#we're going obscure again people

[evilwickedme]

Things Gail has been abnormal about

Where I ask you if you've consumed something that I, Gail, have been abnormal about

[gimmethatagustd]

delicate | pjm

After months of not talking to each other, Taehyung thinks he can charm his way into your life again. Thankfully, Jimin is there to help you work through your feelings.

○ Pairing: Jimin x f!reader (from Only Here To Sin)

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Established relationship, fluff, smut, pwp

○ Word Count: 3,987

○ Warnings: It's pretty much just porn, OHTS Taehyung strikes again!! he's annoying!!, mentions past sex with Taehyung, references toxic past relationships, consensual sex while under the influence of alcohol (just tipsy), using a tie as a blindfold, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, it's their first time together 🥹, I definitely didn't edit this (as usual, we post when we're done and we never look back)

○ Notes: This can be read as a standalone oneshot, but I recommend reading OHTS to get the full backstory~ and also because it's a disaster of a series, so it's kind of like watching a trainwreck. Don't judge me too much; I had no idea what I was doing when I wrote it. I still have no idea what I'm doing!

○ Post Date: December 16, 2023

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? Like Crazy - Jimin

You knew going out with Jackie was a mistake. Even more of a mistake was your agreement to go to this nightclub. 

“Are you cold?” 

Jimin’s arms snake around your waist and draw you against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder. The light, minty scent of his toothpaste mixes with the floral notes of his cologne. Rather than overwhelm you, the smell grounds you and brings you into the present. 

“I’m okay,” you mumble. 

Jimin hums. You feel the sound vibrate from his throat against your shoulder and the side of your neck. He’s not convinced, and you know he isn’t. 

“Want to go find your friends? I’ll order us drinks.” 

You nod and reluctantly detach yourself from Jimin’s embrace. The poor bartender has far too many people crowding the counter. Jimin will have to wait a while; he’s too polite to cut in front of other customers. 

The club isn’t big, but it’s packed. You feel like you’re clawing through the bodies swaying to the music with your head on a swivel to find your friends in the crowd. The last time you were at this club, you’d ended up in the bathroom with Taehyung’s fingers shoved inside you. 

No. You are not going to think about that. 

It has been five months. Five months of detoxing, of neatly packing away the hurt and confusion that Taehyung caused you and storing it in the attic of your mind. You’re a different person now. The person Taehyung manipulated and strung along was no more. And the most important part is that you’ve forgiven the person you used to be. It was too easy to be angry at yourself for your mistakes. 

Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean you weren’t nervous about returning home for summer break. The memories and emotions triggered the moment you pulled into your parents’ driveway were enough to make you feel like throwing up. You’re lucky Jimin got time off from his music apprenticeship in California to visit you, or you may not survive the summer. 

Dreary thoughts aside, you’re beginning to feel frustrated with your inability to find Jackie when you feel a warm hand slide into your palm and long fingers intertwine with yours. 

“Hey, jagi.” 

Despite the loud thrum of music, that smooth voice pierces through you sharply and clearly.

Taehyung’s cheeks shimmer pink with intoxication beneath his honey-toned skin. His hair is longer than when you last saw him. It falls into his eyes, obscuring them in a way that makes his already mystifying gaze all the more intimidating. They nearly glow in the pulsing club lights, sparkling with amusement. 

“Miss me?” Taehyung tongues his cheek as his eyes take apart every inch of your body. “You look really good.” 

How your stomach flutters with butterflies you’d thought were long gone makes you feel sick. You quickly rip your hand from Taehyung’s. You’d missed him, in the beginning, a little bit, but being with him had hurt you more than leaving him. It took making new friends to realize you’d missed companionship, not Taehyung. Now, you have far healthier friendships. 

You can practically hear Alexis’s voice in your head, nagging you about toxic men like Taehyung. 

“The worst thing a man can be is aware that he’s hot,” Alexis lectured you the first time you opened up to her about Taehyung. She wasn’t wrong.  

“No, I did not.” The steadiness of your voice surprises you, though it shouldn’t. You’ve put in a lot of work to process your fucked up relationship with Taehyung. You can do this. 

The smug look on Taehyung’s face doesn’t disappear, but that doesn’t surprise you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in town, jagi?”

“Why do you even think I would tell you?” 

Before you can demand that Taehyung stop calling you by the inappropriate term of endearment, you feel lips brush against your temple. 

“I gave up,” Jimin admits with an apologetic smile and empty hands. His eyes take in your crossed arms and rigid stance when you don't speak. With a frown, he follows your gaze to notice Taehyung finally. “Oh, sorry, hi. I’m Jimin, her boyfriend.”  

You try to be kind, but you want to punch the smug look off of Taehyung’s face when he offers his hand to Jimin. 

“Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi. I’m Taehyung,” he introduces himself. “Her ex.” 

Jimin is too polite for his own good. He shakes Taehyung’s hand with his head cocked to the side. His pink lips scrunch into a sideways pout, and his eyebrows are just as tense. It’s the look he makes while writing his Music Theory essays. (“Music is about feeling, Y/N! Why do I need to write papers about it?”) It isn’t anger or frustration but a struggle to understand. 

All you can think about is that Taehyung called himself your ex. After the grief he’d given you for wanting to be more to him than a sexual conquest, it’s unfathomable that he could claim the two of you had dated. 

“She’s told me about you,” Jimin finally states. You’re not sure what angle he’s going for. In all honestly, you’d love to melt into the floor and bypass this entire conversation. 

“That’s cute.” Taehyung’s eyes twinkle with the sparkles of the disco ball rotating overhead. 

“Hmm, I guess, if you think being an asshole is cute.” 

You hope your gasp isn’t detectable. Both men continue staring at each other, so it’s hard to tell. 

“Do you?” Taehyung grins, and you barely hide your shock when Taehyung blatantly checks Jimin out. 

It’s the same predatory look he’s given you in the past that makes your heart flutter and heat blossom between your thighs. You find it odd to see the look directed at someone else, let alone at your boyfriend. 

It’s also odd that you feel relieved when Jimin’s cheeks flush pink at the sudden attention. Somehow, Jimin’s reaction is the validation you need to remind yourself that you haven’t made anything up. Taehyung has this uncanny power to capture people’s attention and draw them into his clutches with a simple look. Seeing Jimin affected by Taehyung makes you feel better about falling into his trap. It doesn’t take away all the blame; you take full responsibility for your actions. But it helps knowing someone as strong as Jimin can be flustered by Taehyung, too. 

“I do not, actually.” Jimin tightens his hold on your waist. The feeling of his warm hand on your hip keeps you out of your head. Grounded. Jimin always keeps you grounded. 

“Unfortunately, that’s all Taehyung knows how to be,” you pipe up. Even if your snappy comment does nothing to remove the smug look on Taehyung’s face, you get satisfaction from voicing your thoughts regardless. 

“If I remember correctly, you enjoyed that about me.” 

You let out a long sigh. “Tae, what matters is that I’m not enjoying anything about this conversation right now.” 

Jimin presses his fingers into your side, gently reminding you he’s there – as if you could ever forget his presence. 

“Let’s go, Jimin.” You wrap your pinky around Jimin’s and tug. “I’m sure whoever Taehyung came with is looking for him.” 

You don’t wait for a response from either man. You’re over the days of having men tell you what to do.

Two hours later, you’re thoroughly tipsy and stumbling into Jimin’s hotel room with sore feet and the sensation of cotton in your ears from the nightclub’s loud music. Never the type to be out all night, it didn’t take long for you to ask Jimin if you could head back to his hotel room. Although you succeeded in ensuring Taehyung didn’t ruin the night for you, partying isn’t your thing anyway. 

Jimin, on the other hand, is still wired. He strips off his shirt and tosses it onto the couch before working on unbuckling his belt. 

“What’s the name of that guy Jackie’s dating?” he asks with a huff like he’s out of breath. You watch him tug his belt from the loops and toss it onto the couch. 

“Seokjin? Well, he goes by Jin.” Jin and Jackie. They’re an unlikely pair but cute. 

“Yes! He’s so funny!” Jimin pushes his jeans down his thighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone take that make shots. And you know how my fraternity is.” 

Following Jimin’s lead, you shimmy out of your dress. The hotel’s vents are blasting cold air, so you quickly sort through Jimin’s suitcase to find one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of loose boxers to wear. The two of you have undressed in front of each other before, and you’ve even fooled around while naked, but nothing has ever gone beyond using your hands and mouths to get each other off. Jimin has been unbelievably gentle and kind with your desire to take your relationship slow. You’ve been dating for nearly half a year, and he hasn’t pressured you. 

You know it’s basic decency to respect someone’s boundaries, but considering the relationships you’ve had in the past, this is a big deal for you. 

Not ready to sleep yet, Jimin sits in the bed and reaches for you with grabby hands and a slight pout. He looks adorable with his fluffy blonde hair. You’re not sure you can deny him anything, honestly. 

“We probably should have had more water,” Jimin points out as you climb into his lap. Heat radiates from his bare chest, prompting you to snuggle against his skin to absorb some of that warmth for yourself. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re talking with this cute little slur.”

“I am not!” 

Okay, maybe you are, but you’re not drunk. You’re just tipsy enough to feel loose in your limbs, light in your head, and hot in your core. Biting your bottom lip, you shift to straddle Jimin’s lap. The blankets pool around your waist, and Jimin’s hands naturally rest on your bare thighs. 

Jimin lets you lift his chin so his head is tilted to look at you. 

“Are you okay?” His hold on your hips is light but sturdy. 

“I want you.” 

Jimin’s eyes flutter closed when your lips brush against his neck. You suck at the soft skin where his jaw meets his throat while you thread your fingers through his blonde waves. When you nestle your fingers into the roots, you gently tug his hair. 

A low groan rumbles from Jimin’s chest. His grip on your waist tightens, and the sensation causes your body to shudder. 

“Are you sure?” He opens his eyes when you pull back from his neck, but you’re focused on the dark, reddish-purple bruise you’ve left on his skin. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to do anything after running into–” 

“No.” Your response is curt, probably sharper than Jimin expects if his widened eyes are anything to go off of. “Taehyung doesn’t have any influence over me anymore, Jimin. This is just me wanting you, okay?” 

It’s true; Taehyung has nothing to do with your desire for Jimin. Maybe if he does have some ounce of influence over the situation, it’s only because you feel empowered and emboldened after standing up to him. That, mixed with the alcohol, is giving you a sense of invincibility. It’s confidence that you might lose by the night's end, but you’re willing to ride the wave for as long as you can. 

None of this is anything you’ll regret in the morning. If anything, you’ll be thankful for the opportunity to prove to yourself and everyone else that you’re ready to take on the things you’ve once feared. 

Accepting your reassurances, Jimin nods. He runs a hand up your spine, stopping at the base of your head to cup your neck.

“Can I just say something first?” 

His question makes your stomach flip, but you force yourself to maintain eye contact while you nod. You tend to get nervous with him when you’re intimate. There’s nothing wrong with Jimin; he’s kind and attentive. It’s your bad experiences with sex that make you hesitate. There’s too much pressure to perform well. 

“You always get really nervous,” Jimin starts slowly, rubbing his palms up your thighs. “And I was trying to think of a way to help you relax.” 

Shame burns your cheeks because you feel like this isn’t something Jimin should have to do. It’s pathetic, isn’t it? Why can’t you handle sex without getting so stressed out over it? 

“Okay…” you prompt him to continue, though you aren’t sure if you want him to. 

“Would you be willing to try something? I promise if you don’t like it, we can stop.” 

If it were anyone else, you’d be scared of Jimin’s question, but you find it relatively easy to agree to whatever plan he has – albeit nervously. 

Careful not to jostle you too much, Jimin maneuvers you off his lap and goes to his suitcase. It takes a few seconds for him to find what he’s looking for, but when he faces you again, you feel your heart flutter.

In Jimin’s hands is a silk black tie, which he keeps for special occasions – such as the dinner he attended with you and your parents when he first arrived in your hometown for the summer. It looks good on him, especially when he loosens it and lets it hang haphazardly around his neck. 

Despite your limited sexual experience, it’s clear that he won’t be the one wearing it tonight. Approaching the bed, Jimin instructs you to sit back with your legs spread so he can kneel between them. 

“You trust me?” he whispers. When you nod, he reaches behind your head to secure the tie so that it covers your eyes. “Let me know if it’s uncomfortable, and I can redo it.” 

“It feels okay.” Strange, but okay. 

You can’t see anything, so you keep your eyes closed. Rather than become even more nervous about the unknown of the darkness, you find that it’s actually relaxing. So often, you let negative thoughts ruin intimacy with Jimin, preventing you from moving forward in your relationship. Somehow, being blindfolded empties your mind until all you can think about is how you imagine what Jimin looks like while he touches you. 

You let Jimin guide you to lie flat on your back. With your most prominent sense taken away, you focus on your others to tell you what’s happening. Jimin is slow as he slips his hands beneath the hem of your shirt to push it up your torso. 

“Can I take this off?” His breath is hot against the side of your neck, and you feel the bed shift when he hovers above you. 

“Yes,” you reply, barely above a breathy whisper. 

Once Jimin has removed your shirt, his body heat disappears. You don’t panic, but you feel lost without his touches there to ground you. That is, until you feel something wet flick across your nipple. 

“Oh, god,” you moan when Jimin wraps his lips around your nipple and gently sucks. 

His tongue is hot and sloppy as it swirls around the bud until it’s perky and hard. Satisfied with his work, Jimin attaches his plush lips to your other nipple and repeats the same action. 

You arch your back, pushing against his mouth. Jimin wraps his arms around your waist to press his palm to the small of your back, further pulling you into him. The darkness heightens your sense of touch, making each hot swipe of Jimin’s tongue and the graze of his teeth against your skin even more tantalizing. Your pussy throbs with how wet and hot you’re growing just from this alone. 

“Jimin,” you whimper. 

His fingers hook around the edge of your borrowed boxers. “Can I take these off, too?”

You nod your head quickly and lift your hips to make it easier for Jimin to pull his boxers off of you. 

“So pretty…” 

You let out a high moan when you feel the pads of Jimin’s fingers brush against your entrance. He gathers your arousal and smears it over your lips and clit. You can hear the squelch the wetness makes when he dips his fingers inside of you just enough to gather more of the sticky mess. Your wet skin goes cold, and you can tell Jimin has blown air on you. 

“I’m going to eat you out, okay?” Jimin punctuates his question with a tiny flick of his tongue against your pussy. 

“Please, fuck, please,” you want to cry and try to push your hips against where you think his face is, but his hands hold your hips down. 

“I will, I will.”

Jimin laughs, airy and gentle, before pushing his tongue further between your lips to flick your clit. He repeatedly sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin while his lips envelop you. 

Your skin is blazing from the heat of his heavy breathing and how his touch makes you burn. Every suck of your clit makes you gush between your thighs. You can imagine Jimin staring up at you with dark eyes as he eats you out, humming into your pussy with satisfaction.

You arch into his face when you feel pressure at your entrance again, and Jimin slips two fingers into your pussy. He thrusts them in and out, hooking them to press his fingers against your front wall to find the spot he knows so well that makes you squirm. 

“Fuck,” he groans into your dripping pussy. Turning his head to the side, Jimin brushes his mouth against the inside of your thigh. His lips are soaked and sticky. 

You rock against his hand as he fingers you, letting out little “ah ah ah’s” with each thrust against your front wall. You feel like you’re on fire, like every breath will ignite your body, make you combust. 

“Please, Jimin, please.” You never thought you’d be the type to beg, but you’re so desperate to cum that it’s embarrassing. “I’m going fucking crazy, please.” 

You try not to compare Jimin to Taehyung; you really try. But it’s hard not to, especially when Jimin gives you the best head you’ve ever had. Foreplay has never lasted this long before. You can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse. 

“Ready for me?” It’s both hard to hear and so fucking hot when Jimin asks the question into your pussy. 

It’s disorienting when Jimin uses his clean hand to pull his tie off your face. You blink a few times to adjust to the light, belatedly realizing neither of you ever turned it off. While some people like intimacy in the dark, you and Jimin always keep the lights on. It’s nice to look at it other; it feels more intimate. 

You switch positions, allowing Jimin to sit against the headboard and have you straddle his lap like you were before. 

“Ride me first, okay?” Jimin whispers in your ear when he takes your arms and wraps them around his shoulders. “I want to see your face when you take my cock for the first time.” 

Your pussy flutters, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to survive taking his cock if his words are enough to create a reaction in you that makes your knees weak. 

“Oh, oh,” you whimper as Jimin sits against the bedframe. “Okay.” 

“Look at me.” 

And you do. You stare into those narrowed, sultry eyes as you line his cock with your entrance, one hand squeezing his shoulder to help you lean at the correct angle. The stretch is quite easy despite your previous concerns about taking Jimin fully. It should have been obvious; you’re so drenched that you slide down on his cock so smoothly that you want to fucking die.

You know what you’re doing, having had plenty of experience riding Taehyung in the past. It’s different this time, of course. Jimin never takes his eyes off yours as you bounce on his cock. His hands squeeze your hips to guide you up and down his cock, encouraging you to lift until only the head of his cock is nestled in your pussy before sliding back down his entire length. You’re so wet that Jimin’s thighs glisten with your arousal, as do yours. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Jimin says with a soft smile. 

“Oh my god,” you squeeze his shoulders as you rock against him, “You’re, you’re cuter.” 

“Whatever you say, baby.” Jimin rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

He’s so cute, even as your pussy sucks in his cock and clenches around it. How is it possible for him to seem so innocent in a moment like this? It makes your heart swell with a love you’re worried you’ll never be able to fully articulate to the precious boy beneath you. 

“Feels good,” you moan against his mouth when you lean forward to kiss him. “I’m gonna cum already.” 

Jimin sucks your bottom lip at the same time he slips his hand between your bodies to start rubbing your clit. The two points of pleasure cause you to slump forward, but luckily, Jimin takes over. He thrusts into with swift, strong movements, never stuttering even when you can tell that he’s nearing his orgasm, as well. 

There’s no shame in not lasting very long. You’re both a little bit drunk and extremely horny. The buildup to this moment is almost a climax all on its own. Neither of you can be blamed for how frantically you claw at each other and do your best to grind against each other’s bodies as hard and fast as you can. 

“Come on, baby,” Jimin groans into the crook of your neck as he fucks you. “We can cum together, okay? Let go for me so we can make each other feel good.” 

“Oh, Jimin, y-yes, fuck, okay.” You nod your head and pant your words against the curve of his ear. Needing something to hold onto, you dig your fingers into Jimin’s hair. 

Jimin always knows the right things to say and finds a way to ease your stress and ground you. He talks you through your orgasm and holds you close as you cum. It’s erotic, but it feels gentle and intimate. Rather than dirty talk, it feels sweeter and more caring. 

Even when Jimin finds his release, coming in you with a brutal grip on your waist, he whispers soft words of gratitude because he sees fucking you as a privilege – not a challenge to be won. 

When it’s over, you melt into Jimin’s embrace, chest to chest, with your head resting against his shoulder. You’re both sweaty and sticky, but it doesn’t matter. All you want to do is be close and be held. 

“How are you doing?” 

You nod, unable to find the words to express how utterly content you feel. Not just content – you feel cared for, even when all you’ve done is fuck. It’s different with Jimin. It’s gentle. It means something. 

“Did the tie help?” he asks, curious and wanting to have done a good job coloring his tone. It’s sweet, just like all of Jimin. 

“It did,” you finally speak up. Turning your head to the side, you press your lips against Jimin’s neck and speak to his warm skin. “It helped me get out of my head, so all I focused on was you and how you made me feel.” 

“Good?”

You smile with your eyes closed when you feel him kiss your forehead. “You always make me feel good.” 

Jimin squeezes you in his arms, content with humming a happy reply against the top of your head. No other words need to be said; for now, the two of you bask in the warmth you bring each other and know that whatever the morning brings, you’ll always have safe arms to fall back into. 

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

[101maverick]

how would dick grayson react to his gf acting possessive towards him out of jealousy in front of a super villain flirting with him. sort of like the reader telling the villain “cut to the chase or I’ll cut your throat” while they’re interrogating the villain

A/n: Okkk we're going strong with the Dick asks! This one is very original :)) lemme see what I can do for u >:)

word count: 911

You, Me, and the Moonlight

Your eye twitches compulsively. You don't know if the sound that's itching to escape from your throat is an exasperated sigh or something suspiciously akin to a growl.

What was supposed to be a relatively normal patrol, with the usual shtick of stopping muggers and the occasional gang dispute, had quickly turned into you and Dick dealing with a Poison Ivy.

Thanks to one of Wayne Enterprises' new unreleased gadgets, a.k.a. one of Batman's new toys, the plant-maniac is currently tied up inside of the warehouse she had been planning on transforming into a home-base for her infesting plants.

Nightwing is currently interrogating her while you watch from the shadows of the rafters. Operating in the dark is always best in these kinds of situations, while dealing with this kind of people. Poison Ivy is notorious for her ability to hypnotise, so it's optimal that she find out of your presence only if need be.

Plus, her mind-control perfume has no hope of working on Nightwing while he's got his air-filtering mask on, and he strategically put the chair she's tied to in front of a mirror conveniently already present on the scene, to make sure to react readily to any attempts of escape.

Nightwing stands in front of her, still and stoic. Despite the lack of cape and the electric blue of his costume, years of being the Batman's sidekick are evident in how effective he is in the intimidation department. His voice is cold and authoritative as he questions the woman in front of him.

“Ivy. Who helped you get out of Arkham?”

Poison Ivy just giggles, responding to his looming stance by slightly tilting her head downwards to better bat her eyelashes at him, her voice sultry as she responds. “Can’t a woman do things by herself, Nightwing?”

From where you are perched, you can see the line of his back tense with well-concealed frustration. “I know you had help, Ivy, there’s no use denying that. Now I’ll ask again,” he leans forward, coming face to face with her, “Who helped you?”

You stalk your way over to a more advantageous view point, steps muffled and careful as you manoeuvre on the support beams. From your new position, you're able to make out the mischievous way her lips curl as she responds. "Let me out of these restraints and I'll tell you without a problem."

Another deflection. Dick's face is obscured by both the domino and the mask, but you can still read his mounting annoyance in the way his hand twitches at his side, a tell-tale sign he's refraining from clenching it into a fist.

Before he can respond, though, Poison Ivy speaks again.

"You've grown up to be such a handsome man, Nightwing, why don't you take that mask off so I can see you better? After all, we have quite the long history don't we?" And wow if you didn't want to bash her face in at the looks she was giving him before you sure as hell want to do so now.

You know it's a tactic meant to make Nightwing uncomfortable in the hopes of making him loose his footing, but you can't just stand aside and let this downright witch play her mind games however long she pleases.

Your boyfriend is quick to move his face away from your prisoner, taking a step back, and you choose that moment to drop down from the shadows of the warehouse roof right in front of her.

You land almost upright, and unsheathe a dagger from your side in one smooth motion as you turn to stare Ivy right in the face.

"Cut to the chase, Ivy. And don't even think of saying something like that again or I'll cut your throat, and you know I'm not bluffing." 634

Ivy's expression turns downright sour, and as she grumbles under her breath before reluctantly spouting off the needed information you feel vindictiveness making a home in your chest, and damn if that doesn't feel pleasant.

————————————

Being able to finally rest after a night of chasing, interrogating and arresting villains feels like heaven on earth, and as you flop down face-first on your bed you're extremely grateful for the fact you and Dick decided to splurge on your mattress.

A smile upturns the corners of your lips as you feel your boyfriend lay beside you, and you stay pliant sa you let him snake an arm around your waist and roll you over to face him.

His breath fans over your face as he whispers in the moonlit silence of your shared bedroom. "Thanks for earlier, with Ivy."

At that, you open your eyes and find him staring right into yours.

"Can't let a creep talk to my man like that, can I?" You let out a low chuckle.

In the low light, it takes a while for your eyesight to adjust, and his features slowly come into focus.

As you keep holding each others' gaze, you drop the humour.

"I'll always protect you, Dick," You whisper while bringing your hand up to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck. His eyes sparkle in the almost-dark of the Blüdhaven night. "Just like you protect me."

You wonder how many vulnerable moments just you, Dick and the moonlight are witness to.

Laying there, each of you in the other's gentle embrace, you hope there'll be many more.

————————————

A/n: This was fun! I can't decide if it feels a bit rushed, but I'm still happy with the result :) Fun fact! While I was working on this ask I got another ask that's basically the reverse of this lol, where it's Dick getting jealous because a villain is flirting with reader😂 If you like my work, please consider reblogging and checking out my other works through the master list in my pinned post<3

[bunnys-kisses]

okay, okay, okay! i know we're still on the jailhouse rock au (we will come back to this), but in the process of staring at simon's tattoos i came up with another idea.

it's the classic biker au, you met him after you cursed at him for running a red light and almost running you over. while at the time time you thought nothing of it, you see his bike in the parking lot of a grocery store and reminded of what almost happened, you take your keys and key the side of his bike.

but as you were going to put you key away, you were met face to face with the six foot two behemoth that was simon riley. the lower half of his face was obscured because of a face mask, but the sternness in his eyes made cold sweat go down your back.

"whatcha doin' there, girlie?"

you frowned at him before you said, "you almost ran me over a few days ago mister motorcyclist. you should be watching where you're driving, people use the streets too." you stood up a little straighter. it wasn't your finest moment, keying a strangers car, but the fear that raced through you when he ran that red was still fresh in your mind.

"well then." he said, then looked to his bike, "i guess i should apologize." he leaned in close to your personal space and said, "i'm sorry, but you have to look both ways, little girl." then ruffled your hair.

you felt rage build up inside of you. you actually stomped on his foot to get him away from you before you walked away. you refused to be talk down to like a little girl. this wouldn't be the last you saw of simon.

a few months later, your older neighbour was moving out to live in a long term care facility after she had a pretty bad tumble. but on moving day, you weren't expecting to see heavily tattooed men with amazing body strength move boxes into the apartment. and then you saw simon again.

he recognized you and smiled under his face mask, "well. if it isn't the girl who keyed my bike."

"well, if it isn't the man who tried to kill me." you replied. you would've never guessed that you'd soon up in simon's bed with him holding your legs open as he thrusted up inside of you.

"that's a good girl, we could've done this instead of you ruinin' my bike." he purred as he gripped your thighs. the muscle under his palms riled him up.

"shut up and fuck me you idiot." you groaned as you clutched onto the pillow under your head. your heart was racing as you felt his cock deep inside of you. you wanted to wipe that stupid smirk off his face, but you were too busy feeling his cock in your throat.

"anything for you, love. you just lie there and let me take care of everything." he chuckled lowly.

eventually you two would make amends, even become lovers. one day you'd be mrs. simon riley. but not at that moment, at that moment you wanted to make sure that he didn't feel like he won this battle. <3

thoughts? feelings? want more?

[colleendoran]

Neil Gaiman's CHIVALRY: From Illuminated Manuscripts to Comics

One of the many reasons I wanted to adapt Neil Gaiman's Chivalry into graphic novel form was to create a comic as a bridge and commentary re: comics and illuminated manuscripts.

We're often told that the first comic book was Action Comics #1 featuring Superman, a collection of Superman comic strips that morphed into comic books as an art form.

Sequential art predates Action Comics #1.

Action Comics popularized sequential art book storytelling that had already appeared in other forms in fits and starts throughout history. Comic books didn't take off as a popular medium for several reasons, not least of which was the necessary printing process hadn't been invented yet and it's hard to popularize - and commercialize - something most people can never see. 

You find sequential art in cave paintings and in Egyptian hieroglyphics. I've read that comics (manga) were invented by the Japanese in 12th century scrolls.

And sequential art appears over and over again in Western art going back well over 1000 years, and in book form at least 1100 years ago.

The most obvious example of early sequential art in Western art - as a complete narrative in sequence - is the Bayeux Tapestry. 

At 230 feet long, this embroidered length of cloth was likely commissioned around the year 1070 by Bishop Odo, brother of William the Conqueror. It depicts the Battle of Hastings in 1066 and the invasion of England by the Normans. (The tapestry was made in England, not in France, but it is called the Bayeux tapestry because that's where it is now.)

Imagine what a task it was to embroider this thing. Whew. And you thought it was hard learning Photoshop.

This work of art is important in the history of sequential narrative, but the Norman invasion is also important to the legend of King Arthur - and another important English legend - for reasons we'll get into later. 

It's complicated.

All this is why you see this art in the background of this page of Chivalry.

Using the Romanesque art style of the tapestry in panel 1, I've added the Latin phrase "Rex Quondom, Rexque Futurus" - "The Once and Future King", the final words of Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur as inscribed on King Arthur's tomb, and the title of T.H. White's famous Arthurian novel.  (EDIT) and it has been kindly pointed out to me that QUONDOM should be QUONDAM, which is hilarious and annoying and this is how history gets rewritten by accident.

My original intention was to draw this Bayeux Tapestry scene out and juxtapose it with shots of Galaad interacting with the children, but the two page sequence I imagined didn't really work as well in reality as it did in my head. 

Foremost among my concerns was that the tapestry reference might be too obscure for most readers. I wanted to weave the visual meta-text of Chivalry into the story (For further reading on this project and my use of visual meta-text, symbolism, and history in Neil Gaiman's Chivalry, go HERE. And HERE. And HERE. And Yet again HERE.) in such a way as it would enhance the experience for people who "got" the visual meaning, while not dragging things down for people who didn't. So I cut this scene down to one panel.

The tapestry is a complete, long form comic strip created over 1100 years before some people claim comics were invented. So, I loved being able to reference it here.

But even more interesting to me are the sequential art sequences that appear in illuminated manuscripts - comics in book form.

I once got into a rather vicious argument with an academic who insisted illuminated manuscripts were comics. I said no. She said yes. Then she insulted the lowly comic artist and blocked me on Facebook.

Whatever.

My point was not that you can't find sequential art in illuminated manuscripts. My point is that an illustrated book isn't de facto a comic. Most illuminated manuscripts are illustrated books. Some illuminated manuscripts contain sequential art.

Just because opera is music, that doesn't mean all music is opera.

Just because comics books are books that doesn't mean all books are comic books.

And just because some illuminated manuscripts contain sequential art, that doesn't mean all illuminated manuscripts are sequential art.

But one is.

Let me show you it.

One of the earliest examples of an illuminated manuscript with comic art is The Bible d'Etienne Harding which you can see in this really bad jpg here, sorry, best I could find.

Created around the year 1109, property of a French Cistercian monk, it combines sequences like this with pages of text and illustration.

Not a comic book IMHO, but an illuminated manuscript with sequences of text, illustration and sequential narrative.

It's no more a "comic book" than a newspaper is for having text, illustration, and comic strips in it.

IMHO, academic lady.

And here's a look at the Old English Hexateuch (hexateuch refers to the first 6 books of the Bible) which I think is far more visually complex and interesting work, and comes much closer to the illuminated manuscript as comic, but still intersperses large sequences of text and illustration with sequential storytelling sequences. So I don't consider it a comic, but a book with sequential work in it.

Now this work below is a different matter. This is from the Holkham Bible Picture Book, circa about 1330.

This thing is genius. It measures a little larger than a modern comic, around 8"x11", and almost every page of it is like this spread here. 231 pages of beautifully rendered art, with repeated use of banderoles - "speech scrolls"  (basically word balloons) -  and captions, and (mostly) real sequential art. I've never seen anything else that comes even close to it, and by all accounts, neither has anyone else. 

It may not be a modern comic book - but it's a comic book as far as I can tell. I don't think there's any other illuminated manuscript that is as complete, sophisticated, and innovative a sequential storytelling work.

If this were printed and seen by more people, the comic book medium would have taken off centuries earlier, IMHO. But it wasn't. It was tucked away in a monastery somewhere and few people ever saw it. It ended up being forgotten for centuries until it popped up again around 1816 when a banker sold it to an avid book collector, Thomas Coke, Earl of Leicester, who inherited Holkham Hall and its library and set about restoring and expanding it. 

The banker wrote, “a very curious MS. just brought here from the Continent. . . which I think one of the greatest curiosities I ever saw”.

Sequential art got invented over and over and over by one artist after another until one day centuries later, some teenaged boys found their newspaper strips gathered together in a cheap format, and suddenly comic books were popular and like new.

And then a lot of people who didn't seem to realize that books had had pictures in them for centuries got all up in arms about the harms of books with pictures in them.

I think it's funny that it is called the Holkham Bible Picture Book. There really was no "comic" art language when this work was created or when academics began to catalogue this sort of thing. Will they change the name now?

Who can say.

Anyway, another Holkham Bible Picture Book reference for you.

Look familiar?

I referenced it in this scene in Chivalry.

One of the fun things about the Holkham is that it opens with a discussion between a friar who has commissioned the work and the artist. The friar admonishes the artist to do a good job on the project because it will be shown to important people. And the artist responds, "Indeed, I certainly will and, if God lets me live, never will you see another such book."

He wasn't kidding.

You can see the entire manuscript HERE. 

Sponsored by my Patreon. Thank you.

[kix-mm]

Whatever happens... A, B, and C

"Hey C? Buddy? How're you doing in there? Are you ready to come out yet?"

Their question was met with a cold silence, but B could do nothing about the unpleasant response. It was meant to still be a secret between B and A, with the idea being that once they had reached their third month's anniversary of their relationship that they would tell C. But the surprise came a little too early.

A bent down. "Have they still not come out yet? It's been an hour..." They spoke in a soft and hopeless tone, which was conflicting with their usual upbeat personality.

"No..." B replies while eying the bathroom door. "I just hope they'll be okay... what if they don't like us anymore after this? I don't want to lose them. This is exactly what we were trying to prevent..." he says while silently acknowledging the irony of this whole situation.

B knocks on the little door again. "C? Please come out...". "N-no!..." came a soft squeak, which very briefly settled B and A's worry that their partner had somehow managed to escape through the window. They knew it would actually be impossible for C, but the fear was still there, C had a tendency to accomplish the impossible, such as dating two people who were secretly giants.

The two shared a look of grief, and A could see how B's mind was tumbling: "What if they break up with us? W-what if they leave us?" B asked with a choked voice. "Then we let them... it's not right to hold someone hostage. That would definitely make us monsters. C is already so overwhelmed..." A spoke with pain in their heart. At first, A wanted to pry the door open and get ahold of C, but now that they've thought things through it would most likely never go well.

"I miss them..." B hugged themselves tighter. "I miss them so much, and they're right here. They're so close, and we're losing them A... what do we do..?" A sighs "I don't know..."

Hours continued to fly by till the early morning, around 4. C finally decided to have a peek outside the bathroom to investigate the silence. They almost yelped when he saw how close the two were to the door, A was snuggled up to B, they both looked exhausted. To C, this was a relief. This was their chance to get the hell out of here... C grabbed their keys and bag off the counter and quietly made their way to the door. They took their time to observe their home for a final time and made some connections, such as why the ceiling was so high and why the two always had a glimmer in their eyes whenever they saw each other... C always thought it was because they were in love, which may have been the case, but also because the two shared a deep secret with one another... one that they never deemed necessary to tell C despite being their partner. Maybe C's insecure thoughts were right about them being nothing more than a third wheel.

Suddenly, he noticed B's eyes flicker open. In a panic, C rushes to the door, his steps waking the both of them. He pulled on the door and... nothing. It didn't budge, he tried again, then he tried pushing, nothing. Finally, he looked up from the handle and saw A's hand pressed against the top. Fear struck his already broken heart as he felt it sink to his stomach. He spun back towards the bathroom to see that his safe haven had been blocked off by B.

C looked up at the two with frantic eyes, unable to get his legs to move. He had no real other pace to hide as their layout was rather open. B gently reached to make contact with C, but C jolted away as if B's fingers were knives. "D-Don't touch me!" C hated how the fear rang in his voice, how he stammered in front of them. C never was one to speak up for himself. He was the timid and soft-spoken one of the three.

B and A kept their distance, looking down at C with pleading eyes, please C please don't go. Let us explain, let us hold you, show you that we would never hurt you.

But their silent pleading fell on deaf ears. C stared at the two with blurry eyes, tears obscuring his vision. "Let me go." he rests his hand on the handle, looking at A. Please let me get out of here.

A & B share a look before returning their eyes to C. "Let us first explain ourselves... please Cc?" B pleaded with an all too familiar nickname that made C feel uneasy hearing at the moment.

C's legs were ready to make a run for it as soon as either one made an attempt to grab him again, he was particularly eying B for that distinct twitch they'd show when they lost their patience. This would be C's only chance to speak their mind before something were to happen to them. "I... no, I've heard enough, I've... I've seen enough. I don't know why you'd keep such a big secret from me for so long! I'm not a stranger. We've known each other for years! And not once was I ever considered your equal! I-I'm just that easy to get forget about, aren't I? The small third party! Quick and easy to get rid of!" C's breathing quickened, and his blood boiled, yet he still kept his voice lowered. Regret began to almost instantly set in after he was done talking back at the two in such a tone, he swore that the two were now staring right through him. How dare he speak to them that way, how dare he try to question their decisions when he was so disposable to them?

Instead, A let out a very pitiful sniffle, a gate of tears rolled down their cheeks. "We're sorry, we're so, so sorry... we really messed up this whole plan." they say while trying to wipe all those messy tears off. Wanting nothing more than to be given a second chance to try and be better at how they handled the situation. They wanted to explain how scared they were of C's reaction and how they knew he would be scared if they had revealed this secret any sooner.

B held A's hand before looking at C. "C... no, no C, you're not! Don't say that! Please get that out of your head it was never meant to get so out of hand. We swear we would have told you a-and it was supposed to be a whole setup and everything!" Slowly B moved their hand closer to C. C hadn't even noticed B's hand. they were too occupied by their heart ringing in their ears and the sight of A sobbing in B's arms. Even B looked completely heartbroken.

When C suddenly felt B's hand wrap around his waist and legs, he began to frantically squirm, watching and attempting to push away any enclosing fingers that hugged his body. "n-no stop! Stop!!" C yelped. "I-it's okay! It's okay, I won't drop you, I promise you C..." B spoke with a gentle yet strained voice, trying to hide the pump in his throat as he felt his panicked lover squirm and scratch. Wincing a little as he felt warm tears drip down his fingers.

A quickly wiped his tears and let B open their hand. The two had talked for hours about what it would be like to hold C in their hands, how they wanted C to take naps, demand being held, how soft he would feel... this would probably not be the case anymore... "Cc..." A spoke softly. B looked at C. "I'm sorry I... I just wanted to be near you. Please don't be scared, A and I... we were trying to prevent this reaction, but it just happened. A-and now everything seems forced and-and the timing is terrible and we're scared we're going to lose you! We don't want to lose you C. Please, please believe us, we promise there's nothing else to hide from you, we will tell you everything... let us prove it to you... we will do anything to make up for this mess."

C was a shivering mess. They looked at both lovers like they were predators despite the duo's best attempts to calm him, giving gentle rubs and holding him against their chest. Talking to him with a soft and sweet voice that tried to reassure him that he was safe and that they would never hurt him while also repeatedly apologizing. This continued till the sun rose, and C finally passed out on B's chest.

The two laid him in bed, their poor C was exhausted, their cheeks stained with tear marks and their eyes were puffy, their body never stopped shivering and every now and then they'd jolt and mumble incoherently. The two looked at each other with equally stained cheeks and puffy eyes. They decided it would be best for them to shrink down to the size C was familiar with. B held C's hand and gently kissed their forehead while A kissed C's cheek and snuggled up to spoon him. The 3 got cuddled up together and fell into a deep sleep... hopefully, when C woke up, they'd be more willing to talk. But they couldn't be certain. All they could really focus on was that C was in their arms, and hopefully, after some time, they'd be able to sleep together without fear.

[magidoggie]

A LOOK INTO SHI/HIR PRONOUNS AND THEIR ORIGINS

So I’ve seen people claim that shi/hir pronouns are intersex exclusive (mostly intersex people), and others say they aren’t (mostly non-intersex people)

As an intersex person, I've been confused about this for a while, so I decided to look into it

THIS POST WILL CONTAIN NSFW TOPICS, FURRIES, TALKS OF FETISHIZATION OF INTERSEX BODIES, AND INTERSEX SLURS!

Most of the users of these pronouns seem to be non-intersex people, but there are also intersex people who use them.

I've seen a decent amount of intersex people say that shi/hir pronouns are only ours to use, as they were used against us (like a shortened version of he-she). This would make them basically slurs that only we can reclaim.

I've even seen some claims that Geoffrey Chaucer himself coined these words?? (The chaucer thing, I haven't been able to find a source for. Even so, it is most likely just an old spelling of "she/her")

I’ve seen people say it originated on 4chan. It'd be hard to verify, as 4chan is known for not keeping threads up for long. There are 4chan archives, but I've tried my hardest to look for any combinations of things like "shi" and different terms that could work with it like "intersex" "freak" or "hermaphrodite" . I don't doubt it's been used on 4chan, but I can't find much, and archival sites don't go back far enough.

Regardless, the pronouns seem quite old. One thing I did find under the search of ""4chan" shi hir" on Google, was a.. descriptive post on a furry porn website called e621.net

Okay, 13 years ago, that's a start. It certainly contains the word "herm" (short for hermaphrodite), and the word intersex used with this pronoun.

Godspeed TheShadowfox42 I hope you found the image.

Using Google's "Before:(date)" feature, I searched "shi herm before:2010", and unsurprisingly, I found a lot of furry porn.

Stories on sofurry.com, a furry website that looks to be from at least 2007, if not older. I'll spare you the details, but indeed, there, they use shi/hir pronouns for their "herm" characters. Did these pronouns originate from.. furries?? I put that though aside for now, to look further into other uses.

As it turns out, the journey does not end at 2007. Urban dictionary has an entry from 2003

No slurs here, it looks like a neutral usage. Again, going back to Google. Now, search terms "hir "gender neutral" before:2004"

Many results show up now, now articles rather than furries. American.edu (seems to be a university), Swarthmore.edu (this is a college), both from 2001. jstor.org with a journal article from 1999. Unfortunately I can't read that one, as I have to pay a whole $63 to purchase it. I even found a PDF file from 1994 by core.ac.uk

But, what I've realized now is this is not usage of shi/hir pronouns. All of these use Ze/hir pronouns. I don't know if there is any link, but the last pronoun looking the same must've obscured the results.

From the american.edu article on these pronouns. You can see the usage of "hir" alongside "ze", and below it, the usage of ze/zir pronouns, which seem to be used more today.

Shit.. Doing the search all over again with the pronoun "shi" yields.. very few results apart from people talking about Chinese words.

Wait what about those furries from earlier? The tvtropes.org article does include this:

Chakona space? Chakats? Pronouns he came up with? Admittedly I kept seeing these centaur feline hybrid characters come up quite consistently during this dive, but I had to look into it further.

Oh buddy what did I get myself into. This is from 2001 best I can tell, so we're getting quite old here. I scroll down on the page.

And lower down.

Now this is all very interesting speculative biology, but what I'm focusing on is again, the usage of "hermaphrodite" together with the pronouns "shi/hir". Did a furry artist named Bernard Doove come up with these pronouns.

It gets yet older.. New search, "chakats "shi" before:2001"

Again, Bernard Doove's art from 2000, 1999, 1998,

I find a website called yerf.metafur.org It has furry art, dating all the way back to the mid 1990's, but here, on December 23 1998, is the first appearance of these pronouns on that site.

This Bernard Doove person has been at this project, with these pronouns for a while.

From what I can tell, many of his art pieces, they seem to be quite sexual beings. Quite fetishistic of hermaphroditism at times. (or intersexuality, take your pick)

The other thing I found with my search was a website, furry.org.au/bosshoss/

My search says it's from September 14 1998.

That's certainly some information, but it might come in handy. So Chakat Goldfur provided this website? Who is that? Looking into it, that seems to be a character created by Bernard Doove, that acts as an alter ego. Further down, the person running this website lists some other websites they enjoy. One being "Proxima Centauri", which seems to be another furry artist.

"I met this one at ConFURence 8. Very interesting. (Did I mention shi is a hermaphrodite uni-centaur?)"

(For context, ConFURence is a furry convention held in 1997)

Again, the usage of hermaphrodite, and the pronoun shi. At this point, the website being linked to is long gone, but the wayback machine provides help. The website, http://www.spots.ab.ca/~unicorn/main.htm has been captured all the way back to October 8th 1997.

At this time, the website was under construction. No images are willing to load and haven't been archived, but the description is intact.

So this person uses shi/hir pronouns for their hermaphroditic character all the way back in 1997. There are links to other places where this person used to host their works, but they are all down and haven't been archived. The thread is running thin..

Back to Bernard Doove, the Chakat creator. There must be something more to this. Turns out, there was. On the "yerf" website, I actually found several art pieces that were not picked up by Google.

Febuary 22 1997. Getting yet older. In some art pieces, Bernard references "Forest Tale" and "forest tales", so I went looking for whatever that was.

1995?? you've got to be kidding. It's an adult story involving these "chakat" beings, and sure enough, down the page

Shi/hir pronouns used over and over again.

With the use of hermaphrodite.

But.. This is kind of where it ends. I couldn't seem to find anything older, and I'm not going to contact Bernard Doove over this. Even something as old as 29 years is impressive to me. Bernard Doove states his characters were inspired by other furry artists' creatures of the time, but since it's 1995, there isn't much left for me to find here. Anything before that time is probably lost.

With all the information I have been able to gather, it looks to shi/hir pronouns were created by Bernard Doove who is a furry author and artist. Shi/hir were made to be a midway between "she" and "him" in some way, to be a gender neutral word for hermaphroditic genetically modified beings called "chakats" in his stories. As an intersex person myself, I don't enjoy the use of "hermaphrodite" in such a way, as it's a slur for us. But these types of characters also seem to be very old, and we, and our struggles, were completely unknown to the vast majority of people, even moreso than nowadays.

If you use those pronouns for an intersex person who doesn't use them, it is indeed intersexist, as you are implying we are hermaphrodites.

But as for whether only intersex people can use them? I'm not sure. The original intent doesn't seem be directly linked to intersex people. You could argue that these hermaphroditic characters are fetishized versions of how many people see us, and have seen us for a long time. Afterall, hermaphrodite was, and still is, a common slur for us.

I don't doubt some people have used these pronouns as slurs against us as well, but I also haven't found anything specifically that supports that. It always seemed to be for specific fictional characters that COULD be based off specific intersex attributes

I'm not going to argue one way or the other. This was just me trying to find what I could about these pronouns and their history. Just be mindful of how you use these pronouns, and the connections they have to fetishes revolving around the common misinterpretation of intersex bodies (as in, "having both parts")

Thank you for reading.

I hope you learned something. I know I did, and I now have a headache.

[xieni-logs]

cAn i request welt, jing Yuan, dan heng, blade and maybe even caelus with an s/o who's mute (like they can't speak) but they're very expressive with emotions and usually communicates thru writing on paper?? kinda got the idea from komi can't communicate

also a lil scenario on how the men would react if someone did or say something offensive to their s/o?

HSR x mute!reader (RQ)

includes: Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Welt

a/n: ty for your rq, anon! I actually started watching komi can't communicate since you said it, and ended up watching too much of it and writing too little lololol i made the scenario thing into someone saying something offensive about how reader is mute since we're on that topic already, hope thats ok! more a/n: I FORGOT ABOUT WELT, ADDED HIM NOW

* ˚ ✦ Jing Yuan who was initially curious behind why you couldn’t speak but no matter the reason, he wouldn't mind it. he finds your expressions cute, i mean who wouldn't? god, he can't believe anyone in their right mind could ever make a snarky remark about you. but they did, and Jing Yuan is gonna let that go easily. even if you say you're fine with that comment, he sure isn't. he doesn't go and threaten the person, instead he'll make their lives oh so annoying. they'll be denied service due to some obscure reason (a gag order from Jing Yuan; you seem to forget he's a general, he has a lot of influence), luck will never seem to be by their side either. and if they're a long-life species, well, they're in for a couple decades of annoyances. Jing Yuan isn't confrontational but he sure is petty.

* ˚ ✦ Blade originally found you being mute rather troublesome. it was a lot more work having to read your notes, and though you're fast at writing, Blade used to always complain about how slow you were at responses. but he slowly gets used to it, and in time, he finds himself enjoying your silent company. in all the chaos, Blade enjoys the comfortable silence between you two. if you want to talk, he'll read your notes and respond with nods or shakes of his head. he'll get pretty pissed hearing someone make a snarky remark on your lack of speech. there's nothing much he can and wants to do except brandish his sword at the person. after, Blade will give you a quick look of are you ok? before moving on. it's a small sweet gesture.

* ˚ ✦ Dan Heng who was neither curious nor cared about you being mute. he simply accepted it as a fact and continued. it doesn't really bother him, he has no qualms about it. but when someone says something offensive about your lack of speech, that's when he has a problem. why can't they mind their own business? he'll tell them a snarky remark before taking you away from the situation. it's not worth the trouble concerning the both of you with that person is what he'll think. Dan Heng will ask you if you're alright and assure you that what the person said is wrong. he'll make sure you know you are perfectly fine not speaking, you aren't abnormal for not speaking, and that it's part of your charm and one of the many things he likes about you.

* ˚ ✦ Welt who respects the fact you're mute. he doesn't pry into why you are but he'll listen if you want to explain. if you draw little faces on your notes to convey your expression, god, he's so weak to that. will indulge in drawing faces on your notes (smiley faces with a badly drawn thumbs up as an ok from him; it took him 5 minutes to draw that hand). he finds it unbelievable anyone would say something so passive aggressive about the fact you're mute. people can be so disrespectful! he disengages the situation and leaves, guiding you away with his arm wrapped around your shoulder. like Dan Heng, he'll reassure you that whatever was said was wrong. you'll never interact, or even see, that person again if he can help it.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Aether - "Mysterious Adeptus, Sky Weaver"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which the Traveler and Paimon unknowingly come across a mysterious adeptus by the name of Sky Weaver while the two are exploring near the sparsely populated cliffsides of Mt. Mingyuan. Or; In which the long-forgotten tale of the adeptus Sky Weaver is uncovered by Aether from the lips of the various Adepti of the Nation of Liyue and the people who know them.

Prologue | Part 1 | (1.5) | Part 2 | (2.5) | Part 3 | (3.5) | Part 4 | (4.5) | Part 5 | (5.5) | Part 6 | (6.5) | Epilog | Extra 1 | Extra 2

                                                                                                   

🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠

“Now that we've helped Fujin tend to the soil, Paimon has noticed that it's a lot prettier in Chenyu Vale.”  

The floating fairy-like creature chirps as she hovers along the dirt path by her blonde companion's side.

“Speaking of prettier things. Traveler, did you notice that the sky here in Chenyu Vale is much different from the skies in the rest of Liyue?”

The golden blonde next to her stops and turns his gaze onto her, raising a brow of skepticism. His eyes then raise to the darkened sky that hangs above them and take in the sight.

What Paimon said was true. The sky truly was different from the rest of Liyue and any other region that the two had visited so far. As it was night, the sky was a deep midnight blue with swirls of violet and turquoise that seemed to glow from within the cotton-like clouds that partially obscured and circled the shining white moon. Stars speckle the suspended landscape of night haphazardly, their droplets of white add an almost otherworldly quality to the already ethereal scene. And, of course, the faded silhouette of Celestia looms ominously in the distance, creeping north ever so slowly. It truly was unlike anything that Aether had ever seen before.

“That's–… how did I never notice it.”

The golden blonde mumbles as he looks up in wonder and amazement, but also confusion. 

Why was the sky in Chenyu Vale so drastically different from anywhere else? What was so different about this place? How was the sky this way in the first place? It was strange; like the sky was altered by something to be this way, and although Aether wanted to think that something like that was impossible, his expectations have been demolished and rebuilt countless times since he descended into Teyvat.

The small bob-haired fairy floated in front of his face and waved her arms about to attract his attention.

“Hey, if you're curious about the sky, why don't we head back to Yilong Wharf and ask the locals about it? Maybe if we're lucky we'll run into Cloud Retai– uhm… Xianyun again; she might know too!” 

Paimon suggests before turning and floating further down the dirt road toward their new destination.

“Hm.”  

Aether hums, giving a curt nod as he follows his guide back to the wharf.

“Uuugh! Paimon is so tired! Why is Chiwang Terrace so far from here anyway!? It's already daytime!”  

Paimon whines as she slowly floats along with her blonde companion at a snail's pace in a slumped-over position.

“How about we head over to Jiulue Teahouse? We can sit down and eat some of the local dishes then we can start asking around.”  

The outlander chuckles softly as he reaches over and pats the floating girl on the head in sympathy before grabbing her and carefully holding her under his arm. Paimon only sighs and gives her friend a nod as she's carried off in the direction of the teahouse. 

On their way over to one of the nearby stalls, Aether spots a storyteller on the outside stage; maybe this storyteller has a few tales about the skies here. Though, after a short deliberation, he lets his floating companion go and buy food for the two of them while he goes and speaks to the storyteller; with a reasonable allowance, lest the girl buy out the stall's entire stock and empty his mora pouch.

Once the two part ways, the golden blonde sees the older man leaving off the stage, seemingly emptied of his arsenal of tall tales. So he waves the man, who he learns is named Jiewu going by the nearby chatter of patrons, down.

“Excuse me! I know that you just got off the stage, but I was wondering if you had any stories about the skies of Chenyu Vale?”  

He asked straightforwardly; getting a comical sweat drop from the older man at his bluntness.

Jiewu mutters a bit as he pinches his chin between his thumb and forefinger; his crow's feet becoming more pronounced as he squints his eyes in thought. The older man takes a glance up at the magnificent sky with a bland expression, as if it were the most mundane thing that he'd ever seen before. It was almost as if he didn't notice anything significant at all. Strange.

“I can't say I have any stories about the sky, young man. I've no clue why you're interested in something like that, there's nothing very spectacular about the sky.”  

Jiewu confusedly drones out; raising a thick brow at the blonde and taking another glance at the sky above.

“Was there anything else you needed, young man? If I'm not home soon, my wife will have a fit”  

The older man asks in a still polite but slightly rushed tone, making it clear that he wanted the conversation to end quickly.

Aether only shakes his head and allows the man to take his leave. Turning around, he sees Paimon floating toward him with bagged food in hand and an annoyed expression on her face. He raises a brow at her, silently asking what was wrong.

“Paimon asked the stall owner about the sky while waiting for the food, but he only looked at Paimon with a weird face and said ‘there's nothing really special about the sky, is there?’. And the other people Paimon asked said something similar!”  

The floating girl loudly complains before digging her hands into the bag, pulling out a skewer of food and angrily chomping on it; letting out muffled mumbles about giving the stall owner an ugly nickname.

Aether only sighs as he motions for his fairy-like companion to follow him.

Their next stop: Mt. Mingyuan!

As the traveler scaled the cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan, he kept hearing the sound of a paper bag rustling and the unmistakable munching of food. A metaphorical vein bulged out on his temple as he whipped his head around to look at his floating guide.

“You— Paimon, give me the bag! If you eat everything again, I swear I'll feed you to a cryo slime!”  

Aether growled as he recklessly took one hand off the cliffside to swipe at the bag in Paimon's hands, the girl dodging every time.

Unfortunately, all the wild movements made him lose his foothold in the cliffside and sent him plummeting towards the ground below. In too much shock to deploy his wind glider, all the golden blonde could do was stare upwards at the screaming Paimon who too was frozen in fear. 

But then… on the wind, he heard a faint whisper of droplets landing on the surface of water…

From beneath him, Aether felt a soft embrace pushing him upwards; the quiet sounds of shifting waters made him look back. What he could only describe was a small cloud of heavy mist with a ring of water swirling around it. The strange cloud lifted him, and Paimon when it reached the height she was at, up and over the cliffside, where it then came to a stop and seemingly patiently waited for him to get off. 

The golden blonde shakily stumbled off of the helpful cloud and fell on his bottom on the grassy cliff top. His heart beat erratically and his whole body trembled as the adrenaline finally caught up with him. He didn't even register the tearful apologies of his floating friend as she hugged him and sobbed into his chest.

“...One did not think that mortals had become so foolish over such a short time…”  

A gentle voice softly whispered from a place that Aether couldn't locate.

“...You shall consider yourself lucky that one was present to witness your fall, lest you no longer be among the living…”  

The voice spoke familiarly; it reminded Aether of how Xianyun and the other adeptus spoke. Surely this voice must belong to another adeptus that he just hadn't met yet.

“...Descend the mountain and return to a safer location, the cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan are no place for young mortals like yourself…”  

The voice spoke again, this time though, it seemed to be coming from the cloud that saved him from his fall. With every syllable pronounced, the cloud of mist gave off a faint but ethereal glow in a medley of colors. Colors that were reminiscent of the night sky that he had seen just yesterday.

Breaking from his adrenaline-fueled trance, Aether shakily gets to his feet and takes the still-sobbing Paimon into his arms. He spared a glance back at the cloud, tempted to stay and ask it about its possible connection to the mysterious skies that he had been wondering about, but one look at the disheveled companion in his arms and he knew his answer. He'd have to worry about that later, his dear friend needs him right now.

“Can… Can I ask you for your name?”  

The golden blonde asked, almost sounding as if he was begging with how his voice trembled.

“...One's name should be of no concern to you at this time; you must go now…”

The ‘cloud’ softly answered back, as if it were trying to coax a sleepy child back into a dream.

With that answer, Aether nodded and headed down the mountain with careful and measured steps, occasionally giving quick glances down at the sleeping Paimon's tear-stained face. He sighs, perhaps he can just ask about this mysterious adeptus another time, he has much more important things to worry about now.

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[soubi122]

Funeral

This is a oneshot that was collecting dust in my drafts and I finally managed to finish it - ft kakucho.

Warnings: Domestic violence, smut, pregnancy, cheating, mentions of death, slight dark content, alcohol, language, slight angst and fluff.

MDNR - MINORS, respectfully, GO AWAY.

You never thought about being this happy at a funeral. Past funerals attended were full of grief and sorrow. The person who left the earth would be someone whom you'd dearly loved or were close with, someone who you felt was taken too soon. But this was different, the funeral taking place today was for none other than your husband. What you thought would be the best thing in your life turned out to be a nightmare. 

At the funeral many people flooded the marble floors, paying their respects to the dearly departed. His large portrait was on a stand surrounded by white and yellow chrysanthemums. The sight of these flowers was too pure for the vile being that was being honored today. Strangers were coming up to you and bowing - giving their condolences for your loss. They placed small envelopes in a box, a red and gold box that you wanted to burn. He deserved none of the generosity offered today. 

The black veil that covered your face felt like a mask, obscuring your features to avoid people gauging your reactions or grief, it also hid the ugly bruises and swollen eyes. For hours you've been sitting in that cushion and in pain. Your ribs were aching, the throbbing in your head wouldn't stop, the taste of metal on your tongue was driving you mad. As the funeral was winding down, the director approached you with a warm smile, years of practice and empathy made this process easy for them. “Mrs. (L/N)? We're at the last 10 minutes - we will begin escorting the guests out.” You nodded and were about to get up and leave but a tall figure approached you. Oh god, please… no more 'sorry for loss', 'your husband was a great man' lines. You think to yourself as you look up and notice the male's features. Raven hair, a scar that ran across the right side of his face to the left eye - despite his threatening appearance, the look in his eyes was sincere. 

Remembering him as a recent acquaintance of your husband, you knew they were coming to ask about his will. Business is business after all, it will keep going even when you are laying on a metal slab or are 6ft underground. “(Y/N), I'm very sorry for your loss.”  His stern but gentle tone caught you off guard. As you were beginning to bow, he spoke again - “We will need to speak regarding your husband's affairs and assets.” Here we go…the ever looming threat of his wealth was barreling towards you already and his ashes have yet to be scattered into the wind. The vultures were ready. “His attorney will be reading the will tomorrow - I'm sure he outlined what is to be done with his assets.” The raven haired man said nothing more and bowed, taking his leave. Finally, this act was over. 

You made your way to the penthouse that you were forced to call home but now that he was gone, you welcomed the emptiness that awaited you. Kicking off your heels, you exhaled a sigh of relief and slid down to the floor - barely noticing the figure that emerged from the dark corner of your kitchen. Only when you heard the sound of a click did you notice the shadow. You began to put your hands up and stare into the dark corner, waiting for the figure to emerge. “Sorry to do this during your time of grief, but this is urgent.” The same scarred man approached you, he had a gun in hand, loaded and pointed in your direction. 

Soon more figures emerged from the dark corners of your home. How the hell did they get past security? A knot began to form in your throat as the man tilted his head, pointing towards the kitchen island and telling you to take a seat without words. You got on your feet and made your way towards the island, silently taking a seat with your hands still up. The final figure that emerged was that of a shorter male with silver hair and eyes that looked like they haven't had a good night's rest in months. The dark circles became even more prominent by the dimmed overhead lights in your kitchen. “You can put your hands down, dollface.” One of the many men spoke, his tone was that of a psychopath - to avoid invoking anyone's wrath, you put your hands down on the counter. “Your husband's assets belong to us - at tomorrow's reading, you will relinquish them without any opposition.” A third voice said and his figure stepped into the dim light. He too had silver hair but his was long and he had eyes like a feral cat. A light chuckle escapes your lips as you reach for your coat pocket. In an instant your head was pinned against the counter, making you grunt and a gun was pressed against the back of your skull. “Don't even try, gorgeous…” Long slender fingers reached for the hand that held the metal object, prying it from your hold. “It's a cigarette box…” You say quietly without moving or resisting. 

With a nod, the shorter man gave permission for them to remove the gun, allowing you to lift your head from the counter. “We will have someone accompany you to tomorrow's reading…as a safety precaution - wouldn't want you to make a break for it.” Your silence spoke volumes to them. “We can also just make you hand everything over without the attorney present.” Another voice said from behind you, his tone was much softer than the one who pinned you down. Just what the hell did your husband get into? How did they know where you lived? The only thing you could do is nod. “Kakucho, you and these three will stay with her until tomorrow's reading. Takeomi and Mochizuki will bring you some spare clothing in the morning.” The man who you assumed was Kakucho nodded. Were they really planning to spend the night here? Or did they have other plans in mind? Did they want to break you more than your husband already did? You looked at the man with the short silver hair, his eyes were empty, bare and cold. Though the veil covered your face and hid your expression, he saw right through it - the submission and fear. “They won't touch you unless you give them a reason to…” His words of reassurance did just the opposite. 

Once the rest of the men left your penthouse, the others that remained began to make themselves at home and turned on the lights. Turning to face them, you noticed that they were all dressed in suits, had wildly colored hair and two of them had neck tattoos. The more ‘normal’ looking one was the raven haired man, with the exception of his facial scar. “So, dollface…you're probably wondering what your dear ol' husband did in order for us to be here…” The male with the psychopathic tone spoke, the two diamond shaped scars on the corners of his mouth curved as he smiled wickedly at you. Never have you seen such beautiful crystal eyes on such a sinister looking man. “You're scaring her Sanzu, she'll be sleeping with an eye open now thanks to you.” The coy and playful tone of the tallest male made you look in his direction. He had clean cut short purple tresses, the neck tattoo robbed your attention from his lavender eyes and handsome smirk. If you were to stand in front of him, you were sure to get top shelf vertigo. “Mikey said not to touch her.” The third male spoke, he had almost a matching hair color to the taller man but in mullet form, he too bore a neck tattoo - wait…that hanafuda design…it can't be! Alarm bells started going off in your head, you've seen the news, heard the rumors and seen first hand at what Bonten is capable of. That life of peace that you thought you were going to have? Well it just went up in smoke. These men were probably going to torture you, rape you or throw you in a brothel to pay off whatever your husband owed them. 

It felt like your chest was about to burst, the anxiety was ravaging your nerves and mind. The shortness of breath and trembling started, when the raven haired man noticed, you were on the verge of passing out. He caught you right before the back of your head met the floor. “Hey! What's wrong?” He asked as you began to have a panic attack. A sharp pain in your chest was making it difficult to breathe or even speak. “Get her some water!” He ordered one of the others as he sat across from you on the floor. The others began bickering, yelling at each other over who scared you. There was too much noise. “I'm going to slowly remove your veil, ok? I'm not gonna hurt you.” His hands gently reached out to you and you screwed your eyes shut. Don't look at me, please…! The voice inside your head screamed, your body was too in shock to move away from him. When he removed the veil, they all went silent. “…fuck, we didn't know.” You could hear one of them say. 

All four men flinched for a split second, recalling when they slammed your head against the counter. The purple and faded yellow bruises on your face and busted lip were staring at them dead in the face. The veil wasn't so that people wouldn't see your puffy crying eyes, it was to hide the pain and evidence of domestic violence.

The silence was overwhelming, making you panic even more - your breathing struggled again, snapping them out of their daze. You felt a pair of hands intertwining themselves with yours. Despite being inside, your hands felt like ice - the warmth of his hands made you feel alive. “I need you to try and take a deep breath. Focus on my voice, squeeze my hand if you understand.” Kakucho's soft and honeyed tone traveled through your ear canal and went straight to your chest. There was a soothing bass in his voice that made you follow his directions. 

Slow and steady you began to take deep breaths, one light squeeze signaled your understanding. A second voice was now in your ear, gently he titled your head in his direction. “Slowly open your eyes and focus on me…what color are my eyes?”  When you opened your eyes, you were met with a pair of lavender orbs and a tender gaze. “T-They're…beautiful.”  You managed to stutter out, his eyes matched the taller male - were they siblings? Your comment made him smirk softly, usually when people stare into his eyes they see death. “Rindou, I think she likes you…” The taller male whispered as he noticed the slight blush on your face. Finally, you were beginning to relax and breathe normally. Who would have known that the world's most dangerous men could soothe your soul? “Here, take small sips at a time.” The man with the diamond shaped scars said to you and handed you a small glass of water. Little by little, you were able to think straight without panic or anxiety. “So you can call us by our names and trust us - my name is Ran, this is my brother Rindou.” The tall male said. “The knucklehead you see over there with the pink hair is Sanzu and finally, in front of you, you have Kakucho.” Their introduction was not needed but worthy of making you feel a little at ease. 

Kakucho released your hand and helped you get on your feet. “Please, get some rest - we need to be on time for tomorrow’s reading.” That's right, these men stated that everything your husband owned was theirs. The question slipped your tongue when you opened your mouth, “Will I be set free or sold tomorrow?” Ran stepped closer and cupped your bruised cheek, there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “That's not for us to decide.” Depending on what Bonten's king says, he will ultimately determine your fate - even after his death, your husband is still finding ways to break you. 

With your head hung low you made your way to your room. “Keep the door open, dollface.” Sanzu said as he sat on the Burrow couches and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. It made your eye twitch, your husband would have made you sit on the floor if that were you. Despite being at home, you had to be perfect, primed and ready for anything. To have such freedom and fearless nature, you envied it. 

It was useless to try and protest keeping the door open. Walking into your bedroom, you began to lay out clean clothing - the day was long, you needed the comfort of warm water to relieve the ache in your ribs, the aches on your legs and arms. Once you had everything ready, you picked up your bathrobe and went to the bathroom - quietly closing the bathroom door. You took a long hard look at yourself in the mirror, analyzing the bruises on your face, the marks across your neck and the redness in your eyes, it was over. Your life was over before it even began. That freedom you were hoping to have was now dependent on someone else. 

After filling the tub you began to slowly shed the clothing that clung to your figure. You had hairline fractures that were making it impossible to stay still during the funeral. The bruises extended down to your hips and thighs. Something no else would see. After showering you settle in the bathtub, gently laid back and stare at the ceiling and wonder if you should even continue to walk this earth…

Several minutes of staring into space, the door to your bathroom opens and in walks Kakucho. His calm demeanor was rather comforting - you were used to seeing your husband walk through that door with a scowl on his face or worse, a liquor bottle in his hands. “I’m not trying to drown myself if that’s what you’re thinking.” You say while slowly sitting up. You were surprised that they gave you this much privacy knowing that you could have called the cops or signal for help. Unfortunately, you didn’t trust the cops. That dearly beloved husband that departed this earth always had his way anytime you or someone else would call the cops. They would ask questions but your husband would pull them to the side and slip a small stack of bills in their pockets to keep them quiet. As soon as they would leave, he’d continue where he’d left off. Days would go by where you couldn’t even walk or let alone stand due to the pain. 

“Please be ready by 8:00 tomorrow, the reading is at 10:00...” He says and hands you a towel. Guessing by how they are looming over you like this, they wanted to make sure you’d be able to attend tomorrow’s reading. He was about to walk away but you pulled his sleeve and stopped him. “I need help.” You spoke meekly and avoided his eyes, as much as you didn't want to ask - you needed his help. “Oh…I won't look.” He said, closing his eyes and turned the other way as he extended his arms for you to reach out and grab. Sucking in a deep breath you braced yourself for the next painful seconds of your life. Kakucho could hear you struggle and grunt as you were struggling to get up. It was exciting to him, but he refused to indulge. With his eyes still closed, he spoke - “Your face isn't the only thing bruised, is it?” Usually they don't pry into other people's affairs but this was different. Gathering information was his specialty, but your docile nature drew him in. 

Kakucho felt compelled to at least leave you with something to take care of yourself with. Despite Bonten's reputation and crude nature there was still some sort of kindness in their subconscious. “My late husband would beat me almost everyday if something wasn't up to his standard.”  You said while wrapping yourself in a bathrobe. Maybe, just maybe they'd have a little mercy on you if you tell them the truth. “Yet he wanted me to conceive a child…and he fucked me nonstop until I couldn't walk… “ Kakucho felt his hand twitch for a second, raising your hand at a woman - it made his blood boil. Even though Bonten was involved with prostitution, their merchandise would still be protected. 

Your mother-in-law's declining health led to her asking you to bear her only son's child. It was a request made out of love. She loved you and adored you like her own daughter, yet she was completely blind to her son's true nature. Manipulative, cunning, aggressive and silver tongued - that's what he was. He tried to knock you up but had no luck. With a visit to the doctor, you'd come to find out about your infertility. This caused a maelstrom of emotions, you were glad yet heartbroken. Cursed to suffer alongside him and unable to conceive. After his mother's death the beatings worsened, the cheating began and so did the drinking.

“Did you miscarry?” Kakucho's question made you chuckle, making him open his eyes to face you. The sight in front of him was that of beauty and horror. The thin bathrobe left little to the imagination, the outline of your perky breasts made him blush. Your figure was gorgeous, your frame was perfect and your eyes almost had an ethereal glow to them. Yet the bruises on your body made him sick. How could someone do that to you? Was your love and devotion not enough for that sadistic son of a bitch? “Apparently I'm hollow…” Your hands caressed your belly as you spoke. Confusion was written all over his face. “I can't have children.” For someone who knows very little about you, he was ready to kill your husband but alas he was already dead. Someone beat him to it. 

There was little to no emotion in your voice. You accepted your infertility and begged to be divorced but he refused to let you go. He refused to see you happy, let alone happy with another man. “I know it doesn't mean much now but I'm very sorry.” Kakucho says and breaks you out of the misery spiral. For the first time in your life since your mother-in-law's death - someone actually said something sincere to you. “Thank you. Who knew strangers could provide such comfort?” You say and head to your bedroom to get dressed. Something about you made him curious. What else were you forced to endure? 

From the doorway you could see the other three males laying on the couches and nodding off to sleep. Looking back at Kakucho, you noticed his eyes never left you. There was warmth building up inside you, but the reality of it all loomed over you like a rain cloud. Yet, the urge to feel that warmth overpowered you. “Mind if I close the door?” There was a tinge of playfulness in your tone. You knew he would keep his eyes on you. He nodded and gently closed the door himself, he didn’t want to catch the attention of the others. 

Shedding the bathrobe and letting it drop to the floor, you kept eye contact with him. You could hear him swallow thickly as his eyes began to wander around your naked figure. Kakucho just about groaned as your body was on full display. The bruises, scars and cuts drew him in like a moth to a flame. He began to walk towards you and closed the distance. Seeing how you could barely lift your arms or bend over, he helped you get dressed. There was tension but as much as he wanted to act on it, he couldn’t. You were too fragile to even touch. 

Finally after helping you to bed, he stepped out of the room and left the door ajar. “I know that look…” The sound of Ran’s voice broke through the silence. Turning around, Kakucho saw that Rindou and Sanzu were asleep on the couch. Ran was sitting by the island and smirking at him. “We might need a little help tomorrow.” Kakucho says and makes a phone call. The remainder of the night was quiet, you slept peacefully for the first time in 3 years. 

*the next morning*

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, it was gently tugging at you and waking you up. Mumbling, you turned to face Kakucho. He was standing next to your bed. “It’s time.” He says softly. Slowly sitting up you notice he was the only one with you. The others had left already, maybe they were making their way to the lawyers office…wait, what time was it? Grabbing your phone, you see that it’s 8:30 a.m.- you were late. Sensing your panic, Kakucho explained that they let you sleep in as the reading wasn’t until 10:00 a.m. 

During the car ride, you stared out the window and wondered if you would live to see the next sunrise. “Did you tell your boss about that?” You asked him and broke the silence. Apparently there was more than just a simple helping hand last night. You laid your soul bare and told him some additional information that Bonten needed to be aware of. “It’s been taken care of.” He says and keeps his eyes on the road. 

When you arrived, you made your way to the office and upon entering you saw it. Well to be exact, her. Your husband’s mistress and the wicked smirk she had on her face. She was clad in a skin tight black dress that accentuated her bust and belly, a large ‘fur’ coat, stilettos and was wearing bright red lipstick. It was a stark contrast compared to you. You were appropriately dressed like a widow, wearing black dress pants and a black blazer - it was to cover your bruises and also be comfortable during this shitty reading. You had neutral makeup on, just enough to hide the bruises and dark circles. “Well well…you showed up knowing that you ain’t getting shit. How bold of you (Y/N).” The mistress said while eyeing you up and down. Kakucho glared at her, after what you told him last night - he wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off her face.

In walked the lawyer about 2 minutes later, he was a very short man with gray hair and thick glasses. He carried a serious look on his face and by the creases in his face, you can tell his scowl was permanent. Clearing his throat, the lawyer sat down and confirmed that the required party was present to begin. Before he could begin with the reading, the mistress interrupted him by saying something that made you ball up your fists. “Sorry, I need to run to the ladies room. Being pregnant and all, you just can’t hold your bladder.” Her faux apologetic tone was a jab at you and your infertility. Of course she knew, your husband made it known to every prostitute he slept with. How she managed to stick him, you weren’t sure but you no longer cared enough to harbor any jealousy towards their affair. The only thing that managed to hurt you or cause you anger was the fact that she always threw your infertility in your face. It was worse when she found out she was pregnant with his child. Constant bullying and teasing by them both ensued. She was currently 4 months pregnant.

When she returned, you kept your eyes focused on the lawyer and asked him to proceed. You couldn’t stand being in the same room as her. “Very well…we are gathered here today to read the final will and testament of (Husband’s Name). ‘To my wife, (Y/N), I leave to you only one thing, my mother’s wedding ring.’ To- ” The lawyer was interrupted by the loud cackle of the other woman, she was laughing and holding her sides. Ugh, you wanted nothing more than to rip her tongue out. Kakucho placed a hand on your shoulder and snapped you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry, oh that was too funny! Please go on.” She says and wipes tears from her eyes and calms herself.

The lawyer subtly rolls his eyes and proceeds. “As I was saying, ‘To (Mistress’s name), I leave to you all my assets and fortune as you carry our child and my bloodline.’...” Of course she was elated and smiling from ear to ear. Kakucho could see that she was only looking forward to the money and didn’t care that the man in quest had passed away. She was giggling and making a whole scene about how lucky she was and how the god’s blessed her. The lawyer kept reading the will and then the room went silent when the lawyer read the last line of your husband’s will. “In order for (Mistress) to claim any assets and fortunes, a paternity test will be required to prove that the child is the biological child of (husband’s name) no later than 1 month of the child’s birth. In the event that the child is not his, all assets and fortunes will go to his spouse, (Y/N).” As she is a floozy, you knew there was a 3% chance that it wasn’t his child. All eyes turned to look at her and her face was red. She was pissed. “How dare he question his own child?! I will prove it as soon as I am able to get the paternity test!” She yelled and huffed. To be honest, you just wanted to go home, you didn’t care who ended up with anything - Bonten was going to take it anyway.

Just then Kakucho’s cell phone rings, he lightly taps your shoulder and gives you a warm smile before he steps out of the room. The mistress caught it all. Her fires simmered when she noticed the look of what she assumed was worry on your face. “Moving on so soon (Y/N)?” She says and it looked as if she was baring her fangs at you. Maybe she could try and take Kakucho from you too. You ignored her question and asked the lawyer what needed to be done in the meanwhile as the mistress was in her 2nd trimester. He explained that you will manage all assets and issue a monthly allowance until the child is born. 

After 10 minutes, Kakucho walked back into the room and asked you not to contest the will. You figured that Bonten instructed him on how you needed to proceed. They will obtain the assets through the mistress, knowing them - it will be easier than dealing with you. You knew the ins and outs of the legal world so you may be able to contest in some sort of way. It was a little upsetting that you were being tossed aside but at the same time you were grateful that you didn’t have to continue suffering for your husbands fuck ups. 

The lawyer presents you and the mistress a document, it was to confirm that you were present at the hearing and will not contest the will. You read over the information to make sure it was all accurate, once confirmed - you signed it and returned the documents to the lawyer. The mistress was so giddy and had a shit eating smirk on her face that it made the lawyer roll his eyes again. The poor man was not having it. Once everything was signed, his assistant came to collect the documents and was personally dropping off the documents to the courthouse for filing. Everything was to be expedited and they did not want to waste any time. “(Y/N), I guess I will come by before the end of the month and drop off my things. Since I will be moving into the house and all.” She says smugly and leaves the office. You wanted to punch her in the face but had to resist the urge to upset her as she is pregnant. It’s not the baby’s fault that their mother is a fucking bitch.

Standing up, you thanked the lawyer and headed out, leaving Kakucho behind. You were so overwhelmed with emotions that you forgot about him and just wanted to go home to pack up your things. You didn’t want to leave anything personal behind for that woman to enjoy. Once you were out of sight, Kakucho placed a document on the lawyer’s desk. He didn’t say a word and let the lawyer read it to himself first. The lawyer gasped and chuckled. “I expect you will arrange a meeting within the next 2 weeks, yes?” Kakucho said and the lawyer nodded. He exited the office and headed back to headquarters. 

The next few days were a blur, you were trying to figure out what to do with your personal belongings and searching for a new place to live. Even if your husband would have left you the penthouse - you didn’t want it. There were too many bitter memories in this hellhole. Lucky for you that you set aside money for yourself and weren’t fully dependent on your husband, you were able to afford living comfortably by yourself. With some of your injuries healed or at least not as bothersome, you were able to move around a little better. It allowed you to pack and put things in storage. Luckily, Kakucho came by everyday to help you. He was extremely kind and believe it or not a great cook. In the midst of all the chaos in your life, he was slowly becoming your rock. 

There were innocent gestures that made your heart skip a beat. As much as you tried not to get attached to another man, it was hard when the man in question was treating you like an actual human and not a punching bag. 

By the end of week 2, you received a call from your husband’s lawyer - he stated that you and the mistress needed to come back down to his office for a final reading and to confirm that the paperwork was accurately filed. You asked if this was something that could be confirmed over the phone but he said no. “It is in your best interest to attend, you also need to sign an additional statement.” Great… You didn't want to see the mistress and her smug face. It was rather short notice, you had to attend tomorrow evening. Ending the call you prepared to let Kakucho know. Either way Bonten was bound to know about this right? Regardless, it was no longer your concern as the mistress would be taking hold of all your husband’s assets. 

A hard knock on your front door spooked you and you thought it was going to be none other than her as she promised to stop by. Huffing in annoyance you walk over and open the door but were caught off guard by the gentleman that stood in there. “(Y/N).” Kakucho was standing in the doorway and made a chill run down your spine. The timing was too perfect. Were they wire tapping your home? You wouldn’t be surprised. “You’re still packing?” His calm demeanor was rather soothing and welcome. Opening the door wider you let him in. “I have to.” You smile softly. 

He noticed that you were packing other things that were rather questionable and gave you an odd look. You chuckle. Kakucho was taken aback at how sweet your laugh was. He realized how much you changed, it was like night and day. On day one, you were broken and quiet - almost frail and had given up on life. Today, you are warm and vibrant. Was this the same woman? 

Throughout the day you were drinking wine and offered him some, at first he refused as he was technically on the job but you somehow got him to accept. Now you were down to the third wine bottle. Getting to know your executioner was rather endearing. Aside from Bonten being what it is, their members weren’t as bad as they seemed - well for now anyways. With the previous visit leaving a bit of tension behind, the wine was giving you the edge you needed to get closer. Who knows, this might be the last time you could sleep with someone of your choosing. Bonten might end up selling you or leaving you penniless. 

“So, why do you do this?” You ask and lean your head back on the couch. You both were sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. There were multiple boxes, papers, momentos and wine bottles scattered about. Kakucho picked up a photo and looked at it, exhaling as he pointed at your husband in the photograph- “To keep people like him in check.” There were various things that came to light after you asked Kakucho to elaborate. Backroom deals, gambling, fraud, prostitution and of course murder - they were all dealt with by Boten. Your husband ended up joining them as a partner after trying to move into their territory. Some things were a little familiar to you but there were other unsavory things that hit you like a truck. It made you sick. Your husband owed them money amongst other things.

All this wealth was obtained by walking on other people’s corpses. Your husband not only destroyed you but he also destroyed others. It was naive of you to think that you were the only one who was taking in his wrath. Sensing your disquiet, Kakucho opted to change the subject. “You will be set free, (Y/N).” He says softly. Turning to look at him, you noticed his eyes were glossed over - oh that innocent look on his face… It made you want to devour him. “You know you shouldn’t promise things like that.” You say coyly. You were just teasing but at the same time you meant what you said.

Taking a chance and letting the liquid courage take over, you leaned over and pressed your forehead against his. The unsteady breathing and sweet scent of alcohol only drew you in. “What are we doing?” He whispers and almost pouts when you bite your lip. “I want you to make me feel like a woman again.” You almost whimper your reply and place your hand on his chest. Oh you just made Bonten’s number 3 head spin. In the blink of an eye, his lips were on yours - hungrily devouring every breath and whimper. For once, you were enjoying getting kissed, you were enjoying the taste of alcohol on someone else’s lips and you were sinking into bliss.

You felt your heart racing, it was racing out of excitement rather than fear. His hands began to travel along your body and touched places that you never thought would make your heart skip a beat. The more heated the kiss got, the more you wanted him to lay you down already - you were desperate. 

Feeling bolder, you moved your hands south and felt the bulge that was throbbing. You breath almost caught in your throat - he felt bigger than anything you’ve ever had before, larger than your now dead husband. Wasting no time, you made haste and unbuckled his belt, you were leading. Throbbing in your hands was Kakucho’s member, oh the gods gifted him with more than just a menacing look. Leaning back away from him you took in the sight in front of you. Heavy panting, chest heaving, glossy eyes and parted lips - he was beyond handsome. You paused a little too long before you were snapped out of your daydream. 

“You’re not gonna leave me like this are you?” He pants and moves your hand in a stroking motion, sending a jolt of electricity down his shaft. Oh how he was making your brain turn into mush. Continuing your motions, you felt your core aching and in desperate need of attention. Running your thumb over his leaking slit, you felt his hips jerk and he let out the sweetest moan. “Kakucho…” You say coyly and put a little more pressure around his length. He moans a response and gazes at you. His mind was also melting and on the verge of turning into mush. “Can I…taste you?” You ask while leaning in and give his tip a kitten lick that makes his eyes roll back. He chuckles and gives you permission to devour him.

Taking him in your mouth, you taste his sweet essence and bob your head slowly up and down. Focusing on his tip, your tongue swirls around the head and he feels his vision getting hazy. He was a lot to take in, with the tip hitting the back of your throat, you had a feeling he was going to tear you apart later. To him it felt like sweet torture, you were giving him affection - something that he hasn’t felt in a long time and yet you were going so slow with your movements that he wanted nothing more than to thrust his hips up to make you gag. Hearing those husky moans and his breath hitch made your folds begin to stick to the fabric of your panties. Pleasing him like this only made butterflies run rampant in your stomach. 

Releasing his member from your mouth, you took a long lick from the base of his cock up to his flushed tip. You continued to take his length further into your mouth but not too deep, you wanted to keep him on edge and make him whine a little longer. Your jaw was getting sore but you wanted to keep going. 

Kakucho placed his hand on the back of your head and pushed you down further. It made you gag a little but you welcomed his actions. They were gentle, unlike your husband - he would force your head down until you couldn’t breathe properly or until you threw up. He would leave your throat and jaw sore for days and wouldn’t care if you could barely eat the next day. Moving your hand to his length, you start to pump his cock while sucking and it sends him into overdrive. “Ngh…(Y/N), wait! Shit, you’re gonna make me cum…” He moans and tries to pull you off but fails. You were determined to swallow his seed. 

The vibrations of your moans travel down his cock and into his core. Kakucho was getting lost in heaven. The very woman who Bonten was going to take everything from was on her knees and pleasing him. Your pace began to quicken as you felt his length twitch and the vein along his shaft pulsed. His coil was so tightly wound that the moment he felt it snap, his eyes rolled back into his skull and that numbing sensation made his toes curl. Hearing him come undone was bliss, to know that you could make a man like him melt and make him whimper - it did wonders to your ego. Your husband would always say that you were good for nothing, that you would never be able to satisfy a man and yet here you are with one of the country’s most dangerous men. You were giving him the blowjob of a lifetime.

Swallowing his thick seed, you made sure to not waste a single drop and continued to suck his sensitive tip even after he emptied himself inside your mouth. “Stop…oh fuck!” Kakucho whines and pulls your hair. Releasing his member with a pop, you smile and slowly stroke him - making his hips twitch and his whimpers louder. Nothing in the world could compare to this feeling. You felt validated and worthy of satisfying another man, you felt like a woman for the first time in years. Your husband only ever made you feel like a toy, almost as if your sole purpose in life was for him to break you. He would treat you less like a woman and even less as a human being. 

Catching his breath, Kakucho remained seated on the floor - dazed and determined on what to do to you. “Get up…” He pants and pulls you up. That tone of voice was quite authoritative. You obey and get on your feet. He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom. “Strip…” His low tone made a chill run down your spine and you removed your clothing. He too started to remove all his clothing. When he saw that you left your undergarments on, he paused. “Everything, (Y/N).” He demanded and layed down on your bed. Feeling the cool air hit your skin, you shivered and he noticed. “Come here.” He says warmly, he was trying to reassure you. 

Seeing him in all his glory…oh how your cunt clenched instinctively. His defined muscles, the veins on his arms - it made you almost drool. Even the scar on his chest that appeared to be a bullet hole had your slick dripping. Climbing on the bed, you take place next to him and run your hands along his body. The slow and gentle touches made his member twitch. Even in its flaccid state, it still twitched and looked big. He rolled you on top of him and slid his arms underneath your thighs. The confused look on your face made him chuckle. He lifts you by your thighs and slides you up towards his face. The movement was so sudden that it made you squeak in surprise. Looking down at him, his pupils were blown as he had your pretty cunt in his face. 

“Wait…I-ngh!” You moaned out loud as he pushed your hips down and buried his face in your honeypot. He was sucking on your bundle of nerves and wasted no time in making you scream his name. Your hands quickly found solace by holding on to the headboard and your forehead was leaning against the wall. Whoever was lucky enough to be on the other side of that wall could hear you moan like a whore in heat. Kakucho snaked his hand between your thighs and slid two thick digits inside your tight walls. Pumping them in and out while sucking on your clit had your eyes rolling back and your hips grinding into his face. Hearing him slightly struggle underneath you only made your coil tighten. 

Such lewd and wet sounds echoed in the room along with your wanton moans. “Ahn…Ahn…Kakucho! It feels s’good!” You mewl and run your hands along your chest, pinching and teasing your nipples. The electricity coursing through your veins had you in a daze. Not even your husband ever bothered to eat you out before - Kakucho’s gift to you was more than anything your husband could have offered you. He curled his fingers to find your trigger, when he found it your legs were beginning to shake and your hips were stuttering. Your pitch got higher and higher as you neared total bliss. 

That unmistakable tingle that ran down your spine made you throw your head back and total ecstasy as your orgasm was ripped out of you. Kakucho didn’t stop, he kept going - he wasn’t satisfied with just one. “Ngh, s’too much!” You whine and try lifting your hips away from his face. However, the iron grip that he had on your waist made it impossible for you to escape. “Mhn…one more, just one more…” He pants from between your legs. The sound of your sweet voice kept him spellbound. He wanted to keep hearing you cry out for him. 

Your overly sensitive bundle of nerves was throbbing from the continuous stimulation. He moved lower and shoved his tongue inside your tight cavern. Kakucho wanted to taste everything, his warm and wet muscle felt like heaven. With your walls fluttering you thought you were going to lose it again. “Stop! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You whine pathetically, begging him to stop knowing full well that you didn’t want him to. The final push was him tracing circles on your clit with enough pressure to make your vision go white. 

Kakucho made you gush and he took it all. The obscene sounds of him slurping up your honey echoed in the room. Your whole body was shaking from the intense orgasm that you felt almost light headed. Slowly, he slid your body down and made you collapse into his chest. The energy was drained from you, barely being able to move or respond when he asked if you were ok. Only a small hum could be heard from you. Wrapping his arms around you, he placed a kiss on your head and whispered. “We’re not done yet. You wanted to feel like a woman? I’ll keep showing you…” His low tone made you smile softly and bury your face into his chest. 

The rest of the night became a blur. By the time morning came you were left disheveled, sore and satisfied. Kakucho meant what he said. All night he made you moan, scream, cum and cry out in pure bliss. He stuffed you full of his cum to the point where the sheets were beyond saving. His aftercare was even better, got you water and some light snacks for you to nibble on - even medicine for your throat. To think that this was one of the most feared men in all of Japan, last night he was more than that to you. Rolling over, you see Kakucho sleeping next to you. He looked so peaceful and innocent despite the prominent scar on his face. Seeing his chest rise and fall softly, you take a better look at the tattoo on his chest - it looks like all the higher ups have this. You recalled the man with the feline like eyes and the placement of his tattoo on his temple. The two Haitani brothers and their neck tattoos. Also, their leader - the man with the empty eyes and white hair, he had his on the nape. It would be a tattoo that you’d need to familiarize yourself with. 

Kakucho stirred in his sleep and woke up with you kissing his cheek. “Good morning…” You say softly and ask him if he’s hungry. You both opted to get up and shower…together, it ended up in another round of sex that led to skipping breakfast and diving straight into lunch. Offering him a change of clothes, he accepted - besides, the clothes were brand new and never worn. No need to worry about the mistress recognizing it and accusing you of theft of ‘her things’. 

Arriving at the lawyers office, you see that the mistress was already there. She was smiling smugly from ear to ear. When she noticed you with Kakucho, her smile faded ever so slightly - jealous that he was still with you. “So quick to move on…what a shame (Y/N). Looks like you truly don’t deserve any of (H/N)’s fortune.” You paid her no mind, you just had the best night and morning of your life. “I feel bad for you when you give birth, that baby’s gonna have a big ass head just like the mother and father…you might just tear (M/N). You might never be able to please a man again.” You say without thinking. The sudden fire in you made Kakucho almost burst out laughing. Quite the insult to a pregnant woman, she of course gasped and huffed defending her unborn baby’s head size. The poised woman was gone, you no longer had to keep appearances nor bite your tongue. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat made the room fall silent. He took a seat at this desk and went over the original will one last time before making you and the mistress review the already signed and filed documents. Both parties agreed that everything was in place. The mistress couldn’t help but keep chuckling to herself as she repeated words loud enough for you to hear. “...to my wife, I leave nothing.” It was annoying but you didn’t let her get to you - you wanted to come back home and have dinner with Kakucho. 

“Now that both parties confirmed, please note that there is a new document that was received after the filing that affects this arrangement and cannot be disputed.” He says and narrows his eyes. For a moment you felt your stomach flip - what the hell was he talking about? Did the wench take an early paternity test? It’s not like it mattered, you knew you were going to vacate the home and keep your mother-in-law’s ring. That much was certain. Acknowledging the lawyer's words, you asked him to elaborate and explain what the real reason was for you both to be here. He nodded and began to read out loud the document in his hands:

“From the University of Tokyo Hospital, below is the information requested by (Husband’s full name) on (11 Nov YYYY) and (12 Dec YYYY). The original tests and new tests administered resulted in the following:

Spermatozoa count - below 2 million per mil.

Sperm motility - below 20%

Sperm viscosity - high

Sperm morphology - abnormal

Unfortunately, both labs have confirmed that the patient is infertile. With the severe lack of sperm motility and spermatozoa count - treatment is not possible.”

Everything in the room went dead silent. You felt faint and nauseous, was this actually true? The sudden screech of the mistress startled you and she came charging at the lawyer’s desk to snatch the paper out of his hands. She was beet red and almost foaming at the mouth. Reading the document in hand she crushed the edges that she was holding and her hands were shaking. “This…this can’t be! It has to be fake!” She screams and looks at Kakucho who was biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “You probably faked this document to get in on your whore’s money!” She spits and rips the paper to shreds. The lawyer simply sighs and asks you to sign the document confirming that you were present at this hearing. Apparently your late husband amended his will one month prior to his death. When he received the first results in November he contacted his lawyer to insert a new clause. Originally he wasn’t going to leave you anything, however, due to him sleeping around not getting anyone pregnant - he grew suspicious.

With the mistress screaming like a banshee and almost attacking the lawyer, security was called to have her escorted out. The lawyer was quick to have you and Kakucho sign as a witness to all this. “Ms. (L/N), congratulations - you have all your husband’s assets and fortune. Please rest assured that the mistress will not be able to contest.” He said softly and smiled. His smile was warm, it’s as if he knew this was going to happen. How long was this information in his hands? Wait, is this why Kakucho said for you not to contest the will?

The lawyer excused himself and left the office for you to have a moment to yourself. The room was spinning and thought you were going to die. It wasn’t just the shock from the hospital results but the fact that your husband abused you and beat you non stop for being infertile when in reality he was the one shooting blanks the entire time. You began to laugh to yourself, slowly building up to a cry that made you drop to your knees. It was painful. Recalling all the times he called you hollow or less of a woman when your pregnancy tests would come out negative - it broke your heart. You were both the problem, the blame shouldn’t have been just placed on you. 

“(Y/N), there is something else I need to tell you. We did some digging and whoever was in charge of getting your fertility results a few years back royally fucked up which rendered your tests inconclusive and marked as infertile by mistake. You can have children.” Kakucho says softly and helps you stand back up. A second wave of emotions hit you and panic soon followed. You were fucking him raw yesterday and this morning like a rabbit in heat. “Kakucho…how long have you known for?!” You ask him and shove him. There was a slight pained expression on his face, he should have told you sooner. “That medicine I gave you this morning was a morning after pill. (Y/N), I’m sorry, I let myself get carried away.” At least he was honest. Last night he snuck out of your apartment to purchase the pill and would pass it off as ibuprofen or something since you were saying your throat was sore. Though he wasn’t expecting to sleep with you again in the morning he explained that he would take responsibility if the contraceptive fails. Whatever your decision would be, he will respect it and will do what he can. He made sure to explain this to you and managed to pull you in. Crying in his arms, he embraced you and did his best to calm you down.

“You didn’t sleep with me just for my husband’s assets, did you?” You ask a little broken hearted. The night you spent with him meant more to you than just sex. It was you liberating yourself once and for all from your husband. You didn’t expect to feel something more for Kakucho. Maybe it was the fact that he made you feel validated and praised you like a goddess, but it felt real. “The assets have nothing to do with what we did last night or this morning.” He assured you. 

*4 months later*

You signed off on all documents that allowed you to transfer or ‘donate’ your husband’s assets to Bonten. The head of the organization, Sano Manjiro, handed over a legal sized envelope with your name on it to you. He said nothing and walked away. “W-wait, what is this?” You ask him and he waves you off without responding. Opening the envelope you read over the information and gasp. Though you handed over everything to Bonten, they gave you something in return. Manjiro was kind enough to leave you something that the three of you could enjoy. Kakucho leaned over and placed a peck on your head. “You know, he is kind of excited to be an uncle...” 

END.

TAGS: @anxious-chick

[akingdomscrypt]

Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Two

Pairing; König x m!reader

Word count; ~5.8k

Warnings(?); ...the google translate is abundant in this one. But I did add some translations this time!

A/n: this took me. so. long. Three drafts later, writing each section separately then again for coherency sake.. my hands hurt. Hopefully this was worth the wait! <3

('reader' during the second portion of this chapter^^)

(I think I should mention that this was originally an OC but I figured more people would enjoy it if I made it x reader. So while the appearance is left anonymous, backstory n shit is pretty solid.)

--- "empty note" ---

"Good." The voice rumbles from behind you. You huff an irritated breath and shake your head.

The man grabs your other hand and forces it behind your back. The familiar sound of metal clinking together ignites your fight or flight and you begin to struggle. Panic surges through you and you tug, hard. The rough movement pulls on your fractured arm and you bite down harshly on your tongue to stifle a shout. 

The man tightens his hold on you, gloved fingers digging into the flesh of your forearms. 

"Shit- fuck, damn you, asshole-" You seeth but stop moving. 

The sound of several sets of footsteps echoing through the corridor you had just come from lets you know that he's not alone. The men you'd heard talking earlier at the front desk were indeed with him. 

When you got out of this, and you would, you were going to have a word or two with your handler.. consequences be damned.

You're dragged backward by the grip on your arms, stumbling a bit as you're forced to follow. The man brings you a little way deeper back into the hall you'd just escaped, your sliver of freedom slamming shut in front of you with a dull click. 

The footsteps get closer and soon enough another man is creeping into your peripheral. The tall man walks until he's standing a few feet away from you. You match his glare with a harsh one of your own, not succumbing to that piercing blue. 

"Good job," he says to the man restraining you, stare unwavering. "We're taking him with us. Let's go." 

The man turns until you're facing back down the way you had come, then begins ushering you forward. Three other people are watching you as you're pushed down the hall. One covered head to toe in black, a skull mask layered on a fabric base obscuring his face. Another sports a, surprisingly, neat mohawk and babyface that makes his scowl just that little bit less threatening. The last is a darker-skinned man, his eyes on the man who seems to be in charge as opposed to you. 

The big one holding you continues walking without faltering for even a second. The skull-faced man and the baby take the front charge, leading you two through the halls. The other lags behind to join the leader, the two herding you from the back.

Having three people out of your range of sight made your hair stand on end–but the position in which you had been forced into left you powerless to put a stop to it. So, going against every fiber in your body, you complied. Allowing them to think they were in full control would benefit you in the end, you just had to bide your time.

The journey to the front office is a lot shorter than it had seemed when you were stumbling blindly through the building. The woman who's usually at the front desk is uncharacteristically absent when they drag you through the front door. 

Your breath is still coming out hot and heavy within the confines of your cloth mask, the sudden influx of humid air hitting you and the sun beating down on you only adds to the already fuzzy feeling clouding your mind. Sweat slicks your skin, making your hair stick and your clothes rub uncomfortably. 

It's a good thing the residence you'd chosen was on the outskirts of the town as it prevented too much attention from being brought to the group of six well-built men. It also meant you had a clear shot at running, you just needed to wait for the perfect opportunity. 

You're herded off the streets and into the soggy plains beyond the city. Just a little more, just a little closer.. and you could make your escape.

Your legs are shaky and the pain in your shoulder and thigh have become nothing but a throbbing afterthought. Which would be concerning, if you weren't more focused on keeping yourself conscious enough to make a run for it. 

Your movements begin to slow, sluggishly moving one foot in front of the other. The heavy, noisy thumps of your footfalls and your labored breathing are all that you can hear. When you begin faltering too much, the man behind you shoves you forward–forcing you to stagger like a newborn fawn to regain your balance and pick up your pace. 

After what feels like forever you spot a beige-colored van in the distance. The two men taking the lead arrive first and you see the shorter one speak a few words before nudging the taller's arm with his. As you approach, the two behind you move to the front and you feel as though some weight has been lifted off your shoulders. 

Now about a yard from the vehicle, the grip on you loosens–but you don't run. Not yet. Keeping your head low, you glance up at each of the four men within your line of sight. Flickering from one to another you gauge their positions, who would be the fastest, and who would notice first? 

The hold falls away completely, but the man remains hovering behind you. You don't move. The five communicate in small, clipped words. None of which have any meaning to you, so you file them as unimportant and focus on making an escape route. 

It would be foolish to just charge and hope for the best. You had no weapons on you, your duffle was back in your room, and each of the men had a visible gun or two strapped to their hip. There was also no way of telling what other weapons they possessed that were simply not within sight. 

So you wait. Wait for the man behind you to take a step back. Wait for the shortest of the crew to hop into the backseat farthest from you. Wait for the second to open up the back portion of the van. Wait for the leader to capture the skull-faced man's attention. 

Then you make a break for it. A shift in your weight from one foot to the other could be easily misread as you simply being tired. After all, you had been on your feet all morning. Another shift and the man watching you would grow a bit suspicious, but not enough to act. 

Launching yourself away with a forceful kick to the ground to gain as much distance as you could with that first step would quickly turn that suspicion into action. His gloved fingers just barely graze your forearms as you dart away.  

For a second you think you're going to get away. For a moment you're hopeful. Heavy footsteps pound behind you, but you've always been quick–surely, surely you can get away. Even injured, that giant could never catch up to you.

You shouldn't have been so focused on him. Should've been listening for the other footfalls stampeding behind you. More importantly, the quick, light steps rushing at you.

In the end, you only make it a few yards before the blunt end of something heavy rams into your skull from behind. Your world is forced into darkness, though of course not before you get a mouthful of mud. 

You wake up in a daze. The ground is moving beneath you and you can't see shit. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears and your mouth is beyond dry. 

You don't last long. And soon enough you're succumbing to that void once again. Though this time it's from blood loss and not being whacked in the head by the stock of a rifle. 

The next, and final, time you come to is by force. Deft fingers dig into the meat of your thigh and your eyes snap open with a cut-off gasp. You're met with a blindingly bright white light, blinking a few times in quick succession to adjust. The fingers disappear, as does the sharp, stinging pain–now replaced with a renewed burn. 

You recognize the man looming over you as the leader from before, and you grimace in distaste. Thankfully, as reinforced by the rubbing of stiff cloth over your cheeks, they hadn't removed your mask. You almost sigh in relief, at least you weren't going to lose your job–then you remember where you are and how you got here, which puts a hard stop to that thought.

"You've had us chasing your tail for a while, kiddo." He rumbles in a deep, British accent. It was the first time he had directly spoken to you and that has you on edge. Why him? And not one of his little helpers? 

Your eyes flick around the room you're in. There's nothing but white, concrete walls–stained with questionable shades of brown near the baseboards–, an overhead lamp, and a well-worn roll-up door to your left. Some sort of storage unit. What remains is you, the man in front of you, and the chair you're tied to. 

Having both arms restrained behind you pulls uncomfortably at your fractured arm and stab wound. You're also bound to the chair by the thick rope looping around your waist and legs. All the movement of your attempted escape and transport from the city to wherever the hell you were now had irritated your injuries–blood soaking through the makeshift bandages and staining your clothes to the point the original color was no longer recognizable. 

A sharp clicking sound has you snapping your head up, yanking you out of your thoughts. You feel the tiniest bit of shame crawl up your spine when you realize the noise had come from the blue-eyed man. Grabbing your attention like one would do a well-trained mutt. 

You grit your teeth and huff, glare burning holes into the other man's retinas. He raises one brunette eyebrow and you resist the temptation to wipe that arrogant look off his face with a few choice words. 

"Did you hear any of what I jus' said?" You don't give him the satisfaction of a response, but the little puff of air from his nose indicates he knows damn well you did not. 

"Listen close, kid," he leans forward a bit by the waist, bucket hat shadowing the upper portion of his face. "'Cause I'm not too keen on repeating myself." 

When you don't reply, he continues.

"You're going to tell me everything I want to know, got it?" Silence.

You needed to get out of here. Needed an escape. But what were you supposed to do with a most likely fractured arm, a recently relocated shoulder, and a stab wound–all on the same arm, mind you. The gouge in your thigh was really just an added bonus. A nice little ribbon to tie it all together. 

"Well ya' certainly aren't the chatty type." He sighs. "Very well, then. But I do expect an answer."

Part of you wished you hadn't been so adamant about going solo–then you remember the last time you worked with someone, and that thought is quickly ushered out the window. Being on your own was kind of your.. thing. You don't mesh well with others. Everyone knew that–your handler, your other sectionmates, hell even the execs all the way up the food chain were aware of this tidbit. It's what made you good at your job, and everyone made sure to steer clear of you because of this. Except for Nina, the damn stubborn bastard. 

"What's your name?"

You didn't really.. have a name anymore. Myš, Maus, Mouse. Really, it didn't make much of a difference to you. You had lost the privilege of having a birth name a long.. long ass time ago. Too long to care about it. Even before your section had given you the title–a bit of an inside joke, a little jest on your height–of Myš, you had only been referred to by letter and number. Like branding on cattle. 

"Alright-" he takes a step back, standing up to his full height. "Fair. What about who ya' work for? Your cause?"

You tilt your head up to follow him as he moves, never once breaking eye contact.

Did he really think you were that stupid? That you'd just up and give the name of the organization that had basically raised you? Had taken you in when no one else had cared to? You try not to think about the fact you don't actually know who you work for. There isn't a name to it–you just do your job. Taking out corrupt scumbags and cleaning up messes. 

"Do ya' even have a cause? Or are ya' jus' killing rich folks for the 'ell of it?" 

You didn't have one, not really. Morals and red tape pretty much flew out the window the second you were upgraded from hatchling to predator. You had a job, and you did it. It's what made you better than the rest. Your first solo mission had impressed even your handler, and isn't that a wild thought? 

A few more unanswered questions and the man is beginning to get frustrated. Even his attempts to poke at you until you snap fall short. Which only makes him all the more annoyed.

"Are ya' bloody mute or something?" He asks, entirely fed up with your bullshit by now. "Or do you' think you'll get out of this by playing the long game?"

It's not like you'd get out by blabbing your mouth. Besides, you were pretty certain you were a dead man if you gave him what he wanted. 

"Look, kid," the way he stares you down makes your skin crawl. "No one is coming for you. No one. No one's gonna save ya'. You're stuck here, with me. So either answer my questions, or I'll have to resort to other methods." 

You know no one's coming. You knew that the second your jerk of a handler hung up on you. 

Still, his words unintentionally rip open a fresh wound and you let out a small snort. He perks up at the sound; as if he's finally found that loose thread he's been searching for and is planning on pulling on it until you break. 

"The big one." You cut him off when he opens his mouth again. You'd rather not hear what other nonsense he has to spout and, if you were being honest, he was a little boring. "Bring him." 

Your voice is hoarse, rough, and pitched low. The man hesitates, then sighs. He doesn't reply verbally, but the way he walks away in defeat lets you know you've won this round.

One down, four more to go.

From the moment the two hulking figures, both masked, had walked into your peripheral, you knew you were in for a treat. The man with the skull face took his place perched against the wall across from you, the other, much larger man pulled out a metal folding chair to place in front of you. Backward with the backrest facing you, he sat with his thighs on either side of it–practically straddling the damn thing as he stared you down.

"So," the one in front of you began, folding his arms over the back of the chair. "Shall we begin?" 

His voice was surprisingly more high-pitched than you'd anticipated. Earlier today–or what you assume was, you didn't really have a great grasp of time at the moment–when you were half unconscious and high as hell on adrenaline, his tone had been a lot deeper. Or, maybe not deep, exactly, just more.. rumbly, thicker. Now it still holds that same Germanic–Austrian maybe?–accent, only a lot more hoarse and almost.. pitchy? No, that wasn't it. You didn't know how to describe it.

You'd be the last to admit it was.. intriguing. Yes. Intriguing. That was the word–that's all it was.

You shift in your seat–or as much as your current position allows at least–and clear your throat. Seconds tick by, and he says nothing. Discomfort begins to trickle in, weaving its way through your nerves and up your spine. Settling heavily at the base of your neck. 

Electric blue-grey bores into your own dull gaze. You break away from it after a tense second or two, unable to hold it for much longer. Instead, your eyes flick to the other man behind him and to the left. That menacing amber is no better and soon enough you're dropping his gaze too. 

You settle for finding a place on the cloth of his hood, in between those gunmetal hues. Not exactly avoiding eye contact, but not initiating it either. Silence lulls on, an uncomfortable weight in the air.

It makes you want to squirm, makes you want to fill the empty void between you and the two towering figures. You were never one to shy away from the quiet–if anything you often found yourself basking in it. The majority of your missions were done solo, so time to yourself wasn't something you really lacked. It was comforting, like a sweet escape from the hellscape that was your home base. Nice. That's how you'd describe the solitary you often found yourself in. 

This silence, though, puts you on edge. It just wasn't… 'nice'. There was nothing to seek comfort in. No crevices of wood and metal to squeeze yourself into, no damp, mildewy grass to welcome you home. This quiet was cold, distant. It stalked around you, judgment in the false pretense of analysis. It watched, it leered at you. Picking you apart, cleaning the meat from your skeleton, and sucking the marrow from your bones. 

The rubber sole of your worn boot scuffs against the floor, unconsciously bracing yourself for.. something. Anything. Anything was better than this. Whatever this was. 

It made you want to open your mouth. Made you want to break that vow of silence you'd unintentionally taken the moment that brunette Brit had spoken to you. Your skin crawled, fingers twitching as they itched to remove the filthy mask that obscured your identity. That chained you to a life of adrenaline rushes, stale corner store food, and blood-stained clothes. 

You couldn't, sadly. No matter how badly you'd like to. It was your safety net, no matter how much you hated it. It kept you anonymous, kept you guarded from the prying eyes of strangers. Kept your expressions in check–like the way your teeth were currently trying to gnaw a hole through the soft flesh of your cheek. 

His eyes search you. You notice. They inspect every part of your bloodied, muddy form. From your matted hair to the peeling, makeshift bandage on your arm, and further still. Down, down, down. Following your exposed torso down to your rope-bound legs, lingering over the crimson mess of your injured thigh then back up again.

If you felt uncomfortable before, now you were on fire. And not in a good way.

You needed something. Needed to get him to talk. Needed to get one of them to do something. So, pulling on the frayed memory of the language, you finally speak. They better treasure this damn victory for the rest of their pathetic lives–which, hopefully, wouldn't be much longer. 

"Du sprichst Deutsch, ja?" (You speak German, yes?) Your voice comes out weak, scratchy from dehydration. You clear it once more and wait.

A small, barely even noticeable, tilt of the man's head is the only evidence that he even heard you. That's all the confirmation you need to dig your claws in and pull. 

"Wie heißt du?" (What's your name?)

Eventually, after a few more terse moments of silence, he opens his mouth for the third time since you two had met. 

"Du zuerst." (You first.)

His voice, no matter how dead-sounding, is the sweet reprieve you've been searching for–a pleasant salve for the aching burn in your chest. You almost sigh in relief at the sound of it. You don't, that's one more hit your ego definitely cannot take. But the point is you almost do, and that fact leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

You don't exactly.. want to give yours first–nothing is tethering him to his word. Nothing holding him hostage until he does the same, as he implies he will. What you want doesn't matter at the moment. What matters is survival.

And, well, if you want to get further into his head, you might as well. 

"They call me.." you drawl, noting the way the man's gloved fingers twitch where they rest against the arm guard covering his forearm. "..Maus." (Mouse.)

"Maus?" He says. You can hear the disbelief, maybe even the slight humor in his tone when he repeats it. Even the man behind him–who you'd almost completely forgotten about–gives a small snort. 

You clench and unclench your jaw a few times, fighting back the irritation that nags at the base of your skull. 

"Your turn." Is all you say in response. It's not like it's even your real name–though after over a decade of use, it pretty much has welded itself to you. Stuck on you, just like this damn feculent cloth. 

"König." He says it with a certain air of confidence, and you almost scoff at that. Typical. You're not surprised–a self-assured, military bulk of a man like him. You have half a mind to tease him about it. Then you remember where you are, who he is, and you refrain. 

You look from König to his–most likely–equally egotistical friend and raise a brow. 

"And…?" 

He frowns. Or, at least you think he does. His eyebrows pull together a bit, and those slanted eyes narrow in the slightest. 

"C'mon, König." Ah, another Brit. "Stop toying with the poor guy and do your damn job." 

König grumbles something unintelligible under his breath followed by an honorific in German before redirecting his attention to you. 

"Now that we have finally got your name," he sighs. "There are other more.. pressing questions that need answer." 

"Which are?"

He gives you a pointed look. It doesn't take long before you groan in defeat and tip your head back, recognition hitting you like a ton of bricks. 

"Nein." You grit out, leveling the other man with a glare. "That wasn't me." 

"Then who was it, Maus?" The skull-faced Brit speaks up again, the way he pronounces the word grates on your nerves. You'd simplified it, mainly for the Austrian's sake, and he'd still managed to mispronounce it.

Fucking Brits. 

"Just 'Mouse'." You shoot him a dirty look before shifting your focus back to König–who, while still very intimidating, was a lot less so now that he was speaking. 

"I do not know who was behind it." 

"How do we know you are telling the truth?" 

"Fucking-" you whisper out a few more silent curses in your native tongue. After getting it out of your system, you answer;

"Why the fuck would I hit myself with it? Seems a bit counterintuitive, no?" 

"Maybe your timing is jus' shite." 

"Or, maybe," you're on the verge of losing your patience, and it hasn't even been five minutes. "It was not me." 

"Then who was it?" König leans his head forward a bit, those ice-cold blue hues piercing into your very soul. "What were you even doing there? With that dreary old lady?" 

Your eyes shift from one hulking brute to the other, seeing their goddamn fixation on this minute event, you decide fuck it and give in.

"I am certain you are both familiar with the drill, yes?" That blank stare gets you nowhere. "You are given a target, you go after said target? That is what I was up to–I was receiving, uh, intel on a target."

"Intel?" The Brit.

"Sometimes it is coords, sometimes it's other minuscule bits of information. Like a fucked up puzzle." 

"And this time?" König asks.

"A name." 

More of that stiff silence follows your admittance, but it's not like the suffocating type from earlier. It's speculative, calculating. Probably wondering just whose name you had received. 

Now that you thought about it–you hadn't exactly had the privilege of indulging in that information as of yet. Too busy getting blown up, chased, stabbed, then chased again. And now you are here.

"A name?" The Brit repeats at the same time König questions; "Who?" 

You're quiet for a moment, trying to decide if you want to divulge the little tidbit that you aren't entirely sure who. As if that would help with their nonexistent faith in you. 

"That's classifi-" 

König launches himself off the chair, metal scraping unpleasantly against concrete. You only barely manage to suppress a flinch, muscles seizing up into something that leaves you with more likeness to a marble statue than a human being. 

He looms over you, now standing at his full height. Those paralyzing grey-blues tear into you with an untapped store of anger; made all the more intense with those shadows engulfing all but his irises and bright sclera. 

König leans down a fraction, just so as to keep your focus solely on him and him only. A heavy hand comes down to grip your shoulder, gloved thumb finding the exact point of your stab wound–digging in with practiced precision. It burns, holy fuck it burns. A flame licking up the length of your arm, cauterizing your nerve endings and forcing a low, garbled whine from your throat. You don't look away–finding it nearly impossible to break away from the penetrating stare. A traitorous part of your brain whispers you don't want to. 

"Sie haben nur so viele Gliedmaßen, Maus."(You only have so many limbs, Mouse.) He grumbles out–that same, deep rumble that sends you back in time to your first meeting. "Nichts davon ist nötig, um zu sprechen. Ich schlage vor, Sie wählen Ihre nächsten Worte mit Bedacht." (None of which are needed to speak. I suggest you choose your next words wisely.)

You swallow thickly, and the next breath that leaves you is shakier than you'd like–equal parts fear and something.. something you'd rather not put a name to. It's like the skull-faced Brit isn't even there anymore, only just the two of you. Heavy, strained silence lulls between you both; neither seeming to have any intention of breaking it. A thread dangles in before you, barely out of reach–and you want nothing more than to pull it. To pounce like the predator to your namesake would. To keep pulling and pulling and pulling until the man looming over you fell apart at the seams. Crumbling at your feet. To see how far you could push him until he broke. 

"Moje vrecká." You finally cave in, clearing–for the third fucking time in ten minutes–your throat once more when your voice comes out more affected than you find acceptable. Then you repeat yourself, louder this time for the both of them–now finally remembering the voyeur only a few meters away. "My pockets." 

König doesn't look away, but he does cock his head slightly to the side.

"The lady." Your voice is still less than ideal, hoarse and vaguely hinting at something more primal. It's better than it was, though, and you pin the roughness of it on your extreme dehydration at the moment. "From the city square. She was- was carrying something for me. A message. I slipped it in my pockets when collecting her–frankly quite an excessive amount of–items."

"What did it say?" Ah, so the Brit hadn't completely vanished during the course of whatever the fuck just happened. 

"I don't know."

"Was meinst du mit.. "I don't know"?" (What do you mean by..) The pressure against your wound increases. 

"I mean," you stress, already feeling yourself coming back to your senses. Which, admittedly, didn't mean much at the moment. "I do not know. I never got the chance to read it over. After that damn explosion, then getting stabbed, then you lot chasing me down. I did not exactly have time to sit by a fire n' get myself a good look, now did I?" 

"And we're jus' supposed to believe you?" 

You spare a glance over to the damn Brit–who was increasingly rising in his place on your I-never-want-to-hear-you-speak-again list; quite the lengthy list, you might add. With a huff and barely restrained roll of your eyes, you reiterate;

"My damn pockets." You grit out. "Check them. That is all the proof you will need." 

Skull-face gives a curt nod to König when the latter looks back at him–the hand on your bandaged shoulder disappears. You track every movement the man makes when he reaches in to explore pocket number one. Every hesitation, every crinkle of distaste in his limited expression. Payback's a bitch, after all. Now it's your turn to make him squirm.

"Aye." You drawl when his trembling(?) fingers skirt over the grimy fabric of your waist on their journey over to investigate the other pocket. "A little too close there, you think?" 

"Hält's Maul." (Shut up.) The words come out a muffled rumble, and it takes everything in you not to make another comment. 

After a little more fumbling König pulls out a crumpled, tattered piece of folded paper. It has yellowed at the edges and is covered in an excessive amount of dried mud and water stains. Though no matter how much horror the poor scrap has been through, your handlers' impeccable penmanship should be legible enough. 

You find yourself leaning up in the slightest as König unravels it, also curious to see who–or what–your target is. There's a hitch of his breath, a stall of his movements–and all signs point to the unfavorable.

"Was?" (What?) Those ridged grey-blues seize you again, searching. Was it König? Or one of his associates? Maybe someone the man knew? 

König wordlessly flips the paper around to face you–one would assume he'd show his friend first..–your stomach drops when you read over the red ink you're so familiar with.

Or rather, the lack thereof. 

"Nie." (No.) You breathe. Because, really, what else is there to say? "Nie, nie, nie-" 

"That is not– that is not possible–" That chill creeps up your spine again, but it's worse than before. Worse than the stagnant silence from earlier. It consumes you, floods your system with ice-cold water–fills your lungs, and crystalizes in your trachea. "She wouldn't–" 

But she would, wouldn't she? After all, she'd practically left you to die back when you were bleeding out in that hotel room. Told you that getting the target was more important, not a care in the world for your safety. Then again, there was no target, was there? Not really. It had all been a ploy. A reason to push you overseas–away from everything you've ever known, everything that brought you comfort–and get you isolated. 

No one would look for you. No one probably even knew you were here. Not your old sectionmates, not Nina–no one. You were entirely on your own. Again. But, really, when has it ever been any different?

It was all a farce, a plot to get rid of you–and you had free-fallen right into that snake pit. All of your own volition. The freezing spikes of betrayal quickly melt into white-hot rage.

"That conniving piece of shit-" you grit out, not a thought in your mind except her. Probably sitting in that shitty office chair, squeaky springs and all, with that smug fucking look on her face. Not grinning, no, she didn't smile. At this point, you were convinced she simply couldn't. She'd accomplished her mission, she'd gotten rid of you. Disposed of you like last week's leftovers. There was nothing left for her to worry about anymore–for all she knew you could be dead. "Idem ju spáliť, kurva ju koža zaživa. Bude si želať, aby ma nikdy neprevalcovala, nikdy ma ani nestretla."

She's going to wish she had never been born. There was going to be nothing left when you were done with her. "I am going to fucking kill her." 

"..who?" You jerk your head up at the noise, tunnel vision widening to encompass the two men you had entirely forgotten about–you hadn't even realized you'd hunched over as far as the bindings would allow, fists clenched so tight it was a surprise your tendons hadn't snapped. 

"My fucking–" you cut yourself off, seething behind your mask. It didn't matter how pent-up you were, spilling your life story to these lunatics wouldn't solve shit. If anything it would only worsen your situation. "She left me." 

The confusion in their eyes only doubles. "She fucking- abandoned me. Left me with nothing. Left me to die. Left me with you." 

They share a glance, and if you were any less absorbed in your own mind at the moment, you probably could've deciphered it for what it was. A golden ticket. A weak point. Something to poke and prod at–an advantage. You don't notice, though, and it's a damn shame. 

"She, this person, is the one who sent you here? The one who gives you your targets?" The Brit inquires. 

"Fucking obviously." You snarl. Wasn't that clear? You were only here because of her. Because you'd trusted her to pull you out if things went sideways–or maybe not trust. Never trust. You'd never held any sort of feeling like that for another. No. It was an obligation. She was supposed to follow through, keep you alive, that was her damn job. 

"And what now?" Skull-face.

"You wanted to know what I was after?" 

"...are you going to tell us?" 

"Release me." 

"What?" Collective disbelief.

"Let me go, and I will.. I will help you."

"You?" König scoffs. "Help us?" 

"Ja," you meet those grey-blue hues once more, and grin beneath your mask–it's not pleasant. A twisted thing, really, and if they could see it they probably wouldn't want your help at all. Not that they seemed much interested anyhow, but you could fix that.

"I have resources. I have… leverage. I can be useful." You tilt your head a little to the right, focusing entirely on the man in front of you. He seemed the most malleable at the moment. Perfect.  "Release me, König. And I could make the world bleed." 

The ball was in his court now, but you had a feeling he wouldn't deny you. A slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and you know you've hit home. Hook, line, and fucking sinker.

___

One | Masterpost | Next

~~~

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog

(if anyone else wants to be added, let me know in the comments!)

[babyarmybabbles]

"Okay." A1 D2

A Min Yoongi breakup drabble

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Yoongi Breaks up with you in a café. You... Deal. You guess.

Word Count: 1,129

Notes: This occurred in about 45 minutes at 4am last night. I dunno, man. It's more a reflection of how i was feeling than a real story, but I left room for if i wanna come back to it. For now it's... here. Have at.

Warnings: Break up. Low-key dissociating.

Masterlist Link <3 | Next Part (?)

You stare blankly at your boyfriend, useless paper straw dangling loosely from your lips. You’d been chewing idly at it when this conversation started, but even that motion froze as you processed what you’d just heard.

Sunlight beats in from the large windows on the other side of the hipster café you don't even like. You never had, but it had ended up becoming your regular spot to meet your boyfriend, given that it was the only place in a five mile radius that didn’t attract fucktons of paparazzi with a single stolen peek of Min Fucking Yoongi.

The sun hits your eyes directly from where you sit in the back corner of the café. It heats up the small building horrendously. You hate this place a little more with every second that passes. The half-drunk blended drink sat in front of you struggles for it's life. For it's ice. Whatever.

You blink rapidly, something vile crawling up your throat. You think your heart is going to burst. You think you might vomit.

"Come again?" You plead, desperately hoping you'd heard him wrong.

Min Yoongi has the nerve to look apologetic. He dares to sit there, dressed head to toe in black in the middle of a sweltering heat wave, and look sorry for you.

Even with his face obscured by his mask and bucket hat (he'd have usually pushed it down to smile at you by now. (Holy shit he hadn't even smiled at you)) you can read fucking pity clear as day in his eyes.

"I think we should break up." He repeats, tone calm and even. Bastard. "I just..." he trails off, searching for an explanation that isn't there.

"You just...?" You parrot back. You can almost see yourself reflected in his eyes. Pale, horrified, shocked. Pathetic in your sweaty t-shirt and cut-off sweatpants. (You thought he preferred when you met him this way? It was less like a...date. it was less like a date. With your boyfriend) Desperate for an answer.

"We're just going different directions in life, is all." At this you can't help but bark a sardonic laugh. Quiet, even as indignation pricks at your face. Considerate of his status as you ever were.

"No shit, Min Yoongi." You snarl at him. He has the absolute audacity to take your anger with serenity. Like he expected it. (Like he deserves it.)

"The only other people going the same direction as you are other world-class idols! Which I have never been." You feel like you're hissing and spitting like an alley cat. You're not even really angry. (You can hear something breaking)

"No, not like..." he heaves a sigh. It sounds like it comes from the heart. It sounds tired.

"We barely see each other these days. I know that's my fault, but- I don't know. What's the point of us being together if we're not together? I'm just not in a place in my life for a relationship right now."

You suddenly feel cold. As if a blizzard has just blown through Seoul during the hottest summer of the decade. You can feel the light in your eyes die out. You think maybe the shock has numbed you. You think you're drowning.

(Have all of your efforts meant nothing to him?)

(… What was it all for, then?)

You take in a shaky breath. You thank every power that might be that your eyes are completely dry. You still kind of need to throw up.

You nod decisively.

"Okay" you say. "Okay." You begin to stand, gathering your things. (You don't think about the little sketch book you'd brought with you, excited to indulge in your shared hobby for the first time in a while. You don't think about the CD in your bag, your pathetic attempts at getting to know his profession better. You don't think about the mask in your pocket, on the off chance he'd say yes to a walk. You don't. Think.)

"Okay?" He questions, alarmed, emotional, for the first time today.

"Okay." You nod again, standing to full height. Back straight. Chin high. You walk around the table, forcing him to turn his whole body to keep his eyes on you.

"That's it? Just okay?" He questions again. He sounds a tad angry. He sounds a bit hurt. Good.

"Yeah." You respond. "Just okay." You nod one more time. You might be becoming a bobblehead.

"You've said what you needed to. We're over. Nothing I can do to change that.” You shrug to yourself, head tilting down to meet his eyes. A very thin thread within you threatens to snap. You look away.

“I'm not going to beg, Min Yoongi." No, you were never going to beg for a man. It hadn't bagged you this one. And it wouldn't let you keep this one either.

He almost flinches as you say his full name again. Like you're strangers. "I wasn't asking you to." He mutters, almost petulantly.

You nod one more time. His eyes are glued to you. You haven't moved since you got up. You take another deep breath.

You bow to him. A neat 90 degrees. Customer service style.

"Thank you for our time together." You intone blankly. You really are grateful. It's been wonderful. (He means SO MUCH to you) "You've been great." (He was so SO good, so why?!)

Your chin wobbles as you face the ground. You see his hand raising to touch your shoulder. Your rise from the bow, dodging his hand, dry-eyed and blank-faced.

"Please delete my number."

You turn on your heal and march out before he can find the words to respond to you. Head held high. Dignified as can be. In a sweaty t-shirt and cut-off sweatpants.

Your drink gives up its fight, completely melted.

A napkin sits on the table. You hadn’t had a chance to show him the sketch you’d made while you’d waited for him.

You leave behind Min Yoongi, hand outstretched, something like regret painted across his face.

(You leave behind your heart too.)

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

The first month afterwards you feel nothing. You're numb to the heartbreak. Post-breakup insecurities delay their manifestations. Your questions sit halted and unformed in your head.

You go to work. You indulge in your hobbies. You eat tasteless food. You get useless sleep. You try not to think. You end up thinking too much anyways.

You think maybe you should have interrogated him more. Argued. Accused. Clung tightly and never agreed to let go. Left claw marks in him.

But that was never your way.

You bottle up the hurt and the anger and the confusion. You bottle up the tears and the depression and the anxiety.

In the first month, you feel nothing.

In the second month, you leave Seoul.

[thisisthinprivilege]

Thin privilege is when loading up your plate at a buffet is seen as automatically legitimate or at the very least not worthy of comment.

I'm in a tight spot financially for the next few months. My colleagues and I do a buffet lunch once a week that's also a lunch meeting. This week I loaded up way more than I usually do so that I didn't have to spend money eating again that day. I hadn't eaten anything up until then for the very purpose of eating as much as possible at lunch, and so was very hungry and went overboard.

I didn't go up more than once, and was only able to finish half my meal. I felt bad about leaving food on my plate, knowing I wouldn't be eating for the rest of the day and hating to waste food. So I tried to eat as much as I could slowly, while we were talking after most people finished their meals.

Thin coworker next to me was glancing at my plate *a lot*. She'd gone up twice and finished her food very quickly. Then we're chitchatting after we finish official business, and she starts out of the blue mentioning some Boomer weight loss advice she'd heard about how to "eat less at a buffet" and mentioned that it helped her not end up "emotionally" eating a bunch of food she didn't want "like ArteToLife is doing right now."

I try to do some minor fat activism in real life, even in my professional life. And my coworkers know about the Bad Event that happened to me that is making life financially tough at the moment. So I respond, "Well, I can't afford to eat multiple times a day because of Bad Event, so I'm trying to eat as much as possible right now." Coworker got the hint, I think. She's not a bad person, just very thin privileged (naturally thin her whole life, her entire family is also naturally thin) and can't understand that I didn't "emotionally eat" my way to being three times her size, and that following some Boomer tip about eating less at buffets isn't going to make me 1) lose weight sustainably 2) lose enough weight that I can even approach her size.

Thin privilege is having the privilege to be clueless about the actual pain, suffering and crushing inevitable failure of being a fat person attempting to become a thin person using not only every Boomer tip in the book but also all the in vogue popular and obscure methods of weight loss. Thin privilege is thinking it's appropriate to subtly nudge your fat colleagues into losing weight with the most laughably useless Boomer weight loss tips, because a naturally thin person can delude themselves that they feel "less fat" (i.e., less bloated) when they follow the Boomer tip so it must mean that fat people doing the same thing would lose weight.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

When the Clock Strikes

Hey hey, 1125 gave us a lot of fun stuff to ponder. Starting with this. Here, we don't need to overdo it...

I'll let that speak for itself, certainly leaves us with a lot of nice intrigue around Stussy going forward which I am in favor of. There's one key thing about this chapter I have to get to and she surprisingly ain't it. Though I still love you Stussy, enjoy your ambiguous fate after an arc of a divided heart. Let's get to the main attraction:

Well well old friend, we meet again. For a good time, and a great taste...slap Garling into the open Gorosei slot. This presents a great opportunity to learn about both him and the elders. We still don't really have a clear picture of how much the average citizen really knows about these upper echelons of the government. Like...do you know who Christine Lagarde is? It's public knowledge, she's a powerful global figure. Head of the International Monetary Fund. Just because there is a fair amount of info about her available doesn't mean most people really think about her much. You probably didn't even know or consider the possibility when reading the previous sentences that...not who's in charge anymore. Her successor took over five years ago.

Point being, Garling represents an interesting shakeup. Most importantly that I will get to pester y'all with Mac Tonight jokes for many chapters to come. Emplemon has a great video on YouTube about the former MacDonald's mascot, he's a treasure that we can hopefully pull out of his brief corruption by internet racist dweebs...or make a lot funnier if Garling predictably ends up a genocidal maniac. Which, in conjunction with Dragon puts forward a really good note on Vegapunk's broadcast. This has a high likelihood of kicking off a lot of conflicts over higher ground. Speaking of Vegapunk...

It was a choice between badass Edison and the hall of Vegaparts. A very tough choice. Gets us to the title, a callback to a motif for our humble genius. What does death mean for him? Turns out not a whole lot. They don't mention Lilith having a connection like York still would, so I do wonder if hers has been fully cut. Either way, very cool final flourish for Punk Records. It floats away to go dormant until it's needed. Honestly...not unlike Toki's plan with the time fruit. And that gets me to the other big connection to those core aspects of Wano.

This fascinates me. The spoilers obscured how active Saturn was in this decision. But that's what makes it interesting. A last note of how our decisions ripple. Even ones that made perfect sense at the time.

Ultimately, hard to tell what this chapter represents. We cut away from the main cast, but that's normal to see one or two between arcs. We're still unpacking Egghead though so I can't fully say it feels finished here. If nothing else, we could bring it home by ending with SWORD finally getting to Drake. Who knows? But I'll see you next week, thankfully we won't have to wait long.

[alexisnotstraight]

My Chemical Romance for Blender, april 2005 by Dorian Lymskey

"We're here to fight evil"

If death rockers My Chemical Romance say they're superheroes, then who is Blender to argue? we just don't remember Spider-Man having so many problems with drink, drugs and swearing in front of kids.

One day last august, Gerard Way boarded a plane to Japan with the grawing conviction that the might not be coming back. Over the past past year, the old singer for the rock group My Chemical Romance had got it into his head that he had to be drunk to perform, and then needed Xanax to switch off his brain afterwards, and the cumbination was making him suicidally depressed. Way didn't like being suicidally depressed, so he'd often add cocaine to the mix. That's when his mood really got black. He spent the days before the flight saying goodbye to friends in New Jersey, just in case

In Japan, Way spent all his time drunk. Before the final Tokyo show, he got so trashed on Heinekens and vodka tonics that he realized, even as he was performing, that he wouldn't be a able to remember anything about it the next day. After he came off stage he spent half an hour throwing up in a garbage can, until there was nothing coming up except bile. Tonight, be thought to himself, his hair caked with womit, I've drunk my last drink.

"It was a vicious circle," he says matter-of-factly. "I needed it to function but it made me want to kill myself. It made me extremely unpredictable and dangerous to myself. I didn't want it to get to the point where it became like a VHi Behind the Music where they show this seally had picture of me 30 pounds overweight, throwing up on the floor in Berlin. I didn't want that to happen to this band".

Way's cold-turkey fight back to the band's home of Belleville. New Jersey, was escruciating-almost 7.000 miles of skin-crawling, sweat-soaked willies. "I got really emotional outside the airport when we landed. I didn't know if I was going to see these guys again." He went straight to his therapist and booked into Alcoholics Anonymous, knowing that in the same week My Chemical Romance had to replace their drummer, fiim a video and start their tour. And you thought you'd had a hard week at work.

"We got through the hard shit," says Way. "This is the easy part".

Any fears last summer that My Chemical Romance were going to implode into obscurity were knocked flat by their swaggering teen-dysfunction anthem "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)."

Inspired by the high school experiences of Way and his friends, it delivers angst-rock verities with a knowing wink, not to mention the kind of melody that ignites careers. The tongue-in-cheek video, filmed in the same L.A. high school as Donnie Darko, depicted MCR as proudly geeky misfits. It was a role that didn't require much rehearsal.

Way calls My Chemical Romance's music "death rock." Others have tagged it goth punk or emo. Some endearing individuals have overcome genre confusion by simply calling MCR faggots. "Our guitarist Frank met somebody who said, 'How do you feel when people stop liking your band because they find out you're gay?" says Way, curling his lip with pointed amusement.

To the more meat-headed members of the Warped tour fraternity, some eyeliner and the occasional ambivalent lyric (in "You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison, Gerard sings "I'll kiss your lips again" to a male character) are too much to process, but Way hopes MCR can change a few minds.

"We've always tried to switch the way people think about rock bands," he says. "That [lyric] puts a dividing line between people. Are you on our side and you want to be different or are you on that side and you want to throw a football at my head?".

Only a morbid former comic-book artist from blue-collar New Jersey could have hatched a band as toughly unorthodox as My Chemical Romance. Gerard Way writes the songs with his bandmates -his bassist brother Mikey Way, guitarists Ray Toro and Frank lero, and new drummer Bob Bryar-but the vision is all his. He illustrates the record sleeves and defines their image. Recently he chose matching shirts, ties and armbands for the band to wear in the video for "Helena." taking enormous care not to resemble (a) the Hives or (b) the Nazis.

Most important, he's the one who assembled the band back in late 2001. when September 11 jolted him out of his rut as a struggling illustrator. On their 2002 debut album, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, and last year's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, MCR yoke the thunder of punk to the black humor of Morrissey, Nick Cave and Tom Waits, and blaze with purpose.

"There are bands that are in it for the wrong reason, polluting the airwaves and filling their own pockets," Gerard growls. "Or just saying. Oh I wanna be a rockstar. Right. You've got a lot of kids following you. What are you saying to them?"

So what are MCR saying?

He's ready for this one. "We're saying it's OK to be messed up. There's other people just like you. And if we stick together we'll get through this."

When Gerard was still working in comic books, his favorite creation was The Amazing Goffo Brothers, Piano Movers Extraordinaire. A black comedy set in a creepy, anonymous city, it was a metaphor for the relationship between him and his younger brother, Mikey.

Despite their age difference (Gerard is 27: Mikey is 24), the Way brothers wore matching outfits as children. Today, the Ways arrive at a Midtown Manhattan restaurant wearing identical black jackets, but that's the only visible similarity.

With his blood-red tie, ink-black hair and snow-pale skin, Gerard looks part Jack White, part Edward Scissorhands, and sounds as if he's been hanging out at the Bada Bing! club. His stick-thin sibling, meanwhile, wears oblong-framed glasses and the kind of candy-striped wool hat favored by fourth-graders and fashion stylists. He has the most extraordinary laugh: a shrill, girlish giggle that causes waiters to turn their heads.

They grew up in the predominantly Italian-American town of Belleville, in Sopranos country the Pizzaland restaurant glimpsed in the show's opening credits is a few blocks from the house they still live in with their auto-mechanic dad and hairdresser mom. In Jersey, says Gerard, "There's a 99% chance you're not going to do anything with your life." Mikey yelps with pretend outrage.

"Well, 90%, maybe," his brother concedes in a deadpan drawl. "Every time I come back to Jersey, it's ready to put its tentacles all over me and suck me right back in. If I'm home for more than three weeks. I forget I'm in a band. I start to fill out applications for supermarkets."

Is there anything good about the Garden State?

"I think it gives you a bleak outlook on life, which is awesome," says Mikey, cackling. "It gives you an edge. When you're from Jersey, people act like you're from Rikers.

Gerard nods. "Sometimes all we have to do is get up there, make some feedback and say, 'Yeah we're from Noo Joisey,' and then hit 'em like a bomb. People are like, 'Hey, I don't want to get beat up!"

After high school, Gerard studied art and Mikey drifted his way through college: "I thought college was a place you went to find people to be in a band with." Sometimes they played in bands together, but Gerard was more committed to becoming an artist, which was proving to be a disheartening process. When he eventually quit, his big project was a magic cartoon chimp called Breakfast Monkey. "I was doing bullshit," he shrugs.

After September 11, Gerard wrote his first song. "Skylines and Turnstiles," and played it to an old friend, drummer Matt Pelissier. Pelissier knew a guitarist called Ray Toro. "They played me their one song and I was jumping around the attic and headbanging," says Toro, a genial, frizzy- haired film buff with a caricature of Alfred Hitchcock tattooed on his left arm.

"Gerard sounded really sincere about wanting to start something real. That's what made me excited."

The members of My Chemical Romance aren't especially weird-it's not like any of them collect skulls or serial killer memorabilia-but they all grew up with reasons to feel like outsiders.

Toro was a shy kid with an overprotective mother. Instead of going out with friends, he'd stay at home playing guitar to Jimi Hendrix or Metallica. Guitarist Frank lero suffered from bronchitis and ear infections and was ill almost constantly until the fifth grade. He was raised by his mom after she split from his dad, a musician who worked on records by John Lennon and Kiss. "I'm in the family music industry," he says. "My dad would ask me how school was, but mostly it was, 'When are you going to start playing?".

Jazz-trained drummer Bob Bryar was an Illinois kid "who took apart radios and stuff and then tried to put them back together and realized they didn't work." He has a dark sense of humor that can sometimes come off as surliness. "I get these urges to fuck off sometimes," he says. "I find it hard to entertain myself."

Bryar befriended the rest of the band in 2003, when he was a soundman for the Used, whom My Chemical Romance were supporting. When relations with Pelissier deteriorated, he stepped in. The new lineup had just two days to practice before their next tour.

"I haven't relaxed in a long time," sighs lero. "I look forward to that. I'd like to take a step back and look at some newspaper clippings."

The next morning, the sky is the color of a dirty washbowl and it's being emptied on New Jersey. Brian Schechter, My Chemical Romance's manager, taps at his cellphone as he steers his car through the damp, gray streets to pick up the Ways. We collect Mikey first.

"Did you see that MTV.com headline?" he asks, still wearing his striped hat. "MCR Aim for Smashing Pumpkins Status. It was out of context, but it's OK makes people think it's possible."

The band's destination is Philadelphia's Theatre of Living Arts. A local radio station held a competition between high schools to raise the most food for homeless shelters, the prize being an exclusive My Chemical Romance show. Considering the audience will be as young as 13. some adjustments need to be made. "We should probably have a PG show tonight," says Schechter. "We didn't do a show for charity just for Gerard to call them a bunch of motherfuckers."

It's a forlorn hope. "Put your fucking hands together!" cries Gerard within minutes of stepping onstage. In a black-velvet suit, red tie and black armband, he struts across the stage, wagging his finger to the lyrics or spraying mouthfuls of water over the front rows, while his band compress punk, metal, goth and glam into furiously concise pop songs. When he introduces "Headfirst for Halos" as "a song about suicide," you can almost feel the ripples of concern from the adult chaperones lurking around the edges of the room. However, even they can't resist tapping a toe to "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)." Last night MCR played it on The Late Show With David Letterman. Tonight they're playing it to a couple hundred Philadelphia high school kids. Letterman was a highlight of their career to date, but it's here that the song makes most sense.

"I didn't do my usual thing, where I compare high school to prison," protests Gerard later, sucking on a cigarette in a dimly lit backstage office. He admits he can see how people might get the wrong idea about MCR. "Journalists usually portray us as a fucked-up, dark, vampire. alcoholic rock band. Until they meet us."

Although he's got the charisma and the goth pinup looks to be an angst-rock martyr, Gerard seems too grounded to play the feel-my-pain card. Maybe it's the Jersey in him. Even when he talks about his therapist (a "rad guy" who turned him on to Brian Eno), he's pragmatic.

"If you're in this band, you're in it for the right reasons," Gerard declares. "You're not in it for money or fame. You're in it to do some good. Becoming more popular, it's like people are granting us superpowers and we have to use them to fight evil."

Is that the comic books talking?

"Oh yeah," he says, his grin a pearly sliver in the gloom. "We're like the Doom Patrol."

[dr-futbol-blog]

The Siege II, Pt. 8

Sheppard takes off from the jumper bay to take on his first bonafide suicide mission, and they start evacuating people to the Alpha Site. While it will become something of a cliché over time, this is the first time Sheppard has done something like this. His 'black mark' in Afghanistan was from an attempt at saving people from across enemy lines which may have been risky, yes, but his intention was never to lose his own life but rather to save those of others. And while his intention here is the same, he has accepted the price he has to pay for it. He believes he won't be coming back from this. But it is not for an abstract idea that he is willing to sacrifice his life like Colonel Sumner did, neither here nor back in Afghanistan.

Utterly at a loss for what to do without Sheppard, McKay has joined them on the control platform, still unaware of what Sheppard intends to do and is, in fact, currently doing. All he knows is that Sheppard left him alone and that their plan to remote control the jumpers was a bust since he couldn't get it to work. It's his fault that they now seem to be entirely and completely done for, so he might as well come to face the end with the people he has come to love. He doesn't understand why Weir is insistent on staying.

Beckett: We can't stay here, Elizabeth. McKay: He's right. They're beaming in all over the place. Weir: We're not going anywhere, not yet.

We see McKay even take a direct look at the screen showing Sheppard advancing toward the hive in his jumper, and he cannot put two and two together. It does not even occur to him, the genius that knows Sheppard better than probably anyone ever has, that he would be doing this. Partially it's his exhaustion and the stimulant narrowing his focus. But the bigger part of it is that he refuses to believe Sheppard would ever do this to him. Leaving him, abandoning him, going off on his own to do something so monumentally stupid without taking him along, Sheppard couldn't do that. He would never be so cruel, he could never do it to him. Even when he hears Sheppard on the intercom, he still doesn't get it.

Sheppard: You know, if this works, somebody might have to do it again. Weir: Understood.

Watching the screen, processing what he had just heard Sheppard say, it very slowly starts dawning on him what has happened. McKay taps on the screen to get an actual closer look. And this is one of the most telling scenes of the entire episode. Not just for how McKay reacts but for how Weir responds to it. McKay suddenly turns to Weir, and he looks wounded. Finally, he gets it. He finally understands.

McKay: You let Sheppard fly that jumper?

Weir meets his gaze head on, seeming to swallow hard. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have a response for him. And as soon as McKay turns back to the screen, she looks down. She had seen Sheppard's heart broken the day before, and now she had to watch the same happens to the man standing before her. McKay doesn't know that she knows. McKay turns away from her because he thinks that he can't let her see him break, cannot let her see the tidal wave of different emotions that just hit him all at the same time. And we, the audience, don't get to see his face here either. His reaction to finally understanding what has happened is obscured to us.

The dynamic here is clear. McKay accuses her, and she looks guilty. He gives her a look of desperation, and she has to look away because she can't bear seeing it. Because McKay is the one with the stake on Sheppard, and she had no right. It is made clear here that both McKay and Weir know she had no right to let him do this. He was not hers to let go. And just like Sheppard would never have allowed McKay to go to the Genii homeworld alone, McKay would never have let Sheppard do this alone. McKay would have gone himself before letting Sheppard undertake this mission. Sheppard knew this and thus did not wait for him to catch on, did not even give him an opportunity to stop him.

But the injured look he gives Weir tells us, without the shadow of a doubt, that he thinks Weir had just betrayed him in the worst possible way, that he could never forgive her for this. The fact that Weir is the one who looks remorseful and McKay the one that looks unforgiving tells us everything we need to know. Yes, Weir cares about Sheppard and she had to let him go because she could see that she couldn't stop him even if she wanted to, even if she tried. But McKay is the one that got gut-punched by the realization, who can only helplessly look on as the dot approaches the hive. McKay is the one who owns the fear and the anguish and the horror and the sorrow, McKay is the one who looks at Weir as though she had just stolen something priceless from him. McKay's look is accusatory, and Weir's look is apologetic. I'm not sure I even understand what the main stream audience thinks happened here, how they interpret the scene. Surely if they think Weir is in love with Sheppard and McKay is just his friend and team mate, their roles should be reversed. And yet it is McKay's heart that we are watching break.

Rodney McKay isn't tired any more. He is one raw nerve waiting to get struck.

And that's not all. Weir then lets him know that knows all about the two of them.

Weir turns around and gets to one of the terminals, asking McKay to help her arm the self-destruct. The self-destruct that we were clearly shown multiple times in the episode it takes her code and that of Sheppard's to arm or to disarm. The casual viewer is going to think that McKay just so happens to have a code of his own and that the two of them can do this just as well as Weir and Sheppard, only we were shown previously that this is not true. It was the codes of Weir and Sheppard that were required.

McKay having a code that has anything to do with the self-destruct is a much later retcon, this episode established the fact that it took both Sheppard and Weir to do this, and only them. McKay gives her a look that seems to contain more than a hint of fear and apprehension before he punches in the code, not saying anything.

McKay has Sheppard's code and Weir knew this. She either guessed it or just outright knew this to be the case. And the look McKay gives her, he suddenly realized she knew. It was her apology to him, her acknowledgement of the pain he must be going through, her recognition of their relationship and the special bond they have to each other.

Weir asking McKay to punch in Sheppard's code as though it was the most natural thing in the world is her telling him that she knows, and it's alright. She is telling him that she knows he has the right to hate her for what she did, for letting Sheppard do this, for not trying to stop him, and that she is sorry but desperate times do call for desperate measures, as McKay himself had pointed out weeks ago.

Just like we did in Hot Zone (S01E13), the last face we see before we cut to Sheppard at the end of the episode is McKay's. They show Beckett's face, Weir's face and finally McKay's face, on which we see a multitude of emotions playing out. McKay's reaction shot is played out the longest. It is with McKay's pain and anguish to what Sheppard has chosen to do that we end the first season. With any other show of this time period, the audience would have been given some kind of a no-homo moment here, to somehow give the audience the opportunity to interpret the scene in a heteronormative context. We'd get McKay's reaction and then have Weir's reaction buffer the two men, see her face before transitioning to Sheppard.

But here, this image, McKay's pain over losing Sheppard is left to linger between the first season the next. We are shown that it is Rodney McKay who is most affected by John Sheppard's decision, and he knows that he isn't even allowed to let people see what he's feeling. You can see him pressing his head down in grief and then quickly lift his chin up again, because he knows he can't let people see him like that. He is about to lose the love of his life and he would have to pretend like their relationship had never even existed because they have been forced to conceal it. To keep it a secret. To pretend like they don't mean as much to each other as they do.

We saw Sheppard's pain over losing McKay at the end of the previous episode, and we see McKay's pain over Sheppard abandoning him now. Sheppard made the choice to leave him behind without even asking if he wanted to go with, made the choice to court death that would leave him all alone, more lonely even than he had been before they had met. He didn't know what it was like to have someone in every way that it was possible to have another before, and now that he did, he knows the loneliness will be unbearable.

Yes, Elizabeth Weir is somewhere in there, feeling some kind of way, but her role is peripheral to the story. She is a catalyst, she facilitates the tragedy, she allows it to happen. But she's not the one whose emotions we are asked to empathize with. It is McKay that is most affected by Sheppard's choice, it is McKay whose pain we participate in, it is McKay's pain and fear that carries us from this episode to the next, from this season to the second. The most dramatic moments of the first season were Sheppard's rage over having lost McKay and McKay's fear over losing Sheppard. McKay's realization of what Sheppard had chosen to do was the climax of the entire season, and that's a fact.

John Sheppard and Rodney McKay are not friends. They have never been friends and no matter how much they will try to pretend later on, they will never be friends. They are hopelessly, helplessly in love and the deeper we believe their love to be, the more tragic the story becomes. Not just here, at the end of the first season, but through the entire arc of the show. This is the story.