#we'll see if i can make it some other time!!

[fairyhaos]

◇ the way you make me feel // choi seungcheol

seungcheol x gn!reader, 2.6k+ words

tags: requested by anon, established relationship, fluff, mild angst, seungcheol is sooo down bad oh lawwd

warnings: pet names, 1 vvv mild curse word ig?? (ass)

notes: any fic where i get to write besotted cheol is a great fic! might be slightly ooc but oh well. who cares. ty anon for this request <3

“I'm going to be very honest, honey… this feels like a sleeping arrangement for a couple that's just had an argument.”

You laugh a little at the mild pout on your boyfriend's face as he stares contemplatively at the bed after you've suggested a rather… interesting sleep method that he's never really heard of before. 

“It's really not,” you assure him. “Other couples do this all the time! And I thought it would be fun to try out too.”

Your boyfriend, Seungcheol, blinks at the bed before looking over at you, mystified. 

“Really? People want to do this?”

“Yes, Cheol.”

“Hm.” Seungcheol frowns. “What did you say this was called again?”

“The Scandinavian Sleep Method,” you say cheerfully, hopping over to the drawers with all the different duvets and duvet covers that you and your boyfriend have collected over the years you've been living together. “Isn't it such a great idea? We sleep in the same bed, but we each have a different duvet so we get better sleep but still get to be next to each other.”

You begin pulling out different duvets, inspecting them and continuing to chatter as you do so. 

“I know how much you love weighted blankets, but you know they're not something I'm a big fan of,” you say. “And you really hate my fluffy covers, for some reason. But if we sleep this way, then both of us can sleep happily without causing disturbance to the other's sleep quality!”

With a flourish, you turn back round to Seungcheol, the offending weighted blanket and fluffy cover in your hands, as if emphasising your point. There's a bright beam on your face, evidently eager to try out this new idea, but Seungcheol? 

He's still looking a bit hesitant. 

Which, understandable. You're introducing a new sleeping arrangement three years after you've been quite happily living together. Anyone would find that weird. 

“If we don't like it, we can switch back,” you assure him. You shrug. “It's just a trend I saw online, Cheol. I thought it would be cool.”

Seungcheol pauses, and then smiles, nodding once. “Fine, fine. Let's try out, then. We'll see if the Scandinavians actually sleep well.”

You cheer, dropping the bedding and skipping across the room to launch yourself into Seungcheol’s arms. He catches you easily, laughing as he does so, amused at how delighted you are by his acceptance. 

“Yes! I love you. Now I get to make the bed all aesthetic with different layered sheets!”

Seungcheol laughs again. “All right, sweetheart. Tell me if you need more sheets to fit in with your vision, okay? I'll buy you whatever you need.”

“Oh my god, suddenly I love you even more.”

───────────── 🗝

Admittedly, Seungcheol does love hearing you say that you, the absolute love of his life, love him (and any self-respecting boyfriend would feel the same), but he's wondering if this entire thing is really, really all that worth it. 

Because, well. 

Seungcheol hates the Scandinavian Sleep Method. 

He harbours no hatred towards the Scandinavians themselves, of course, but their sleep method, for him, well and truly sucks. 

Of course, he can understand why people like it. There are aspects he doesn't mind, too: such as how it's currently way less likely for him to wake up at 4am with a cold ass because you've stolen half the covers from him again. Or how he doesn't have to worry about the fluffy, fuzzy feeling of your sheets pressing creepily soft kisses against his ankles. Or how he can now actually sleep peacefully without finding that he's been suffocated by your weight on his chest because now, you actually sleep on your side of the bed. 

Nevertheless, he hates this. 

Unfortunately, he can't bring himself to say anything about this, because—

“I seriously think my quality of sleep has improved so much,” you say to Seungcheol one Sunday morning, beaming over your cup of coffee as he makes breakfast waffles for you. “The Scandinavians really know what they're talking about, huh?”

And your eyes are bright, sparkling as you say this, so full of life even though it's nine in the morning on a Sunday. 

So Seungcheol smiles back, happy purely because you're happy, even though if you really pressed him, he'd admit that he's not really happy at all. 

“I guess they do,” he says, turning back to the waffles. “Do you want honey with the waffles? Or the new maple syrup I bought you?”

“Ooh, maple syrup, please!”

And then Seungcheol had done all sorts of fancy tricks with the bottle of maple syrup, and you had clapped your hands and laughed, delighted, and Seungcheol felt a little better, the weight of his guilt that he didn't share your opinion beginning to lighten. 

There's no real big reason why he hates this sleeping arrangement. Sure, it stops all your bad sleeping habits, but, truthfully, he… misses all those things. 

He misses waking up to you all huddled up in the blankets, looking all small and adorable whilst swathed in the thick fabric. He misses cuddling you close and entangling his legs with yours in order to escape from the weird fluffy texture of your sheets. He misses feeling the comforting weight of you asleep against his chest, warm and secure like the physical manifestation of his soul, safely tucked against his side. 

Now, you simply smile at him, face shiny and soft from your skincare routine, and give him a peck on the cheek goodnight before snuggling under your duvet, away from him, in your own little bubble of comfort. 

Without him. 

It makes him feel like an abandoned dog left in the rain outside of his owner's home. 

Excuse him for being dramatic, but he's literally slept with you curled up in his arms for a very, very long time now. And these days, now that you're no longer with him and are miles away on the other half of the bed, he can't fall asleep by himself. 

Withdrawal symptoms from cuddling must be a thing, because he's going through them right now. 

“Just talk about how you feel, then,” is what any sane person would say about this matter, which is very good, very sound, advice. 

However, it's also what Joshua says to Seungcheol when he complains to him about the new sleeping arrangement, and everyone knows Joshua is the least sane person in existence, so Seungcheol decides to ignore his advice. 

Joshua rolls his eyes, used to but not pleased by Seungcheol's stubbornness. 

“You're being silly,” he says, when Seungcheol vetoes his suggestion. “This is obviously impacting your sleep quality in a negative way, which is the exact opposite of what Y/N was hoping for.”

“But Y/N seems to be sleeping better,” Seungcheol argues. He rubs his eyes, and the world spins a little as he does so. “So I probably shouldn't say anything, right?”

“No, you should say something,” Joshua says firmly. “What do you think Y/N will do when it becomes obvious that this new arrangement is actively harming you, and yet you didn't say anything? Hell, if I found out my boyfriend wasn't telling me that kind of stuff, I'd get really mad.”

Seungcheol frowns. “What? Why?”

“Because you're my boyfriend?” Joshua says. “Uh—not actually mine, obviously. But that's how Y/N would feel. You need to communicate your feelings. That's what couples do.”

Joshua takes a sip of his tea, spinning around in Seungcheol's desk chair in his study whilst Seungcheol, the owner of the chair, is currently exiled to the small wooden stool beside it. 

“Just think about how you'd feel if you were in Y/N's shoes. How would you feel if your partner wasn't telling you that they're sleeping badly and feeling increasingly more terrible throughout the weeks because of something that could be easily fixed by them talking it out with you?”

And oh, now Seungcheol understands. Now it makes more sense. He'd want you to communicate your feelings immediately. 

Joshua must see the revelation on Seungcheol's face, because he snorts smugly. “I knew you'd get there in the end.”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol grumbles, and Joshua mocks him for how ridiculously macho-man he was being before. “I'll talk to Y/N about this tonight.”

“Well done,” Joshua says amusedly, spinning around in Seungcheol's chair so fast that its joints, even as expensive and well-oiled as they are, begin to groan in surprise. “I'm so proud of you.” 

 “Shut up,” Seungcheol says again, and Joshua laughs. “And get off my chair.”

“Hmph! You're so mean. I bought this chair for you, you know.”

“No, you didn't.”

“No, I didn't. But you believed me for a second, didn't you?”

“Definitely not. Now get out of my house before Y/N gets home.”

───────────── 🗝

It's one of those very, very rare days where you finish work later than Seungcheol, and so when you unlock the front door and finally make it inside, you're more than ready to just fall into your boyfriend's arms. 

Except, the entire ground floor of your house is dark when you get home.

“Where is he?” you say to yourself, mystified. “Cheol? Where are you?”

“In our room!” he calls back from upstairs, and you take off your coat and shoes, dumping your bag by the doorway and bounding up the stairs two at a time to get to your boyfriend. 

“Seungcheol! Why were the hallway lights off? Have you eaten dinner yet? What's— wait, what are you doing?”

In the middle of your bed, right over where the two halves of your bedding meet, Seungcheol is sprawled out in an upside down starfish shape, staring up at you balefully as you walk into the room, and you laugh a little at the state your boyfriend is in. 

“Hello,” you say amusedly. “You look like you're sulking.”

Seungcheol just continues to blink up at you like a displeased cat. 

You laugh again, bending down and kissing him on the forehead. “Definitely sulking, I see. What's wrong, baby? What happened?”

There's a long moment where Seungcheol doesn't say anything, and you continue to smile down at him, petting his hair fondly. And then, he frowns, and speaks. 

“What do you think of our bed?”

You look over at the head of the bed, scanning it briefly. “I think it looks fine.”

It's apparently the wrong thing to say, because Seungcheol frowns harder. 

“Why? Do you not like it?”

“I don't like it,” Seungcheol says, and sits up, turning around to face you. “I don't like this sleeping arrangement.”

You tilt your head. “Oh? I thought you didn't mind the Scandinavian Sleep Method.”

Seungcheol sighs. “I lied,” he admits. “I actually hate it so much. It's the worst thing in the entire world.”

Your face softens in worry, feeling something thick and bitter rising to your throat at the idea that you've been forcing Seungcheol to go through with something he hates. 

“I'm sorry,” you say sincerely, sitting down beside him on the bed. “I didn't realise. You should've said something, Cheol. I would've changed back in an instant.”

Seungcheol, for how big and manly and good at acting as your guard dog he is, still always melts under your touch, and the moment you wrap your arms around his neck, he softens into your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. 

“Would you really?” he asks, muffled into your blazer, and you belatedly realise that you're still in your work clothes. You haven't even washed your hands. 

“Of course I would,” you say in your best don't be silly voice. “I don't want you to be feeling bad.”

His hands wrap around your waist, warm and comforting and he pulls you in closer, hugging you even tighter. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I feel like I'm being stupid. This isn't even anything big. It just… makes me feel really terrible, and I don't know why.”

“Hey, that's totally okay,” you say placatingly, threading your fingers through his hair and patting him consolingly on the back. “I told you we didn't have to carry on with this, baby. I said we could switch back whenever we wanted to.”

He squeezes you tighter, arms wrapping more securely around you. “I still feel bad. You liked this sleeping method.”

You laugh softly, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Yes, but not as much as I like you.”

If possible, he seems to melt even further into you at those words, and you smile, adoring how clearly he adores you. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” you say affectionately, kissing Seungcheol's ear before untangling yourself from his embrace. “Let's start remaking the bed then, hm?”

You pull away from his arms, and Seungcheol is staring at you with big eyes, irises all melty soft. And then he nods, smiling slightly, looking like a pleased puppy as he gets off the bed and begins helping you take the covers off the duvets. 

───────────── 🗝

It's unusual for Seungcheol to be so shy like this—normally, he's the one telling you to be more outspoken, more confident, so it's a nice change. You quite like being able to reassure him, gently tell him what to do, praise him and shower him with love in the way that he always does with you. 

“So why did you hate the Scandinavian Sleep Method?” you ask him a bit later as the two of you sit in front of the washing machine, watching it spin your bedding round and round. Seungcheol had insisted that you wash all of it right away, because otherwise the two of you were bound to put it off for a whole month. 

Your boyfriend shrugs. He watches the bedding get spun in circles again and again and again. 

And then, he finally looks at you, clad in your classic two-piece cotton pyjamas, hair all a mess, your face softened and natural now that you've washed up for the night, all ready to go to bed. 

You look so pretty like this, so open and comforting and god, Seungcheol had missed you. 

Even though he sees you every day. But that's whatever. He's missed being this close with you at night, in this kind of domestic setting, where it's just the two of you pressed close together in your house as the rest of the world sleeps. 

“That sleeping arrangement…” he begins quietly, and you look up. 

“Hm?”

Seungcheol holds your gaze very seriously as he continues. “It didn't let me hug you.”

You blink. “What?”

“It didn't let me hug you,” he repeats, as serious as ever, and you want to laugh in fondness because it really is that serious for him. “I couldn't cuddle you to sleep. I hated that.”

“Oh,” you say, positively melting away at his reason, so unbelievably in love with him that your heart is goo in your chest. “That's so sweet, Cheol, oh my god.”

You lean over and pinch his cheek, cooing over him, and he bats your hand away with a groan, smiling. 

“Go away,” he grumbles, but it's so full of warmth that the words carry no weight whatsoever.

“But then you can't cuddle me in your sleep,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly. “Unless… you don't wanna cuddle me any more?” 

You gasp dramatically, leaning away from him for full effect, and then yelp when he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his side, preventing you from moving away. 

“Don't say silly things like that,” he reprimands teasingly, laughter tinging the ends of his words. He kisses your shoulder. “Of course I want to cuddle you. It's the only thing I'll be doing every night from now on.”

“That's awfully cheesy,” you point out. “Sap.”

“It's all your fault.”

“Huh, I suppose it is,” you say proudly, snuggling into your boyfriend. “Glad to know I have such an effect on you.”

Seungcheol sighs, fond, and kisses your shoulder once again. “Oh, if only you knew.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa  @weird-bookworm  @minhui896  @slytherinshua  @haowrld  @belladaises  @moonlitskiiies  @mirxzii  @zozojella  @kawennote09  @a-wandering-stay  @abibliolife  @wonranghaeee  @icyminghao  @sweet-like-caramel  @your-yxnnie  @odxrilove  @kyeomyun  @crackedpumpkin  @kellesvt  @eightlightstar  @onlyyjeonghan  @aaniag  @starshuas  @raevyng  @isabellah29  @hrts4hanniehae  @mcu-incorrect  @dokyeomkyeom  @suraandsugar  @tulsa24  @melodicrabbit  @dokyeomkyeom  @hopeless-foolery @aaa-sia

[catssluvr]

sensitive, natalie scatorccio

natalie scatorccio x fem!reader (1k words) (request)

in which you go out hunting with nat and have to kill an animal for the first time

warnings: panic attack(?), killing an animal, soft nat, too many kisses, fluff <3

⭑.ᐟ ⭑.ᐟ

Your hands shake slightly as you zip up the backpack in front of you, regretting your earlier choice by the second.

The reason is appealing, you want to spend more time with Nat and it’s something that’s getting harder and harder.

But hunting is anything but appealing to you. It was a bad idea, you know it for sure now. All this time you’ve doing all the things the other chores available, not being able to stomach the thought of taking an animal’s life.

Nat’s fingers slide up your arms, pulling a gasp from you at her sudden appearance. They slide up to your hair, pulling it away from your neck to give access to her lips.

“Hey. Ready to go, doll?” She asks, smiling against your warm skin.

Natalie had been the first to be reluctant about letting you come with her, having observed the way you avoided the sensitive topic. But the confusion had quickly turned into excitement at the opportunity to be alone with you.

“Sure.” You answer with a tight smile, thanking the fact that she can’t see your face properly.

She turns you in her arms, humming lazily. “If we’re quick to find dinner we can… i don’t know, maybe find a nice spot and hang there.”

You nod approvingly, pressing a quick kiss to her nose before pulling the backpack to your shoulders.

“Let’s not waste another second, then.” She smiles teasingly, pulling your hand to drag you into the forest.

You both walk for a while, chatting about whatever comes to mind. You speak a bit louder than you usually would, feeling bad for sabotaging the hunt on purpose. You're glad Nat probably doesn't have the heart to tell you to tune down.

At the point you've settled that you are not coming again, thinking of a good excuse to tell to Nat as to why you wouldn't want more time alone with her.

Suddenly her palm presses to your mouth, "Shh, look."

She points ahead silently, your eyes landing on the rabbit nibbling on some plants a few feet ahead. And fuck, you might actually tumble to the ground.

"Want to do the honours?" She asks in a whisper that you hope is loud enough for the sweet animal to hear. It isn't.

She's just trying to be nice, you know it. Showing you she thinks you're capable of doing it and definitely not aware of the anxiety creeping up your chest at the sight of the gun in her hands.

"I guess so." You reply shakily, accepting the gun into your hands. "Of course." You repeat as reassurance.

You point it up, pulling the safety trigger with fingers slippery from the sweat building up in your hands. You angle it carelessly, silently hoping the training was no good to you and that it runs as soon as the shoot misses.

"Here, grab it a bit more firmly." Nat reaches to steady your arms, helping you settle your finger against the trigger.

She knows your nervous, you realize. Just doesn't notice what the real motive for it is.

You pull it, stomach sinking as you do the perfect shot. The rabbit squeaks quietly before falling the ground, but it’s enough for the sound to be engraved in your head.

You try not to hyperventilate, adverting your eyes from to the rest of the surroundings in hope of forgetting it.

"Good job. Fast learner, huh?" Nat squeezes your arm before brushing past you, picking up the rabbit.

"Yeah." Your voice feels chocked as you speak, like at any moment the words will get stuck in your throat.

"Come on, maybe we'll be lucky enough to find a deer soon." She says, the idea of having to help her carry a deer makes your stomach do flips.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to tell your legs to move as Nat starts walking. But you seem to take too long as her steps falter quickly.

"Baby?" She asks, confused. "What's going on?"

You turn to her, eyes filling up with distressed tears and chin wobbling as your lips move into a pout. You try to say something but even your own breath feels stuck, air not enough to fill your lungs.

"Hey, hey. Look at me." She drops everything, holding your cheeks between her hands as she helps you concentrate in her. "You did great." She repeats.

Nat tries to look calm, eyes searching for an expression that will help her understand what you're feeling.

She pulls one of your hands to her chest, right above her heart. Her breath guides your, taking deep exhales to make it easy for you to speak.

"I killed it, Nat." It comes out as a sob, your frightened face finally making sense to her.

The tears fall freely down your face, but it's now more of a post scare than the anxious feeling from before speaking up.

"Sweetheart." She breathes, tucking your face into her neck as her arms wrap around your frame. You feel bad for the tears (and probably snot) that sweep to her shirt, but Nat doesn't seem to mind, pulling you as close as possible.

"It's okay, i got you." Her own breath fans your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your cheek.

"'M sorry." You croak, starting to feel embarrassed for what feels like an outburst.

"Don't apologize." She asserts, "You don't have to do this, you know?"

"I want to- i mean i don't." You huff, rubbing at your cheek frustratedly, "I wish i wanted to." You decide.

"It's not a problem if you don't. I'm right here, baby." Natalie smiles, helping your troubled mind calm down.

"Just wanted to spend time with you." You mumble honestly, making her smile turn giddy.

"Well, no one has to know i'm the one getting the job done. It's not usually a problem." She jokes, successfully making you giggle as you lightly punch her shoulder.

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think you'll ever catch me wanting to not spend time with you." Nat speaks, tucking your hair behind your ear and wiping the stray tears left on your cheek.

"Come on, i think they can manage with doing something else for dinner tonight." She intertwines your fingers as you start walking. "Besides, we have a lot of kissing to catch up on."

"Dork." You shake your head with a smile, the heavy weight on your chest completely dissipated.

[rootbeerrex]

ok jackbat nation here's my jack lives AU timeline for them:

-everything is the same as canon until Jack loses his fortune and spirals into his depressive episode, at which point he and Dana decide to take a break (as they should because he was Not doing Well), and she goes to live somewhere else

-This is the event that makes Jack focus more on Tim, and feel the need to investigate his activities more

-he finds out Tim is Robin in the exact same way, and the confrontation happens in the exact same way

-(same as canon) Tim quits being Robin for a while

-(same as canon) war games starts and Jack allows Tim to go back being Robin

-identity crisis is where things really start to diverge

-Tim and Bruce get there in time to both Boomerang & Jack, and take boomerang into custody

-bruce knows boomerang wasn't smart enough to do this by himself, so he tells Jack that it isn't safe for him and Tim to stay at the apartment and they should stay at the manor until they find the real culprit because it's got better security

-jack wants to protect Tim so he agrees

-they move into the manor temporarily

-they catch Jean

-jack is like "okay we can move out now!" but Bruce is like "yeah but like. there are other security risks. you should stay here bc you can't protect yourself" and ofc Jack's toxic masculinity hears "you're a weak stupid idiot baby who doesn't deserve to live because you don't have vigilante training. he thinks you don't deserve to live. can you believe that." so he goes off on Bruce and Bruce is just like "two different supervillains have found your home in the past 4 months. you need to stay here." and Jack is getting ready to yell at him again before he's like "wait two? wdym two. Bruce. Bruce batman wayne what do you mean two." and Bruce is like "yeah some guy sent an assassin after Robin but I handled it so technically they didn't make it your home but it's close enough. security risks and all that."

-jack subconsciously realizes he is actually in significant danger, but he has to make it about Tim in order for his brain to accept that he needs help, so he's like "ok we'll stay here but NOT because I need protection, we're doing it bc Tim needs protection because YOU keep putting him in the line of fire so you need to do a better job protecting him so we're fucking staying here. fuck you."

-Jack tells Dana that he and Tim are moving in with Bruce because he's "worried about the violence in the city traumatizing Tim" and that his "old friend" Bruce Wayne was generous enough to offer them a place to stay while "Tim recovers from the trauma of the gang war." it physically hurts him to type out every single on of these words (oh yeah he emails her he doesn't even tell her in person because he's actually a really really bad liar and knows he couldn't do it) but it's better to have to pretend to compliment Bruce than to admit that he's scared.

-jack and Tim move in and the insanity Really begins

anyway do y'all see my vision.

[apollabarnes]

part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six // part seven // part eight // part nine // part ten // part eleven // part twelve // part thirteen // part fourteen // part fifteen // part sixteen // part seventeen

"shrapnel." tommy puts his coffee down, looks across to evan. "ready?"

"are you sure? we've barely been up for half an hour."

"it's easier when i'm tired," tommy confesses, "i lied when i said i don't talk to my dad much. sort of. he's been dead since i was in the army. so i don't talk to him a lot. or at all. for obvious reasons."

evan licks his lips. "thanks for telling me, tommy."

tommy wants to shrug the thanks off, knows that they ran into issues because he treated everything like it wasn't important. he takes the thank you. "you're welcome. there's more, but — later."

"metal screws," evan offers, like he understands. "ready?"

tommy thinks about evan throwing up blood, about metal pieces packed tight against tommy's side until he can get to a surgeon. "hit me."

"my parents didn't really want another kid. there's more to it than that, but…" evan picks at the placemat in front of him, "after the hospital," he decides, getting up and heading for the door.

"yeah." tommy follows after him, misses the loft when he has to step away from evan to get in his truck. at the loft they'd have ten minutes pressed shoulder to shoulder; here they have two dozen steps. "does maddie need anything before we head over?"

"mrs. lee came by last night with some clothes." evan hops into the passenger seat, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he carefully doesn't look at tommy. tommy aches. "are you coming in or dropping me off?"

"i don't have a shift today, so that's up to you."

"come in," evan asks.

"okay."

tommy does the math, pulls into a drive-thru, and orders a dozen breakfast burritos. he pauses, adds another six to the order, and gets a dozen black coffees with cream and sugar on the side.

they're not in a rush today; tommy skips the emergency entrance and cruises through the parking garage until they find a spot close to the elevators.

"i don't think we're going to eat eighteen burritos," evan says finally.

"we'll bribe the nurses with the leftovers. not a big deal."

"i heard the total, it's kind of a big deal," evan mutters, which makes tommy laugh.

"you take the coffee," tommy reaches over to grab the bags of food from evan's lap. "i'll get the doors."

may and harry are in with athena and bobby, and denny pops his head in when he smells the food. mara follows once denny gives her the all clear. tommy's extra burritos disappear at an alarming rate, and he has to corral enough for the adults before the kids can eat them all. he looks over at evan, raising an eyebrow.

"fine, you were right," evan rolls his eyes, "don't be smug about it."

athena finishes her coffee in record time and stands up. "kids, why don't you go and take the rest of the burritos and coffee around? i'll know if you eat them instead of handing them out. that means you, mister," she eyes them sternly, pointing at harry.

"i'm going to track some decent coffee down," she tells bobby, kissing his temple. "don't let buck smother you too much."

"hey!" evan protests with a laugh. he's been sitting on the edge of bobby's bed since they got there, so athena has a point.

"come on tommy, i need someone to carry the rest of them."

tommy glances over at the other two, sees them nod in unison and shrugs. "sure."

"hey, bobby, do you know where they ran—" athena closes the door behind her and evan's voice gets cut off.

"i vote we avoid the cafeteria," tommy says slowly, holding the elevator door open for her. athena looks like she hasn't slept all night. "there's a coffee shop on the other side of the block. we could sit down for a minute."

athena rubs her forehead, glancing around the empty elevator. "bobby couldn't feel his leg for three minutes this morning."

"wait, what?"

"they're running some more tests later today. it might be nerve damage from when he got tossed around during the explosion."

"okay. it was just three minutes, right?"

"yeah, but," athena sighs, "he told me it's been tingling since we got here last night."

[bisnes-socks]

Justice for Love yourself!!!

Can you please explain why it's clearly the superior Bojere moment

YES I CAN. THANK YOU FOR ASKING.

now listen up people, especially those of you who let love yourself lose in round two of the vote. because this is one of THE bojere moments of all time and y'all let a real one get away.

because let's look at some evidence shall we. let's break down what is actually happening here.

Bojan's Bieber Journey

look at this man back in ESC 23. who is he. this is a man who is nervous as fuck, because he is sitting next to his new crush and now his crush is saying something about being boyfriends ?!?!?!?! LOOK AT HIS FACE. HE CAN'T HANDLE IT.

oh but it was a justin bieber reference, i can do a justin bieber song, he thinks. and then his crush is saying keep me, keep me. and he melts, oh how he melts.

but when justin bieber became their thing the first time, bojan was not ready for it. he is holding back, he doesn't know how to act around jere, he doesn't know what to do, he is awkward and crushing hard.

but then!!! nordic tour comes around!! and so much has happened since they met. and the moment presents itself, to make another justin bieber joke.

and this time, BOJAN IS FUCKING READY.

he has been on his jere journey. (he has been on his knees too, where everyone could see.) he is no longer awkward around jere, no. he is ready to play and he is ready to FLIRT.

so when his justin bieber redemption moment arrives, he puts his all into it. jere wants justin bieber? justin bieber he shall get.

2. The Double Sunglasses Situation

bojan (and this is an actual real transcription of his actual words and also thoughts): khihihihi i got your sunglasses what are you going to do about it, kiss me? well you're not getting them back. you're gonna have to wrestle me to the floor and sit on top of me and take them. oh are you going to tickle me about it? oh are we going to be rolling on the floor, our chests pressed together? oh are you going to breathe hard into my face? oh noooooo how could this happen khihihihihi and also hehehehehe.

let us not sit here and pretend that bojan wearing not only his own sunglasses on top of his head, but jere's on his face, isn't the most classic move for playfully teasing your crush.

you know, in your heart of hearts you all know, that he pulled those sunglasses sensually off of jere's face. you know he gave him one of his signature looks at the lips. you fucking know this.

3. Have You Ever Seen Jere Smile Like THAT

look at his face?! literally go back up and watch the video again. focus on his face. do i have to say more?! HE LOVES HIS BOJAN.

4. The Joker Boys and The Very Inconvenient Crush That Interrupts Their Workday

because what the fuck are bojan and jere even doing here. in the middle of a work day. with, i promise you, the rest of the band on stage, setting things up, giving each other looks like can you actually believe these two idiots.

just picture it. bojan and jere rolling around on the floor, giggling and play fighting over sunglasses while the other joker out guys huff and puff and cough very loudly setting up their little (not so little) stage.

those lovebirds could not give two shits!! all of the equipment could have spontaniously combusted and they would have been like ok well let us know when you guys have fixed it, we'll be over here looking at each other in the eyes and stroking each other's di- hair. they like to stroke each other's hair.

EDIT: OH AND BOJAN IS WEARING JERE'S SHIRT SO THERE IS THAT.

IN CONCLUSION:

Love Yourself is one of THE Bojere Moments of all time, it deserved so much better in the vote, and anyone who doesn't agree is just plain wrong.

CASE CLOSED. BANG, BANG, BANG.

[sometimesoliloquy]

Ultimately the right question is: How is it a crime that Nick isn't a Mayday agent? (In the show because he is in the book) That doesn't make him a guy who doesn't fight because he condones what's going on in Gilead.

Exactly right. How is this the thing that makes Nick a bad guy? At this point June taking several years to realize that Nick's not some sort of revolutionary freedom fighter really seems like her issue, not his. We know he's not. But he's also not an agent for Gilead. He's always been in the middle, playing within the system but using it to protect those he cares about, and enact change where he can, to make things better. He's allowed Gilead to "win this battle" so to speak, but it's so clear it's because he was painted into a corner, not because he wants Gilead to win. He's not on their side. Even without knowing all the facts here, June should know this given their entire history.

No, he's never been a Mayday agent but he's also worked against Gilead's rules, or rather worked within Gilead's rules against Gilead. Working as an Eye to get some of the worst commanders out of the way (self-serving at times but also doing what's right). Doing little things he can, like smuggling the handmaids' letters to Canada. And he's not a Mayday agent but we know he's worked with them (which I still maintain that by Lily's definition in 5x03 means he is Mayday). Probably most explicitly at the start of s2 trying to get June out of Gilead. It's stated that he's working with Mayday here but implied perhaps for the first time, or at least in this capacity (smuggling people out). "I don't know, I've never done this before". But he certainly knew how to get in contact with them, and fast, whether because he had worked in smaller capacity with them before or just knowing from being an Eye, we don't know. 

And here's something that hadn't really occurred to me before recently, on my last rewatch--I really think that Nick would have had to call in a big favor--or be beholden to a fair amount of continued assistance/intel to Mayday--for them to agree to helping June escape in the first place. Especially if he hadn't worked with them before. Because as we learn in another episode, as a rule Mayday generally won't touch handmaids (let along a pregnant handmaid!). They're too valuable to Gilead and therefore too high profile, and too dangerous to get involved with. Do we really think Nick could have just run to them and they'd be like sure ok np, we'll just risk our entire operation to move a pregnant handmaid of a powerful commander without some sort of collateral from him(that we of course never see)?

And I think this is also an important reminder that, while they are fighting the good fight, Mayday also has their own priorities, their own code of what they'll do and what risks they consider too great to jeopardize the larger operation, no matter how good the cause or how vulnerable the people needing help. They don't just help anyone who needs it at any time no matter what. They exercise deliberate caution (well, this current s6 Mayday cell maybe not quite as much!) and they are aware of and willing to accept the unfortunate possibility of collateral damage. Which is exactly the kind of calculation that we've seen Nick operate with, the twist being that his motivations are largely very personal--surviving, protecting June and Holly--where Mayday's are largely strategic--striking against Gilead (and we know he's always been most reckless and ready to risk when it comes to June).

I think we should also not forget here the actions--or at least intentions--of other characters that in essence are not that different from what Nick did: Moira smuggling June on the NGO boat in s4, putting everyone involved in danger and the entire future of the humanitarian operations at risk. For personal reasons, for the one person she just couldn't stand to leave behind again. And June, ready to rashly do pretty much the exact same thing in 6x05 asking Janine to leave with them that night, which likely would have scrapped the whole Mayday plan AND put the rest of the women at Jezebels in danger (the two things she's ostensibly mad at Nick for). Both characters were rightfully scolded for their actions but it was portrayed as understandable, the human need to put those you love first (I won't even get into all June's actions that have put others in danger trying to get to Hannah or make Gilead hurt after Hannah is put out of reach). 

So why is it that Nick seems to be the only one who doesn't get grace for this? The only real difference as I see it is that he operates in Gilead, within a place of relative power. But as we've seen, power is often an illusion in Gilead, where you can gain or lose it in an instant, and there is always another man around the corner ready to put a noose around your neck or a bullet in your brain (or shackle you with a child bride, or a trip to the war front) if you get in their way. Nick knows this all too well, having been on both sides of the equation! But this is the thing that allows people to say what he did is so wrong, is so much worse than the others, because of this illusion of power, and the illusion of choice we also know exists in Gilead. Elizabeth Moss can say "but there's always a choice, isn't there" and yeah sure that's true, but in this case the other choice was likely for Nick to die, or be jailed and sentenced to death, and June stuck in NB with his vindictive father-in-law on the warpath. And how is that the best choice?

I've got to think that June is gonna realize this after she's had time to calm down and process, but emotions have been high and she's a very reactive person, a lasher-outer, so it's likely not going to be pretty in the immediate future. She's going to have to come to a reckoning and I think it's also going to be a good opportunity for her character to do some self-reflection on herself and the selfishness several characters have been calling her out on lately. If they don't go that direction they'll not only be doing Nick dirty but also do a disservice to the larger character development of June.

[soarelesiluna-ao3]

I would love to read a Bojere getting together scene that involves showering together. Maybe at first they joke around about one joining the other in the shower until they take the jokes too far and realize neither of them were joking at all

Yes yes yes!! Since BoJere week is rapidly approaching, I think I'll post this as a warm-up. I'm not yet sure whether I'll take part on it but I'm beaming with excitement over them since the last time they saw each other 🥹💙

Also just wanted to thank everyone for the 18 follows, it means the world to me to know there's people reading my silly little stuff 💙

I'm slowly going through my askbox - you can keep leaving stuff in the meantime. Have a great Labor Day and take well deserved rests!

Content under the cut!

Ps. I do love writing Jere's broken English. I truly do.

First night with Jere in Slovenia. The first night of a very few productive days upcoming. They had been talking over the phone about these days, excited like children who were about to visit the zoo. After such a long time of not seeing each other, it was just logical to be so hyped about reecountering their favorite people in the world, right?

Bojan's apartment sufficed for Jere to stay in - his friends understood the need for closeness with him, after all. Kris' old room was rearranged and made available for the stay. All day, the Finn had been talking about getting a shower, because he felt tired from the flight and needed a rest, but also wanted to get things done. Bojan, in turn, had started another inside joke to add to the collection - if he was too tired to take a bath, maybe he could help him out with that.

The thing of having so much of a bond with someone, is that you never know where the line between truth and joke is drawn in some occasions, and this was one of them. Bojan helped him figure out the shower and was about to leave, when the rapper let out a small whine.

"So you not shower with me?"

This made the Slovene stop for a second, as if trying to process a foreign language.

"What?"

"You said if I was tired you'll help me shower", Jere continued. "And I, uh, think I am, yes."

"Jerč... I don't think we'll fit into the shower..." Bojan bit his lower lip at the thought.

"No problem, nothing I not have seen before", the way he said it caused them both to laugh. "Come on, I'm sure we have good time!"

"Okay, sure..." Bojan grinned, and started taking off his clothes, leaving them in a messy pile by the sink. Soon, the both of them were standing in front of the other in the shower, warm water hitting their skin. It felt nice, it had been quite cold lately, so the warmth was pleasant. And the company was even better.

"Okay, now what?"

"Uh... I don't know", Bojan shrugged. "I think... I could help you out. Just relax and let me work my magic."

"Ooh, magic. You magic man, you. I like that."

Gentle hands reached for the shampoo bottle and pressed some of it into his palm, before starting to massage the dark hair to make foam.

"Your hair is growing again", the Slovene smiled. "Like it used to be back then. When we met."

"I still handsome guy, right?" Jere's question came out as playful.

"You could be bald and I still think you'd be the most beautiful man on Earth", the sweet words rolled off Bojan's tongue so easy it surprised him, despite it being three years of them together. "Don't do it though."

"Nah, I don't think I will. That's too much", a moment of silence passed before the Finn spoke again. "Will you wash me, too?"

"I'm here to help you out, am I not?" Bojan leant over his shoulder and left a small kiss, before grabbing a sponge and the bar of soap he always used. Then, he started gently rubbing it against his body. Another moment of silence. "I missed you. I missed touching your skin, having your scent close, knowing... I have someone to hold when I wake up."

"Oh, Bojan... I miss you too. Everyday. I know we talk a lot. But it's not the same. Never it's not the same. You are special. Very special. That's why I asked you to shower with me."

"Huh? How so?"

"Because... If I feel you, I know this is not dream."

A small smile appeared on the singer's lips, as he gently patted Jere's shoulder to tell him to turn around. Wrapping his arms around his neck, he leant in and started kissing him. A very slow kiss, as if his lips were trying to remember how it felt, despite having kissed many times since his arrival. A long-lasting kiss, that ended with Bojan hiding into the crook of his neck.

"I hope... This helps you a bit."

"It does", Jere left a kiss on Bojan's ear. "I'm so glad to be home. In your arms."

[branwinged]

Not sure if you've talked about this but what do you think will be Sansa's ending?

i mean there's no way to tell what castle or keep she'll end up in, you can only speculate general character trajectories. so in that sense, sansa's story is about songs. this is true for almost every character because songs make up the cultural imaginary of westeros, they promote ideals of chivalry and love and also lay down the fixed rules of social conduct for men (must be bold and go to war and engage in governance) and women (must devote themselves to the private sphere). the characters that are disillusioned most with westeros's cultural myth are the ones who transgress the boundaries of these gender roles and are ostracised and discarded by society for it. to put it simply, there are no songs sung for the aryas, briennes, sams, and tyrions of their world.

now sansa is something of a special case since she does not exist outside these social conventions but she's just as motivated by chivalry and love as almost everyone else in westeros. she has been taught an idealised feminine mode of conduct and the lie underpinning her story is that she'll be rewarded for it. the first time she's confronted with this lie is at castle darry when they behead lady, (“No, not Lady, Lady didn’t bite anybody, she’s good…”), her direwolf was punished for something it did not do, and it didn't matter at all that lady was the most gentle and trusting of the litter, just as it won't matter that sansa is the dutiful picture of everything westerosi society expects of women, she will be exploited all the same. which is part of the great lie of chivalry within the books that's being interrogated, that these songs normalise violence against women and their role within them is that of objects of desire, not active subjects. arya gets this -

[H]e sang about some stupid lady throwing herself off some stupid tower because her stupid prince was dead. The lady should go kill the ones who killed her prince

arya gets this not because she's 'smarter' than sansa but because she has felt rejected because of her gender non-conformity. so part of the point of sansa's arc is this, that she must reach this understanding as well, which is why she's resigned to a bluebeard narrative first where the reality of her existence as an object of patriarchal exchange is made clear to her through the lannisters, the tyrells, littlefinger, and sandor (this one has more nuance to it, like, it's clear he has a certain romantic fascination with her and has gone out of his way to protect her many times, but he also traumatises her on several occasions. that power differential which enables it is being interrogated by the text, it's why he doesn't get to be her uncomplicated loyal dog of a knight. yet(?)). the other point of her chapters is that, "life is not a song" is not true. those words are spoken by littlefinger and littlefinger is a liar. the songs also imagine a world where true knights protect the downtrodden and innocents are not harmed. idealism is not naive, it's the single most admirable trait a character can have in this book series. i think sansa discussions sometimes fail to differentiate between the criticism of marriage and the ideal of love in her arc, she's certainly not being told to grow up because this is the real world where "nobody will ever marry [her] for love" and there are no true knights. that's just not true. considering all this you can kind of see where this is going. she'll reclaim her stark identity (winterfell starklings reunion real. lady's bones are there + bran has a spiritual connection to the castle + needle was winterfell's grey walls and the laughter of its people) and she'll have to emancipate herself so if she ever wishes to marry again it'll be on her own terms, which doesn't necessarily mean 'becoming a player' she's not learning to be a manipulator sorry lol. we'll have to wait for twow to see if this evolves into a direct political trajectory of some kind (i've always thought we'll at least see her independently running a household by the end because she already had some practice with it as 'the lady' of the eyrie in affc) but i dislike all talk of her 'learning to play the game'. she's not. and it isn't even an admirable skill to have ("The worst were those who played the game of thrones."), the books are very clear that her strength of character does not lie in scheming (who is she even scheming against? where is this happeninggg. like i don't think 4d chess will be involved when she brings about littlefinger's downfall, petyr has spelled out his own doom by not really seeing sansa as anything more than a sexual object to be possessed) but her strength does lie in her exceptional will which she has already used once to great heroic effect. the hound was introduced to readers as one of the most formidable fighters and deadliest men in westeros and then this twelve year old girl unmakes him and his entire world through nothing but compassion, by simply existing as she is. and he fled! he fled from that little girl ashamed and repentant.

[akingdomscrypt]

Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Six

Pairing: König x male reader (slow burn)

Word Count: ~5.54k

Summary: More trials. And König having a bit of a gay crisis.

Warnings: none. Besides maybe König being a bit anxious here and there, an allusion to child trafficking for military purposes if you squint real hard near the end, and a very very brief mention of suicide in a purely logic based standpoint.

A/n: König is oddly horny as hell for no reason, I didn't set out to write him this way. I was possessed 🧍swear it. But he cannot keep his mind off your body.. ALSO I promise 🙏 promise we'll soon actually get into the meat of the plot, this all so far has just been background shit and setting the framework I needed for the story SOON THINGS WILL START CONNECTING 🙏🙏

---"how to cope when you find your enemy hot."---

hint: you don't

König greedily takes the opportunity to separate his body from yours. The match is over, and he inches away as subtly as he can, away from the other sergeants as well who, apparently, cannot help but make the filthiest jokes they can think of.

König pretends the heat warming his cheeks under the hood is due to embarrassment only and nothing else.

Now he had the time to recover and recuperate. And to try his best to push down whatever feelings you had inadvertently caused to bubble up inside him—down, down, deeper, crushing them into a jumbled mess and shoving them into an iron lockbox.

Next up it was you against the infamous Ghost, and, König's feelings aside, he was quite eager to see how this one played out.

You had defeated Gaz and Soap, and had very nearly gotten past König as well. Put up a good enough fight to make even a giant like himself struggle.

König takes a seat against the back wall of the gym to observe from. Not interested in providing the other two immature sergeants with himself as entertainment—though it seemed even those too were more intrigued by this fight than joking around some more.

It starts out typical enough, you and Ghost circling one another just as the past few spars have gone. Though it looks like Ghost has learned a thing or two from watching you with the rest of the team and doesn't give you the time to think, to calculate your every move.

He's feigning left, then taking a step back entirely when you catch on, avoiding what would've been a counterstrike on your end. Ghost gives you no time to recover from that, grappling you into his arms—restricting your arms just how König should've during his attempt—and immobilizing your upper body.

There's a bit of a struggle but the match soon ends with Ghost slamming you down onto the mat. One arm locked around your throat, the other using his hand to restrain your arms, one leg keeping yours tangled and trapped. All while he keeps his balance with one knee planted firmly on the mat in a wide stance. Preventing you from knocking him over.

Ghost only relents when your body goes limp below his, and König takes note of the exhausted droop of your posture when you finally get back up onto your feet.

“That's all for today,” Ghost calls it, sending a meaningful look König's way before flipping around to handle the others. “Back here tomorrow at oh-six-hundred sharp.”

“Soap, make sure Mouse gets cleaned up and fed. Don't let him out of your sight.” Ghost barks. Soap must sense something in the man's tone, because he doesn't make a single snarky quip. Just nods his head and leads the others out of the room. Only after the three disperse does Ghost finally face König again.

“On me,” is the only thing König gets before Ghost is, too, disappearing out of the room. Leaving König to scramble after him.

König wants to ask where they're going, but that quickly becomes clear when they make a sharp left. Ghost only knocks once before entering, not even waiting for an all clear before he's pushing the door open—strange behavior for the lieutenant, that's how König knows this is serious.

“Ah, Ghost,” Price says when they enter, the door clicks shit behind them, a nod in König's direction and subsequent, “Sergeant.”

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” The captain sighs, and it's then that König really sees the man for the first time. He looks tired- no. Exhausted. Looking his age more than usual, or maybe older. And König notes that he hardly ever sees Price leave this cramped, makeshift office space. Back home the man could be seen chatting with his fellow officers or taking a moment to oversee training indoors and out. Perhaps taking a smoke break or two.

“We need to talk.” Ghost says.

Price raises an eyebrow, gesturing around vaguely with a pen as if to say ‘obviously’.

Ghost lets out a weary sigh of his own, shoulders dropping and König follows closely when the man takes a seat. Lingering behind his lieutenant on his feet.

“Mouse, he's-” Ghost cuts himself off, glancing up to König again then back down. “You can't tell me you don't see it, König.”

König considers it for a moment, but even he can't pretend he doesn't know what Ghost was talking about. You were dangerous. A walking hazard that they were lucky hadn't gone running towards your maker. Whoever that may be.

“Mouse is.. complicated.” König admits.

“Has he been causing problems?”

“Well, no, sir.. not specifically.” König isn't quite sure how to confront this, how to tell his captain that their team almost got completely demolished by the small soldier (?)—were you even a soldier, obviously you had some type of professional training, but that didn't mean much.

“We were doing a simple sparring match, getting a feel for his abilities. Figured Mouse would not be able to keep up, especially given his recent injuries but.. but he far exceeded our expectations, sir.”

“He took on Gaz,” Ghost adds for König.

“And Soap,” König finished. “He even almost got the upper hand over me. Taking Mouse down took a lot more effort than it should have.”

“Too much,” Ghost, begrudgingly, admits. “I saw how he fought with each of you, I knew I shouldn't underestimate him.. but there was a moment I doubted I would come out on top.”

That. That really gets Price’s attention, both of their attention, really. König snaps down to look at Ghost, surprised. “Really? You looked like you had him handled fine.”

All three of them sat in silence then. If you could defeat two of them, then provide enough of a struggle for the other two who were seen as almost invincible on the field, even if what was supposed to be a friendly spar.. that was not a good sign at all.

You had been easy to catch. Laughably easy. It didn't track with what they all had experienced mere minutes ago.

“I don't mean to overstep, sir.. but,” König hesitates. As if by simply saying it the sergeant would speak the words into existence, they would lose everything. “Do we.. do we even have anything to hold him? Legally speaking.”

“If it was not for that tip we got, he would just be a random civilian who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time..” Seeds of doubt began to sew in König's mind. What if you weren't who they had been chasing all this time?

Ghost turns to look up at him, and König wavers, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, hands twisting together as he tried to string together the thoughts swirling in his head, but it's Price that speaks up.

“What are you sayin’, König? That we got the wrong guy?”

“Well… maybe?” He squeaks, shrinking half his size under the captain's hard gaze.

“He does have a point..” ohthankfuck, perfect timing on Ghost's part, stealing Price’s attention away from the oversized sergeant.

“The note is circumstantial at best, and with all that blood and mud caked onto it, it's pretty much moot.” Ghost's tone takes on a hard edge, as he too is realizing that they all really had, well.. nothing to hold you on. “Even with all the strange shite he was spittin’ when we captured the runt. Could easily be washed away with the excuse of delusion due to blood loss.”

“Even the video evidence..” Price murmurs in agreement, followed by a heavy sigh as the man drags a hand down his face. “It's all blurry, and of cloaked, hooded figures in black. Faces covered and of varying heights and builds.. fuck.”

“Do we have.. anything?” König reluctantly asked, regretting opening his mouth again when Price's eyes immediately locked on him again. The captain sat up a little straighter, reaching for the papers on the desk and shifting them around.

“We have one thing..” Price doesn't expand on that idea further, mouth pulling into a thin line. There's a far away look in the man's eye, but König knew better than to question his captain. “You two are dismissed.”

“But-”

“I have enough to keep him. For now.” Price waves them away. “Now begone, shoo, I've got work to do.”

König puts his hands up in mock surrender while Ghost grumbles an amused, “yessir.” Then the two of them are out of the office, and more importantly, out of the captain’s hair.

“Thought you had left me here for dead.” Are the first words out of your mouth when König arrives back at the room you two unofficially share. König turns after locking the door behind him—by now he's certain you wouldn't try to escape, but it didn't hurt to be cautious and the bolt would at least slow you down in the case he was wrong—raising an unimpressed brow as he considers you.

You. Sitting there, on what used to be his (unofficial, again) bed, small and cute- dripping wet. Getting water all over the thin mattress. Looking like a drowned dog.

“They give you a towel..?” König's words are met with a scoff on your end and he is surprised you don't cross your arms over your chest and pout. Or, well, he supposed he didn't know whether you were actually pouting or not. Given the mask obscuring your features. Speaking of the mask..

“You do not take it off even to shower?” He asks, eyeing your damp—that had to be uncomfortable, did you really not trust them that much?—mask. The fabric leaking little droplets that raced down the column of your throat.

König tries not to linger on the other ideas that sight shoved into his mind.

He also pretends not to acknowledge the odd feeling that stirs in his chest, knowing you would rather-

“Just enjoy waterboarding yourself, then?”

Do that then risk being seen by them—by him. Fair enough, he supposed, it wasn't like you had been there long. Or had joined willingly—but you were here willingly, weren't you? …Ah, decidedly, you weren't. It was either this or- or death. Because they couldn't let you go, not when they couldn't even imprison you for your crimes—crimes they weren't even sure you had committed.

“Mm, something like that.” You retort. If König didn't know any better, he would assume the damn thing was glued onto your face. What kind of person used a straw like that if not because the thing was stuck on? That must be it; the thought elicits a private huff from the sergeant.

“What is so funny? I don't see you taking yours off either.” And there it is, crossing your arms like a defiant child, König bites his bottom lip to keep from laughing at the comparison.

“You are not with me all the time.” He says instead.

“Yeah, right,” you say, grumbling, a furrow to your eyebrows König refuses to admit is almost- almost adorable in some way. “You are practically glued to my hip half the time. I'm almost surprised you do not drag me with when you go to piss or something.”

“You think about me peeing often?”

“Only the healthy amount.”

“Uh huh, that so?”

“It is.” König can hear the smile in your voice—a real shame he can't see it—and breaks himself. Cracking a grin of his own under his hood, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation. It's not too long ago that he had held a blade to your throat—the same damn throat that was stupidly tempting when still damp with water, could do easily be mistaken as being slick with sweat-

It looked so out of place, the mask. The only black piece of clothing on you, mismatched when paired with the oversized shirt and pants, a belt cinched tight around your waist to hold the latter of the two up. König definitely doesn't briefly consider what it would be like to tug it down.

That would be unprofessional.

And he certainly doesn't have to force his eyes away from your body, thankful once more for the hood to shield his blush from view, and push his body to take a seat at the little desk in the corner instead.

“You should rest.” He says, stupidly keeping his back to you. But it was better than letting the little beast in his mind continue to devour the sight of you. “The lieutenant's got more in store for you tomorrow.”

There's a sigh a few moments later, joined by the rustling of fabric as, König assumes, you get comfortable on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah…” you murmur. “Just don't kill me in my sleep.”

“I make no promises.”

König was a fool. It was the next day—his back twinged now and again after he accidentally fell asleep at that tiny desk—and he really, really should not be as excited for this as he was.

Gaz held the record, Soap close behind. A part of König hoped you would surpass it.

All in all, he was a foolish man. A foolish man who was horribly excited to see you run this course. To see you sweaty and panting with exhaustion- and pocket that imagery later to think back on in a wholly different context.

König can't remember the last time he felt like this. It was dumb, beyond foolish—how many times was he going to say that?—, and so on.

You were the enemy still, technically. Yet his mind appeared to be hooked on the idea of you being so much more than that.

He was slipping up—promised himself he never would again, not after what happened the last time he let another occupy his mind like this—and not even bothering to try and catch himself before he fell. Hard.

And with no one there to catch him this time.

You're running this course with Soap and Gaz; Ghost had decided to keep him on the sidelines to help observe the three of you. It's just a simple obstacle run, nothing but climbing and sprinting and rolling around in mud. Alejandro had agreed to give them free reign over this area for the afternoon, the set up was a bit different than the one back home, but the premise was the same. First one to the end won.

Ghost was betting on Gaz,

“The lad holds the record in the other, why not this one as well? And that's with a gun, this should be a milk run for our boys.”

“Shouldn't you be rooting for your boyfriend?”

Ghost sends him a glare, but König snorts, knowing it held no heat behind it.

“Mind your own, Sergeant.”

“Just saying..”

“Soap is plenty good, but we all know Gaz is the most proficient in speed and agility.”

“Right, right,” König nods along, finding it impossible to keep the grin out of his tone. “As we all know, you have a thing for the beefy ones.”

Ghost elbows him, and König supposes he deserves that one, even as he silently chuckles. Shoulders shaking along with his amusement.

“Shut it, before I send you in there with them.”

König straightens up. “You wouldn't.”

“I would.”

“Mm, you would.” As much as König loved suffering under the heat of the sun—even in the winter, it was a far cry from the frigid temperatures back home—, he also loved keeping his dignity intact. However little was left. And getting distracted by you and ending up dead last would absolutely destroy the last bit he was clinging to.

“Maybe I should,” Ghost pipes up again a few moments later—they’re still waiting on Gaz, who had to make a brief visit with Price this morning—, though the lieutenant's sights are still on you and Soap. The two of you goofing around over by the course. “Give you somethin’ nice to look at, trip you up, knock you down a peg..”

“You are a heartless man, Ghost.”

“You started it.” Ghost says with a shrug, but König doesn't miss the squint of his eyes, following his gaze to catch as Soap says something and you turn around to playfully shove at him.

“What are you, five?”

“Oh, for sure. Didn't you know? You've been following the orders of a toddler all this time.”

“Now that I think about it, that makes a ton of sense, sir.”

Jealousy. König recognizes it with an amused huff. Then he watches as Soap does the same to you, a big grin on the Scot’s face as he does it, and König can't even pretend he doesn't know how Ghost feels.

Only it's a bit different. As Ghost is actually dating the erratic pyromaniac.

And you're not attainable. For him, or for anyone.

“Uh huh, righ’,” Ghost speaks after a moment of silence, and König had almost forgotten they were talking- seriously, what could possibly be so funny to have you giggling like that? König can't hear it from here, unsure if you're even making any sound. But people don't just double over like that unless it's from laughter.

“You both are hopelessly pathetic.” A voice from behind them jolts both men out of their reverie, turning at the same time to catch sight of Gaz standing behind them.

“Christ, it's creepy when you lot do that.” Gaz shivers under their duel stares, breaking the tension König hadn't even realized had sprouted in the air. “We ready to start, or…?”

Ghost turns back around and Gaz tracks the man's stare, barking out a laugh when he puts the pieces together. “Don't worry, he's all yours, big man,” Gaz says, patting Ghost in the shoulder.

Ghost shrugs it off, grumbling.

“Soap, Mouse, line up!” Gaz calls on his way over to the other two, Soap calls something back but König isn't paying attention. Too caught up on the little glimmer in your eye, a far cry from the dullness that has resided there these past weeks.

If König didn't know any better, he would say you look almost fond as your gaze flicks between the two sergeants. A look that soon shifts into something deeper, darker. Longing.

You glance away then, and König catches your eye. Giving you a small nod not even he knows the meaning behind, but it works and you perk up again just the slightest bit.

“Alright. Enough goofing off, you three.” Ghost barks. Full lieutenant mode is back, it seems.

You come in first place, not even looking a smidge out of breath. König pretends he had been paying attention to all three of the men on the course, but he wouldn't be able to recite a thing if asked. Ghost doesn't ask.

Good. Because he's certain the lieutenant doesn't want to hear all about the way König had stood there on the sidelines, categorizing all the different, minute shifts, the tense and release, of all the muscles in your arms, the ones peaking out in the glimpse he could get of your back. Watching closely as you pull yourself up the wall in just a few bounds—too short for just a running start to get yourself up, but a quick burst of energy from kicking against the wall is more than enough to boost you.

There isn't even a speck of sweat on you when it's all said and done, and König swears he's probably perspiring more than you from simply standing there. Observing.

Ghost knocks him out of his doomed, one track mind before calling time. You first, with Soap and Gaz just barely lagging behind. Gaz, predictably, gets there a mere millisecond before Soap, but Soap doesn't get any pity points from his boyfriend.

The only difference between you and the two sergeants is that they, at least, appear like they just ran a full obstacle course. You, on the other hand, look as if you've just gone for a casual walk in a park. Eyeing the other two with—adorably—furrowed eyebrows, as if confused as to why Soap and Gaz are a bit out of breath.

“Christ above,” Soap takes the offered water from Ghost when he gets close enough, wheezing a bit. “Ah'm never doin’ that again.”

“It was just an ordinary course, Sergeant.” Ghost says, but König heard the hint of humor in the man's tone.

“Ordinary my arse,” Soap grumbles after gulping down half the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The set up, maybe. But Ah'm pretty sur’ I best ma’ own damn time.”

Ghost looks down, checking the little scribbled down time stamps he'd made in his wrist. A small doodle representing each of the three and the times right beside it. “You did.”

“Huh??”

König snorts, listening in even as his eyes flick up to catch sight of you again. Still chatting with Gaz, and looking so, so confused by all of this.

“You and Gaz both,” Ghost clarifies. “Both of you beat your own record.”

“Ach, damn. Ah knew I was pushin’ mahself, but I dinnae think it was that much.”

“Not confident in your own abilities, Soap?” König teases, glancing down at the other sergeant just in time to catch his pout.

“S’not like tha’,” Soap grumbles, but now that he's been able to catch his breath, his words gradually become more intelligible again. “You're runt just cleared us with zero effort, dinnae even look back. Had to push ourselves just to keep up.”

“And yet you still came in last.”

“Gaz is a speedy bastart, nothin' can help that.”

Ghost puts a hand on Soap's shoulder, the latter leaning into the touch just barely. And soon enough the lieutenant is calling out the next instructions. Soap soon disperses to join you and Gaz once more.

“C'mon now, inside. This time it's just you, Mouse.”

Again, this next one is similar to what they have back home, but just different enough to be interesting. A typical small urban layout with cardboard cutouts as targets. Some that moved, some that stayed stationary, and others that popped out at you when triggered.

“Just me? I am honored.” You interject when close enough. Leaving the two spent sergeants behind to join Ghost and König at the front.

“What are we doing this time? Another obstacle thing?”

“Sort of,” Ghost says. “Jus’ your typical urban combat setting. I'll set another timer, see how quick you can get in and out without losing any points or having time added to your overall score.”

“Sounds straightforward enough.” You nod along, soon coming up to a door which König opens, letting the four of you file in first.

“It should be.” König muses, letting the heavy door fall shut behind you all with a weighted clunk.

The temperature is vastly cooler indoors when compared to the stifling warmth of outside—why, why is it warm in winter??—and König can finally breathe easily again.

“Who knows,” Ghost cuts in. “Maybe you'll even beat Gaz’s record.”

The possibility put open into the air drags a deep, exaggerated groan from the sergeant in question.

“Why, Ghost, whyyy? Don't say that! You're goin’ to speak it into existence!”

Ghost shrugs, dismissive, but they all—with the exception of you—, see that the action contained an underlying thrum of amusement.

Ghost gives you the brief rundown while the other three find their place from which they will sit and observe.

“Do ya think he'll manage it?” Soap asks from König's left, nudging his arm with an elbow to get König's attention.

“To beat Gaz? Or have a good score?”

Gaz grumbles something to König's right, but Soap responds before he can tease the man some more.

“Uh, both? But mostly the first. Y’don’t think he can really do it, d’ya?”

“I'd say it's best we don't underestimate him,” Ghost interrupts, coming over to sit on Soap's other side. Apparently he had already gotten you set up. “At all. The runt's already far exceeded our expectations.”

The three nod along in agreement with their lieutenant.

“That's for sure,” Gaz says. Obviously the man isn't truly that worked up over the possibility of you surpassing his old score, but the easy jokes were more manageable than facing the reality that they still had no idea who—what—they were dealing with.

They knew nothing about you, a persistent fact that bothered König more and more every time it resurfaced in his mind. They didn't know your real name—if you even had one—, nor did they know where you came from. They had found you, here, in Mexico, but that didn't mean this is where you originated from.

No origin, no name, no age, no clear goals or motivation. No purpose. It was almost suspicious, with nothing—at least surface level—to live for, it was a wonder you hadn't simply.. well, to put it bluntly, committed suicide yet. Taken the easy way out.

Not that he would ever want that, but from a purely logical standpoint.. it made the most sense. Which, given that you were still here and had something to prove, there must be something you were doing all of this for.

An oath? Responsibility? Someone to return to?

Something to live for. Someone to live for. To greet you when it was all over, whatever ‘it’ was in the first place.

Maybe that was the key. You had someone waiting on you. A friend? Someone more—though given your clear disdain for socialization at any point, König figured that wasn't the case, but he couldn't rule it out, and he ignored the way that made him feel. Or, rather, didn't make him feel.

You were enemies. Reluctant allies at best. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Rubber?” Soap's voice brings König back into reality, the four of them watching you do a brief inspection of the weapon you had been given for this test.

Ghost shakes his head, negative. “Paint.”

“Paint?”

“Need to see where the shots land, but the last thing I wanted was to give him a real firearm. Rubber hurts more. So paint it is.”

Huh, König doesn't think he's ever seen anyone do that before. Not that it would be more difficult, maybe a little light if the faux weapon wasn't properly weighted. Other than that, you shouldn't be at any disadvantage. Or advantage.

König zones back in to watch you work the moment the alarm blares through the speakers, signaling the start of the course.

They watch you run through the twists and turns of the mock interior of a home, and it puts König on edge when you somehow manage to predict where the cutouts are going to spring out before they even happen. Some you aren't even in the same room as. In a run you've never been through before.

It reminds König of that time before, when you picked up on the sounds of apparent bombs. A noise Gaz nor himself ever were able to hear. Not until the detonation itself.

Could it be.. could it be that you were just naturally gifted with excellent hearing? Or maybe it was the vibrations of the sound waves in the floors.. no, that wasn't right.

König suspects even someone with ears in perfect condition, never damaged and born with zero imperfections, would be able to hear the things you do. You have.

This wasn't human. It wasn't natural. It was technical. Man-made. Enhancement.

Of course, devices to aid in hearing weren't unheard of. But that's just what they were. Assistive device. Designed to give those with hearing impairments the chance to experience what the average person did, or close to.

They didn't do.. this. And those eyes. König had thought it was his imagination when it first happened, back in the little city along the border. A reflective glare, like a cat's when a phone tried to capture them in the dark.

He catches it again when you turn into a darker room—once again locking onto a target before it gets the chance to even straighten out—a little sheen. A reflection when the overhead lights hit just right.

This wasn't some fantasy bullshit, obviously you were human. There was no other option. But you were for certain.. enhanced.

That brought up questions of how? Why? Who? And, further, what was the purpose of it? If you had increased hearing and sight, what other senses had gotten the same treatment? What were the limits?

Were there any limits?

Who did this to you? Why? Were there more like you?

A sinking feeling tells König he doesn't want to know the answer to that.

19.8, that's your final score. Gaz is, understandably, thrilled by this. Letting out a loud whoop and springing to his feet.

“I'm just glad I can keep my dignity after the disaster of the last run.” Gaz says, turning to Soap and clapping his palm down on his shoulder with a deep, dramatic sigh. “Can't say the same for you, mate.”

“Oi, shove off,” Soap grumbles, swatting the other man's hand away while Ghost looks on with amusement.

König's attention is drawn away by your approach, a slight crinkle to your brow that grabs his focus. Odd. You should be thrilled by this, few managed to get below Soap's score, much less beat the Scot and almost reach Gaz as well.

Ghost starts to go over your score with you, but König doesn't zone in on that. No. He pays mind to your stiff posture and wonders briefly if your injuries were acting up again. Perhaps that was the source of your soured mood.

When all is said and done you're dismissed with a wave and barked order that you would meet back here again tomorrow. More testing—more opportunity to watch how you move, to gauge your responses and capabilities. To understand how exactly they would need to act if they had to put you down, if it came down to that.

The walk back to your shared sleeping quarters is short, and you keep up with König better than expected after today's adventures.

Once you both are back in the room, though, that is when you finally break your silence. You had been quiet when Ghost had given you the rundown, not even joining Soap and Gaz in their banter like you had after the first test.

“What the fuck was that?” You growl, flipping around to face König as he locks the door behind you both.

“Mm?” He inquires, taken aback by your sudden outburst. Huh. König had thought things had been going well. Guess he had been wrong.

“Do not give me that look.”

König's frown deepens, completely out of his depth here. Was he supposed to know what you were talking about.. comfort you maybe? How would he even begin to do that? He didn't know why you were upset- and surely it wasn't his responsibility to comfort the enemy-turned-reluctant-ally.

“Ughh!” You throw your arms up and turn around, just in time before König can catch the wince you make because of the action.

“I truly do not understand, Maus..” König mumbles, eyebrows scrunched together as he drags his gaze over your body again and again. This time under completely innocent intentions, truthfully. He just cannot comprehend what could possibly be bothering you.

“Does your shoulder hurt? Your leg?” He asks, probing for more information. If he could just figure this out then he could get you to sleep, get out of these damn clothes and into something comfortable, maybe take a shower..-

“Are you kidding?” You huff, one gloved hand dragged roughly down your face.

“Uhh.. nein?” König shuffles in place, his shoulders curling in slightly. He's exposed, more vulnerable than he's felt in years and he's not even in public this time. König just desperately hopes you don't turn around—doesn’t think he could handle being seen right now. Being observed.

“Fine. Fine.” You flip down on the thin cot, both hands over your face, grumbling. König lets out a small breath of relief when you don't look at him. “Pretend you don't know. Like you all weren't making a complete fool of me out there. Giving me those stupid, easy assessments. The kind of shit fucking teenagers know how to do.”

König is yanked from his spiraling thoughts. Teenagers? What did- what?

“I don't understand.” König finds himself repeating, dumbly. “You beat two out of five of the best soldiers in this regime. You nearly broke a years long standing record, injured, mind you. How were we treating you like a, uh, ‘fool’, or so you say.”

König catches you peeking out from between your fingers, confusion swirling in those striking hues.

“What?”

“What?” König parrots.

“You are telling me..” you begin, pushing yourself up into a seated position. “That.. that was a good score? A good run?”

“Uhh.. yes?”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“... Yeah, goodnight then, König.”

And the conversation is over, leaving König utterly puzzled. “Okay…”

König drags out the last syllable, muttering to himself under his breath as he turns around, grabs a change of clothes, and dips out of the room. Locking it firmly behind him. He needed to speak with Ghost again, then probably Price too.

First, a shower.

__

Masterpost | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Next..

__

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[tessenpai]

Kono Oto Tomare Chapter 142 Scans and Rough TL

Disclaimer: Please DO NOT use this translation to make your own TL of the chapter!! The KOT TL group works very hard to give you the most accurate translation, that does as much justice to the original script as possible. This is a ROUGH translation. That means is faulty and there must be mistakes in certain places. This is just for impatient people like myself to get a grasp on what is going on in the chapter! You can REFERENCE my TL if you want to discuss the chapter but never USE it as it was your own.

Scans: Kono Oto Tomare! Chapter 142 – Rawkuma

Page 1 Event assistant: We'll collect the evaluation sheets here once for score tabulation.

Side text: As the lingering emotions remain…

Judge: I believe we just...

Judge: heard something truly incredible...

Judge Kurokawa: Certainly...

Judge Agata: ....

Judge Tatsumi: ---I

Page 2

Judge Tatsumi: This is the first time I’ve ever not wanted to rank them.

Judges: We feel the same.

Page 3

Kota: Haaah, all the performances are over now.

Sane: It feels like it all went by in a flash.

Mittsu: Damn... I feel kinda sad now...

Sane: Don't say it...

Hiro: There’s about an hour and a half until they announce the results, if I remember correctly.

Sane: Seriously!?

Chika: So, what do we do 'till then?

Sane: Wanna hit up some tourist spots nearby?

Takezou: No, there's a social event next...

Chika: Social event?

Satowa: You guys really don’t know anything, do you…

Mashiro-senpai: Takezou!!

Page 4

Takezou: Senpai!?

Mashiro: Congrats on the performance!!

Senpai 2: It was the absolute best--!!

Takezou: Eh- Why...?

Takezou: Wai- Wha-? You all came to hear!?

Mashiro-senpai: Of course we did!!

Page 5

Kota: Mashiron-senpai---!

Sane: Long time no see!

Hiro: Then… does that mean the others are also—?

Takezou: Ah, yes! They are my senpais!

Takezou: Guys, these are the Tokise Koto Club OGs!

Sane: Uoooh for real?

Chika: Hello!

Senpai 3: Waah, you're making me blush. Hello there--!

Senpai 1: You guys were amazing!

Senpai 2: Yeah, I was bawling my eyes out!

Senpai 3: I was so moved---

Page 6

Senpai 2: And you, Takezou--- you’re so strong and mature now~~

Senpai 3: You've grown way too much since the last time we saw you---!

Takezou: Ah- Wai-

Senpai 2: I honestly could've never imagined it… That the Tokise Koto Club would give such an amazing performance on the national stage.

Senpai 2 & 3: We didn’t even have the slightest clue that Suzuka-chan had a talent for composing.

Kota: Ooooh, Suzu-chan looks like he is feeling awkward.

Mittsu: What a rare sight...

Suzuka: I'll smack you.

Page 7

Mashiro: Takezou

Mashiro: And everyone else, too

Mashiro: I truly thank you,

Mashiro: For taking the Tokise Koto Club with you to such an amazing place.

Page 8

Mashiro [memory]: Takezou!

Sign: Aiming for Nationals!!

Takezou: It's because of you Senpais...

Takezou: Because this is what you senpais passed on to us.

Page 9

Senpai 3: Come ooon, stop making me cry

Senpai 2: You've grown, kouhai--!

Page 10

Tweet: Tomo "I'm a member of a koto club. I don't want people like this to play. I don't want to be near them. They're a nuisance."

Audience stalker guy: Maaan, Tokise was amazing--!

Audience stalker guy 2: Who would've though I could be this moved by a koto performance!

Audience stalker guy: Dude, you were crying.

Audience stalker guy 2: You're one to talk, your nose was all runny and all.

Page 11

Audience stalker guy 2: Still, what was that whole scandal even about in the end?

Audience stalker guy: Who knows? I mean, people forget stuff like that pretty fast, right?

Audience stalker guy 2: True.

Tomoe [thoughts]: They forget pretty fast

Tweets/Comments:

"People like them are trash to society. The world’s better off without them."

"Idiots like that should just disappear already."

"Ban them from participation"

Satowa [memory]: You haven't done anything that warrants an apology, have you?

Page 12

QRT of previous Tweet:

"I heard Tokise’s performance at the High School National Cultural Festival today.

It was

Page 13

QRT of Tweet (cont):

"It was a very sincere and earnest performance.

It was the

It was the sound of countless hours of practice

I don't know if that video was real or fake

I don't know that, but

Surely

Surely

There is no lie in that sound."

Page 14

QRT of Tweet (cont):

"I acted like I understood everything just from a single video…

I'm ashamed that I joined in on the hate and slander

I'm taking back the comment I made quoting it.

I'm sorry."

Page 15

Tomoe's friend: Tomoe!

Tomoe's friend: What are ya doin' here? Everyone's lookin' for y--

Tomoe: Eh? Ah... Sorry.

Page 16

Tomoe's friend: What a nice day...

Tomoe's friend: The world our eyes have seen is still very small

Page 17

Tomoe: Yeah...

Isaki: Huuuh---? Where are Chika and the rest--?

Tetsuki: They stand out so much, you'd think we would find them right away...

Tetsuki: Ah, there they are.

Isaki: !

Isaki: Brother, could you hold my things for a bit?

Chika's father: Eh?

Isaki: So you can't run away with them.

Chika's father: ....

Page 18

Takezou: We should head back to our seats soon.

Chika: Okay---...

Isaki: Chiiika!!!

Isaki: Great job on the performance!!!

Chika: Isaki!!

Kota: Isaki-san---

Isaki: You guys, too. Good job, good job---!

Isaki: Man-- It was so good I cried myself dry.

Sane: Thanks!

Isaki: Over there.

Page 19

Isaki: Also, Chika...

Page 20

*No text*

Page 21

Chika: -----

Page 22

Chika's father: Holding a purse and CHIKA Cheering fan

Chika: Pwah-

Page 23

Chika: Ha... Um... Wha....

Chika's dad: ???

Chika: What's with that fan...

Chika's dad: Ah-

Chika's dad: Th- that's not it, this is---

Chika: Ha--- So weird---

Page 24

Chika: It doesn't suit you

Chika [memory]: Dad!

Chika's dad[memory]: Aaah... That's right.

Page 25

Chika's dad: ---...So you can laugh like that...

Gen: So you could laugh like that...

Page 26

Chika: Gramps said exactly the same thing.

Page 27

Chika's dad: ...I'm glad I came to hear your performance...

Page 28

Isaki [memory]: You see, after you guys finnished your performance, my brother was the very last one to stop applauding you.

Page 29

Isaki: Uzuki, your fan was incredibly useful in the end!

Uzuki: Eh?

Isaki: It brought out Chika's smile, didn't it?

Isaki: That's all thanks to your support.

Isami [memory]: It brought out Chika's smile

Page 30

*No text*

Page 31

Isaki: You're gonna burst into tears now---!!? Hahaha good for you!!

Isaki: This is good, all good

Chika: This is amazing

Page 32

Sane: ...Looks like he's fine

Takezou: Yeah.

Page 33

Sign: Judges room

Page 34

Contest official: The total scores from all the judges have been calculated!!

Contest official: Here they are.

Judge Tatsumi: !!

Page 35

Contest Official: …… Please discuss the final ranking based on the total score you see there

Page 36

Judge Tatsumi: Haha... Sigh... This has...

Judge Tatsumi: Turned out to be quite a bit of a situation.

Side text: A storm brews behind the announcement...

---Kono Oto Tomare will continue in the next issue!---

[lightlycareless]

warnings: another domestic fluff piece. u.u does it reflect my solace? lmao. you're pregnant and happy but insecure and naoya tries his best but maybe that's not enough? we'll see.

Once Naoya miraculously manages to get some time off from his work, he doesn’t hesitate to spend it with you—his 8-month pregnant wife.

He promised to do so, after all. Wanting to complete all pending preparations for the arrival of his baby, as well as make up for the lost time he should’ve been spending with you instead of his boring, dull job. Sure, they pay the bill and he enjoys it…

But he’d rather be with you and his unborn child! A much pleasant company.

And of course, you’re ecstatic to have your husband all for yourself for the following weeks (hopefully months). There was so much you wanted to do, so much to talk about. Now that he’s here, the sky’s the limit!

However, just because you had an endless check list to go through, and his disposition to please you in every way possible, didn’t mean he’d actually let you do whatever you wanted.

Simply because…

“—You can’t do that. Do I have to remind you you’re pregnant?”

You frown.

“I’m pregnant, not useless.” You respond. “Other mothers do it, why can’t I?”

“Because it’s toxic, for you and the baby. As a matter of fact, you should be stressing even less now that you’re just a few weeks away from giving birth.”

“I doubt painting a nursery will do much damage!” you respond, looking away with a pout. “It’s not fair, I’ve been waiting for you to do this together and now you’re saying I can’t?!”

“Yes, because I didn’t see the contents of the painting beforehand; either way we can just hire someone to do it, and move on—”

But you don’t want that. It was never in your vision to have some random person come into your home to paint your baby’s room.

It was something meant for the parents to complete. A symbolic way of pouring out their endless love for their upcoming bundle of joy; through small affirmations scattered across the walls, decorated with cute animals that would comfort her or him through the stillness of the night, just enough before they’re scooped up into their parents’ warmth.

Things that no stranger will be able to achieve, no matter how determined their good intentions are…

Which is why you’re disappointed to see that Naoya didn’t understand such details; that much was clear when you simply turned around and walked away.

“Hey, wait, Y/N—!” Naoya gasps, attempting to take ahold of you; but even in your fragile state, you prove much quicker. Not for much when he eventually corners you just around the corner. “Seriously? Are you really planning to ignore me for the rest of the day now that I finally got time to spend with you??”

“…Maybe.” You say, barely managing to control the embarrassment his words provided you. Quite unfair, isn’t it? Not as much as his unreasonable solution. “What does it matter anyway…”

“A lot. It matters a lot to me!” He insists. “I don’t see any reason to get all heated about a simple mural, our child won’t even acknowledge it!”

Call it a consequence of your always fluctuating hormones, or maybe your discontent at his response of what you thought highly important in this part of both your lives, and your unborn child’s… alongside a secret burden you’ve been carrying along for quite a while now…

You can’t help but weep.

And weep, and weep—letting out everything that you’ve been unconsciously bottling up these past few weeks; things that you furtively hoped would disappear now that Naoya was around.

But it only seemed to worsen, as if his presence was silently judging you for being a failure of a mother. A failure of a wife. If you can’t complete such feeble thing, what hope is there for you to raise a child? His successor, ultimately?

Was all this a mistake?

Your reaction is not one that Naoya allows to continue much longer.

“Wa—wait, Y/N—! What—What’s wrong?!” He gasps, attempting to get a better look of your face (though it greatly hurt him to do so) and discern if you were in pain and proceed accordingly. “Y/N… why are you crying? Do I need to call the doctor??”

“What? No!”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I—I don’t know—because I’m—I’m—angry!” you reply, but after all these years together, Naoya knows well it’s more than that. Far more.

“With me?” He murmurs.

…

“No, with myself.”

“Why? Why would you ever feel that way about yourself?” Naoya frets. “You’re—”

Perfect.

“No, I’m not. I’m a failure.”

“Huh?? What?????” It’s utter nonsense for you to exclaim such things when you’ve been nothing but attentive, dedicated, and selfless at everything relating to the baby and him—Naoya has even felt undeserving of it! Did you forget how much of a prick he was at the beginning of this relationship? And yet, you stayed! Changed him for the better!

If anything, this label was far more fitting on him thanks to his stupidly prolonged absence.

…Not you, whom he knew would be perfect as a mother already.

No one is more deserving of all the happiness in the world than you, it’s simply a miracle that he was able to share these blessings with you.

“What are you even talking about…?” Naoya murmurs, his voice denoting pain. Can he even offer you reassurance at this point?

“I just—I just feel like… I’m—I’m supposed to do certain things, right? Now that we’re going to be parents—there’s… there’s expectations I have to fulfill! But I can’t even paint a goddamn nursery, what makes me think I can be a good mother?!”

“If those are the metrics for comparison, I am delighted to say you’ve passed with flying colors.” Naoya says, hoping to lighten part of the weight on your heart… to no avail. “…A nursery shouldn’t be something to stress about, my love. We can always hire someone to—”

“It’s supposed to be us! Don’t you get it?!” you cry. “We have to be there for our baby, because no one else will if we don’t!”

Naoya already knew that. From the moment he got with you, to when he finally began to daydream about the family he’d like to have with you, simply an extension of his unconditional devotion towards you.

And yet, as obvious as they were… when you pronounced these facts, it’s as if he heard them for the first time.

Or perhaps truly understood the depths of his new responsibilities. Just how much both your and his life were to change the moment his baby is born.

Most of his life, he always depended on others to do the things he didn’t want to, or didn’t know how to. It was just as easy as flaunting his name, and whatever perturbed him was no longer an issue.

And it seemed to work with you too, though you weren’t too optimistic about it in the beginning, even tried reasoning with him, explain that it was a bit too dramatic.

But Naoya simply didn’t want you to struggle, if you were to be his woman, then you couldn’t entertain such trivialities when you could be focusing on him (or so he tries to justify, he simply enjoys spoiling you). So, eventually, you agreed.

But when it comes to his child, it’s a whole different world. One that still as him giving her all that she wants… while getting recognition for it.

To be admired by his starry-eyed baby, known in her mind as the greatest papa ever.

Not an ounce of her attention would be relayed to others, outside of you, of course. Naturally. Why did he even consider bringing in a stranger to finish something so significative to the three?

Only you and Naoya know just how long both have been waiting to finally have her in your arms. To see if they’d look like him, you… or even a combination of the two. Though he hoped she’d take after you.

Much was expected from someone as devoted, and possessive protective like Naoya, it’s only a shame it took your tears for him to realize.

“You’ve been undeservingly patient with me, my love.” He says, slowly wiping away the tears sliding down your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to appear insensitive to your… our concerns.”

You don’t respond, unable to go beyond a few sobs and whimpers, still trying to process your emotions. Not that you needed to say much, Naoya already got your message loud and clear.

“I… I guess it’s time I put my other talents to use.” He adds, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I’ve done anything, but I’d like to think I still know how to hold a pencil. Or a brush for that matter.”

“…But what—what about…? You said—” you breathe.

“This is the reason why I got time off, princess. To be with you, and our baby. If not, why did I even bother?” He reassures, gently placing his hand over your stomach. His little princess must be asleep, for she always responds to his touch with a kick. “I’ve done worse, after all. Surely a few drawings on a bunch of walls can’t be too intimidating.”

You let out a breathy chuckle in between sniffles, before moping once again.

“But I won’t be able to do much…”

“You’re right. You’d be crazy to think I’d let you anywhere near toxic paint. But, you can still help me sketch… or at least decide what’s going on the nursery, I don’t know much about what kids like these days.”

“A Gengar would be nice.” You murmur. “It’d be a way to pass on my legacy!”

“I’ve never judged your tastes, because clearly I’m one of them.” He smirks, you roll your eyes. “But don’t you think that might be a bit… much for our child? Scary, I mean?”

“…I guess so.” You frown, going back into deep thought. “Something generic might do it, then. Like Snoopy! Everyone likes Snoopy, right?”

“Perhaps. What’s that other one? That really popular cat we’ve seen everywhere it’s almost nauseating?”

“Oh, Hello Kitty?” Naoya nods. “That one’s cute too! Waybe we can go with My Melody instead? Or Pochacco! We still don’t know if they’re going to be a boy or a girl, but I doubt it’d matter much early on.”

“Let’s just start with that one for now. When our baby grows and her preferences become more sophisticated, we can adapt. Naturally my daughter won’t settle for anything less than what she deserves.”

“There you go again, how can you be so sure our baby is going to be a girl?” you frown.

“Must be something to do with my impressive lineage.” He shrugs.

“You better not be cheating!”

“Me? Cheating? Impossible.” He laughs, you playfully smack his shoulder.

“…I wonder what character’s our baby will end up liking. Will they like anime like you? Or maybe even videogames, like me!” you swoon, eager to have your child in your arms already. There’s so much you wished to share with them… can’t they hurry?

“Could be both. Or none.” Naoya responds. “Not that it’d matter much, I’ll spoiler her anyways.”

“Even if it’s Hello Kitty? The character you’re sick of seeing everywhere?” you tease, he chuckles.el

“As if that were to happen. I told you, our child will grow to have sophisticated tastes like us.”

“We ought to make a bet.” You say. “If I’m right… you’ll buy me all the sushi I’ve been craving these past few months! No matter where or when, you’ll comply!”

“Alright, and what if I win?” Your husband smirks. “What do I get?”

You blush.

“Seems more like another reward for you, but it’s still an arrangement I can get behind.” He accepts. “Not that I needed much convincing, I know what’s going to happen anyways.”

“Yeah right, what now? You can see the future?” you jest.

Obviously not. But even if he could, it wouldn’t mean much with the lesson he’s learned that day; the importance of doing things yourself. That a simple act made through one’s hands could be far more valuable than the most expensive things in the world.

The importance it’ll have when his child eventually comes along and realizes all that their parents have done for them, simply because they’re so loved.

…

…

…

And of course, to not make bets on future variables less he wishes to be reminded of such mistake every time he ends up seeing that damned character popping up in her daughter’s newest belongings.

… Not that he ever genuinely disliked such famed white cat. How could he? For whenever he sees it, it only reminds him of the little bundle of joy he has waiting at home.

you and naoya were like: ah well, we can always change the nursery later on, right? it's not like naomi is going to obsess about hello kitty.

right????

also for the first time in his life naoya wanted to learn how to do things instead of having someone else do it for him because he wants his baby to admire him is so aghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! now, don't get me wrong, he still skips certain things but he's trying TT_TT fatherhood scared him until naomi came along 🥺

[karmicbias]

Look. There's a universe where this is how it goes...

---

With the help of the Siblings back at the Ministry and some overnight shipping on the company credit card, the ghouls work together to set up a summoning rig for V to find his new ghoul.

Fortunately the more experienced ghouls have seen enough of these at this point they don't need Copia's help in requesting the components they need and laying out the ritual. Which is good, because he has very little inclination right now to give his brother help hurting more ghouls, which is how he sees it.

They get everything planned for the next time they don't have a show two days in a row, in an abandoned Ministry chapel on some back road no one even remembers. Whoever answers the call - if they answer - won't be able to get on stage immediately so the sooner their training, however unorthodox, can begin, the better.

Dew's served three different Papas, has seen the majority of his pack as they arrived Up Top, so despite his bum leg, he insists on helping V be the conduit. It will help if the new multi has some fire, and like calls to like. He'd prefer having Phantom too, but the little quint can barely be persuaded to join the circle, and stands quietly, slumped against Rain's shoulder on the outside edges, Aurora tucked under Phantom's other arm.

V surprises them with his comfort in this process - while he's summoned one ghoulette already, these are not exactly the controlled circumstances and studied preparations that accompanied her arrival once Cumulus' vessel made it clear that another tour wasn't in the cards.

But what V lacks in experience he makes up in his absolute confidence in these ghouls and their love for the pack. He doesn't admit it but when the wind picks up and the ritual candles flare, Dew is doing a lot of the heavy lifting, magically speaking, tapped into the consciousness of the pack and pulling on their collective strength and bond to help find the best ghoul for a very specific job. V simply opens the gate, begins the chanting, and voices their request.

Which is, perhaps, why, when a plume of flame roars through the portal, it's mixed with a darker cloud of something that smells more like ozone than brimstone. A hunched figure coalesces, lights and flame dancing through that darkened form, slowly fading as the body gains mass and bulk.

Mountain and Rain scent the change in the air first, eyes wide as they glance at each other, then to Phantom, and finally Dew, whose eyes are screwed shut, tears streaming down his cheeks. With a gasp more felt than breathed, the summoning gate snaps shut and Mountain steps up behind Dew, grasping his shoulders and giving them a little shake. Cirrus steps forward, teary eyed, holding out a robe to the bulky ghoul rising from the middle of the summoning circle, taking in the surroundings.

"Well, I certainly wasn't expecting to see you lot again any time this millennium... Though I don't know you at all, which we'll need to have a talk about." Under the ghoul's regard, V catches a gleam in his tight smile.

The voice isn't quite right. Scorched, smoky. But unmistakably melodic and playful. The horns, too, are slightly wrong, darker, no longer containing galactic swirls. Now they are shiny obsidian, with an iridescent sheen, but still curved, still adorned with silver rings - just like his ears and nose. Aether's eyes are the most obvious change, now a molten copper as he accepts the robe from Cirrus, wrapping his arms around her for just a moment, breathing her in. Then he rounds on the rest of the group, arms out to receive an unsteady Dewdrop from Mountain's steady grasp.

"Oh, my firefly. Let me help you with that foot. I think this new vessel can still do some of my old tricks..."

swiss leaving is fucking terrible for the ecosystem do you realize we only have a bunch of twinks left

[humming-fly]

Theatre Kid (Derogatory)

[mizzyislost]

there's someone in my head, but it's not me

[lightsiided]

     a frown furrows her brow. what plays on the screen khione has passed to her is not what she'd expected. rey is surprised to see what unfolds. complicated doesn't seem like the right word for it. it always surprises her to see how CRUEL some people can be towards their families. she hasn't known that particular pain, but she has seen it in her friends. she's not sure she believes it no longer bothers khione. how could it not? feelings like these leave their mark. they return when you least expect them.

she hands the phone back with a look of disapproval. "i'm sorry this happened to you," rey says seriously. "she was very unkind." she grasps khione's free hand and squeezes it tightly in hers. "your strength is admirable, but i hope you know you deserve your moments of SOFTNESS, too. you don't have to pretend this doesn't bother you if it does."

they were meant to meet, she supposes. she and thor can give khione the warmth she deserves, the experiences she yearns for. in this moment, rey sees herself in khione -- she once felt that same ACHE. and she knows she can be proof that conditions always improve with time. "thor and i will be very happy to speak with you whenever you like," she promises. "it might be easier if i give you a communicator compatible with mine. they're easy to use. you just press a button, and we'll be able to see each other through the hyperwave. very convenient." surely she has an extra laying around somewhere, though they have given many to their allies.

clearing her throat, rey now nudges her shoulder playfully against khione's. "go on, search for the photos. they'll make you LAUGH, i think. everyone had a bit to drink -- and the earth people waited outside all night to see our friends leave in the morning." it was a spectacular night, a celebration that lasted longer than each of their previous weddings. thor's friends had been so happy for him -- for both of them. and how nice it had been, to celebrate something wonderful after tragedy upon tragedy.

"will you do all those traditions yourself if you get married?" she asks curiously. "how long will it last? it sounds very intricate -- and beautiful." it's a nice way to think about the PARTNERSHIP a wedding forges: someone to journey through life with.

"yeah, i can imagine." and that's only, you know, the western variant, the off-planet ones notwithstanding. "there are so many wedding traditions across the board. eastern weddings - south asian weddings, specifically - are lavish and large; grand affairs that last, well, long. there are several ceremonies that would take too long to explain without visuals to make things clear but one of the things that the bride and groom, or the grooms or the brides, do is walk around a pit of fire seven times, which symbolizes the couple's journey through life together, representing their mutual support, understanding, and commitment to each other."

"yes, please and thank you," kie nods, "uncle thor says he doesn't have a phone, either. i figured i'd get him one, and you, too, but i don't know how that would work, considering you're both off-planet. so yeah, inundate me with communicator knowledge, please."

a nod and then: "they can be, and often are. and it used to bother me, certainly. when i was younger. but now it's just---" she shrugs, slender shoulders rising and falling. "---it is what it is, it's a fact of life, like the grass is green and the sky is blue." for a moment, the younger of the two is quiet. then she says: "at this point, i'm way past feeling uncomfortable. besides, i trust you, aunt rey."

“---i would say that there are a few stages of knowing me: the first is disbelief. then, inquisitiveness. then come the actual questions, ‘is it really true, does she really do all of those things?’ and at the end of it all, people do tend to fall in love with me; i mean, what can i say? i know how to get beneath their skin. i think it’s something my daughter has inherited from me. she’s got that same dynamic quality. draws eyes wherever she goes. it’s both a blessing and a curse to be seen.”

on screen, saraswati goossens looks every bit the statuesque supermodel she is. or, rather, was, before she transitioned into becoming this tv personality. she’s always reinventing herself. always.

“then again,” saraswati continues, “i can say that for many aspects of motherhood.” a wry chuckle escapes her lips. “you guys don’t even want to know how much trouble khione gave me during my pregnancy.”

“i said i was sorry about that, wasn’t i?” a younger khione, wearing bangles around her wrists and a bindi on her forehead, makes herself known. perches precariously on the armrest of the chair. somehow, she doesn’t fall off. her mother doesn’t react. instead, saraswati asks: “how’d power placement go?”

“made it snow. made it in. wasn’t that hard. honestly, i’m just glad coach b didn’t drop a car on my head. especially after i told him that you weren’t interested in him. could do without the goras deliberately misunderstanding our culture, however, but that’s nothing new.”

saraswati rolls her eyes. mutters something unflattering and unkind about tommy boomowski beneath her breath in hindi. Then she schools her features into something akin to interest. “barron’s kid started today, too, didn’t he?”

before khione can answer, though, her mother’s eyes narrow.

“eyes,” saraswati says firmly and khione blinks rapidly until her irises go from blazing white to their regular brown again. she flushes, casts her eyes to the floor and mutters a quiet: “sorry.”

saraswati sucks her teeth and leans towards her daughter under the guise of tucking a few tresses of hair behind her ear. “honestly, did your father and i not teach you anything?!”

“i’m sorry!” khione winces visibly as her head snaps up towards her mother, like she’s a puppet on a string. quietly, she adds: “i have to keep it contained, i know, otherwise I’ll end up hurting people again like i hurt you!”

saraswati interjects, smiles, placating, at the camera. “---didn’t i tell you? she’s very... warm-hearted for a cryokinetic.” she inclines her head, then. “go, you’ve got an extra practice lesson for your first ever showcase, don’t you?”

“i, um… yes, mother.”

“my husband, evander, and i are very proud of her, of course---”

"three seasons, eight episodes each." kie shrugs. "and what you just saw was only a snippet from the first episode." a beat and then: "this was my life before aisling."

[bacchuschucklefuck]

it just idea .......