.

“I’m going to go get him. We’ve given him long enough to respond” Soobin said more so to himself than to Taehyun but Taehyun was quickly on his feet as well.

“Hyung…” Taehyun interjected awkwardly in a tone that immediately grabbed Soobin’s attention. “I think that maybe I should go.”

Soobin nodded in agreement as he pulled his shoes on but Taehyun wasn’t finished.

“I mean, I think I should go and you should stay here” he added, bracing himself for Soobin’s response. Soobin stopped what he was doing and looked up at Taehyun, unsure how to respond.

“You know we all love you hyung. But Gyu-hyung hasn’t been himself lately and if he’s overwhelmed about the comeback…” Taehyun chose his words carefully. “You’re the leader. I think what he needs right now is…not the leader.”

Soobin visibly deflated in a way that made Taehyun feel a bit guilty but it didn’t negate the truth. “Hyung it’s not…”

“No, no it’s okay!” Soobin straightened up and feigned a smile. “Don’t apologize. You’re right.”

“I’ll text you once we are on our way back” Taehyun said as he grabbed his jacket.

“Please text me if…I’ll send Yeonjun if he needs…” Soobin was at a loss for words but Taehyun nodded before heading out the door.

*~*~*~*~*~

Beomgyu’s sleep had been restless yet he woke with a start at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. He took a moment to get his bearings before sitting up with the help of a gentle pair of hands.

“Don’t sit up too fast. You must be a little sore from sleeping on the floor” Taehyun’s voice was soft as he helped Beomgyu up. Despite being thankful for Taehyun’s help he was simultaneously mortified to be found like this.

“Hyunnie” Beomgyu replied, his voice gruff from sleeping for - how long had he been asleep anyway? It suddenly dawned on him that he told Soobin he’d be back soon. Clearly it wasn’t soon enough or Taehyun wouldn’t be there waking him up. He quickly tried to jump to his feet but Taehyun stopped him.

“Soobin’s mad, isn’t he?” Beomgyu was certain that he was in some hot water. “Shit…I just…”

Taehyun cut in quietly, not wanting Beomgyu to spiral any further. “Hyung.”

That was all it took for Beomgyu to break down. The tears started flowing before Taehyun could get another word out. Instead he just moved closer to his hyung who laid his head in his lap and hid his face in Taehyun’s shirt, clearly running on little more than fumes at this point. Taehyun, meanwhile, sat quietly, simply running a hand up and down Beomgyu’s back in an attempt to wordlessly comfort him.

After a few minutes Beomgyu’s tears were reduced to just a few sniffles here and there. He sat up and wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Sorry, Taehyun-ah” he said sheepishly.

“Are you doing okay, hyung?” Taehyun asked once he was certain that Beomgyu had settled down enough.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course. I’m not sick, I promise. Just a little tired I guess.” Beomgyu did his best to sound convincing but if the look ok Taehyun’s face was anything to go by he knew that he was anything but convincing.

“I know you aren’t sick, Gyu-hyung. That’s not what I was asking” Taehyun replied, pushing Beomgyu’s hair from his face before it could get anymore tear soaked than it already was.

Beomgyu took a deep breath and that’s when the flood gates opened. Taehyun listened and nodded along as Beomgyu explained how he didn’t feel like the style of the comeback suited him. How his voice didn’t sound right and how he had begged the producer to redistribute his lines to the rest of the members. How his outfit suffocated him and made him itchy all over. How his hat gave him a headache. How he felt like the style of dance made him look awkward and gangly. And, ultimately, how embarrassed he was about all of it and how he had kept it all to himself out of fear that he’d let the rest of the team down.

Taehyun waited for Beomgyu to get everything off of his chest before responding.

“I hear what you’re saying. And I could tell you that none of it is true but it doesn’t change the fact that you feel that way about it” he said softly as he reached into his bag and grabbed a bottle of water for Beomgyu. “But I think that there are some things that we can fix before the comeback.”

“No, no it’s okay. I don’t want to be a bother…” Beomgyu started but Taehyun shook his head.

“It’s not being a bother. Your hat gives you a headache? Then fuck the hat. And I’m sure the stylists can make adjustments to your outfit to make it more comfortable.” Taehyun watched as his hyung’s breathing evened out, beginning to return to normal.

Beomgyu smiled sadly at Taehyun. “Thanks for coming, Hyunnie” he said quietly. “And thank you for listening to me, I know it all sounds so silly.”

“No it doesn’t, hyung. And any time” Taehyun responded as he helped Beomgyu off the floor. “Let’s go home. You need some sleep. In your bed, not on the floor.”

Taehyun pulled his phone out of his coat pocket as Beomgyu collected his things and got ready to go, quickly sending a text to Soobin:

“Heading back now. There’s a few changes that we need to discuss once we get Beomgyu to bed. See you soon.”

And with that he turned back to Beomgyu to set off back home.

[kittlesandbugs]

Title: Scrubbing old wounds (AO3 Link here) Pairing: Chargestep Warnings: PSTD, medical trauma, canon-typical angst, end of Retri spoilers Word Count: 1691 Summary: At some point after the wreck and moving into Ortega's apartment to heal, Sidestep has to tackle how to get clean.  It dredges up a lot of old memories and fears.

You drag your hand back through greasy hair that feels almost plastered to your skull. How long ago was your accident, since you were clean? Showered that morning, before everything went to absolute shit. Was it two days earlier that you arrived at Ortega's apartment?  You aren’t sure how long you were in the hospital before you woke up again. Three days maybe? Four? 

Fuck. You haven't had to go longer than a day since you got back to the city. You can't walk. Can't get undressed by yourself. Can't even piss by yourself. How are you supposed to manage a shower? The frustrated groan drags itself from your lips. 

"What's wrong, Ry?" 

You turn to find Ortega peering at you from around the kitchen doorway. You must have been louder than you thought. 

"I… feel disgusting," you admit, rubbing the back of your neck. Your hand sticking in dried sweat makes you grimace. "I need a shower but…" 

His lips quirk in a half-smile. "I was wondering when you'd ask."

"It can wait," you say quickly. Somehow the idea was less daunting in your head, and the reality of the endeavor is sinking its claws in.  You suppress a shudder. "I don't want to interrupt you."

"I'm just cleaning up. That can wait."  He pauses and cocks his head in thought. "Or would you rather Angie helped you with this?  She’ll be over tonight." 

Fuck, that's so much worse. At least with Ortega, you're completely protected from his thoughts. Judgments. Unvoiced questions. Argent is good at keeping hers under wraps, but you can't handle a slip. Not right now. You quickly shake your head. 

"You, please?" You sound pathetic even to your own ears. 

"Of course," he says quietly. Gently. Like you aren't a villain that lies to him constantly, just the woman he loves, and you can't even really be that for him. 

Does he suspect anything? Will he put the pieces together when Reckoning's rampage quiets the entire time you're here healing? As much as you accuse him of being an idiot, he's not about things like this. 

You tug your sleeves nervously as he takes hold of the wheelchair, guides you to the bathroom. They both know that truth now. You still can't bring yourself to wear short sleeves around them since the IV came out. Can't handle the glances you know will come. The curiosity. The pity. 

You're going to have to bear his anyway if you want to get clean. 

There's room enough for both of you and the wheelchair between all the fixtures. Ranger salary perks of living, but it is a little tight. He sidles around you to the tub. 

"I've been thinking about how we're going to do this since we left the HQ. And the only thing I've come up with is something like a sponge bath?" 

You nod. Not like you can submerge your casts, acrylic or not. Can't remove them to get excess water out. Don't want to risk anything that could complicate your healing. You're going to be too vulnerable too long as it is, and your skin itches from more than just grime. 

"Can I help you get undressed?" 

Too soft. Too considerate. You're suddenly not sure what's worse, getting manhandled like a doll or treated like you'll shatter if he touches you wrong, and it burns like sandpaper on raw nerves. 

"Seriously? Gonna be hard to give me a bath otherwise." It comes out far more acidic and sarcastic than you intended, and you flinch at the flash of hurt in his eyes. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

"It's not.  I shouldn't be taking my shit out on you."  You hold your arms up and lean forward, a peace offering and invitation to take your shirt off. 

He takes the offered olive branch. Chuckles a little as he peels the shirt over your head. "I had a feeling you would be a terrible patient."

"I am, aren't I?" 

"You're in a lot of pain." Lips press to the top of your head. "I get it."

"I do appreciate your help."  You blink back tears. "And you bringing me here.  I couldn't…"

"I won't let them take you again. Hurt you again."

You don't believe he can really keep them from you. But the thought is nice. You sit back in the chair and look at the ceiling rather than your own acid orange torso. 

"Oh, Riley…" 

The tone of his voice brings you back to him, and he has a soft, open expression that punches you right in your guts, harder than a fist. 

"Wh-what?" Your arms cross over your chest, hiding one set of patterns and exposing another. Damned either way. "They're as much me as the rest of my skin." 

He shakes his head, tension obvious in the cords of his neck. "Not the tattoos.  The scar."

"I— oh."  Your arms fall away and you look down at the ugly Y-shape going down your breast bone, split across your belly, breaking up the tattoos. Reminiscent of an autopsy scar, but you never actually died. Not all the way, not in a way they couldn't bring you back. "That."

"What… what did they do to you?" 

You laugh. Maybe it's a little frayed at the edges, jagged like your skin. "Fixed me after Heartbreak, like I said before. Used the good spare parts inside.  Didn't care how it looked outside. Didn't matter.  No one else was ever supposed to see it."

He isn't sparking, probably turned himself off for the bath. But his hands clench tight and pale on the rims of your wheels. He's speechless for once, and it emboldens you to keep going. Keep giving him more ugly truths so he'll finally repudiate you like he should have done when he first saw the tattoos. 

"New spleen, it ruptured. Replaced some bowel that perforated. Fixed a punctured lung. Broken ribs."  You lean forward so he can see the long scars running the length of your spine and he sucks in a breath.  You knew they'd worked on it, but hadn't seen the extent until the first time you examined yourself with your puppet. "Repaired herniated discs and cracked vertebrae. I… a lot breaks in a 40-foot fall."

He winces and you half regret saying the last part. "I know," he says softly. 

"I don't know that I would have survived if they hadn't taken me immediately." A shudder runs through you. Maybe it would have been better for everyone if they hadn't. But they did, and the ball can't stop rolling now. "I don't know that I entirely survived the ride. I don't really remember much between the fall and the scalpels."

Those you remember with crystal clarity, the pain stripping your mind cleaner than their scans. Straps biting into flesh, pinned down and cut open like a frog for dissection. The jab when they cut somatic nerve control to still your writhing. Couldn't even relieve the pain with a scream, machines breathing for you through tubes unceremoniously shoved down your throat. Pain-gate broken or deactivated, and you felt everything in spades. Just like now, painkillers no longer taking the edge off. You shiver and swallow the bile threatening to rise up. 

Warm hands cup your cheeks and you almost flinch out of them. He's gone to one knee beside you, unable to slot in from the front. "Hey. Hey. Look at me. Breathe with me." 

Heart racing, breath coming in shallow pants, you didn't even notice. You swallow again, hands squeeze the arm rest, focus on warm brown eyes, warm hands, long slow breaths, letting the past lie dead where you should have. But neither one of you will stay down. 

"There." Lips press to your forehead. "It's okay. You're back, you're here, and I won't let them take you again," he says again but with more force. 

If he keeps saying that, can he will it into reality? 

"Sorry," you mutter. "I don't… This is… It's too…" You trail off, words not coming. Everything hurts, everything's wrong, everything's twisted up, how did it get… 

"Too similar to last time?"

You flinch. "Yeah."

He hums in thought and turns on the spigot, bucket already waiting underneath. Did he already have it there in anticipation of your need or did it sneak in while you were losing it? You don't know. You scrub your face with a groan and your hands come back wet with tears. Fuck. 

"How did they take care of you?" 

You freeze like a deer, not sure if you misheard over the faucet. "What?" 

"When you were hurt before. They had to keep you clean, right? For your wounds?" 

"I don't…" Hands, there were hands. You sort of remember them. Moving the shift. Lifting your limbs. Rough callous scrubbing. And sometimes they would... You shake your head to derail that train of thought. "I don't really remember everything. I was half catatonic from shock. Pain. They just did."

"Okay. Here."  He hands you a warm wet soapy cloth and retreats, as much as he can wedged in the bathroom with you.

There's a loaded look in his eyes that's throwing you. You look at the washcloth, back to him, trying to figure out what he's plotting, and you only batter against static in his brain that makes you shrink back in your chair as another tremor runs through you. 

"Riley, look at me." Your eyes flick to his. "I'm not them. I'm not going to hurt you." A loaded pause, a crooked grin. "Except when I pick you up so we can scrub your ass."

That startles a choked laugh out of you and his eyes crinkle with delight. "I think that one's unavoidable," you admit with a sniffle. Fuck, you're a mess. 

"Yeah. And we don't have to if you don't want to. You're in control here. I'll only touch where and when you ask. Help get what you can't reach. We're done when you say so. Okay?"

"Yeah…" You swallow, nod, come back stronger. A wet smile to answer his, and it's not dread drowning you this time. "Okay."

[whumpshaped]

Chapter 3: Distrust

Silence Masterlist

tw institutionalised/normalised pet whump, it/its used as a default for pets, past trauma, defiant/feral whumpee, morally dubious caretaker, badly healed bones, mention of potential infection and parasites, internal monologue of a self-hating and conditioned pet

The next day, Rayan was considerably more nervous as he made his way to the alley. He used to be excited, sure, wanting to find out what was hiding in there… But now he knew. And he had no idea whether it would still be there. 

"Sil?" He didn't put the plate down this time, wanting to hand it to the pet instead. Sil poked its head out from behind the dumpster, seemingly disapproving of this new idea.

"Do I need to do tricks for it now?" it groaned. "Crawl over? Sit pretty?"

"What? No, I…"

Rayan averted his gaze, knowing that at the core of it, that was what he'd had in mind. He wanted to lure it closer, build some more trust. He was still treating it like a stray dog, when pets were so entirely different.

"I'm sorry." He put down the plate of food, stepping back. "I won't force anything. Like, in exchange for food. You don't have to earn it, is what I'm trying to say."

Sil began carefully moving towards it, never taking its eyes off of him. Now that Rayan could see it a little better and knew what to look for, it was obvious that it was in pain. The way it compensated for loss of movement in some areas, the way it winced when it made a wrong move… He was sure that part of it moving so slowly was caution, but the other part was definitely the pain.

Rayan had no idea how to approach the topic of a doctor's visit, and it ended up causing him a long, sleepless night. He thought he'd just grab a stray animal, bring it to the vet and be done with it. But Sil… he couldn't just put it into a box. Then there was the issue of the licence. Only licensed pets could be brought to a doctor, and they took the rules very seriously. The moment he showed up with an unregistered pet, they would take it away and bring it right back to the sly fucker who managed to avoid questions up until now. He could already picture it. ‘Oh, I don’t know how it got these injuries. It must’ve happened in the time it was on the streets. Yes, of course I’ll pay for all the treatments, I’m a good owner, see?’

He couldn’t bring in Sil as a pet. But trying to bring it in as a person, trying to trick the doctor would put all three of them in danger of serious legal trouble. He didn’t want to put anyone else in harm’s way, and that was precisely why he had decided that when the doctor finally got back to him, he wouldn’t mention an in-person visit, only ask some general questions over the phone about things that he himself might be able to do to help.

Unfortunately, said doctor had just found the time to call back. 

The ringtone sent Sil scurrying back to its nest, food untouched. "Oh no- goddammit, why now..?" He pressed a hand down on his pocket to muffle the music. "It's just my phone, Sil, please eat! I'll just- I'll be right around the corner!" He took a few steps away for privacy and took the call.

-

Sil couldn't stop shaking. The sound of the phone startled it so badly, and the most frustrating thing was that it couldn't even explain why. It wished it had grabbed the food at least, before running like a coward.

It could faintly hear Rayan's voice from the street, talking to someone. It couldn't make out a single word from so far away, but it found itself curious enough to shuffle towards the source.

"...they seem hurt…yes, I think so…no, they're just- bumps under the skin, yes…I can't bring them in…it's complicated, I just can't…" 

They. Who were they? Ah, of course, Rayan must've been talking to a professional or something. He had to pretend he was talking about a person, so he could ask his questions without raising suspicion.

No. That didn’t make any sense. That was a pet train of thought, a stray train of thought, from someone who had been running from the Agency for almost a year now. From a person point of view, all Rayan had to do was call the PPA and have it be brought in. Returned to its owner. That was the ‘right’ thing to do, wasn’t it? He was probably just talking about someone else… with bumps under their skin. 

Sil leaned against the cold brick wall. It studied its hand, noting that the weight loss had made the protruding bone even more prevalent. It had been broken by its owner after one of the minor offences it’d committed, and he never ended up taking it to the doctor for it. He never took it anywhere, not even the fundraiser balls or the- the other stuff the pets kept getting so well-dressed for. It had been hidden away from public view for years, some gross, useless, nameless thing. Master hated it, and never ever failed to make it known.

Maybe its wrist healed wrong, but was that really important? It could live with the pain, it had for years now. Its ankle and shoulder were honestly way more of an issue for it, the agony of walking getting a little too much as time passed, but even that was negligible. Surely, if even its owner thought it wasn’t worth a doctor’s visit, it couldn’t have been a big deal. 

It looked up at the grey sky above and let out a small sigh. It had no idea why it had decided to come out with Rayan around. It had spent so long hiding from all the people in all the towns and cities it had passed, and now that it was finally quite far from where Master was, it had decided to blow its cover and just trust that this man - Rayan - would be an ally. That he wouldn’t call the authorities. That he would just keep bringing it food and water, that he would keep being kind, that he would keep being so odd and different.

It wasn’t so sure about its decision anymore. It desperately wanted to take it back, so it wouldn’t have to sleep with one eye open for when the PPA finally got Rayan’s report about the stray behind the dumpster.

Sil poked its head out again, trying to see whether he had come back yet. He hadn't. It crawled over to the plate and brought it back to its hiding spot, stuffing its face as quickly as it could in case he changed his mind about having to earn it. It wasn't going to do tricks for food. 

-

The doctor had told Rayan dreaded news after dreaded news. In-person visit. Rebreaking of bones. Potential lice and other parasites. Infections. He didn't even know where to start, especially since Sil didn't even want to be near him.

The plate was gone by the time he got back to the alley, and he smiled a little. At least it was eating. "Sil?"

A thin little arm appeared from behind the dumpster, placing the plate on the ground. He frowned. Was it not going to come out again?

"Is everything okay?"

"As much as it's ever been."

"I'm sorry about the phone call. Did I upset you somehow?" 

"Does it matter?" 

Rayan slowly walked over to where the plate was, resisting the urge to peek behind the trash where Sil's hiding place seemed to be. He backed off with the plate now in his hands, stopping at his regular spot. "It matters to me. If I did, I didn't mean to, and I'm sorry."

"Who were you talking about? On the phone."

"Well… Well, um… you. I was- I was trying to get you a doctor's visit, or at least some advice-" 

"You were talking about me like I was a person. I don't like that, and I don't trust that."

He opened and closed his mouth a couple times. How was he going to explain that? ‘Yeah, that’s because I’m trying to sneak you past security and avoid the agency that was founded specifically to protect you, all so that I could take care of you instead of your owner that I’ve decided was a horrible person.’ That didn’t sound very trustworthy or morally correct, even in his head. Said out loud, he assumed it would’ve sounded even worse. 

Still, hiding the truth would’ve been an entirely selfish act. If Sil wanted him to call the Agency, he supposed he had no other choice. 

But then again, Sil ran away, and was currently hiding behind a dumpster. Surely, it’d understand?

Unless it was lost, and it really had sustained all those injuries on the streets, and he was making horrible assumptions about a potentially very kind owner who was desperately looking for their beloved pet. But a lost pet would’ve just gone up to an officer, right? To be returned?

Either way, Rayan could only imagine what kinds of people would want to forgo making a report so they could keep an undocumented stray all to themselves, and he was about to come clean about being such a person. Sil had no way of telling that his intentions were actually good.

“I… I told them you were a person because I didn’t want the PPA to get involved. You look very hurt, and I assumed it was from your owner, and that’s why you’re out here all alone and hiding. I was afraid they’d send you back.”

Sil didn't respond, no matter how long Rayan waited. He didn’t know what it was thinking. He didn’t know whether the answer made it despise him. He wished he could've scooped it up in his arms and told it that all he wanted was to make it all better, but that was a far stretch from where they stood with each other right now.

"I'll bring you a blanket tomorrow, if… if that’s okay. If you’re still here. It's getting colder. See you tomorrow, Sil. I hope."

~

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