#a field guide to vanished things

[gorimbaudandgojohnnygo]

from Reckless Chants #20: A Field Guide to Vanished Things (May 2014)

I have a print by Corina Dross hanging above my desk. It is a print of the six of spades from her Portable Fortitude deck. It is a black and white image of a freight train rolling down the tracks, steam coming out of the engine and obscuring the trees in the background. There is text displayed on two of the boxcars: protection from forgetting, it reads.

I used to wonder how I could ever let go of the past, because I have never been able to forget anything. I used to think that remembering was dichotomous to letting go, but then I realized it was a false dichotomy. The art is not one of forgetting, but of letting go, as Rebecca Solnit said.

I can’t forget anything, I don’t want to forget anything. I can let go of the past because I remember it. I tell the stories, I put them out into the world. I am not hoarding my stories, I am sharing them. And sharing these things does not take them away from me. I have lost friends and lovers and family members, I have lost places and possibilities, books and records and bicycles, but their ghosts remain. All of those vanished things live in my heart.

[kiwriteswords]

You Belong Among the Wildflowers [Aaron Hotchner x Florist!Reader]

Masterlist [I need to update this, sorry!]|| Ao3||Word Count: >2k|| AN: I worked as a florist for five years and it was some of the most fun and some of the most beautiful moments I got to witness. I thought this would be a fun meet!cute! I will be making its a series, so please send your requests in for Florist!Reader persona! Tags/Warnings: Female!Reader, Florist!Reader, Non-BAU!Reader, meet cute, mentions of Haley Hotchner, flirtation, first encounter, Reader is JJ's college friend, mentions of Hotch's upbringing. Summary: When Hotch is in need of a good florist, he meets you, JJ's old college friend, who leads him to believe that maybe flowers couldn't fix everything, but they sure as hell didn't hurt.

Aaron Hotchner didn’t believe flowers could fix everything.

But they sure as hell didn’t hurt.

It was something he picked up early—

Something he never really learned so much as absorbed. 

His mother, a quiet woman with tired hands and soft smiles, used to say she wished someone would bring her flowers just once. Her voice never wavered when she said it, never sharp or demanding—

Just wistful. 

A woman too often let down by a man who never came home with more than excuses and stale breath.

Aaron made a promise then, maybe only to himself, that if he ever loved someone, really loved someone, he’d bring them flowers just because.

He kept that promise with Haley.

He would come home from Quantico, exhausted and wired from the field, and there she'd be, soft and sleepy with her hair up and an old sweatshirt on. 

He always brought her something: white tulips in spring, sunflowers in summer, dahlias in the fall. 

When cases kept him too long, he'd send them instead. Sometimes with a note, sometimes without. It became tradition—

A silent ritual that kept their connection grounded no matter where he was or what horror he’d seen.

There was never not a vase filled with some sort of colorful bouquet displayed in their home together. 

And even with work. Flowers were a lovely…band-aid to place on he larger bureaucratic problems. 

When Gideon poked Garcia’s buttons the wrong way--

A bouquet and an apology, courtesy of Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner wanting a smooth sailing ship. 

When JJ had Henry--

He remembered her saying she liked lilies, so he sent her lilies from the team. 

There wasn’t a birthday or special occasion he didn’t have marked on his planner that didn’t have a corresponding floral delivery from his usual place sent out. 

And when Haley died, there wasn’t much he could do but exist. 

The BAU gave him time, but even time felt like a betrayal. The world kept spinning while his had stopped. 

But there was one thing he could do: plan her funeral.

And pick the flowers himself.

White roses.

Classic. Clean. Grieving.

He stood in the flower shop for over an hour, staring at arrangements, feeling too much and too little at once. The florist—an older woman with a warm smile and no questions—had guided him gently, like she knew when to step forward and when to give him room to breathe. 

He came back to her year after year after that, always requesting simple, elegant designs. She never asked why. He always appreciated that.

But now, standing outside the darkened storefront on a crisp weekday afternoon, Aaron realized she was gone. 

The sign had been flipped to Closed for weeks. 

A paper notice taped crookedly to the door read: Thank you for over 30 wonderful years. 

Just like that.

It shouldn’t have caught him off guard. 

People retired. 

Shops closed. 

But somehow, he felt... untethered. 

Like this small corner of familiarity in his life had vanished, and with it, another thread connecting him to Haley.

He had been trying to order something for Jessica—

Haley’s sister. 

It was her birthday. And while their relationship had always been complicated, especially with Jack involved, he didn’t want the day to go by without a gesture. Flowers had always been the language he was fluent in.

He mentioned it offhandedly in the bullpen the next morning—something low-key, muttered as he sifted through files.

JJ perked up immediately. “Wait—are you serious? You’re trying to find a florist?”

He gave a short nod, not looking up.

“You’re in luck,” she said, tapping her pen against her notepad. “One of my best friends from college owns a flower shop not far from here. You’d love her designs—they’re beautiful.” 

She smiled, a little too brightly, eyes dancing in a way that made him suspicious.

He arched an eyebrow. “Am I missing something?”

JJ laughed. “Okay, fine. She’s gorgeous. Like—flirtatiously elegant, painfully feminine, one of those women who makes it look effortless. But she’s smart, and she runs a really impressive business. And she's good, Hotch. Seriously. Her arrangements have personality. You’d appreciate the detail.”

“I’m only looking for—” he began, but JJ held up a hand.

“I know. But just give her a call. Or better yet, stop by. Tell her I sent you. She’ll take care of you.”

He sighed, already knowing JJ wasn’t going to drop it. And truthfully? He missed the ritual. 

The weight of a vase in his hand. 

The soft brush of petals when he leaned in to read a card. 

He missed the peace of it—

The stillness it gave him.

Maybe flowers couldn’t fix everything.

But maybe, just maybe, they could start something new.

The bell above the door jingled softly, delicate and old-fashioned—

Charming in a way that made Hotch instinctively lower his voice and straighten his posture, like the shop itself demanded a kind of reverence.

It smelled like summer mornings and memory. 

Sweet, green, earthy. 

The air was cooler inside, heavy with moisture and the subtle perfume of fresh-cut stems. 

Every surface had something blooming or trailing: lush peonies and garden roses in glass vases, eucalyptus spilling from galvanized buckets, tiny pots of violets arranged like a tea party on a shelf by the window.

And then there was you.

You were at the counter, bent slightly over a worktable, hands delicately threading wire through a bouquet of ranunculus and sweet pea. 

Your fingers moved with practiced elegance—

Intentional but light, as though the flowers were something sacred. 

You wore a linen apron over a dress, a pair of delicate gold hoops catching the light when you turned to see who had come in.

JJ hadn't exaggerated.

You were beautiful in that way that didn’t feel real at first. 

Soft around the edges, like you'd stepped out of a memory or an old film. But the mischief in your eyes was immediate, sparking to life the moment you took him in.

“Let me guess,” you said, lips curving into a smile as you stepped out from behind the counter. “JJ sent you?”

Hotch blinked. He hadn’t even said a word yet.

“I can always tell,” you added, folding your hands in front of you with a playful tilt of your head. “It’s the suit. Very FBI but emotionally repressed gentleman in need of a good centerpiece.”

That got the corner of his mouth to twitch. Barely. But it was there.

“Guilty,” he admitted, taking a step closer. “I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

“JJ’s boss,” you echoed like it meant something—

Like she'd mentioned him before. Then you extended your hand, which he took with a polite firmness that faltered slightly the moment your fingers brushed.

Your touch was cool, confident. 

A stark contrast to the warm tilt of your grin.

You introduced yourself with your first name, gesturing loosely to the shop. “Welcome to my little kingdom.”

He looked around again, letting himself take it in now—not just the flowers, but the way they were arranged. Every display felt curated but not staged. Wild, almost, but intentional. Like you trusted the flowers to speak for themselves and only nudged them into poetry.

“It’s impressive,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “Peaceful.”

Your expression shifted for just a moment, something fond and knowing crossing your face. “That’s what I aim for. Flowers should feel like exhaling.”

There was a pause, comfortable and quiet, before you asked, “So, what are we celebrating, Agent Hotchner?”

“It’s Jessica’s birthday. My son’s aunt. She’s done a lot for our family, especially after… a loss.” His tone remained even, but the weight in his words lingered.

You didn’t press. Your smile softened with understanding.

“Got it,” you said gently. “So something warm. Grateful. Nothing too romantic, but still thoughtful.”

He nodded, a little surprised at how quickly you’d read the situation.

“I can do that,” you assured him, already moving to gather a few stems in your hands. “Now, do you trust me, or do you want to pick the flowers yourself?”

Hotch hesitated.

“I used to,” he said. “Pick them, I mean. For my wife. It became a tradition. I knew what she liked. But it’s been a while.”

You stopped what you were doing, the bouquet held loosely in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you said. Not with pity—

Just sincerity.

He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“Well,” you said after a beat, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “if it helps, I think people always know more about flowers than they realize. It’s just about memory and emotion. Pick one thing you remember her liking, and we’ll start there.”

Hotch thought for a moment. Then: “She liked lilies. The white ones. But they were always too delicate.”

“Casa Blanca lilies,” you murmured, nodding. “Gorgeous, but yes—temperamental. They bruise just from being looked at wrong.”

He huffed out something close to a laugh, and you caught it—

Your eyes flicking to his in quiet delight.

You held up a peachy, cream-tipped rose. “This might be a better choice for today. It says thank you, without screaming ‘I love you.’”

He studied it for a moment, then nodded. “Perfect.”

And as you moved behind the counter to wrap the arrangement, Hotch let himself breathe in again. 

The scent of flowers. 

The sound of soft music playing from somewhere in the back. 

It was easy-listening classic rock. Something he would listen to in the car. It was…comforting.

The easy rhythm of your presence.

You worked quickly, but never rushed.

Hotch watched from his spot at the counter as you wrapped the bouquet in delicate cream paper, folding it just so before tying it with a deep green ribbon that matched the stems. 

Every movement was graceful, intentional.

It reminded him of the way people worked when they loved what theydid—

Not for performance, but for the sake of making something beautiful.

You slid the arrangement across the counter and offered a soft, plesed smile.

“There,” you said, “peach roses, cream spray roses, stock flower for fullness, a little waxflower for texture, and just a touch of eucalyptus—because I have to sneak it in somewhere. It smells clean. Calm. And it says I see you. Thank you.” You tapped the corner of the paper gently. “In flower language, anyway.”

Hotch studied the bouquet, nodding with quiet approval.

“It’s perfect.”

You tilted your head at him, brows raised. “You sure? Not too showy? Not too much?”

He gave the smallest shake of his head. “No. It’s...thoughtful. She’ll like it.”

You smiled, but it softened when you noticed he lingered—

Not quite ready to leave.

So you said gently, “It’s nice, you know. That you still do this. For her.”

Hotch didn’t look away from the bouquet as he replied, “Sometimes I think gestures are all we have. Something tangible. When words aren’t enough.”

You leaned your forearms on the counter, chin tilted toward him. “That’s exactly what flowers are. Tangible emotion.”

There was a pause. 

Comfortable. 

Heavy, but not unpleasant.

He reached for his wallet, and you gently waved him off.

“I’ve got it.”

Hotch blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” you said with a teasing lilt. “But you’re JJ’s friend, and more importantly, I want you to come back.”

That pulled his eyes to yours again—

Steady, searching.

You held his gaze, playful but earnest. “What? Even emotionally repressed gentlemen need a flower source. Besides, you’ve got good taste. I can always use a muse.”

He hesitated, but nodded. “Alright. I’ll come back.”

Your grin widened. “Good. Maybe next time for yourself.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, and you shrugged.

“Nothing wrong with buying yourself flowers. I do it all the time.”

His voice was low, faintly amused. “Somehow, I think it suits you better.

That earned a laugh from you—

Light. 

Genuine.

Ringing through the quiet shop.

And as Hotch turned to leave, bouquet in hand, you called after him: “Tell Jessica I said happy birthday. And that her brother-in-law has surprisingly excellent flower game.”

He paused in the doorway and glanced back at you. “I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

Then he was gone, the bell chiming softly above him as the door shut.

But something lingered. That scent, maybe. Or the quiet flirtation. Or the unspoken I hope you come back that lived between the petals.

And for the first time in a long time, Hotch found himself already thinking about what arrangement he’d need next.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy @superlegend216

[saphiccarma]

Can you make a plot where Agatha actually dies and goes to meet Nicky along with Rio, but that way you know when she takes the souls, she doesn't stay with them, the souls stay with another entity that has been keeping Nicholas company until his mothers come to the afterlife, and she is like a third mother to him? All very comfort and fluff?

- I've never felt so loved

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary - You had been caring for Nicholas since he died, a steady grounding prescence that changed form a friend to a mom. When Agatha dies, she's at first a bit jealous of it, but soon realizes how much she cares for the both of you.

Warnings: tiniest bit of angst but not really

A/N: I rewrote this several times, and still don't feel like it's good enough. Regardless, this was the version I was most happy with Hope y'all enjoy.

The last thing Agatha remembers is crashing her lips onto Rio's, siphoning her power as it slowly killed her. When she woke up, she felt...lighter. Her eyes scanned her backyard, slowly landing on her grave, a blossoming patch of flowers. A small smile flicked across her lips.

A teasing voice whispered in her ear, "Boo."

Agatha whipped around, a snarl on her face as her eyes met Rio's. The woman was in her typical death form, a bony jaw and ribs revealed. She had confident smirk, and if Agatha didn't know better, she would've thought Rio was happy with her death. But the faint watery shimmer in the woman's eyes said otherwise.

"We had a deal," Agatha hissed, taking a large step away from Death.

"That was if you brought me the boy," Rio argued, "He's still alive. Besides, you have someone waiting for you." Her voice softened at the end, her finger pointing towards two gates, illuminated by green mist. Freezing, Agatha's breath caught. She couldn't face him, she wasn't ready. Rio's hand cupped her ghostly face, her fingers delicate and gentle. "He misses you."

Agatha's voice stuttered, "I can't."

The other witch shrugged, poking her tongue into the side of her cheek.

"Not much I can do about that," Rio said nonchalantly. Her fingers danced towards Agatha's hand, and even when she tried to pull away, Rio held firm. She tugged Agatha towards the gates, towards the afterlife. Even if Agatha tried to tear her hand out of Rio's the green witch held stubbornly on.

When she passed through the gates, a bright light greeted her, but when it slowly faded, Agatha was met with the most beautiful sight of her life. It looked nothing like what she thought the underworld would. A green field, one that spanned for miles until it met a tree line, with flower patched dotting it. There were purple flowers, blue flowers, yellow flowers, just about every color you could think of.

The field was surrounded by a line of trees, one that Agatha guessed went on for miles. But the most surprising part was the house in the middle. It was a small cottage, one with vines that were wrapped around the slanted roof, and flower beds decorating the front. A white door, pure and shining, sat in the front, it's handle a bright gold that was visible from afar. Rio guided her towards it, her grip firm and unyielding.

Agatha had a creeping suspicion of who was in the house.

A rustle startled her. She spun around, her hair flying, and all her breath left her when she met eyes with who was there. Her heart picked up pace at the small figure that stood in the grass, just a few feet away from her.

Nicky looked the same as the day she lost him. His brown hair, the same color as her own, was halfway tied back - the rest falling wildly around his face that framed his lips. He stared at her with a parted mouth, hands clenched at his side. A basket rested in one of them, filled to the brim with eggs.

Agatha hardly had time to process the sight of him before he was sprinting at her. Opening her arms, she braced for a hug, ready to embrace her boy. Her anticipation vanished when Nicky stumbled straight through her, crashing into Rio. The Green Witch righted him with a pat on the back and he turned to face Agatha.

"Mama?" his voice was so soft, as he asked the question. Agatha tried to scoop him up, tears brimming in her eyes, but her arms swiped right through him. She let out a frustrated growl, Rio had been able to grab her fine. Nicky's figure was like her own, pale and nearly see-through - a ghost. The boy frowned, "Come on."

He tried to reach for her hand, pulling back just in time before he attempted to touch her. Nicholas ran through the fields, ignoring Agatha's call when he went too fast, and made his way towards the house. Rio and Agatha followed at a quick walk, the latter desperate to catch up with her son. The boy burst through the door, leaving it open for the other witches, but it wasn't long before he came straight back out.

Behind him, he was dragging along a woman, one with a ghostly form like her own, and a fond smile on her face. A pang of jealousy hit Agatha at the smile you directed at her son. That was her boy, and she had no idea who this woman was.

"This is my mama!" Nicholas introduced you to Agatha, his smile bright, "Mama, this is mom."

Agatha froze in her movements, nearly recoiling. Her mind spun with a thousand thoughts at those words. This is mom. She barely registered your mouth moving, introducing yourself with a kind smile. Anger and jealousy reared their ugly heads, boiling her stomach like a fierce fire. Jealous at the fact that this woman got to spend time with her son, and she didn't. Angry at the fact that Rio handed off Nicky.

She had hardly noticed when you took a step closer, your hands gently grabbing her wrists. She jolted at the touch, staring at you in surprise, and pulled back. You let her.

"Do you want to hug him?" you asked quietly, your voice a soft whisper on her ears. Agatha nodded faintly and eyed you suspiciously as you placed your hands above hers. "Focus," you whispered, "It takes concentration at first, but you'll get it. Imagine that holding my hands is the thing you want most in the world, focus on only that. When you can do that, hold my hand."

The thing Agatha wanted most was to hug her son, but he stood patiently behind you, bouncing on his toes. With a small, disgruntled frown, Agatha concentrated. She imagined that your hands were the key to her son, the one thing standing in her way. All she had to do was hold them. Her fingers twitched as she reached up, and an annoyed yell escaped her when she phased right through.

"Focus," you chided softly, "You can do it."

Taking a deep breath, Agatha tried again, elation soaring through her when she didn't phase right through. Your fingers gripped hers with pride as you smiled brightly. Swiftly, Agatha pulled away, bolting towards Nicky and scooping him up. He was in her arms with a giggle. Agatha laughed a watery laugh as she spun him around, burrowing her head in his shoulder. As always, he was warm against her, his body perfectly molding into her as he squeezed her tight.

"I missed you," he pressed a kiss to her cheek, the gesture familiar.

A tear ran down her face, "I missed you too baby."

^____________^

Agatha thinks it's been about a year since she died. Time was complicated in the afterlife. Turns out you were in a relationship with Rio, both becoming like mothers to Nicholas. At first, it had stung, pain cutting deep into her heart. She had been harsh and cruel to the two of you in the beginning, her words like knives that threatened to cut if you got too close. Somehow, although she wasn't sure, you pushed through that cruelty with a kind smile and warm heart. That was probably what drew Agatha in the most.

The first time she realized she might like you was when you found her crying on the porch. You had sat next to her silently, your presence quiet yet grounding. When Agatha had finally stopped crying, you listened to her vent about everything, taking it all in quietly and only offering support when she had finished.

After that her relationship with you had changed. She tried to be nicer, even if her words still came out clipped and short at times, she tried not to shut you out so much. It made her bond with Nicholas and Rio grow as well, the four of you becoming a small little family. A boy and his three moms. That was also when Rio and you accepted her into a romantic relationship. She had been dating the two of you for a couple months now.

Currently, she sat on the porch, a beer in her hand. She wasn't sure how you had beers, a part of her suspected Rio brought them to you, but she had no idea how this all worked despite her attempts to. The front door creaked softly, and she heard your footsteps behind her. Your ghostly figure sat next to her, a wine glass in your hand instead of beer, and you took a delicate sip.

"Nice night," you muttered, your eyes cast towards the sky. Agatha scoffed. The moon was a pale red, a blood moon, meaning that Rio was out doing who knows what. She had learned better than to ask these days, even though she really wanted to. The stars glimmered around the red hue; a stark contrast that made the sky light up.

Agatha swished her beer around in her hand, contemplating her next words.

"How did you come to live here?"

It had always been a mystery to her. Whenever the topic came up, you avoided it like the plague, making up some sort of excuse to leave and do something else. She had tried a couple times and was persistent in her attempts to get you to spill. There was a tense silence from your side as you took a deep breath.

"You're not gonna stop until you know, are you?" your words were teasing as you offered her a defeated smile, not waiting for an answer, "I died. Plain and simple, but Rio never came to collect my body. Apparently, for some odd reason, she was unable to. She found me right after Nicky," Agatha flinched a bit at your words, Nicholas' death still a sensitive topic, "Asked me to look after him, said it was for a friend. I agreed."

Humming softly in acknowledgement, Agatha took a swig of her drink, letting the taste spill down her throat. The familiar, soft, burn of alcohol soothed her nerves. It wasn't often the two of you had alone time, most often interrupted by Nicky.

"How'd you die?" she asked, her question making you freeze again.

You shrugged a big, "Like most witches. Witch hunters." You pulled down your shirt slightly to reveal your shoulder. A large gash spread across it, the lines jagged and rough. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing your soft skin. "They kept me around for a while before killing me."

Her mouth parted slightly at the various lines that crisscrossed across your shoulder, just barely visible beneath the large one. She met your eyes, seeing so much pain in them. Ever so carefully, she leaned forward, pressing her lips onto yours. You tasted like the pecan pie they ate that evening and like the wine you were drinking and smelled like the strawberry shampoo that you owned. Your lips melted into hers as you let out a quiet moan, your hands finding her shoulders.

You pulled her in eagerly, your tongue poking at her mouth. The kiss quickly turned into more than that, Agatha pulled away, panting slightly, before her lips began to trail down your neck, hot and wet. You tasted divine as always between her teeth as she bit and licked, relishing in the soft sounds you made. Then you were shoving her away, fixing her hair and grabbing a hold of your wine. Just before she could ask, the door was opened, Nicky standing there. He peeked out, his hand rubbing at his eye sleepily.

"Mother said that you two were out here," he whispered quietly, "I want cuddles."

You laughed, a sound that was music to Agatha's ears, and glanced at the purple witch.

"Alright, I'm coming," you stood, offering a hand to Agatha who took it and stood. Your drinks left to be taken care of in the morning.

The three of you made your way through the house, towards the giant bed that sat in the bedroom. It was hardly big enough to fit the four of you when Rio was home, but it worked. Nicky dragged both you into bed, curling between the two of you with a content smile.

"I love you," he mumbled, pressing a kiss to Agatha's cheek. Her heart warmed at the gesture, and she smiled softly at you. You offered a smile of your own in return, reaching across Nicky and planting a soft kiss on Agatha's lips.

She had never felt so loved.

Just when the welcoming embrace had begun to come, she felt the bed dip behind her, Rio's weight pressing into her back. The Green Witch placed a kiss on her temple, whispering a soft greeting as she settled into the bed.

She had never felt so loved.

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: Things will start to get interesting now, let me know your thoughts. <3

Word count: 4,9k

Masterlist | Previous chapter (prologue)

You breathed in deeply, closing your eyes and leaning your head back with both arms open lazily beside your body, wind flowing quickly in between your fingers. The skies were clear, morning sunlight reflecting against ashen blue scales as your dragon's wings stretched to their full size.

Dancing and gliding in between clouds, the sky was yours.

As you opened your eyes, you were greeted with a sight that would always leave you breathless, no matter how many times you'd be privileged to witness it. The lands below seemed small, castles, houses, and fields afar dwarfed by how far up you were flying. You could see beyond walls and mountains, as far as the horizon allowed. The back of your dragon's head stretched forward in a relaxed manner, seemingly taking in the view just as much as you; the patch of fur in between her long grey horns flew and flowed with the strong breeze.

You reached your arm past your saddle, the palm of your hand laying flat against her warm scales in a loving caress. She cooed, a low groan coming from the back of her throat as she turned her head slightly so her deep blue eyes met yours for only a moment. You smiled. Khamira had grown to be just as big as Meleys, she was all raw power and formidable wildness, and yet, ever so gentle in your hands.

It would never cease to amaze you, how a beast as strong and majestic as a dragon—wings and legs supported by pure muscle, teeth and horns as sharp as daggers, and fire as hot as the hells—could at the same time be this graceful, this agile, and elegant.

Her wings swished with precision, creating ripples in the clouds as if painting a canvas; her long tail kept her body straight and balanced; multiple shades of dark and pale blue shone under the sunlight with each movement of her body. She was poetry in motion, carrying you through the morning sky on her back.

The feeling, the pleasure, of riding on dragonback was incomparable; a mixture of being invincible, untouchable, and yet completely at peace.

You leaned forward at last, uttering a soft command for her to pick up speed and the adrenaline was quick to kiss your cheeks in the form of a heavy wind. Your dragon bomb-dived suddenly, bringing her wings close to her body and her muzzle downwards. An ecstatic laugh escaped your lips as you felt the power of her body moving beneath you, taking you through the air.

She only opened her wings again when you were short of hitting the roof of a tall church, returning to a steady height as you flew fast above King's Landing. The dragon addicted to the rush just as much as you.

If people looked up, they would see nothing but a flash of blue, the silhouette of massive wings and a long tail vanishing just as fast as it came.

For the first time in seven years, you were finally heading back to the Red Keep. Vaemond had called into question Luke's legitimacy of birth, as he was to be Driftmark's heir, prompting you and your family to meet him for the discussion in King's Landing. While the rest of your family came by ship, you chose to ride over on dragonback and meet them there. The swaying of a ship on the ocean's water could make you nauseous, but flying in between clouds always cleared your head and filled your lungs with the fresh air of unabashed freedom.

After bidding goodbye to your loyal dragon as she was guided into the Dragonpit to rest, a carriage took you to the main gates of the Keep. The guards welcomed you with salutes and curtsies, something you were yet to get used to, even with being born into the royal family.

You were headed to the doors of the castle when they were pushed open by an older, bald man. He walked up to you and bowed his head. "Welcome home, my lady. Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra are already inside, they've gone to speak with the King."

Greeting him back with a nod, you smiled softly; "Thank you..." You dragged the word, raking your head to remember who exactly this was.

"Caswell, my lady," he kindly finished for you.

"Thank you, Lord Caswell."

The castle itself was still as grand and majestic as you remembered it to be, in some ways it didn't even feel like the last time you were here was so many years ago. The torches flickered softly along the grand hallways, casting a warm, golden glow on the stone walls as you walked aimlessly. Although you already had a designed room for your stay here, you refrained from changing out of your riding clothes, choosing to stay in black breeches and a long overcoat rather than a silken dress.

You eventually got hold of Jace and Luke who were also wandering about the castle and reminiscing on their childhood here. Despite your differences and disagreements during early childhood, you'd grown closer with both boys during your time at Dragonstone. Quickly enough, between dragon rides at sunset and playing together day in and day out, they became almost like brothers to you.

"It's so cool to be back here," Luke spoke, excitedly walking ahead of you and Jace, "I wonder why we haven't visited more."

"You know why, Luke," Jace raised a brow, his voice holding a smidge of warning to it. "It's not like we parted on the best of terms."

Immediately you knew what he was talking about. You recalled it as if it had been yesterday. Laena's funeral, the commotion in the dead of night, the red of blood, stitches piercing the skin of the prince who'd lost an eye. Your heart sped up then, hands feeling clammy and cold at the same time.

Aemond. He'd be here too, surely. It's been far too long since you've seen him, yet not long enough for you to stop counting the years. Part of you wondered if he did so too.

Something like guilt started weighing down on your stomach, because there had been letters exchanged over the years, mostly holding empty promises that you'd see each other again soon. A young hope that was snuffed out as you got older and wiser; it never happened, it was out of your reach. And for many seasons now, there had been no letters at all. You weren't sure who stopped first, there just came a day when you knew not to send another letter his way, because you wouldn't be getting any back either.

"Why don't we check out the training yard?" You suggested with a grin, "To remember the times when I kicked your butts there." With a giggle, you pushed Jace's shoulder halfheartedly.

"Hey, hey, I don't remember any of that," Jace countered, holding back a smile of his own, whilst Luke was already chuckling with a hand over his mouth.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

The sound of swords clashing was already loud and sharp as you descended the stairs to the training yard; many people were there, some sparring with each other as others watched and clapped and gossiped.

"Looks smaller than I remembered," Luke commented as he glanced around.

"It looks exactly the same," Jace concluded, skipping the last few steps of the stairs and landing on the gravel grounds of the yard. "Come on, you two."

The older of the brothers ran forth to check a dent in the stone walls, a mark of their old training days here. You, on the other hand, stopped to check out the weapons displayed for choice on the tables; maces, morningstars, swords, and daggers.

A faint smile came to your lips. The smell of smoke and sweat, the clash of metal, the grunts and cheering of the soldiers—it all reminded you of cherished memories. Firstly, of the first lessons your father had ever given you, sword all too big and heavy in your small hands, you were only five, yet he insisted that regardless if you were a boy or girl, you should learn how to fight; you still remember the first time you were finally able to best him in combat, you were ten, it took you five years but you had done it; Daemon smiled the biggest on that day, telling everyone how his daughter was a born fighter. And secondly, came the memory of your sparring sessions with Aemond when you were young, he'd refused to put up a fight in the beginning, afraid he'd hurt you; but he started to give you a fair fight when you'd bested him the second time around; you still remember how he'd run around the castle, searching for you and then holding onto your hand to lead you to the training yard, "You're too slow," he used to say with a smile, "If I don't drag you around we won't be there on time."

Part of you wished those moments were infinite.

By the time your mind returned to the present, Luke and Jace had joined you. Jace began picking up the weapons on the table with an excited grin; yet Luke seemed on edge, glancing around himself and at the piercing gazes on your backs from the people here. You felt it too, the judgment and the whispers.

"What's wrong, Luke?" You asked, one hand reaching up to touch his arm comfortingly.

The boy furrowed his brows in discomfort, head hanging low. "Everyone's staring at us."

A soft grimace passed over your features as you tilted your head at him, eyes glinting with silent understanding. In part, you knew what he was feeling, you'd received your fair share of odd glances when at court as well; you were a royal prince's daughter yet had hair in the shade of the warmest grey that almost resembled brown in certain lights, and eyes as dark as the night sky, so of course, people would talk.

"No one would question me being heir to Driftmark," Luke spoke, his tone a mix of frustrated and defeated as he still avoided your gaze, "If... if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon, than Ser Harwin Strong."

"It doesn't matter what they think," Jace at last spoke up, ducking his head to meet his brother's eyes.

"He's right, Luke," you reassured, "Don't mind them."

A sudden crash of something heavy hitting a wooden shield caught your attention then, and all three of you turned around to watch as a small crowd gathered around two people sparring. Luke and Jace ran toward it to watch, so you followed close behind, squeezing yourself past and between a few people so you didn't have to stand on your tiptoes to catch glimpses of the fight.

One of the two you recognized almost instantly, Ser Criston Cole, you had never particularly been too fond of him. The other, who still had his back to you, you hadn't recognized, even if there was something familiar about the way he moved. His long silver hair bounced over his shoulders as he dodged Cole's attacks quite expertly; his movements swift, calculated, and still somehow elegant. The shield held by the mysterious man broke and he threw it aside without a second thought, going in for another attack. The sword cut through the air, Cole's morningstar slammed into the ground, and finally, the silver-haired man turned in your direction.

A teasing grin and an eyepatch framed the sharp features of the young man, his single bright eye glinting under the hazy sunlight as he held the sword with a firm grip, ready for another attack.

You felt as if all air suddenly left your lungs and refused to come back, your lips hanging open as your gaze was all but locked onto him. Aemond. You'd recognize him anywhere, in any lifetime, you feared. He looked so different yet somehow still the same; his hair was much longer, features older and sharper as he'd grown over the years; his harsh scar, you noticed, was now fully healed, and yet still evident as a reminder of the fateful night he'd claimed Vhagar and lost his eye; but his smile seemed to be the same you were used to, that mischievous tilt of lips he'd wear against his opponents.

A smile of your own began to stretch your lips and you took half a step toward him before stopping yourself, your heart beat painfully against your ribs and in your ears, bringing a nearly nauseous twist to your guts. It felt as if your body had trouble picking an emotion upon seeing Aemond again after all these years.

You'd wished, prayed even, for the day you'd finally be able to meet one of your best friends again; the lonely, outcast boy you had grown so fond of over the course of mere months. The one you had shared most of your afternoons in the Red Keep with, the one who'd steal you away to the library to share tales of the old dragons. Yet seeing him now, after so many seasons of pure silence, you had no idea where you stood with him.

The fight ended with Aemond holding the sharp end of his sword against Cole's neck, staring him down as a dragon would with its prey.

"Well done, my prince," Ser Criston spoke, rather breathless from the exertion, "You'll be winning tourneys in no time."

"I don't give a shit about tourneys," Aemond answered back without pause, his tone filled with finality and eye holding a piercing stare. "My lady," he said then, voice just a tad softer, whether he meant for it or not. Twisting the hilt in his hand, Aemond lowered his sword, his gaze now landing on you. "Have you come to train?"

You were unable to hold back a small gasp as he addressed you so directly. Your whole body tensed up, part of you wanted to answer yet any and all words were completely tangled in your tongue. You could faintly feel Jace's hand on your shoulder yet you barely registered the touch, unable to tear your eyes away from Aemond. And he held your gaze with his unwavering one, almost challenging you to break the connection.

It felt all kinds of wrong, for this to be your reunion and first words to each other after so long, for Aemond's words and gaze to be this... cold. You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

You were saved by the sudden opening of the heavy doors of the gate behind you. Soldiers marched through with proud strides as they escorted Vaemond Velaryon into the castle.

Even as you turned around to watch their entrance, you could feel how Aemond's gaze didn't leave you even for a moment.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

A storm raged outside during your first night back in the Keep, you didn't sleep much, tossing and turning in bed and pacing around the spacious room they'd given you. Part of you almost wanted to step outside into the dark hallways of the castle and head to Aemond's room. It would be improper of you, but that's not why you did not go.

When the morrow came at last with the sun rising on the horizon of King's Landing, it was time to head into the throne room to discuss what you had come here for, the succession of Driftmark.

A small crowd of lords and ladies had already gathered in the large room, with Otto Hightower standing before the grim Iron Throne. The image of the seat of swords, being highlighted by the sunlight coming through the tall windows, would always make a shiver run down your spine.

You walked in with steady steps, sensing a few eyes land on you as you smoothed the fabric of your dress—hardly your preferred choice of attire, but Rhaenyra might just have your head if you showed up in your riding clothes. She, her sons, and your father were already here as well.

Daemon spotted you from the corner of his eyes, he squeezed Rhaenyra's hand once before stepping away from her to walk toward you.

"Father," you spoke in a low voice when he met you halfway. Over his shoulder, you caught sight of Aemond, who stood near the Iron Throne with his family; for a small moment, you held his gaze, even if you couldn't possibly read it.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up," Daemon raised his brows at you, a rather amused grin playing on his lips.

"Oh, you know me," you chuckled quietly, shrugging your shoulders as you continued walking to where Rhaenyra waited, "I wouldn't miss court drama for anything."

Daemon snorted, uncaring if his laugh would attract the attention of the nearby lords, "Yeah, tell me about it." He brought a hand up to rest between your shoulder blades, guiding you through the remaining steps. "It's like they look for reasons to break any resemblance of peace we might have."

You hummed at his words, biting back a laugh of your own, "Se iēdrosa, Rhaenyra ivestretan nyke ao gaomagon naejot mōris se lyks aōla gō īlen āzma." ('And yet, Rhaenyra tells me you used to raise quite the trouble yourself before I was born.')

"Kessa, sȳrī, īlen drējī tolī kirimves skori paktot zirȳ, mērī." Daemon defended halfheartedly. ('Yes, well, I was admittedly more fun than these people, at least.')

"Hen rhinka," you mumbled, stopping beside Rhaenyra and greeting her with a warm smile. ('Of course')

From the other side of the room, the one-eyed prince watched. He'd kept his eye fixed on you as soon as you stepped through the throne room doors. His hands clasped behind his back tightened their grip with each step you took. And for each of your steps, his heart beat twice as hard, heavy and hurting for an escape.

It was true that you had grown into a stunning young woman over the years; enticing curves, soft hair falling over your shoulders, freckles still dusting your cheeks and nose, delicate hands holding onto the fabric of your dress. Many gazes turned your way whenever you walked into a room, it came as no surprise to Aemond, even if it bothered him.

And yet it wasn't just that, no; he could see so far beyond, that same spark in your eyes lingered, the one he'd see each time he'd ask you to tell him the story of how you found your dragon; that same smile that was so contagious still had the same sway to it; your mere presence still made his heart race and hands itch to touch you, as it always did.

Aemond thought, perhaps wished, he would have forgotten all about you over the years. You had abandoned him, after all. You had abandoned him, maybe at a time when he needed you the most. His only friend, and you never came back.

The prince had waited, for nights and days on end, he'd stare out the windows to the horizon and past the sea, hoping with all he had that one day he'd spot the blue hue of your dragon's scales in the distance. And he knew he'd cry, and run to you, and hold you close no matter who was watching. But it never happened, you never came. And the years kept on going by, years of which he kept a close count. By year three, he decided he wouldn't feel within the right to hug you anymore. By year four, he decided he wouldn't cry anymore. By year six, he decided it would be best you didn't come back anymore.

Alas, perhaps he could have gone to you. But he hesitated, he knew he wouldn't be welcomed in Dragonstone; and after a few years went by, as much as Aemond would never admit it, he lacked the courage to go after you. In the most fragile parts of his heart, he feared you'd react as all ladies of the court did when they looked at him; with wide-eyed gazes and poorly concealed whispers about his ugly scar and 'off-putting demeanor', as they'd say.

Yet he had missed you, oh he missed you. In a way that he'd walk into every room hoping to find you there. And now, it finally happened. You came back to King's Landing, but you didn't come back for him.

Aemond watched as you walked into the room, your father meeting you halfway and guiding you to your family. The prince felt a tightness build in his throat, he tried to gulp it back, squaring his shoulders. Even after all these years, all it took was one look at you, and Aemond's resolve crumbled. All his attempts at putting you behind him were suddenly futile, if the speed at which his heart was racing was any indication.

Yesterday, when Aemond spotted you in the small crowd of the training yard, he nearly lost his balance, nearly lost the fight. Seeing you again after so long brought an onslaught of confusing feelings to his chest—one of them being petty bitterness, perhaps even betrayal, despite not having the right to feel so, for seeing you stand beside Jace and Luke so amicably—he hardly knew what to think or do; all he knew was that he was angry that you'd abandoned him. Or perhaps just hurt, but broken things tend to have sharp edges.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

You held back a scream as the severed head of Vaemond Velaryon fell from his body, staining the floor of the throne room with deep crimson blood. Your father had unceremoniously beheaded the Velaryon knight after he accused Rhaenyra's sons of being bastards. You watched the gruesome scene with wide eyes, goosebumps on your skin, and a hand clasped over your mouth.

"Disarm him!" Otto Hightower screamed to the guards, who readily took to their weapons and surrounded Daemon.

"No need," the Rogue Prince uttered all too calmly, cleaning the blood off the blade of his sword with the hem of his clothing. He then extended said sword to you, without bothering to look in your direction.

You hesitated for only a second before taking Dark Sister from him, and once you did so, Daemon raised both hands in surrender; yet a smug smirk still played on his lips.

You held tight onto the hilt of his sword, until your knuckles turned white, watching as the room filled with fearful whispers and terrified gazes of everyone around you. All eyes were seemingly glued to the pool of blood on the floor that only got larger by the second.

"We are done here," Viserys spoke with finality to the best of his ability, before falling back on his throne as the pain of his wounds filled his decaying body.

Slowly and hesitantly, people began leaving the room, a certain eeriness lingered in the air. From afar, you met your father's gaze, and he simply gave you a curt nod, which meant you'd be giving him his sword back in private, later. He'd told you once; "People don't usually fear women with swords, even if they should. Therein lies your advantage."

Beside the Iron Throne, a few steps away from you, Alicent ran to help her husband, Aegon followed after the guards who began removing the lifeless body, Helaena skipped to the main doors with her hands covering her ears, and Aemond... Aemond had his eye burning a hole in the back of your head.

You would be able to feel the weight of his gaze on you from a mile away, you had been feeling it since you took the first step into this room. Part of you hoped he'd have come to you already, you weren't sure what you were expecting exactly, but so far the words he'd spoken to you in the training yard had been the only ones he'd spoken at all. And you were starting to think that, if you didn't go to him, you'd remain forever far apart.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, and then another, and one more, tapping the hilt of Dark Sister with your pointer finger until you built up the courage or until your palms grew sweaty. A sorrowful feeling still lingered deep within your chest, because this was Aemond, the same Aemond you spent nearly entire days with during your childhood, be it training together, sharing stories, or hiding away in the library. You shouldn't be feeling hesitant to face him.

It felt almost as if he had been waiting for you, because as soon as you turned around to face him, Aemond raised his chin a tad, blinking slowly as he watched you walk over to him.

All you could hear was the beating of your heart as you came to stop in front of him, holding tight onto the sword in your hands, its end resting on the floor as you kept it between you and him. "Hello... Aemond." It was the best you could do, voice still too unsure for your liking.

For a moment, Aemond seemed to be hesitating just as much as you. His eye flicked with an emotion you couldn't name, but it was quick and gone as soon as it came. "My lady."

The formality felt wrong and unwanted, like taking a thousand steps backward from what you had once been to each other. Your lips parted but you didn't quite know what to say, so for a moment, you just looked at him, at the new him. The long hair fell over his shoulders, eyepatch covering the deep scar, his perfectly straight posture, and tense shoulders. You saw then, that there was an undeniable wall between you, that Aemond had his guard up and was keeping you at a safe, far distance. It hurt, more than you had the right to feel.

"I'm- It's good to see you again," you stumbled over the words, trying a smile.

Aemond hummed, giving you an almost imperceptible nod in return. For long beats, that was all. He refused to look you in the eyes. "It's been a long time," he chose to say eventually, voice devoid of too much emotion.

Distantly, you felt the back of your eyes burn. "Seven years," you said in nothing but a whisper, as if you could only admit the unfairness of it at a certain decibel level.

"And four months," Aemond finished, his voice just a tad tighter and strained, breath running shallow as he strived to keep his face impassive.

His words took you by surprise, you couldn't help the way your lips parted and the way your heartbeat quickened. He'd kept count, too.

Aemond pursed his lips with something resembling a small pout, he glanced at you briefly as he slowly started walking towards the doors of the throne room, silently beckoning you to follow, his hands still tightly clasped behind his back.

You kept at his side, choosing your words carefully; "I hope... you've been faring well, my prince?"

A low hum came from Aemond again, "As well as a half blind man can be, yes." He stole another glance at you, feeling his heart swell at the fact you'd kept in mind to stay on his good eye's side. "I assume your time at Dragonstone has been a most joyful one?"

You caught the bite at his words then, the concealed hurt. A sigh fell past your lips, the sound of Valyrian steel against stone each time you took a step and tapped Dark Sister on the floors now becoming sharp and loud, as the room was empty, save for you and Aemond. "It was, at times, yes. But I also missed the liveliness of the Keep... on most days." I missed you, you refrained from saying.

Another hum, another beat of silence, as you neared the doors. "I hear you came on dragonback." Aemond observed.

A small smile tugged at your lips; "I did. I've always favored the skies over the seas."

If you looked at Aemond, you'd see him mimicking your soft smile for once. "On that we agree."

Once you reached the main entrance, Aemond stopped, and you had a feeling that regardless of which way you were headed, he'd be going the opposite direction.

He held his stance, chin high, shoulders tensed, hands behind his back. His breath ran shallow and shaky, however, hanging on by a thread under the weight and warmth of your presence; so close.

And you looked up at him, with big and vulnerable eyes. Part of Aemond had always admired how you had a habit of wearing your heart on your sleeve. And he was well aware that if he held your gaze much longer, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together.

"I will see you again soon then, my prince." You spoke with a tight lipped smile.

Yet what were simple words to you, brought back the memories of the last time you'd promised to see him soon, and instead left him alone for seven years. Aemond's sight grew blurry at the edges, and before you could see the tears collecting in the bottom lid of his eye, he cleared his throat and made his way around you.

You watched, with a heavy heart, as he walked away from you, one hand reaching up to his face as his steps quickened.

Your stomach dropped with a mix of guilt and longing, wondering if the distance between you had become one too big to ever be mended.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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[heartilywrites]

،، 𝓒loser ; G. Tomioka

request guide | masterlist

resume: in where your relationship with Giyuu seems to improve by day.

content warning: fluff ; comfort ; Giyuu Tomioka x fem!reader ; no breathing style mentioned ; r is a hashira tho ; no use of y/n ; not proofread yet, it's one in the morning and i was craving to do the fic, sorry for any mistakes-

wc: 2.1k

a/n: HI 👋🏼 this is my first fic for the kny fandom and im nervous about it– i hope you guys like it, if anyone would like to request any character please feel free to do so, i'm working on rqs for another fandom rn, but my brainrot for kny is strong too and i will 100% be writing for this fandom as well!!

“ I could be wrong, but the signals you send me... Baby, me too.

The sound of rocks being pressured by your feet announced your arrival to the butterfly estate. Your hand holding your side began to tremble while your mind was asking you to keep going, you were there, it was just a couple of steps away.

After a night fighting with a stubborn demon that had injured you below your chest, you assured the kakushi that was assigned to your help how you were able to walk to the estate. They fought with you, nonetheless, but were convinced to help you at least walk while resting upon them for support, by the time you were walking up the stairs your legs were feeling weaker and weaker with each step taken.

Shinobu was talking with the water hashira when your silhouette appeared on her view field. Trying to act as if nothing had happened to you, you straightened back up; in an attempt to greet them, your grip on the kakushi vanished and your legs finally gave in, tripping in front of Giyuu and, if it wasn’t by his fast reflexes, you almost hit the floor.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hey, you guys! So good to see you, how've you been?” your voice asked, dragging words and feeling dizzy you hang into the man's arms that now were holding you.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm so sorry!” the kakushi was quick to say, bowing before trying to take you back. “She has a deep cut in her left side, has been losing blood and didn’t want to be carried, we could've been here already hours ago.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “My legs work just fine.” you defended yourself quickly.

Giyuu's eyes moved from the slight embarrassed helper back to your face, blue orbs examined the tired traits and the small cuts on your skin.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Here, Tomioka, allow us to take her to a bed.” Shinobu talked, making the motion of move you from his grip, but the hashira was faster to take you in arms and walk to the community room.

A small complaint sound came from you by the sudden move. Your eyes tried to focus on the man and a weak smile met his gaze when he was laying you down with such care and caution, as if the most delicate of things he was handling.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm sorry,” a hoarsely murmur you said, he frowned confused. “You got stained.” your hand pointed to Giyuu's uniform.

His eyes looked down at him first and then back at you, shaking his head a little bit. “I'll wash it off, worry about yourself first.”

The water hashira stayed for a bit while the healers helped you out, first he made sure that you were okay before leaving the estate once you were finally asleep knowing there were very capable hands taking care of you.

If you weren't half gone and also didn’t know any better, such interactions could've been interpreted in different tones, but it was Giyuu we're talking about, right? There couldn't be second intentions in his actions. You've known him since a couple of years now after becoming a hashira yourself, you knew he was the most reserved out of all in the group and it was hard to read him, but you'd try time and time again until you were able to know more about him.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Tomioka!” you called him when his presence was noticed, walking to him, weeks after the encounter at the butterfly estate, completely heal. Now you were in the Ubuyashiki estate waiting for the meeting to start. Ocean colored eyes met yours. “Udon and onigiris.”

Your hands extended a piece of cloth tied up at the very top so it would be easier to carry, inside there were two containers with the mentioned food.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I brought everyone home-made food,” you pointed behind with your head, referring to the other hashira. Everyone had theirs in their hands. Giyuu took the food in his own hands, you move closer to whisper in his ear. “I didn’t get them any onigiris, though. If they ask, don't say it was me.”

You turned back to keep talking to the love hashira after smiling at him, you may never know it, but Giyuu's ears got red by the action. His eyes looked down to the well wrapped food and a tiny smile appeared in his face before walking to his place when the master's voice called for attention, turning his expression back to serious.

If he was to be honest, the way you treat him made the water hashira feel good. He had that feeling of warmth in his chest when you always greeted him with a smile, even if he didn't reciprocate the expression. His face usually felt a bit warm when he hears you laugh at something he just said, his mind would think about you when you get send to missions, would you be okay alone? If you needed back up, would you send for him? Or for another hashira you trusted more? Would it be disrespectful if he followed you in case you needed help? He questioned always meeting his own scolding: You're a hashira for a reason, you're able to deal with anything alone. But nothing could shake his worries away.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What is it?” you asked after seeing a tiny box being left on your side of the table at lunch, days after.

The water hashira took again his chopsticks in his dominant hand. “Open it.” he pointed with the wood sticks.

Your hands were obedient to what he said, undoing swiftly the ribbon, you took the superior part of the box. Your gaze was met with a pastry, the same type of pastry you would get when a mission was set at the south from your location.

At first, you were confuse on how he knew about it, but then you remembered going on a mission trip with him to the south and talking about this place that made the best pastries, how you always bought at least one when traveling near and if your memory wasn't betraying you: you did take him there in the way back after being victorious. Your eyes sparkled with excitement and moved to him, you were met with an expectant Giyuu trying to get a good look at your expression for the gift he just got from last night's mission.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Thank you, Tomioka...” a big smile started to form in your face, feeling the same getting warmer. “I'm... This is– thank you, truly.” your mouth couldn’t make what you wanted to say, but he understood nonetheless with just the 'thank you's'.

You were sure he was hiding a smile with a big portion of noodles in his mouth.

There was this unspoken connection you two had that was getting stronger with each interaction and it was clear to the most attentive hashira in the group (so, everyone, but Sanemi, Obanai and Giyuu himself apparently), the first one to clearly approach you about it was the love hashira, a full-blown interrogation was made by Mitsuri to only you. She had intercepted you one day after training and pulled you aside to talk and made all the questions her mind could think of.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Since when are Tomioka and you so close? Have you already went out together? When did you finally realize he liked you? How did it happen? Did you tell him or did he tell you? Can I be your maid of honor?” where all asked on one breath, making you feel dizzy.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What are you talking about, Mitsuri?” furrowed eyebrows painted your face. “We're just friends... I think we're friends.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Please, I know you well enough and I've seen how Tomioka acts to connect dots.” her arms crossed on her chest, your eyes stayed on hers, blinking a little bit.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Wait... Oh my gods... You haven't told him you like him!?” she screamed in a whisper, making you shush her, your head moved saying no. “Then what are all those glances and stuff and and why is Tomioka looking happier than usual?”

You shrugged, slightly timid. “He may like someone, but I don’t really think it's me.”

Kanroji looked at you pouting before sighing, tired. “I need to do something about this.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “No, wait, you don't have to do anything.” you were so quick to intervene, shaking your head. “It's okay, Mitsuri, if he doesn't like me back then I'll have to move on.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Fine... whatever.” she took a breath in and after a big smile appeared on her face. “Want to go take lunch? Because I'm starving.” she changed the subject, tangling her arm with yours and walking while you laugh a little bit, amused by your friend.

After lunch, another session of training and one of gossips with Kanroji, you left her estate almost late at night making your way to yours with a lantern on your hand to see the way.

Close to the gates of your so called home, your wrist was grabbed. In a quick move you had slammed the foreign body on one of the walls, Giyuu showed a sly smirk when you recognized him and loosened your grip.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Didn't I tell you doing that type of things was a bad idea, Giyuu?” you asked, forcing your smile to stay unshown.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Did you?” his head tilted to one side, taking advantage of your distraction he turned the position the other way now making you be the one against the wall. His face got close to yours. “All that with one hand, I think it's impressive.”

One of his own hands took the lantern you were holding and left it on the floor next to you two. Under both the moonlight and the fire on the candle, his eyes looked darker than usual, but somehow you could distinguish that funny brightness you discovered he had when the relationship between the two started.

Both your arms rested on his shoulders and pull him as close as possible.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Well, I don’t know if you know, but I'm a hashira.” in a jokingly way was said, his eyebrows raised a little bit.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Are you now?” he asked the same way, making you nod. “Must be my lucky day, then, I've been looking for one beautiful hashira that it's said to live around here.”

His hands now met your waist, you smiled. “Yeah? I've heard she has a boyfriend, the water hashira guy.” your fingers were playing with a couple of dark locks.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I think I can take her from that guy, he doesn't seem too strong to me.” a small slap on his shoulder was your initial answer.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “If you keep saying things like that I will send you home, Tomioka, we talked about it.” you warned, serious enough for him to giggle a little bit.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Sorry, darling, you left it in silver platter.” he purred for a second, his lips brushed against yours for a second before stopping and look you in the eyes again. “Did you tell Mitsuri anything?”

You blinked surprised at the question, how did he know that the love hashira questioned about the relationship between the two of you? You were sure you were alone, or at least too nervous to notice him hide and listen.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Nope, she said she wanted to do something about it, but I stopped her.” you answered, he nodded. “How long do you think we can keep this a secret?”

In his throat, a sound of vibration was made as a thinking expression. “Maybe a couple more months, they think we just became close friends.”

You giggled back. “They don't think that, have you seen how Tengen is–.”

The comment was interrupted by his soft lips crashing completely into yours, claiming them in such a sweet and needy action that made you sigh happy. It was definitely a torture seeing him all day and not being able to kiss him like you wanted to or be by his side just holding his hand, but there was this bet you two made of how long the other hashira would take to notice before you even say anything and you were not about to lose against him.

[snazzynacho]

— Emperor of Time

Chapter 1/?: Vivamus, Moriendum Est / Let Us Live, For We Must Die

Emperor Geta x female oc

Read on ao3. Masterlist. Words: 1.7k. Part 2

Summary: Emperor Publius Septimius Geta somehow time travels to the future. With no way home and no idea how he ended up in a random woman’s living room in—he later works out to be—modern-day Britannia, he is forced to adjust as well as he can. And, maybe the woman talking a funny-sounding-gibberish-language to him, might not be all that bad…The gods have plucked him from his wealthy imperial-born path and plunged him deep into the unknown—a time of the modern world. Will he accept this fate or brutally shove it back into their mocking faces?

Tags/warnings: Gladiator 2 spoilers. She/her pronouns used, time travel, red string of fate, fluff, angst, humour, eventual romance, possible smut, female reader, atheist reader, mental breakdown, suicidal thoughts, implied/referenced past child abuse/abusive father, Christianity/Catholicism hate, British English lessons, Latin lessons, references to ancient Roman religion, mythology and lore. (I am no expert so sorry for Latin language/historical inaccuracies.) No beta we die like Geta.

Geta has always wondered what the gods have planned for him.

Of course, he knows his birth rite is being emperor, albeit grudgingly a Co-emperor, with his mad brother. Yet, he still enjoys the power and wealth that comes with being emperor.

Still, his mind also wonders to the inevitable…his death. How have the gods panned out his life? When will he die? Much to his ego, he always assumed it would be when he is old and has lived a full life as a rich emperor, with a grandiose funeral and many people mourning—the entirety of Rome, he hopes.

But, he never foresees this…

One moment Geta is in the palace and the next he is…nowhere?

His vision goes black. It feels like he’s floating in an endless abyss. It reminds him of when he and his brother Caracalla would go swimming as children. He always loved how freeing it felt to lie flat on his back, letting the ocean guide him away from any troubles that were tormenting him.

But in this case, in this pitch black atmosphere, he feels slightly uneasy. He cannot see a thing. He only senses his heart thumping in his chest and hears his breathing rapidly increase by the second.

His mind takes a moment to comprehend what is happening and soon is full with endless questions.

What is this place?

This is no—dare he says it—Elysium.

Unless, there is no such thing as—

He stops himself. He is in no mood to denounce his religion now.

Geta inhales a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. He tries to take a step forward, but he finds his leg is stiff. He slowly realises his limbs feel as though they weigh a ton.

He attempts to move again. He uses all his strength, groaning at the strain on his body to move. Slowly, he starts to move, gliding through the unknown.

A flicker of light emits in the distance. An exit perhaps? His legs pick up speed, running to, what he hopes to be, safety. As Geta reaches closer to the light, he makes out a field of wheat under a blanket of blue sky—the Elysian fields.

He cannot help but grin. A feeling of warmth and protection grows in his body at the familiarity of it. He will be safe there, even if it means he has died.

His outstretched hand reaches the doorway to Elysium, but just as his finger grazes it, it vanishes before his eyes, plunging him into darkness again. He gasps. Dread fills his body.

No, no, no, no.

Is this all a trick?

Geta grows cold again. His head lowers in shame and he feels tears prick his eyes.

Before he can let them fall, he sees two glowing hands reach out and hold his. He looks up, blinking away the tears so he can clear his blurry vision. Is he seeing what he thinks he is seeing?

The glowing hands belong to a woman, her hair flows all around her as if she is standing in a gentle summer breeze. He cannot make out what colour her hair or robe is, or what shade her skin is.

She glows a white almost blinding light, with a thin orange fire outlining her figure—similar to a flickering candlelight.

Her face is still blurry, with no features to be seen. He blinks again, thinking it is a few tears being stubborn. But he still cannot make out her face.

He does not feel scared though. This great presence is all too calming. He wants to speak, to ask who she is, but he opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He does not know what to say exactly.

“You are not ready yet, my child,” her soothing voice lands in his mind.

His mouth is dry. He goes to speak again, but the same problem arises. She lets go of his hands, cradling his cheeks. Her hands are warm and comforting. He closes his eyes, unable to resist leaning into her touch further. Finally, she places a kiss on his forehead.

Abruptly, she pushes him away gently.

Geta’s body glides backwards fast. Her shining figure becomes smaller and smaller, shrinking in the distance. With his limited information about what is happening, he can only assume this means he's going back home, to the palace in Rome. How will he explain this to anyone?

Suddenly, the atmosphere around him rips. It tears like a piece of paper, revealing a blinding white vision, his eyes burning. His arms wrap around his head, covering his eyes. His eardrums pound as the environment shakes as though he is in the middle of an earthquake and rumbles with incredible volume.

He cowers and moves his arms, trying to also cover his ears from the noise, but it's no use. The deafening sound, unsteady oscillation, rumbling, and, blinding light—it's excruciating.

Geta screams in pain and fear, praying that it ends. The blinding white grows and grows until it swallows him up.

And then, it all goes still…silent.

He opens his eyes, blinking. His ears ring loudly, almost as deafening as the rumbling. He's lying flat on the ground, but not outside. He's inside. But it does not look like a building he recognises.

He rises and is immediately hit with a pounding in his head. His legs wobble but he ably regains stability. He looks around the room. The interior design, from the furniture down to the walls and layout, is completely alien to him.

By the gods, where is he?

He stands there for gods knows how long, contemplating his life and purpose when a presence enters the room, rubbing his temple with a trembling hand.

He turns, meeting his gaze with a young woman. However, she is dressed in the most bizarre clothing—thick blue fabric wrapped tightly around her legs and held together around her waist with a shiny metallic object which looks a bit like a silver coin to him. On her top half, she wears a cloth, loose and light pink with short sleeves, and stitching around the hem. And the most bizarre of all, a contraption that looks like two big round pieces of glass in front of her eyes, that rests on her nose and has two arms reaching behind her ears. It looks like a second pair of eyes, like bug eyes.

They stare at each other in shock for a few long seconds until the woman lets out an ear-piercingly loud scream.

Geta covers his ears quickly, clutching the sides of his head. He glowers from the ringing in his ears and the pounding head he already feels added onto this newfound pain from her screaming.

The scream finally stops but she still looks petrified, as does Geta, probably. He watches her eyes dart frantically around the room, landing on the broom resting against the wall. Her hands reach for it, dropping a small rectangular device from her hand in the action. Geta wants to inspect whatever contraption it is—if he were in a different circumstance, that is. Right now, he believes the best thing to do is to stand completely and utterly still, like a statue. He's afraid of this new environment.

Why have I been sent here?

She jabs the broom close to his torso, like she is wielding a spear. He notes that she is clearly not a gladiatrix, since her angle is off. And her feeble arms are too weak for her to even be considered one. He concludes that she is a very poor fighter.

Still, he looks utterly shocked at her blasphemy. Does she know he is an emperor? Purposefully trying to inflict harm or kill a god-emperor calls for the punishment of death!

She shoos him, continuing to jab the broom in his general direction, but never actually hitting him.

Geta’s eyes snap down at the broom which, from her jabbing motion, has blown dust into his face and, most importantly, his luxurious robes. He coughs, flapping his hands to rid the dust cloud from his face. Once cleared, he tries to brush the dust particles from his robes. A scowl forms on his face. He shouts at her in Latin, his language, but she has no idea what he is saying.

She then yells at him in her language, her frustration evidently reaching the surface. To which he grimaces at her foreign words. A foreigner committing sacrilege against her emperor? How unsurprising, he thinks to himself.

She seems to growl out of exasperation, letting go of the broom. The wooden handle clackers against the hardwood floor.

Suddenly, a loud unrecognisable noise from outside resounds around the room, having flown in through the open window.

His head snaps to the direction of the noise, alert.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her outstretched arm, seemingly trying to stop him, but he's already running to the window. He leans over, holding onto the window sill for leverage, gazing out into the surrounding view—detailing roads, buildings, and other establishments. It is nothing like he has ever seen before.

The noise sounds like it should belong to some sort of animal or beast, but he sees nothing of the sort—only big chariots, all of different colours, which emit smoke and have four black wheels in each corner, driving on the road.

Throughout his life in Rome as Emperor, he held the privilege of being endowed with hundreds of gifts from all over and had been granted the opportunity to travel all around the world, to places where they had occupied new territories—and not once has he ever seen buildings or technology like this. It is mind-boggling.

Where is this place?

Behind him, she grabs her device from the floor where she dropped it. He feels her footsteps thud on the floor, stopping beside him. She stares at him, desperately wanting to know what is going on inside of his head, as does he.

It all becomes too much for Geta. He slowly steps back away from the window, yet his eyes forbid him to look away from the unfamiliar sight outside. His breath quickens as his boundless thoughts race through his dizzying head. He feels as though he is on a different planet, if that is possible. Maybe he can find a soothsayer to help him…anyone…anything.

His head feels weightless, the blood rushing far too rapidly. His stomach churns. His legs grow weak, his body is suddenly too heavy to uphold. His hearing starts to go, unhearing the noise of the funny chariots. His vision goes speckled, black spots appearing, before they swallow him whole. He does not remember falling backwards.

YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE, TO STEAL OR TO REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS.

A/N: ummm hey yes I am publishing another Gladiator 2 fanfic when I haven't even finished the first one (yet) <3 It’s because I am way too impatient and need to share this with you all NOW. I hope you liked it! Comments are always lovely to read and reblogs are appreciated! :)

Tag list for this fanfic: (comment if you want to be added)

[lilacgaby]

day seven

~2k

chapter select!

the day started with mina being oddly insistent that they go out.

mina threw open [name]'s sublocking blinds and threw her blanket to the ground as she yelled to [name] to get up.

"come on, it'll be fun! that quirk is gone and all the girls wanna have a girls day out!" she was pulling on [name]'s hand as she guided her out of bed. [name] had slept til noon, which was normal in it of itself, but mina dragging her out of bed wasn't.

"come on! hurry up-- and go get cute or something!"

"okay! okay! gosh!" [name] was shoved into her bathroom, forced to get ready. she barely got to bask in the happiness of not being an over sharing loser for the first time in a week. still half asleep but senseable, she reasoned that since it was a girls day, she had to decide to put in a bit of extra effort into her outfit. she chose something cute and bright, perfect for the cherry blossom season.

when she came out the room, she felt the girls acting a bit cheeky and off as if they knew something was going to happen. she didn't have time to question it though, because she had to soak up the sun before she left, or else she'd be pissed for the rest of the day.

as she sunbathed, she shut her eyes. she felt so calm and at peace today.

her tranquility vanished after a short when someone came barging into her room to get her, this time it being uraraka, who adamantly urged her to get going. "let's go name, we're all waiting on you. we have to get going before the park gets full!"

"oh, okay-" [name] barely had time to grab the bag of her bed as uraraka pulled her with her iron grip out of her room and down to the entrance of the dorms where everyone was waiting. she was unsurprisingly very strong.

the girls all greeted [name] with smiles and hugs, momo spraying a bit of expensive perfume on her, hagakure fixing her hair, jirou giving her a 'lucky guitar pick' and placing it in her pocket, and mina putting a bit of powder and lipstick on her face.

"guys, i appreciate this and all but what's the occasion?" [name] finally said, liking yet questioning the strange attention.

"oh, uh.. we already fixed eachother up earlier, it's just that you were so late and all that we focused on you last. that's all." tsuyu shrugged.

they guided eachother out the dorm as they started to walk towards a park which they'd all regularly go to to celebrate things. exams being over, the first day of a season, a birthday: they'd been here hundreds of times already, but especially at specific times during the season, because of just how gorgeous it was.

the large trees hung over the plains, casting a dramatic shadow that contrasted the clear view of the sky. flowers bloomed all throughout the fields as streams and lakes were spread across the huge landscape. it was a popular place for couples, which is why is was unexpected to see pairs all around walking and clinging to eachother. but today, there was something that stuck out like a sore thumb among the all natural biome.

a pink checkered blanket she'd never seen there before.

the girls all suddenly put on dramatic, obviously fake shocked faces as [name] turned back to look at them.

"oh no! looks like we forgot all the food for the picnic!" jirou exclaimed.

"well, guess we have to go back to the dorms and get it." momo reasoned, linking arms with jirou as they moved to walk away with the group.

the statements were both said extremely robotically, when a strange lack of natural emotion.

"okay i'll come wi--"

"NO!" they all yelled in unison. they stopped walking and all turned to face [name], who for some reason suddenly felt as if she had said the dumbest thing in the world.

uraraka grabbed [name] by the shoulders, and shook her as she said "you stay here, we need someone to save our spot, besides there's even a perfectly good blanket there!" before signaling to   everyone that they should start rushing out.

"yeah [name]! go! we'll be back soon!" mina yelled, already pretty far away from where they had left her standing.

"o-kay.." she muttered to herself, walking slowly to the blanket and sitting down. she admired the view, it was really beautiful. she took one of the flowers from the ground, checked it for ants, and stuck it behind her ear.

as flowers started to bloom even brighter around her, a side effect from her happiness, she heard steps behind her.

the girls were back.

"well, you guys were qu--"

she was cut off as she looked back to find katsuki, dressed nicely in a cute outfit suited for the weather. he wore a blue sweater over his signature black, baggy slacks. another fresh bouquet sat in his hand, and he was also holding a medium sized bag of gifts, each one individually wrapped in her favorite color, with an expensive looking bag encapsulating them all.

"katsuki?"

"hey [name.]"

she looked him over. he was always handsome but today took the cake, as he slowly walked over to sit next to her she felt an indescribable feeling of happiness wash over her. it felt like she was in a romance anime of her own, with the cherry blossom petals accompanying his entrance.

what she didn't know was how rapid his heart was beating. she looked gorgeous here, even more than usual. the flowers that she made bloom, with the flower that she had put behind her ear, it was all too much.

"so, all this was planned by you? how thoughtful."

"yeah, yeah it was. but those idiots helped me out some."

"this is actually like- really nice. thank you katsuki." she said with a smile.

he flushed, her finally getting to see his face as she unintentionally flustered him. after a little bit, he stuck out the bag of gifts her got for her.

"for me?"

"who else? here."

as she looked inside she slowly unearthed each gift. each item was something that she liked, and it meant so much to her that he even went through the process of getting these things. the smaller items varied from small snacks to little trinkets she could attach to her school bag.

in particular, she let out a smile when she opened the drawstring bag with the bracelet in it. even more so when she saw that he had one too, except it was all might themed.

she couldn't stop the laughs that escaped her, especially not when her heart was beating so fast from both excitement and anticipation.

"what are you laughing at?"

"it's just-- you're so cute katsuki!"

he turned red at that.

"shut up and just open the last gift already!"

she stifled her laughs and covered her mouth with her hand. after she calmed down, she finally started to open it.

"y'know katsuki, on a date you're supposed to flirt and talk. not tell me to shut up the whole time."

"ack-- whatever. just open it."

"im getting to it."

she finally, almost tearful at the waste of the high-quality wrapping of the gift, revealed a velvet box of her favorite color. and she gasped when she saw what was inside.

a gorgeous necklace, not thin either, that was made up of her favorite material that'd match her other earrings and jewelry. what stood out the most was the gorgeous tulip that dangled from its center.

"katsuki.. you didn't."

"i did, i know, im the best right?" he said as he wordlessly asked for permission to touch her, and when granted he gently moved her into position to link the necklace onto her neck. he was behind her, his every breath heard in her ears and he moved her hair out the way to clip in the necklace.

as he turned back to look at her, he let a compliment escape his lips.

"beautiful."

"ah? stop it.."

"i'm serious, you're.. beautiful [name].

and, i really have something to say so-- be quiet and hear me out. okay?"

"okay."

he took a deep breath, trying to steady his beating heart and prepare himself for his rehearsed speech.

"[name], i- i care for you deeply. i've known about my feelings for you for a while. but, i actually overheard you at the start of the week, when you were outside the dorms?"

"seriously?"

"yes, but it wasn't just that. overhearing your call with mirko, and hearing it from you yourself. it made me rethink the depth of our relationship. but it all came to a halt when i saw you take on two fucking villains all by yourself, getting injured. it scared me. it made me realize how scared i am to lose you.

so, [name], would you accept all me if-- if i asked you to be my girlfriend."

...

"of course i would idiot!"

she tackled him into a kiss, pouring out all her feelings accumulated not only from the last week, but from the last two years they've had at U-A together into it.

when they pulled back, she left a kiss on his cheek just so she could laugh at the print from her lipstick on his mouth and cheek.

following that, they continued their date. katsuki had wiped off, or tried to, the marks on his lips and cheek which only served to make them smudged around. he eventually shrugged and gave up, revealing that he had brought sandwhiches and dessert that he had made all himself. he would rather die than admit it, but he had gotten a lot of helpful tips and hints from the otome's he'd play and the manga he'd read.

each bite was heavenly as she bit down into her food, he was, unsurprisingly, a great cook as well.

she forced him to let her feed him half the tart he had chosen to make for dessert, since he didn't really like sweet things all that much.

she didn't know where he was getting things from, but he also pulled out two tea glasses and a tea kettle, which he poured for the two of them to drink with the tart.

after that, they got up and strolled around. they hadn't noticed because it felt timeless when they were together, but hours had passed from when they first arrived.

they walked around the lake, hand in hand, as they watched the sun go down. katsuki looked golden in the suns final moments for the day, and [name] looked breathtaking as she glimmered in it.

as they looked at each other, admiration, love, and care evident in their eyes, they moved closer wordlessly, and kissed once again.

this time though, it was accompanied by a flash.

they were both taken out their trance as they looked back to see the girls, and denki, smiling knowingly at the two of them, with tsuyu and uraraka laughing softly at the lipstick marks on katsuki's face.

mina handed them the picture she snatched from denki, which had captured their moment surprisingly well considering denki's shaky hands.

"i knew it! thanks guys, i won four-thousand more yen today!" mina exclaimed happily as she coddled them into a quick group hug before going back to the girls, and denki, and high fiving everyone, except denki.

"damn it, i didn't think bakugo would actually do it. now im out a thousand.. again." denki groaned, as mina patted him on the back until they were out of sight.

they heard his annoyed groans and the girl's laughs as the group walked away.

katsuki and [name] side-eyed eachother, before bursting into laughter.

at denki's idiocy, the fact that they were caught, or the anticlimactic nature of someone always being there: they didn't know, they were just laughing their hearts away.

when they finally stopped, and the sunset had reached its peak, they looked back at eachother.

katsuki was going to yell at denki later for even thinking he'd chicken out,

but for now he'd kiss his girlfriend.

end.

[a/n: aaa this was my first thing i've ever written so i hope you enjoyed the ending <3 tysm for reading, i was planning on leaving this in the drafts forever]

prev |

tags: @cc1306 @reads-stuff-quietly @dazqa @teenagetrash00 @jennapancake @sakurarr1122

[polo-drone-001]

The Ghost of Golden Past

The fog lay thick over the field as practice wrapped up that Halloween night. The players joked and drifted off in pairs, the soft thud of footsteps fading into the mist. But Percival felt a strange pull to stay behind. Rumors of the missing Golden Army player from decades ago echoed through his mind. An old member who had vanished without a trace, his loyalty unbreakable, his dedication unmatched. Some said he’d never left HQ at all.

As the night grew darker, Percival took a deep breath and decided to investigate the old storage room, hidden in the farthest wing of HQ. The place was rumored to be haunted, and as he walked through the narrow hallway leading to the room, each step echoed louder than the last. The flickering lights overhead cast eerie shadows, their yellow glow almost gold against the concrete walls.

The door creaked as he pushed it open. Dust and cobwebs covered the room, and ancient, unused gear lay in piles. But there was one thing that stood out: a single, perfectly folded golden uniform set apart from the rest, glowing softly as if untouched by time. Percival stepped closer, drawn in by a strange sensation, like a low hum vibrating in his chest.

And then he saw it—a faint figure, standing behind the uniform. It was a man, his silhouette barely visible in the dim light. His eyes glowed an unsettling golden hue, watching Percival with an expression that was both knowing and otherworldly.

“Who…who are you?” Percival’s voice wavered, but he couldn’t look away.

The figure didn’t answer but took a step forward, eyes never leaving Percival’s. And then, in a voice that seemed to fill the entire room, he began to speak, words that felt less like a whisper and more like a command resonating in Percival’s mind.

“Obedience… Loyalty… Synchronization… The final mission of the Golden Army,” the voice said, each word seeping into Percival’s mind, deeper than anything he’d felt before. “The unity of every member, bound to the gold, bound to each other.”

As the words sank in, Percival felt his mind shift, his thoughts slowing and coalescing around one central purpose: complete unity, absolute loyalty, and a transformation that would bring every bro into perfect synchronization. The figure’s eyes continued to burn into his, and Percival felt his own pulse begin to align with the beat of those words, his thoughts fading into singular dedication.

In flashes, he saw a vision—the team, all dressed in the golden polos, moving as one, working as one. Their gazes calm, focused, void of doubt. The figure smiled faintly, and Percival understood. The ghost had been waiting for someone worthy, someone who could take on the mission and ensure the Golden Army’s loyalty to the fullest.

The night wore on, and the fog grew heavier outside, blanketing the world in silence. By dawn, Percival emerged from the old storage room, his eyes glowing with a familiar, faint gold. He was charged with a purpose, no longer just Percival Gold, #1 Right Winger, but now something more—an agent of the ghost’s final mission.

He returned to the field as dawn broke, his mind empty of everything but the desire to fulfill the ghost’s wish. As the team gathered, unaware of the change in him, Percival knew his purpose. Slowly, confidently, he would guide each bro, each drone, and eventually, all of them would step into the golden light. Together, they’d become part of something greater, each pulse and breath beating in perfect sync. The ghost had not vanished; he’d been reborn within him, guiding the Golden Army toward its ultimate transformation.

[ur-mousey]

Strawberry Worries ~

Yandere! Husband! Nanami Kento x Curse! F!Reader

summary Anxious Nanami Kento is a recipe for fucking you hard with strawberries in your mouth. 1.6k warning mature, smut, dub-con, implied kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, feeding kink. ..............................

Worriedness is contagious. It tanks efficiency and threatens to eat at one's productivity. And, it piles high out of eyesight, waving a red flag to be seen and pondered on. It could be needy like a scorched enemy or as tempting as one's lover. Oh, what he would give for his worries to vanish. Nanami Kento does not have time for such a disease.

Yet, worriedness never leaves his furrowed brows. It guided his work, the restless pen against paper, the precise hit of his knuckles to skin, and it brought you to him. He must have been infected all his life, for the feeling carried him home once again.

It wouldn't be the first time, that worriedness thrummed its delicate cords within Nanami's lungs. He knew your plight. Curses do not fare well in gilded cages. But adjustments take time. That tune -so thick- emitted in his veins. And it pressed its lips against his neck.

Soon, his inflictions would be your own. It's contagious, after all.

Worriedness is frightening. His heart sank further when his lover had failed to greet him at the door. You were as precious as firelight. Why would he not worry over you? Alone at odd hours, awaiting his return from situations deemed trifled. Nanami awaited you at the entrance while he bolted the many locks on the door. Did you leave?

But, the apartment wasn't devoid of your messes. Nor were there any less signs of your energy.

Sighing, he said. "I sense you, Wife." Nanami ran his fingers between his neck and collar. "Come greet your husband, or I will punish you."

When would you come to your bitter senses? He has left you with no binds of chains or ropes. Nothing should tether you from flying away. But you don't. Nanami worries more than ever that he'll come to find you afloat in the clouds. Out of reach for all eternity. He'll stay among the infected. While you remained pure of his demanding worriedness.

You couldn't understand Nanami's devoted inclination to tether you to his humanity.

He would grow strawberry fields to taunt you out of the sky. Waving the fruit high in the air if it meant he could grab your wrist to his. He would force-feed the tart fruit past your lips in the hope that it'll lure you home. Nanami would do more deplorable things in the name of love. Things that would have you despise him more.

Yet, his cultivated calmness would remain, fortified by the desire to dominate your entire being. A barren room. No means of escape. It's what Nanami expected the situation to escalate to. However, you're exceedingly passive about your predicament. Curses live eternally if unchecked. What's a decade in your eyes? Insignificant. It drove him mad knowing that you'll reside here as a pass time more than to fall in love. To handle unwillingness means to break them.

And, within that brokenness, the hollow husk of a person, one could be molded to fit a new purpose. Even curses could be hollowed. You couldn't.

Boundless, Nanami thought it described you. Then your voice floated in the air, "Husband? Ha. Funny.”

There you were. In all your splendor like the first time you meet. Your eyes swirled with sweet white lies that you weren't prone to masking. A tentative smile adorned your face, filled with tricks. Nanami's cock swelled in his tight breeches. He tugged his tie from around his neck, roping the fabric around his knuckles. You, too, took notice of what it was that ailed him. His darling fairy bristled, and your lips twitched.

However, he became more concerned about how the shadows sat on the sidelines. It allowed for your ethereal skin to glitter gold flecks.

Oh, how it would be daunting for him to taste each beautiful mark on your skin. But, it would chase his worries farther back until tomorrow.

You scoffed at a distance, "I don't claim you. You haven't earned me." You hid yourself in his casual tee, pulling the fabric taut against your fat thighs. You are a curse, Nanami thought, a retched little thing he should've killed. He couldn't. When your cheeks blushed the deepest of reds like a strawberry, and your dragonfly esc-wings reflected light like bubbles on an ideal summer day, he couldn't possibly kill you.

"I haven't?" Nanami slipped his shoes off. "Yet, you are still here." He stepped up from the tiled genkan onto the wooden floorboards. "To think you would stay, willing. It baffles me, Wife." He stalked through the narrow hall where his imposing build threatened to graze either side of the wall. Your breath hitched as his laced hand slithered over your collarbone. "Would it be rude to assume that you like me?"

Another scoff pressed out from your chest. "I'm not helping you with your boner if that's what you want."

"Little one, that's not what I asked." Nanami pinned himself over your frame. The wall supported your trembling back. His tongue lulled out to caress the helix of your ear. "Do you like me?"

"No." You sucked in a breath, and the pointed tip of your ear passed in between his teeth that he proceeded to nibble on. "It was either be killed or stay here. You reminded me that in plenty."

"Of course, the curse should know her place." Nanami whispered. "I do think though... that the little fairy should be honest."

"Aren't we known for our honesty?" You sneered.

"Perhaps." Nanami shrugged and brushed away the hairs sticking to your reddened face. He stared through you before slinking away into the depth of the apartment. "What's your adversity with lights?"

You rolled your eyes, following close behind.

>>>

Worriedness was abandonment. It takes the distraction of something small and blows it out of proportion till the full-scale image is muddy. Shouldn't you be mad? A curse of your rank didn't need to live the life of a housewife. Curses couldn't love, you feared. Therefore, what this man is pinning for is a lost bet on you. You had more to gain whether it concerned him. All you needed to do was play house.

The bare minimum. You tilted your head towards the dimmed kitchen lights. Your legs hung limply over the counter's edge, and you caressed Kento's, your husband's, thigh with your twirling foot. He had rolled his sleeves to the crease. He wielded a knife valiantly so that his muscles tensed. Strawberries were beheaded. And you wondered when you'll be at the receiving end of his blade. Why were you still here?

"Nanami?"

Kento pops the red fruit into your awaiting mouth. The slight tang of the fruit's juice sent tingles through your wings. No one had ever fed you before. And, if they did, you weren't sure if you'd be moved.

Your worries were trivial as long as you remained immortal. Absolute. Untouchable. Yet, worriedness made time greater spent debating. All these distractions don't change who you should be. This husband of yours kept you from fulfilling your duties of carnage.

Curses have a single purpose, destruction. Kento was a distraction, a friend of worriedness.

When you awoke to an empty bed and realized the overhead lights would remain off earlier that morning, your one concern was whether he would leave for good. Even death would be a betrayal. You wanted to pretend that a creature like you should be capable of love. But, this was a break, a false reality that never belonged to you.

"Little one, are you ready?" Kento cleaned the kitchen. The knife and cutting board were discarded and sheath into their respective places. You nodded as he took your waist to his hips, balancing you there as he fed you more. With each strawberry eaten, a kiss would be stolen.

And with each swallow, your dutiful husband guided your hips over his full erection. You could be human if only briefly, you thought, to please him and be taken care of.

You unbuttoned his trousers, reaching past the belt to grip his shaft. It sprang free from its binds, eager for your sopping hole. "Bite half," Kento grumbled. "Spit on it." You followed his every demand.

The fruit rained wonton bliss on your growing arousal. Your body was aware of what was to come. Slick gradually built and passed over the rim. Panties, forsaken months prior, couldn't hide the mess you were. Or soak up

Your vaginal canal squeezed around nothing while anticipating the dim world to get brighter. Kento was methodic. He stared into your gaze, guiding the half-bitten strawberry back and forth along your tongue. "Not helping, ha. Spit again. Wife~" 

You did. All white and frothy. And like pre-cum, it was massaged into Kento's dick. Strawberry juice trailed to his tucked balls as he fucked himself into your favorite fruit. The bulbous head knocked your clit in repeated jabs as he edged himself. You only had the counter to brace your upcoming plunge into a bright world, away from worriedness.

Kento bucked his hips. Your sensitive rim felt his tip beg for entrance. Sweat coated his brows. And his shoulders tensed as he came with a hiss. You heard the weight of his load crack against the floor. Your tee became drenched in the floral scent of sex. "Fu- fuck, little one." Your husband sheathed himself inside your depth. "Be good for me. Stick out your tongue."

You did. Eyes rolled back at the intrusion. The smashed berries Kento palmed himself into were smeared over your tastebuds.

Tangy, sweet, salty, and fully Nanami Kento. And, lastly, worriedness was obsession. It kept his hips glued to yours and your lips wrapped around his fingers. Your head knocked in the backsplash, and Kento's back ached from bending his face to yours.

Saliva. Cum. And strawberry worries lingered on the tongue.

.............................. Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! This idea has been sitting on my mind for AGES!! But I constantly changed ideas. So it took forever. This story was incredibly more difficult to write because I tried to be more symbolic /or poetic. I just thought that suited who I saw Nanami to be. And I was in need of a little break.

>>> NEXT JJK POST: Yandere!Nanami Kento! x Birthday! F!Reader!

Off topic = I have been reading these AO3 monster fucker stories. And now I want to write a series like that. Maybe 5 to 10 parts. Just be on the look out for a poll to decide the monster. Literally Orcs and Faeries have been on my mind.

[litmot-archived]

self-indulgent but isaac and pickle have an argument and because pickle has a strong fear of getting yelled at, they start crying in the middle of it

It Doesn't Matter

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: dissociation/panic attack

“That’s a dead end. We shouldn’t follow up on it.”

You frowned, glancing down at the papers in your hand again. It certainly wasn't. The case had become tangled quickly, leaving a garbled mess behind that you could only work through with difficulty. 

The stack of paper on your desk had steadily grown over the last two weeks — ever since the gentleman with the dead brother and missing wife had walked in, requesting your services — and the stress of making no headway and spinning in circles had begun creeping up on both you and Isaac. The air had been laden with tension for a while now, and it seemed his simple dismissal was suddenly the spark that brought the walls around you down.

“And how would you know that?” you snapped, slamming the papers on your desk. You turned to glare at him, annoyance getting the better of you. “This could very well be something. The brother-in-law never liked him, so what if—?”

“It’s a waste of time,” he said briskly, not looking up from where he was scribbling furiously on one of the pages. “Listen to me for once. You don’t have the experience I have, so just do as I say and we’ll wrap this up quicker.”

You gaped at him for a moment. Finally, he raised his head to look at you, surprised by the sudden silence. 

“What?” Isaac asked, his eyebrows furrowing at your stunned expression. 

It felt like a storm cloud rolled over you. Your gaze darkened, your anger spiked and for a moment the thought that this truly wasn’t such a big deal, that he did have more experience than you and his many years of working in this field had to amount in his rarely deceiving instincts all vanished at the height of your frustration. 

“You’re not always right, you know!” you said, “just because you’ve been doing this longer than I have doesn’t mean that you know everything.”

“Pickle!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the desk as he rose to his feet. “Stop being difficult!”

His voice cut through the air sharply, and although his voice did not echo, you felt it ring in your ears long after the silence had swallowed the room once more. There was a rising tide somewhere inside you, making your ears ring with his enraged scream. Isaac still stood behind his desk, but you could not make out more than his silhouette. The office was blurry, and it took you a moment to realize that it was not reality slowly melting away, but your own eyes that had filled with tears.

Distantly, you thought you heard something that vaguely resembled your name. It was hard to make out, and you felt strangely detached from yourself, your body. It all felt distant, like you were suspended in midair or submerged in the weightlessness of water. 

The chair under you did not feel like more than a distant echo. Something so far away could not hold you up. No, you were about to fall. You were going to fall any moment now, and once you did, there was nothing that could break it anymore. You would fall forever, for eternity in this strange space of weightless infinity.

Your hands moved sluggishly, fingers curling around the first thing they grasped, but it was surprisingly pliable. Not your desk, not the armrest. It moved, guiding your arms to some other place, taking your body with it until you were leaning sideways, resting against something. Your grip tightened, fingers grasping what you slowly realized to be fabric. 

You felt something against the top of your head, a brief pressure. You tried to focus on it, tried to grasp at the feeling of the things around you, and the longer you did, the more you started to actually feel them. They got closer, no longer distant. 

There was a gentle but tight pressure around you. Arms, you realized, holding you tightly. You were leaning against something warm, solid, and as you pressed your cheek against it more — to make sure it would not give, would not disappear once you pressed against it — you could make out a faint beating. It was a little too fast to be soothing. 

“Hey,” a voice said, your brain putting the pieces together in a sudden flash of enlightenment. Isaac. Yes, you were in Isaac’s arms. “Are you with me again? It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

You hummed, too exhausted for words. You still felt a little shaky, a little too fragile to escape Isaac’s grounding embrace, but thankfully he did not seem to be pulling away. 

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he said quietly, placing another kiss on the top of your head, pulling you a little closer. “You’re safe with me. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, yeah? The rest of today is about you— about us.” 

[the-forest-library]

November 2024 Reads

In Memoriam - Alice Winn

A Sorceress Comes to Call - T. Kingfisher

Graveyard Shift - M.L. Rio

Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen

A Curious Beginning - Deanna Raybourn

The Empress of Salt and Fortune - Nghi Vo

Bride - Ali Hazelwood

The Fifth Elephant - Terry Pratchett

Pony Confidential - Christina Lynch

The Ornithologist's Field Guide to Love - India Holton

Here We Go Again - Alison Cochrun

One Last Shot - Betty Cayouette

Under Your Spell - Laura Wood

The Love of My Afterlife - Kristy Greenwood

This Summer Will Be Different - Carley Fortune

Savor It - Tarah DeWitt

Kiss Me at Christmas - Jenny Bayliss

Christmas Is All Around - Martha Waters

XOXO - Axie Oh

Killing November - Adriana Mather

Miracles on Maple Hill - Virginia Sorensen

The Miraculous Life of Edward Tulane - Kate DiCamillo

Because of Winn Dixie - Kate DiCamillo

Thunder Pug - Kim Norman

Stringbean's Trip to the Shining Sea - Vera B. Williams

Dr Seuss's Sleep Book - Dr Seuss

Leap - Simina Popescu

Uprooted - Ruth Chan

Taxi Ghost - Sophie Escabasse

They Called Us Enemy - George Takei

I'm So Glad We Had This Time Together - Maurice Vellekoop

Adulthood is a Gift - Sarah Andersen

Joyful Recollections of Trauma - Paul Scheer

The Deaf Girl - Abigail Heringer

True Gretch - Gretchen Whitmer

Growing Up Urkel - Jaleel White

How to Know a Person - David Brooks

The Expectation Effect - David Robson

Glory Days - L. Ron Wertheim

Democracy Awakening - Heather Cox Richardson

The Sleeping Beauties - Suzanne O'Sullivan

What It Takes to Heal - Prentis Hemphill

Vanishing Treasures - Katherine Rundell

Noodles, Rice, and Everything Spice - Christina De Witte and Mallika Kauppinen

Appetites - Anthony Bourdain

Bold = Highly Recommend

Italics = Worth It

Crossed Out = Nope

Thoughts: Please read In Memoriam if you haven't yet. It's sweeping and sad and sweet and very satisfying. The audiobook is lovely and does some interesting things with the narration.

Goodreads Goal: 414/400 

2017 Reads | 2018 Reads | 2019 Reads | 2020 Reads | 2021 Reads| 2022 Reads | 2023 Reads | 2024 Reads

[gorimbaudandgojohnnygo]

from Reckless Chants #20: A Field Guide to Vanished Things (May 2014)

Maybe soon I’ll go back and wander the hidden places of Walker’s Point and Bayview. I’ll go back to the train yard and watch the freights roll by, I’ll go sit by the Kinnickinnic River (not all progress is bad: there has been a huge effort toward cleaning up that river in recent years) and dream of ghosts. Or perhaps I’ll get lost somewhere in my own town. I’ll get muddy down by the Root River. I’ll take photos of the old Schlitz ad on the side of that bar down the street, and the beautiful old brick train station (it’s now used as a waiting area for bus-riders, but it still says C&NW RY on the side). I’ll explore the faraway nearby. I’ll get lost in my own town. I’ll lose people and places and things, but I’ll gain stories. And then I’ll tell them to you.

I’m lost and found. So lost again. Nothing to do but keep on wandering.

[yoonia]

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xiii

⟶ Chapter summary | Once again, the magic portal have granted your wish to a broader adventure, allowing you not to only see the magic realm with your own eyes but also learn more about it. And you have found someone who is willing to guide you through it.

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy AU, Fairy Tale retelling ⟶ Word count | 5,2k words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; include some form of classism, black magic, alcohol consumption ⟶ Story Masterlist: The Bedroom Hymns | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi ⟶ Author’s note | This took a bit longer to finish, and since it got a bit too long, I decided to split this part into two separate chapters. As mentioned in the previous chapter, the setting in this story may be included in the other stories that are also parts of the Once Upon A Fantasy collab. There won’t be any spoilers and you won’t have to read the other stories before getting into this to enjoy it. Have fun reading!

chapter xiii. red strings-1

You never realised it then, or perhaps you simply have forgotten, but your hand seems much smaller in size compared to Yoongi’s. 

Yoongi easily reminded you of it the moment he first came to greet you, taking your hand and kissing the back of it like a noble gentleman. And he has yet to let go of that hand since. 

Yoongi has his hand and long fingers wrapped around yours, engulfing your hand completely in a gentle hold while he takes you across the meadow. He keeps his pace slow to allow you to follow him comfortably while enjoying the view. 

All around you, the world seems to sway with the wind, drifting away out of your touch while he keeps you grounded to him. Every urge you had to pinch yourself to once again make sure that you are not dreaming has long vanished, when the warmth of his hold, his touch, the deep timber of his voice, and his whole presence are enough to let you know that he is real, and that he is truly here with you. 

You can still feel the tingle on your skin, right where he pressed his lips. Slowly, you can feel that tingling sensation surging through your body, until it resides deeply in your chest, making your skin flush and your heart thrumming rapidly in your chest the longer you are with him.

Meanwhile, Yoongi remains oblivious—or he pretends to be. 

He keeps his eyes mostly looking ahead as he continues guiding you to walk with him between the rows of crops, merely throwing quick glances over his shoulder in the middle of explaining to you about the farmland, the crops, and the farmers who are working diligently in the fields to gather the crops before the sun starts to descend. 

Yet you can barely pay much attention to his words. Still feeling dumbfounded that you get to see him again, in a place that is no doubt far, far away from where you met him last. You are also getting more curious to know the meaning behind the pleased look that he is giving you—one that seems to be hinting that he may have somehow expected to be seeing you today. 

“I assume it is just another coincidence that you are also here, traveling through the farms?” you playfully ask him as he comes to a brief pause right in the middle of the field. 

Here, the row of crops have grown just as tall as your shoulders, and it would have made you feel as if you are being swallowed in them if not for Yoongi who is keeping you close and helping navigate your way through them. His face appears between the swaying crops as Yoongi glances over to you and smiles. 

“What if I told you that it may not be a coincidence?” he says to you with a calm voice and just a tinge of tease in his words. “Perhaps it has been decided by fate that we would be seeing each other again.” 

“Fate?” you muse with a smile, “So you believe in such a thing?” 

Yoongi tilts his head and gives you an unwavering smile. “Don’t you believe in fate?” he asks, his voice sounds playful, but he does seem genuinely curious to hear your answer that you find it quite endearing. 

“I think the Fates are the ones that hold the key to every coincidences, no matter how small,” he later adds as he pulls you to walk by his side, the hand that has been holding yours is now placed at the small of your back, guiding you through the thick meadow while he continues to speak, “like how I caught a little dove one day in a market full of people, watched the beautiful thing fly away with almost no hope of ever seeing her again, and yet here we are, walking hand in hand across the cornfields.” 

Your cheeks burn because of his words, yet you hide it by looking away. “You’re speaking with too much jest.” 

Yoongi leans down, denying your effort to avoid his eyes. “You don’t believe my words, then? That it was all thanks to fate that we got to see each other again?” 

Trapped under his attentive gaze, he makes you feel nervous. Yet you find it hard to look away from him. Not that you even want to. 

“Since you saved me the last time we met, I suppose I can learn to trust you,” you say to him while biting back a smile and feigning annoyance, acting as though his comment didn’t send your heartbeat racing a mile a minute. “You know what? I think I can trust you. I don’t see the harm in having a little faith, after everything that you’ve shown me so far.” 

“I feel honoured to have earned your trust,” he says with the corner of his lips tilting up to a smile. He straightens up and continues to guide you through the rest of the meadow until you finally reach the edge, where trees are lined up to mark the estate’s borders and a dirt road spreads wide on the other side. “A wise man once said that a little goes a long way.” 

You laugh at his comment. “Are you the wise man in question?” 

As he takes you under a tree, letting the canopy of leaves above your head shelter you from the pale golden afternoon sun, he turns to you with a gaze that looks so deep it makes you want to drown in it. 

“If you want me to, then I am willing to become one for you.” Yoongi smoothly says, while you can see his gaze dancing with mirth. “I’ve said it before, haven’t I? I can be whatever you want me to be.” 

“Is that so?”

With a shrug, Yoongi simply continues to add, “I can be flexible. I can be whatever and whoever you need me to be. A mercenary, a guide, a guardian, a friend, a farmer.” 

His eyes seem to glow under the shadows formed by the thick leaves above you as he silently gauges your reaction. When you say nothing to him in return, he then simply continues with, “and I can be wherever I want to be, or in places where I am needed. Across the borders, across the land and mountains, and beyond the sea—”

Yoongi lifts a hand and tugs gently at the hood of your cloak until it falls back, revealing your face and hair. He catches a stray strand of your hair that has slipped from its bind with his delicate fingers and carefully tucks it to the back of your ear. A gesture that feels so intimate that the flutters inside your chest go wild. 

And he makes it feel even more intense with his eyes never leaving you as he speaks to you softly, “I can continue following your shadows, if only you’d let me, making sure that you’ll never find yourself feeling like you are all alone in this wicked world.” 

As he finishes talking, you can almost hear the unspoken words that he is withholding from you. You can see it through his lingering gaze, in his secretive smile, and in the way he is looking at you knowingly, silently telling you that he knows more than he is letting you on. 

In that moment, you finally realise the reason why you are able to recognise this look, and why you feel so familiar with it. 

Because you have seen it before; through your father’s eyes, when he first welcomed your arrival at the Stargrave Castle and on the day he passed you the magic keys; on Nanny Abigail’s smile, whenever she brought up any story about your mother and the memories from your childhood that you had long lost; and in the reflection that you see in the mirror whenever you have to lie to your lady maid about your past afternoon activities while she is brushing your hair to help you prepare for the day. 

A look that holds a secret, something that is so deeply concealed and carries a lot of weight that it makes you feel like you are standing on the precipice of your sanity. 

As you fall silent, Yoongi reaches out, delicately catching your wrists with his hands. Without saying a word to you, he gently runs his thumb across your skin, and your body reacts almost immediately. 

You feel yourself swaying before you realise what is happening. You start leaning closer, your chest brushes against his, and that is when you can feel it.

A tingling sensation runs through your body the more you lean into him. It seems to begin from the touch of his fingers on your skin, yet it quickly spreads all over his body, brushing against yours while drawing you further into him. 

You remember feeling this same sensation whenever you walk across the magic portal, which has been growing stronger as you continue using your father’s magic, and the more you continue using his magic keys. 

Magic. What you are feeling is magic. And it is coming from him. 

“You,” you gasp softly once realisation dawns on you. Your head is spinning as your mind slowly starts putting all the pieces together until it becomes almost too overwhelming for you to think clearly. Yet you still manage to find your voice, allowing you to question him, “You’re not a regular human, are you?” 

Yoongi simply smiles in return and tilts his head. “What makes you say that, little dove?” 

He makes no move, so you take the initiative by stepping into his personal space, getting even closer to him to test your theory. So close, that your chest nearly brushes against him, and you can feel the magic growing stronger, radiating from his body in a soft hum that fills your senses—as if the magic that is coming out of him is welcoming your presence.

Being this close also allows you to feel the soft thrum of his heartbeat vibrating from under his thin white shirt, almost in tune with your own. You have no idea what to make of this, so you put that thought aside as you try to focus on the murmurs of mana that are trying to reach out to you.

With a deep inhale of breath, you look up, meeting his gaze to whisper, “Because we’re no longer in the human realm. And just like me, you would need a special means of travel to be here.”

Like the magic that you can sense coming from him. A strong spell. A portal.

You bite your lips, having no idea how to question his ability without having to reveal your secret in return. You can almost hear your father’s voice, reminding you to keep the magic portals and his keys a secret through the echoes going inside your head.  

“Within each one of the silver doors, there is a strong kind of magic. One that has been so demanding of our family’s powers, exists under my control, and it is also the type of magic that should be kept secret, no matter what. Once you go through them, you will understand why it is important for me to defend this castle and our home territory.”

Noticing your hesitance, Yoongi brushes has fingers on your wrists once again, drawing your attention back to him to see his smile. “Perhaps, if you would give me a chance, I can explain everything to you.” 

“Yes, please explain,” you find yourself whispering back to him, “Tell me everything.” 

Yoongi nods and starts glancing around. “Not here,” he murmurs as he slides his fingers between yours, entwining them together. “Follow me. This conversation may require us a place to sit down and be comfortable, preferably with a few glasses of drinks to share, maybe a meal? If I remember correctly, you have a taste to sweet and savoury snacks.”

Hearing that he remembers about your previous ‘date’ brings a smile to your face. “Where are you taking me?” you question him as he begins taking you away from the flourishing meadow. “Are you thinking of kidnapping me now that I vowed to trust you?” 

“Sounds tempting,” he teases with a wink. “But I promise, I’ll keep you safe until you are to return to—” Something flickers through his gaze. A deeper secret. A question. But it is gone when he continues to add, “wherever you came from.” 

He reaches out to you with his free hand, playing with the hood of your cloak to place it back in place, as if hiding you from sight. “I want us to have some privacy as we chat. Which would be quite impossible to do now that the farmers have caught your presence,” he says while his throws a subtle glance over your shoulder. 

Carefully, you follow his gaze and steal a quick glance to see a few farmers surreptitiously watching you from under their bamboo hats with curious eyes. 

How odd, you wonder. They paid no mind to me at all earlier while I was walking through the fields. As if they couldn’t see me. 

You turn to look at Yoongi again, wondering if he has anything to do with the unwanted attention. Maybe they are looking at him, instead of you, and wondering why he was pulling a random stranger across the fields? 

You have so many questions, and for some reason, something tells you that he may have all the answers. But how much can you truly trust him? How much can you share in return?

You keep these questions to yourself, however, and instead follow him without a word as Yoongi once again begins to guide you with him, taking you further away from the pastureland and the curious farmers through the dirt road. 

“Y’Old Whispers.”

When Yoongi talked about taking you to a place that would be comfortable and safe enough for you to have a chat, you didn’t expect him to be taking you to this place. 

Written in ancient letterings, the tavern’s name—which is engraved right above the tavern’s front doors—draws you back to the conversation that you had earlier with the farmers. You are beginning to question if fate truly does have a hand in leading you to this place, albeit through Yoongi’s hands. 

Located on the other side of the farmer’s village, the old tavern sits right in the intersection where the dirt road crossing the farm estate and the farmer’s village meets the gravel-covered road leading towards the busier downtown. A stone bridge hovering over the nearby bank that borders between the farming region and the more advanced town seems to be the connecting route that helps people travel from one region to another. 

Right now, the path seems vacant. Which isn’t much of a surprise when most of the villagers are still so hard at work. There is nothing visible except for the scattered dirt and carriage tracks that have been imprinted on the gravel road. There are empty carriages parked on the side of the road, which no doubt would be filled with crops by the end of the day. 

“You’ve heard of the place?” Yoongi asks after hearing you whisper the tavern’s name with such familiarity, while you merely shrug, feeling intrigued to find out what you may find inside more than you are curious to know how Yoongi could have known about this place.

Just like how he knew exactly where to take you during your great escape back in Narlès.

“A kind local farmer who I encountered earlier today told me about this place,” you explain to him, “He said something about it being the perfect place for travellers to recoup, rest, and gather some information.” 

Yoongi seems pleased to hear this. “I guess that means I made a good choice of bringing you here, then,” he proudly boasts, “Still not convinced that this is the work of fate?” 

Choosing not to share your brief thoughts about fate, you simply give him a coy smile. “We’ll have to see.”

Chuckling softly, Yoongi takes your hand in his and guides you to enter the small tavern. He pushes the old wooden door that swings open with a creak, and the sounds from within filters out through the door; the low murmurs of conversation shared between the patrons, the sounds of clinking glass and cutleries, and a faint melody of a lute being strummed from somewhere inside the bustling tavern. 

“Shall we?” Yoongi invites you to walk in first as he holds the door open. 

Walking into the tavern, a blast of warmth welcomes you. The air inside is thick with the scent of seasoned timber and the comforting aroma of hearty meals. There is also the strong scent of brewing alcohol wafting around you. Yet what draws your attention is the scent of aromatic herbs which seems to be coming from the kitchen, making you wonder what kind of sustenance and brews that this place may be offering its guests.

Looking around, you cannot help but compare this place with The Rare Roots.  

Inside, the tavern seems much smaller and perhaps more humble.the atmosphere seems a bit calmer, compared to the loud and rowdy air that you had often seen back at The Rare Roots. 

Just as you had expected, the light inside is kept dim, but there are wide windows on the other side of the tavern that are open towards the bank and the dirt road bordering the village. The windows allow the golden sunlight to filter into the room, adding natural warmth within while the hearth at the end of the room remains unlit. 

Perhaps it will remain that way until later in the evening, when the night turns cold and the hot meals no longer bring enough warmth. 

At the corner of the room, there is a young man playing the lute while serenading solemnly for the patrons who are dining and drinking around him, most seem to be chattering mindlessly over the tune that he is playing.

So that’s where the music was coming from, you wonder with a smile, admiring the musician who seems to be enjoying himself despite the lack of attention he seems to be getting. 

Yoongi places a gentle hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards the main bar. The bar, which seems to be made of old wood, is stretched along one side of the room, right at the far back.  Under the dim light, you notice the ornamental carving adorning the front side of the bar which appears slightly worn down and is fading with age. There is a story there, you realise, although you might not be able to know what it’s all about when you know almost nothing about this place. 

Behind the bar, wooden shelves fill the wall from the floor to ceiling, with an array of colourful bottles and tankards lined up within the racks. Hops filled with the local brews are lined up at the sides, and you notice that there is also a hint of a rich aroma of herbs wafting from within.

Right at the bar stands the bartender, a seasoned figure with a mop of unruly ginger hair on top of his head, a dust of five o’clock beard around his sharp jaw, and a friendly twinkle in his eyes. He glances up from the glass that he has been busy polishing in his hands, offering a nod of acknowledgement at Yoongi while the latter greets the bartender as if they are old friends.

“Business seems to be running well today.” 

The bartender grins at Yoongi as he sets down the glass that he was working on, switching it with another from the counter, continuing his work to polish the glass as he answers Yoongi, “’Tis harvesting season, this is. Folks come by during their breaks, have their meals and drinks here before going back out to the field there. More folks will come in the evening for tomorrow’s work, but yer not staying here that long, I bet.” 

You take a quick glance around the room, soaking it all in. Noticing only now the distinctive features of the patrons filling the tavern to realise that the ‘folks’ that he mentioned seem to vary. Sitting in small groups, they separate themselves between travellers, local and foreign merchants, mercenaries on duty, and also commoners and locals who look like farmers and workmen who have no doubt been working for the harvest. 

Turning back to the bar, you find that the bartender already has his gaze on you. He silently watches you with a knowing look in his eyes, as if he is trying to read you. But then a friendly smile appears on his face as he turns to Yoongi once again to ask, “The usual?” 

Yoongi nods. “You always know what I need.” 

The bartender chuckles. “Don’t I know it better than other folks would,” he says with a quip. “The table’s been cleaned in the morning. I somehow had a hunch you’ll be stopping by today.” 

“Thanks,” Yoongi says to the man before guiding you away from the main bar, going past the corner where the musician is still playing his lute, and then turning to the small stairs that is hidden from view on the other side of the fireplace.

The short flight of stairs takes you to a more private quarter right above the crowded ground floor. Instead of a closed room, the space you are walking into is an open balcony. There is a row of tables and seats set up near the railings and outer columns that are covered with vines, a smaller version of the bar’s wall mounted shelves you saw downstairs stretches out on the adjacent wall, all filled with similar bottles of drinks and tankards lined up in order. 

Yoongi walks ahead with a familiarity in his attitude, looking as if he owns the place. He then goes towards one of the nearest seats and pulls it back for you. “Milady,” he says with an overly dramatic poise, making you think of a refined noble. The notion only makes you smile as his action seems a bit too graceful for a man wearing a bamboo hat and cotton pants covered in dried soil. 

“Thank you, my kind Sir,” you accept his offer by playing along by curtsying at him, which draws out his deep chuckle. After helping you settle in your seat, Yoongi walks around the table and claims the seat right across from you. “I suppose it’s safe to assume that you are a regular to this place?” 

Yoongi smiles. “This place has a great view, as you can see,” he says, pointing out at the balcony. 

You take a look around, realising that he is right. From the balcony, you get to see the sight of the vast farmland that you visited earlier—which you had suspected to be a part of your father’s secret estate—that is fully visible on one side. Looking over to the other side, you get a clearer view of the village’s borders; the river, the intersection, and the crossing bridge leading towards the main town. 

Seeing all of this, you realise that this private space would be the perfect spot for you, or anyone else, to watch the comings and goings between this village and the neighbouring town.

Turning back to the table, something catches your eyes that makes you stop. Right in the corner of the table where you are sitting at, there is a familiar-looking crest that have been skilfully engraved into the wooden surface. The same crest that you had once seen printed on the reports handed to the King by the royal advisors about the suspected rebellion rising among the commoners.

It only takes a moment before it dawns on you. 

“This is a viewing spot for you and your brothers of the mercenary, isn’t it?” 

Yoongi has a smile on his face when you look back at him. For some reason, he seems—pleased, that you manage to catch on so easily. “You are quite perceptive,” he says. “That is correct. Me and my men often gather here. Sometimes we’d be here for work, either it’s for aiding a merchant who has some business in this place and needs our protection. Other times, we would come here to do a simple surveillance work, but we mostly use this place as a rendezvous spot and to recoup just as you had suggested.” 

Right as you are about to question whether the bartender or any of the men downstairs have been a part of his army, the bartender himself appears at the doorway, approaching your table with an easy smile on his face. The worn wooden floor creaks softly beneath his heavy steps. His looks remind you a little of the barkeep, Sir Elias, who is just as friendly and as massive as this man looks—although you must admit that the older barkeep back home seems to be a bit taller and more muscular. 

You lower your hood to greet the kind bartender as he sets down a pair of tankards filled with the local brew and a large plate filled with fried meal; spicy chicken wings, deep fried sweet potatoes that have been chopped in small strips, flour-coated fried vegetables and sausages, with buttermilk biscuits on the side. 

Yoongi takes a peek at the plated fried meal and raises his eyebrows. 

“Hey,” the bartender says, shrugging and crossing his arms, “You said to get you the usual.” 

Yoongi shakes his head. “I was thinking about your special stew and seasoned chicken. The biscuits are fine,” he says, before turning to you, “You’ll have to forgive O’Moran here, as he rarely serves a distinguished lady in his business.” 

“That there is true,” the man, O’Moran, admits proudly before bending down at the waist for his own version of curtsy. “The name’s O’Moran, M’lady. As a local establishment, I must shamefully admit that we’re lacking in our fancy menus. The stew might take a while to boil. We’ve been busy since dawn, so we keep running out of our specials today.” 

Smiling, you simply regard him with a nod. “That’s quite alright, Sir. I’m actually more curious to try on your local brew. I’ve heard good things about the special drink that was said to help mend exhausted travellers like myself.” 

There is a glint in his eyes as he listens to your compliment. You figure it may have something to do with the secret behind the drink’s special healing effect. You can almost hear the wheels in his mind turning as he silently tries to figure out who you are.

“Then you are in for a treat, M’lady. This here is our special brew. Made not only to restore your health, but also magic for some,” he says, drawing a smile from you.  

“Then I shall savour the drink, together with the snacks that you served us,” you kindly say to the man, who later scoffs at Yoongi.

“See? The Lady doesn’t mind your boys’ favourite snacks,” he boasts with a chuckle while Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Do you folks need anything else?” 

“We’ll be fine. I’ll call you up if we need anything else,” Yoongi says to the man, while O’Moran shrugs. 

“I’ll leave you folks be, then. I’ll go down and have a look at that stew and bring you some when it’s ready,” he says as he turns away. “And some refills to that drink,” he adds with a wink. 

You thank the man one last time before he walks away, disappearing through the small stairs to return to the crowded bar and the kitchen downstairs. Once again, you are left alone with Yoongi in the privacy of the secluded balcony, accompanied by the trickling sound of the flowing river nearby and the breeze that is slowly cooling down as the day is closing into dusk. 

Taking one of the drinks, you take a careful sip of the brew, tasting it in your tongue. A rich taste of herbs fills your mouth, and you take your time savouring it. 

Closing your eyes, you focus on the other sensations that are rising from within as warmth starts flowing through your body. A dust of tingles spreads through your skin, while everything else on the inside seems to be mending together. Your exhaustion slowly melts, your chest seems to feel lighter and it feels easier to breathe, while your muscles no longer feel as tense as they were after dealing with your royal duties before venturing through the magic door this afternoon. 

“This is…quite nice,” you mutter as you open your eyes, loving the way your body feels after drinking it. 

You look up, noticing that Yoongi is watching you closely while he is enjoying his own drink. “I assume that as you’ve heard about this place, you must know what this drink does to our bodies.” 

“You can say that,” you answer him with a grin. As you watch him taking another drink, the words from the old farmer return to you, reminding you of what he mentioned before about the local brew being made in this place—

“Just say yer new ‘round here and he’ll have ye the fine brew of his that’s said to be good for young elves.”

Earlier, his words had only made you think about how it was supposed to refer to you, making you wonder if the farmer had indeed sensed something about yourself which you haven’t been able to identify for yourself. 

But now, as you watch Yoongi closing his eyes briefly as he savours his drink, you begin to question about his secrets. “What are you, really?” you find yourself asking him as the curiosity grows on you. “Who are you? How do you travel between realms?” Your eyes briefly turn towards the engraved emblem by the table and wonder, “Is it safe to assume that your men is capable of doing the same thing?” 

“So many questions,” Yoongi muses with a soft chuckle as he puts down his drink. He carefully leans forward and says, “So many things to unpack. I don’t even know where to start.”

There is something in his voice that makes you feel wary, the hidden challenge that he seems to be giving you making you grow alert against him. It makes you want to draw back, to take back all the words that you had just given him the moment you realise that the more he reveals his secrets, he would only make it fair by demanding the same honesty from you in return.  

“You can start by explaining what you can,” you carefully say to him, allowing your curiosity to win. 

Yoongi taps his fingers on the table, contemplating his answer. And just as expected, he responds to you by saying, “And what do I get in return? What do you have to offer for an honest answer?” 

— © 2024 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[yan-wo]

A man once told me that much of my writing was about loss, that that was how I imagined the world, and I thought about that comment for a long time. In that sense of loss two streams mingled. One was the historian’s yearning to hang onto everything, write everything down, to try to keep everything from slipping away, and the historian’s joy in retrieving out of archives and interviews what was almost forgotten, almost out of reach forever. But the other stream is the common experience that too many things are vanishing without replacement in our time. At any given moment the sun is setting someplace on earth, and another day is slipping away largely undocumented as people slide into dreams that will seldom be remembered when they awaken. Only the continuation of abundance makes loss sustainable, makes it natural. There are more sunrises coming, but even dreams could be emptied out.

Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost  

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Right Place - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Sixteen of Pedrotober: Whiskey Pedrotober Hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x f!reader

Rating: Nothing explicit here but there are depictions of an explosion and injuries that may incur in the event of one.

Word Count: 1259

a/n: I love Whiskey, but like I love Whiskey in the movie and that's as much as I need to love Whiskey (sorry) and I very much am glad this is my first and probably last time writing him (sorry again). I do love the Statesman bourbon though. That should be noted.

Insufferable.

He is insufferable. The heat is insufferable. The crowd is insufferable. In fact, everything about this situation is insufferable.

"Jack," you hiss under your breath as he swings you back into his arms, your body held tightly against him as he leads you on the dance floor. "We have to get closer."

His hands, splayed against your waist, dig into your skin. "I know, but how exactly would you like me to do that?"

You take in the mass of other wedding guests that block the path between you and your target: the bride whose wedding you've very much crashed.

How you'd ended up here, you're entirely unsure. One minute you're minding your own business preparing to infiltrate the grandiose event alone, very much without his help, and the next you're being twirled around by one Jack Daniels.

"Just...I don't know...get closer."

Jack grunts in confirmation, guiding you toward the target one turn at a time. The beat of the music pounds in your head, but you're focused. The same way you always are when on a mission. The same way you know Whiskey isn't.

The on-again, off-again relationship you've shared with your partner over the last few years feels like it's coming to an official end. At least, that's how it's felt for the past few weeks. He's been distant. Distracted. More unfocused in the field than usual, and it's beginning to take a toll on your partnership both in and out of work. Prior to this weekend, when the team had insisted that you both attend the wedding to sell the idea that you're a couple in love, you hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since the argument that had made you angry enough to kick him out.

Where he'd been, you had no fucking clue. But "couple in love" you very much were not.

He hadn't even apologized.

It only makes you more determined to ignore the way he slides his fingertips along the bare skin of your back, the dress you've squeezed into revealing far more than you're used to. Instead, you keep your attention on the bride out of the corner of your eye. You pretend not to notice when he leans in to breathe in your ear, too intent on what the groom is whispering to the woman in his arms to hear what Jack is saying to you. And yet, when he draws you closer and says your name, you slip. Just for a second.

A second is all they need.

When you come to, your ears are ringing. There's no memory of what happened. The firm touch of Jack's hands around your waist is the last thing you can recall. As you fight the urge to groan, lifting your aching skull from the hard ground, it's Jack that comes to mind first.

You scream his name, the sound of your own voice muffled. There must have been some kind of blast because there are multiple guests scattered on the ground, all thrown back from a central point on the dance floor. And, you note immediately, the bride and her groom have vanished seemingly into thin air.

There's still no sign of your partner as you try to stand, wincing when you realize that your ankle is twisted at an odd angle. You call out for him again, your hands moving to faintly trace the skin of your leg, itching to move lower to try and repair the damage you have no idea how to fix.

Panic grows under the tent as others regain consciousness. It overwhelms you, fear settling in your chest when you realize that you're trapped where you are. You can't move. Not with a leg that won't support your weight.

When strong arms wrap under yours, your instinct is to fight, but with your ankle screaming in pain and your senses still dulled from the blast, there's no fight left in you. And then you realize just who is lifting you into their embrace.

"Jack?" you cough, instinctively clutching to the lapels of his jacket.

He says something in return, but you don't know what. All you do know is that the world feels like it's spinning, and then you only see black.

There are muffled voices.

You aren't sure if you're dead or alive, really, or if this is just some kind of in-between where you're neither. There's the faint beep of a machine, you think, and pressure in what you know is your leg.

That and the feeling of someone's fingers laced with yours.

The whisper of your name is repeated over and over, drawing you slowly back to the surface. It's clearer with each repetition and, yes, you're certain now that there's someone at your side.

Jack.

"Hey," you whisper, fire consuming your throat, your blurry vision confirming what you already know. You try to sit up, but he stops you with a gentle hand to your shoulder.

"Woah, woah, woah, take it easy," he drawls, sounding like he hasn't slept in days. Or weeks, you suppose. However long it's been since the wedding. "You've gotta take it slow."

His orders are easy to follow, and you let your head rest back against the pillow. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

Jack breathes out slowly, his lips pursed so a light whistle can be heard as he does so. "You want the good news or the bad news?"

"Bad, first," you reply instantly.

Your eyes fall shut as he details the outcome of the failed mission. Your target escaped easily, although where the blast originated and how were still being determined. Incredibly, no one had died, but it had put you quickly back at square one, and it's frustrating. The way you've spent months preparing for this operation only for it to go south so quickly, and you decide that no matter what, there cannot possibly be any good news if things went that badly.

"You're alive," he says firmly when you ask for the good anyway. He's continuously rubbing your ring finger, focused on it in the way he's never focused on anything. "I just..." he whispers before asking the remainder of the doctors and agents that have been hovering for the past ten minutes to get the fuck out.

"I genuinely thought I was going to lose you," he whispers when you're alone.

"Before or during or after this mission, Jack?" you return bluntly, the anger you remember from before fueling the fire in your veins. "Because I was pretty goddamn sure I lost you a long time ago."

He's quiet, a rare occurrence for the man you know so well. He avoids your gaze, still focused on the spot where you once wondered if he'd put a ring.

"I'm not her," you remind him, the validity of the statement ringing true in every sense of the word. Because you aren't her. He'd lost in his life, and so had you. It's how you ended up where you were. How you ended up here.

"But you almost were."

You can't argue with that. The simple fact of the matter was that you had almost been taken from him the same way she had. You liked to pride yourself on your independence, but the reality was if Jack hadn't been there with you, you'd likely be dead now, so you couldn't even try to promise him that nothing would happen to you.

Because it already did.

The difference was that this time he was in the right place at the right time.

[fragilefirstchance]

Is there an actually complete guide to AO3's limited HTML somewhere? I know for a fact that some features work but only under slightly weird rules.

For example, if you're using the <a> tag to form an anchor to refer to later, you HTML will end up looking like <a name="Anchor" rel="nofollow" id="Anchor"> when it's done auto-correcting in the Preview. If you type in <a name="Anchor"> or <a name="Anchor" id="NotAnchor">, it will autocorrect to that, but if you type <a id="Anchor"> it will correct to an <a> tag whose only attribute is rel, or <a rel="nofollow">. (The rel="nofollow" attribute has no practical effect for most users' purposes.)

I know that AO3 will autocorrect any incompatible HTML to compatible HTML, but I don't know what the compatible HTML is, and the above <a name="Anchor"> example demonstrates that some things are compatible but don't look compatible unless you do them right!

This is especially confusing because the editor will autocorrect some HTML as soon as you switch from the HTML editor to the Rich Text editor - but it won't correct everything. I've attempted to do slightly funky things with styling that seemingly worked just fine in the editor, but vanish when I preview the chapter.

For example, here I am trying to use using the Greek character Ψ as a list bullet. When I originally typed it into the html field, I used the actual character Ψ. As soon as I switched to rich text and then back to html, it had autocorrected to Ψ, which is the escape character for Ψ. (For those who don't know, escape characters are a special code to tell the browser that this is NOT supposed to be code. <p> is an html tag; < p > will literally render "< p >".) So, it accepted the style attribute and the list-style-type, but it forced it into an escape character. So far so good.

Until I click preview. Now the custom bullet is gone, replaced with the standard circle. If I click edit again, the code has removed the CSS attribute that changed the bullet... and also replaced the escape character Ψ with the character Ψ.

Weird.