#genuinely curious like maybe seek some help from a professional

[god-u]

i feel like it’s kind of ridiculous to like awful characters and get upset when ppl bring up that they are indeed awful.. it really has nothing to do with you personally even though it is questionable when the characters are downright sinister and immoral like idk maybe don’t be surprised if you say your favorite character is someone known to have assaulted women and people look at you crazy ☠️

#this isn’t about derek cause he clearly knows ppl will question him for it #but some of y’all will swear anyone who thinks critically about the media they consume has some vendetta against you #truly have your awful taste in characters if you want but don’t pretend being prosh*p and pro-bigoted characters isn’t insane #what the hell are you proud for?? #genuinely curious like maybe seek some help from a professional #x #had to mute one of my posts on twt cause i don’t even wanna know what ppl have to say once the excusers come out #exactly why i didnt post the actual clip

[xdogteeth]

Binged all of The Boys episodes and the more I watched, the bigger the snowball became when Homelander was on screen. There are a lot of thoughts for him particular (plus his actor, Antony) and I don’t even know where to begin. Homelander is so messed up in more ways than one but I have stressed over and over it’s what makes him a good villain. There is nothing good about him, there is nothing you should be defending him over. He’s a legitimately a character you should never defend and baby over. Every little thing Homelander has done is downright cruel and unforgivable. I could analyze him every single day and not be tired of it because he’s truthfully interesting.

You watch Homelander charge into the same brick wall over and over again in the 3 seasons that’s aired and he finally breaks through it in the last episode in season 3. You continuously see him with his pants on fire, not thinking clear due to being traumatized and not having anyone guide him into a right path even now that he’s older. I genuinely hated seeing him literally long for Madelyn’s attention and love, being so touch starved it was pathetic in its own way. Watching her use him without him even noticing in the slightest, believing this was how everyone was treated with love. Homelander was Madelyn’s Golden Boy of the 7 and nothing more. I think she cared a TEENY bit for him out of pity but I don’t think there was nothing else there. If he wasn’t throwing a tantrum and causing hell rise in the city, he was out of her hair for the week. When he was seeking attention like a small boy, she’d reach her hand out to ease those feelings for a little by giving false hope and lies to make him shut up for the mean time. It just hurt a lot to watch Homelander be treated like that.

Which brings me to the company in general. They all treated Homelander like some type of special gift to humanity, feeding his narcissism and ego which truthfully led him into what he became. You could not tell me they didn’t know what they were doing with the child when he was growing up, grooming him and making him into a perfect little golden child. Homelander was America’s Sweetheart, never able to hurt a butterfly or animal. He wasn’t supposed to act out, being fed into fears of being punished. Honestly, with these moments you find out in the show, I couldn’t help but slowly understand why Homelander was turning into a monster in real time; showing his feeelings he’s had to cover for years on end, showing his touch starved self because he couldn’t hold it anymore. Homelander needed to express these feelings and thoughts from years of torture and grooming so can you really blame him for finally lashing out and becoming insane?

Though, I don’t condone in his actions at all. If Vought truly knew that their sweet little Golden Boy was a ticking time bomb, why didn’t they feed him a therapist and a psychiatrist? You could pull out: “He’d give out too much information” and that’s a reasonable thought. Yet, you know that the Vought had their “people” and they could’ve easily hired one of those professionals with a gun to their head to let Homelander vent. I’m so curious of what he would’ve turned out to be if they just… Thought with their brains instead of their dicks for him. Maybe, the company wouldn’t have crumbled the way it did if they just thought. I guess, truthfully, it wouldn’t be a good show if Homelander got the treatment he desperately needed.

There’s so much I could analyze and ramble about but I think I’ll hold onto those thoughts for another time. I really love Homelander, his characteristics are eye catching. Morbid, but I find it beautiful of how he reacts and thinks. I like his train of thoughts, learning that the simplest of words could trigger him into a melt down and kill everyone in the room. The way his inner child bursts through when he doesn’t earn what he wants, stomping his foot and physically pouting in front of his team when he doesn’t like. something. Homelander, to me, is just a scared parentless child who’s afraid in this dark room they threw him in. Sure, he’s like, 41 years old or something and looks like a grown man but in reality Homelander is a child controlling the mind of a man. I think he starts actually maturing when Stormfront appears in his life because she knew how to speak to him unlike the others. Even if his childish acts appear across his face when he doesn’t get his way every so often.

I stand by these words when I say: I don’t want Homelander fixed. He is not a fixable character, he shouldn’t be a fixable character. I’m kinda antsy for the last 2 seasons for his development in the show because I don’t want him to be forgiven of his crimes. Not every character should be “fixed” and “forgiven” because some deserve an awful death/life for what they did. I hate when people do that to the bad characters because “everyone deserves redemption”. Homelander had his chances and blew it not even once but multiple times so no, don’t fix it. It’d be a good story to see him crash and burn head first, losing all of his humanity for good and possibly, just possibly, killing Ryan and himself out of pure andrenline. Watching him stand there in the burning fire, not wanting to handle it would be just fine with me. I don’t have a problem of killing off Homelander though, some people would disagree about that. I don’t understand why you’d get your panties in a twist over that theory? Why not have a spicy ending for a man like him, watching him lose it once and for all while sobbing over it before just… Ending it with Ryan. You get to watch a legit Madman become too much and fall just like that.

Homelander to me is like a Rubik’s cube. I can twist and turn all of these pieces of him, analyzing him from the front to back, side to side, and not get tired of it. I’d like to finish the puzzle though, lmfao, but it has been a long time since I’ve fallen for a character- let alone, villain- like him. Something that’s actually written correctly and intersting to indulge into. It’s why I enjoy talking about him because there are so many hit points Homelander has that I can’t stop pointing out.

Anyways, I wanted to talk about Antony Starr acting as him. Maybe I am a teeny bit bias for it but I don’t think they couldn’t have found anyone better. Antony really shows the emotions in his voice and facial expressions - a lot of actors don’t grasp. I love seeing him enjoy being Homelander, taking his role seriously (on and off set LMFAO) and making Homelander real to everyone. He shows Homelander's emotions in ways I can't describe but I think it's so amazing he's able to get the viewer to cry along.

If you watch closely, you notice ticks Antony has when he's in character. I notice he stutters when he's mad, which I'm not sure if that's just supposed to be Homelander in the script but I don't think it is truthfully. It's endearing, seeing Antony make Homelander be vulnerable in those moments, or when he's switching personalities on the fly. The scene in season 2 where he's in the forest, trying to cry before laughing from insanity trickling in really sold and captivated me. Antony in general is an amazing actor, I honestly understand why people praises his work all the time.

In awe over Antony in general, not sure how someone can look so intimidating by snarling their teeth before smiling sweetly with their canines showing. It takes real hard work to switch on the fly like that especially for a character like Homelander. I hope to see more of his work one day and I'd like to see Antony expand his horizons in acting instead of always staying with the villains.

Back on Homelander now.

The scene in one of the episodes in s3, where Homelander is fighting with himself in the mirror. It kind of lives inside my head, seeing his mentally unwell side take over his humanity thoughts. The way it barks at him, crushing his inner child when Homelander replies: "I just wanted them... To love me." with tears in his eyes before it started harping at him. Once again asking to the sky, why no one tried to help him out. If you truly examined Homelander in Vought, you could easily tell there was something unwell with him. I guess people are blinded by money.

All Homelander yearned and ached for was genuine love and attention. The crowds feeding his egos will never sew up the holes in his heart, it will never be a true Mother and Father love like he assumes. No one, not even Madelyn and Stormfront, could've sewn up that ache in his chest. He wanted to believe it did in those moments, thinking it was curing him when it wasn't at the all. It never will.

It brings me to Ryan. What Homelander did to Becca was horrible and I really despise the fact he did it. Forcing a woman to hide with his son that he didn't care about first, believing it was already a mini soldier when he met it was just so... I suppose he had to learn in the wrong way since no one has showed him attention like that. Ryan to Homelander was just a void to fill in, believing if he forces himself onto Ryan and live carelessly through the child, he would fix his own traumatic past.

What he did was wrong in every way, making me grit my teeth because if he just listened to Becca, maybe things could've been a little different. Homelander has a very strong stubborn streak inside of him, hating being tied down and being told what to do so Becca trying to tell him to NOT take Ryan away, it gave Homelander flashbacks of being told what to do.

Simple terms: Homelander's inner child threw a tantrum and ignored what the person was trying to make him understand.

I don't doubt Homelander loves Ryan, especially in s3 he shows it more. I don't agree what he was doing to Ryan in s2, feeding lies into the child's mind with Stormfront's help and making it worse. I think, when Homelander lays his eyes on his son, he only sees himself and it scares him. He never wanted Ryan to be a captive, living under a rock with no outside world like he did when he was younger but it's kind of hard to break a cycle.

Especially when you're also off the deep end, your brain barely registering what's good and what's evil. Homelander wants to protect Ryan but again... He's doing it in the wrong way. I roll my eyes at his antics but I also remember: Homelander never had parents so how does he genuinely know what he's doing to the kid? For all we know in Homelander's mind, it's sunshine and rainbows to Ryan and the kid itself won't know anything different now. (Especially with the nonstop of Grace and Butcher hounding him before Homelander took him back)

I could rant more and let my thoughts scatter across the floor like marbles but I think I'll stop here. My brain is fried entirely and I just really, really love Homelander and Antony. I'm not looking for fights and "YEA BUT-" because bitch it is a fictional [mentally ill] man and a irl man who's living inside my head rent free. I just wanted to express thoughts I've held in for 2 weeks of watching the show and I'm letting them be free. I wish I could be free from this torment.

#.exe #the boys tv #homelander #idek if this makes any sense because i'm not lying when i say my brain is shutting down #if it's scrambled and not making sense..... that's between me and god

[cnco4ever]

Teachers assistant (part 2)

Christopher Velez.

Warnings: none in this chapter.

Suggestions are always welcome.

Thank you for reading 🙏🏼

_____________________________________________

That went well. The students clearly like Mr. Velez and pays attention to his words. Especially the girls. They were practically swooning. I think i'll learn alot from him. I would want my students to listen to me, seek guidance and learn from my tutoring as well. I'll do my absolute best to become the teacher that i so desperately needed myself while growing up. I've decided that i'd like to finish my classes and actually become a licensed teacher instead of just an assistant.

I could even ask Mr. Velez for help. I'll ask him tomorrow before our next zoom class, when he calls. I would be grateful if he would go over my materials, my old papers, the litterature i've chosen to cover and just point me in the right direction. Hopefully with the right attitude, i could learn alot from his teaching techniques.

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

He's calling in a few minutes. I get butterflies just thinking about having his big eyes focusing on me. I put in a little more effort to my looks this morning. It's so unprofessional to act like that, i know, but i would like if he thought good about me. Maybe even be a little smitten by me, cause i'm already a little smitten by him. God it's embarrassing. Get a freaking grip.

BUZZ BUZZ

It's him! "Mr. Velez, good to see you again" i say when i pick up his call. Hopefully he doesn't see straight through my big, fake smile while i try to look professional and not look like a little girl with a silly crush. He laughs "you too Miss. Knight". His smile is so big, that his eyes wrinkles in the corner. He really is handsome. "No cap today?" I ask with a more natural smile. I'm completely at ease with him. "No, not today, but i can put one on if you like?" he has some mischief in his eyes. I can feel the heat rise to me cheeks instantly as i drop my eyes down to the ground. "You decide" i say softly as i look back up at the phone. I take a deep breath and jump right into the unknown, "I would actually like to ask you something, if you're not bussy, Mr. Velez?". His eyes light up in a curious manner, eyebrows raising, urging me to go on. "I've decided to go back to school half time to finish my studies and become a fully educated teacher, but i would like to have you go through some of my materials before i apply again, if you wouldn't mind?" I looks at him waiting. Trying to put on my most professional yet welcoming expression. He looks at me for a few seconds, clearly thinking it over, before breaking into a smile. "Who could say no to you? Of course. I would love to read some of your material. How much time do you have left of your studies?". I exhale the breath i didn't know that i was holding. "i have like a year left, but it's also the most challenging part" i say. I can't stop smiling big. What a relief!

I can see him clicking around his phone. Different color lights shine on his face. "You know what, how about we get together on sunday and i can go over the things that you want me to?" He asks while returning his focus to me on the screen. "Yeah, i would like that very much. Thank you". I wouldn't miss it for the world, but the nerves can't be ignored. "Great" he says. "We'll meet at campus ground then around noon? The benching area". I nod eagerly with the biggest smile ever. "I look forward to seeing you. Lets get this class started then" he says and opens the zoom room for the students.

Two days until our meeting. I need to find all of my papers and go over them before handing them to him. I want him to see me as organised and in control as possible. I need to give him a good impression of me, cause i'm already so impressed of him. He is so well spoken, well prepared and genuinely cares for his subjects. Men that knows what they're doing, affects me instantly, but right now, i'll listen to his smooth voice greeting the students.

#cnco #cnco fanfic #christopher velez #christopher velez fanfic #cncofanfiction

[jostepherjoestar]

Hii! Lá squadra with a maladaptive daydreamer teammate? Always pacing and always daydreaming ab smth. Talking to themselves and stuff. (sorlato included) thank u so so much ❤️

La Squadra and their maladaptive daydreamer teammate HC’s

Oh this was very interesting to think about, and to be honest a challenge to La Squadra’s capabilities of understanding others and their ways of being. Enjoy 💖✨(i’ve put this in a more positive? situation since it’s an actual disorder and i’m not sure anon meant it in that sense, not all daydreams can be good ones though. Take care my friends ☺️)

CW: maladaptive daydreaming that impacts daily and work life

also sorry if there’s mistakes, i barely edited, this was written before my mental auwchie that i’m working through rn!

Risotto

Risotto is one of the more understanding members of your team. He’s always observing and noticing the smallest changes in behaviour. Yours and that of your colleagues. From the very first day you became part of his team he’s noticed you stare off or just cease to listen to whatever was going on around you. Lost in your own little world, not even realising the deeps sighs you let out every once in a while, mind a million miles away. Sometimes he even hears you quietly talk to yourself, hardly making out what it is you’re saying, but when he hears your laugh- that genuine one reserved for the things you truly enjoyed- he’s assured that you’re not struggling at the moment. It’s only during important meetings that he’ll gently ask you to focus and be present. If it becomes a frequent hinderance and it starts to affect your work he’ll let you know privately, knowing you well enough by now that calling you out in front of the rest would be rude.

Formaggio

He finds it rather odd, questioning if you’re not just ignoring others while you live the daydreams that are far more entertaining and sometimes even exciting than whatever is going on in reality. Formaggio won’t beat around the bush, asking you bluntly if you get bored of him. It’s only when you explain yourself that he truly understands it, making him reflect on his own behaviour instead. He does often talk to himself, commenting on his own jokes, the people around him or just a random thoughts that had to make themselves known. When he notices that familiar pacing it makes him so curious to know what you’re thinking about. Often asking you what’s on your mind, even if it doesn’t really interest him, he’ll hear you out until he gets bored. He will, however, yell at you during missions if you happen to get caught up.

Illuso

What on earth could be more important than him? To be so entranced by something else while he’s clearly posing and basking in the beauty of the evening sun, ponytails perfectly parted and cascading down his shoulders, awaiting anyone’s attention. Like a groomed show cat, he’ll get annoyed and just ask for your attention instead. Ugh, why can’t you just realise he needs to be seen and appreciated every once in a while. Snapping you out of whatever daydream that was unfolding, surprised that so much time had already past. The plot was just getting juicy. “Why don’t you just write them down like a normal person?” His insult bringing you to the realisation that it wasn’t even a bad idea. When you thank him, that determined look in your eyes still not paying the man any mind, he sighs in disappointment. But halfway through writing down whatever grasped your attention before, you got even more distracted by a newer and more interesting one, opting to just go back and have a chat with Illuso so he’ll stop bothering you for attention.

Prosciutto

He’s never minded your daydreaming, never too present to witness the more intense bouts that made you pace the floor and clench your fists like today. After many attempts at trying to grasp your attention and failing every time, he just stops you dead in your tracks. The man’s hold perhaps a bit too strong for comfort as he searches your eyes for lucidity. “Calm down, ok! You’re making me nervous.” Prosciutto is a bit of a worrier himself, just not on the outside, gears always turning and analysing his surroundings and the people in it. It only sets hims off to see you pace and mumble. But he understands, extending that kindness he offers to Pesci to you, asking if you need anything to ease you back into reality. He can be softly kind and caring, he needs the rest of team to be in top shape so you’ll all be able to count on each other.

Pesci

Pesci will stare off with you, trying to see what had captured your attention, even getting up to stand behind you to see what was so interesting. It’s only after realising you weren’t paying attention at all that he realises you were lost in a daydream. He’s a bit curious about the whole thing, carefully asking you questions. He won’t completely understand but he tries his best and offers his help. Not really sure what he can do but very adamant on offering it anyway. If it affects you during missions Pesci will be sure to gently snap you out of it.

Melone

The enigmas of the human mind greatly interest Melone, having read more than enough books on the topic during research. Not that much is clear about the treatment of it though, so he’s interested in how you handle it. He’ll be sure to ask a lot of questions, about the topics of them, what could possibly trigger them. If it’s too much or too personal he’ll stop though, however it won’t erase his curiosity. He’ll observe from a distance instead then. After yelling at him that you’re not a human experiment he’ll actually back off and stop. Don’t worry though, if you need actual help after a bad day, the daydreams not really of a positive nature anymore, he’ll try his best to calm you down. If it get’s too bad he’ll urge you to seek help with professionals.

Ghiaccio

Just like with Prosciutto it’ll set him off as well. If you’re pacing and mumbling he’ll stop you as fast as possible, it’s too distracting and it enrages his senses. Even if you’re in your own room, he’ll hear the floorboards creak and storm over. His anger can be clouding, deep down he is truly concerned for you. But it never really comes out that way, he’ll scold you and demand your attention during meetings. When you calmly tell him afterwards that it’s not really helping and his yelling could set you off, he’ll take a DEEP breath to calm himself down. Realising that perhaps his anger isn’t the best option. After the short talk he’ll be a bit more calm and less harsh, holding himself back from lashing out and instead approaching a tinge more restrained.

Sorbet & Gelato

The two like to observe you from the couch, twisted into each other’s hold. Their amusement wears off though, realising that maybe it isn’t as entertaining as they first thought. Gelato will actually try and help you, gently ushering you back to reality, while Sorbet won’t offer any support. The two will mostly worry or reprimand you if starts to affect your work though. They need to be able to count on you and your full attention. After some convincing Sorbet will soften up, if only a little, at Gelato’s request. Instead yelling at you to snap back, he’ll intently poke your arm.

#cozy request #i'm resting DO NOT WORRY #jjba x reader #la squadra headcanons #la squadra x reader #risotto x reader #formaggio x reader #illuso x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #melone x reader #ghiaccio x reader #sorbet and gelato #jjba headcanons #jojo's bizarre adventure

[spewpurr]

Dimentio is no stranger to finding loopholes in the Dark Prognosticus, so when Luigi ends up MIA, he finds another man in green... skin.

@bean-and-jester

This, but like. I imagine they’re slightly more antagonistic towards each other in the beginning. Thorn-in-my-side to lovers, if you will.

Also, a bit of rambling about my spin on it, because I’m interested:

1.) I don’t see Peasley as being, like. Completely blind to the fact that Dimentio is trying to pull SOMETHING, even if he doesn’t know what it is. I mean, this is the same bean that thought of the idea to replace Princess Peach with a transmogrified Birdo— he’s no stranger to deception.

But he’s also, like, A.) a diplomatic and optimistic prince, who wants to give people the benefit of the doubt, and B.) a professional spy who seeks out valuable intel from dangerous situations. So he sees this funky little jester with his Definitely-Not-Shady-at-all prophecy and says:

“You know what? Sure. I’ll allow for the possibility that there’s something genuine here, and tentatively follow along for the time being to see where this leads me. I’ll even do some of the reaching myself, just to be cooperative. Best case scenario, it IS genuine, and I’ve saved all worlds from certain doom. Worst case scenario, it ISN’T genuine, and I’ve successfully invaded their operation to sabotage it from the inside.”

(His pride DOES blind him to the third option, though, which is that it’s NOT genuine, but he completely and utterly fails to actually DO anything about it because he’s overpowered or brainwashed or what-have-you.)

2.) I really don’t think Dimentio would let Peasley close enough to the Dark Prognosticus to read it, ESPECIALLY before he can confirm his loyalty, but like— If Peasley’s purple prose is anything to go by, that bean is a language nerd. And I feel like that’s a significant character trait to establish when we’re exploring his chemistry with Dimentio, who loves loopholes and wordplay (and who strikes me as the academic type, underneath all the exaggerated tomfoolery).

3.) Given that Peasley is still trying to determine Dimentio’s intentions (but suspects that he’s acting in bad faith), he tests the waters by candidly insulting him. (Trying someone’s patience can reveal a lot about their intentions, and how genuinely they’re begging for help.)

4.) I imagine Dimentio would react more cheerfully to being insulted here, to keep up the facade of being a harmless and helpful ally, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to draw him with expressively droopy hat tails. (The idea that his hat tails are emotive like cat ears is very fun to me.)

5.) Consider: two incredibly prideful master manipulators, who are both, independently, trying to manipulate the other. *chef’s kiss*

6.) Once Dimentio gets Peasley to follow him to Castle Bleck, I imagine they’d want to seal the deal by giving him the ol’ razzle dazzle (read: Nastasia’s hypnotizing spell), but it wouldn’t be terribly conducive to a story about how their feelings for each other develop if they don’t have time to establish a connection before one of them has their will totally overwritten. My solution: They TRY to brainwash him, but Beans have, like... reflective cat eyes (or something else to that effect), such that Nastasia can’t just flash Peasley into submission. (...INCREDIBLY poor word choice, I know.)

7.) Beans are plants? And I’m really curious how— or if— that would affect the Floro Sprout’s efficacy, when Dimentio eventually pulls that betrayal out of his sleeve. Maybe being made of plant matter makes it easier for the Floro Sprout to possess him more completely? Or perhaps the opposite— that something made of roots and chlorophyll like the Floro Sprout can’t very easily dig into and possess something else made of roots and chlorophyll, so Peasley is virtually immune to it?

8.) Final point (for now), but like. Beanish culture puts a very heavy emphasis on jokes and laughter and the like, whereas Shaman culture leans more serious, with mounds of academic texts and a heavy emphasis on, like, Divining the Ultimate Fate of All Worlds. So a Bean who is very posh and pedantic and a Shaman who is very irreverent and LITERALLY plays the part of a fool is... inchresting.

#point 7 ALSO applies to my AU where luigi is half-pianta #but that’s a tangent for another post #however #speaking of luigi #I imagine that he absconded to evershade to seek assistance from the professor #because if anyone can help him ward off a dimension-controlling magician #and his motley crew of variously-powered villains #it’s the mad scientist who regularly deals with ghosts #and knows how to operate on the spectral plane #spewpurr posts #spewpurr doodles #tentative smb tag #tentative smb au tag #au: man in green skin #tentative spm tag #tentative dimentio tag #shaman!dimentio #tentative peasley tag #tentative mlss tag #(and not so much on display here but) #(for the sake of completeness) #tentative peamentio tag

[petroltogo]

In the Varia Handler AU, I'm so curious what the Varia's reactions would be to so many different things. What about when they realize Tsuna has genuinely been trying to help them? That he sent them away partly to protect them? That he saved Xanxus? That Tsuna's been told nothing of the situation, and didn't know they were working with Vongola under duress? What about when Lussuria realizes he's been purposefully traumatizing someone that the Varia should actually adopt? I'm dying to know, lol.

Okay, so, as much as I’d love for the ‘verse to do a 180 and for the Varia to suddenly look at Tsuna the way he deserves and wrap him up in bubblewrap, that’s probably not how it would go.

Because the bitter truth is: They appreciate that Tsuna is genuinely trying to help them, but not that much. Because that is Tsuna’s job. 

[Sure, they’ve had handlers before who were a bit too into their power fantasy of having complete control over the Varia, but they don’t suffer fools so those never lasted long. Most of the handlers were actually competent and, more importantly, professional. They might not have liked the Varia -- and those feelings were returned -- but they didn’t go out of their way to make them miserable because overall Vongola is smart enough to know what a valuable resource the Varia are and they want to put them to use.]

And the Varia are professionals, but they also despise Vongola. Tsuna doesn’t make things worse but he can’t make them better either because he’s still a symbol for the leash Vongola has on them and they hate it.

[continues under the cut]

[That Tsuna sent them away while planning Xanxus’ rescue? We all better hope the Varia never learn of it because they would be fucking. pissed. Just. Xanxus is their boss, their leader and they, his strongest, his most trusted, his most loyal, are sent away. For what? Their honor? Their reputation? Their safety? Like they give a single fuck about that when Xanxus’ life is on the line? What if Tsuna had failed? They would’ve never gotten the chance to learn what happened to their boss and probably still take the blame regardless of how airtight their alibis would’ve been and-- Yeah. That would not be a pretty conversation.]

That Tsuna had no clue about the blackmail -- well, it depends when, exactly, they realize it. In all likelihood, they either find it hilarious, use it to their advantage or are supremely unimpressed by this kid because he doesn’t just suck in the field, apparently he can’t even do proper research.

[Never forget: The Varia don’t want to like Tsuna. And they take their work and their skills very seriously.]

Now Tsuna saves Xanxus.

[And if you believe that he simply reveals that to the Varia I have bad news for you, my dear friend, because Tsuna would go on the run from Vongola with a frozen statue without backup before he ever considered clueing the Varia in. Aaand now I think about how hilarious it would be if Tsuna went on the run with Xanxus and the Varia were tasked with hunting him down lmao]

Let’s move fast-forward to the point where the Varia find out. Which is plenty of time after the actual rescuing happened. So of course they’re elated and so damn happy -- right up until it dawns on them how long their stupid handler’s been keeping this shit from them. “Strongly mixed feelings” puts it very well.

Still, they are greatful and they do like Tsuna. The reactions and relationships vary with each member and I imagine that this Tsuna is probably closest to Squalo and Bel. Squalo because Tsuna had to learn to work with him to have functional team and so they already have this professional understanding they can build on. Bel is a very simple person: he either considers you interesting or only worth killing. Once Tsuna makes it into that very small, very exclusive first category, they get on pretty well.

Leviathan is more distant in this. Not unpleasant but here Tsuna isn’t the miracle savior popping up out of nowhere and that makes it harder somehow, makes him more suspicious. [What’s your motive?] 

Viper is watching, more intrigued by Tsuna than they will admit, but here Mukuro is also circling Tsuna like a vicious guarddog and the distance he inforces is very real. Plus he makes for an interesting and distracting opponent, so...

And it’s funny that you mention Lussuria specifically because Lussuria is probably the one who dislikes Tsuna the most. [Lussuria hates traitors more than any of them and just because he can benefit from Tsuna’s actions right now doesn’t mean he can trust them.] Lussuria plays a good game, is very good at faking it, but he’s the most emotionally distant member of the Varia and has no plans to change that any time soon. It’ll take more than a favor he owes Sawada for him to change his opinion on the kid. And even once their relationship improves, he’ll probably never go quite so far as to regret how he’s treated Tsuna.

And all this probably makes it sound worse than it is but you have to understand: This isn’t a ‘verse where the Varia adopt Tsuna, it’s a ‘verse where Tsuna adopts the Varia. He considers them his long before they acknowledge him and it will take more than Xanxus’ return for quite a few of them to really realize it.

[Hell, maybe a few of them don’t want to realize it. When it comes down to it, you can only be loyal to one person, to one cause that you can put above every else. Who says any of them are eager to seek out someone else to tie themselves to? Especially with Tsuna essentially in a position of authority over them, a position only Xanxus is supposed to hold. This Tsuna, after all, is so much more of an active player than his AU counterpart already. So much more of a threat.]

I know we all want to see some of that main fic fluff but here’s the thing, the irony: These Varia already respect Tsuna much more than the Varia in the main fic do at the start if in a different way. The categorize him as a threat and despite his bumbling that wariness never really fades. They might not respect Tsuna as a person, but as a Vongola operative they take him seriously in a way main fic!Varia don’t. They probably will one day soon, but that’s not the point right now.]

#ReRe answers #this could've been a villain's origin story 'verse #AU for this could've been a heroine's greatest regret #Tsuna as the Varia's handler #Tsuna & the Varia #headcanon #KHR #Katekyou Hitman Reborn #Varia #Sawada Tsunayoshi #ReRe writes #Anonymous #lovely people #it was supposed to be fluff but i made it too dark #sorry about that #relationships and feelings are complicated

[agentrouka-blog]

How do you think Jon and Sansa's storyline will play out individually in TWOW ? How do you think their dynamic will be in TWOW ? Will there be sprouting of a forbidden romance utilising the incest angst trope or will it be completely platonic ? Will Sansa arrive at the Wall when Jon is dead ? 😅 I know I shouldn't have asked so many questions but I am just curious about what your views might be regarding the above . ❤️ your metas btw.

Hello, and thank you!! :)

I think that - given the idea by the other anon that Shireen’s sacrifice will be the weather-changing event that allows Sansa to travel North - Sansa will begin travelling northwards fairly early in the book, after yet unspecified shennanigans in the Vale. The moutain clans are likely to feature in some way and they have seen her in KL and they had good relations with Tyrion and I kind of want them to help her travel. They are literally the mountain clans, who can traverse the Vale in less than ideal conditions if not they? 

Jon... yeah, not certain at all. I imagine a spirit quest involving Ghost warging and possibly contact with Bran, but... who knows? It’s hard to predict. I think he might actually be dismissed from the Watch upon getting better like Selmy, and make his own quasi-political moves in the North with Stannis? I don’ t think they will meet at the Wall, really. I think they will move toward each other and meet on the road. He will be resurrected alone and he will be Very Sad and Grumpy and Sansa will help with that a lot, while he will finally be someone who genuinely cares about her and protects her.

I definitely picture a rescue-in-the-woods situation with Sansa, and Ghost, and I think the way their relationship plays out will be an understated but deeply romantic connection underneath their political cooperation and mutual learning. As in, GRRM will stick to his style and we’ll get maybe a deeply touching line or three, but he won’t suddenly throw around dramatic inner monologues to the tune of Arys Okaheart. But the imagery will be off the charts long before he gets more obvious. 

GRRM didn’t give the story of Aemon and Naerys such prominence to have it not affect how Jon and Sansa perceive their feelings for each other. There’s a path through that mess and it’s “chaste and courtly love”. Lady and Knight. I think they would unspokenly gravitate toward that scenario. Angst, yes, some shame, yes, but also a certain “I know this story” kind of resignation. I don’t see them convulsing in self-hatred so much as in a bittersweet melancholy. 

Alongside that and gaining in prominence: Florian and Jonquil.

They’ll obviously cooperate to retake Winterfell and there will be succession drama. If GRRM is kind, Rickon will be a part of that. They will obviously clash on some fronts, but I think in general we will see them shine together, combining their strengths.  Sansa triumphing in her first chapter when she correctly identifies the three strangers near the queen and impressing everyone present? We’ll see that a lot. Jon getting over his grumpy self and turning a ragtag bunch of misfits into decent fighters for a common cause? We’ll see that a lot.

So, they will both be in Winterfell, in uber-Stark mode, pining, and preparing for how they think they need to face the ice threat. Enter the Dance of Dragons to the South, and the impending arrival of Arya and Bran, and whatever drama the Lannisters might still exact, and whatever happens to Rickon. I think that will be TWOW. Also, the marriage to Tyrion will be a thing. The annullment will, I think, be part of what motivates Jon to seek contact. 

Come ADOS, I do NOT think we’ll see Jon running away from Winterfell or sleeping with Dany specifically to escape the danger of incest. That would be irresponsible (running away), and stupid (she’s a foreign invader, a fellow monarch and super dangerous) and it would demand a narrative punishment far beyond “accidental incest” because it would be a betrayal of Jon’s feelings for Sansa and a callous use of another person, which would specifically also hurt Sansa and would preclude a reward at the end. Whatever Jon does, it will be “professional” and in service of House Stark or Westeros. Jon WILL be rewarded at the end. It’s not the romantics punishing hours, it’s a song. 

I also think that Aegon will have a significant role in Jon’s ADOS arc, be that potential ally or heartbreakingly resentful enemy. They are half-brothers, and Aegon would follow Aemon as an example of a decent Targ. At whichever point RLJ comes into play, Jon will need that example to counter Dany’s, along with Arya pounding a frying pan over his head, screaming “The woman is important, too!” about Lyanna. 

The threat of the Others and its resolution is hard for me to connect to Jon and Sansa since I see it as so deeply connected to Bran, and mostly in the mirror of Lady Stoneheart. I have far too little Norse mythology background to begin parsing that. But I see the ending of Disney’s “Moana” as a good example of what it will be, rather than anything the show did. The contrast to that harmonious ending will be the political fire chaos in the South. 

Or, you know, I may change my opinion again in a week. But this is the general scenario I am working with now. In my head. 

#asoiaf #asoiaf speculation #jonsa #twow #jon snow #sansa stark #aemon and naerys #florian and jonquil #RLJ

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ash I think the drabble we all need but didn’t know we needed is Danny and Nate each telling Dr. Rosa about their first time since Bram. (Pre bad arc)

CW: References to noncon/dubcon, therapeutic discussion of the aftermath of prolonged captivity/conditioning/noncon.

TIMELINE: Approximately two months prior to the beginning of the Bad Arc. 

Tagging the Danny crew because this got long and Danny is a delight dumbass in it: @finder-of-rings, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @whale-whumps, @swordkallya

Tagging the Danny crew: @finder-of-rings, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @whale-whumps, @swordkallya

“Nate, we are at forty-five minutes of our hour,” Dr. Rosa says patiently, leaning over with her arms resting lightly on her open notebook, reading glasses perched at the end of her nose. “There is something you came in here to tell me, and you have spent three-quarters of an hour telling me everything but that thing. What is it?”

Nate shrugs, swallowing hard. She’s right - he really has. He’s talked about Danny’s recent strides forward - but not the one he’s actually here to talk about - like how he walks by himself to the coffeeshop now, ran two miles the other day and came back sweaty and breathing hard but then he ate an entire meal’s worth of food all at once, and it was… it was normal.

He’s talked about his own halting steps - how he has fewer bad days, lately, they’ve finally found the right dosage to mostly even out the swings between feeling okay and feeling unable to move… and he feels more able to push down the inevitable wash of guilt if he sits still for too long. He even told her about how he took Ryan’s car by himself to the grocery store, and bought everything on Danny’s list, and he’s fairly certain no one looked at him twice.

But he hasn’t talked about the thing that he’s been thinking about since, oh, about nine-thirty Wednesday night.

“I, ah…” He swallows again, compulsively, leaning forward himself where he sits on the couch. “I. Um. Wh-what I came to… what I was th-thinking about-… ah.”

His face is burning red, and he tilts his head forward so at least some of his straight black hair can cover it. He rubs at the stubble along his jaw with one hand, closes his eyes, and forces the words out.

“Danny and I, um, h-had… we… sl-slept together. Wednesday n-n-night.”

There’s a pause.

“From your reluctance, may I gather that when you say you slept together, you are not referencing any type of restful unconsciousness?” Dr. Rosa asks, a lilt of teasing in her tone. Only when she jokes does her island accent start to slip back in, a hint of the Caribbean lacing her tongue. 

“Y-Yes I mean. I mean, n-no, I… yes. We, ah-”

“You had sexual intercourse with Daniel.”

“That… that s-s-sounds… so fucking clinical. It wasn’t l-like that.” Careful, and slow - probably the longest amount of foreplay he’d ever done, with constant check-ins and the edge of Danny’s nervousness twining in and around every motion and movement. But Danny had been the one to pull the condom from the side table, and Danny had been the one to hand him the little bottle, and Danny had been the one to say Please, I think I can tonight, I want to. 

Was that taking advantage? Was he taking advantage of how Bram had broken Danny for him? Is that all last night was? It had felt like more, it had felt… so right. 

“I know it wasn’t, Nate, but I am a professional and I don’t usually allow myself the use of, shall we say, colloquial phrasing with my patients. You know…” Dr. Rosa taps her fingers lightly on her notebook and then sits back, smiling. “If you don’t have anything else to do in the next hour, my 11 o’clock canceled and I’d be happy to stay with you and keep discussing this, since we ran so close to the end of our hour before it came up.”

Nate rubs his hand over his eyes. “I d-d-don’t even know if I want to, it just… I just feel like… it s-seems like… I w-worry.”

“Mmmn. What do you worry about?”

“I’m w-w-worried… I’m worried that he’s t-trying to heal faster th-than he really should… for m-me. And that I… t-took advantage of him.”

Dr. Rosa nods, her expression calm and compassionate but a touch solemn. “We’ve hit on this topic before, Nate - your feeling of guilt and responsibility for Daniel and your concern that he is fitting into a mold that your captor made for him rather than his own natural recovery and inclinations. That his role was meant as a kind of companion for you-”

“I mean, that w-w-was one thing,” Nate mutters, without looking up or lowering his hand from his eyes. “

“Was he consenting?”

“I… y-yes, of course.” Danny’s eyes, wide and clear, focused on his. Oh, fuck, please, Nate-… please, n-now, please, in… in me, please-

D-Don’t beg, please, D-Danny, you never have to beg for m-me…

Can I? If, if I want to?

“Was this consent informed and enthusiastic?”

Nate blinks, finally looking back up at her. She smiles at him, relaxing and serene. “Uh… y-yes. Yes. I… I think so, yes. I mean. As s-sure as I can b-be of it… h-he wasn’t… he wasn’t s-s-subtle…”

“What transpired to make you think you were taking advantage of him?” She doesn’t sound judgemental, more… curious. Still compassionate. He’s been coming to see her for most of a year, now, and she probably knows him better than anyone else alive but Danny.

“N-Nothing, I just… how do I know? He… seemed like-… I mean he sounded like he was having… a good time, I just-… How do I kn-know if it’s about me, or if he’s… just r-r-repeating patterns? Doing what I want h-him to do? If he’s doing this because he st-st-still thinks he b-belongs to me, like he did when w-we first came back from C-Canada?”

“Have you asked him?”

“I… don’t w-want to ruin the night for him, if he d-did… but… No. The answer is no. I haven’t asked h-him yet.”

“Perhaps you should try.”

***

Danny has been sitting in the waiting room tapping one foot, slouched in the hard-backed waiting room chair with his legs kicked out in front of him, beat-up old Converse and ancient blue jeans he’d found in a box in his closet, for twenty minutes maybe. The jeans don’t fit anymore unless he belts all the way to the final hole in the belt, but he’s done just that today.

His shoes, his pants, and one of his old band shirts. He feels like himself, as long as he doesn’t look at his scars. He’s brought Dracula with him, dog-eared already and with all the lines he likes best underlined in red ink. He’s rereading the part where Jonathan Harker climbs the castle wall all by himself, thinking about what a brave motherfucker it takes to do something like that, when the receptionist grins at him and tells him Dr. Rosa is ready.

Ryan, sitting next to him, nudges him with one elbow. “Go get ‘em, tiger. I want to flirt with the receptionist.”

“Of course you do.” Danny’s grinning even as he says it. He slaps the book closed, jumps up out of his seat, and heads down the hall with the shy smile already growing on his face. 

“Hello, Mr. Michaelson.” Dr. Rosa greets him at the door and sweeps her arm out. They start every session exactly the same way, comfortable, a routine Danny can trust. “Are we having a Danny day or a Red day?”

“Danny day, one hundred percent,” Danny says brightly, grinning as he drops onto the couch cushion with only the slightest hint of hesitation, only a moment’s glance at the floor where you belong but he didn’t belong there, absolutely not at all. Not after last Wednesday. 

“Wonderful.” Dr. Rosa smiles widely, then - she is as happy for his Danny days as he is. “So, last week we spent quite some time working through some concerns you had-”

“I have something else I want to talk about,” Danny says, pulling his feet up to sit cross-legged on the couch. “Can I, can I talk about something else?” His face begins to burn, a little, and he sees Dr. Rosa note his flush with a twinkle in her eye and an expression of genuine amusement. 

“Absolutely, Danny. You set the pace, in this room. If you need to perhaps have a change of topic, I know that last week went into some difficult spaces for you-”

“No, last week… helped. Last week was good. But, it’s not that-… I want to-… Um.” Danny grins at her, nearly hiding behind his own hands like a child playing hide-and-seek. “I’m going to just say it.”

Dr. Rosa sits calmly in her armchair and opens up her notebook. She seems to be trying, and failing, to hide a smile. “All right then.”

“Um, ah… Nate and I, um, slept together last week.”

Dr. Rosa sits slowly back, but she doesn’t look as surprised as he had expected her to. “We’ve discussed before that you and Mr. Vandrum have been sexually active since three months after your return-”

“Not… not, ugh, I hate that phrase, but… I mean we… we had actual sex. Well, I mean, it’s all sex, I guess. Uh. But I meant the kind I couldn’t… um.” Danny groans. “Please tell me I don’t have to, um, explain the… the logistics of gay guys having-”

“I am a lesbian, Daniel, not ignorant,” Dr. Rosa says with quiet affection, and Danny rewards her with a laugh - bright and sparkling, it’s a hint of the way he used to be. A drop in the nervous hunch of his shoulders. He flashes a wide smile at her, finally dropping his hands.

“Okay, f-fair… fair, um, fair enough. So, so we… so last Wednesday I was… ready. I think our talk on Tuesday really helped me, you know? We, when we talked a little bit about the stuff Abraham would say, afterward, about me, about my, um, my body, I just… I don’t know. It felt… less true, when I left, than it used to feel. And Wednesday night I was, I was brushing my teeth and I thought, um… I thought… I can have sex with Nate and he can’t stop me anymore. And that thought… it felt… it felt really good, Dr. Rosa.”

“You felt fully in control of your choices when it came to your sexual expression,” Dr. Rosa said softly, but she was still smiling. 

“Um… yeah, I just. Yeah.” Danny looks down at his hands, at the scarring tracing up his arms to disappear finally under his T-shirt sleeves. “I don’t… I don’t feel like my body belongs to me, very much. Because it was always his. He used to make me say it, over and over… and last Wednesday, I came out of the bathroom and got into bed with Nate and I just… I just felt like… like my body was mine. One hundred percent totally mine. And I could make my body do whatever I wanted.”

Dr. Rosa nods, waiting. 

There’s a pause before Danny speaks again, smiling shyly down at the floor. “What my body wanted was, um, to… to do that. With him.”

“Have you told him that?” Dr. Rosa asks, quietly, jotting something down on her notebook. Danny can’t quite see what it is, from here.

He frowns. “I… I guess I sort of thought, when I said I wanted to…”

“Communication is an important part of rebuilding relationships after long-term trauma, especially one that so deeply impacted your ability to communicate without feeling constrained and restricted in the first place.” Dr. Rosa was speaking carefully. “I often suggest reliance on a rule of communicating profusely with your partner during a time of rediscovery.”

Danny’s silent for a moment, taking that in, gnawing on his lower lip in thought. He rubs absently at the scar along his jaw, and Dr. Rosa’s eyes move there, but after a moment he drops his hands back into his lap. “So you… think I should tell him, about all the thoughts I had? In the bathroom, before we… um… did that?”

“I am not telling you what to do,” Dr. Rosa reassures him. “Only suggesting that more communication, in instances like this, may be better than leaving anything to inferences and implications.”

Danny nods quickly. “Okay, okay, okay. Um.” He sits slowly back against the couch. Then he grins at her, his face red but his eyes sparkling and bright. “What if I say we did, um, again on Saturday?” He pauses. “And then Monday? I mean, it was him… to me. I c-can’t, still can’t… you know. The other way.”

“Full recovery takes time. I would say I’m very glad that you feel safe, Danny,” Dr. Rosa says, with a soft, warm laugh. “That’s important. And I am delighted that you are taking ownership and agency over your body.”

Danny tilts his head. “Are… are you proud of me?” He asks, shyly. “For, for being able to… to want something, and ask for it, and then just… just, um-… just do what I want?”

She smiles at him, again, and writes another line in the notebook. “Daniel, you’re not here because you want me to be proud of you. That is not the purpose of therapy.”

“No, I know, but I just… I guess… I’m kind of proud of myself? So I wondered if… you know. I should be. I know it’s not… it’s not something to be proud of, normally, but I just…”

She considers, tapping her pen on the page, and then sighs, shaking her head with affectionate good humor. “What matters, Danny, is that you have taken pride in yourself. In something you’ve done. What matters is that you are in a place where you feel proud of yourself.”

He sits back, staring at her, thinking. Then, slowly, Daniel Michaelson’s smile brightens until it nearly fills the room.

“You’re right,” He says, sounding wonder-struck. “You’re right. I’m proud of myself. I wanted something, and I asked for it, and I got it and I had fun. I wasn’t scared. It was my body and it did what I wanted. And… and I’m proud of myself for it.”

“Good.” Dr. Rosa turns to pick up the mug of tea that is steeping on the table next to her armchair, sipping lightly. “Good. Danny, you have every right to take pride in this. I know it was embarrassing to tell me, but I want you to do something for me. Call it therapy homework.”

“Sure. What should I do? Another worksheet?”

“No. I want you to go home, from this appointment-… I assume your brother drove you today?” Danny nods. “Okay. When you go home, today, I want you to sit Nate down, and practice the open communication that we’ve been working on for the past months or so. I want you to tell him what you told me. Assuming you’re comfortable with that.”

“… that we had sex?” Danny blushes. “Uh. He knows.”

“No, Danny.” Dr. Rosa laughs again. “No. I want you to tell him that your body did what you wanted, and that you feel accomplished, in this. That you feel proud.”

She leans over to meet Danny’s eyes. 

“I want you to tell him that it was your body and it did what you wanted.”

“My name is Daniel Michaelson,” Danny murmurs. “And my body belongs to me.”

Dr. Rosa sits back, smiling. 

“Precisely.”

#trauma recovery whump #tw: ptsd #tw: reference to past noncon #the first time since #Daniel michaelson's story #danny you gorgeous dumbass #whump #recovering whumpee #tw: scars #fluff #fluff and angst #angsty fluff but then just fluff #dr. rosa martinez #original fiction #conditioning #brainwashing #recovery

[obiyuki-beebs]

CH 116 thoughts / discussion

mkah spoiler / discussion and no cut.

I’m going back to thinking about the 115 post (reblogged directly below this one or in the obiyuki content page on my blog) I did and how that bottle is just like the one Touka Bergatt told his brothers “wont work on him”. So now we know that this bottle of perfume (and is perfume, not poison as I had previously thought) that is basically hypnotic pheromone juice. Touka apparently cannot be influenced by it. Was that what was used to lure in and kill Touka’s father? I think so.

Remember in the early days (ch. 28) when Mitsuhide smelled that smashed potion and went nuts over Zen for a chapter? 

While it may not be the same potion, it does have similar hypnotic properties. This potion is described by Garack as being associated to what we are thinking of at the time, or more particularly, producing a strong reaction to a deeply held loyalty (a type of love). Mitsuhide is worried about Zen, who he already has a strong relationship with. This potion seems to have enhanced feelings that were already there.

That was the same instance that was used as the final test for Shirayuki’s court herbalist apprenticeship, which she passed. I think that counts as a strong memory that may influence this arc as well if she and Ryuu recall the test in their brainstorming and investigation.

We did not get a name for the plant, and it is simply referred to as the blue flower drug. While I’m not supposing Sorata was planting an easter egg so early, I do think she may be using a similar premise of hypnotic (at the very least).

Back to 116....

You can see in this depiction of Yozumi that his eyes are blank. We get confirmation that he was hypnotized, but I think we should remember this look for future encounters as it provides insight to the effect the perfume has. 

After she hits him to get him away, he looks shaken. Shirayuki sees how strongly his emotion is affected by this. Yozumi is tearing up with obvious pain in his eyes. What happened to his lover? He asks repeatedly for Shirayuki to leave, facing away from her, clearly fighting the hypnotic temptation. Look at his face in the next image. Why is he so distraught? What about his lover and the perfume are so upsetting? This might also provide some insight on why he’s so protective of the perfume bottle. Is it all he has left of his lover? Did she die? Missing? Was he betrayed?

“I took it with me in secret.” 

Did he steal the perfume from her?

Yozumi -- who will not name his lover but we can almost definitely infer is Mm. Liera or in some way connected to her -- reacts to some of the perfume that Shirayuki placed on her collar. This means that the perfume is not the same as the potion described in ch 28, so is it the same plant in a different formulation? Or is it a different plant that also has hypnotic effects?

(as a side note, I wonder how effective washing out the perfume is? Washing off of your skin, sure, fool proof that eventually the substance will be gone. But with fabric? It might be much more difficult to clean. Maybe Shirayuki is using the pepper Ryuu gave her to wash her collar? If there is somehow leftover potion on her clothes, will some unsuspecting gentleman get a whiff of trace potion and be swayed to make a move? I would like to see shirayuki in proximity to obi for this hypothetical... this whole paragraph seems silly now that I’m editing but I’m leaving it). 

“When I was beside him, he seemed like he was in pain.”

Emotional pain? Physical pain?

Yozumi seems to have been ‘addicted’ to his lover by means of this perfume, and describes withdrawal symptoms when he was separated from her for more than a few days. 

Withdrawal -- physical withdrawal -- is serious and a sign that the body has become accustomed to a stimulus, that being in contact with the stimulus is the bodies new normal. 

However..... I’m not sure how closely we are supposed to compare that to withdrawal in the real world. I (used to) work in healthcare and still think like a nurse... I can’t help but apply that line of thought when Shirayuki is also a health care professional. Court Herbalist seems to cover sides of modern nursing and modern pharmacy. I think it’s more likely that the perfume is a vehicle for manipulation -- a lure for an assassin to exploit -- rather than so severely addictive that it incapacitates someone. 

That being said, Yozumi is still addicted to the smell of the perfume. Addiction psyche will often have you rationalize and seek out the source of your addiction, even if you know it’s the wrong thing to do. Will he try to seek his lover out? Is she alive? Is she a villain!? All I’m sure of is that she is associated with the Bergatt scheme (re same bottle, etc), and is part of the untrustworthy faction in the North that will try to reclaim Wilant and its territories. 

Can Yozumi be trusted out and about? Lol no. Probably not. Who does he kinda look like? Obi bb..... Spy time? Will the knights ball be a masquerade?! WILL OBI AND SHIRAYUKI GO TOGETHER WEARING MASKS?! ahem I hope so. With close proximity dance & perfume. I hope we get some Obi x Shirayuki confronting the tension between them. Maybe the perfume / knights ball will be the catalyst? 

Then. Yozumi is contacted by someone he has never met and invited to meet, and this woman has the same scent. This woman is connected to the original lover, and whoever supplies the ‘perfume.’ Probably the Bergatts and their loyalists. This encounter with the perfume alerted Yozumi that he should be suspicious of the lover and the scent, which catches us up to the present and why he has come to see court herbalists. 

So this perfume ... basically makes people horny .....there’s going to be a ton of temptation shit going on and I am so here for it. 

this post is already so long ...... my arthritis is so bad rn but I’m so pumped about the chapter I’m popping 800 mg ibuprofen and trucking on thank you so much for reading up to this point

So ... the identity of the lover. We know she is high born, and is the daughter of a Viscount. We can assume she’s from the North. There seems to be a network of women working with and / under Mm. Liera to tempt and manipulate chosen parties (Yozumi, Touka’s Father, etc). 

Shirayuki and Ryuu plan to send their observations to the pharmacists of Lyrias, with “people they can trust.” Eisetsu became a little more suspicious to me in this chapter. His reaction to people we can trust was odd when you reflect on it, especially after he OBVIOUSLY LIES ABOUT KNOWING MM LIERA at the end of the chapter. Obi can tell that Eisetsu is hiding something. 

Bullet points from here on out because handswristselbowsandshoulders are literally on fire haha arthritis !!!!!

Other thoughts:

I wonder what Mitsuhide and Kiki were talking about on their walk in the woods? How curious. Maybe they are discussing the state of the North and theorizing similar to how we are? IS THIS META SORATA (p not)

I love the interaction between Ryuu and Shirayuki when she has finished washing off the perfume and she thanks Ryuu for coming with her and Obi ... happy family ... peers who trust ... coworker you can rely on .. ♡(｡- ω -)

lol Eisetsu “vetoed” but I mean he seemed to get a clue after Yozumi mentioned her being from a Viscount family. 

Another suspicious Eisetsu moment ... Does he know who Yozumi Iriz is? Apparently so. 

I might be totally off base in suspecting Eisetsu. Maybe he’s one of the good guys. It’s too early to just explicitly trust, especially in a part of the country that is known to be hostile to ProWistalFamily. I am pretty back and forth about if I trust him, though. I want to. I think he’s funny and that he seems genuinely good. But idk. My hackles are raised.

It brought me SUCH JOY that Obi came back after the rains, with the flowers blooming.  (((o(*°▽°*)o)))

Wasn’t that little agreement clap between Shirayuki and Eisetsu much like the high five that Obi and Shirayuki do? Maybe Yuki did that to put herself at ease, almost like she too is trying to trust Eisetsu. 

d r a m a ? ? ! !

People are covering for Mm. Liera and her crew. They are associated and probably working closely with the Bergatt loyalists. What will be next?

We will hear more about the upcoming Knight’s Ball

More research conducted on effect of perfume and its properties

Will it be related to the blue plant from ch 28?

Will a spy be sent to Lyrias to intercept research on the perfume? This is more of my Hackles Incorporated TM business mentioned before re Eisetsu and if he can be trusted. 

BACK TO WAITING!

<3 beebs <3

#ans ch 116 #ans spoilers #snow white with the red hair #obiyuki #obi x shirayuki #ans #akagami no shirayukihime #obyuki

[cowandcalf]

10.11. – Review and some musing

Since yesterday I'm thinking about how to start this review. I guess it'll end up being an ode to McDanno. Because let's be honest…still after such a long time, years of being in love, my love for the boys is a blazing fire. They make me sit on the edge of the couch, smiling stupidly, happy with what I witness what's happening between them. They make me sweat and grin and cry and gasp for air.

So, I start with the boys. Honestly, I've never expected season 10 to be so freaking full of McDanno moments. Gosh, I'm still a bit beside myself. For example, the scene in Steve's office. Danny…Danny. This handsome man (and the haircut! This freaking hot Mohawk, gah!!!) gets me twisted in knots because I try to find out what's he's up to. Danny doesn't normally admit to Steve his inner secrets. The way he confessed so openly why he has made up the mold story? Uh-huh. Intense. He shows feelings. Shows how much he was worried about Steve without being ironic and ranting and cutting the air to pieces with his hands. Intense. That what it was. And Steve? Steve takes Danny's confession in stride, kind of shifts on his seat and says he was touched. Steve doesn't really know what he should do with this piece of information even though he’s known it the whole time. It's kind of a load of emotions getting dumped on Steve only to grow in intensity a second later.

The bonsai comment? So not Danny-like, at least, not to the Danny I'm used to. He admits just openly that he's started that hobby for therapeutic reasons, telling there that he's not okay, that he's needed some support, some help from the shrink-corner and that's new. Did he visit a therapist? A psychologist? Does he still have sessions? Steve didn't ask any of this but the questions hang in the air. Danny, being just Danny, tells him of course, he doesn't normally inform everyone that he has a bonsai but he's just said it to Steve. So, he wants Steve to know and he even takes his miniature tree to Steve's house where he’s gong to trim this little precious tree with the special clipper doing this with a steaming cup of coffee beside him on Steve’s table only dressed in a flimsy shirt and old boxer shorts and Steve forgets how to breathe and decides to wear only sweat pants made of heavy cotton farbric. Not so easy to stretch. So, many hidden signs.

And what's with the burst pipe full of sewage? Yak, that's something traumatic when that happens, meaning Danny’s house was flooded with that stuff, ugh. At least, the bathroom and normally Danny would freak out, ranting, complaining, telling everyone how he's drawn the short straw from life. But none of this is happening. Danny smiles when he explains how the shit-smell has chased him out of his own home and he seeks refuge…at Steve's house. I'm sure he just made that story up, too and Steve knows this but still. Six to eight weeks! That's a long time and they haven't even mentioned where Danny would sleep. Maybe with Grace gone and Charlie growing older Danny feels lonesome and needs company.

But I can't get over Danny's sweet smile. The smile where he's asking Steve to let him crash at his place. It's a smile where one couldn't hide effectively enough the crush, they have one the one person that stands right in front of them. It's a sweet, tender, meaningful smile, uncommonly in Danny's repertoire to make faces. It's a gentle, genuine smile and it's connected to the stay at Steve's place. And normally Danny is the one who's annoyed and not Steve. Somehow the tables have turned and Danny tries to coax Steve into doing something Steve's not so fond of just for the fun of teasing Danny. Steve plays the annoyed one very well and all he can come up with are used towels. Ha!

Danny pushes boundaries twice in a short amount of time. He barges in Steve's door the first time without telling or calling or asking if it's okay with Steve. Now, just the same. He packs his bags and even takes his bonsai with him, stores his luggage in the office for Steve to see because Danny knows already Steve won't say no. So, what has Danny in mind? Living together for about two months? Jesus! I love this scene. It reveals Danny's softer side, an unexpected side. He wants to be with Steve that's a fact. And Steve lets him. I'm really curious about what's going on. Guys!!!! Ahhhh!

And the helicopter scene! That's another great McDanno moment. First, Danny jokes about animals although he loves animals. But he teases Steve about the gooses. And Steve comes up with the helicopter ride and doesn't even ask Danny if he's okay with it. He knows very well that Danny hates to fly with him. And oh, surprise! Danny goes! He jokes about the wild goose chase and Tani rolls her eyes at the boys! But Danny doesn’t scream and digs his heels in the ground just for the reason to show how much he doesn't want to be with Steve in a freaking helicopter, in the air!! Nope, he just went after Steve again with this mysterious smile.

As for the record, I…god…I loved seeing them paired up again, chasing bad guys, like in the old days. Time changes things, I get that but it was a great moment. And guess what. Steve is super correct and knows all the rules and is the pilot of the helicopter and yet he lets Danny use his cell although is highly prohibited and against the rules. But he lets Danny be. And Danny gives two shits about rules because they're in a no-fly zone because of gooses so no rules. And that's heavily teasing and an odd flirting with Steve. He dares him and Steve goes with it as always.

And I love that Steve still trusts Danny with all he's got. The Adam case bothers him and he leaves it to Danny to get through to his rogue team member. But Steve can't deny himself the comment if Danny can manage secrecy and Danny only lifts an eyebrow, tilting his head and quips a nice answer in return. Not offended in the slightest. That's really new and I freaking love it. Danny is much more relaxed and that rises my interest.

The guys going to live together for a longer time. That's going to be interesting and my heart whispers already poems of love…mm-hmm.

The half-season finale was just as good, as fantastic as every episode from season 10. I'm so in love. There's something thrilling about this season. It's heavy on the feels. The unexpected McDanno moments throw me. It's overwhelming. The cases are interesting and I never forget that it just a show and things might be bent a bit until they fit. Yes, they mess up timelines and don't follow up often on loose ends. I don't really dwell on those moments. I take what I get and I tend to extract the best moments for me. These 42 minutes and something always fills me with a giddy joy. I'm still enjoying every moment. It's still a wild ride and every episode leaves me with a lot to think about.

Lou is surprisingly fun. He's the one I struggle with the most. He's often over the top but so far, his scenes are filled with quip, pulling faces while discussing important leads, adding a lot of solid ohana-feelings and deep-rooted devotion to the team. This season Lou kind of grows on me. He's good people when he's not losing himself in some stupid, senseless explanation about how to dip malasadas in coffee or how to be a respected young man, or some stories about the good ol' days in Chicago.

The team has grown together. Tani fills her shoes and she walks tall. She's badass, proud, unwavering and would make Kono proud. She's full of admiration for Steve with the needed respect. But she's also the one who kind of sees the private person behind Steve the boss-man. She's caring and she's not afraid to show it. She loves Steve deeply, like a sister. She also breeches with ease Steve's professional persona. She expresses feelings and thoughts that have Steve gulp because it's so honest and straightforward and I love that.

Junior… man, this guy captured my heart. He's great. He's Earth where Steve's Air. They match as perfect Brothers. I'm always calm knowing Steve's not totally detached from his former, very important life as a SEAL. Junior watches out for him. Always, everywhere. He's grown a fantastic backbone and I'll never get tired of watching him morphing into a SEAL. He becomes a brother and a teammate for Steve. My heart still skips a few beats remembering the scene where they freed Joe White and Steve ordered him to stay behind, to not get entangled with the danger. And Junior's answer came sharply and precisely like a shot. "Today I'm a Seal and you're not my boss. We're a team and I'm coming with you." He said it with such confidence it blew me away. And it took Steve one second to recognize Junior as his brother. Junior is Steve's younger brother and he's always all in or nothing. I love his courage and the tender, shy side he always shows together with Tani. I love this boy and he's a good company for Steve. Keeps him sane.

Adam…Adam. Yeah, there's a lot going on. The way he laid down his gun and the badge was dramatic. I'm not sure yet what to think of that. I have always liked Adam. He fits into the team although he has never undergone any police training. He's born and bred Yakuza got taught from his father, a big name in that world. He should have had the courage to just tell Steve that things went wrong and he has to quit the team. That would have been the right thing to do.

The way he did hide information to safe his girlfriend was okay for me. Steve would have done the same, Lou and also Danny were already in such a situation and they just did what had to be done without informing anyone. But with Adam things went sideways and he went rogue, also emotionally and friendship-wise. After everything was settled he should have gone to Steve and get things out of the way. Steve would have understood. There, I don’t get Adam’s intentions.

Quitting the team like that? The worst imaginable way for Steve. You don't just quit the team and that's an emotional blow for Steve just because Steve cares for every single member on his team. But as I see it, Adam's world shifted when he lost Kono. Being an important member of the Yakuza makes you a slave, for a lifetime. You never can get out. So, they say. No freaking chance. Adam's history proves that. He killed his brother. He tried to be an honest businessman only to realize his past bites him in the ass. He ran away and tried to start a new life with Kono only to lose Kono to her obsession with a case that grew out of hand. Adam loves with all he's got. He has found new love with an old friend, unsurprisingly a daughter of a Yakuza boss. Adam grew up with all those people and now he's back in this energy. He knows the game. He's found a new woman and he loves again. For a man like Adam, he will do everything in his power to protect his woman. He won't lose again a woman he loves.

And his move to quit the team is about the woman he now loves. He has to stay close, by her side. Maybe he realized he only can really play one tune, only be fully immersed in one game, being on the Yakuza team. He betrays Five-O but as it seems Adam has reached a crossroad and his decision is made when he sits down at the head of a big table with other members of Tamiko's family and members of her father's clan.

Quinn…she wasn't in the episode and with some shame I have to admit I didn't even realize it. Not until someone pointed out that Quinn was missing. God, that's so horrible of me. She's a great team member but I seem to have a blind spot for her on the team. She doesn't leave an imprint. I can't tell you why. It's just…she's there and it's really good and she isn't and I don't miss her.

And the cliffhanger! Wo Fat is back. His name at least and seeing Steve's face when he spits his name revealed how much it pains him to just spell it. I think Steve might still have nightmares over what he had to undergo getting tortured, getting to hear dark, poisonous secrets his mother designed and everything came back to haunt Steve never to be really free of that massive emotional trauma. And now his nemesis is back in the form of Wo Fat's former wife. Just as cruel, brutal and cold-hearted as her husband. A killer seeking revenge with the deep wish to get to Steve.

Wow!

Season 10…ten points out of ten!

#h50 #h50spoilers #steve mcgarrett #danny williams #my edit #h50edit #h50 review #review #10.11. #h50 half-season finale #cowandcalf writes #musing #mcdanno #my fangirl goggles are always on

[anastasiaskarsgard]

ok but now you're obligated to write about single dad finding a lady it's the law and I will call the police if you don't

This is an old old ask that I never quite liked, but I’m just posting to clear it out

———————————————————

Alison was at a crossroads in her life. She was 25, a college graduate, that was a waitress at Hooters. She’d always said she only worked there, to get through school, but here she was more than two years done with school, still putting on those dumb orange shorts.

She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do next, but she knew that she didn’t want to work Around a bunch of drunk idiots any more. She just didn’t have the capacity or tolerance for their antics anymore.

She decided to take a look online on various job seeking sites, seeing if anything caught her eye. She had a degree in psychology and her dream was to ultimately have her own space to bring people into, that wanted to balance their life, without relying on prescription drugs. Alternative treatments like Equine Therapy, Expressive Arts, Play therapy etc for individuals or families that set goals. Genuinely helping people was the ultimate goal, but she wasn’t quite ready for that yet, so she needed something new. An add for a live-in nanny caught her eye:

Single Professional Parent of two children under five years old seeking live in Nanny with no criminal record, drugs, or smoking. There will be a background check, driving record, and hair follicle drug test run on all serious applicants, to be completed and passed BEFORE meeting children. Email me for more information and I can discuss living arrangements, pay, benefits, children or any other details. I look forward to hearing from you!

Alison figured it was most likely a woman that had lost her old nanny or lost her significant other and needed someone to pick up the slack. She loved children, and she liked that she was adamant about all the tests and checks being completed before meeting the children. That was very refreshing. Her lease was up and she hadn’t signed a new one, so it actually was a great option. She typed out an introduction about herself, her relevant experience and qualifications and decided to just admit to being a waitress. She knew she’d have to include it in her background check, but she’d rather tell the woman in person, rather then be eliminated right away.

She sent it out, and figured she’d carry on with her day, when no more than twenty minutes went by and she had a reply from a Mark V. She was kind of surprised it was a man solely caring for two toddlers, but i guess deadbeat parents could be any sex. She wondered if the mother was possibly deceased. She opened the message:

Hello Alison!

You have no idea what a breath of fresh air your email was, after getting a bunch of crazy peoples’ replies. Let’s just dive right in, and I can tell you what I expect and if you can meet those needs.

I am the sole guardian of a 3 year old boy named Dakota, and an 18 month old little princess named Danielle. Neither one of their mothers is involved in their life which I worry about them, but with your degree, you probably know exactly how to approach that. I work Monday thru Friday 8am-6pm and very rarely a weekend, and would need you to care for the children, prepare their meals, and take them to their activities and classes throughout the week. I already have a cleaning lady, so as long as you’re not a slob, you’ll only need to do your laundry. You didn’t mention if you had a car or not, but I’d prefer you drove my Tesla anytime you have the children with you. I have a truck for myself, the Tesla is safest for kids. It pretty much drives for you and is very safe, so it gives me a false sense of security. Lol. What you do with your evenings and weekends is up to you. I ask that you only ever have very close friends and family over that are willing to get a background check. I pay for everything of course, I just don’t want a parade of unknown people around my kids. You’re room is a large bedroom, with your own bathroom, walk in closet and balcony. It’s not furnished, but I’d be willing to furnish it if you don’t have your own stuff. Pay is $750 per week, as well as full benefit package through my company Life/ dental/ medical/ vision etc at no out of pocket cost to you. You also will be issued a company credit card for any costs for activities you and the children venture out to do, and all the grocery and incidentals shopping. You can eat whatever you want, and I’d like you to feel comfortable. My children need a consistant female figure in their life and I need help. If this sounds fair to you, I’d like to meet you in person and give you the drug test lab forms and get your information to get your driving and background reports knocked out. If you don’t think you’ll pass any of these, please don’t waste my time. My office is at 111 s Main in that new glass office building. We are the entire twentieth floor. It’s 10am now, hoping you’re available at 1pm today. Let me know either way. Look forward to meeting you and hopefully hiring you. (Oh and just so it doesn’t seem like I’m moving too fast, I need a nanny like yesterday but won’t settle when it comes to my children) Although you’re a bit younger than I’d like; your degree, stable work and address history and willingness to take a hair follicle drug test are positive attributes in a person That will play a major role in my kids lives. Mark V. You can text me at 555-123-4567 as well!

Alison stared at the email a bit stunned. The pay, benefits, accommodations and credit card and car all sounded great but it’s a man. She was curious why both mothers skipped out on him or if he did this on purpose. Maybe they weren’t his kids and they were a friend or family member that died or something. Well what the hell. Anything was better than Hooters. She clicked reply

Hi Mark!

You sound too good to be true! I am totally ok with taking those tests, but i feel like I should inform you that I work at Hooters but want to leave. I have given notice that I’m seeking other employment so am free to leave that job. My lease is also up so this works out perfectly. Let me know if you’re ok with where I work and I can come meet you at 1. Hope to hear back! Oh and if I don’t, I’m just going to show up! Lol

Alison Clarke

She sent it and sat there nervously waiting to see a new email. There wasn’t really any problem with Hooters unless they were really conservative. Some of her very liberal feminist friends were very against the place too. She was just about to shut down when a new email arrived.

Thank you Alison!

I think this is going to work out great! I have no problem with chicken wings, and am not judgemental. See you at 1

Mark

‘What if he’s hot? No. I wonder how old he is. The kids are pretty young so he might not be very old. Girl! Forget it! You do not shit where you eat and no matter how hot your boss is, you don’t look at him as anything more than your paycheck.’

Alison jumped up to get ready, thrilled at the possibilities this job potentially presented. The more she thought about it, the more determined she became to see it through. With no bills, and $750 a week, she could save up for her own practice in no time.

‘What if he’s an unbearable asshole?’ She mused. ‘Fuck it. He can’t possibly be a bigger pain in the ass than the guys I deal with now.’

Famous last words.

#mark assassination nation #bill skarsgard mark #bill skarsgard #single dad mark #my writing

[zer0pm]

Imagine Dante flirting with you and V gets jealous

Based on this ask by @krazy06:

I chose Dante ‘cause 👀👌 I’m thinking of creating this piece into a sort of Diverging Point mini works. Those who have played the game will know what I mean. Leave a comment/ask on what you think ;3 Enjoy!~

.

.

.

Dante: “So, when are you gonna admit that you’re falling for me?”

You: “Maybe when you actually lend a hand.”

The ring of your blade hits the air as you fell the last of the demonic wave that was in your path. Your partner in the business who is also your boss, the Legendary Devil Hunter Dante, was lying atop the hood of one of the wrecked cars lying around the city watching you do your work with amused interest. The man always tends to run his mouth even when the situation doesn’t call for it, but you suppose that’s what made the job so fun. Finding the bright side in an otherwise hellish scenario. Literally. He scoffs, a playful smirk on his roguish face.

Dante: “Saving my energy for the big target, you know how it goes. Besides, you had it handled here.”

You: “Uh huh. I’ll remember that when we reach the big douche in his treehouse. Whoops, was that my bullet in his skull?”

Dante: “You wouldn’t.”

You: “Try me.”

The man wears an expression of faux terror and you laugh in turn. You turn your back towards him to scavenge through the kills, hopeful to find something useful for Nero’s friend Nico who served as the devil hunters’ lethal artisan, as she liked to put it. When you weren’t looking, Dante took a moment to appreciate the view himself. The man prided in not letting distractions get in the way of his work, to remain strictly professional despite how he carries himself, but you proved yourself to be an exception for as long as you two have worked together and he relished in the thought and challenge. Between you two, it was playful banter although Dante entertained the idea of taking the flirting a little further.

He got up from where he sat to have another go at you when something fast goes flying straight towards his head. His devil instincts kicking in, the man dodges with ease and pulls out his pistols cocking them with a click. You too went on the alert and point your blade towards the intruder only for you to loosen your guard at the familiar squawking voice.

You: “Griffon?”

Griffon: “The one and only!”

Dante: “Whoa! Almost took my head off there, little birdy.”

Griffon: “My bad, my bad. We thought you were a demon, Dante. Didn’t want our mutual friend here to be hell chow, ya know.”

We? You turn your head to see another familiar face, the mysterious client of Dante’s who you’ve found yourself growing curious about more and more with each passing day. V, a self-proclaimed devil hunter, who also happens to command demons with a snap of his fingers. As he got closer, you found that the man had his nose glued to his characteristic book. Dante furrows his brows in mild annoyance and regarded the him.

Dante: “Mistook this handsome face for one of those ugly things? Maybe you strained your eyes too much from reading, Mr. Poetry.”

V: “Pardon us for the misunderstanding. I reached one of my favorite parts and did not think to validate my flying companion’s claim. You may punish him as you see fit for recompense.”

Griffon: “Wait...you’re blaming me for this, V?”

Dante: “Sounds like it. Now, dance!”

Suddenly you hear gunshots firing and laughter filling the air with the sight of Griffon flying around for his feathery life. You almost had to facepalm at the scene but then you glance over at V, who has not once looked up from his book. The dark-haired gentleman was smirking. It added to his refined, enigmatic aura in a rather mischievous way.

You: “That was all your idea, wasn’t it?”

The tattooed man finally glances up to look at you.

V: “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

His playful drawl suggests that he has no intent on admitting to anything and you shake your head, smiling at the strange company you keep.

You took a moment to take in V’s appearance, sizing him up and remembering how you met him. Not too long after Dante took on the job, he personally added you to the roster and V himself became interested in you as you were not mentioned by Morrison when the two met. He verbally expressed his desire to observe your skills, curious to what made you different from Dante’s other partners like Trish and Lady. You returned to the agency at Dante’s call and was introduced to V. And by introduced, V sicced a black panther onto you.

Quick on your toes, you subdued the shadowy familiar with blade and guns in hand. It was tough as you were careful not to wreck the already-trashed building but at some point it seemed V was satisfied with how you held yourself against him and offered his hand along with his name. Since then, you found yourself constantly thinking about this mysterious figure. Who he is, his motives, his connection to the current big bad demon and the tree that erected itself in the middle of Red Grave City. It probably didn’t help that you found him extremely attractive as well, but you chose not to divulge that aloud. “You two had a business relationship afterall” is what you told yourself. A month passes by and you spent a lot of personal time with the mysterious V, convincing your nagging thoughts that it was integral to the job.

You: “So, which of Blake’s works are you indulging in this time?”

Yeah, that is totally relevant to the job.

V lifts his head entirely, genuine surprise and, if you see not mistaken, respect alights his usually stoic demeanor.

V: “You are familiar with William Blake?”

You: “Literature was my favorite course. Poetry, my weakness.”

Your ears hear a slight chuckle from his throat that made you feel a little giddy inside, taking it as a sign to press forward. You move to stand right next to him, glancing at the pages he left open.

You: “Auguries of Innocence.”

V: “Impressive. The fact that you recognize the verses with a single glance shows how well-read you are.”

You laugh, flattered by his compliment.

You: “I really just remember these lines.”

Your fingers brush against the words on the page, you were so engrossed in the poem that you missed that small grin that snuck its way onto V’s face, missed how his eyes roamed over your visage with what can only be defined as admiration.

V: “That happens to be where I left off.”

With piqued interest, your eyes snap up to meet his and the words fell from your lips long before you can bit your tongue at the request.

You: “Read it to me?”

It was such an odd thing to say, but traveling the ruins of the city alongside V developed within you an appreciation for the man’s voice and articulation. His voice sounded like silk, and each word from his mouth was like honey. How could you deny the chance to hear him recite the works of a master author?

V himself was taken aback, turning his head to look into your eyes, seeking for any hint that you were merely being jocular and not serious at all. You were not joking and were completely serious. At this, he composed himself quickly, hiding the growing warmth that was beginning to swell within his heart under the guise of him clearing his throat.

He shifts around you slightly so that he held his open book in front of you while also placing himself behind you. A single step back and your back would touch his chest. Your bodies were so close to one another and there was a gradual fluttering in the pit of your stomach that you could not shake off and with each passing second, you found no reason to complain about it and instead welcomed it.

From the corner of your eye, you see V lean over your shoulder until his head dipped to your level. Your ears pick up the soft sound of him taking a breath-

Specks of black suddenly fly across the air, moving past you like a gust of wind and hitting V straight on. The color merged within his skin, darkening the faded tattoos to its full, lustrous color. Griffon came back, which meant one thing. Instinctively, you look up and spotted Dante walking over, his sword in hand and rested upon his shoulder. A pleased, smug grin creeps its way on his face and you knew that meant trouble - or rather “fun”, as he affectionately calls it.

Dante: “Brace yourselves, friends. Here they come.”

Sure enough, you see the all-too-familiar hell gates open from thin air, all around you three, and from them, masses of empusa demons come crawling forth in throes. The numbers that were approaching were staggering. They must have been drawn to Dante’s rambuctious roughplay with V’s familiar and you shot him an annoyed glare. The white-haired man meets your eyes and shrug, deflecting your aggravation with a wink which only frustrated you even further and tightened the grip on your blade.

Dante: “Don’t fall behind, partner. I’m not gonna slow down. Even for you.”

You scoff, swinging your sword in your hand and step into your stance.

You: “That’s my line, old man.”

Dante: “Ha! I’ll show you old.”

You roll your eyes and return your attention back to V. He already moved away from you and you felt yourself grimace at the apparent distance between you two. His book stowed away and his signature cane in his hand at the ready. He wore a serious expression again and if you didn’t know any better, he seemed rather...disappointed? His eyes meet yours, sensing your staring, and you offered him a small smile.

You: “Looks like the reading will have to wait.”

His green eyes glisten subtly, apparently pleased at the suggestion that you wished for his company. The apparent irritation on his face ebbing away slightly to make way for an upturn quirk of his plump lips.

V: “The most sublime act is to set another before you.”

You did not miss the way his eyes were pinned to you as he said this and it sent a pleasantly shivering sensation throughout your body.

V: “Let us be done with this swiftly.”

You nod in agreement and went into position. You, V, and Dante were back-to-back-to-back, ready to take on the ravenous horde.

You: “Watch my back, gentlemen.”

Dante: “Don’t mind if I do-”

V: “Without question-”

If only you would have seen the challenging glares Dante and V had for each other, but no. You were too busy running your sword through your demon prey. Too busy to realize that the entire time you fought, the two devil hunters were side-stepping and tripping each other to get physically closer to you while also slaying through the horde.

#v devil may cry #dante devil may cry #v x you #v x reader #v dmc5 #dante #devil may cry 5 #dante x reader #dante x you #anon #multipart? #v imagine #devil may cry imagine #dante imagine #son of sparda #i love them both #but left the ending ambiguous #so you readers can choose #;) #thanks for the ask #hope you like it #my writing #sibling rivalry #spoiler tag #sorry!!

[syntaxeme]

Sugar is Sweet (and So Are You) ch. 2

[First Chapter] [Next Chapter] [Read on AO3] [Support me on Ko-fi] Rating: T Summary: Plagued by jealousy toward the men Angel sleeps with, Alastor comes up with a plan to keep Angel from having to work the streets. He wasn't planning on becoming an actual client, but having Angel all to himself might prove too sweet to give up--for as long as he can afford it, that is.

— — —

Alastor wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself after his conversation with Angel, but he felt he should be doing something. After some time of pacing around his own room, running his mind in circles trying to figure out what was expected of him here, he was forced to concede that he simply didn’t have the information necessary to make that determination. So he would have to seek someone who did. He went down to the lobby to sit at the bar with a visibly-hungover Husk and asked for his usual—gin and tonic, hold the gin.

“Husker,” he ventured carefully, swirling the tonic water in his glass. His friend (though he used the term loosely) grunted in response. “Would I be right to assume you’ve had some experience with. Er. Filles de joie?”

“First of all, dial down the volume,” Husk grumbled flatly, squeezing his head between his hands as if that might alleviate his headache. “And second, speak English.”

“You know. Working girls. Ladies of the night. Cocettes? Streetwalkers?” How many ways could he say it gently?

“Hookers.”

“…yes.”

“Sure,” Husk agreed with a shrug, resting heavily against the bar. “But what’s it to you? Since when d’you care about that kinda shit?”

“Oh, I don’t. In so many words. But I’ve always been a curious sort, and since I don’t have any personal experience of my own, I figure a secondhand account is better than none,” Alastor explained. The two had known each other long enough that inquiries like this weren’t entirely out of the ordinary, as there were plenty of things about society—mortal or demon—that Alastor had only seen at a distance. Husk, on the other hand, had seen and done quite a lot in his years and could be very helpful when he chose to be.

“Don’t know what you’re gonna do with it, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. Whaddaya wanna know?” He groped absently along the bar for the tumbler of gin he’d withheld from Alastor’s drink and tossed it back all at once, then immediately got dizzy and regretted the sudden motion. “Just. Keep it down.”

“It’s my understanding that escorts, like many other professionals, have regular clients,” Alastor answered, lowering his voice slightly, more because he didn’t want to be overheard having this particular discussion than for the sake of his friend’s comfort. “But I’m not sure what sort of relationship that constitutes.”

“Like you said, a professional one,” Husk told him. “It’s a job, and a client’s a client. No matter how many times ya see ‘em, that doesn’t change.”

“I see. So…that dynamic isn’t likely to develop into something else?”

He let out a dry laugh. “Somethin’ else like what? A gal doesn’t date a john if that’s what you’re askin’.” He was answering almost automatically, not bothering to question where this curiosity had come from. “I hear when a guy starts gettin’ ideas like that, most ‘workin’ girls’ are pretty quick to cut him off.”

Which was exactly what Alastor was afraid of, considering what he knew of Angel Dust. But then, maybe there was a difference if the escort in question had only one patron. Maybe whatever he was getting into with Angel didn’t have exactly the same rules. “In a slightly different vein, then, what about…” Even saying the word felt like an admission, like an embarrassment. But he truly needed some sort of reference point before he got into this, so he had no choice. “Sugaring. The sort of arrangement where—”

“Yeah, I know how it works,” Husk said, waving him off. “Not my thing, though. Too much commitment.”

Well. That was a positive thing, wasn’t it? In terms of what Alastor actually wanted from his interactions with Angel? Commitment, as far as he was concerned, meant exclusivity, which his jealous tendencies certainly appreciated. “Commitment. On the part of the client, you mean?”

“Sure. Once you tell ‘em they can rely on you, they’re gonna. And that means you hafta be able to deliver. Money. Presents. Dates. Whatever she wants, you hand it over.”

None of that sounded bad to Alastor, not if it was Angel he was spoiling; if his previously-idle money could provide enjoyment or satisfaction for the object of his affections, why not let it do so? ‘Dates’ would even mean they were enjoying time together. How could that be negative? “And in return…?”

Husk shrugged again. “She sleeps with you and pretends she likes you. Ain’t worth it if ya ask me.”

Alastor’s eager smile faded slightly. ‘Pretends’? That could be an issue. Even if he hadn’t yet expressed it, the attention and affection he wanted from Angel was the genuine sort, not something motivated purely by money. Maybe he was being greedy in hoping for something like that, when the point of this plan had simply been to stop Angel sleeping with other men. But after the spider’s welcoming attitude and that kiss earlier, he was now starting to hope (a four-letter word if ever there was one) that more might come of it.

As he was trying to decide how to word his next question, the lobby elevator dinged, and Charlie marched out of it, dragging a fully-clothed but obviously reluctant Angel Dust by his wrist. “Don’tcha have night classes or somethin’ I could take? You two givin’ out drinks at this thing?” he grumbled, trudging along behind Charlie without otherwise protesting. When he caught sight of Alastor, his expression shifted from annoyance to a sweet smile. “Hey, boys. Room for one more?”

“Come on, Angel, it’s bad enough that we’re late already,” Charlie scolded.

“What she said,” Husk muttered, his ears turning back and downward at the voices ringing through the lobby. “Get to your fuckin’ meeting already.”

As they walked past on their way to the conference room, where Vaggie and several of their other patrons were already gathered, Angel paused to steal another kiss to Alastor’s cheek, causing Charlie’s eyes to open wide even as he casually strolled past her. The Radio Demon refused to look anywhere near their proprietor, grasping his glass tighter and trying to pretend he didn’t notice her eyes boring into him. She must have taken the hint eventually, as she disappeared into the conference room and shut the doors to begin their meeting, allowing the tension in Alastor’s body to dissipate, at least somewhat.

“Y’know, no one could blame you if ya smacked him when he does that shit,” Husk pointed out, still dispassionate, illustrating with a swipe of his own dangerous claws. “After a couple times, he’ll get the picture, trust me.”

Now this was unusual. Alastor couldn’t recall ever having felt so violently vengeful on the behalf of another person before. He’d never borne Husk any ill will in the past. That said, the thought that he had at some point struck Angel instilled in Alastor a powerful urge to tear out his feathers one by one and then stab them all back in.

“I’m sure violence isn’t necessary,” he said instead, forcibly shoving those images to the back of his mind and reminding himself that Angel had proven more than once already that he could take care of himself. “Maybe he just needs a proper focus for his energy…”

“Hey, if you wanna volunteer, be my guest,” Husk snickered without smiling.

Their conversation was interrupted by an unfamiliar demon nervously slinking into the lobby, looking to check himself in. Alastor quickly shifted into salesman mode to secure another patron and get him set up in his own room. After a whirlwind tour of the establishment, which put him back in his element and did wonders to take his mind off any other concerns he might have at the moment, they made their way back down to the lobby.

“And if I’m not much mistaken, Charlie and the others should be finishing up another session just now,” he crowed, still leading the new arrival with an arm around his shoulders and gesturing to the conference room doors. “She’ll want to welcome you personally, of course, and discuss your goals and expectations for your stay.”

His prediction didn’t come a moment too soon, as the double doors swung open to release the handful of lesser demons who had been gathered for Charlie’s group counseling session. Alastor led the newest member of their merry band of misfits to the princess to call her attention. “Charlie, this fine fellow is—remind us of your name, my good man.”

“Knix,” the burly gent answered, apparently having some trouble with looking anyone in the eye.

“A new arrival!” Alastor concluded, and Charlie beamed at the thought, as always.

“Welcome to the Hazbin! I’m Charlie, and that’s Vaggie”—she indicated her partner, who was straightening up the conference room on her own—“and we run the group meetings. How did you hear about us? What inspired you to come in? Tell me everything there is to know about you.” While she was haranguing the poor fellow to within an inch of his life, Alastor conceded that his work was done and took a step back to watch Charlie’s protégés disperse to their own rooms.

He recognized one self-involved feline named Davronius, a rabbitlike misanthrope simply called Io, an elegant and aloof owlish demon who went by Donatella—but no spiders. Odd, considering how often Charlie held Angel Dust up as her ‘star pupil,’ the exemplar of the hotel’s efficacy. And he typically basked in the attention it got him. Maybe he was still talking with one of his fellow recovering sinners? What a ridiculous thing for Alastor to be jealous of. And yet…

A flash of color darted between the guests and into the conference room, then back out only a moment later. Niffty stood to one side of the doors, her face screwed up into a pout, her eye darting around the room to seek out imperfections. She must have been in a mood, further evidenced by her scurrying over to the stairs to fuss at a guest who was leaning against the banister. Once he had backed off, intimidated despite her tiny stature, she whipped a handkerchief from her pocket and started to polish his fingerprints off the otherwise-pristine wood.

“You know,” Alastor said, strolling in her direction, “the banister can’t serve its purpose if you won’t let anyone touch it.”

“Well maybe if they washed their hands once in a while, it wouldn’t bother me,” she answered testily. “Besides, Vaggie already cleaned up after the meeting, so I don’t have anything else to do. I have to do something.” That was a fair point; there was too much energy in her little form to stand still for long. If she tried, she might spontaneously combust.

“And the entire hotel is already spick-and-span from top to bottom?”

She shot him what he had come to recognize as her version of a glare. “What d’you think I was doing during the meeting? We only have sixteen occupied rooms, and all the empty ones don’t get messy. You don’t even let me go in your room, so it might as well be fifteen. The new guy just got here, so it’s basically fourteen! And now Angel’s not here leaving dirty dishes in the lobby or doing target practice in the common area—”

“N҉o҉t҉ ҉h҉e҉r҉e҉?” There was a scratch of static in Alastor’s voice that he tried to will away as he asked casually, “A҉ng҉el ҉isn’t here? Where is he?” There were only so many reasons he would leave, and considering his recent track record, Alastor was quick to assume the worst.

“He left with some lady while you were upstairs with the new guy,” Niffty explained, flicking her handkerchief briefly in the direction of Knix, who was still in mostly one-sided conversation with Charlie. “His manager, I think.”

That statement was confusing for a few reasons. First, the only person Alastor knew of who could be called Angel’s ‘manager’ was a fellow Overlord named Valentino—a man. Furthermore, Angel had mentioned some time ago that he and Valentino were no longer working together, and Alastor had noted the improvement in his mood since.

But most importantly, the manager issue shouldn’t have applied at all, considering what they had agreed upon earlier in the day. His time shouldn’t need to be managed. Or if anyone is managing it, it should be me. He realized immediately how possessive and controlling that idea was and chastised himself for it. Yet it didn’t change how he felt. This day had come to involve entirely too many feelings, the way he saw it, and he was beginning to get exhausted. Since Angel wasn’t there to explain himself at the moment, Alastor was sure to drive himself up a wall fixating on the problem—unless he had something else to do.

“Do you know what always lifts my spirits when I’m distraught, dear?” he mused, glancing in Niffty’s direction again.

A delighted smile lit up her face and banished any lingering frustration. “A good meal?”

“That’s exactly right. In fact—Charlie!” he called, striding across the room to meet his co-manager with Niffty on his heels. “I hate to interrupt your onboarding discussion, but would you be so kind as to let all our guests know that I’ll be serving dinner this evening?”

“You’re cooking? That’s great! I’ll make sure everyone’s there,” she assured him. With a sly smile, she pointed out, “You sure seem like you’re in a good mood today. Any particular reason for that?”

“When am I ever not in a good mood? Especially when we have a new guest to welcome.” He gave a brief pat to her head, refusing to acknowledge what she was implying, and swept off to the kitchen with Niffty to occupy himself with something he knew how to control.

#RadioDust #can never tell when my stuff's going to turn up in the tag or not... #Angel Dust x Alastor #Alastor x Angel Dust #Sugar is Sweet #Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Alastor

[dokuhebi]

Shikkotsunin asked: ❝ you’re holding on to things that are holding you back. ❞ (maybe the little philosophical talks we chatted about? 8)]

Things that are hard to hear. // @shikkotsunin​ They sit staring down at the most breathtaking view, sequoia trees that reach long branches in to the skies, parted by narrow creeks and riverbanks, splashed in the colour of the moonlight. The architecture of the estate they are permitted entry inside however, does not pale in comparison. It is just as beautiful, it is just as touched by the moon and dusted in enchantment. The serpent sits like an entity of ethereal nature, almost ghost like in their presence. There, but of another world entirely. Their slender form is elegantly perched on the balconies stone railing, their back resting against the pale rocky pillar. Silken fabrics, which drape fittingly over their svelte figure, runs over their seats ledge like water. Hanging down and taunting the drop below, as it lightly dances in the wind. A similar motion to midnight hair, half of which trails over one shoulder, and falls in to their lap, the other hugging their back and daring to follow the overhanging fabric of their hanfu. The ends of the dressings tail and long sleeves just out of the strands reach.  Golden eyes are set downward, looking at the life that continues below. Watching as the ant sized servants move around with daily living. Viewing each small dot below like the gods might. The Sannin always did prefer people at the greatest distance they could obtain. For everything seemed a little clearer, and a little more perfect, from far away. They share this warm summer night with only one other person, someone who, for better or worse, has given them cause to acknowledge her opinion. To value it. While their eyes are trained on the sight below, their attention is not wavering from Sakura. The serpent may disguise themself as someone more fitting in this place, holding themself with enough bewitchment and pride to be mistaken as nobility - even if they are nothing but a false sage. But they can not help feel she is the true image of this realm. That with her power comes her right to be held highly in this place, that she captures the enchantment of the estate with a feminine figure and cherry blossom hair, only to match the fierceness of the forests around this land with equal, or superior wildness. They don’t always like what she says, they don’t always like what she does. But how they appreciate the fact that she does it all anyway. That there is an unapologetic survival instinct about her. That they too, can feel unjudged in their own shameless acts, of doing what it takes. That when they bare their teeth at her, she has her claws out too. Tonight, is far more peaceful. For even the beasts of this world find a place to rest alongside their fellow predators. They toss comments back and forth, as they impart ideas and concepts to one another. Complex and heavier understandings of the world, and the lack thereof. Riddles and hard questions that, with the single glass of sake seated beside them, seemed possible to answer and solve in this moment. For nobody was ever as genius as they were with a touch of liquid confidence in their system, just enough to take the edge off. It is amid this conversation when one of her phrases stands out from the rest. When somewhere along the line, she had evidently spotted their inability to sleep. Insomnia ever apparent, when they are awake during the day, and equally as awake during the night.  “ you’re holding on to things that are holding you back. ” They almost laugh her off. Ignoring the analysis on the basis that, given how very far they had come, they were evidently not being held back. However, with a mind that works as quickly as theirs, they can not help but muse over a few factors that made her comment ring truer than they would like. Because they had clung to the memory of their parents and comrades dying, for so very long they barely know how to engage their own children as a parent should. No matter how much they love the two boys, and hope they both know that, there is a distance they simply can not cross. And ever since Hiruzen had given them his faith and stripped it from them so suddenly, they do find themself going the extra mile. Pushing to always be ahead, to be on top, to have the upper hand, no matter if they genuinely care about the subject and victory or not. 

So instead of laughing her off, instead of banishing the thought they could be falling in to something as taboo as emotional weakness, they try digest it. One of the things they hold on to the tightest, is old teachings. Where anything that proved a shinobi was mentally or emotionally compromised, was seen as something bad. Was frowned upon. Perfect shinobi knew how to distance themselves from their hearts. Knew to put duty before anything. Born in the First War, and ending young adulthood in the Second and Third, gave them a deep set mentality that observations such as mental ailments was a negative matter. And to reveal a weakness was a terribly risky affair. Blood in shark infested waters. “I think matters of the past hang more to me, than I hang on to them.” A simple way of saying, they would let them go if they could. But a little too proud to speak quite so blatantly as that. Because how very pathetic it would be, for someone like them to admit there was one wound they could not simply shed away. That no matter how they flaunt their powers, how they are reborn in new hosts and bodies... they are not quite as new and pristine as they like. Flesh wounds and age could be left behind, but their consciousness followed on. One part of them is inclined to shut down the conversation. Has already put up a mental wall, blocking out her sound advice and analysis in favor of going back to how things were. Back to poorer coping methods and problematic ideologies. Another part however, the part of them that has matured in over seventy years of living, the part that truly wishes to ascend past mortal capabilities... is growing curious. Because there are still days they feel the reach of darkness, insanity pulling at the logic in their mind. Where they move their feet but can not predict the floors, where they hear words and distort them, when they feed thoughts that cause nothing but chaos in their own head. It is then, a desperate part that wants proof, proof that maybe they do not have to be nothing more than a genetic slave. Proof that there is a little more to people than the biology that had failed their needs on countless occasions. Or that if there isn’t more to them, even that invisible link of consciousness can be controlled. Because they wanted to control their own thoughts for once, they wanted to play god with their own emotions and moods, they wanted to feel truly at ease. They want to be above the life they had lead, and to scrub away the past. But maybe that too is cowardly. Maybe that isn’t what Sakura would, in her professional opinion, think was wise either. That there should be a healthy middle ground, rather than either being held down by those feelings, or finding a way to simply erase and obliterate them without ever truly working through it. “I would find it hard to believe you have escaped your past,” they say, approaching the subject in a round about manner, shifting focus on to others, “our very cells hold on to our unique histories and upbringing, from as early a stage as when we are still in the womb. Locking in and coding us based on the environment we interact with, and the emotions we are greeted by. I suppose, some things simply can not be fixed after a while. Akin to an injury, if not addressed correctly the first time, it will simply heal wrong. That can not be corrected later on, the period to halt the development of a scar, or an eternal weak point, can be missed. And it is impossible to go through life without earning a few of these wounds.” But they can not shift their own focus, even if they briefly travel the low road of redirecting attention to an ‘everyone’ conversation, and deviating from the possibility of this being specifically about ‘them’. And they almost let themself off the hook, until they can not shake their own curiosity. Because although they know the difference between a healthy and unhealthy mind set, they also lead themself to believe that is was inevitable. That as they had brazenly mentioned, this impairment was something to be lived with, something to accept and work around.  Yet she speaks as if there is some solution, or at least a way to better handle it. Alleviate the strain caused by the issue. When they had thought all these years, that merely handling it at all, be it well or poorly, was the success. So after a moment of consideration, they dare to ask a question that feels a little bit like baring their neck, but will not be silenced when they hold knowledge higher than even self preservation. Seeking the opinion of someone who had actually dabbled in the science of the mind. “Am I not meant to feel this way?”

#毒蛇 IMMORTAL; the curse is broken (post war) #/ long post #shikkotsunin #you have to love the fact #that these two have the potential to be more feral than any kaiju #but also lounge about discussing bigger topics #being chill #蛇 QUEUE; lie to the liars; steal from the thieves

[angelic-holland]

Seeing the Thing 7

Summary: Because playing pretend is easier than talking.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: just a little bit of angst and some kissing

Knock knock knock.

“Y/N? You in there? I got out of work early!” Harrison shouts from the other side of the door, hand jiggling to door handle 

You barely have time to comprehend what’s happening as you rip away from Tom, both of you rushing to pull your pants up, Tom and you both grab a top and shove the rest of the clothes in your closet. Cheeks red you pat down your hair and hope you look presentable as you unlock the door and swing it open for Harrison.

“Hiya,” he says, “oh hey Tom,” he greets before brushing past him and sitting on your bed.

“How’s the rehearsing going?” Harrison asks, eyeing both of you.

Your cheeks red, you were about to stutter out that they were doing fantastic when Tom cut you off.

“Going great, y/n’s a great teacher.”

“Is that your sweatshirt?” Harrison asks, head tilted as he points to Tom’s torso.

Fuck.

“I was cold, she lent me this while we worked,” Tom lies flawlessly through his teeth and you wonder how you’re not falling apart right now. 

Probably because you’re in awe of how easy it was for Tom to lie to his best friend, how easy it was to pretend like you both weren’t basically naked a few minutes ago.

“Yep,” you manage to get out, voice level as you took a deep breath.

“Do you want me to watch the scene one more time? Then we can head to rehearsal?”

“Sure, I just need to get a few things together after, we should have time though,” you nod as you slip into a professional mode, standing to the side of the room and picking up your script where you dropped it the first time Tom kissed you during the scene, Dave kissed Rhonda. 

You and Tom make it through the scene, he would give you a look when you high fived him for kisses. As if to say, ‘you had no problem kissing me fifteen minutes ago, what’s the big deal now?’ 

But he knew the big deal, you knew the big deal. He just liked to see you squirm.

“Hey Rhonda!” Tom shouts to end the scene and you sit down next to Harrison on your bed, Tom sits down on the floor in front of the two of you.

“So, whatcha think?” You ask, excited for Harrison’s opinion and feedback.

“Good, Tom, better at not looking so angry,” Harrison comments, “I think this is gonna be a great piece.”

“Me too,” you grin, grabbing the bag of supplies from your desk.

“Now will you tell me what this is?” Tom sighs, sitting back on his hands as you dumped everything out on your bed between you and Harrison.

“It’s just like, get well kits for the cast, it’s coming near the end of flu season and a few of them have gotten sick so,” you nod, opening the box of sandwich bags and starting to stick everything in them, tissues, chapstick, hand sanitizer. You’re acutely aware of Tom’s eyes staring holes into your hands as you put everything into little bags as you and Harrison chat idly about the show. How you need to borrow Jack’s truck to get props and set pieces from storage, how you want to see Julie’s sound design and Amy’s light design, random things about the show. 

“You know, you could include me in any of the conversations?” Tom asks as you seal the last bag.

“Okay, how is the search for your costume going?” Harrison smirks and turns the conversation to Tom as you pack up your bag. 

Tom stops in his tracks as he stands up, “I uh, good question, an excellent way to add me to the conversation, my costume search is going excellent, I’ve totally got everything I need.”

“I’ll take that as you’ve got nothing put together but you will get started tomorrow because that’s been on your to-do list for a week and a half.”

“That’s not a lot of time,” Tom begins to argue as the three of you step out of your room.

“He’s got a week until the costume is due,” You butt in and Harrison is stunned, eyes bulging out at you.

“You’re defending him?” He’s genuinely shocked to see one of his best friends stick up for his other best friend, considering you were usually at each other’s throats, especially last night.

“Just reminding you when the deadline is, is all,” you stubbornly cross your hands over your chest when you realize you’re in a t-shirt and sweatpants, no bra, “you both grab your stuff, I gotta change.”

“Why? Don’t want to go to rehearsal in that?” Harrison jokes and you roll your eyes, going back to your room as you hear them talk outside.

“You apologize for being an ass last night?” Harrison asks Tom, you can hear them, you figure he was speaking loudly on purpose, he wanted to make sure you heard them. 

“No,” Tom sighs.

You roll your eyes as you change, of course, he didn’t. He’d argue that he did nothing wrong, that you were both jerks to each other, that’s just the way it was.

“Well apologize to her now, I’ll grab our bags and meet you in the dining hall.”

“Why’re you so concerned that I apologize to her?”

“Because, you can be an ass, and when you are, you need to apologize, basic manners.”

“I’m only an ass when I-,”

“Don’t even start, this isn’t the fucking dark ages Tom, if you-,”

You were too curious to know what Harrison was going to say next, so curious you didn’t want to know at all. Better kept a secret between two friends, you didn’t need to pry. You swung the door open and the boys were silent, “hi,” you say, leaning against the door, now a little more presentable.

“Hey, I gotta get out of these work clothes, meet you and Tom in the dining hall in ten?” Harrison asks and you raise an eyebrow but nod.

Harrison squeezes your shoulder lightly before walking down the hallway. Both you and Tom watch as Harrison walks down the stairs and out of sight.

“Let’s snag a booth at the dining hall?” You turn to walk down the hallway, following Harrison’s path when you see Tom’s hand reach out to grab your shoulder but drop at the last second.

“Y/N?” He asks and you turn, almost falling into him as he’s standing right by your shoulder.

You stare up at the mess of brown hair, brown eyes looking down at you expectedly, shoulders stretching out your sweatshirt.

“Yes?”

“Did you get that strawberry chapstick for me?” His voice is almost too curious, digging.

“I got it so you could kiss Nikk,” you say back, “maybe she won’t smell like bananas this time around.”

“Won’t be the same darlin,” he smirks, tongue poking out of his mouth to lick his lips, still red from your kisses. 

“Obviously, we’re two different people,” you laugh, deciding to play it easy. 

“Obviously,” he snaps back and you take a step backward, away from him.

He takes a step forward, falling right back in place with you.

“So what? You went on and on about my stupid chapstick and if that’s the only way you could even pretend to be even remotely attracted to Nikk, then I’m going to bring these stupid bags to rehearsal and give them to everyone.”

“Who said I was attracted to you?” He asks, eyes roaming your face as you take another step backward, backpack pressed against the wall. He follows, hand resting against the wall by your head, face leaning down, a cocky smirk on his face, “Thought this was just acting.”

“Fuck you,” you bite back, sidestepping away from him and rushing down the stairs, afraid of what you would do if you stayed up there. Slap him? No. The thought of slapping Tom stung something deep inside of you. You’d probably crumple to the ground, lungs feeling like they’ve collapsed in on themselves, you were already breathing harshly through your nose, scared that if you opened your mouth all that would come out were sobs.

You didn’t care if he was attracted to you or not, right? It’s not like you felt anything towards him, maybe an ounce of lust, you couldn’t help thinking Tom was hot, his beauty was objective. No question about it.

“Hey, did- wait!” Harrison shouts as you pass the second-floor landing, you’re about to ignore him but you can’t. You needed your best friend. You pause and Harrison walks towards you, hands reaching out, his backpack slung over his shoulder, Tom’s presumably in one of his hands.

“He didn’t apologize did he?” Harrison asks, eyes taking in your trembling lip, head shaking as Harrison drops Tom’s backpack and pulls you into his arms, your arms hung weakly by your sides as Harrison held you, his hands rested on your middle back, rubbing it softly as you silently sobbed for a moment on his shoulder. Only a moment though because there was a thud thud thud down the stairs and you took a deep breath against Harrison’s shoulder, hands reciprocating his hug so it didn’t look weird as Tom came bounding down the stairs.

“Y/N, look I’m so- oh,” Tom pauses at the landing as he sees you and Harrison’s embrace.

You pull away from Harrison slightly, “it’s okay, you don’t need to apologize, what’s there to be sorry for anyways? Can’t help what you feel,” you shrug, dropping your hands to your side.

“No it’s not that I just-,”

“Just what Tom? You know what? I don’t want to talk about it. I want to eat shitty dining hall food, I want to go to rehearsal, I want you to do a good fucking job with this scene, and I want to move on.”

Move on. From what exactly? From wanting to kiss him? From seeking refuge in the warmth of his lips against your own? 

Tom’s silent as Harrison hands him his backpack. Harrison moves to rest his arm around your shoulder as you walk down to the dining hall. 

“I’m sorry,” Harrison whispers in your ear as you slide into the booth, Tom sitting on the other side, setting his plate down with a loud clatter. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you say, voice loud enough for Tom to hear you, deliberate. 

“Hey, listen, I’m sorry okay? Is that what you want to hear?” Tom says, voice full of anger and oh so clearly not meaningful.

“Bullshit,” you fight back.

“Can you both cut it out, it was going so well, you were working together, can we please just save it for another time?” Harrison begs, a hand on your leg rubbing gentle circles into the space above your knee.

“Sorry,” you mutter, eyes darting down to your plate to shut up and eat. It’s just easier this way. 

You eat in relative silence, once you finish the three of you walk to rehearsal, there early like always, the stupid bags in your backpack, you pull them out and place them on a desk. Gianna and Quentin come bouncing in shortly before the actors are called, coffee and tea in hand. 

“Sup,” Gianna kisses Harrison’s cheek and you laugh as your best friend blushes like a middle schooler who just asked out their first girlfriend. 

Gianna giggles as well before sliding into the seat next to yours, taking one look at your foot tapping against the ground, fingers tapping against your thigh before announcing you were going to grab a bathroom break before the actors arrived.

You attempted to protest as she all but dragged you out of the room but the truth was, you needed this. Whatever girl time Gianna was going to give you in the ten minutes you had before rehearsal started. 

“What happened?” She asked, straightforward. That’s something you loved about Gianna. She was blunt in times that required the truth to be told, no beating around the bush.

“I did something really stupid,” you sigh, running cool water from the sink over your face.

“How stupid?”

“So stupid I can’t talk to Harrison about it.”

“And whys that?” 

You knew Gianna was curious for more, it was in her nature to be nosy, you didn’t mind much. Especially now, you really needed someone to confide in, someone who wasn’t Tom’s best friend.

“IkissedTom,” You mumble and she raises an eyebrow.

“You did what now?”

“You heard me.”

“You kissed Tom? For real? I thought you two were constantly at each other’s throats.”

“It was for his scene.”

“His scene?”

“We met to review his blocking and to try to improve his scene and we did the kisses.”

“Holy fuck.”

“I know, it was stupid and unprofessional and I can’t believe I did it and-,”

“No, no, no, fuck that. I was gonna say to go get that dick!”

“Gianna!” You groan, dropping your head into your hands, starting to regret telling her.

“What? He’s fucking hot, if I wasn’t dating Harrison I’d hop on it. Hell everyone here would hop on it. And you’ve kissed him? You’re already halfway there.”

“No, it’s just, he’s an asshole.”

“How so?”

“I dunno, just always, he’s got a snide remark and it’s not like a funny snide remark shared between friends, because we aren’t friends, it’s mean and it’s specifically pointed towards something he knows will hurt. And he’s confusing because we were seconds away from seeing each other naked when-,”

“Naked?!” Gianna practically screeches before her hands clasped over her mouth.

“You know at the end of the scene when they all strip off each other’s clothes?”

“Yes! And you fucking, oh my god, he’s ripped, isn’t he? Does he look as good as people say he is?”

“Yeah, I mean, we were kissing for most of it but-,”

“Hold up, you were kissing and practically naked and you don’t want to jump his bones?”

“It’s not that, it’s, he doesn’t want to.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because, the strawberry chapstick I’m giving all the actors today in those plastic bags,” you sigh, attempting to piece back the story from the beginning of yesterday.

“And so I said, maybe he could pretend to be attracted to Nikk if she had my stupid chapstick on, and then he was all ‘who said I’m attracted to you’.”

“First of all, never attempt a British accent again. Second, he was this close to seeing you topless and you really think he isn’t attracted to you? Have you considered he’s just an idiot?”

“No, I know he’s an idiot, but not like that. If he was attracted to me, he’d make a move. God knows he does it every weekend with other girls anyway.”

“One, pot calling the kettle black,”

“Hey, I haven’t since last year and-,”

“Two, he hasn’t recently.”

“How recently?”

“Uh, like I don’t know, past two weeks, which according to Harrison is a miracle, so, take that for what is it.”

“What do you mean what it is? It’s nothing. He’s just busy.”

“Yeah, being attracted to you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Alright, just watch today. If he can show the same level of attraction to Nikk that he did to you while you guys rehearsed, I owe you five bucks, if he can’t, then pay the fuck up.”

“You’re brutal sometimes,” you sigh, checking your phone. You should head back in.

“You like me the most when I’m honest, makes you self reflective, now let’s go, I wanna see you owe me five bucks,” she laughs, locking her elbow with yours as you make your way down the hallway.

Most of the cast is sitting in the desks in the rehearsal space, a larger classroom in the basement of an academic building when you and Gianna slide into your seats.

“I told them about your little goodie bags, making sure they all stay nice and sanitary for the kisses, chapstick and all,” Harrison laughs, “nice touch.”

“Course,” you mumble, eyes meeting Tom’s as your hand clenches around your own chapstick in your pocket.

Fuck him.

You pull it out and apply it to your lips, smacking them softly before looking away. 

“Quentin and Gianna will be setting each scene with makeshift sets and props, most of you will be moving your own set pieces on,” Harrison lets the actors know, the first set of people setting up for their scene.

You watched as Harrison took notes for each scene, his handwriting still managed to look nice even when he wrote something really quickly. You got lost in the way his pen glided against the paper. You weren’t bored with the show, more on edge for your scene, the very last scene of the show, you had to wait until the end to see if your hard work paid off. As their scene neared you watched as Nikk applied the chapstick and Tom broke out into a grin, Gianna elbowing you lightly as she noticed Tom look your way.

You nodded, fingers gently tapping the desk while they people from the scene previous left the stage. 

Tom and Nikk walked on and you and Gianna sat with bated breath, anticipating Tom’s movements as he walked on and went about the scene. 

“Well can I give you a hint?” His voice eager, face soft as he turns to Nikk, and you lean forward, watching as he quickly kisses Nikk. It doesn’t radiate the same energy and his nose crinkles a little before Nikk pulls away in character. You sigh, a little defeated as Gianna grins triumphantly. 

Still a few more kisses. 

“Big, open-faced, strawberry rhubarb pie?” They’re facing each other, Tom’s hand cups Nikk’s face and you wait for the tender moment, his thumb to rub his cheek like he did yours, the slight shake of his head as he mouths the word no, it never came. Instead, they kiss, and Tom’s able to hold it for longer without crinkling his nose, only twitching slightly when Nikk pulls away to finish her line. His hand drops quicker than you would’ve liked and your hand moves across your notebook with notes as you watched them continue with the scene. His hands are clenched in fists at his side, his face is conveying all the emotion that you had worked with him, but his hands were still so angry.  

The rest of the kisses were okay, nothing like the ones in your room, but you figured it was because Tom was getting used to kissing Nikk like he kissed you. At the end of the rehearsal Harrison handed out his notes for everyone and thanked them, you did the same with a reminder that the off book date was coming up Friday and that if anyone needed to run their lines without a script, they should work with their scene partners outside of rehearsal time.

Tom frowned at his notes as you, Harrison, and Gianna walked back to the dorms.

He slipped beside you as Harrison and Gianna walked slightly ahead of you, hands intertwined. 

“What’s this mean?” He asks, pointing to your note, “stop looking so angry, you aren’t the hulk.”

“You kept clenching your fists at your sides, is that a character choice?”

“You know it’s not a character choice,” Tom huffs out and you roll your eyes.

“Then why, even after we’ve been through this I don’t know how many times, you still do it?”

“Cause I don’t want to kiss Nikk.”

“Too bad, everyone has to do things they don’t want to do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks and you ignore the feeling of his knuckles brushing against yours as you turn the corner to the dorm building.

“It means, we all have to take one for the team to make this production excellent.”

Tom’s silent as you follow Harrison and Gianna inside. 

“Y/N, still good for later?” Gianna asks, and you nod as Harrison and Gianna walk up the stairs to Harrison’s room.

“What’s later?” Tom asks and you roll your eyes as he follows you back to your dorm.

“Why’re you going this way? Your dorm is a floor down.”

“My dorm is about to be occupied by horny kids getting it on.”

“Then go to the dining hall.”

“Let’s practice our scene.”

“Can’t, have plans.”

“With who?” Tom scoffs as you unlock your door and check your phone.

Quentin: sorry i can’t help you out tonight, Jay wants to take me on a surprise date, do you still need sheets?

“With someone who just canceled on me,” you sigh, tossing your hands in the air.

“Really or were you coming up with an elaborate plan to not hang out with me?”

“Hang out?” You step backward into your room, standing at the door so Tom couldn’t join.

“Practice the scene, whatever.”

“Well if it means so much to you, Gianna and I, and Quentin up until a minute ago, we’re going to surprise Harrison with a movie night, a little stress reliever from working so hard on the show.”

“I think Gianna’s giving him plenty of stress relief right now.”

“Ew shut up,” you groan.

“Where would you have this movie night?”

“Last year, when Harrison was really stressed about a theater practical, I had this idea,” your eyes light up as you recall the memory, stepping further back into your room, “I bribed the soccer teams to let me use the soccer field and their net, and tied sheets up to it, found a projector, and we had a movie night. So Quentin was supposed to help me set it up while Gianna distracted Harrison but Jay is taking Quentin on a surprise date.”

“I could help.”

“You’d do that?”

“It’s for Harrison right?”

“Yeah.”

He takes another step, following your movements, eyes roaming your face for anything, door shutting behind the two of you. Your movements mirror his in the opposite direction. A dangerous dance.

“Then sure.”

“Okay,” you breath out and he’s so close now, chest inches from yours as you drop your backpack to the ground, breaking the silence. 

“You know, I didn’t mean it earlier, the joke.”

“Hmm?” Your eyes are met with the black sweatshirt he’s still wearing, your dad’s old one.  

“You’re attractive.”

“I know.”

“So maybe for the scene, I can just picture, your cute face,” his hand comes up to cup your cheek, “and pretend that I’m kissing it.”

“Pretend,” you breath out as he leans down.

“Pretend,” he echoes before his lips press against yours. Because that was all this was, practice so he could picture your face instead of Nikk’s, just pretend.

Your hands stay right at your side, trembling and unsure as his feet shuffle you back, your feet fumbling in response. An awkward dance. His lips part easily, tongue gliding against your lips. You refuse to let him in, enjoying the dance as it is, one of his hands is now gripping your hip, thumb of his hand on your cheek stroking it gently.

“Please,” he whispers against your lips, forehead pressed against yours while he stares down at you.

“We should set up for the movie.”

“Screw the movie.”

“No,” you sigh against him, hand pressing against his chest, pushing him back slightly, “this is for Harrison.”

“Later.”

“Maybe.”

“Pretend.”

“Pretend,” you repeat, enjoying the one word back and forth, maybe if you kept saying it was pretend, you could trick yourself into believing that was all this was to you. 

“Good,” he smirks, pulling you back and pressing a quick kiss on your lips before dropping his hands.

“So let’s set stuff up?”

“Right, we need sheets, projector, how’re you holding the sheets up?” Tom jumps into action.

“Rope,” you say, kneeling down and grabbing the clear bin underneath your bed, rummaging through it.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?”

“Hush,” you laugh, grabbing the several small bundles of rope you used the year before as well as two large white sheets and the projector.

You hand Tom the sheets and you open your mini-fridge and grab some sodas. 

“Ready?” He asks as you grab a sweatshirt.

“Give me a second, rope, sheets, soda, projector,” you say, stuffing the rope and soda into your backpack, projector handed over to Tom.

“Blankets, to sit on,” you say, grabbing two picnic blankets from your closet. 

“You’ve got a lot in this tiny room of yours,” Tom muses as you slip your backpack on and hold the blankets.

“Full of surprises,” you laugh. 

The two of you make your way to the soccer field, a silent walk, not quite comfortable, not quite awkward. A strange middle ground that left a weird feeling in your gut.

The soccer field was empty as you and Tom walked towards the net.

You set to work expertly tying the sheets to each end, directing Tom on how to hold it so you can work. 

You set up the blankets and text Gianna that everything is ready before pulling out your laptop, plugging it into the projector.

“What movie are we watching?”

You pause and blink up at Tom, not hearing him, “what?”

“Nevermind, didn’t wanna watch a stupid fucking movie anyways,” he grunts, fists clenched at his side as he begins to stalk away.

You leap from the ground, “Wait! Jesus, I just didn’t hear what you asked!”

You’re paused in a defensive stance, hands out in front of you as you wait for Tom to hear you out. 

“Whatever,” Tom grumbles, turning to stare you down.

“Would you just, why are you acting like such a child? You never use your fucking words. Actually, nevermind, a child can articulate what they want, what they’re feeling without throwing a fit. I don’t even know what you are.”

“You know what I am,” he says, stepping back towards you.

“What might that be?” You take a step back, there’s that dance again.

His hand reaches out for your own as he takes another step and you’re frozen. 

Just as his fingers brush against your own they are ripped apart again when you both hear Harrison and Gianna shouting from the edge of the field, “MOVIE NIGHT!”

You laugh weakly, sitting back by your laptop as Tom crosses his arms and paces, muttering to himself before he greets Harrison with a lame smile.

“Hey, mind if I join?” 

“Not at all mate, what’re we watching?” Harrison directs the question at you as he and Gianna occupy one blanket.

“Hercules,” You smile, eyes squinting at the setting sun.

You turn the projector on and the light flickers onto the sheets against the soccer net. You pull up your copy of Hercules and press play, settling on your side on the other blanket, stretching your limbs out as the opening credits play.

“When you asked if you could join us, I meant it,” Harrison says, head craning to look at Tom who was still slightly pacing. He paused behind the blanket your body occupied.

“Do you mean it?” Tom asks and your head turns to stare at him, you nod before turning back to the screen.

“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” he nods as he sits down with his legs crossed under him next to you.

“Why’s that?”

“Shhh,” Gianna hushes the both of you.

Your voices fall to a whisper, “because, the blanket doesn’t give you much protection and this ground is hard as a rock,” he mimics the way you’re laying, face inches from yours. 

“It’s not the worst in the world,” you respond, voice barely a whisper.

“I should be running lines right now.”

“You should be relaxing and watching the movie,” your eyes roamed his face like he did with yours many times before. You noticed the few freckles that dashed across his cheeks, the slight crook in his nose, the light bags under his eyes, the cliche look of a college student. 

“It’s your fault if I don’t know them by Friday.”

“Is not, you’ve had plenty of time to learn them.”

“Then help me practice.”

“Ask Nikk, your scene partner,” voice echoing the words you said earlier at rehearsal, “if you’re not prepared for the off book date, work with your scene partner.”

“You know I don’t want to work with Nikk. Plus, she’s known her lines for a solid two weeks, I’d look like an idiot practicing with her.”

“As opposed to looking like an idiot with me?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t actually.”

“Despite what you might think, we can still hear you, even if it’s just a bunch of muffled whispers,” Gianna groans and you giggle, eyes crinkled as your hand rests between you. 

His eyes look down between you, his hand resting on his side, fingers twitching as they inch towards your hand.

You yawn and move your hand back to your hip, “watch the movie.”

He nods but his eyes stay trained on yours, and you refuse to break the stare.

You give up and roll onto your back and stretch your arms above you before resting them against your stomach, you want to enjoy the movie.

Your eyes start to droop as the sun sets, the movie just a background noise as you start to drift off to sleep, ignoring the warmth of the body next to yours as it moves closer, an arm resting beneath your head to give you somewhat of a pillow.

***

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[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Mute oneshot in which Mute meets someone close to Smoke - or: Witness Two Boners Die In Slow Motion. (Rating M/E, sexual content + humour, fluff, ~5k words)

.

“You’re what he came for.”

Mute’s eyes slide over in suspicion and despite the unexpected statement, he leans back to maintain an aura of nonchalance. His interest is piqued, however, directed at the handsome features made more attractive by a genuine smile. Even more by the fact that his curious stare is reciprocated with quick glances now and then, like someone wanting to dance but too shy, like seeking reassurance. Like checking availability. Mute knows better than to display a large neon sign saying VACANT and yet he refuses to do the opposite. “That so?”

“Aye.” Sledge takes a sip, not letting the object of Mute’s attention out of his eyes either. “Dressed up for ya, he did.”

It’s one of Rainbow’s first outings and meant to strengthen the so far loose bonds between the international operators – as of now, country ties bind them together more closely than interests and Six astutely remarked on having to change this if they’re meant to form a coherent unit. Therefore, they spent the day suffering team-building exercises and are now out drinking together. Invitations were polite but firm and so most of them came, some earlier, some later, some left already. Mute was punctual and delighted to see Sledge, a Scotsman with whom he’s worked together in the past, if briefly. They maintain a professional friendship which runs deep enough for Mute to consider meeting up with him off duty.

Smoke was late. Possibly on purpose, seeing as the first two whisky and coke noticeably impeded Mute’s judgement; inhibitions and standards have lowered. Nonetheless, he’s noticed the man’s cat-like movements favourably before and would be lying if he claimed his gaze didn’t linger where it should’ve brushed over. Now especially, watching the tight t-shirt cling to Smoke for dear life, the loose boots and well-fitting jeans flattering his legs, hair messily combed back like he already rolled in the hay before coming here and honestly, that wouldn’t make it any less hot. The opposite, if anything. A sated Smoke still hungering for him, not able to help himself? Hell yes.

Mute is occupying a booth, long legs stretched out into empty space and not yet ready to embark on his third journey of peaty pop, so he merely wipes the condensation off his glass and wonders whether he should try to approach this the classy way, and if so, what that would look like. Or whether it really matters in the grand scheme of things – if either of them remembers this night in a few years, they definitely won’t focus on their first interaction that day. Time moves at a sluggish pace yet Mute is filled with an increasing impatience. He knows he’s not meant to be right here, right now, not when there’s a perfectly good bed both in his and in Smoke’s room.

“Why for me?”, he asks and it’s vanity speaking. He’s not wondering whether he’s Smoke’s target, not when it’s made abundantly clear by absent-minded lip biting and fiddling with hair and almost dropping the phone and maybe he’s making Smoke nervous by staring at him. He enjoys the thought. Smoke is older and with a much bigger gob, plus he’s a vain bastard with too much confidence. Mute doesn’t know how he caught his eye, but he wants to hear why Sledge thinks he did.

“‘S just his modus operandi. He thinks breaking in the newbies in the SAS is gonna earn him a merit badge in the long run.”

Smoke looks over and offers a smile, a small, tentative thing, and Mute is too slow – his heartbeat reacts faster than he does, spikes in anticipation, but his facial muscles need a moment. He allows his enjoyment to bleed into his expression once he’s overcome the shock of just how fucking good Smoke looks and when their gazes meet once more, they’re both smiling. Just then, the group around the other man breaks out into laughter and Smoke joins, too late, obviously missed the punchline and fuck. That’s – Mute takes a big gulp to cool down a little.

“That’s what he does? Go after the young ones?” Not a deal breaker, but leaving behind an unpleasant taste on his tongue. Imagining them old and still gunning for a few decades below their own age isn’t part of Mute’s definition of sexy.

“No. The new ones. Nothing to do with age.” Tearing his eyes off the topic of their conversation is harder than he thought. Sledge doesn’t seem to be sugar coating, not with how earnest he looks. “If they’ve been with us for less than two, three years, he’ll pursue. No clue why. Blackmail material, maybe, or some warped sense of accomplishment. You won’t find a single troop where nobody has let him have a go.”

Interesting. Sledge’s tone of voice conveys exactly what he thinks of this achievement but to Mute, it makes Smoke all the more alluring. “Is he any good?”

The scandalised reply almost makes him laugh: “You’re not gonna fuck him, lad. You barely know him.”

While correct, it’s hardly a reason not to fuck Smoke. “That’s the point”, Mute explains despite the outrage in Sledge’s face, “less likely to get attached, the both of us. Early on is the best time to fuck anyone – later on it’s all ‘don’t sleep with his ex’, ‘don’t sleep with my best friend’, and maybe I wouldn’t ever wanna fuck anyone if I knew them enough. No chance of knowing it better when I’m lacking all the details.”

“That’s a horrendous point of view”, Sledge states, not even causing Mute’s grin to waver. “And what if he turns out to be a tosser?”

“I don’t plan on making a habit out of this anyway. He wants a quick shag, I want a quick shag. Besides, I do hope he’s a tosser, then I won’t have to worry about getting him off.”

Giving up, fortunately, seems to be the only course of action Sledge still sees. “Alright. Go on then, lad. Hope you’ll have no regrets.” He leaves behind an empty bench perfect for a tight little arse to squeeze in instead.

And Mute doesn’t have to wait long.

You’re what he came for, echo the words through his mind, prompting a giddy recklessness flaring up once he’s joined in the booth. The sizzling is audible and his drink forgotten in favour of attentive eyes drilling into his skull. I’m not calling back after tonight, Mute decides and remains unsure whether it’s out of self-preservation or vindictiveness. He’s too pretty, fingers curling around a glass, black strands falling into his forehead, body language open and inviting and provocative.

“I heard you’re the prodigy around here”, Smoke addresses him, still fully in control over his tongue. He can’t have had much yet.

“I heard you’re fucking your way through the Blades”, Mute responds politely, and the smile grows.

“Only the good ones.”

Cheeky. The hand on his knee goes uncommented and his silence is taken as the very encouragement it was intended. “How do you tell them apart?”

“What colour shirt did I wear yesterday?”

His palm burns and Mute wishes he could show Sledge how he feels in this moment, alight under a smouldering, watchful gaze, the idea of doing the deed almost more enticing than the actual thing. He figures the Scotsman would still judge him, albeit less harshly. Mute begins wondering what would need to happen for him to consider calling Smoke back. “You wore a black hoodie”, he drawls and parts his lips at the sudden squeeze of his thigh. Smoke looks delighted.

“The bad ones don’t pay attention to detail”, he explains and the next thing Mute knows is the taste of stale cigarettes and beer on his tongue.

.

~*~

.

“Babe, come on. Please, babe.” The whispered plea sends a crackling shudder down his spine, translating into a twitch of his fingers, grip on solid hipbones wavering, and the following breath right into his ear makes him consider spilling all of the imagery contained in his mind.

Mute lost count a while ago. They’re in the double digits for sure, both of them pretending they really want to try out this new game, really want to visit this restaurant again, really just want to hang out; and amidst good-natured laughs and sharp quips, their fingers brush during an exchange of bottles, one of them sits a little too close, and a compliment during banter comes out too genuine. They’re terrified, but fortunately they get off on danger. They’ve become addicted: outlets, catalysts. Wildfires.

Nothing ties them together and by all logic, they should’ve left it at that one night – and the next morning, really, and Smoke delayed leaving without overstaying his welcome. The times after that were so coincidental, telling themselves it wasn’t deliberate was deceptively easy, and these days Mute comes over with Smoke’s favourite takeout, bursting with trivia, tidbits and gossip to share and knowing there’ll be a second toothbrush. When he first saw it, he nearly faltered. It was lying there so innocuously as if it really was just a toothbrush, and after a moment Mute convinced himself that’s all it was. A mere toothbrush. Nothing more.

And now Smoke is riding his cock like his life depended on it, and maybe it does; the way he holds on to Mute reminds him of a drowning man but the ecstatic grin disrupts the image. He’s glowing from the inside, or maybe it’s the dying light of the sun painting him golden, or maybe it’s Mute’s mind which casually notes that they end their evenings earlier each time, give in faster, allow the tug around their midsections to make them collide.

“Just a bit”, Smoke continues and he’s so fucking overwhelming Mute wishes he could come in him ten times just to watch his reaction. Or make him come ten times just to watch him. Either is good. “It’d be so fucking hot, babe, please, I’ll do you any favour, you know I’m good for it.”

Is he ever. Mute vividly remembers the last time he was given a blank cheque like this. “I don’t know what to say”, he shoots back a big fat lie, mostly because he enjoys being difficult and a frustrated Smoke makes for fantastic memories. They’ve slowed down and every grind seems to go marrow deep, making it impossible not to grin. Mute fucking loves this, loves doing this and especially with Smoke, loves that they always end up here, inside each other in some way, loves the mutual respect and attraction and the fact that both of them play along. No egos getting stroked, only their dicks.

“You ever listen to me run my mouth?”

Often, and gladly. Mute’s grin widens. “I might need another demonstration.”

“No dice, babe. Just imitate all the porn you’ve undoubtedly watched while thinking of me.”

“Thinking of you is usually enough.”

He really went there. A heated gaze darkens and there’s no doubt Smoke is picturing it, judging by the slightly absent expression Mute switches to an appreciative one with a hard thrust. “That’s a good start.”

“Sorry, that was all the material I had.” In his mind, he’s mapping out his game plan: proper filth at the end, all the graphic details need to be staggered or else he risks a verbal premature ejaculation leaving them both dissatisfied. Compliments here and there – his stupid fucking luscious hair still growing like from a shampoo commercial despite having been burnt off several times; he’s proud of it so Mute will have to include it. Then his fingers, God, his fingers, producing the worst chicken scratch Mute has ever encountered and yet able to stroke him into another dimension nonetheless, not only over his dick or prostate but also his scalp. He’s not telling him he’s never felt so comfortable and refreshed like the time Smoke petted him to sleep. He is, however, telling him about the day he spent half hard over Smoke winning against the entirety of the GIGN in hand to hand, the boxer in him clearly visible in his fearless stance and the way he either fully dodges or simply absorbs the hit.

Mute is perceptive and thorough. Once he’s done talking, Smoke will be on his second orgasm and begging for more personalised compliments and spot-on dirty talk.

“Honestly, just throw out a few ‘fuck’s and describe what you’re doing and I’m happy.”

The urges to laugh and to interrupt their lovemaking for a reproachful, deadpan stare compete viciously. Smoke is taking him seriously, genuinely believes him to be inept and it shows in his lack of exasperation – if he knew Mute was deliberately being a little shite, he’d roll his eyes or sigh or try to make him cream himself by twisting his nipples, but instead he’s being gently supportive.

He knows enough about Mute’s history, so it’s more of an intentional insult than a faux pas.

Neither of them are faltering through the entire exchange, which is impressive in its own right. Mute still possesses the presence of mind to nail Smoke’s sweet spot often enough to keep the dopey look in his expression, and yet he’s got the brain capacity left to vow revenge.

Repeat after porn, he said? “Oh fuck, you’re so big”, he moans, earning an odd look almost shattering his composure already. None of his body parts are purposefully touching Smoke’s cock and still he takes the comment in stride.

And then he goes in for the kill: “Fuck yes daddy. Oh, fuck me daddy.”

The effect is as instant as it is hilarious and Mute has his iron composure to thank that he doesn’t break out into hysterical laughter immediately. Slowly, like a tree falling over, desire turns into disbelief turns into shock turns into thinly-veiled disgust – and Mute already outlines more horrific statements like his previous to frustrate Smoke. A displeased Smoke is a dominant Smoke and it’s oh so enjoyable to hold him down.

Instead of completing the full circuit and circling back to helpless amusement, Smoke simply stares him down, unmoving, unresponsive to the slight nudges from Mute’s hips, and says: “Dude.”

He sounds serious.

“Too far?”, Mute asks. It might be a prank – he hopes it is, hopes Smoke’s suddenly sober attitude is based in well-hidden mirth instead of genuine dismay, because the consequences would be far too dire. Maybe something happened to a friend of his, a sister, a cousin, maybe even to him, leading to a knee-jerk aversion of this particular kink and dear Lord, he’s flagging now, and so is Mute due to the uncomfortable twist in his guts. The concern that he overstepped an invisible line by straying from well-lit paths without asking permission. The fear that he might not be invited back.

“It’s just -”

Avoiding eye contact. Fuck. Mute’s in the shite now. Last time Smoke looked this uncomfortable was when he turned down an old flame, out of earshot and yet in full sight of Mute who sipped his beer and tried not to show his inordinate pleasure. Though he did lean closer once Smoke returned, looking away when Sledge’s gaze met his.

He doesn’t want this to be over.

An apology forces his lips apart, pride and ego violently shoved aside by an odd sense of self preservation, as if Smoke was food or sleep instead of an irritating fucker with an atrocious gag reflex who’s infuriatingly beaten Mute in every single one of his favourite video games and then stole the blanket all night afterwards, and he can’t fucking lose this. He went too far, he made a dumb joke which might’ve hit too close to home and he’ll be damned if -

“I have a daughter.”

Mute’s brain freezes.

“And, well, she called me that, so it’s a bit – you know.”

“You’re fucking kidding me”, Mute breathes softly.

“She’s almost done with school now, but just don’t go there, alright?”

She’s fucking what.

The following is the most awkward of silences, considering Mute is still halfway inside Smoke yet neither of them display any motivation to keep going, and when they eventually separate, Smoke sitting next to him with an uncertain aura of anticipation, Mute’s mind still hasn’t caught up. “Is this – I mean -”

Is this a deal breaker, he isn’t saying, much to Mute’s benefit as he wouldn’t have an answer. What kind of deal do they even have?

“Do you like kids?”

And it’s not about that, fucking hell, it’s about the omission thing. Lack of trust. “I don’t know. I kinda still am one”, he replies and is fairly certain it’s not the response Smoke wanted as he pulls a face and mutters something like well we’re done here and Mute doesn’t dare ask what exactly he means.

.

~*~

.

Society generally expects an answer where a question was posed, that much Mute knows, but attempting to take in all these shocking turns of events simultaneously occupies his entire mental capacity and thus he leaves the vaguely annoyed can I help you echo uselessly between them as he stares at the personified nightmare right before him.

He’s terrifyingly bad with children and worse with teenagers, swinging between trying so desperately to be the ‘cool uncle’ by teaching them easy explosions achievable with common household items and treating them like adults, meaning he ignores them for the large part unless they have anything genuinely interesting to say. Which happens rarely enough, in his experience.

It’s worse when the child belongs to someone close to him. Being stuck at a friend’s birthday party where the predominant topics were family friendly vacation places and shortcomings in the kindergarten system has happened to him more than once. He’s slept with a guy a few times who was adamant on having a family later in life and watched him try to convince his best friend to be his surrogate mother, and it took no longer than another week for Mute to break off all contact.

Now he’s faced not only with a kid with an attitude, no, she’s also Smoke’s daughter. And as if this wasn’t alarming enough already, her hair is blue.

“I, uh”, he introduces himself elaborately.

A brown eyebrow lifts. This seems to be her natural hair colour, though her mane is dyed a vibrant aqua and looks like she hasn’t brushed it today.

He realises belatedly that a strange man appearing on her doorstep and proceeding to gape at her idiotically isn’t the best way to gain her trust. “James sent me, I’m Mark. You’re – you’re Charlie?”

She nods curtly and makes no move to let him in. Just a typical girl, Smoke had said with a smile and a shrug, smart, but otherwise normal. Charlie looks like she attended a three-day punk festival and hadn’t gotten a chance to shower yet. At least Mute can’t detect any smell of cigarettes – or worse. He begins wondering how Smoke describes him to anyone if he considers his daughter to be wholly generic. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m not here to babysit. He said you’re running low on a few things and to help clean a bit.”

“Ah. Bitchwork.”

“That’s what I usually say to your dad.”

One of the many reasons Mute prefers not being alone with anyone ten years younger than him: having been surrounded by older people instead of peers for most of his life gave him a skewed view of what’s appropriate and, uh, what’s most definitely not.

Fortunately for him, disgust and disbelief aren’t the only emotions fighting on Charlotte Porter’s face – delight and amusement are among them. “Wow. Well. Come in then.”

If he’d known that one fateful night in the early days of Rainbow was such a slippery slope leading to him being Smoke’s confidante to check on the most important person in his life while he sits on his arse all day in Colombia waiting for something to happen, Mute might’ve made a wide berth around him. If he’d known that sticking with him and waiting for a half-arsed apology about the omission of offspring eventually delivered between very wet and malty kisses would result in him having to spend half a day with this punk of a teenager, he might’ve ended it after learning of Charlie’s existence.

He tells himself this, exasperated, and ignores his own voice calling him hypocritical. There’s a star next to Smoke’s name in his phone, in every app that allows it, and it facilitated checking the address ten times. It’s not the fucking tuna or a sudden weather change why he’s nauseous. It’s because he doesn’t want to fuck this up.

The house is more spacious than he’d thought but the area also more rural. Posters line the walls, a lot of the floor is naked and there’s a casual air of neglect Mute immediately finds charming: paperwork crammed into shelves, a few dust bunnies peeking out of cracks, more jackets than one person could ever need draped over various pieces of furniture. It’s neither cramped nor ultimately untidy or dirty, but it has a rugged lived-in look he can’t imagine to be popular with most girls of that age. Fifteen, he remembers Smoke saying. Finishing school next year.

“You’re not allowed in my room”, Charlie tells him and closes a door right before he gets to it. He catches a glimpse of a bright pink wall, fairy lights and what looks like a janbiya, an Arabic dagger. Maybe Smoke brought it home as a souvenir.

Endless questions are on his mind: how is he as a dad? What’s the stupidest thing you heard him do or say? What was he like five years ago?

And then, inevitably: does he bring other guys here often?

“Are you alone a lot?”

Only teenagers have perfected this utterly indifferent shrug when asked a personal question, Mute has never witnessed anyone over twenty perform it this flawlessly. “I’m usually out, you’re lucky you caught me.”

She’s on break – hence the hair, he figures – and Smoke mentioned some difficulties in her friends group. Charlie doesn’t strike him as someone who’s left the house for a few days and the state of most horizontal surfaces supports his suspicion. “No parties happening here? Even when dad’s away?”

“We don’t just invite people over. This is our place.” She’s scrutinising him again. Smart, Smoke called her and Mute is inclined to agree, her eyes certainly are attentive and flit about like they’re trying to catch him doing something unsavoury, thus warranting a ban for life.

.

“What do you do?”, Charlie asks in between tossing some pasta and rice into the cart. She cooks, surprisingly, and Mute can’t help the image of a small ten-year-old Charlotte with brown pigtails fixing dinner for them both and chastising Smoke for his unhealthy eating habits. Over time, she’s thawed – as has he. Putting her seatbelt on is second nature, she asks first before changing CDs and doesn’t put her dirtied boots on the dashboard. Smoke could learn a lot from her. It seems she chose this hair colour out of personal preference and not as an act of inconsequential rebellion and who is Mute to judge anyone’s taste in fashion.

“Same thing as your dad.” He snatches some off-brand cereal off the shelf as Charlie mentioned wanting some and watches in amusement as she rolls her eyes and exchanges them for the much pricier branded version.

“You save people and blow things up?”

He couldn’t have described Smoke’s actual function on the battlefield more concisely. “Mostly I prevent things from blowing up, but the premise is the same.”

“Are you the smart one? Did you attend Oxford?”

“Cambridge. Yes.” He’s momentarily caught up in witnessing his ego grow a few sizes at the thought of Smoke talking about him to his daughter, so he forgives her for the gaffe. Most people who mistake one prestigious university for the other aren’t so lucky and invite a lengthy lecture over the age-old rivalry between the two. Charlie gets a pass.

“Same thing.”

Alright. Okay.

All bets are off.

“I’ll have you know that they’re extremely -”, and this round goes to Charlie with her unbearably smug grin making it impossible to think she’s not a blood relative of Smoke’s. He looks exactly like this whenever he’s managed to rile Mute up as well. He deflates and manages to catch himself before he rolls his eyes. “Brat. That won’t work again.”

“Wanna bet?” She’s laughing now yet there’s no malice behind it. Growing up with half a parent left an impact on her, Mute can tell: trying to stay positive and find joy in everything, but her level of independence reminds him of his own at her age. There’s a few aspects of a typical childhood he didn’t get to experience. Regardless, she’s fiercely loyal and her love for Smoke obvious. “Are you better at maths than him?”

“Easily.” He fondly recalls the look on Smoke’s face the one time he gave in and actually explained the calculations he was doing.

“I got a ton of homework over the break and my maths teacher is a hardass.”

“Need my help with anything?”

“Well, I’m done with all of it. But maybe you could just check it for mistakes.”

At this point, he wonders how Smoke managed to raise such an angel. She’s distant in a friendly way and he assumes she takes time warming up to anyone, just like he’s sure there’s a bubbly, excitable and emotional girl hidden under the nonchalant façade. “Sure.”

“And you need to teach me how to defend myself. Dad still refuses.”

Finding it a little odd Smoke would neglect to train his own daughter, he agrees once more and forgets two very crucial details in the process: Charlie already baited him before. And Smoke boxed for a long, long time.

.

His fight response kicks in the moment the mattress dips and it takes several it’s me, it’s me until he stops struggling against the grip around his wrists, loosening as soon as he sinks back into the unfamiliar sheets. Smoke’s wearing a grin that’s entirely too handsome and yet not pretty enough for Mute not to take a swing at him when a sharp jolt of pain shoots through him at the welcoming kiss.

“Ow, fuck”, Smoke hisses and glides under the covers to drape himself over Mute like a second blanket. His clothes are cold, he must’ve returned home not long ago. “We got sent home early, otherwise I would’ve stayed another week. What happened to your nose?”

They’re keeping their voices down and together with the dulled lamp in the corner, the room is filled with softness: velvet shadows, kind whispers, gentle touches. Mute relaxes again and wraps his arms around the familiar body the way he couldn’t the past two weeks. “Charlie”, he says.

He missed this ungraceful snort. Missed all of him, really; now that he’s back it’s clear as day. “Your fault for falling for it.”

“She do this often?”

“Only with me. But then she doesn’t hold back. ‘Dad, I think I forgot everything you taught me’. ‘Dad, can you show me that one kick again’. ‘Dad, I’m not gonna embarrass you again, I promise’.” Their giggles echo in between the rustling of clothes. Mute is undressing him without motive, but when Smoke starts moving against him with purpose, his fingers become more insistent. “I didn’t expect you to stay overnight. I only asked you to make sure she’s got everything she needs.”

“It was her idea. She destroyed me in Mario Kart, I dominated her in Smash Bros., and then it was late already.”

“You didn’t even clean. The place still looks like shite.”

“Listen. We went shopping, I taught her scary-sounding maths words to intimidate you, she almost broke my nose, then we watched some cartoons and played video games. There was no time.”

Smoke is beaming at him and he can’t take it. He looks fucking stoked, as if Mute offered to take his brat off his hands or to cook for him for the rest of their lives, and somehow it’s scarier than coming here, facing such a significant part of Smoke’s life all on his own. There’s devotion in these eyes, and adoration, something far bigger than simple gratitude. They both know Mute’s visit here isn’t a courtesy. It may be a test of some kind, and he seems to have passed with flying colours if Smoke’s maniacal grin is anything to go by.

He’s terrified of what’s gonna come out of Smoke’s mouth next.

Because he -

He just doesn’t know -

“God you’re fucking hot”, Smoke breathes and thank Christ, this is familiar territory.

His fist is enough for Smoke to push into while sucking deep purple bruises onto his shoulder to stop himself from anything more than a mewl, and though Mute is too tired to get off himself, his toes curl the moment it splatters warm on his stomach. There’s nothing new to their touches, nothing remarkable about the way they instinctively wrap around each other as they drift off, and yet it’s Smoke’s bed in Smoke’s house and therefore it’s all foreign somehow.

The love bites thrum in gentle pain, the flat creaks like any strange place when his ears haven’t started filtering out the usual yet, and none of it matters because Smoke is drooling on his arm. Small steps. Mute can do small steps.

He has a feeling one of them is coming up with an excuse for him to spend some more time here soon.

No guys, Charlie said. He only sent babysitters over. No friends, nobody from work. No one like you.

And then the young woman who probably upended Smoke’s life the day she stepped into it, the grown-up girl for whom Smoke grew up himself more than ten years ago, the blue-haired student who’s earned so much of Smoke’s love and time gave him a meaningful look. Added: He doesn’t get attached.

Me neither, Mute replied. And was already looking forward to watching her and Smoke interact.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #mute #smoke/mute #charlie #fanfic #oneshot #I promise you charlie's here to stay #sledge is just watching them in awe and horror #waiting for the inevitable explosion #but never guessed that explosion was mutual affection