#i mean i care less about the scar than when it’s actively being a discomfort

[snarltoothed]

hhh had to switch to a different progestin and ofc a cystic zit appears. please let this be an adjustment thing and not a “levonogestrel specifically will not stop your acne” thing

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hello, I just found you and I LOVE your blog. Do you got any headcanons kicking around in that wonderful brain of yours for any of the Decepticons? Anything at all is fine

I actually do have some fun headcannons for you my dear! I have some others planned out for the future (plenty for the Decepticons, don't worry) but here is one I was already working on.

Aching Scars (Decepticon Edition)

Knockout

With how much effort Knockout puts into maintaining his frame it should be obvious that he has some issues with it.

Knockout has two main problems plaguing him, the first being a deep set self consciousness regarding his appearance, and the second being hyper sensitive plating.

He didn't exactly have a great life before the war began, he was a low caste bot who fought tooth and nail in order to become a doctor.

However in the early days when he was still fighting for his place in medical school, he was picked on, beaten, and verbally abused relentlessly for his origins and shabby appearance.

He couldn't afford anything better at the time so he just accepted the abuse silently, however the event still deeply affected him, and as soon as he had the shanix he got the best bodywork money could buy.

As for the plating issue, it is a result of severe energon deprivation during his sparkling years which caused his plating to become much more sensitive than it would have been otherwise.

He handles his self consciousness well enough by taking excellent care of his frame, but despite his efforts he still has some bad days where his plating just hurts.

On those days even slightly strong air flows can cause him discomfort, as for touch, he does everything to avoid it as the pain from such an action is often irritating at best and agonizing at worst.

Breakdown will help him apply special waxes to numb his plating and watch car races with him on the television afterwards in order to comfort him.

Breakdown

Like Bulkhead, Breakdown has been through some things and managed to come out relatively unscathed for the most part.

However unlike Bulkhead he has walked away not with joint pain, but back pain. (No, it is not because of his heavy set front)

Swinging around a giant hammer all the time and generally being stuck with heavy duty jobs has put a lot of strain on his back and he just has days where it bothers him more than usual.

Most of the time it's fine, he smiles, laughs it off, and ignores the aching protoform.

However after particularly active battles and his later confrontations with mech he has some days that just suck.

His back is painful and he can hardly walk without slumping over or leaning on a wall for support and to take a little pressure off his overextended cables.

If he can get away with it he will lay down on the floor on some relatively uninhabited part of the nemesis and just rest, sometimes pulling out a video on a dataslate to pass the time.

When Knockout eventually catches him (because of course he will find out about his best friend's situation) the first thing he does is pump some painkillers into his system.

Afterwards he will force Breakdown to wear a back brace and lay down on an actual berth for the remainder of the day, he might even bring a few snacks round for Breakdown if he is in a good mood.

Knockout covers for him by telling Megatron that Breakdown is assisting him in his work.

It's something that Breakdown greatly appreciates as he knows Knockout prefers to stay in the good graces of who ever is in charge and doesn't like doing anything that could get him in trouble.

After Breakdown's back pains ease up he always leaves Knockout a little something in thanks, generally some polish.

Arachnid

Arachnid... had a less than perfect sparklinghood.

She was not treated well by any means and was manipulated and hurt endlessly.

Her past has affected her mind in terrible ways.

Now all she knows is violence and manipulation, it is the only way for someone like her to survive. (At least that is what she believes)

Her actions emulate this, with her brutal killings and treacherous behavior whenever things start to go south.

She has no friends so to speak of and has no solid loyalties, but she still requires some socialization every now and then.

She sometimes likes to pretend that she is normal, that everything is alright and that she and Arachnid are separate entities.

On those days she will approach another bot and try her best to fit in, to be a sister or companion, a facsimile of what a family should be like.

It has never ended well, especially after the start of the war.

Since coming to earth she has stopped trying to seek out companionship in others as much as she can help.

However sometimes she still wants to see someone, anyone else, and will hunt down an Autobot or Decepticon to torment to satisfy her need for socialization.

Shockwave

Shockwave is a mess, at least mentally.

His emotions were suppressed long ago by the senate, however they still hold some sway over his actions, weather he likes it or not.

His long years alone on Cybertron took a toll on his mind, making his long dormant parental instincts activate once again in a desperate attempt to get him to seek out another bot.

He kept it controlled up until he came onboard the nemesis where he proceeded to spend as much time away from others as possible, deep in his labs in order to keep his 'illogical protocols' in check.

However, not taking care of his spark's needs left him gloomy and depressed, at least as much as he can be with his limited emotional ability.

He tries to drown it out in his work but it becomes harder and harder for him to ignore.

Thankfully (or unfortunately) after the creation of Predaking, Shockwave's erratic instincts gain something to focus on, at last granting him respite.

Predaking is the closest thing to a sparkling onboard the nemesis, as such Shockwave's parental drives imprinted on him without issue.

This has led to a strange relationship. With Shockwave an emotionless scientist, and Predaking a newborn, yet mature Predacon bound together in something akin to a Caretaker-sparkling bond.

It grants them both some healing and growth, with Shockwave learning to recognize his emotions again and Predaking gaining a somewhat loving protector and teacher until he abandons ship to reach his own goals.

Even after Predaking leaves, he and Shockwave still meet occasionally to satisfy their desire to experience family, even if it is just in each other.

Starscream

Despite his flighty and cowardly nature, Starscream has accumulated nearly as many injuries as Megatron himself over the years.

He has lost his T-cog once, the scars from its removal still causing him pain on occasion.

He has been torn to shreds multiple times, to the point of getting a complete frame reformat in order to get rid of the most nasty scars.

And to top it all off he has had his trine ripped from him by the vicious tides of war.

All in all, he has issues.

But the most noticeable one is his extreme paranoia and loneliness.

Without the comfort of his trine he feels the need to be in control all the time in order to give himself a sense of security, even if his power is only in name.

The seekers have a very clear chain of command, but they are also all still family. But on the nemesis it just isn't the same, everything can change in an instant simply because of Megatron's mood that day.

He can't handle the never ending possibility of being thrown from the only familiar place he has left, but he also hasn't forgotten how quickly loyalties can shift.

Megatron has tried to get rid of him one too many times for him to ever feel safe with him.

He doesn't want to be alone because it is not how his kind are meant to be, they are social Cybertronians, incredibly so. But he also can't risk growing to close with anyone on board the nemesis as it could very well be used against him.

He wants his family, he wants to be loved, he wants his trine back.

On the days where it hurts too much he considers going to the Autobots, he considers crushing his pride and lowering his defenses if only so that he can have a family again.

Sometimes he nearly goes through with it.

But in the end he always returns to the nemesis and sobs quietly in his berthroom where none save Soundwave can bother him, too afraid to leave and too lonely to continue putting up his façade of strength.

Soundwave

Soundwave is not silent for dramatic effect, he physically cannot speak the way others do.

He was crafted for an explicit purpose, the process huge amounts of information from Cybertron's collective datanet.

He was not made to do anything other than monitor those he was instructed to look into and collect any and all data requested of him.

However eventually he ended up rebelling and was tossed into the gladiatorial pits in order to get rid of him in a way that would still have some benefit.

Against the odds he learned to be something other than a machine, he became a person and survived the horrors the the pits in no short part due to Megatron's kindness.

Soundwave and Megatron bonded in the pits and during their quest to gain sway among the masses. In those days he, Megatron, and Orion were brothers in arms, companions fighting for a better future.

He never wanted the war to happen, he never wanted the friendships he forged to be broken.

Everything from the war to his time in the pits has damaged him, not only leaving him with physical scars but also severe PTSD and anxiety.

He watched Megatron descend into tyranny, but he just can't bring himself to accept it, to relent and acknowledge that the friend he fought beside died long ago and now is only a husk operated by wrath and greed.

He pretends everything is normal, that everything is fine, that everything they do is for the greater good and that so long as he is loyal, everything will work out in the end.

Some days he can't ignore it, some days his spark screams at him to flee and his processors feel unsteady.

On those days he keeps to himself even more than usual and confides his Lazerbeak and Ravage, distracting himself from the reality and indulging himself in his own fantasies until everything calms down again.

Then he will return to work, pretending that everything is fine again until his spark forces him to see the reality once more.

Megatron

The great and mighty warlord Megatron suffers from many mental issues that are so numerous as there to be no point in naming them.

Despite all that he is a strategical genius and highly charismatic, even after snorting copious amounts of dark energon.

However said dark energon has not done good things for his frame in the long run.

His old injuries from the pits and the height of the war have long since healed, leaving him with only minor aches and pains every now and then.

But once dark energon was thrown into the mix the only world he came to know is one of pain when he isn't high as a kite on the stuff.

His spark chamber aches as it is assaulted by Unicron's influence, and every part of his body burns with rage made manifest, causing him to act erratically.

On days where it is really bad he will retreat to his quarters and write poetry to describe his woes.

Often he finds himself growing sentimental during those times, remembering the days he spent with Orion before everything fell to pieces.

He doesn't want to hate Orion, how could he hate Orion? So to preserve the memory of his brother he separates him and Optimus in his mind and places all his hate and anguish on the Prime, as is shown in his rather disturbing writings.

Megatron lives in a state of delusion similar to Soundwave, unable to accept that his actions may be wrong and that Orion and Optimus are one and the same, only separated by maturity and memory.

Megatron tries not the think too hard on it, lest he destroy his own world view.

I know it's not the best but I hope you like it! I tried my best at making the Decepticons interesting and unique in their issues but honestly they are all so screwed up its kinda hard not to have some overlapping. Anyway thanks for the request! It was a ton of fun to write this!

[todrokishoto]

bnha boys x tickles

character(s): bakugou, deku, denki, kirishima, todoroki

warning(s): tickles, blood (nosebleed), swearing? 

a/n: random idea i had. enjoy this hc/scenario thing while i work on some longer fics. p.s. i’ve never really written headcannons before so idk if i did it right lmao

B A K U G O U 

mans isn’t ticklish 

trained himself to tolerate it bc being ticklish is for the weak 

won’t tell you that tho bc it’s a valid excuse sometimes ok??

like,,, let’s say you’re tracing mindless patterns on his abdomen right

the two of you are just lying on his bed in his dorm room

and while it might have been innocent enough on your part

he can’t help but be... flustered as your hand moves awfully close to the waistband of his pants 

feeling his cheeks heat up, straight up refusing to let you see how much your touch affects him, he swats your hand away with a grunt

“that tickles, dumbass,” he huffs, his voice slightly strained. you pretend not to notice. 

your eyebrows lift upward in surprise at his statement. not once had he ever mentioned he was ticklish. propping yourself up on your elbow, you let your eyes trail over his features, studying him. 

his eyes are closed but only after mere seconds of feeling your gaze, they open back up. his crimson orbs stare into yours, neither one of you breaking the prolonged silence. you, frankly, didn’t want to. bakugou, on the other hand, refused to - fully aware his voice would betray him again. 

he couldn’t believe he had just lied about being ticklish. but, letting you believe your soft touches had tickled him rather than admitting they made him feel things he know he shouldn’t seemed like the most logical option. yes. there was no way he’d reveal his less than innocent thoughts. 

“what?” he grumbles, quirking a brow questioningly. “take a picture. it’ll last longer.” 

you fish your phone out of your pocket, holding it up above him. “okay—” 

your words turn into a squeal as he smacks the phone out of your hand and grabs your arm, pinning it above your head. he hovers above you, eyes full of mischievousness, his teeth exposed by the grin dancing on his lips. you stare back up at him, eyes wide, body tense as you attempt to gauge his next movements.

“how ‘bout a taste of your own medicine, huh? since you seem to find it so funny.” 

and before you can protest, his fingertips dig into your sides, eliciting careless giggles from you as he tries his best to find your most ticklish spots. 

K A M I N A R I 

would tickle you on the daily just to hear your laugh

pls he’s a total sucker for your squealing giggles. they’re his favorite

this boy will find any excuse to tickle you; pinching your sides, blowing raspberries on your stomach while lying in your lap - you name it 

one of his favorite ways is to use just a teeny tiny bit of his electricity, making the ticklish that much more unbearable 

we all know his love language is physical touch, so he just can’t help himself really

but don’t even think about tickling him. boy will practically screm bloody murder and literally run away from you like a child running away from their parent when it’s time for bed 

you’re bored. so bored, in fact, that you’re even thinking about purposefully provoking your boyfriend’s explosive friend just for some entertainment. you quickly scrap the idea, not feeling like being the target of his harsh words today. 

your boredom quickly dissipates, however, as the yellow locks of your boyfriend come into view. he’s chatting animatedly with kirishima and sero, his back facing you. you put a finger to your lips as a pair of red eyes look at you curiously. luckily, the redhead understands and says nothing as you sneak up to the table they’re currently seated at. 

“hey, babe!” you greet loudly, your voice dripping with fake innocence. 

before he can turn around, your hands are at his sides, pinching and poking with all their might. an odd sound - something between a gasp and a grunt - escapes your boyfriend at the feeling and he flails his arms, desperately trying to escape your hold. 

you underestimated just how ticklish your electric partner is, it seems. because before you can dodge it and sero can warn you, denki pushes his chair backward, knocking you over in the process. your boyfriend whips around immediately at the sound of your body colliding with the floor. 

“oh my god, baby, i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean—” his apology trails off at the sound of your loud laughter. 

you’re clutching your stomach with one hand, attempting (but to no avail) to silence your laughter with the other. denki rubs the back of his neck, eyes full of confusion, while he tries to regain his breath from your surprise attack. once again, he catches you off-guard as he crouches down next to you, his fingers finding your tickle spot with ease. 

your laughter gets louder and he smirks. “not so funny now, is it?” 

K I R I S H I M A

mans has a hardening quirk

aka he can just harden his skin, so tickling him is basically impossible 

once in awhile, when he knows you just want revenge for the times you’ve been tickled by him, he won’t activate his power 

but still, he barely chuckles, which makes you frustrated™

he doesn’t really tickle you on purpose that often tho bc that’s not manly

will tickle you accidentally while rubbing your arms or breathing on your neck while cuddling 

you’ll squirm in his hold and he will just apologize with a laugh and hold you tighter

you sigh, shuffling ever-so-slightly, stuck within your boyfriend’s tight grasp. the two of you had been cuddling on one of the sofas in the common room, but he had succumbed to his exhaustion and had fallen asleep next to you.

normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. you had no issue being his pillow once in awhile and his cute, little snores made it impossible for you to wake him. today, however, he had fallen asleep in the crook of your neck and his soft breaths were tickling you. with every exhale, your body tensed as you tried your best to remain still.

“kiri,” you whisper, his nickname slipping past your lips with gentleness. “babe, wake up.” 

he stirs at the sound of your voice, his breathing halting momentarily. you wait in suspense but he only buries his face further into your neck, a long breath fanning against your exposed skin. you squirm instinctively. your movements must have alerted something in him because he begins shuffling shortly after. 

you can’t see his face but you can tell by his breathing that he’s slowly but surely waking up. you practically hold your breath, praying that he will move before you have to voice your discomfort. unfortunately, luck isn’t on your side it seems. 

“kiri, i love you, but please move,” you plead, pushing against his chest softly. his red eyes are filled with confusion as he props himself up to look at you. “you’ve been tickling my neck for the past fifteen minutes. i was going insane.” 

he pouts then. “aw, babe, you should’ve told me. you could’ve woken me up, y’know?” 

“yeah, i know,” you sigh, rubbing your neck where his breathing had been just a few seconds prior. “i just didn’t want to wake you, is all. you’re so cute when you sleep.” 

“you’re cuter,” he quips enthusiastically, poking your nose with his index finger. “okay, your turn to cuddle me instead. i’m not ticklish so lay wherever you want.” 

M I D O R I Y A

i feel like this broccoli bean would be ticklish everywhere?

either that or he’s not ticklish at all

maybe his body’s been beaten so many times that his nerve-endings are either overly sensitive or they barely feel anything 

idk™ BUT

sweet, freckled little izuku would also not tickle you without consent

we stan a respective king 

he would be so careful to apply a little bit of a firmer pressure to not tickle you

sweetie had been to flustered to ask if you were ticklish when you first started dating and it was too late to ask now 

you’re sitting next to him on the gras outside of the doors, relishing the feeling of the nice evening air against your skin. the two of you are chatting mindlessly. well, izuku’s doing most of the talking and you’re mainly listening, but you don’t mind at all. 

his arm is grasped between your two hands as you gently trace the scattered freckles and scars adorning his skin. he had been so flustered when you had grabbed it, unable to will the redness away from his cheeks. you had only giggled in response. 

izuku didn’t know why you seemed to be so fascinated by his scars. you had always asked questions about them, wondering if he remembered where he got them. always made sure to call him handsome on days where he was particularly bothered by the markings on his body. 

he loved it. he loved you. 

but as your continue to trace them, your touch featherlight, he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. he squirms, his hand clenching together and forming a fist. you take notice and halt your actions immediately. he turns to look at you, meeting your wide eyes. 

“did i do something wrong?” you ask quietly, feeling the guilt claw its way to your chest. 

“no!” he practically shouts, his voice a few octaves higher than normal. he clears his throat. “n-no, you didn’t. it’s just that... heh. i’m, uh, kind of sensitive in certain spots, i guess? and while i really don’t mind you touching my scars, you were so gentle and i-i just... it tickled.”

his chin tilts toward the floor, his bashful gaze flickering away from yours. you notice the pink dusting across his freckled cheeks but decide not to point it out, desperate to make your boyfriend feel at ease again. 

“zuku, say that next time! i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to tickle you. i didn’t even know you were ticklish, to be honest.”

he rubs his neck, peering over at you once again. he grins sheepishly. “i-i never told you, i guess. usually, i’m able to resist the urge to squirm, um, like that.”

“you’re so cute!” you gush, grabbing ahold of his hand once again. “i’m ticklish too, y’know. but i’ll let you find my tickle spots on your own.”

and, for the umpteenth time that night, your boyfriend blushes as he thinks about exploring your body to find your very own tickle spots. 

T O D O R O K I 

we all know he had a shitty childhood fck u endeavor

he never had tickle fights with his parents or siblings when he was little

so poor bby probably doesn’t even know he’s ticklish until you accidentally find his weak spot one day

let’s say you’re both cuddling in your bed right?? and things are getting a little heated 

so,,, you detach your lips from his, placing a kiss on his cheek, then his jaw, then his neck

and let me tell you - this poor boy doesn’t know what to do 

he tenses up immediately, slamming his chin down to protect his exposed neck, his jaw banging against your nose in the process 

“y/n!” he calls out immediately, chest heaving, his body still tense as if on high alert. he reaches out to you when he spots you holding your nose, your brows furrowed in discomfort. “i’m so sorry. i don’t— are you alright?” 

you nod, releasing a hum to confirm your response. your nose is throbbing, but when you open your eyes and meet shoto’s wide bicolored ones, your pain subsides quickly. poor boy looks so helpless - torn between reaching out for you and distancing himself. 

“hey, sho, it’s okay. i’m alright,” you remove your hand clutching your nose to shoot him a smile but you stop midway, noticing the crimson liquid on your palm. 

“you’re bleeding,” your boyfriend observes quietly, the guilt obvious in his voice. “i hurt you. i’m so sorry. i... what you did made me feel weird and my body just reacted. i, uh, i’m sorry.” 

he scrambles out of your bed, reaching for the box of tissues he knows you have stashed in your desk. he hands you a handful of them, awkwardly lingering by the foot of the bed as you wrap the paper over your nose, clamping your fingers shut around it.

you shake your head with a gentle laugh. “sho, it’s okay. i didn’t know you were ticklish there. i can’t really control what my body does when i’m tickled either, so i don’t blame you.” 

“ticklish?” he repeats aloud, almost as if testing out the word. 

you nod, the innocence of your boyfriend once again surprising you. you feel your heart ache slightly at the thought of him not knowing what the action is. had nobody ever touched him enough for him to find his tickle spots? 

“yeah. most people are ticklish somewhere on their body. usually either on their waist, their armpits, feet or neck - like you. it’s normal. typically, when people are touched where they’re ticklish, they’ll squirm and laugh.” 

he nods and you remain quiet as he processes the information. then, much to your bewilderment, he leans forward and grabs ahold of your side with his fingertips. he pinches gently and you jerk, narrowing your eyes at your boyfriend smiling harmlessly. 

“so, is that your tickle spot, then?”  

[thisisgonnafuxkinkillme]

My Yellow (18+ EraserMight)

NSFW Aizawa Shouta x Yagi Toshinori

Warnings: Established relationship, nsfw

They’d been together for quite some time now, and even though both of them had been in relationships before, neither were bold enough to go all the way.

On one hand, Toshinori instantly turned pink at the thought of even mentioning sex to his boyfriend, and on the other, Aizawa would die if he ever made his lover uncomfortable.

So, neither of them said a word about what they truly wanted to do to each other.

Or, in Toshi’s case, what he wanted him to do to him.

But that was neither here nor there as long as they kept quiet.

The thing is, when you deprive yourself of what you want, tension rises.

A lot.

Toshinori came into work early, as usual. To his surprise, Aizawa was already in his seat, casually sitting comfortably with his legs spread wide open. It wasn’t a conscious choice, and he wouldn’t have ever sat in such a suggestive position if anyone else was around.

Another thing, though, was that Aizawa was never one to come into work early. Maybe he’d been working on something all night? 

So when he saw Toshi come into the room and make eye contact with his groin, he instantly shot up and crossed his legs, typing aggressively. The ‘w’ key nearly flew off as Toshi took his seat next to him quietly.

Though Aizawa did his best to ignore him, he could hear how Toshi was breathing just a little harder than usual.

Of course, that could just be chalked up to his condition. So, that’s what Aizawa repeated to himself until the thoughts of him on his knees looking up at him went away.

A few nights later, Toshi was relaxing in the living room, drinking his nightly tea and staring out the window and into the darkened sky. All he was wearing was a pair of red flannel boxers.

“Hey, sunshine, whatcha-“ Aizawa gulped as he noticed what he was wearing.

Toshi turned around, blushing from hearing that cute little nickname. It was rare that Aizawa ever used honorifics, and even rarer that those honorifics would be so... adorable.

Aizawa took a few moments to eye his boyfriend, tracing even his scar with his eyes.

God, he’s so fucking hot. Even doing nothing, he’s just perfect. I wish I could-

Before he could stammer out a compliment, though, Toshi had already began talking about something totally benign.

Another opportunity lost.

It was Friday evening when Toshi finally snapped. He was lying in bed, assuming he was alone. He figured that Aizawa had taken the night shift, and was dealing with patrolling the neighborhood. So, he took this opportunity to relieve himself.

He scrolled through various porn sites, trying to find something, anything that’d interest him.

But none did.

So, he had to resort to the old fashioned way: just imagining.

Boring, I know.

But hey, what else can a horny guy do in desperate times like these?

So, he got to work. He pulled out the lube he stashed deep under his mattress, in a silly attempt to hide his libido from his boyfriend as if he were a teenager afraid of being scolded.

His thumbs locked onto his boxers, pulling them down just enough so his tool was accessible.

He spread his legs apart, saturating his cock with the lube. As it made contact, he flinched at the cold, but the warmth from his hands and body helped ease the momentary discomfort. He sighed as he wrapped his fingers around himself. Instantly, tension that had been building inside of him began to ease just a little.

When was the last time he’d had time for himself like this?

Once he and Aizawa moved in together, he never really had much alone time. He preferred going to bed early and being an early riser, while Aizawa was either working all day and sleeping all night, or working all night and sleeping all day.

Thus, whenever he had time off, Aizawa was always just a room away.

Not that he didn’t like being with him constantly, it’s just... he didn’t want to make things weird. He just wanted to keep this relationship full of love.

Toshi had been in a couple relationships. I mean, of course he has. He’s all might, after all.

But what made those different was that none were really centered around what mattered most to him: love.

Usually, it was just women who thought he was attractive, or wanted him for his money, or just wanted to be friends with benefits.

Well, that was another thing. Toshinori had never been intimate with a man before. Or even been in a relationship with one.

Frankly, the thought of actually doing it with him was sort of intimidating.

But still, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d look down at him, running his fingers through his hair as he bobbed on his cock.

He pumped slowly but steadily, not needing much to excite his neglected member. He was touch starved for so long that just pleasuring himself was nearly too much for him.

So, he kept it simple.

Meanwhile, Aizawa was on his laptop in the living room, which was one door away. He’d decided to teach today’s class virtually, and he was free from his patrol duties for the night.

This was far from usual for him. He enjoyed to keep busy, staying active and feeling productive sort of gave him a purpose. Funny, isn’t it? You’d think that Aizawa was a lazy man, but in fact, he loved his job, and often overworked himself into oblivion.

Class was over, and he was now totally free to hang out with his boyfriend. He allowed himself a little smirk at the thought of that.

The lanky man stood and stretched, sighing as his joints popped. He’d been sitting down for a little too long.

As he approached the bedroom door to greet Toshinori, he heard it.

It was Toshi’s voice.

Now, Aizawa barely recognized the sounds and mumbling as his lover’s. None were familiar to him. That being said, though, the little, muffled moans leaked with the essence of him.

He knew he shouldn’t listen, but...

fuck, it’s hot.

Toshi, from inside the bedroom, didn’t even notice Aizawa’s footsteps. All he cared about was the Aizawa in his mind that was endlessly praising him for being a good boy for him. How he’d gently suck him off as a reward for serving him so well.

Seeing as he was seemingly home alone, Toshinori had no issue letting himself go, embracing the lewd sounds that escaped him and echoed back into his ears from the walls. There were no neighbors to speak of, no thin walls. Just him, his hand, and his imagination.

Aizawa pressed his ear against the door, listening intently. He was getting hard just by imagining what Toshi could be doing in there.

God, it’d be great if he’d just whimper out my name...

He thought shamelessly. By now, lust had completely taken over any semblance of logic and reason he had left. All he wanted was to bust the door down and-

The door opened.

Toshi had just his boxers on, paired with wide blue eyes and a slightly parted lips.

Aizawa’s face morphed into the same expression when he realized what he’d just done.

“H-h...how... long have... oh,God...fuck...” Toshi whimpered. His face was pink before, but now was tinted a bright crimson.

“I...um...fuck...” Aizawa mumbled, rubbing his forehead and looking away.

Toshi took a shakey breath, gathering up every ounce of courage he had, pushing down the last of his embarrassment. He had to for what he was about to pull next.

He mumbled a “fuck it,” gently taking the shorter man’s face in his hands and placing a kiss on his lips. It was sweet, tender, and most of all, passionate.

Aizawa pulled away, grabbing one of Toshi’s wrists.

“You don’t have to,” he stated, looking up into his eyes.

“Neither do you,” replied the blond.

“I mean, do you want to?” He added shyly. His confidence was all used up by his first little stunt. Luckily, Aizawa could take it from here.

“Well, duh,” he smirked. Before he could even get to the bed, Toshi was already playing out his fantasy to the best he could.

He kneeled on the hardwood floor, looking up at the ravenette as he tugged at his waistband as if asking for permission.

Aizawa tossed a pillow at him.

“Not without putting this under your knees. You’ll get bruises,” he instructed, keeping his boyfriend’s much frailer state in mind.

The tiny caring action didn’t help to stop his bulge from returning.

So, he did as he was told, and positioned himself on top of the pillow. Truthfully, it was much more comfortable, and a lot less stress on his achey bones.

Aizawa watched as Toshi gently unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulling them down to reveal his now fully erect cock.

Aizawa never wore underwear anyways, but hell, it definitely worked out for him this time.

Toshi wasted no time in taking it into his mouth, trying frantically to remember all the things pornstars usually did.

Um, shit, do they usually do it like... this? Oh no, I’m going to mess this up... fuck...

He then tried to deepthroat him. Huge mistake.

Instantly, he pulled away, gagging and coughing.

“You alright down there?” Aizawa asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Toshi nodded, wiping his mouth.

“Just do what feels right. You’re doing good. Just don’t get caught up on what’s ‘correct’, alright?” Aizawa comforted. It was as if he knew exactly what Toshi was thinking about. He nodded, twirling one of his forelocks on a finger.

He gently took it back in, trying his best to push out any expectations he had for himself.

Now, he just wanted to have fun.

He took his time exploring every inch of his partner, dragging his tongue from the base all the way up to his tip, taking a moment to swirl and suckle once he got there. Aizawa was absolutely eating it up, smirking down at him and placing his hand against his head to gently encourage him.

“God, just like that, baby... fuck,” he mumbled. His voice warbled under the intense pleasure. It really sank in at this point that this was really happening, and that he wasn’t just lazily jacking himself off in his car in an empty parking lot like he usually did.

Toshi squeezed his balls, gently, but confidently. He smiled to himself when Aizawa bucked and whimpered in response.

“I-I’m close, Toshi...ahh... you... might wanna...ng...” he moaned, being cut off by Toshi pulling away with a small pop.

He continued to jack him off, looking up at him as he did so.

“Perfect.... oh... so perfect for me...” he murmured as he came. 

Toshi’s cock throbbed at that praise. He lived for it. 

Fuck, it was just like he’d always imagined it.

Better, even.

Aizawa took a moment to recover from his orgasm, his eyelids closed peacefully. Toshi gently received a tissue, cleaning his lover off carefully.

"oh, you...you don't need to do that," Aizawa said breathily, sitting up. Toshi was silent as he proceeded. He didn't care about what he 'needed' to do for him. It was what he wanted to do for him.

Knowing this, Aizawa didn't protest. Instead, he kept this extra tiny favor in mind, piled up high along all the other countless acts of care that Toshi always left in his life. He was going to make it up to him, somehow.

And he just had an idea of how.

As Toshi gently laid next to Aizawa on the bed, running his hand over his clothed chest, Aizawa scooted off of the bed and positioned himself in between his boyfriend's legs.

"Your turn," he smirked, unbuckling his pants. Toshi blushed, looking away shyly.

Now, unlike Toshinori, this was far from Aizawa's first rodeo. He'd had a couple boyfriends, and he knew his way around a cock.

So he knew how to make him go absolutely wild. And he did.

He achingly teased Toshi's tip, rolling his tounge over it over and over, all while looking up at him cockily.

Toshi couldn't hold back his lewd sounds as much as he wanted to. He covered his mouth, trying to trap the whimpers eminating from his chest, but to no avail.

Aizawa was fully aware of the fact that Toshi was putty in his hands.

Just as he began to reach orgasm, Aizawa pulled away. He whined from the loss of stimulation. Luckily for him, Aizawa was far from finished with him. He rushed off to his side of the bed, grabbing a small bottle of lube that he'd often used for himself (and secretly hoped he'd be able to use on him), popping it open.

Toshi flinched as he felt Aizawa slathering the slick liquid onto his opening.

"is...is it gonna be...okay?" He asked, his voice pitched up a little from his usual tone.

"It'll be alright. I'll be gentle with you," Aizawa assured gently while tracing his finger around his rim.

This was yet another part of himself that Toshi never explored before. Frankly, he was always scared of it.

But being so gently eased into it by the person he loved most made things just a little less terrifying.

Aizawa gently pressed his index finger into his enterence, easing it in slowly while carefully gauging Toshinori's reactions.

What Toshi didn't know was how terrified Aizawa was of doing this, too. He'd be horrifically guilt ridden if he even slightly made his boyfriend uncomfortable, God forbid being in actual pain. He'd simply die then and there.

But, Toshi never saw that part of him. As far as he, or anyone else, knew, Aizawa was always as chill as ice in lemonade on a summer day.

Toshi was tense. He always was, but that tension simply wouldn't do for this.

"Relax," ordered Aizawa.

"Ah, sorry..."

"Don't be. I know you're nervous. You're doing great," he encouraged.

Toshinori’s heart fluttered at such gentle praise.

And just like that, Aizawa had a digit inside of him, gently pumping it in and out, caressing him from the inside out. 

After a small while, a second finger made its way inside.

And a third. 

By now, Toshi was trying his best not to come apart. He bashfully covered his mouth to stifle the embarrasing sounds, all while Aizawa longed for him to let it all out. 

However, that isn’t to say that Aizawa didn’t find his boyfriend’s shyness absolutely adorable. 

While he was doing his best to make his boyfriend into a little mess, he himself was absolutely falling apart at how hot this was. His cock was absolutely rock hard and neglected.  That wouldn’t be for too long, though. 

“Toshi, do you think you’re ready?” he rasped as he took his fingers out of him. 

“I...I’m scared,” he whimpered weakly. Aizawa quickly took him into his arms.

“If you don’t want to do this with me, please know that you do not have to. I want you to feel good,” he whispered gently. Toshinori was absolutely taken aback by his overwhelmingly gentle touch and caring tone of voice that his boyfriend rarely allowed anyone else to see. 

“I want to, it’s just...I mean, you know...” 

“I understand. Do you want to continue?” 

Toshi nodded, squeezing Aizawa’s arm.

Aizawa instructed Toshi on everything: how to lay properly to be most comfortable, how to breathe, and how to relax his muscles for easier entry. He gave him a pillow to rest his head on, and did everything humanly possible to ensure that he would be comfortable before beginning.

Finally, the time came. Aizawa throughly lubed himself up, positioning himself at Toshi’s enterence.

“Let me know if anything hurts, or if you want me to stop, okay?” he ordered, his palm resting on the small of his lover’s back. Toshi nodded. With that affirmation, he slowly began to ease himself inside. Toshi winced at the burning and ache that came with his first time, but he was okay. He sighed as Aizawa layed comforting kisses along his back and neck.

“You’re taking me so well,” the ravenette whimpered. He struggled to not completely let in on his urges: just to let go and fuck him like he’d always dreamed.

For now, he just...couldn’t.  Really, fantasies were one thing. But in real life, where someone could actually get hurt, it’s not as appealing. 

Aizawa would much rather have this slow, gentle penetration than the rough stuff he’d planned any day if it meant that Toshi would be more comfortable. 

And God, he was more than comfortable. 

Once Aizawa’s full length was inside of him, the tip of his cock hit the absolute perfect spot, sending waves of pleasure through his body, radiating to the tip of his own cock. 

“C-can you...mmph, could you start to move a little?” he whimpered.  “Are you sure you’re ready?” Aizawa asked one last time.

Toshi nodded. 

Aizawa never realized how...stressful this would really be. He knew what to do, and he’d definately been in this position more than once before, but he was paralyzed with the fear that he’d somehow break this fragile human being that he loved so dearly. 

But he also knew that if he did nothing, that’d break him as well, just in a different way. 

So, slowly and rhythmically, he began to hesitantly pump himself in and out. 

Toshi was instantly a mess. He did his very best to confine his moans and whimpers to a nearby pillow, but despite his efforts, Aizawa was well aware of how he was effecting him. 

Slowly, he picked up the pace, encouraged by those sounds of helpless pleasure. 

“Let me hear you, sunshine,” Aizawa groaned sweetly. Obidiently, his boyfriend abandoned the pillow, allowing his lover to hear all the sounds he was determined mere moments ago to hide. 

As a reward, Aizawa stroked Toshi’s neglected cock while still keeping up the pace he’d set. 

“Ahh! Sho...If...ugh...if you keep that up, I’m gonna...”

“I know, go ahead. Let me see it.”

He didn’t need his permission. Good thing, too, because with one final thrust, his already leaking cock throbbed as he released across the sheets.

Soon after, Aizawa did the same, all while inside his boyfriend. Toshinori reveled in the warmth that entered his belly from the inside out, and the gentle words of praise that surrounded him that poured so easily out of Aizawa’s lips.

He gently pulled out. Toshi sighed at the loss of him, but took this opportunity to relax into the bed and allow the soft sheets to cradle his tired body.

And he really was tired. Exhausted, even.

This was another reason Aizawa was so hesitant to do anything with Toshinori. He didn’t want to overexert him like this.

He was so tired, in fact, that he didn’t even notice when Aizawa left. He scarcely had a chance to before he returned with a bottle of water and a warm washcloth.

“Drink this while I clean you up, sunshine,” he instructed. Toshi nodded, his peacefully closed eyes fluttering open. He shuddered as the cloth made contact with his skin.

“I wasn’t too hard on you, right?” asked Aizawa softly.

“Of course not. I would’ve imagined harder from you, if I’m being entirely honest.”

“Is that so?” He teased, smacking his ass playfully with a small giggle.

“Maybe next time. Maybe. I don’t want to hurt you,” he added. His serious tone was back as he caressed the now pink handprint.

“I’ll be fine, Sho. You know I’ve been through worse.”

“I’m aware. I just don’t want you to have to compare what you’ve been through to what I’m going to put you through.”

Toshi laughed.

“You must be kinkier than I thought, if that’s the case.”

[notfivefives]

Clonetober 2021, Day 3 & Whumptober 2021, No. 16

Prompts: 

Day 3- Inhibitor Chip Removal for @clonetober

No. 16- On a Need to Know Basis: Recovery | Scars | Aftermath for             @whumptober2021

Title: Stable

Content Warnings: None 

Word Count: 2,209

Characters: Gregor & Wolffe

Summary: Gregor has misgivings about looking after Wolffe after the Commander’s inhibitor chip is removed. 

Read here, or on AO3

The excision of Wolffe’s chip had been conditional on Rex’s agreement to leave with the medic - a Twi’Lek woman whose clientele base was mostly comprised of outlaws and anyone else who required discreet clinical services - on a job. It was non-negotiable, and though Gregor had vehemently made the argument that it would be better for Wolffe to wake up to a familiar face, Rex had sighed and given Gregor a small, resigned smile and told Gregor that his face was familiar.

Gregor had laughed even as he’d shot Rex a dirty look that said, You know what I meant.

And Rex had nodded. Because he did know. But that didn’t change their circumstances.

The medic, with a twitch of her violet lekku, had assured Gregor that her 2-1B medical droid - she’d won it from Cid - would be more than sufficient to help care for Wollfe.

And then they’d left them in the little place on the outskirts of Ord Mantell that was part dwelling, part infirmary.

Gregor’s teeth worried at his lower lip as he sat, watching the smooth rise and fall of Wolffe’s chest. It hadn’t been so long ago that Gregor had been on that same cot, an identical incision on his head.

“How is he?”

The med droid’s head swivelled to where Gregor sat in a threadbare chair. Its eyes, or the two sets of three yellow lights that represented each of them, regarded him.

“The patient is stable.”

Gregor couldn’t decide if its voice was condescending, or merely dispassionate, but its words were as succinct as they were unhelpful and Gregor felt annoyance and frustration welling within him. A more nuanced answer would require a more specific question and Gregor wasn’t sure how to ask.

How will he be? He wanted to say. But he knew the question would make even less sense to the droid than it did to him. Droids couldn’t see the future, they could only extrapolate based on data, and the data said “stable.”

Gregor let out a vexed huff, crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. To the credit of his seat, it was at least comfortable. That didn’t mean he didn’t resent sitting in it. Pacing the confines of the medic’s home and workspace, and leaning against a wall were, however, slightly less attractive options.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. His fingertips grazed the still-pink scar tissue on his right temple.

His own waking after his chip had been removed hadn’t been so slow. But his procedure had fallen under the “just in case” category. It had also been entirely voluntary. Who knew what complications could arise with Wolffe.

Going by the reports Rex and Gregor had read on Wolffe while they searched for him, Wolffe had, like his namesake, hunted and killed with the ruthless efficiency of a persistence predator. Did that begin with the flick of the Order 66 switch, and would it continue despite his chip’s removal?

“My readings indicate that the patient will soon return to consciousness.”

Gregor straightened.

Wolffe’s breathing wasn’t as deep as it had been, and Gregor could see a crease in his brow, and the beginnings of a frown on his lips. Wolffe’s eyes slid open and Gregor remained still.  From where he was sitting, Gregor could only see the pale, cybernetic one, but when Wolffe’s head turned in his direction he could see his mismatched gaze evolve from dull to questioning, and then to hostile.

Unsurprising, considering his last memory was likely of being taken down with stun rounds.

Wolffe’s frown became a sneer as he studied Gregor and Gregor rose, though he was unsure if it was to offer comfort or to take a defensive stance.

Wolffe rolled onto his side and Gregor lifted a hand to caution him against any sudden movements.

Too late.

The muscles in Wolffe’s face bunched and he closed his eyes. He reached a hand up to his temple and sucked in air through his teeth when he found the bandage-covered incision there.

“Wolffe…” Gregor said as he took several steps toward him. He stopped in his tracks when Wolffe’s eyes flashed open. There was hurt beneath the anger and mistrust. “I’m Gregor. You’re safe here.”

“What in hells did you do to me?” Wolffe rasped out the words, but they weren’t lacking in venom. The scar on the right side of his face added to the ferocity of his appearance, and even stripped of his armor and weapons, Wolffe looked battle-ready.

“Rex and I found you, and-”

“Found me?” Wolffe spat as he lifted himself and moved his legs over the side of the cot. Gregor could see Wolffe’s eyes go a little unfocused with the movement, but after he blinked again and moved his head from side to side, Wolffe rose on unsteady legs. “That’s a funny way of saying-”

“Please be calm,” the 2-1B unit said as it took several mechanical steps closer to Wolffe.

Wolffe divided his attention and his ire between the droid and Gregor.

“Does that ever help?” Gregor asked the droid, without taking his eyes off of Wolffe, who took a step toward the door.

“My master has programmed me to be proactive where potentially combative patients are concerned. If he does not regain his composure, I will be forced to administer medication to achieve that end.”

“Try it,” Wolffe said. He turned toward the droid and squared his shoulders, but took a sensible step away from it when he caught sight of the needle at the end of the droid’s left appendage.

“Hey, whoah, stop!” Gregor said when it looked as though the droid was going to oblige Wolffe. Part of Gregor admired the medic’s forethought, considering her line of work, but the other, more significant part of him was actively cursing her. “I’ll get pretty combative, too, if you go near him. What do you think your chances are of taking down two Republic clones?”

All three of them were still. Gregor didn’t know how, but the droid seemed to actually be calculating an answer to his question. For his part, Gregor tried to estimate how much worse he’d just made the situation. He’d been in higher stakes impasses, to be sure, but this one seemed more delicate.

“Not optimal,” the droid admitted, at last, as it lowered its arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Gregor said as he let out a breath and looked at Wolffe to see if he’d garnered any favor.

Or that he hadn’t provoked an attack.

Wolffe eyed him. The wariness and anger were there, but beneath them was an unmistakable weariness. It was the same tiredness Gregor saw in Rex every day. The same kind he knew he’d see if he looked in a mirror. He felt morbid laughter bubbling up when he thought that they were all reflections of one another and that he didn’t need the benefit of a mirror. He kept it at bay, though, and he and Wolffe stood in silence.

Wolffe rested the small of his back against the cot and swallowed. Gregor thought to offer him some water, but Wolffe spoke before he could.

“Rex is dead, and so is the Republic.”

“Well, the Republic is,” Gregor conceded with an upward tilt of the lip, “But Rex is alive.”

Wolffe shook his head again, but this time he broke eye contact. Gregor wasn’t sure what he’d expected from the Commander. Relief? Disbelief?

“Then he’s a traitor,” Wolffe said, his voice a hoarse, uncertain whisper. “And so are you. You’re in violation of...I should...I should…”

“The patient is distressed,” the med droid reported.

“He’s allowed to be,” Gregor snapped. He sounded more petulant than he would have cared to, but the droid fell silent again, so it was entirely worth it.

Wolffe’s shoulders slumped and he crossed his arms over his stomach as he took his weight off the bed again. Gregor took a half step forward and decided to gamble.

“Is that what you want?” he asked. He kept his tone as conversational as he could, as though it made no difference to him if he found himself in another cell, awaiting stars knew what fate. “To turn us in to the Empire?”

Wolffe was silent for a long while. He wrapped his arms tighter around his middle and bowed his head. His gaze was dark and distant. Gregor wondered what realizations were filtering in, what memories. Memories - or what Gregor thought were memories - came rattling back in his dreams, or resurfaced in flashes with scents  or sensations. For Wolffe’s sake, Gregor hoped the memories were kinder, but he doubted they were.

“I...I don’t…” Wolffe trailed off.

Gregor hadn’t expected Wolffe’s shoulders to start shaking, or his breath to start hitching.

But they did. Oh, they did.

“What did I do?” Wolffe asked. “What did I-”

His words broke off in a ragged sob.

“It’s okay,” Gregor offered.

Wolffe shook his head and screwed his eyes shut. A tear glinted down his cheek and Gregor hazarded another step closer, though he had no idea what exactly he was doing.

“The General,” Wolffe said, his voice thick. “When I read the report, all I could think was ‘Good. Good the traitor’s dead,’ and I was...I was…”

Wolffe’s knees buckled and he dropped. Hard.

Gregor nearly tried to catch him, nearly tried to break the fall that had probably been inevitable. But what could he do, really? He considered walking out and closing the door behind him. Not to assuage his own discomfort, or because he didn’t care, but because it seemed wrong to see Wolffe like this, suffocating on the emotions the chip had kept at bay. The chip he and Rex had had removed.

Something unpleasant lanced its way into Gregor’s gut. Could they have afforded to give Wolffe a choice?

No, Gregor thought as he shoved the guilt down. With the chip, Wolffe didn’t have a choice. Now he did.

The heels of Wolffe’s hands were on the floor and his nails were digging into it as though he could scrape some semblance of reason from the tatty carpet beneath him.

Gregor wished his practical knowledge of weapons and infiltration would do him and Wolffe any good. He wished he could spare Wolffe the pain. Most of all, Gregor wished Rex were there.

But Gregor did what he’d never been trained to do, what the Kaminoans hadn’t deemed necessary for their creations to learn.

He knelt down beside Wolffe and put a hand on one of his shoulders.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. The words felt ridiculous coming from his mouth, but his conviction was genuine. “It is.”

“No,” Wolffe croaked.

“Ssh,” Gregor shushed, wondering if Wolffe even heard him. He rubbed Wolffe’s shoulder and down his back. The feel of the quaking muscle beneath his palm hurt Gregor’s heart. He couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through Wolffe’s head. Gregor felt a deep, heated hatred for the Empire and the Kaminoans begin to constrict his chest. He couldn’t recall feeling it so intensely before. But Kamino was gone now  and they were still here. Used, then cast aside. “Shshshsh.”

“Please listen, Wolffe,” Gregor said. “There was nothing you could have done. You couldn’t help it. There was a chip in your head, in all of our heads, but it’s gone now. We got it out.”

“Y-you don’t u-understand what I d-di-id.”

“Hey, hey,” Gregor said as he shifted so he was directly in front of Wolffe. He was grateful Wolffe remained pliant enough that he could draw him into a hug. “You couldn’t help it, Wolffe.”

“No,” Wolffe said again. “Nononono.”

Wolffe chanted that single, miserable note into Gregor’s shoulder until it devolved into a wild sound that pitched and cracked and went on and on until Gregor thought Wolffe’s lungs would give out.

“I know, Wolffe. I know. I’m so sorry,” Gregor said as he put a calloused, uncertain hand on the back of Wolffe’s head and hugged him closer.

Wolffe’s arms remained slack at his sides as he choked and wept, and Gregor held him.

The sobs wracking Wolffe’s body lessened in intensity.

Eventually.

Wolffe’s chest rested heavily against Gregor’s, and he could feel each hectic little sniffle and each groan that worked its way loose from Wolffe’s throat.

Gregor didn’t know if he was helping, or if Wolffe was simply exhausting himself. He rubbed warm, gentle circles between Wolffe’s shoulder blades. He didn’t know how long they sat like that, but he ignored the ache in his knees and the pins and needles in his feet.

Wolffe took in a slow, steady breath and tensed back ever so slightly. Gregor allowed him to list backwards, but he kept a steadying hand on his shoulder and the back of his neck. Wolffe still didn't look at Gregor, but Gregor could see how lost he looked, how hurt.

“Hey,” Gregor said. He was surprised how rough his own voice sounded. There was no response, but he leaned forward and touched his forehead to Wolffe’s. He couldn’t make any of this make sense, but he could try his best to anchor Wolffe. “I’ve got you, Wolffe. I’ve got you.”

. 

[borkthemork]

I'd like to partake in these drabble requests! How ;bout something a bit less sad, maybe a reunion between Sasha, Anne and Marcy after the latter is completely free from...whatever her situation ends up being in season 3. Assume it's possession.

Her first waking moments were of tented ceiling.

Her first waking moments were welcomed with chills, a cocooned warmth, words clogged in her throat.

And if Marcy was told that she would be here, watching one of her best friends rest by her bedside — hand tightly wrapped around hers — she wouldn’t have believed them. In the faint light, where her lungs took in fresh air than the stuffed artificial, it had all felt like a dream.

A crazy, crazy, fantastic dream.

Marcy didn’t stir a muscle. At least, not any that could wake Anne up. Her thoughts stirred into endless questionnaire; they trailed off into tangents as her eyes stared dead-on above her, listening in on the distant chirps of birds, the rustle of leaves (?), at how the world around her grew focused — more observable.

She rested under a tent. A small tent that hinted of pine, cedar, the forest bog. One side was of intricately-pitched tarp, the other supported by solid mountain wall. The rock looked igneous, too; the place they rested in must’ve been the result of numerous millenniums in volcanic activity, a far cry from what she knew of the beautiful mountain peaks or the changing Newtopian tides.

Newtopia.

Newtopia...

Her head ached considerably. Man, everything that happened back in the castle wasn’t just a terrible nightmare. The scars on her palms proved it. So did the sleepy countenance rested next to her, snoring her heart out, folded arms her makeshift pillow.

Anne didn’t have the old school attire on. After seeing her wear that garb for days, Marcy had gotten used to the idea that the accoutrements were permanent. But now, outlined well in the filtered sunlight, Anne looked good. More clean, taken care of.

She had went home, reconciled with her family, and chose to come back.

That force of nature that duked Marcy out in the engine rooms until Sasha carried her away? That was all Anne.

Anne and Sasha sacrificed a lot to get back here; Marcy barely made it out herself. Why they chose her after all this time baffled her. And it pained her head more than it should’ve.

Marcy remained quiet. Her hands fumbled constantly with Anne’s hand, caressing her knuckles with a thumb, and hoped that the girl dreamt fantastic dreams. Because dang it, she needed those good dreams.

“Hey Anne, Grime says that the mushrooms rotted overnight so the only thing I got is this gravy thing, you chill with that?” The tarp entrance shifted before Marcy could utter a word. A plate in hand, Sasha entered without fanfare, and almost dropped the food entirely at the sight of her. “Holy shit, you’re awake!”

Marcy put on a smile. Her face hurt, a bit achey from having a whole demon amalgam pulled straight out her. But that didn’t stop her from doing jazz hands. “Surpriisee!”

Anne shot up. “I’m awake I’m awake, what we doin’?” Her eyes darted to Marcy’s. “Mar-mar!”

Marcy squeaked when Sasha rushed up to embrace her.  “Oh my God, you’re okay. Thank goodness.”

It wasn’t a tight embrace, thank frog, but even the slightest pressure left her ribs to buzz and prick.

Didn’t help that Anne hopped onto the hug train too, or the fact she was sobbing into Marcy’s tunic with the tightest grip imaginable.

“G-guys!” Marcy gasped. “I missed you too, but I can—I can’t—!”

Sasha pulled herself and Anne away. “Woah, woah. Right. Forgot what the doc said. Let’s give her some space.”

Anne did the same, rubbing her eyes. “Forgot about that. Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

Marcy smiled at them. It still hurt, whatever was burning inside of her hurt a lot, but seeing them all together made her heart leap pleasantly from her chest. She spread her arms wide open, giggling all the while. “It’s alright. A hug wouldn’t hurt. Softer this time, though, I don’t know if I’m going through internal bleeding or what.”

“In that case, let’s not.” Anne looked at her, brows knitted tightly in concern. “You’re really messed up right now.”

Marcy frowned. “I’m positive. Or am I missing something here?”

“They told us you’re gonna be aching all over when you woke up and the latest medical supplies ain’t coming in until uh,” she pursed her lips. “Until we actually find a functional portal back to Earth.”

“Huh, well I’m pretty okay right no—” Pain splintered her chest. Marcy lurched forward, clutching hard at her abdomen. “Okay, okay, forget what I said! Ow!”

The discomfort receded as Anne rushed beside her. Didn’t help that Marcy was shaking, or the fact she was way too sweaty about this. Yep, there was some internal wounds going on. This wasn’t good.

Sasha sighed. “If we don’t defeat the king, we’re not gonna be able to get you the care you need. You’ll practically be bedridden unless we find another way home.”

Looking between them, it was at this moment that Marcy realized how absolutely exhausted these two looked. Not only did they harbor eye bags and reeked of sweat, but their articulations grew sluggish, languid. The battle between them had ended, but the future seemed never-ending, hard to comprehend, and the more Marcy thought about it her gut churned unpleasantly.

No time for guilt, though. If she wanted a part in the battle, she needed to get herself healed. And the only way to get healed now was through...

“What about healing magic?” Marcy asked.

Sasha blinked. “Huh?”

“I got a friend in Wartwood who utilizes in dark magic, all the way from rejuvenation to eldritch summoning,” Marcy said. “Maddie. She’ll be able to send us some healing if she’s still around here somewhere!“

At the frog’s name, Sasha’s face tightened more. Fear pooled into Marcy’s chest, quick and fast. Did Maddie get hurt? Was she captured? How long had Marcy been out?

Much to her relief, Sasha responded quick. “Well, Wartwood’s pretty much looking for new places to set up camp. We’ll not see her until a day or so, but—” She rubbed her chin. “—it sounds crazy enough to work.”

“I saw her rob some creepy dude’s candy supply once with a witch duel,” Anne added. “Other than teaching us a friendship lesson, she’s pretty chill. If we need supernatural backup, then Maddie’s the frog with the plan.”

Sasha smacked Anne on the back. “Alright then. You ready to kick some robot butt?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be!”

Marcy was surprised to find herself in another hug. Not tight this time, but just comfortable, just right. There were still tears, awkward laughter, promises that the two would come back shortly to her even as her heart ached that they wouldn’t, but in these moments Marcy embraced them as if the past ceased meaning.

Reunion was far from perfect, but Marcy preferred to talk when her ribs didn’t ache.

Or when the world wasn’t close to dying.

[purplesunrisefanfic]

A long-ass defence of the unsexy sex scene between Abby and Owen.

(No pictures of it are included here because gross)

So, at the risk of alienating pretty much everyone who follows me, I actually think **that** scene with Abby and O🤢🤢n is a worthwhile storytelling element, and I see why that scene was included but not a Dina/Ellie one. (Even though “I wish things were different.”)

With Dina/Ellie, they love each other, they have a fairly healthy relationship, they have chemistry. Everything that, story-wise, needs to be shown can be (and was) shown without needing a full sex scene. Yeah, I would really like to see a sex scene between them, for sure, but I can’t pretend that because I think there’s vital story elements hidden in there. Not at all because, let’s be honest, we KNOW they had great sex. No one who wants that scene wants it because they’re wondering if they had good sex or not, we want it because we wanna see some great sex.

You‘re not seriously doubting that I’m good in bed, are you?

I’m not dissing us for that, representation matters, and I think Neil made a HUGE error of judgement when he spoke about a sex scene in a context where we’d all assume it was Dina/Ellie. (And that was a moment of terrible judgment that I would be classing as queerbaiting has it not been for the SO FUCKING MUCH groundbreakingly excellent representation in Part 2. In this case, I think it was an example of how even when you work really hard at things you can still make mistakes, still be thoughtless to how much impact you can accidents have on a representation-starved group. And yeah, it’s not easy to let him off the hook for something that important to me, but I do think he’s done enough overall to earn an assumption of good faith here. Not least because I don’t really don’t think anyone’s purchase actually hinged on whether we saw a Dina/Ellie sex scene vs a make out scene and a well-developed queer relationship, and the whole point of queerbaiting is to manipulate us into buying or consuming things we otherwise wouldn’t.)

But to get back to the main point, I think it’s important to recognise that we don’t wish we’d had that scene because we feel like there’s something vital to the story that we don’t know for not seeing it. We have good reasons for wanting that scene, but thinking that we missed out on some vital characterisation, relationship or story elements isn’t one of them.

Now, the sex scene that we do see is very different. First thing I wanna say is that this isn’t a sex scene that only lesbians or people who dislike Owen find to be uncomfortable. I’ve seen some critiques where I feel like a gulf might have opened up with that. Where it’s maybe kinda of assumed that if you are into that type of sex and don’t hate Owen, then that’s an equivalent to the Dina/Ellie scene that we didn’t get, and it’s NOT. Dina and Ellie having sex for the first time is a situation that opens a door (a door which then walk through with them in other ways, such as the small moments of love and bonding that we see portrayed so beautifully) while Abby/Owen having sex for the last time is a scene about reaching a dead end. It’s about realising that the past is a dead end. It’s a scene that I’ve not seen anyone, even people who didn’t find it uncomfortable, describe as sexy.

Abby has dwelled on the past for four years. She trained herself up to kill Joel. She took no notice of what she was doing and who she was becoming in the present because all she thought about was the past. She ended up “top Scar killer” without really noticing (though that point is more my subjective opinion than the other points here, but I see no evidence she was proud or that or even really trying to achieve that). She killed kids and parents ruthlessly without paying any mind to her own morals or whether she even wanted to be a Wolf at all, because she was living in the past, getting whatever the job in the present was done without asking any questions because her head was never there. Everything she did as a Wolf was just a means to survive long to find Joel and be in a position to kill him when she did.

Eventually, as we know, she does find and kill Joel, and the experience doesn’t give her any of the closure she imagined. Her friendship groups fracture, her self-image is damaged, and she’s now both without closure and without purpose. But she still hasn’t quite figured out why. She hasn’t yet realised that dwelling on the past is the problem. Her ex is still in the picture, an ex that she lost “because of Joel” (in the sense that the main tensions we see in their relationship are linked to Abby’s dedication to revenge).

So caught up in revenge through 4 formative years of life, she’s not had the space to develop in ways she likely would have otherwise. She hasn’t moved past the idyllic childhood sweethearts idea, she’s not moved on to thinking about what she actually wants and needs in a partner. She’s not even noticed that her friends have moved on to more adult relationships, relationships where you might settle down with children, until she’s shocked into that realisation by the news that Mel is pregnant. (This is similar to a point Druckmann has made in an interview.)

Even then, the way she talks about suggests she’s still struggling with seeing the present clearly. She talks about it (especially to herself in Jackson) as if they are still teens, as they are 16ish and should have been more careful. There’s ample evidence, in my interpretation, that Abby’s ability to notice the present, to notice change, and to grow up herself has been near-stunted for the 4 years between Jerry’s death and Joel’s death.

So when she has sex with Owen, it’s another way of looking back. It’s another attempt to look for a future in her past, and I think that to really see and understand just how much she has tried to find a future in the past, and how much that has led her to betray her own values, betray her friends, and to be blinkered to the consequences of her own actions and how she finally realises all of this herself, we need to see the sex.

Because the sex is like the receipts. Like the death certificate for the long-overdue passing of her idea that her future can be made good by a fixation on the past.

Say they had had a shitty kiss instead. Well, that could be Owen holding back because he’s torn about Mel. They could be Abby holding back because she’s torn about Mel. If they do anything less than completely betray Mel, then there’s still room for Abby to believe that, if Mel were to suddenly never had existed or whatever, that her and Owen would be 16yo idyllic sweethearts forever.

So they have to totally betray Mel, they have to have clearly and totally disregarded her, for us (and for Abby) to see their relationship clearly. So it has to be sex. And for us to share in that process in Abby’s mind, the realisation that life has moved on, the realisation that her love for him is based on assuming nothing much has changed in 4 years when it has, the realisation that the past is dead end, we have to be with her for that.

Then we can see how she’s gotten to where she is and how she finally realises that there’s nothing that the past can give her. And then, she’s finally ready to see the present for what it is. She’s finally ready to see that what she does in the present matters, that she can chose whether or not two children live or die, and that she should focus on that. She’s ready to see that Owen was a guy she loved 4 years ago, not a guy she loves today. She’s ready to “Let It Go!(sorry, couldn’t resist!). She’s ready to question whether she’s actually this person who wants to be “top Scar killer.” We’re able to see just how much of herself has been lost on her revenge journey, how she can get on a better path, and why we think she’s worth having that chance. I don’t think that story could come together so richly without the visceral discomfort and the layered realisations that seeing her having (imo terrible, some folks have gone as far as “mediocre” and I’ve genuinely seen no-one rate it any higher) sex with Owen.

Abby: I’d rather watch 10 live amputations and have my own arm amputated than ever have sex with Owen again. In fact, I’d struggle to choose between sex with him and sex with the Rat King at this point.

Yara: I think you should try your luck with fucking the Rat King, can’t be any worse, can it?

Side point: This argument also touches on why I don’t believe that Abby is categorically canonically straight, because her whole arc relies on her being too stuck in the past to consider who she’s actually attracted to in the present. Normally, it’s kinda on the people making the media to show us queerness and not expect us to be satisfied that “well, they could be bisexual because we’ve never said they aren’t,” but I think TLOU does enough in terms of active representation to merit an exception, especially when there’s a strong storytelling reason why we never see anything of what she’s into beyond her childhood sweetheart. (I’m not saying she’s def bi, just that I think saying she’s canonically straight is dicey and that, unlike with almost any other form of media where I’m with y’all in the “straight until otherwise proven” approach, with Abby specifically I find it does give me some of the bi erasure feels that I get all the time irl when people describe her as canonically straight.)

I’m gonna pick Lev up from Scar Island, then find myself a hot woman who likes big arms, boats, and my precious adopted children.

[hot-wiings]

Leave An Ask Or Comment To Be Added To A Specific Characters Taglist.

Edited: 10-21-2020

When you woke up the next morning you felt a discomfort between your legs. Your core hurt, but it was nothing compared to when Kai had his way with you. kai roughly took you. He didn't take the time to let you get aroused, he just dove right in and got himself off without care about whether you were enjoying it or not. He didn't listen when you said no, instead, he forced you to give in. He forced himself on you and coerced you, then he left you to clean up the mess. 

Dabi gently took you. He took his time and paid attention. He asked you if he was hurting you, he asked you if what he was doing was okay. He made sure you were aroused when he took you. He was kind but he still got you in just the right spots making you crave more. He was attentive and made it enjoyable. Unlike your mysophobic captor, he cleaned you up. 

When you woke up, Dabi's cum was not dripping from your body like last night. You were worried you'd wake up to dry cum crusted on your skin, but he had cleaned you up. Not only had he cleaned you up from his ejaculation, but he had put clothes on you. Instead of being naked, you wore a long-sleeved pajama shirt and jogging pants. As you felt the bedding you noticed he had changed the sheets and blankets from your sinful acts of the previous night. You must've been really out of it because you hadn't woke up. Whether it was from him wearing you out from your activities, or the fact you hadn't felt so safe sleeping in such a long time remained a mystery. 

You pulled yourself out of bed, wincing slightly at the pain. It was more bearable than what Kai was capable of doing to you, and once you stopped thinking about the pain you barely noticed it. You couldn't lie that it hurt Dabi wasn't there when you woke up, but you knew that had someone caught Dabi in your bedroom like that it would cause hell for you both. Sure Dabi was supposed to watch you, but if he was seen leaving your room so early in his clothes from the day before it would arise suspicious questions. He would have to return to your room in the late morning when people could witness him coming to watch you in an innocent matter.

Despite that rational thinking, you couldn't help but wonder if he regretted last night at all. As you slipped on clean fresh clothes you couldn't help but wonder if he meant his words to you. You couldn't help but ponder on if he meant them with honesty. You carried such baggage and trouble with you, a relationship together would be so troublesome for him. 

A knock on the door broke you out of your reverie. You quickly pulled your shirt down as you spoke out through the closed door. 

"Who is it?"

"It's Dabi."

You tried to slow down the heart palpations you received as you briskly walked over to the door and opened it. Just the sound of his deep voice brought electricity to every fiber of your body but seeing him standing in the doorway made you smile. He came back. 

"Hey." 

Dabi stepped inside your room and closed the door behind him. He was quick to pull you against his chest, his warmth completely engulfing you. You were relishing in his touch so much you hadn't realized tears were beginning to escape your eyes and drip onto his shirt. You hadn't realized up until Dabi pulled away and tilted your head up with his hands. His long fingers hooked behind your ears and his warm thumbs pushed away your tears. 

"What's wrong? Did I accidentally hurt you?"

"No, no you didn't. I'm sorry. I just- I know why you had to leave... But I was worried you regretted it. Regretted last night."

Your tone hushed and got quiet as you mumbled out the last part. Due to your proximity, Dabi still heard it. He pulled you against his chest again. His hold was tighter, more protective but not hurtful.  

"Doll, I didn't regret it."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't blame you. I know what complications come with me and you're not obligated to stick around just because I gave myself to you."

"Baby doll, I don't intend to leave. I'm staying and gettin' both you and Eri out. I meant what I said last night."

Your head rested against Dabi's chest as you let out a sigh of relief. You breathed in Dabi's scent of smoke, cigarettes, and sulfur. They were bad smells, yet they brought comfort and safety to your stomach. You lifted your head off of his chest and plopped your lips onto his. It was such a normal action, but it was so foreign. It had been so long since you willingly incited such a romantic action. It was wrong to do it with Dabi when you were dating Kai, albeit forcefully, but it was so right. When you were pulled against his chest, in his arms, you couldn't care to give Kai a single thought. You couldn't be bothered to care if it was morally wrong or right to cheat on a relationship that was forced on you. 

Kai was wrong. All the words he'd spoken to you. All the phrases and hurtful words he spits out. Every time he said no one could love you. Every time he said he was the only one who could love you. He was wrong, it was all wrong. Dabi could love you. Dabi did love you.

"I was half asleep when I said it... but I meant what I said too." 

Dabi dipped his head down to your ear and gave it a light nibble before whispering roughly, leaving tickles down your eardrum and cochlea. 

"I really do love you. I know it's early to say that... But you make me feel things. I'm so closed off, but you make me want to tell you everything about myself."

"Then tell me. You know so much about me, you know about Eri and my mother... I wanna know more about you."

Dabi pulls out of your embrace but keeps a hand in yours. He lightly tugs you along with him to your bed. Once he sits down on the fluffy blankets, he pulls you on top of his lap.

"What do you want to know, doll?"

Your hands came up and played with Dabi's hair as you nestled your body against his. Eliciting a smile from Dabi, you lightly tugged and pulled, but not in the same manner as the night before. It was nice to be able to just touch and love without getting hurt. 

"Everything. I wanna know everything about you Dabi."

"God, I don't know where to start... I guess I'll start with my childhood."

Dabi wrapped his arms around your waist, one arm around your back and the other across your lap. His warm hands gripped your thigh and waist as he spoke out his words to you. Dabi had briefly mentioned before that his father was abusive, that his father was mean but he escaped out. You couldn't imagine Dabi as a child, he looked so rough with his scars and staples it was hard to imagine him in a setting where he was young, innocent, and fresh. 

"Back then I went by Touya."

"Touya... I like that. Why did you stop using it?"

"My father picked it out. He demanded that he pick it out because I was destined to surpass him, his opinion changed after I received my quirk. When I left home I wanted nothing to do with him. I dyed my hair- it was red then - and I changed my name."

"I bet you looked nice with red hair."

"Mm, I was quite the fox in high school, all the ladies loved me. I never gave them the time of day. It's not something I'm proud of, but I used them for a quick screw and then I'd forget their number."

Your chest tightened as his words registered in your brain. You knew Dabi had a bad reputation. He's a villain, some sort of bad merit comes with that. Hearing him say it was different. How could you be sure you weren't going to be one of those girls? Then again, Dabi hadn't hit you like Kai and if he had ill intent why would he be sitting here telling you about his past. Almost as if he noticed your hesitation in your brain, Dabi dug his fingers in you tighter and pulled you against him closer. 

"It's different with you. You like me even though I am a villain, you like me despite my scars and staples. Those girls in high school didn't want me, they wanted Touya. They wanted his status. They wanted his wealth. They wanted Touya, the eldest Todoroki sibling."

"Todoroki... Todoroki as in Endeavor, like the hero?"

"Enji Todoroki is my father, but he is not a hero." 

Before Kai closed you off from the world you'd seen Endeavor on the news a lot. As the number two hero, he made lots of appearances. With All Might's lack of recent activity, Endeavor began taking the spotlight more. Although he wasn't your favorite hero, you thought he was one of the greats. As Dabi gripped onto you tightly he made a face, a face of fear. He looked scared and nervous to be talking about the man who raised him. Endeavor saved people, but clearly, there was a dark presence behind the man. 

"He was obsessed with surpassing All Might. When my quirk showed up he was less than happy, he pressured my mom into having more kids, more weapons for him to use. My mother gave birth to my sister Fuyumi, my brother Natsuo, then finally she had Shouto."

It was like Dabi's breath hitched in his throat. He had a hard time letting the words out. He hadn't ever told anyone about his childhood. In school, he never allowed himself to be close to anyone, and he never uttered a word to a soul in the league. 

"Shouto had both of my parents quirks, and to Enji that was valuable. He separated my brother from me and my siblings, forced him to train to become a hero at a very young age. He abused my mother when she tried to stop him, physically and mentally. She couldn't bear to look at me, behind I looked so much like him."

You pulled Dabi's head against your neck and he was quick to bury himself inside it. He let out a few sobs, but they were muffled against your skin. His tears streamed down his face as he pulled back to finish talking.

"Eventually she snapped. She threw a pot of boiling water down Shouto's face, the side of him that looked like Enji. He threw her in a mental institution. I was twelve, and I had to help raise Fuyumi, Natsou, and Shouto. I was just twelve, and I had to cook dinners. I was twelve and I had to help Natsuo with his math homework. I was twelve and I watched Enji train my brother so hard he threw up, and when I tried to stop him I would get beat."

"Oh, Dabi..."

"When I turned seventeen he became tamer. He never beat Fuyumi, she was his soft spot, and he never beat Natsuo... I think his face reminded him too much of my mom. They stopped needing me, so I left. I faked my suicide and left. I still keep tabs on them. My sister is a teacher, still living at home to take care of him. Natsuo's in college, and Shouto's in the prestigious UA."

Dabi moved his hands from your thigh to your face. He cupped your cheeks and brought his lips to yours.

"I hate my father for the abuse. I hate him so much, but to stay in the game long enough for my siblings to stay safe, I had to play the game. I had to lay down and place my cheek up until they were old enough to stand up and defend themselves, old enough to not need me."

"You don't deserve that. No one deserves that."

"You don't deserve it, but I need you to do it. I need you to play Kai's game. Pretend that you want him. Pretend you can't get enough of him. Pretend your so in love. We need him to get laxer. The laxer he is, the easier--safer it'll be to get you and Eri out. To survive the games you gotta play the game."

You mirrored Dabi's actions by pressing your lips back against his. Your kisses held passion and love. Your hand came up and caressed his cheek softly, skimming lightly over his staples, unsure if it was a soft and sensitive or not.

"I'll do it Dabi. I'll hate every minute of it, but I'll do it. I'll stop fighting, give in, embrace it. I'll play Kai's game."

[tarithenurse]

Nightingale - 19

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: Yeah...this gets darker with some violence, a torture-ish situation, angst, sadness. A/N: Gotten to 347 of Shippuuden, btw. What a ride! As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag!

Ch. 19

Her restraints haven't been altered, so Uguisu sits straight in the chair – the only display of freedom being a leg daintily slung over the other, allowing a foot to tap along in the air to an unheard melody as if she's bored. There is no fear in her face, just mild curiosity as she regards the towering man who has turned to her now. Gloved fingers move nimbly to release the gag.

"How are you feeling, Minami-kun?"

If she's surprised at the question and the (relatively) kind voice, she doesn't show it. "Much better, thank you. I don't believe I've slept this well since I was a teen."

"I suppose not..." Ibiki concedes, "but how come you managed to tonight? I would expect someone with your claimed experiences would have nightmares."

"Normally, yes. I guess I was too exhausted even to dream." The interrogator has begun circling the chair where she sits so her gaze lands on Kakashi instead.

"It can be a relief to finally tell the truth."

She nods. "Might also have helped that establishing the seal burned through all my chakra."

"The seal...yes." Pausing, he lets a hand brush against her shoulder, and while Kakashi holds his breath in anticipation, the woman merely tenses. "Do you feel...different with the seal?"

Uguisu purses her lips slightly as if in deep thought. "Well, apart from the physical effect...I'm not sure. It might be psychological that I feel free...like a looming shadow has been chased away...it probably is...but it's the best metaphor."

"You mentioned a physical effect?"

"It throbs, hurts. Not the worst I've ever felt but enough to be annoying." It’s impossible to tell she’s experiencing any discomfort when looking at her.

"Last night, you told us how the Curse Mark would be triggered if you used too much of your chakra or kekkei genkai." She nods at his words. "Is that the same now?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Why not?"

The little bit Kakashi knows about the woman, he can easily imagine that she's biting a sarcastic comment back rather than the calm reply she gives: "It seemed unwise to do anything without proper approval first...and I'm afraid to try."

"Explain."

"...which part?"

"The latter," Ibiki prompts less patiently but adds, "if you'd be so kind."

"When the mark activates, it's as if Orochimaru takes over mind and body and I...don't...want that."

Kakashi fears for one short moment that the woman will be asked to continue explaining, to retell in gruelling details what exactly she has suffered through at the hands of Konoha's enemy, and maybe that was Ibiki's plan as he bends over her to scrutinize her eyes and face because to the careful observer there's a subtle change in his stance.

He signals Inoichi who brings out a backpack together with a bundle containing the gear she’d carried last night.

“Is this yours?” The man with the long ponytail lifts the backpack.

“It is.”

“What is in it?” He places it on the end of the table that’s free.

A shrug. “I suppose that depends if anything has been added or removed since last I packed it.” Undoubtedly, Uguisu doesn’t trust the men very much. “There should be some tools, weapons, and clothing of mine. You’d also find a book from the Academy’s Library, a necklace, an alarm clock, someone’s favourite cup...washed, I might add...ehm, an also-washed sock, a photograph, and a pretty stone.”

Every item mentioned is procured from the depths of the luggage and lined up on the table.

Morino takes over again: “You have stolen these things, true?”

“Is it still considered stealing if the intention from the beginning is to return them?”

“Then why take them at all?”

A grim smile dances across the woman’s face. “The note explained why I borrowed the book. The rest? Proof that I could’ve killed but chose not to. I’m not the enemy.”

A smile is tugging at Kakashi’s lips behind the black fabric of the collar as he sees the interrogator momentarily at a loss for words – the skills he has honed over the years are telling him the explanation is true or at least not detectable as a lie.

"Then tell me," he recovers, "what you can do with your skill. Why was it so important to Orochimaru?"

"Because it can force people to go against their very nature." Only silence answers her. "One order from me, worded carefully, and the person will have no choice but to follow it to their best of their abilities. They will want to. Like an obsession or addiction nagging their mind until they give in to it because it's the only thing that matters to them. Orochimaru sought to use it to gain access to restricted places or during interrogations if a prisoner refused to tell him what he wanted. At the time, it wasn't necessary for the sake of carrying out murders but I'm certain he considered that as an option too," she sighs, "and probably more."

"Show us."

The onlookers were already silent but the hush that falls in the room makes it feel as though all air has been sucked away – a feeling that's intensified when Uguisu stares at the man with open mouth.

"Show? Are you...you don't mean that," she gasps, "or are...you volunteering?"

"Hm," Kakashi knows something's brewing when the interrogator begins to smile, "not me, no. However I'd recommend you demonstrate your skill on someone who has stated their devotion to you." Yeah, that makes sense. "Kakashi."

Even before Ibiki has finished saying his name, the jōnin in question has pushed to his feet. If Asuma had been there, he’d probably look at the white-haired friend in a way which would mean something along the lines of "told you so". The only Sarutobi, the old Hokage, shifts in his seat but doesn't object, allowing the addition to the people in the arena.

"Order him to follow the first order I give him."

Just do it. Kakashi nods to the woman, hoping to banish the fear from the doe-like eyes as she shifts her attention between the two men. I got nothing to hide.

“I must be able to sign,” she protests.

Without hesitation, the tall man in charge cuts her bonds and even allows her time to rub some life into hands and fingers before he motions towards the test-bunny. Is she hesitating? Just as Kakashi begins to wonder, Uguisu’s hands flies through a series of signs.

"Kakashi..."

Everything changes. The surroundings seem to fade away along with the people in it – even the shadow that once was Ibiki is unable to take form or speak audibly as it leans closer to Uguisu. Uguisu. She's washed out too, but her voice rings clear, somehow guiding him as she speaks again and he just knows that anything she says is important. Follow the order Ibiki gives me. It's a strange thing to say, but if that's what she wants then he'll happily do it and as he nods, the man in question begins to stand out clearer in the blurred world.

"Strangle her until she passes out."

A part of Kakashi tries to object, but his body moves on its own accord until he's leaning over her because this is what she wanted. She told him to follow the order. So he does.

The skin is soft and smooth under his fingers, the little hairs in the neck obediently bend under the pressure and it tickles a memory of having touched the blue strands before but in a different way. Above his hands the usually pretty face is distorted: mouth open, eyes watering and huge. She's afraid? But she wanted me to do this. It doesn't make sense, really, but he clings on to the one thing he knows for sure. Do as told. Her eyes roll backwards and the whites contrast the flushed skin. Almost there. Almost done as you wanted. Something wet lands on her face. Drops of something unimportant. She's resisting a bit now, but it's easy to avoid the instinctual flailing. Almost. And then she stops. The haze of the world lifts as Kakashi's hands fall to his sides and he realizes what he has done.

It takes four seconds to lower her onto the floor.

It takes five before he can hear the heartbeat, sluggish and faint.

It feels like an infinity before she gasps and coughs, each intake of breath shuddering through her body. It nearly breaks his heart to feel Uguisu stiffen as he pulls her into his lap.

"Truth..." Ibiki’s standing with his arms crossed, glaring down at the woman and smiling lazily as he takes in how she reacts even in her ally's arms. "Gotta admit I'm impressed it actually worked...maybe you're not completely useless after all."

"You wanna...see...usefulness?" she wheezes, pushing off of Kakashi and onto her feet. She's shaking, whether from the underlying trauma or the near death experience itself is unclear.

The man who ordered the attack strolls around the arena. "You didn't even try to fight him."

"Why should I...an order cannot be annulled..." Slender fingers tentatively stroke the angry marks left behind on her throat, making Kakashi’s gut tighten.

"Aï...The only thing I've seen so far is a scared woman crying and snivelling."

Something ignites within Kakashi almost as if he had been the target of the insult. But if I butt in...no...He knows the senior well enough to understand that this is part of the tactic, one move of many in an elaborate game of chess between him and the blue-haired girl.

Maybe she knows it too, at least she doesn't hide a tiny smile. "Fight back." Now her smile has grown into a full grin. "Perhaps a duel? Unless it's beneath you to fight a snivelling, scared girl like me? Hmm?"

"No involvement of others."

"Hm," she agrees.

Getting the hint, her white-haired friend retreats to his seat from before, only now realizing that his mask is wet.

Below, Uguisu is equipping the gear she normally wears and meticulously checks the contents of each pouch and sheath. Her hands are shaking. The sound of her breathing still has a slight creaking to it. Maybe for that reason, the scarred man is allowing her to take her time. He wants to see how capable she is.

Ibiki squares off at one side of the sandy floor. "The opponent must yield."

Again, she hums in agreement, taking her own place opposite of him. "Before we start...you might want to have a look in the book," she sweetly offers, "first page."

"Hah! Such a low trick won't work."

[lessonsfrommadamexmas]

Maiko AU Week 2020 -- Link to AO3 Day 5: Dystopia - @idonthatemaiko

A/N: I’m going for a little Hunger Games/Maiko crossover. This one is very simple, I don’t much about HG world outside of the movie, but I love the story. 

- - -

Zuko should consider himself lucky, after all, they lived in District One. All their previous victories had only made them stronger, since they were smart enough to invest their prize in the right sectors. By helping the Capitol and thinking ahead, they guaranteed good education for their children. Children are the future, and in Panem, that meant they sacrificed their future for everyone else’s. Yet, in District One, the children were given a chance to fight from an early age, in order to surpass their adversaries.

Thus, Zuko should consider himself lucky to be walking to his last reaping ceremony. He wasn’t as focused as Mai, as swift as Ty Lee, nor as cunning and strong as Azula. If he were to be chosen alongside any of the three, they would be the ones to return home. However, he could at least put up a fight against the adversaries of other districts, and maybe, by some grace of destiny, be good enough to beat the adversary from his district. 

Or brave enough.

— Don’t make that face, Zuzu — his sister said. — You used to be excited for the ceremony when we were kids. 

He used to. Fighting was fun, and everything he learned brought him some happiness even though, at home, he was constantly scorned for not being at the same level as others and being way below his younger sister. But it was only on the second game, when he was thirteen, that he started to understand how things worked. That year, he watched a game where most tributes happened to be late teenagers, while District One sent out two twelve-year-old kids. They were completely devoted, unwilling to go down without a fight, and what a cruel fight it was, when their lives were taken. 

He dared to question it, because his father rejoiced on being their idol, the only person to ever win the Hunger Games at age twelve. That day, Zuko got a beating and a burn, a scar to remind him that his father would’ve ousted him from their home if he could. In the man’s words, “I wish I could send you to the games, but you’d be the first to drop dead and that would be a dishonor”. 

— Azula!! 

It was Ty Lee’s bubblegum voice. She and Mai were always perfect opposites, one in a pink dress and the other in black. Mai hid her discomfort under a mask of indifference, but Ty Lee masked her fear with brightness and positivity. Zuko and Azula, both wearing red, waved at them as they approached the siblings. 

— You girls are almost late — Azula informed. 

— Oh, no! Then I guess we only have time left for a hug! — Ty Lee replied grinning and immediately grabbed both siblings. — May the odds be always in our favor! 

The typical quote was a grim reminder of what awaited a tribute, but somehow hopeful wish professed every year by the event’s host. For their district, however, it seemed the sentence had acquired a reversed meaning, with some families genuinely hoping to be blessed with a tribute. 

— Yeah, yeah, odds in our favor, let’s go — his sister dismissed the sentimental moment. — They should be calling us to line up anytime now. 

— I hope so — Mai said, crossing an arm around Zuko’s neck. — Let’s just get over with it. I wanna know if there’s something interesting for me to do this year.

He kissed her deeply. Every second of his lips on hers could now be their last, and his girlfriend shared the sentiment. Mai’s grasp, her eagerness felt like she refused to let go. He, too, wanted to stay there forever, safe and sound.

— Come on, just go get a room after the ceremony — Azula interrupted. 

The District Main Plaza wasn’t the same wide square of sparse trees as usual. Several families filled the area and a stage was set up with a big screen.As usual, punctuality and organization were on point. The youngsters were already being assigned to their spots, and in a few minutes, it came their time to move to the last rows.

On the side assigned to males, Zuko couldn’t care less about the ceremony he had witnessed for the last seven years. Mai was a magnet to his eyes, even if all he could see was her back. He wished over and over in his head that his girlfriend and sister were spared another year. Everytime he looked at Azula during the presentation about Panem’s history, she was moving her lips in sync to the screen, but he knew she would be wearing an impatient expression of someone waiting for the best part to come. 

The lottery finally came, and Zuko was thankful he wouldn’t have to stay under the hot summer sun for much longer. That was the moment to hold his breath and feel the contagious tension spread in the air.

— The first tribute is… Azula Fina. 

No.

A round of applause came as she reached the wooden stage and smiled to the people she was going to represent. Azula’s eyes searched actively for him and she gave him a victorious smirk. Zuko knew she was teasing, but he would take it as a sign that she would survive. All the girl’s need to prove herself and to carry on with the family’s reputation comforted him now, as he waited for the next name with a heavy weight in his heart. 

— Now to the second tribute. His name is… Kei Lo. 

A part of Zuko was relieved he wouldn’t participate in the same edition as his sister, but it was a small part. By the end of that Hunger Game, Azula would be a murderer, and praised for it. He hated it. 

He would have a moment to see his sister later on, but as the ceremony ended, he just wanted to be in a quiet place with Mai for a few minutes, away from his family’s cheerfulness. The girl looked at him and he followed her as she separated herself from the crowd. 

— Azula was thrilled — she mentioned, as if accessing his mood. 

— Yeah — it was all he could reply. 

— You don’t have to worry about her. She sees it as a dream come true.  

— And don’t you find that scary? — he whispered, leaning closer to her. 

She embraced Zuko in a tender hug and talked in his ear. 

— Don’t let anyone hear you talking like that. Besides, she’ll win. I have no doubt about it. It’ll be an honor for your family. 

— I know how brilliant she is. But won’t you be worried when it comes the time for Tom-Tom? 

— I will, I just don’t wanna think about what I can’t avoid now. Zuko, you are free — Mai smiled. — At least that much we can celebrate. You’re 18, no more reaping for you. Maybe next year I’ll be free as well. Then we will live our lives together, forever. 

She caressed his hair. Mai was better at physical affection than words, but all that mattered is that he knew she was trying. And she respected him enough to wait for his move. 

— You’re right — he kissed her, this time a less intense, but softer, liberating kiss. 

— It’ll be so much easier to pretend that we care. About the district, or the game, or honor, you know? 

He nodded. Maybe that would come more naturally, indeed. Cheering for the winners, over a pile of corpses, celebrating the children who had their lives stolen, looking into his sister’s eye and seeing all her innocence gone. Would they look the same as his father’s? 

Did he even have the right to live in peace in the merciless world they were part of?

[onionbass3]

The Non-invasive Fat Decrease Therapy That Functions.

Cryolipolysis The Right Thing For You? Check Out https://henley-on-thames.la-lipo.co.uk/before-after-cryolipolysis !

Content

Professional Treatments.

Is There Recuperation Needed Adhering To Treatment?

Fat Cells After The Coolsculpting ® Procedure.

Both treatments can be accomplished seperately but usually they are integrated within a training course for optimal outcomes. Each of the innovations have been proven to decrease localised fat by 20-40%. Due to genetics, lots of people have a trouble with excess chin fat that can turn into a 'dual chin'. It is just one of the hardest components of the body to trim making use of workout, yet thankfully Cryolipolysis can help! The Cryolipolysis treatment is terrific at eliminating stubborn fat on the chin, hence eliminating that dual chin without surgical treatment. At RT Appearance we use special 360 mini applicators, made to fit and specifically target chin fat safely as well as efficiently. After learning great deals regarding fat freezing throughout the appointment and also analysis great deals online I reserved in for treatment.

Do you lose weight with Cryolipolysis?

Fat Cells After CoolSculpting Through our CoolSculpting fat-freezing procedure, you will see a reduction of fat cells in the specific areas you are looking to treat by 20-25%. You may not weigh less with your CoolSculpting body, but you'll look thinner and your clothes will fit better.

Complying with a cryolipolysis treatment, you can expect a slimmer shape and smaller sized, much less visible fat bulges. The even more locations you have actually dealt with and also the more sessions of cryolipolysis you have, the higher the price, although discount packages might be available. If you have a details area in mind for your cryolipolysis treatment, speak to your specialist initially to see if that location can be treated with cryolipolysis. Various other cryolysis or fat freezing devices are currently proactively used in cosmetic centers, consisting of CoolTech, 3D-lipo, LipoContrast, ProShock ICEand LipoGlaze. We will be closing our doors for most of treatments and procedures, for the near or unless or else notified.

Specialist Therapies.

Reliable Outcomes - Loose between 25% - 40% fat reduction per therapy location with outstanding and also all-natural looking results. No Downtime - You can move on with normal activities right after the treatment whilst the fat is gotten rid of from your body.

What Is CoolSculpting And Does Fat Freezing Actually Work? - elle.com

What Is CoolSculpting And Does Fat Freezing Actually Work?.

Posted: Mon, 27 Jan 2020 08:00:00 GMT [source]

These negative effects are temporary as well as usually last no greater than 7-- 10 days. Throughout your Cryolipolysis treatment an air conditioning gel pad is positioned onto the target areas. The vacuum applicator attracts the stubborn fat as the visual practitioner talks you through step by step what is taking place.

Is There Recuperation Called For Following Treatment?

Daventry Cryolipolysis treatments work have seen such a huge distinction around my love deals with and also belly location. The aftercare was excellent, you obtain a diet strategy, email, adhere to up appointments and also if I needed anything they were there for me. A massive many thanks to Ryan for today at RT Aesthetics for my fat freezing procedure. I was a bit anxious yet extra due to the fact that I needed to get down to my underclothing in front of you.

Depending on the size and also place of the areas you intend to target, you may need to attend one to 2 CoolSculpting appointments. Some customers do choose to return for follow-up appointments to more remove an added layer of fat cells, which lay under those initially targeted. So the price of the session as well as total expense of treatment will differ relying on the areas dealt with as well as the quantity of regional fat.

The temperature inside the applicator drops, and as it does so, the area becomes numb. Clients sometimes experience pain from the vacuum's pull on their tissue, although this solves within mins, when the area ends up being numb. Exercise minimum of 1 hour per week as this will certainly assist in the metabolic rate of the dead fat cells and also add to healthy and balanced lifestyle.

It's time that the secret around the treatment finishes-- so we head to Regents Park Appearances learn what all the hassle is about. One of the largest researches looking at safety and security and also incidence of problems adhering to cryolipolysis was performed by Dierickx et al. in 2013. Usual problems included erythema, wounding, swelling, sensitivity and also discomfort. These side-effects typically resolve within a couple of weeks after therapy. No persistent ulcers, scarring, parasthesias, haematomas, blistering, bleeding, hyper or hypo coloring, or infections have actually been defined. Numerous publications including two systematic evaluations have disappointed any kind of significant adverse occasions. With over 850,000 procedures executed worldwide, only 850 adverse events have been reported.

Every little thing was fully clarified to me and also I' am excited for the outcomes. Due to the nature or non-surgical as well as non-invasive therapies that we offer, we can not guarantee outcomes. Aspects such as lifestyle, case history and also age can impact your results and the durability of outcomes. Customers can expect marginal pain during the Cryolipolysis treatment. Nonetheless, depending on the level of sensitivity of the customers skin, some individuals may experience momentary redness, bruising and/or feeling numb after the treatment.

As soon as the treatment begins, Managed air conditioning is used using suction cups. The vacuum produced will safeguard the specified location as the temperature slowly reduces to ice up the targeted fat. This is the moment to tell us what you wish to accomplish from your treatment. In reviewing problem areas together, we can produce a personalised therapy strategy that is tailored to your body, your objectives, as well as your budget plan. If you wish to make sure the treatment functions as well as feasible, you can likewise incorporate it with a program of superhigh frequency (likewise pain-free) which will help eliminate the fat and tighten the skin. Regents Park Looks selected 3D Lipo Cryofreeze, as an example, which makes use of the very same science to freeze fat cells. Or heard colleagues as well as pals whispering about the brand-new method of shedding fat without hitting the fitness center?

Cryolipolysis appropriates for contouring locations such as the abdomen, love takes care of, arms, back, knees as well as inner upper legs. best possible LA Lipo Cryolipolysis Banbury will certainly pass through to around 2 centimeters listed below the skin's surface area and is an extremely reliable means to deal with as well as minimize fat. There are comparable results, yet the Cavitation procedure takes longer yet is non-invasive and works with your body's all-natural elimination as well as detoxification processes. Fat is gotten rid of delicately without damaging the vascular system and without postoperative signs such as scarring and also discomfort.

It is the cooling of subcutaneous fat cells, which induces lipolysis, which is the damaging down of the fat cells, without harming any one of the surrounding tissues or the skin.

There is no pain, no recuperation time and therapies appropriate for ladies as well as males or all ages.

After your preliminary treatment, you'll be encouraged to drink lots of water and also continue working out as normal.

It should be emphasised, nonetheless, that you will not wake up with an entirely different body.

[sodafrance8]

Non Medical Facelift That Tones & Lifts Sagging Skin.

Dr Sebagh As Well As Ageing.

Content

When Will I See The Effects?

Regarding Hush Visual Center.

Skin Firm Hampshire.

Opening Up Times.

Why Facial Restoration Treatments Are A Much Better Option Than Cosmetic Surgery.

Hans Location Technique was one of the very first centers in the UK to particularly concentrate on non invasive, minimally invasive and also small surgical visual treatments. Dr Mike Comins methods visual medication rather than cosmetic surgery. All his therapies are walk in/walk out without the demand for general anaesthetic or overnight healthcare facility remain. Our specialist will certainly carry out an extensive examination with you to evaluate the level of skin laxity and also suitability for treatment prior to any kind of procedure. We have comprehensive understanding and experience in the medical as well as looks sectors, but we know that above all, the outcomes matter! All of our therapies are strongly examined in-house prior to we provide them to our clients to guarantee they are risk-free, efficient as well as will certainly give you, our wonderful customers, the results you desire. Moral therapy guides our method, and also we aim to come to be a sector leader in this regard.

The results last over a year however we recommend a top-up session yearly to remain ahead of the ageing procedure. If the person chooses a body contouring therapy, fat cells are eliminated using lipolysis. Ideal cosmetic results are possible with just one treatment session, the study images below offer an example of the arise from HIFU treatment. The regulated thermal effect results in a modification to the physiology of the skin, resulting in immediate contraction and stimulation of brand-new collagen and elastin as component of healing process. The power permeates through the skin and ruins the fat launching triglycerides.

When Will I See The Impacts?

The destroyed cells sends out chemotactic signals as well as draw macrophages to the cured location. The deposition of ultrasound power causes instant tightening and also stimulation of new collagen and elastin as component of the recovery procedure. Total Body Care utilizes the prominent Levura HIFU visual device to aid attain impressive arise from face and body therapies. An extremely efficient plan of combined treatments to improve the look and also attributes of the face, helping to address creases, great lines, puffy and also sagging skin. Packages consists of single or mix treatments utilizing Muscular tissue Relaxant therapy, Facial Fillers, Platelet Skin Regeneration and also advanced Skin Laser therapy for the face just. Raised PSA levels additionally can not inform a medical professional whether a male has lethal prostate cancer cells or not. This is since the PSA blood test is not specific to prostate cancer.

HIFU is particularly developed to penetrate the dermis along with the surface muscular layer, which is much deeper than other therapies are able to pass through.

Our HIFU Non-Surgical Facelift makes use of High Strength Concentrated Ultrasound power to target the deep structural layers of the skin.

This innovation functions by targeting heat at details depths to kick start the body's healing response, normally increasing the levels of collagen in the tissues.

The HIFU facelift therapy has many different capacities that include, face as well as brow lifting, tightening up of the connective cells as well as even cellulite therapies.

HIFU means high intensity concentrated ultrasound and is additionally a lot more commonly called the non medical facelift procedure.

HIFU supplies you no recuperation time, no threat of infection or scarring, and extremely natural-looking cause just one treatment. Outside the UK doctors are interested in dealing with individuals with bladder cancer cells with HIFU. Presently, if the cancer returns these physicians make use of surgical treatment as typical therapy. Surgical treatment is still the first choice of therapy for people with pancreatic cancer cells that has not spread to various other parts of the body. Scientists additionally intend to find out if HIFU is handy in combination with various other therapies for main liver cancer cells.

Regarding Hush Aesthetic Center.

HIFU dive starts a repair process that generates fresh, new collagen. The ultrasound treatment can be rather effective to non-invasively rejuvenate the face; if you select to, you could make use of light pain medicine to increase convenience throughout the treatment. As compared to cosmetic surgery, there is no cutting, no healing, as well as all clients can resume their typical activities instantly. These targeted skin layers are warmed to stimulate the development of collagen with immediate outcomes that continue to enhance over the next 3-6 months.

All the employee get along and also offer you straightforward viewpoints when it comes to items and treatments. Therapies are talked through and explained carefully, likewise aftercare. Confidential pictures are taken to assess development which is wonderful. I have actually been going almost a year now as well as am delighted with all the treatments I've had, would not go anywhere else. I am eagerly anticipating participating in the center to have some treatments soon. We suggest 1 or 2 treatments within the first year for optimum outcomes. Normally, a first tightening up effect is seen yet the outcome develop over a 3-6 month duration as new collagen is produced as well as the skin reinforces.

Skin Tightening Up Hampshire.

These waves supply a solid beam of light that is focused directly onto the cancer within the prostate as well as, by heating up the cells, it eliminates them. If you wish to understand even more concerning HIFU therapy at Keppel Skin or without a doubt concerning the various other non-surgical cosmetic therapies that we offer, do not think twice to contact us. The impacts of ageing can be an intimidating possibility for lots of as well as every person deserves to really feel great in their skin at any kind of age. One of one of the most essential benefits emerging from HIFU treatment is the positive impact it has on client confidence as well as well-being-- since when you really feel good about the way you look, you'll feel wonderful inside too. Although some beauticians supply HIFU therapies, the ULTRAcelQ+ supplies the most efficient outcomes and also is just available at clinical visual clinics. Nevertheless, it's worth bearing in mind that the results will certainly rely on the individual person.

High Intensity Focused Ultrasound (HIFU) Market Outlook, 2026 - GlobeNewswire

High Intensity Focused Ultrasound (HIFU) Market Outlook, 2026.

Posted: Tue, 04 Aug 2020 07:00:00 GMT [source]

This means you can always feel great that you are in secure hands when you choose Elite Appearances. Elite is an outstanding professional facility with high conventional therapies.

company’s site differ from patient to client, but there can be some discomfort while the ultrasound power is being supplied. Collagen restoration Facelift Bedfordshire is temporary and also a positive signal that the collagen-building process has been launched. Patients have actually noted there can be some pain while the ultrasound energy is being provided, however it is temporary and also a positive signal that the collagen-building process has actually been launched. Specifically, by reconditioning as well as renewing the skin from within, HIFU will lift the eyebrow, which in turn lowers excess skin on the covers, opens the eyes, as well as gives a much more renewed appearance overall. As well as complete face, neck, breast, arms, elbows, tummy, inner thighs and knees. HIFU is https://facelift365.co.uk/ " not a "face lift." While it is not a replacement for surgery, it is a feasible choice for those not ready for a face lift or those aiming to extend the effects of plastic surgery. As we age, collagen loses its flexibility as well as its capacity to stand up to the impacts of gravity that pull the skin downward.

Your PSA level can also be increased by other, non-cancerous conditions. Results obtained in treating the whole prostate have not been suitable. There are many trials looking at this strategy which, although not proven, may offer advantages to some patients. GOOD sustains the procedure as being secure, although the impact on quality of life and long-lasting survival is unproven. High Strength Focused Ultrasound is a method that is non-invasive and intends to keep good quality of life for the person.

Why Facial Renewal Therapies Are A Far Better Option Than Plastic Surgery.

Some individuals may require a number of therapies prior to seeing outcomes, and also we usually do a three-month review for older clients with much less skin flexibility. HIFI can be valuable for any person who wants tighter, fresher looking skin without the recovery time connected with surgical facelifts. The treatment is effective for individuals matured from mid-20s upwards with mild to modest skin laxity. Looking to get smoother, younger looking skin without having surgical procedure? HIFU is the latest non-surgical facelift that works to revitalize the skin for a fresh and also all-natural looking look that lasts.

Is HIFU good for double chin?

Chin sculpting is the perfect non-surgical treatment for targeting the double chin area. Chin sculpting is a non-invasive double chin treatment that reduces fat and contours the jawline and neck. How? We use HIFU technology to permanently reduce fat as well as tighten skin in the same session.

[it-stheaulifeforme]

1-12 with Rex?

oh damn i’m FINALLY gonna get around to this. i have a much better idea of him thanks to how i’m writing him lately - i think many of these still stand from when i first had these ideas, so now i’m gonna make them a lot more visible

1. Their physical weak spots?

Though necks can already be sensitive, his neck is sensitive enough to the point that even remote amounts of pressure, especially the sides of it, can make him very uncomfortable, besides him considering it to be a big deal in terms of incredibly personal violation of his boundaries.

This makes asphyxiation one of the biggest things that render him the most vulnerable because a) he’s the least able to really do anything in this position, b) his particular sensitivity there means it’s more of the go to way to subdue him and c) because he has a slight weakness in his left shoulder due to being brought on by another injury (that can also render him kinda helpless for a few seconds), his upper body strength is not always at its best, and he has to be sure that his enemies don’t catch on quick enough to his heavy reliance on his legs to defend himself.

This is beside the point that since he’s so susceptible to being asphyxiated, it’s harder to do so when you’re more easily able to be rendered helpless or even unconscious - kicking upwards can be quite the difficulty at that point.

Bonus point: because of the vulnerability to his neck, it’s one of the go to points for torture - being both a violation of his personal boundaries and the fact that it’s sensitive enough to cause great discomfort. And he can’t do anything, having to just stand or sit there whilst this happens. His enemies are a particular fan of going up behind him and holding a knife to his neck and daring him to move which would involve getting cut.

2. Their emotional/moral weak spots?

I’ve spoken about this multiple times before, but if you threaten his friends, he’ll come running. He’s more liable to put himself in danger for the sake of those he cares about because he literally cares way more about them than he does himself. This is the main reason he finds it easier to distance himself because anyone associated with him is a target. He blames himself easily for this, and it’s fodder for his enemies who like to threaten and kidnap his friends just to get to him and then blame him for getting them involved which doesn’t remotely help his guilt.

Bringing up his parents or why he has an aversion to showing vulnerability also sets him off - just, don’t. Though that doesn’t stop his enemies from prying into his life for fun.

He’s frankly got more emotional weak spots since it troubles him to hurt or kill unnecessarily and that feeds into his guilt, but he has gone to the point where he has to be reined in by others because he can be fuelled by his anger when other options apart from actual attempts at murder don’t feel available to him.

He’s usually a nice, collected person but is definitely not the type to try and anger or break because he will go to these lengths once he’s had enough. He’s a very troubled individual who knows he doesn’t want to get to this point, but knows that if he does, he needs other people to remind him of his morality. Of course he tries to see the good in people and hates holding grudges, but some of the people he’s ended up encountering have really managed to push even his limits.

3. Scars or painful spots?

I actually have a whole storyline based on his enemies exploiting his physical weaknesses (this is before they realise they just can’t get anything out of him when they’re specifically torturing him - although it doesn’t stop them from finding a thrill in doing so, because which of his enemies wouldn’t get enjoyment out of physically hurting the top agent on their radar) such as these.

He does have quite a few scars, if faded (some burns on his arms that have left a few small areas pink); notable areas are a scar on the right side of his head from being thrown against a wall, a particularly long scar that’s long since healed down the left side of his neck that curls down around his face when an enemy decided to put a knife there, just not enough to actually kill him and a quite nasty one down his left leg when a knife was trailed considerably painfully down it. His arms have also been fair game, more often than not, too.

Considering his job, he’s acquired quite a bit of damage (his friends and enemies wonder how he’s still alive), but it’s always made sure that he doesn’t die every time he’s tortured because his enemies would prefer to be able to enjoy actively causing him suffering. He’s generally able to cover them up, especially areas covered up by his clothes - a painful spot for him is his left shoulder area which is already a weakness, but he has scarring from being shot there which just makes it worse, as well as scarring in his left side from being shot there too, but it was far enough over that it was more scraping it than anything else.

It’s also notable that he’s acquired actual scarring on his wrists due to how harsh the handcuffs can be - they’re enough of a torture on their own.

And my storyline for him involves his enemies trying to reopen old wounds and cause just that bit more pain as result (there’s also emotional wounds but that’s a whole different story). As you can see - I couldn’t help but use his job as an excuse for this kind of pain and scarring.

4. Best places to kiss on their body?

Oh, man, I headcanon him as MASSIVELY touch-starved, and someone who seeks out companionship that doesn’t involve a great deal of commitment (he’s both got too much baggage and would rather not involve people in his career considering how dangerous it is), and is incredibly sensitive. He always has to try and hide it though.

However, it’s down his neck that he is physically incapable of not showing his enjoyment usually by some very contented sounds, although he has been known to make high-pitched whines, especially when it’s unexpected. It’s quite nice because of how soothing it is (often down to the scar he has down it), and particularly loves it if you kiss down his neck and across his shoulder blade. His jaw is quite sensitive too - so just anywhere between his head and shoulders is absolute bliss for him.

5. Guilty pleasures?

Considering how he usually appears to others: he actually prefers sitting down to watch B-movie sci-fis with a microwaveable dinner in his PJs. He’s also a massive sucker for cheesy slasher flicks, which he doesn’t tend to admit to to really anybody. He sees this stuff as guilty pleasures as unfortunately he’s far too nervous to, y’know, let the mask slip. Deep down he’s a very insecure man but has learnt to hide things so well he can’t tell the difference between his natural self and the mask.

6. Their vices (physical or emotional)?

He doesn’t have a whole lot, but his main and his worst is his anger and the impulsivity that goes with it. It can get super unchecked and ends up unfortunately relying on others to reel him back in. He can get very rash and irritable and knowing his career, this can get people hurt very easily.

He is a polite and friendly person, but knows what can happen if he gets to breaking point - it’s one reason he doesn’t like being on his own as much as he often feels he has to, especially since he encounters quite a few nasty people in his work, and has to avoid hurting the less malicious of their minions besides, though it doesn’t stop him from trying to push others away because of his trust issues.

7. Their tickle spots?

He’s not ticklish, or at least pretends not to be. His sides and neck are particularly sensitive to this, but unless he really trusts you (which is pretty much not really any - except Maximus, though even he finds slight discomfort in that kind of thing with him), you’re not gonna get anywhere near him to do so. He’s insecure with a lot of trust issues and frankly even if he didn’t have those issues, he’d still have problems with that happening to him, even if it’s a friend.

8. Bad memories/experiences?

That would be a remarkable number, although one that stands out is his parents finding out he was seeing another guy and then later when they found out he was bi and effectively pressured him with guilt to choose. He already had problems making friends and that didn’t help when he had to spend more time studying instead.

Recent memories would be any number of encounters with enemies where they targeted his weaknesses but he’s weirdly more accepting of things like that unless they involved them hitting a nerve (especially when they got his friends at the time involved and...well, it’s not something he would want to talk about, clearly).

9. Humiliating memories?

He tries not to feel this - though he has bad memories, like what would happen with his enemies, he doesn’t consider them humiliating, or tries not to anyway, because he feels beyond that. More humiliating ones though would usually be when he was at school since he was less able to make friends due to his own parents effectively living through him to make him ‘successful’, which evidently didn’t make him popular with many people. He was often mistook as someone who cared way more about academics than other things when that really wasn’t the case.

10. Fears/phobias?

Due to his upbringing and lifestyle, he has many notable ones, so I’ll just list them here:

- Fear of abandonment and being alone, but feels a need to push people away regardless

- Fear of vulnerability

- Fear of not being good enough or people ‘seeing him for who he really is’ and letting them down

- Fear of getting other people hurt because of him and his job or not being able to save them, resulting in being blamed for it by unsavoury characters (here come the guilt and self blame issues)

- Fear of manipulating and hurting others on accident

- Guess what!! He has a needle phobia too

11. Bad or petty habits?

This man has too much of a thing for caffeine since he prefers to stay up due to his job and because there’s obviously certain things about sleep that make him feel vulnerable. Of course, this results in him staying up at the most ungodly hours and often falling asleep in his car (he has to find somewhere to park it because even though he refuses to admit he’s really tired and not fine, he knows he’s still not in a position to be in front of the wheel, though when he makes more friends they often demand he needs to rest before he does anything risky, much less anything else.

12. Grudges and vendettas?

He’s not one to like holding grudges, preferring to see the good in people despite everything. Of course, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his limits pushed by certain people in his life such as some real nasty enemies of his, but he generally tries to restrain himself from going too far with him (or that others have to stop him).

On a different level, it actually takes him a while to properly admit how much his parents hurt him emotionally and that there was a reason he left the house for university and never looked back, never having spoken to them since. This is why he has the issues he does, because he still fears not being good enough or that people will see through him and he’s pretty angry in the least when it finally hits him.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Invisible

A/N: So, I may have cheated on the prompt a little bit here. There’s no grand underlying reason for the smooch in question, no holiday or celebration, no circumstances, no threats, no expectation. It comes out of the blue, but is there really no reason? Debatable. Hope you can forgive the cheating. This is a one shot, not connected to anything previously written (which is DIFFICULT for me so that’s why this ended up being so lengthy) 18 Kisses down, 2 more Billy smooches to go plus a bonus one!! Happy friday everyone!

Word count: 3,764

Prompt from: @something-tofightfor (thank you for your unending patience as I took way too long with this one!!)

[[MORE]]

Billy matched your stride step for step, his hand clamped tightly around yours to ensure that you wouldn’t get seperated. When a girl scout troop stopped short in front of you to take a group photo, he pulled you close to his side and steered you around them. When a pamphlet was thrust into your face by an energetic man selling tickets to some attraction or another, he barked a “Not interested,” over his shoulder, tugging you along before the paper even came close to you.

“Billy, we’re not in a rush,” your free arm crossed your body, fingers finding the crook of his elbow and giving a light squeeze.

“Yeah, I know, just tryin’ to get there.” He tried not to let the agitation that he felt from being in such a crowded area seep into his tone.

You laughed, pressing your arm closer to his, turning your face to kiss his bicep through his shirt sleeve. “You don’t even know where we’re going, though.”

He turned, looking down at you from behind his sunglasses. You were wearing that sideways smile that always sparked a twinkle of mischief in your eyes and a rush of heat in his chest. I don’t deserve her. But even as he had the thought, he felt his own lips twitch upwards. “No, I don’t. But I know we don’t need whatever that guy’s sellin’.”

“No, we don’t.” You squeezed his hand and rested your cheek against his arm, your other hand falling from his elbow to swing freely at your side again. You sighed and he felt his lips twitch even more, knowing that it was the sensation of the sun on your skin that had pulled that sweet sound from you. You’d just stepped out of the shade of a colorful awning, the light bathing your bare arms and shoulders, your face tilted up and your eyes shut, absorbing the warmth like a sunflower. “Mmm that feels so nice,” you purred.

“Mmhmm,” he responded, stopping at the corner behind the group of people waiting for the signal to change.

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t wear that sweatshirt?” You stepped in front of him, hands running up and down his forearms.

The signal transformed, the red DON’T disappearing, reading only WALK in bright white lettering. “Mmhmm.” he answered again, grabbing for your hand and proceeding to cross the street.

“That wasn’t very convincing.”

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

You’d been digging in your bag for your keys, waiting eagerly by the front door for him when Billy had come out of the bedroom wearing the sweatshirt in question. The sleeves were pushed up and straining against his muscled arms, hands in his pockets, the hood pulled over his head. Whatever you were planning, you were excited about it, but when you saw him your forehead wrinkled up and you tilted your head to the side. “Billy…” adjusting the shoulder strap of your bag, you took a step closer to him. He swallowed, eyes angled towards the ground. You reached up, right hand slipping under the material of his hood.

Billy shifted his weight and raised his own hand to match yours, wrapping his fingers around your wrist in a less than halfhearted attempt to stop you. He brought his eyes up to yours, finally locking with them, and what he saw there made him loosen his grip. I can’t stop her, she…Your eyes were clear and fixed on his, full of patience and a silent request for his trust. There wasn’t a soul on Earth that he trusted more, himself included. Dropping his hand, fingers grazing your wrist bone and the skin on the underside of your forearm, he kept his eyes on you as you grasped the edge of the gray fabric and pulled the hood down slowly. As you did, your fingers raked through his hair. It was growing long again, and you knew how much he loved it when you grabbed it and tugged or dragged your nails over his scalp. An almost imperceptible groan came from the back of his throat as he gripped your hip and you smiled softly at him. “It’s too hot for this,” you placed your hand on his chest, sliding it over his soft tee and under the opened zipper. “It’s 95 degrees. You’ll cook.” Dropping your right hand to his chest, you slid that one beneath the sweatshirt as well, removing it from his shoulders.

“Yeah, I know…” he mumbled, helping you yank the sleeves from his arms, face still downturned. You gave a good pull and came away with the well worn hoodie in your hands, tossing it over the back of the couch.

“Hey,” you bent slightly and tilted your head so that you could meet his eyes. “It’s okay, Billy.” Eyes scanning his face, he watched you raise your hand to slowly bring it to his cheek, the tips of your fingers tracing the ridges of one of the jagged scars that cut through the skin there. He closed his eyes as your touch roved over his jaw and up to his ear. The nerve endings there were damaged, some beyond repair. For the most part, the heavily scarred portions of his face were numb to your touch or to the gentle brush of your lips. But he still felt it in his bloodstream, in the way it raised goosebumps on his arms and forced him to take a breath. She doesn’t care about them…

But I do. “Yeah...I know, I just…” he shrugged. I just hate the constant reminder of my fuckin’ mistakes… I hate that she has to…

You turned away, grabbing a shopping bag that had been sitting on the bench by the front door. “Here,” you rifled through it, double checking the items inside before handing it over to him with a shrug of your own.

“What’s this?” He eyed you suspiciously before opening the bag and peering inside. He pulled the largest item out first- a black fitted baseball cap, the brim already slightly broken in. He imagined you squeezing and folding it to get the curve just right, your tongue poking out from between your lips like it did when you were concentrating on something you cared about. Another dive into the bag turned up a pair of sunglasses, large enough to obscure most of his face, especially when paired with the hat. He shook his head, staring at the items in his hands. She… she did this...she knows how I…

It had been a year since Billy’s name had been cleared- since the nearly endless court proceedings had culminated in the ruling that he’d been manipulated and turned into an assassin, a trigger man to clean up after some high powered government and military officials- and far longer than that since the night that nearly killed him. In all that time, he’d barely ventured out of your apartment, and never in the daylight. People are gonna stare at me. They’re gonna stare at the fuckin’ freak, then they’re gonna stare at her… That was his reasoning for hiding, for withdrawing from the second chance he’d been given at life. He knew you didn’t care about the scars. It blew his mind, but he knew it as fact, knew it as clearly and as fully as he knew that you were it for him. But he knew that other people cared. Other people cared, and they would make assumptions about him...about you. At night he felt less visible, less seen and more comfortable. But he knew that you loved the sunlight, loved the feel of it on your skin, and so he’d agreed to go out and do something with you in the day, even letting you choose the activity. He was uneasy about it, but the way your eyes sparkled, tears pooling before they slipped down to your smile when he’d told you; the way you’d thrown your arms around him and laughed, it made him sure that it was worth whatever discomfort he’d be in. I’d do anything for her. Anything she wanted.

“I knew you’d want to…” you bit your bottom lip and shrugged again, indicating the sweatshirt. “So I thought this might make you feel better about…” you sighed and stepped closer to him, placing your hand on his chest again, over the heart that beat solely for you. “Even though I don’t think you have to-”

He cut you off with a kiss. It was just a quick one, just to the corner of your lips, just enough to turn them up into a smile. “It’s perfect...you...you’re perfect. Thank you…” Bag still in his hand, he realized there was one more item inside, but you reached in before he could. “What’s that?”

You brandished a small tube and took the empty bag from him, laying it back on the bench where it had been. “Sunscreen.” You popped it open and squeezed some onto your hands before rubbing it into your cheeks and over the bridge of your nose. “My friend Nadia?” He watched you squeeze a little more onto your fingers and rub it into your forehead. “She works for a dermatologist. She told me this one’s good for sensitive skin.” Sensitive skin. That was what you said when you were trying not to talk about the raised and rippled lines that crossed his face. You finished working the lotion into your skin, rubbing your hands together to absorb any residual. “You should use some, too.”

Billy cleared his throat as you extended the tube to him. “Nah, I mean… I’m…” He held up the hat and glasses. “You got me covered pretty damn well.”

You combed through his hair, fixing some of the strands that were sticking up from having the hood on. “Never hurts to have extra protection from the sun, Billy, and you haven’t really been in the sun in a while, so you might burn and then-”

He sighed. “Okay, gimme the thing.” You smiled and handed it over, taking the hat and shades from him so that he could use both hands. She’s too fuckin’ good to me… too fuckin’ good for me. When he opened his eyes after rubbing the sunblock hastily over his face, he was met with you modeling his new glasses. “Those look good on you.” Everything looks good on you.

“They’re gonna look better on you.” You raised them up and rested them on your head. “You missed a spot…” Your tongue appeared at the corner of your mouth, right where he’d kissed you, right where he imagined it poking out while you broke in the hat’s brim, and his heart flipped. Your thumb came up to the most pronounced of his scars, the bullet wound that tore through his cheek, and swiped some excess sunscreen that had gathered around the pitted edges, smoothing it out over his nose. “There.” You tapped the tip of his nose as you finished. “You ready?” Like it was nothing, like you hadn’t just shown him how well you knew him and how much you loved him, you dug your keys out of your bag and opened the front door.

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

“Nah, you were right, too hot for that sweatshirt.” He tapped the arm of his sunglasses. “This is much better.” The two of you had finished crossing the street, and he continued walking until he felt you tug on his hand.

“This way,” you indicated the direction with a tilt of your head.

That way? But that’s…

“Come on, Billy, trust me.”

He nodded and let you lead him towards the park. Walking in the streets was one thing. People so busy with getting from A to B that anything in between was just a nuisance. But in the park things slowed down. People looked up from the pavement, noticed details that they didn’t have time for on the street. You passed by two entrances, choosing the third and pulling him out of the steady stream of bodies and into the greenest spot in the city. “Where are we…”

“You’ll see.” You squeezed his hand, another request for trust, and he responded with a squeeze of his own.

Less confident and sure now that there was more space and an easier pace, he let you take the lead, fidgeting with his hat, yanking on the brim, trying to disappear. He saw you notice out of the corner of your eye, but you didn’t say anything, only leaned closer to him, pressing more of your arm against his, making it more known that you were there with him. You pointed out dogs and street performers, told stories about you and your siblings and the fun you’d had in the park growing up, changed the topic to what you should do for dinner later, and then back to another dog that had stolen your attention. Before long you stopped walking, and turned to face him. “Okay, we’re here.”

You watched his reaction as he stared at Loeb Boathouse, at its iconic green roof and walls of windows. “You wanna…” He turned to you. “You wanna rent a boat?”

You nodded. “I do. Come on.” He let you pull him over to the attendant, ducking his face down as you dealt with the rental and collected the oars, thanking the young man who’d helped you.

“Thought you’d just wanna… I dunno, take a walk or,” he sniffed. “Or somethin’.” You were close behind the attendant who was pulling one of the rowboats over for you to use, both hands occupied with the wooden oars. His went to his hat, one gripping the curved bill, the other palming the top to shove it further down on his head.

“Nope, wanna try something new, Billy,” you looked over your shoulder at him, smile throwing more light that the summer sun. You turned back to where the attendant had successfully secured one of the small vessels in Central Park’s fleet, stowing the oars inside the boat before turning back and reaching your hand out to him. He took it instantly, feeling less self conscious the moment his fingers closed around yours. “Help me in?”

He moved closer, his other hand cupping your elbow to help keep you steady as you stepped one foot and then the other into the boat. It rocked gently beneath your feet and you let out a small ‘Oh!’ that sounded more like a laugh than anything. “I gotchya,” he assured you, feeling an involuntary smile shaping as you lowered yourself to the seat with his assistance. He climbed in carefully, taking the seat across from you, his knees on the outside of yours, your hand dropping to the right one. People on the street had their phones and their music to enclose them in their own little world. Billy had your hand on his knee to do the same.

He rowed out and away from the shore, awkwardly at first, but getting the rhythm down in just a few strokes. “Sorry, never done this before,” he explained.

“Me either, you’re doing better than I would,” you laughed. You were out in the middle of the lake now, a few other boaters scattered nearby, but far enough away from the sidewalks and the boat ramp so that it was quieter- as quiet as it gets in Central Park on a Saturday afternoon in July. “Hey,” your hand came back to his knee, and he stilled the oars, resting them in their holders. “You know why I wanted to come here? Do this?”

Billy shook his head. “No, but I have a feelin’ you’re about to tell me.”

“Look around, Billy.” You leaned in and pointed to the other boats. “Look, everyone’s in their own little world. Look over there,” you indicated a couple not so different from the two of you, engrossed entirely in one another. They could have been anywhere. Lake Michigan, Loch Ness, the Pacific Ocean- all they saw was one another. “Or them,” you switched directions, pointing out a young family, two small kids chattering away at their parents, laughing at ducks and throwing the feed that was supposed to be for the birds at one another. “Now look at me,” you whispered. He turned his head and was met with your eyes. You’d taken your sunglasses off, irises bright in the glimmer of sunlight bouncing off of the water, and he was hit hard with the way you were always there; always there with him and for him. “No one’s here but us, Billy.” You reached for his glasses and he balked slightly, but you didn’t drop your hand. “It’s just us,” you said again, fingers making contact with the rim of his glasses. “Just me and you.” You pulled them off, folding them and sticking them in your bag, keeping your eyes on him. “Everyone else is invisible.”

He swallowed and immediately looked down at the boat’s floor, at your sandaled feet between his boots. But I’m not… I'm not invisible...people can see…

Your hand came up from his knee to his face, tilting it back up. “Billy,” he could feel the sincerity in your voice as you said his name, making it sound too good to belong to him. “Don’t hide from me, please. Don’t…” Your fingers traced around the top of his ear before coming back down to graze his jaw. “You know I don’t care about your scars, right? You know when I look at you, I don’t even see them.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s what you say.” But how?

“It’s what I mean, Billy. When I look at you?” You shook your head. “I see you, Billy. Just you.” Your fingers came back up towards his ear, slowly slipping under his hat.

He sucked in a breath, heart pounding. She really… she doesn’t… she wants to… He fought the instinct to stop you, gripping the oars tightly to keep his hands from clamping down over his hat. You slowly removed it, the bright sunlight hitting his face, warming his skin.

“That’s better,” you smiled, setting his hat down on top of your bag before brushing your fingers through his hair like you had when you took down his hood back in the apartment. “Hey, you.”

He blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, shifting his eyes around the lake. That other young couple was still lost in each other, the family still preoccupied by the ducks. She’s right, no one’s lookin’. “Hey,” he answered quietly as your hand came back around to his cheek. He caught it, keeping it there, leaning into your palm. Feels better than the sun.

“This okay?” you asked, thumb sweeping under his eye.

“Yeah,” he closed his fingers around your hand and pulled it down to kiss your palm. No one’s ever cared this much about me. No one’s ever… He pulled your hand into his lap, turning it in his grasp to run his fingers along the creases in your palm. “Yeah, this is okay.” He reached with his other hand for the back of your neck, careful not to disrupt the boat too much. His tongue came out to wet his lips as he leaned in closer, the sudden need to kiss you eclipsing every thought, every sound, everything. He closed the distance, covering your mouth with his own, delighting in the slight whimper you let out as he made contact. The hand behind your neck moved up into your hair, curving around your head to change the angle so that he could deepen the kiss, open it up and fill it with everything he was feeling. Your free hand found its way to his chest, the light pressure pumping even more warmth into his heart.

Before he met you, Billy had known his fair share of women. He’d known them intimately; knew how to pull sighs and moans from their lips, knew how to keep them coming back for more, knew how to make them want him. But none of them had truly known him, nor did he want them to. But you knew him. You saw him, saw through the clouds of doubt and insecurity, saw who he was beneath all the bullshit, and you didn’t flinch away. You only came closer, only showed him that you were there, that you were always there. His eyebrows knit together, the lids of his closed eyes shuddering under the weight of the way he felt about you, and he tried to say it all with his lips on yours, with the slow, easy way that his tongue curved around your own, with the gentle but firm way that he held you still, locked in that kiss. He knew you’d need to take a breath soon, but if it were up to him he’d never break away.

He did, more reluctant than he’d been to let you take his hat and glasses, teeth closing lightly over your bottom lip before completely pulling away. A breath tumbled out from the depths of your lungs, changing into a tingling laugh and taking the form of a smile on your face. “Billy…” you bit your bottom lip, where his teeth had just been. “What was…”

“Nothin’. That was nothin.” He leaned in again, pressing another quick kiss to your still plump lips. It was nothing...and everything. “Today is perfect. Thank you… for bringin’ me here and…” he narrowed his eyes, keeping them glued to yours. “Thank you for seein’ me… for makin’ me feel like more than…” he indicated his scars, though even to him they mattered less now. “Just… just thank you.”

You leaned forward to rub your nose against his. “Anytime, Russo.”

Yeah. Anytime. Any place. Nothing else matters. Everyone else is invisible.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @thebbtongue @lexxierave @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices @songforhema @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @breanime @luminex3

[andersunmenschlich]

Episode 15: Lost John’s Cave

Right. So here I have the statement of a Laura Popham, apparently regarding a series of caves she and her (now deceased) sister were exploring in 2014.

Having grown up in the mountains, I’ve been in a few caves.

It’s funny, really—thinking about it purely objectively, I’d expect it to bother me. All that stone and earth above and around you, and you in this tiny hollow beneath, surrounded by all the weight of it... shouldn’t you be worried about structural integrity? Yet I never have been.

Deep underground, lying curled up in little rooms too small to allow standing, surrounded by absolute darkness without a single spark of light, I’ve always felt... safe. At home, almost.

I am guessing, however, that this cave is not safe.

Laura Popham, unlike me, does proper caving. She uses expensive equipment and explores places underground you need equipment to get to.

Her sister, Elena Sanderson (no relation to Brandon, I’m sure), likes the rock climbing aspect of caving more than the going deep underground bit. Laura’s tastes would seem to be the reverse of Elena’s. Laura likes going deep underground—deeper than her sister is entirely comfortable with—and she doesn’t mind the scratches, scrapes, and bruises you get working your way through tight places under the earth.

Elena, Laura says, would probably have preferred cliffs to caves.

Why Elena didn’t insist on doing what she knew she’d like better, I don’t know. It’s one thing to go along when you have no preferences of your own. I do this often, because I have very few preferences. But if you care about yourself at all, shouldn’t you go with your own preferences when you have them?

Perhaps I only think this way because I have preferences of my own so rarely; I can afford to indulge them. In any case, Laura and Elena averaged a cave a year, and never signed up for a gym or some such thing instead.

On their final caving expedition, they were taking a route through the Three Counties system that required diving.

Elena, in precise opposition to my own feelings on the matter, told her sister that “the prospect spooked her less than some of the squeezes we’d had to do to get there.”

I don’t much care for the water.

This may seem strange, since I’m a decent swimmer—have been for as long as I can remember—and spent a fair amount of my childhood in lakes and pools. I have no truly traumatic memories of the water, and in fact preferred to spend most of my time swimming below the water, only coming up when it was absolutely necessary. I’ve been known to eat things underwater in preference to snacking at the poolside with everyone else.

Understand me: it’s a discomfort, not a fear. I just don’t like water very much unless it’s purified, cold, and I’m drinking it.

I sense your confusion. “But, Anders,” you want to ask, “how could you prefer being underwater to being above it if you don’t like the water?” And the answer is simple:

Being underwater muffles sound. All the noise of the people who dragged me to this piece of swimming fun is softened. Being underwater also seems to tone down the sunlight a little. My sensitivity to light has grown with each exposure—it wasn’t as bad as it is now when I was a child, but it was still bad enough to drive me as deep under the water as I could go. If I had to be at the lake with my family, or at the pool with their friends, out of doors during the day and surrounded by sound, at least I could dive deep and escape.

It wasn’t that I liked the water. It was that I preferred it to people, to sunlight and socialization.

Being underwater feels dangerous.

Being underwater underground feels doubly dangerous. Out of doors, perhaps you won’t make it to the surface in time—underground, perhaps there won’t be a surface. No, I would much prefer a tight squeeze to a cave dive, and so I don’t understand Elena’s feelings at all.

Laura and Elena took the standard caving precautions, getting a permit from the Council of Northern Caving Clubs and making sure someone (Laura’s husband Alistair, in this case) knew exactly where they were headed and when.

They were taking a previously explored route, and Laura studied the maps thoroughly.

“...what I used to love about caving was the feeling of being deep inside the earth: the cold, solid walls folding in around me. It always used to feel like they were keeping me safe,” Laura says, and this feeling I understand entirely, though I remember all the caves I ever explored being warm... possibly because everything is hot when you live in a desert in the mountains, and so even the tunnels below the earth feel warm, at least for the first mile or so.

Laura Popham and her sister arrive at their chosen cave on a Saturday made perfect, in my estimation, not merely by the lack of dangerous rainfall, but also by the lack of other cavers. 

The entrance to the cave is called Death’s Head Hole, because of course it is.

Death’s Head Hole, as Laura Popham describes it, is a hole barely larger than a person, almost covered in wild plants and bracken, with resin anchors at its mouth. She and her sister hook their ropes to the anchors and descend “without incident, despite a few unexpected twists in the pothole”—and I find myself wondering whether they’ve really entered the hole they think they have.

It’s almost noon when they go down, and the brightness of the light and its position overhead means they don’t turn on their headlamps for some time. Eventually they reach the bottom of the hole, where there’s a gentle underground stream and no daylight at all.

They follow the stream, and Laura notes that the waterproof case she bought makes the map a bit more difficult to read sometimes, which I suspect is an important note.

Then she takes a moment for a little ritual.

“There was something I always did when I first entered a cave, and that was to take a moment to turn off all the lights, and place both my hands upon the cold, earthen walls. I remember once, when I was a child, we went on a school trip to White Scar Cave up in Yorkshire. It was a lovely, safe, accessible cave and was absolutely beautiful, which I suppose is why it was popular for such trips.

“After we’d been down there for a few minutes, the guide led us much deeper, and told us to stand very quietly. She turned off the lights, to show us children what true darkness is like. I’d never seen anything like it. It was such a pure black, so encompassing, and in the warmth of the underground I found myself full of a joy I’ve never forgotten. Even among a class of thirty schoolchildren, I felt like the only presence that mattered was the cave. Ever since then, I would always take a moment on any potholing trip to do the same, and feel again that utter darkness, with no sound but the gently flowing river and my own breathing.”

This is another thing I understand almost entirely.

The bit I don’t understand is the idea of presence. There is not, in my experience, any presence to a cave. It’s a cave. It’s present, yes, but only as objects are present. I don’t object to objects. Wordplay aside, i only get a feeling of presence, as such, from living things: humans, dogs, cats, spiders, fish, other animals like that.

Laura doesn’t think her sister gets anything out of the practice, though. I find that interesting. You’d think there would be something!

Laura Popham is having trouble following her map.

“I’m quite experienced in these things, but even I find it hard sometimes to match the irregular lines and angles of the underground passages to the often abstract shapes written into the map,” she says.

“There were several junctions that were significantly smaller than the map would seem to show, and the point of entry into Lost John’s Cave was what we would call a squeeze. It wasn’t on the map, but it seemed to be the only way through,” she says. Yes... I do believe she isn’t in the cave she thinks she’s in, and now I wonder about that pre-descent isolation. I know how unlikely it is to go to a good place for an activity on a good day for that activity during a time when most humans aren’t asleep, and somehow still find yourself alone!

The squeeze is a very tight one.

Hmm. I’ve never been in a squeeze that makes it difficult for me to breathe. Mind you, ever since I was whisked off to have my lungs pumped at birth, I’ve been a sickly, scrawny, skinny soul, eternally undersized; it would be difficult to find a squeeze in any commonly frequented cave that would compress me that tightly. If I found myself in a passage that small, I’d know immediately that I was in the wrong cave.

Laura and Elena don’t have my advantages, it would seem. It doesn’t occur to them that the squeeze is too tight to be part of a well-explored, thoroughly-charted route.

They’re probably aided in this continued lack of realization by the fact that whatever this cave is that they’re in, it seems to be mostly mimicking the cave they expect. Hm. Perhaps it is the cave they expect... but that presence mentioned earlier is a real thing. A living cave, I think, would move.

Laura and her sister take a bit of a break.

Elena, it turns out, spent her time researching the history of the cave (while Laura was looking at maps).

Despite the positioning of the apostrophe on the actual title of the episode, Elena Sanderson says it’s supposed to be Lost Johns’ Cave—plural—not Lost John’s Cave, singular. Two men named John, it seems, were lost in the cave together. The first to explore this particular cave, they never came back out. Elena considers this story “quite sweet, in a strange sort of way,” and jokes that if she ever got lost underground she’d want it to be with her sister.

I’m not at all sure why that would make it better.

Laura Popham is apparently equally unsure, though for somewhat different reasons to mine: “to be lost beneath the earth is such an intensely private thing.” Uh... is it really? Why that specifically?

I admit that I have a very poor grasp on what is and isn’t generally considered private.

This isn’t just because for as long as I can remember I’ve had people corner me in public places and tell me about their fights with their parents, or what they claim are their deepest fears and desires (though that certainly can’t help). No, I’m assisted in this confusion by the very nature of the first language I ever learned to speak, in which “privates” are things no one must see but everyone must know about... and by the nature of an upbringing in which it’s simply taken for granted that everything is seen and known by a Power that never stops watching, never looks away, never fails to observe even the tiniest detail.

If every hair on your head is numbered and known, what’s privacy? If everyone you meet, even total strangers, address you by a term tied to the shape of your genitals, what could possibly be private? What information, what experience can ever be yours and yours alone in a world where God watches ceaselessly and sees everything?

“Private.”

It’s a concept that I don’t really understand, at least so far as information’s concerned. There are some things no one but you should ever see? Why, if they don’t, won’t, or can’t use the information to harm you?

Baffling.

Laura Popham wouldn’t want her sister with her if she were lost underground because she considers an experience like that an intensely private one. I wouldn’t want anyone with me if I were lost underground because I never want anyone with me. I’ve been raised to feel watched enough, and while I don’t object to simple observation, I don’t want to have to interact.

...Which, I suppose, would make me a decent stripper if it weren’t for all the noise....

In any case, Laura and Elena carry on with the descent, moving so easily through a part of the cave experienced cavers told Laura was the most difficult that she actually felt as though they were being swallowed. My living cave hypothesis is looking more likely all the time.

Now they’ve made it to the cave dive.

Elena goes first, “saying something or other about conquering fears.” I understand this. It’s the reason for the poorly-done tattoo on my left hand; I refuse to be afraid of needles.

Elena dives, and as Laura stands waiting for her sister to clear the passage for the next dive, she begins to feel uneasy.

“It was as silent as it had ever been,” she says, “but there was something else there, beneath the silence... almost like a whisper.” Well, this I can’t say I’m unfamiliar with. In total silence and darkness I think the mind plays tricks. I’ve heard whispers in the dark ever since I was a child—yes, and felt those soft, silken touches and seen the movement of apparently living shadow, too.

There is very little more soothing than sitting in the back of a closet at night and letting the shadows coil around you, stroking your skin and hair while soft murmurs seem to tease the very edge of hearing.

Sure, you’re being watched (you’re always being watched), but here it feels as though you’re being watched by something that’s a part of yourself, something you could flow into and become because, in some way, it’s what you already are. It’s always a sorrow when the sun rises and its light slips under the door to steal the darkness from you.

In this case, though, I suspect the almost-whispers aren’t our statement-giver’s imagination.

Laura Popham follows her sister into the water. And yes... as expected, she can’t surface. She swims and swims and swims, and there’s never anything above her but water and stone. She swims farther and farther, and there’s never an up to make it to.

...Until, at last, there is, and we see that Elena’s been holding a rock over her sister’s head, blocking her whenever she tries to surface.

Ha. Seems like the sort of thing I would do.

Exhausted by the release of adrenaline and fear, the two sit in silence for a while, recovering. It’s taken them longer than they expected to get this far, and Laura thinks it might take less time to go back than to go on. They would have to dive again to go on, anyway, and the second dive would be much longer than the first. Laura suggests going back, and Elena agrees. Laura turns away, and unless I’m much mistaken, the cave speaks!

“...asked me how lost I was in a low, grating voice.”

Well, well, well.

Laura Popham, despite the strangeness of the voice, doesn’t even consider the possibility that anyone besides the other human in the cave could have produced it. She snaps at her sister that they’re not lost. Elena is confused. Yes, it was definitely the cave speaking; and it doesn’t seem Elena heard it!

Laura goes first on the way back. “I was eager to get back and be aboveground in a way that I had never been before.”

This time it’s not her sister putting rock above her head.

She can’t surface. She swims on and on, becoming increasingly panicked, and nearly screams with relief when, finally, she reaches air. But it’s the wrong place. This isn’t where they started from. It isn’t even a cave—just a tunnel, smaller than the water-filled one it touches below. Laura climbs into it, freeing the space behind her for Elena to come up, and waits. She wants to conference with her sister, for the two of them to put their heads together and figure out what went wrong, or at least where to go from there.

The tunnel’s too tight to allow her to turn, so she listens for the sound of her sister surfacing... and doesn’t hear it. She waits and waits, unable even to check the time, and her sister doesn’t come up.

Laura Popham moves forward.

“I must have taken a wrong turn, except that didn’t make sense. I hadn’t turned at all, and more than that, there weren’t any turns or junctions in this part of the cave. I had checked all the maps of this area over and over, and they all put it as a straight line. ... I decided to go on, press forward until I at least found somewhere wide enough that I could turn.”

The tunnel is very narrow. Jagged rocks tear her clothes and scrape at her skin. She forces her way on and on, and the tunnel becomes narrower and narrower. Finally she can’t move ahead anymore. The passage is too small. But when she tries to move backwards....

“I started to shuffle backwards, and my feet touched against solid rock. The tunnel was gone. It was then that I screamed. And my light went out.”

Mmm. I think that... is... mm. It’s beautiful. It’s simply too beautiful for words.

“I said earlier that I enjoyed the pure dark of the cave. I was wrong. I had never truly known a darkness like this. Unable to move, barely with breathing space enough to cry for help. Even as I lay there it felt as though the walls pressed me further, and I knew that the stone I had always believed to be my friend and protector was going to entomb me here.”

Well, there’s your mistake. ‘Friend’? ‘Protector’? These things aren’t as solid as they sound, you know. There’s no one who’s always your friend, nothing that will always protect you, at all times, under all circumstances.

“Изменяется даже бог; мир исполнен сплошных измен.”

Laura Popham sees a light, like a candle flame. It comes closer slowly, and she’s afraid of it. She says she knows somehow that it’s “of this place;” that it means her harm. As it approaches, she sees a pale hand holding it, and hears her sister calling out for her—calling out for help, far off and faint.

That’s fascinating. I’m reminded of the Johns, who apparently explored this cave so long ago they used candles rather than flashlights.

Our statement-giver closes her eyes against the candlelight and tries desperately to “will it all away.” Oh, yes: pretend it isn’t happening and then, surely, it won’t be! I didn’t expect this to work at all, yet apparently it did. Baffling. When Laura Popham opens her eyes, she sees the light is no longer a candle. It’s daylight, and it seems as though she’s been climbing all this time. She keeps climbing, clothes ragged and torn, skin scraped and bloody, and after maybe an hour she finally reaches the surface “through a small opening not on any of the maps.”

And she uses her first free breath to scream. Of course she does.

She screams long and loud, until her husband and the cave rescue team he called out find her. She and Elena had been underground almost a full day. Elena, of course, never comes out... and Laura swears she’s never going back underground again.

Oh, isn’t this interesting! Our head archivist says, “I have rarely come across a statement written with such conviction, yet where so many of the details are provably false.”

Laura and Elena didn’t have a permit for Death’s Head Hole that day.

A lot of other people did, though.

If they went into Death’s Head Hole—if they were ever anywhere near Lost John’s Cave—the caves themselves would’ve had to change to match Laura Popham’s account. And Laura Popham... Laura Popham wasn’t found aboveground. No. She was a few yards from the bottom of Death’s Head Hole, kneeling next to a pile of burned out candles (which her husband certainly didn’t see her packing), and she didn’t respond to anyone or anything until they got her into the open air.

And she had a camera. Didn’t mention that at all, did she? Mr. Sims plays us a bit of the tape (which Incredibly Competent Research Assistant Tim managed to get a copy of somehow), and it certainly sounds worrying.

Apparently there’s nothing but audio in this particular recording, which begins at just past 2 am the day after they started, and carries on for nearly three hours.

It just says “Take her, not me” over and over again, in a kind of weepy half-whisper—and there are sort of rocky sounds in the background, like someone moving around a stone tunnel, plus the trickle of running water. So that’s, what, twenty-one hours of normal cave climbing, then three of... this whatever-it-is?

Interesting.

As a side note, assistant Martin “declined to help with this investigation, as he’s a bit claustrophobic.” Strange that Mr. Sims seems to accept this.

I mean, it’s not as though asking people about a disappearance in a cave means you have to go into the cave, is it? And Jonathan Sims has, up to this point, always seemed to seize on the tiniest little thing—anything that gave him an excuse to disparage Martin (who really does not seem less competent than any other research assistant so far as I can tell). Yet he seems to consider “I’m a bit claustrophobic” a valid reason to avoid researching a disappearance in a cave.

Peculiar.

Well, whatever the case, Mr. Sims says it’s been two years since Elena Sanderson vanished, which I suppose puts us in June 2016. That would mean rather a lot of time had passed since episode 13, though....

Something I’m more interested in knowing at the moment, however, is why Mr. Sims decided not to ask Laura Popham about the recording. It seems like they ought to be able to get an interesting reaction, at the very least! Why would he not want more information? Why not confront her with the recording and see what memories it does or doesn’t trigger?

Jonathan Sims, I don’t understand you at all.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (back) to the Order of the Phoenix, Gabe!

You have been accepted for the role of REMUS LUPIN! We loved your thoughts on the darker, more difficult layers of Remus’s friendships and fears and we were fascinated by your ideas about lycanthropy’s effects on his gender transition! We’re so happy you’ve come back to Homenum Revelio, and excited to see you on our dash again!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Gabe

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE: GMT-3

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Honestly pretty active, I’m still quarantined and will stay that way for a good while, probably. Remus is just one of those characters that comes easy to me, so good chances that I’ll be around a lot, hah. I’m most active on the weekdays! Weekends my sister usually tricks me into watching a billion movies or a new show, so I end up being less present.

ANYTHING ELSE: Nope!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Remus John Lupin

AGE: 21

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: trans male, he/him/his, he’d rather not classify his sexuality as anything other than not-straight.

Remus didn’t start taking the wonderful Attisgalli Corrective Draughts until he joined Hogwarts officially, as his parents wanted to wait for that before they started him on the gender reassignment potions. That’s not to say they didn’t support their son’s identity, which he’d been frankly very vocal about since he could talk, they just wanted to be sure that he would be safe. He already had a lot on his plate. Being a werewolf, they needed to make sure the potions could even be safely used with someone like him, so they waited to talk to Dumbledore and his trusty team of potion-makers about it. Remus was on corrective draughts for all of his puberty and he’s currently on the heavier dose that only needs updating every few years. He has a few annoying side-effects after taking the wrong dosage too early. He doesn’t suppose many people know about this, and he doesn’t particularly care to tell anyone, apart from the people who already know.

As far as his sexuality goes, I don’t think he likes any of the labels he’s stumbled upon, I don’t think he openly – or even privately – calls himself anything when it comes to sexuality. He just doesn’t give it much thought. He likes whoever he likes, and if you were to say “oh, so you’re pansexual, then”, he might simply offer you a tired grunt and an unhappy twist of his face. He doesn’t feel comfortable in any boxes. “Queer” as an umbrella term would be the closest he’d get to labeling himself. All that being said, as the writer, I’d personally put him as a 4 on the kinsey scale, but that’s between you and me.

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood/Half-breed

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: Don’t think so! I’m keeping the fc of Charlie Rowe after surfing through many others because I think he does Upset & Angry right. That’s really important for a Remus, he’s working through a lot right now. I also really considered to go for Paul Mescal from the new show “Normal People” because I think he has a great normal face and (from what I can tell, maybe) some pretty scars on his chin and he has some great scenes BUT he currently has no resources. Also considered Louis Hofmann, from netflix’s Dark, but decided he looked too young, even though he’s in his twenties, too. Anyway, just wanted to briefly take you with me on that faceclaim journey, the conclusion is that I love Charlie Rowe and I didn’t know him before so I thank you guys for suggesting him!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Remus today is very different from who he was in Hogwarts. That’s no surprise, of course – who doesn’t grow out of their weird teenage years? But it feels different with him, and that’s because at seventeen, Remus already had enough baggage to count for an adult. So where does that leave you, at twenty-one?

He is a lot of things. He is tired, he is angry, he is devastated, he is young. If before he was only a boy, crushed under the weight of all the things that happened to him, now he is a man, standing tall but hardened by life’s constant beating. He hasn’t so much overcome his issues as he has simply grown friendly with his demons. His edges have turned sharper, his hands have grown colder, he’s losing contact with his faith.

That’s not to say his core has changed. Remus is kind, before anything else. He hasn’t lost the warmth his mother taught him, because that kind of empathy is not something one easily shrugs off. Even the war couldn’t take this from him. It wears him down these days, being selfless, having a caring vein and needing to look after others. He’s already lost so much, and he doesn’t see this changing anytime soon, as they continue to lose battle after battle, but this is still who he is. He wants a better world, he wants the good side to win.

Remus is also very secretive. He can come across as cold or distant to people he doesn’t know, because he had a lifetime of keeping himself concealed. It’s his defense mechanism and it’s how he’s kept himself alive after all these years.

In fact, he’s not even fully sure how his few friends managed to slip under that armour so easily. Sure, his armour wasn’t so well-built when he was a child, but it was still some work. He was once simply a scared eleven-year-old, eager to learn and be a good student, and suddenly he ended up in a lifelong bond with three other idiots. In a lot of ways, he owes so much of his personality to the Marauders. He bloomed in Hogwarts, he had a safe and healthy environment with people he loved, he could finally grow into a normal boy; he cracked jokes and he made fun of himself and he learned not to take things so seriously. He was not just a werewolf, not just a monster. He’s a great friend, he’s funny on his good days, he’s sarcastic and kind and protective of his friends. He owes this to them.

Remus is a trans man who started taking corrective draughts as soon as he entered Hogwarts. Dumbledore was the one who encouraged his parents to allow this, promising he’d keep an eye out and take care of Remus. There wasn’t exactly any research done on whether or not the potions would affect a werewolf’s body differently, so they’d have to be cautious, but several potion makers insisted nothing should go wrong.

They were right, technically. The potions didn’t react any kind of way with his blood, they did their work normally. It also perhaps helped that most of the side-effects were all things that Remus had been dealing with his whole life, due to the curse: muscle and joint aches, mood swings, headaches. The only catch was that every time he turned, every full moon, when he came back into his human form, the draught had completely worn off.

This made things a little more complicated. It didn’t mean anything to his health, thankfully, all he had to do was take another dose of the potion in the morning and he’d be back on track. It was something about his metabolism overworking, the fact that his body healed itself after each moon. They could never quite fix that little quirk – every morning after the full moon, he’d wake up in a body that didn’t belong to him.

This was when he was on a small dosage of the draught, of course, still going through puberty and taking the so-called “Children’s Corrective Doses” that had to be ingested every week.

Despite the general crippling discomfort of briefly being in the wrong body once a month, it was fine when he was making the turns by himself at first. Then the Marauders joined, and that was weird; it took him a while to agree to their presence and it wasn’t only because they could be in danger. He was scared of being that vulnerable, too.

Because of this monthly hiccup on the process, potioneers instructed that he should be on this smaller dose for as long as possible before he transitioned safely into the “Permanent Corrective Dose”. Five years at least, seven if he could, before he switched to the potion that he’d only have to take every two years or more. This shouldn’t be a problem, he thought innocently, hearing this at age eleven.

By sixteen, the temptation of the Permanent Dose was too grand. It stopped being bearable after a while, the whole “waking up in the wrong body once a month” experience. And the temptation was there because the potioneers said that an adult dosage would likely fix that monthly issue. All he wanted was to stop worrying about this thing – wasn’t the fact that he turned into a murderous beast more than enough? Besides, he was turning seventeen soon, he was most likely done with puberty, he had done the smaller doses for six years already.

So the Marauders made a grand plan. And out of all the illegal, morally questionable things Remus has done, he probably holds this one as the best. They managed to buy him a vial of a Permanent Corrective Dose, and he drank it without thinking twice.

This didn’t come without consequences. Dumbledore was mad. His parents were mad. Every potioneer he knew was pretty annoyed. He frankly couldn’t give a damn, he was overjoyed – it had worked. The moon came, and for the first time when he came back to his senses, he was in the right body, his body. He didn’t care if anyone was pissed at him.

He still doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the debilitating migraines he still gets as a side-effect. He doesn’t care that his muscles will sometimes cramp, or that his skin sometimes feels raw. He can handle all of that – quite frankly, he’s happy to deal with all of that, if it means keeping his body through the transformations.

It’s important to take from this that Remus Lupin doesn’t shy away from many things. He likes to deal with things head-on, he is a Gryffindor, after all. Once Dumbledore sent him to live with the werewolves shortly after graduating, he made sure to take another permanent dose, a heavier one, to last him however long he stayed out. This time the draught was acquired legally, since he was already of age, but the higher dose in this short amount of time wasn’t exactly what the mediwix ordered. This ended up aggravating his side-effects.

Still – and perhaps that is a testament to his stubbornness –, he’ll tell you this was all worth it.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Remus grew up in a happy home. Well, as happy as a family could be, while plagued by the curse of lycanthropy. So maybe not so happy at all.

He doesn’t remember much of his early childhood, if you ask him. He remembers the looming sense of despair, he remembers seeing his parents cry through cracks of barely open doors, he remembers quiet dinners and he remembers feeling awful. He can’t remember not being a werewolf, but he thinks they were the happiest before that.

They were okay after it, eventually, too. They all had to learn to navigate it, and once he grew a little older, things were easier, as easy as they would get. He remembers that time a little better – the times just before he went to Hogwarts and his time at the castle, too.

Overall, Remus grew up with a good family, he’d tell you. They didn’t have many distant relatives, so it was always just the three of them, and his parents were supportive – mostly. Hope was the warmth of the house, and if anything, she only grew closer to Remus after he was bitten. She was overprotective, and stern, and she had trouble handling when things didn’t go exactly her way, but those are hardly things kids notice about their parents when they’re still kids. He could tell you this today, but his memories of her are still all sugar-coated, tinted pink, gentle.

She didn’t understand his gender identity at first, his father once told him. Hope still had too many roots in the muggle world, it took her some time to wrap her head around all of these ideas. Lyall was the one who had to sit her down and explain to her about the corrective draught, and how common it actually was, how safe. She was the one who wanted to wait for a talk with the Headmaster before she let him take the potions.

Luckily for Remus, he was so young by the time she was having those first doubts and issues with his identity, he doesn’t have any bad memories of that. To him, she never mistreated him, and he never felt anything but accepted. She protected him with all of her heart, and that included all of him, her son, and a werewolf.

In fact, one of his fondest memories of her is getting a haircut, before his very first day in Hogwarts. He usually wore his hair somewhere a little above shoulder-length, a little choppy; he just liked how it swung when he ran, to be honest, and how it splattered water everywhere if he spun his head really fast in the shower. But he was terrified of having magic classes for the first time, he was scared of being thrown into a castle full of people he didn’t know, far away from his parents, the only safe haven he knew. She was the one who suggested a haircut first. They sat and flipped through silly muggle magazines until he found a cut he liked on some cologne ad, and she did it herself. Looks somewhat similar to what he still has as a haircut, if only with more bowlcut-esque qualities back then.

Lyall was more distant, growing up. Hope had little trouble getting over her bias of gender to accept his identity, but his father couldn’t do the same for his curse. If you asked Remus, he never really accepted his child being a werewolf, he was ashamed of his condition.

If you asked Lyall, the story’s a bit different. He was distant, but only because he couldn’t deal with all of the turmoil within himself. He couldn’t look at his child without thinking that he was the one responsible for Fenrir’s attack. He was responsible for his son being a werewolf, cursed forever – how could he look at Remus and see past that? Of course he was distant. Of course he dedicated his time trying to find a cure. As the turns hurt Remus, they hurt his father just as much. Every moon, he suffered with him.

It was hard for him, looking past that, but not because he was in any way ashamed of the condition. He felt sorry, and he didn’t know where to put all the guilt. He didn’t want to spend all of his time pitying his child, but he did. And it was easier to be distant when he felt undeserving of his son’s love in the first place; there would never be anything he could do to make up for this.

In conclusion, they were good parents, but it would also be unfair to completely ignore that Remus has such an issue with being a werewolf, as an adult, and – given that he was closeted about that his whole life –, this must’ve come from his parents. Their efforts to protect and hide Remus’ lycanthropy have not done him any good on the long run, they have not quite focused on the “but also, love yourself” part of their speech. Not to fully blame them or anything, of course there isn’t a “how to raise a werewolf” manual out there, and they had to deal with so much since he was just a little boy, they did what they had to do to keep their child safe. Remus truly believes they did the very best they could, and that they were perfect parents, given the circumstances.

I don’t think it registers to him that they may be the very root of the crippling self-deprecation he feels, and frankly, I don’t think it ever will register. This is not the kind of thing you unravel within yourself without some serious help.

Nowadays, since Hope’s passing, the two Lupin men have managed to grow closer. The hurt is still there, Remus still thinks his father is too cold and ashamed of him, and Lyall thinks he’s guilty and that Remus must hate him. They’re not big on talking about feelings, but they’re warmer with each other now than they ever were. That’s not saying much, it’s barely anything more than the occasional back pat and smile, but Remus likes to think Hope would be happy.

OCCUPATION:

He currently still works with the Dissendum Task Force, as he feels truly at home taking care of that part of things. He wants a job, he always wanted to be able to take care of himself, of course, I imagine he put up a fight when it came to depending solely on James’ money. He always intended to pay it back, to eventually find something for himself. He grew comfortable, the slightest bit, with James’ money, knowing he had that safety net while he figured things out, and while they all had bigger things to worry about. Now he has lost his friend, and he needs to find something, anything, to keep himself afloat, and all of this on top of the grieving, it might just make him reach a breaking point.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Remus feels like a paradox within the order. He feels both at the very center of it, as well as standing on the outside, looking in. He believes in them wholeheartedly, even if he’s not so sure he stumbled upon all of this belief himself, or if it’s been drilled into him by one very dedicated James Potter. And now that James is gone – how should he know how to feel?

More and more, he feels like he’s simply floating around in this war, a walking mystery, neither here nor there. He does as he’s told, he helps whoever he can help, and he won’t say a peep but he is starting to question his own faith, at this point. It’s difficult not to. He had a problem going with the werewolves, of course, and that time was generally awful, but he owed Dumbledore too much to say no. How much of what he does really is his choice, or someone else’s? He’s starting to grow tired of it.

He loves his friends more than anything, therefor he loves the Order, but he’s afraid of how long this might last.

SURVIVAL:

Remus is always on the move, but that’s nothing new to him. He’s been on the move since he was a kid, occasionally dragged off from one side of Europe to another, their family led by his father’s blind ambition towards finding a cure. He never felt like he could truly stop, and he grew up to embrace a sense of restlessness. The first place he truly understood the meaning of “home” was the castle, and even then, he knew his time there would have an end. In a way, this has helped him survive. He stays alert, he stays on the move. He’s always ready to pack up and disappear, as long as he knows he has the right people on his side.

His current living situation is, I imagine, complicated at best. He wouldn’t want to get a place on money that’s not his own, and he’s never been able to make his own money, at least not substantially. First, he was out with the other werewolves, he followed them anywhere and slept wherever he could when he needed to.

Then, he stayed at the McKinnon estate, and even though he knows he can stay there, he’s still often looking over his shoulder, waiting for the day they’ll kick him out. It still doesn’t feel right. It never does. He hasn’t felt at home since Hogwarts – or, perhaps, the odd times in between when he couch surfed wherever Sirius, James, or Peter were staying.

Now, he’s with his father momentarily, hiding. He hasn’t told Lyall anything that happened, he just packed up and showed up at his father’s doorstep. The contact isn’t ideal, but Remus needed the full recharge, even if just for a day or two. Lyall welcomed him with a brow heavy with concern, but he put the kettle on for some tea anyway, and he didn’t ask questions he didn’t want the answers to. Remus deemed that good enough.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Oh, boy. Things are a mess. This is the emo part of the app.

I must start this section talking about how much friends mean to Remus. They mean everything. Everything he heard since he was five-years-old was how much he needed to hide himself, how badly he needed to keep this secret, or everything would end terribly. He was a monster. He was capable of horrible, despicable things, and no one could accept him. By eleven, he’d come to term with this. By eleven, he barely even believed he’d get the chance to study. This is the weight this little kid had to carry around.

And then – enter the Marauders, the best, most miraculous thing to happen to him. A boy with a curse, suddenly welcomed into the coolest group of kids he’d ever met. He honestly felt like it was some kind of lie, or an elaborate prank. Those very first months after they met, he’d wait until the others all fell asleep and he’d write letters to his mom, telling her all about them. He’d write fast and he’d write over several sheets of parchment, talking about all the wonderful, terrible things that boys their age did. He was happy.

Eventually, he stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. They grew close, the others found out his secret, they never once turned away from him. They helped him. They loved each other, the lot of them. And it was so, so much more than a monster could hope for – still, to this day, he’s not sure how they do it, how they can love him. He owes them so much, but it’s not even about that, it’s not about owing. If he did, he’d owe them his entire soul. There’s not enough space in his body, in his heart, for how much he owes them.

They were, and they continue to be, everything.

And then the war happened. They parted ways, and by the time Remus came back, things had shifted. Things felt off. He was certain the love was still there – it has to be, it has to –, but it felt like it was stained, tainted by something else, something ugly. Suddenly, he’s not sure he can trust them anymore, but he doesn’t know if that’s his gut speaking, or if it’s paranoia.

That’s the duality of man, and the duality of monster, he supposes. Everything trails between gut feeling and paranoia. He’s scared of being doubted, so he’ll turn a pointing finger right back. If they think he can be a mole, then they can be a mole.

He’s terrified of losing them. More than anything, Remus really is terrified of losing his loved ones. He knows he can survive it; he’s lost his mum, he now lost James, you would think he’s hardened enough by now to be able to take it, but he’s not. In his eyes, they are his humanity. What is he, if he doesn’t have his friends? What’s a monster if he isn’t loved?

They all knew going into this that it wouldn’t be easy, sure, but sometimes Remus feels a little alone in how much he feels. It seems like the world keeps turning, the war doesn’t stop for grief. And it feels like everyone else picks themselves up and moves right along with it, but he can’t. Every death weighs on him, every loss has just been piling and piling up onto his shoulders and he doesn’t know how much else he can take. He feels like everyone else is so much better equipped for this. They all mourn, sure, but… do they? They can’t be feeling this like he does, because if they were, they’d be feeling this crippling dread. They’d be feeling how hard it is to move, how shaky his hands feel all the time, how his heart seems to be broken into a million pieces and all of his insides have rottened.

He resents that. He wants to be able to grieve openly without feeling like he’s slowing anyone down. He wants to be able to feel things, and give them time, before they’re running into the next death trap that could easily take another one of his loved ones. He really needs the time to stop and feel this, because it’s crushing him, and he doesn’t feel like any of his friends understand how bad it is – which in itself is the most crushing part of it. When did they all become these sort of robots programmed for war? And why didn’t he get that memo?

James Potter – Don’t get me started on the duality of being so hurt by the fact that your best friend outed your biggest, most damning secret to everyone, and then died. I mean. What the fuck, James. In all seriousness, this is a lot to handle, which is why he deserves to be mentioned in this section even if this doesn’t exactly make for new plots. Remus doesn’t know how to feel; normally he’d be upset at that betrayal, accidental or not, but he didn’t even have the time to process that, before grief steamrolled into everything. He wants to be angry. He wants the right to be mad, to maybe yell at James, to hear his apologies and immediately forgive him, because of course he’s not really angry, he’s just scared. And instead, he gets silence.

Sirius Black – Sirius always has a way of filling up every room he walks into. Remus always thought he’d be better off if he was a little more like Sirius, and maybe that’s why they work – how opposing their energies are. Remus is always trying to make himself smaller. In a way, this is also why they don’t work, on the times they don’t. Sirius was probably the person he trusted the most, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye. It hurts him a lot to think that maybe this trust is broken now; that maybe after all of this, they’ll end up too cold and distant to have the friendship they used to have. He hopes, blindly, that’s not the case.

Peter Pettigrew – He feels protective towards Peter. Maybe that stems from their years in the castle, how Peter was seen as the little kid who trailed behind them and not one of the Marauders himself. Remus never liked hearing that. And Peter is different than the others to him, he always seemed a bit smaller, a bit more innocent; Sirius and James have no trouble taking care of themselves, that’s not even a question. Peter, on the other hand. Remus feels like he needs to help him any way he can.

Lily Evans – He loves Lily like a sister. She reminds him of his mother, sometimes, with her warmth and her determination. She’s the strongest person he knows, and he think he’d probably trust her and follow her blindly anywhere – or, at least, he felt like that when they were all in school. He still wishes they were closer nowadays, he wishes they spoke more.

Marlene McKinnon – She’s too cool for him, honestly. Plain and simple, somewhere in the core of his being, he’s still just a really lame teenager who thinks she might be too cool to hang out with him. He’s grateful that he gets to crash at the estate, but he’s also well-aware of her family’s view of the half-breeds. He can’t quite relax while he’s there, he keeps expecting to be discovered and kicked out any passing second. Now that his secret is out, he fears she’ll turn on him.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I ship Remus/chemistry first, always, of course! I always find that you have to throw characters together in action before you start planning anything, you never know where the chemistry will be. I’ve taken part in many a ships in my time, Sirius/Remus probably being the main one, but in this context, everything’s a little trickier! It’s a very unstable, difficult time, and this is a very sad and angry Remus. He wants something, he wants to have someone, I just don’t think he even knows how, or where to begin with. I think he pushes the idea of romance so far back in his brain, thinking he can never have it, that it’s almost an impossibility in itself because of it. I think he’ll have a very difficult time believing anyone wants him like that, even if it does happen. I really look forward to possibly exploring any ships if chemistry happens! And I don’t think I have any anti-ships, currently. All is fair in the rp land.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

It is safe to say Remus has a bias against werewolves, in the saddest, most twisted way possible. Yes, he is one, and he doesn’t deny that to himself, but there’s a reason why he’s so careful to hide it from everyone else, why he was so reluctant in letting even his closest friends help him out – he agrees with all the stories and tales. He doesn’t feel proud to have this curse, he wouldn’t defend it if someone were to attack it.

They are monsters, once a month, under the moon. It doesn’t matter if his friends for years tried to convince him he’s a good person, he won’t believe it until he lets go of these horrible ideas he has of the curse itself. Even after meeting so many others like him. He may think hating it – hating himself – makes him better, a higher moral ground on the scale, as opposed to the werewolves who flaunt it. He may think some of them, like Fenrir, are worse than him for this, but it doesn’t make things that much better for how he views them.

As far as privileges go, Remus recognizes he has it pretty easy as far as his family life goes. He had loving parents – as far as he can tell –, he had a normal home life; he’s a half-blood, which meant he usually flew under the radar, considering how other wix seemed to view muggleborns, in contrast.

But as far as privileges he doesn’t recognize, I’d say that’s probably more interesting. Remus thinks of himself as a monster. A werewolf, bitten while he was still so young. His bite scar sits on his shoulder, now grown and shifted but the pale scar tissue never gone, an ugly mark. He doesn’t think himself particularly handsome, he doesn’t see many talents that stand out. He thinks he’s pretty much at the very bottom of the food chain.

Which is all kind of untrue, he’s blinded by his self-deprecation. Everyone has privileges, he is no different. He’s a werewolf, and that’s terrible, but other than that he’s not exactly doing too bad. He was always a good student, he liked studying, good grades came easy. His looks had never proven to be a problem, even if he believes it is. He had a good home, dedicated parents, he never ran out of money for books and robes and chocolate bars growing up. If you strip Remus of his lycanthropy – and lord knows he’s dreamed of that –, the truth is, he doesn’t have anything else to feel sorry about. And he’s so stuck feeling sorry for himself all the time, that he has a hard time recognizing his privileges and biases.

To him, he’s a monster, but to anyone else who doesn’t know of his condition, he’s really just another regular guy fighting the war. Of course, now, with everyone’s discovery – things will change.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

Well, I’m not new to this scene, hi, hello! So I already know everyone here is an amazing writer, and I adore you admins (I promise I’m not just sucking up for the sake of the app, it’s true). I love Remus, it’s been a few years since I last played him but he’s the muse that’s always alive in my head – this is the fastest and longest bio I ever wrote, to prove my point, aha. I especially love this Remus, the mid-war, post-Hogwarts, “can’t get a job”, “questioning the loyalty of the people I love the most” Remus. He’s feeling a lot. He’s tired, he’s angry, he’s grown sharp edges from the soft boy he once was. There’s so much to explore, and while it’s definitely a little scary to fill in someone else’s shoes, I’m really looking forward to writing with everyone and exploring all the many plots and relationships possible!

PLOT DROP IDEAS (OPTIONAL):

I’m terrible at these, I’ll admit, but I am open to everything you may want to throw my way! I also think I’ll need to take a second to acclimate into any of Remus’ pre-existing plots before throwing around any specifics of my own.

That being said, though, something that I’m excited to explore is his current unemployment. I want him to search for some kind of proper job to try to pay things for himself. I think he’s too proud to ask anyone else for help at this point, and he might have several emotional breakdowns on this process, but he’s gonna do his best. Also anything to do with his current (quite terrible) side-effects from Attisgalli Corrective Draughts, or exploring his gender identity in general, I’d love that!

ANYTHING ELSE? I was gonna do a pinterest board but I’ll spare you guys the trouble for now, this is already 11 pages long. Oops! Thank you for reading!!