#had to physically restrain myself from rendering

[kyuyua]

Etho slab and big beans 💚💛❤️⚓️

[etherealphosphor]

Shelved Emotions

⟡ Contains: Dottore x Gn!Reader, Sfw, Fluff, Dottore tries to hide/get rid of his feelings at first, Dottore’s segments like the reader

⟡ Dottore’s thoughts are in blue italics

⟡ Segment names/colors: Zeta, Delta, Theta, Epsilon

Dottore was frustrated. Despite his best efforts, he could not escape the weakness of human emotion. He devoted himself to his research, blocking out all distractions. He refused to let his feelings hinder him; they were the last thing keeping him from perfect, unbiased results.

He targeted his feelings toward you in particular. Dottore was partly angry and partly ashamed that he could even fancy someone; the mere idea was childish to him. What use was it to think about you, his errand runner, when scientific research was far more important?

However, every time you looked at him with those bright eyes or smiled sweetly at him, he was rendered speechless. How was it possible to feel this way about anyone? And how in the world could that someone possibly be more important to him than his experiments?

Dottore slowly began to lose all interest in his work, as his thoughts were starting to get in the way.

This has gone too far, and now I can no longer focus properly on my research. I must find a way to rid myself of these emotions.

And so, with that, Dottore got up from his desk and went off to look for something—anything—to aid him in his search. He began to walk towards the library, a fairly large room with shelf after shelf of informational books. While Dottore did have his own smaller personal collection of research books, there would be nothing about romance in any of them.

But before he could walk through the doorway, he began to hear familiar voices. This stopped him in his tracks, and he peeked into the room, staying quiet so as not to be seen.

There, he saw you surrounded by four of his segments. It was obvious to Dottore that all of them were competing for your attention, and there was no way you hadn’t noticed as well.

"So, [Name], which one of us do you think is the best segment?" Delta said, smiling at you.

"Oh, well, I don’t know—"

You were quickly cut off by Theta, who began to make sarcastic remarks as usual. "It’s obviously me; I mean, I'm the perfect version. Who wouldn’t pick me?"

"Hm, personally, I think that [Name] likes me the most. After all, I’m closest to the original." Zeta said, tilting your chin up with one hand.

Epsilon grabbed Zeta’s hand away, scowling at him. "Maybe [Name] would prefer somebody a little less—I don’t know—cold?"

"Woah, calm down, Shorty. You don’t have to give him the death glare." Theta chuckled, patting Epsilon’s head.

"Hey! I’m not that short!"

Epsilon was the youngest of the four, which meant he was often teased for his height. He also happened to be the feistiest, making it even more entertaining for Theta to poke fun at him.

Delta had to physically restrain Epsilon so that he wouldn’t start attacking Theta. "Epsilon, please, he’s not worth getting worked up over."

Meanwhile, Zeta took the opportunity to start playing with your hair. "[Name], do you have a significant other?"

Dottore had had enough of this, and he quickly walked into the library.

"You four. What is going on here?" Dottore’s expression was dark, and he spoke in a very harsh tone.

Instantly, Epsilon stopped struggling, Delta’s grip loosened, Theta stopped laughing, and even Zeta’s ever-present smirk faded.

"Oh, uh.. boss, we can explain—" Epsilon stammered, but was cut off by Dottore.

"I want no explanations. You all must clean my office, and if it isn’t spotless by the time I get back, you will all face great consequences. Do you understand? And especially you, Zeta. We will be having a conversation later."

The four segments turned to each other, silently exchanging looks of shock.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go, now!"

Quickly, all the segments left the library, leaving Dottore alone with you.

"Are you okay, [Name]?" Dottore said, his tone much gentler than it was a minute ago.

"Yeah, I’m fine; can you please not punish them too harshly? I’m the one who greeted them first. Why did you even send them away at all? They didn’t have any work to do." You replied, looking at Dottore with eyes full of concern.

Dottore’s heart lurched with jealousy. Why couldn’t you worry about him like that? Why did it have to be his segments?

"I have my reasons. Please don’t be afraid; I won’t do anything bad to them. Mostly just scold them for bothering you, that’s all."

"They weren’t bothering me, not a bit. I actually quite enjoy their company; without them, my day off would be quite uneventful." You said, determined to clear the segments’ names.

"Ah, very well, then. I’ll go a little easier on them in that case." Dottore sighed. There was no way he could say no to those eyes of yours.

"Thank you; I’m glad." You smiled at him.

That small action was enough to make Dottore blush. "No problem. Anyway, what are you doing in the library? Looking for something to read?"

"Well, obviously," you chuckled, "but I can’t find anything good; it all seems a little boring to me."

"That would be because this is a research library. If fiction is what you are looking for, you won’t find it here."

"Oh, that’s a shame, then." You looked a little disappointed, your voice losing its usual bright tone. "I haven’t had anything to read for months."

No, no. I mustn’t say it. It isn’t necessary. I don’t have to. Aren't I trying to stop these pesky feelings from happening? Nothing is stopping me from bidding [Name] farewell right here. But.. they look so upset.

However, despite Dottore trying to stop himself, he ended up saying it anyway.

"Why don’t you come back to my personal chambers? I believe I have a shelf of various works of fiction in there. If you wish, you can have everything; I have no need for any of them."

Your eyes lit up. "Wait, really? You do? I’d love to go check it out and maybe borrow a few. Though, I would never take your books from you, even if you don’t see a need for them right now. You might want them in the future; you never know."

"I suppose you are correct. Well then, shall we?" Dottore extended his hand as a polite gesture. What he didn’t expect was for you to actually take it.

You wrapped your fingers around Dottore's, smiling at him. "Mhm, let’s go."

Dottore’s face went red, and his eyes widened a little. His hand tightened around yours, and he began to lead you towards his room. To get to it, one must go through his office first, and so Dottore opened the door and walked in.

There, the four segments were standing, awaiting Dottore’s return. When they saw your hand in his, all of them felt secretly disappointed, wishing it was them who got to hold your hand. Except for Epsilon—with him, it was no secret. He was glaring jealously at Dottore as you two walked by.

"Shorty, fix your face." Theta said, nudging him.

"Stop saying I’m short!"

"Epsilon, stop yelling, or you will be disciplined further. Do you want to clean the rest of the offices in the headquarters?" Dottore spoke coldly.

"No, I don’t. Sorry, boss."

With that, Dottore unlocked the door leading to his room and led you inside. His heart was still beating quicker than usual, but he was starting to get used to the feeling of having your hand in his. He decided to leave the door open, as the last thing he wanted was for you to feel uncomfortable.

"Well, this is my room. It’s nothing special, but it serves its purpose. Over there by the window should be the shelf I was speaking about." Dottore pointed to it and sat down on his bed.

You looked over the contents of the shelf until a series of teal books caught your eye. All of them were quite banged up and evidently pretty old.

"Woah, is this what I think it is? I can’t believe you have it." You said as you pulled the first one off the shelf.

"Hm? [Name], did you find something you like?"

"Oh my gosh, all eleven volumes? I didn’t even get that far." You smiled, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

In your hands, you held the first volume of The Fox in the Dandelion Sea. Dottore got up and walked behind you, staring down at the book.

"The Fox in the Dandelion Sea? Isn’t that a fairytale?" Dottore asked, wondering what interest you would have in a children’s book.

"Mhm, it’s my favorite. My parents used to read it to me before bed when I was a kid, but we never ended up finishing the whole series." You told him, smiling down at the book.

"Ah, I see. Well, feel free to take as many as you want; I know they aren’t particularly lengthy. You can come back at any time if you don’t want to take the entire series with you at once."

You grabbed five books off the shelf, holding them under one arm. "Thank you so much, Dottore."

"Anytime, seriously. It’s not as if I’m doing anything with them." Dottore said as he walked with you towards the door of his office.

"Aww, are you leaving already, [Name]? Not even going to say goodbye?" Zeta teased as Dottore opened the door for you.

"Ah, where are my manners? I’ll see you guys later." You said as you waved to the segments.

Then, smiling at Dottore, you lowered your voice a little. "I really appreciate you letting me borrow these books; it means a lot to me."

Suddenly, you wrapped your arms around Dottore, pulling him into an embrace.

Dottore’s face instantly went red. "I- Uh- [Name]? What are you doing?"

"Ah! I’m sorry. You’re my boss; that was weird. I apologize if I crossed a boundary." You let go, mortified, and you stared at your feet, a blush slowly creeping onto your face.

"Oh no, no. It’s okay; don’t worry. I was just a little surprised, that’s all; you didn’t make me uncomfortable." Dottore affectionately ruffled your hair, assuring you it was okay.

This made you blush even more, and you smiled at Dottore again before walking out. "Have a nice evening, Dottore. Don’t overwork yourself, okay? You have an awful habit of burning yourself out."

"You too, [Name]." Dottore smiled back, waving as you left.

Once he closed the door, Dottore’s expression instantly turned neutral again. His segments were all staring at him.

"Boss, what was that? You seriously didn’t make a move?" Theta said, sounding quite annoyed.

"What do you mean by that, Theta?"

"You seriously don’t know? How thick is your skull?"

"Rude."

"I might be rude, but at least I can take a hint."

"Do you really want extra chores? Because that is what you will get if you continue speaking to me like that."

"Hmmph. You really need to lighten up."

Dottore ignored Theta’s comment. "Theta, are you suggesting that there’s a possibility that [Name] could reciprocate my feelings?"

Delta joined the conversation. "Boss, to me, it’s very obvious that [Name] fancies you. Their face went a bright shade of red when they hugged you, and they also seem to care quite a bit about your health. Plus, I don’t think there’s any chance that the way they look at you is platonic."

Dottore’s eyes opened a little wider. "A-Are you sure? Is that really what you think?"

"There’s no doubt in my mind, boss."

Over the next few days, Dottore was constantly flustered by you simply doing your job. So much to the point where he couldn't even do his research; all he could think about was you.

Once, you brought Dottore some papers he needed to sign, and when handing them to him, your hands brushed for a moment. Even that small action gave Dottore butterflies, and he promptly looked away from you so you wouldn’t see him blushing.

That night, Dottore called Delta into his office.

"Delta, you’ve always been one of my most rational segments. Which is why I wanted to ask you if maybe you could help me with this problem." Dottore said, looking across his desk at Delta.

"I can always help out, boss. Is this concerning [Name]?"

Dottore nodded. "Yes, it’s about exactly what you think it is. I’ve come to find that I cannot get rid of my feelings, nor can I hide them. I have come to embrace them, and I accept that I am truly in love with [Name]. However, I still wish to find another way to stop these thoughts from interfering with my work."

"Well, I suppose you could confess to them? If [Name] admits to liking you as well—which they probably will—you might begin to feel less nervous as you get more comfortable with them. And if they tell you that they don’t feel the same, then at least you will have your peace of mind."

Dottore sighed. "I guess you’re right. However, I heavily doubt that I could muster up the courage to confess to them in person; I’d have no idea what to say."

"You could always send them a letter and a gift." Delta suggested.

"That’s a good idea, yeah. But what kind of thing would they like?" Dottore thought for a moment. "Oh! I know!"

Dottore quickly got up from his desk and walked into his room to grab the first five volumes of The Fox in the Dandelion Sea, which you had returned a couple days ago.

"Boss, what did you think of?" Delta asked as Dottore put the books down on his desk.

"I’m going to recreate these books from scratch. I’ll make the cover, write the words, and illustrate the pages. You can tell [Name] to take the whole week off, say that I’m working on something confidential and I need total concentration. It shouldn’t take me too long; I’ve done the process a couple times in the past. Especially because these are such small books, with only a couple pages each."

"Don’t overwork yourself, boss. I know how much [Name] worries about you. You have all the time in the world to get your gift ready." Delta said, watching Dottore gather papers and pens.

"They really worry for me that much?" Dottore looked up at Delta, his eyes widening a little.

"Oh, definitely. [Name] mentions it all the time."

"Well, that's very sweet of them." Dottore said, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

Delta nodded. "It is. Now, boss, is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Ah, yes, there is; can you possibly find me a dandelion plant?" Dottore asked him.

"Sure, I can do that, no problem. I’ll check the stores in town." Delta replied, turning around and walking towards the door.

"Before you go, I have a question for you."

"Yes, what is it?" Delta looked back at him with his hand on the doorknob.

"Why are you helping me? I know you like [Name] as well; why do you bother? Shouldn’t you be trying to woo them like the other three?"

Delta smiled. "The other three know that they have no chance, boss. Sure, they might try to flirt with [Name], but they don’t actually expect [Name] to reciprocate. The situation is a little different with me, as I don’t try to flirt with them as much. We segments pick up on things you don’t, boss; I know that [Name] would be much happier in a relationship with you. Which is why I don’t even bother trying hard; I already know the outcome."

"What? You’re really that sure that [Name] likes me?" Dottore responded, eyes wide.

"I am indeed, boss." Delta said as he walked out.

Over the next few days, Dottore was constantly cooped up in his office, working on your gift. There was even a sign on the door warning anyone other than his segments not to come in. Dottore barely slept at all, and when he did, it was at his desk.

However, after many sleepless nights, he did eventually manage to finish your gift. There in front of him sat five beautifully made fairytale books, even prettier than the original. The illustrations inside the book were painted with watercolor and outlined in ink, giving them a lovely aesthetic. Dottore flipped through all of them once more, making sure everything was of the finest quality.

Then he began to write you a letter.

"Dear [Name],

I’m aware that you must have picked up on my strange behavior as of late, and I must apologize if it has concerned you. In truth, there is something I must come clean about. I have fallen deeply in love with you, [Name]. I cannot keep this confession to myself for any longer, or else I fear it may eat me from the inside out. If you do not reciprocate my feelings, I completely understand. I will have you immediately switched to run errands for a different harbinger, and your pay will not change. You do not even have to speak to me. If you do wish to have a conversation about this, though, I will be in my private chambers. The door is unlocked.

Sincerely, Il Dottore"

Once he had sealed the letter in an envelope, he set it down on top of the books. Then, reaching over to the pot on his desk, Dottore plucked a grey dandelion and set it down on top of the stack. Once he was done, he stood up and grabbed a length of brown string, wrapping the gift nicely so that nothing would slide off.

Just then, Delta came to check in on him, as he did every once in a while. "Boss, how is everything going?"

"Oh, hello, Delta. Things have been just fine. All I need to do now is put my gift in [Name]’s room so that they’ll find it later. Since it’s late in the morning, shouldn’t [Name] be in the library? Could you possibly distract them for me, just to make sure nothing goes wrong?"

"Of course, boss. That’ll be no problem." Delta responded, walking out of the office with Dottore trailing behind him.

Once they reached the library, Delta went off to chat with you, and Dottore continued walking. He stopped in front of the door to your room and tried the doorknob. It wasn’t locked. Quickly walking inside, Dottore set the stack of books down on your desk and got out. The last thing he wanted was to invade your space more than he had to.

I won’t get my hopes up, even if Delta and the others are telling me that [Name] has romantic feelings for me. I don’t want to be disappointed. Even if they don’t like me, I hope they treasure my gift.

Dottore was deep in thought as he walked past the library, but snapped out of it when he heard Delta’s voice.

"Boss, did your business go according to plan?"

Dottore stopped walking and looked at him, saying, "Delta, come now; we have things to attend to."

Delta got up from the chair he was sitting in. "Ah, yes, boss. I’ll see you later, [Name]."

Delta waved goodbye to you and began to head back to the office with Dottore. Dottore seemed lost in thought, staring at his feet.

"Are you nervous, boss?"

"Yes, Delta, I am very nervous. How could I not be? I could lose [Name] if things don’t go well." Dottore said, his voice shaking with worry.

"It’ll be okay; I wouldn’t assure you of something I wasn’t completely sure about. [Name] really does like you, boss." Delta comforted Dottore, sensing that he was on the edge of a panic attack.

"I really hope you’re right, Delta." Dottore replied as they reached his office.

"Boss, I have a question: what happens next? You haven’t told me your whole plan."

"In the letter, I told them that if they want to chat with me, I will be waiting here." Dottore explained as he opened the door to his room.

Meanwhile, you had gotten up from where you had been reading and made your way back to your room. Opening the door, you walked inside and found a small stack of books on your desk with a dandelion on top.

What is this?

You untied the string binding the books together and picked up the envelope addressed to you underneath the flower. Tearing it open, you took out the letter and began to read it.

As you scanned the text, your eyes widened. Not even bothering to look at the gift Dottore had prepared for you, you started to run to his office. His amazing craftsmanship could be admired later, but you needed to tell him how you felt immediately.

Catching your breath at the door, you opened it and walked inside. Delta was sitting at Dottore’s desk, but you didn’t even notice him.

You knocked on the door that led into Dottore’s room, saying, "Hey, Dottore? You’re in there, right?"

"I am; come in."

When you opened the door, you found Dottore sitting on the end of his bed, his back turned to you, and his head in his hands. Silently, you sat down next to him.

"Dottore, look at me, please." You spoke in a soft tone.

Dottore looked up, his beautiful red eyes filled with worry. It was obvious that he was assuming the worst. You smiled at him, wrapped your arms around his neck, and kissed him.

At first, Dottore was caught off guard, but soon he pulled you into his embrace, careful not to break the kiss. He poured all his love and affection into that kiss, eager to show you just how much you meant to him.

Although neither of you wanted to, eventually you had to pull away to catch your breath.

Putting your hand on Dottore’s cheek, you stared into his eyes. "I love you, Dottore. I always have. Everything about you drives me crazy. Your eyes, your hair, your voice—everything. To the point where I can’t even think straight."

"I love you too, [Name]. Words cannot describe how lucky I am to have you in my life."

Dottore leaned back in, passionately kissing you once more as he held you close to him.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜

for aegon, i don’t know why but that line screams aegon for me (i mean it also screams aemond) but i can imagine aegon saying that.

Aegon ii SMUT Prompt #8

pairing: dark!Aegon ii Targaryen x niece!fem!Reader

warnings: incest, swearing, mentions of SA, physical violence (altercation), female receiving (finger*ng), mentions of p in v sexual intercourse, jealous!Aegon, possessive!Aegon, breast play/kink, edging.

Your relationship with your Uncle was a unique one of that… Sharing a compellingly, special bond, one that was filled with nurture, possessiveness and love [although many would argue obsession, on Aegon’s behalf]. You were his, as he favoured to reiterate on many occasions. And tonight, he would come to attest this.

****

A lovely, Targaryen maiden you were. Many eager and hungry eyes of lords and knights in Westeros sought for your hand in marriage, as a potential wife. Not to forget, you had a strong connection to the Iron Throne, the political and societal advantage you had sowed to you, your potential husband would gain from also.

And although your relationship with your Uncle, remained a discrete one of that for now, as your mother [Aegon’s elder sister] and his own had their indifferences… You couldn’t risk being torn away from him, although at times he struggled to keep himself in line. Aegon was jealous through and through, and tonight’s ball had tested his ability to restrain himself for your sake and his…

****

“Oh Y/N, you are a young, beautiful and unmarried maiden… This hand yet belongs to no other man. Just allow me-”

“No!” You insist, Jason Lannister had been into you since the festivities had commenced. Showering you with compliments during the feast, as he approached the royal table, asking for a dance [which your mother insisted you take, as means to lure the Lannisters to her cause] and finally, having sought the chance to leave, seeking the fresh air and lonesome company of the gardens, he had somehow managed to find you. Although, things taking for a twisted turn, finding yourself backed to some stony corner and the young Lannister’s hands venturing and groping places only Aegon was granted to.

You felt frightened and fury, you attempted to retaliate, even going so far as to smack his face hard across, yet these attempts rendered useless. The man had an eager cock but even more of an eager mind.

“Do not play me the fool, Y/N. I saw how you enjoyed tonight, how desperate you are for me. Pathetic girl-”

“Let! Me! Go!” Using all your might, despite the restriction of your corset, you tried to shove him off, and you deemed your efforts a success, as Jason’s mass was no longer on you. Although, noticed a familiar figure and set of platinum hair, pulling the grotesque man far from you, shoving him against the sand stone wall, with such a ferocity.

“You ever touch her again, Lannister, and I’ll have your fucking hands. If you even go as far as to look in her direction, I’ll gouge your eyes out myself.”

Twisting his arm the way Aegon had, you were certain he’d dislocated something, Jason’s face forcefully shoved against the wall, as Aegon released him, standing his ground in front of you, you noticed small, fresh cuts across his cheekbone.

Jason’s eyes fluttered over you, looking beyond Aegon, and Aegon having noticed, took a great swing, punching Jason right across the jaw, leaving the young Lion to howl in pain, blood oozing from his mouth.

“Do not make me repeat myself, Lannister.”

Now whimpered away around the corner, his cries growing fainter until silence, Aegon turns to you, as he soothes his fist, now reddened from the impact.

“Aeg- My love, thank you,” You softly uttered, taking his hurt hand in yours, as you laid a gentle peck over the knuckles, caressing it.

“What were you thinking, Y/N? To dance with him, let alone run out here? Foolish girl, if a man is desperate enough, he’ll smell you out.”

“Is that how you found me here, needing to be rescued is it?” You bashfully provoke, a bright light glistening in his lilac orbs.

“Do not think I did not notice what was going on. Seven Hells, it was torture. I must admit, Y/N dearest, I do not know how much more longer, I can keep this facade up, my love.”

“I know, Aeg, I know. In all due time… But for now, thank you. I-I don’t want to know what would’ve happened, had you not been there.”

“You’re mine. And I take care of what belongs to me.”

A faint smile beamed across your face in exchange with his sweet words. You truly saw no other future, other than with Aegon, it was only a matter of time. Tip toed up, you lean forwards, sharing a passionate kiss as Aegon’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you, remaining there as you let go.

“Such a great feat should not go unrewarded, mayhaps my Saviour, wishes to do as he pleases-”

Undoing the front laces of your dress, loosening the bust, your cleavage exposes more, the material dropping as your breasts plunge forward.

“Mayhaps, he wishes to touch these-”

Aegon’s eyes fleeting from your breasts, to your face and back towards the entrance to the party, and back down at you, he guides your steps back into the corners. Away from any lingering eyes, nestling you between himself and the wall, as he lifts your mass up, resting you atop his leg.

“More-” He growls, as one hand reaches down below, his fingers teasingly graze the entrance of your folds, already moist from his heroic action.

“A greedy hero I have claimed, I see… Whatever pleases you.”

In cue to your words, Aegon shoves two digits in between your folds, motioning circles as his fingers explore from within. Quiet, moans helplessly fall from your lips straight into Aegon’s ear, as his head rests atop your bust, his lips suckling at the soft flesh of your cleavage. Even feeling a prompt, sharp bite, teeth plunging into your skin, leaving a trail of red, dented bite marks. Your wetness begins to stir, coating his thick fingers, as their size and motions stretch you out in preparation.

“That’s it, Aeg. My body is all yours, only yours.”

Without a warning, Aegon inserts another thick finger, feeling the ring breach your entrance, jammed tightly not moving further in, as your walls clench around the fingers inside.

“Fuck, I can feel your pulse, how tight you get for me baby, that’s a good girl.”

“O-Only for you.”

The tip of his finger, rubbing harshly at your clit, your grip on Aegon’s clothes back grew firmer, desperate for something bigger and longer to sate the tension beneath.

“A-Aeg I-I need you-”

“Just a little bit more baby, stay with me-”

His words salivating at your breasts, the warm breath and saliva coating your nipple as he suckled and spoke on. His teeth gently nibbling and pulling at your nipple, to tease, knowing how sensitive you’d get.

What felt like eternity, was most likely only a few minutes, as you continued begging Aegon for his cock.

Just as he did so to enter, he pulled his fingers out, your chest heaving as your pant in relief. You could feel your weight dropping on him, as he carried you against him, his fingers coated with your cum, inhaling your scent, as he licked it off one by one.

“Tonight baby, we will continue this tonight… Gives me a reason to get through this god forsaken evening.”

[emotionallychargedtowel]

about that Minato's Laundromat season 2 storyline...

As your resident psychology PhD I'm commenting on this even though I would rather forget about the whole thing and just hope it's over soon. But I haven't been able to restrain myself from ranting about it privately, so I may as well rant here.

Setting aside what I think of this as a plot device (what I think is that it sucks), this is even more unrealistic than most TV and film portrayals of traumatic brain injuries, or TBIs, which as a whole are abysmal. (Please note that "traumatic" in this context refers to a sudden tissue injury due to an accident or violence, not to the person having a traumatic experience, though of course the two things can totally co-occur.)

If I can take a step back for a second, once you learn anything at all about traumatic brain injury so many plotlines in TV series and movies become incredibly frustrating. How many times have you seen a character bonk another on the head as a convenient way to render them unconscious only to find that soon afterward, the person who's been hit in the head wakes up practically unscathed after a convenient span of time has passed? I have no doubt that there are people who have taken these portrayals seriously and hit others hard enough to cause a TBI because they thought it wasn't a big deal. I'm equally sure that the prevalence of this trope has had an effect on TBI survivors's difficulties being taken seriously. It's pernicious and it makes me so angry. TBIs aren't the type of thing that you typically just walk away from in the same condition you were in before they happened, and they shouldn't be portrayed that way in media.

Back to the Minato's Laundromat plotline. Shin sustains a pretty serious fall-related TBI. He appears to have been unconscious for a good while since it looks like a bright afternoon (maybe early evening at the latest) when he falls and it's dark when Minato sees him and is told he regained consciousness not long before. It seems like he was unconscious for more than half an hour but it hasn't been 24 hours yet, which puts him in the range for his injury to be considered a moderate TBI. Don't let the label fool you--a moderate TBI is a very big deal. People with moderate TBIs can experience personality changes, cognitive deficits, and all sorts of other major issues.

Loss of memory is common with TBIs, but the most common type of amnesia with a TBI pertains to events just before or just after the injury occurred. Retrograde amnesia, where you can't remember what happened just before the injury, is rather common. Anterograde amnesia, where you don't remember events after the injury, can happen too. But forgetting details about your life? That is not a common symptom.

Guess what's even less common? You guessed it: the kind of highly specific amnesia Shin has in Minato's Laundromat. Forgetting one specific relationship or person isn't unheard-of in psychology, but it's almost always selective amnesia related to a traumatic experience. It's like an extreme defense mechanism in which the person unconsciously blocks out a whole swath of their experiences. The information that gets lost is linked not by its location in the brain, but by a semantic link--a link based on the meaning assigned to those memories. Loss of semantically-linked memories is associated with psychological causes, not physical ones. This kind of symptom is based on thoughts and emotions, not brain structures.

The effects of TBIs, on the other hand, are related to the location of an injury and the functions of whatever portions of the brain are impacted by that injury. Brain localization is the phenomenon whereby different parts of our brains are responsible for different functions. For example, our frontal lobes house a lot of our executive functioning abilities, so a TBI mostly affecting someone's frontal lobe could make them more impulsive, less able to plan effectively, and so forth. Or if a person sustained an injury to their Broca's Area (a spot near the front of the left hemisphere that is important for speech), they would likely have difficulties communicating. If Shin had an "all about Minato" section of his brain and it got hit when he fell, then sure, it would make some sense if he lost his Minato-related memories. But that's not how our brains work--except in that one genre of cartoon humor where we see inside someone's brain and each of the things they care about has its own little region. But Shin isn't a cartoon character. His memories of Minato aren't housed in one specific place separate from his memories of other important people in his life.

I dug around and found that there have been some cases of selective amnesia due to TBI. However, these are vanishingly rare, with only a handful of case studies and nowhere near the amount of data that would be needed to draw any generalizable conclusions (in other words, any facts we could apply to other cases). If Shin was a real person and he forgot about his relationship with one important person in his life due to a TBI, this would be so unusual that psychologists and psychiatrists would have come from miles around to observe him and he would likely have had his case written up in a neuropsych journal, after which it may have ended up in more widely-read publications. He also would likely have been kept for observation much longer than the period we saw in the show.

But the weirdest thing about his case, if he were a real person, would be that he is suffering such an intense amnesia symptom and yet has no other symptoms of note. Moderate TBIs can have very severe effects. They can change your personality, cause serious difficulties with communication, trigger seizures, sharply increase someone's risk of substance abuse--I could go on but you get the idea. The effects are often profound. Many people who experience a moderate TBI develop a serious disability as a result. Occasionally, people who experience a moderate TBI can get lucky and avoid the worst kinds of symptoms. But to have one highly unusual and severe symptom and no others would be extremely weird.

Once again, we find that a media portrayal of TBI is highly unrealistic. Worse, it's trivializing. Honestly, treating a TBI in this way, as a cheap ploy to further a romance plot, is pretty ableist.

Sometimes we suspend disbelief about this kind of thing when we watch visual media. There are so many other psychological diagnoses and symptoms that are inaccurately portrayed and generally overused. For example, how many TV and movie characters have had a "split personality" that bore no resemblance to actual experiences of Dissociative Identity Disorder? But if a show or movie is going to use something like this to advance a plot, they need to make it count. It needs to serve a real purpose that couldn't be accomplished just as easily by other means. And that's simply not true in this case.

The only solution to the issues created by this plotline would be to resolve it as quickly as possible and allow the characters to move on, preferably memory-holing it completely, like that time on Friday Night Lights that (spoiler alert) Landry murdered a guy and then no one ever spoke of it again.

[elpisofhope]

My friends have. the BEST OCs

From top to bottom, left to right:

@cybergriffon‘s Seyren, @yayao-yuying-studio‘s Huatai, @chika-nyan‘s Aphrodite, @speakeasier‘s OC, @hebewithcups‘s FRENCH OC, @zeldacw-love‘s You, @desertskald‘s Melucar, @toriels-pun‘s River (the furry), @bluenecromancer‘s Lily

[power-chords]

In fairness, it’s not. Sometimes it’s a side effect of a disability, but most alopecia in and of itself is purely cosmetic, even if it’s autoimmune in nature (stupid fail body attacks hair follicles). Watching these conversations from the sidelines is wild. I don’t know why I expected the general public to have a solid, basic grasp of a medical condition that they are guaranteed to either encounter in other people or experience themselves.

The conversation they are circling around but not having, that I’m surprised so few people are having, is how women’s hair loss specifically is not normalized to the extent that it is for men, and how the experience of it is mediated by all these nasty, misogynistic, often racist expectations about feminine worth and desirability. Despite the fact that it is incredibly common, that most women will eventually develop some amount of it as they age, and that you can expect to see a much greater incidence of it in the wake of COVID.

I can only speak for myself, but in terms of how it has affected my self-confidence and self-image, how I experience it personally as a white cis woman, it feels like a kind of dysmorphia or physically-oriented dysphoria. It destroys a part of your secure, gendered identity and renders it a site of constant, active, anxious restructuring. I am way more zen about it now, but when I first started losing my hair I felt like less of a woman. I felt disfigured. I have a fractious enough relationship with my Aesthetic Performance of Womanhood as it is. Having a long, wild, dense mane of hair was one of the few traditional signifiers I was comfortable with, that looked like “me.” Losing that was something I actually had to grieve. It sucked.

And I went through that with an incredibly supportive family who was willing to help me pay for PRP injections and my first human hair wigs, who never made me feel like my despair was unwarranted or superficial or indulgent. I am fortunate to be married to a man whose evaluation of my attractiveness borders on Wife Guy Delusion. He really and truly thinks I am the most beautiful woman alive, and was baffled by my tearful fretting that he’d find me ugly with half my head of hair. (“And you’ll look super hot with a buzz cut if you ever decide to go that route!”) I can’t imagine how much worse it would have been without that incredible social and financial safety net under me.

Jada Pinkett Smith has many of those resources available to her as well, but unlike me, she has to navigate the whole mortifying obstacle course in the public eye, as a Black woman. Jesus fucking Christ. Now factor that into the calculus. I would want to crawl under a rock and scream forever. The more I think about it, the more tastefully restrained I find her husband’s reaction.

[thestraggletag]

Silver Tongue, a Rumbelle fic

Summary: Based on this prompt. Royce Gold is determined to confess his secret feelings towards the librarian. Unable to do it in person he sits down to write a letter but a combination of liquid courage and a determination to truly unburden himself made him perhaps a bit too ardently honest. And a bit careless.

This might have a sequel.

Rating: NC-17 

It had taken a long time to arrive at this point, but now that he’d made the decision Royce Gold was oddly calm, as if having made the decision had magically ended the slow-burning agony he’d been in since the library had opened three years ago. He hadn’t much thought he would be affected by the event, and had privately thought it wouldn’t last. He could not see there being any need for a library in Storybrooke, a town where most people had last held a book in high school, if even then. He had thought it would not last long, one of Regina’s many pet projects that was abandoned when it did not justify its constant spending of town funds.

He had been wrong, in the end, because he hadn’t factored in the librarian. Belle French swept into town with her high-end, short-skirted fashion and noticeable Australian accent and he thought the moment he saw her that she wouldn’t last. Too foreign for a small town like Storybrooke. He had been wrong, though. She had soon made friends with the miners, and Granny and Ruby, and even a few of the teachers from the local school. She also made sure to make the library indispensable, organising book clubs and other after-school activities for the children, offering computer literacy courses for adults and a place for the knitting club to meet, as well as regular table-game nights that surprisingly became wildly popular with certain crowds. And had made Granny an unbearably-cocky backgammon champion, two years running.

So she had stayed, and soon he had begun to notice the danger in it. The way he could not stop staring at her in the diner, or as she walked down the street. They way he got tongue-tied when in her presence, and turned softer, kinder. The way his smirks turned to smiles around her, and he laughed easier. She was smart, and learned, and had a delightful sense of humor. Dark, like his. And yet she was a being of light. Kind, always ready to help, and willing to see beyond the surface. Beyond the drunken escapades of Leroy, or the scandal surrounding Miss Blanchard and Mr Nolan, or his own sordid reputation. And it was that thing that made her so dangerous, how unafraid she was of him, and how determined she seemed to be in getting to know him.

He had been half in love with her before he realised it. The attraction he could deal with- after all, she was a gorgeous woman, and he a man with eyes- but the feelings scared the fuck out of him. It was too late to stop himself, however, so he resigned himself to being a besotted fool… from a safe distance. Only the more they interacted the less he seemed reconciled with the idea until it felt like he was choking on his unexpressed feelings. 

That’s why he had decided, in a fit of uncharacteristic emotional bravery, to unburden himself. Confess his feelings, likely be politely refused, and put an end to the madness. Or perhaps, if fate smiled upon him, be rewarded with a tentative acceptance to a dinner date, and perhaps more. It was always a possibility, albeit a small one, but enough to give him the push he needed.

He had decided it would be best to write her a letter. He got stupidly tongue-tied in her presence, after all, and there was something whimsically old-fashioned about a written letter, which he was sure she would appreciate. So on Friday night, after dinner, he locked himself in his study, fished out his Waldmann Tango and his best stationary, and…

Drew a resounding blank.

It was difficult to start writing with a blank page, he reasoned, so he tried at first simply to write the opening line, immediately falling into a ten-minute debate on whether to address the letter to “Miss French” or “Belle” and what to put in front of it “Dear Miss French”, on one end of the spectrum, seemed too dry and cold, and “Dearest Belle” on the other, too forward and presumptuous.

In the end he decided on “My dear Belle”. There was no point in writing a letter declaring his feelings if he could not even bring himself to call her by her given name and the slightly possessive edge to his greeting might come off as ardent rather than off-putting.

The opening paragraph seemed easy at first: “I am writing to you in order to express certain feelings I am sure have gone unnoticed so far, given the pains I’ve taken to ensure they remained hidden, in part due to our mutual circumstances and standing in town…” yet after a few times reading and re-reading it he had the odd, sinking feeling he might be writing the slightly-more-modern version of Mr Darcy’s ‘In vain I have struggled’ speech and that hadn’t gone over well the first time around. Luckily for him, at least, Belle had no sister he could insult while he was at it. So he scraped it and tried again, but soon felt everything he wrote sounded too formal, stilted and lacking in emotion. He was laying it all down like it was a contract to seal one of his deals, and it was hardly conducive to romance, or reflective of his true feelings.

He stood up, going for the wet bar he kept in the corner of the office. He selected a half-full bottle of Lagavulin and poured himself a generous three fingers into his favourite tumbler, deciding to forgo ice altogether. He needed to loosen up and good Scotch always helped in that. He sat down again, downed the drink in one go, and took another shot at it. He wanted to sound… Passionate, he supposed. It was the whole point of the letter, after all, to confess his true feelings. And his feelings were… ardent. Powerful. All-consuming, at times. Like a small, flickering flame that had slowly built into a veritable inferno. Though he did not wish to frighten her, he did wish to unburden himself and leave her with no doubt regarding his feelings.

“There hasn’t been a day since you arrived in Storybrooke that I haven’t felt your presence in some small way. You’ve taken a permanent residence in my mind and my heart, and there are days when I can scarcely think of anything else. All it takes is a small conversation or even a passing smile and I’m rendered useless.”

He fetched the Scotch from the bar and poured himself another drink, deciding it would be best to leave the bottle nearby. He felt he was finally getting into the groove of things, building up to something that sounded less like a legal clause. He downed his second Scotch, feeling the pleasant burn as it travelled down his throat, and took his pen again.

“You need not be concerned if you do not share my feelings. I will respect whatever decision you make. I simply wanted to tell you of the warmth you inspire in me, the way you’ve torn through all the walls I’ve built between myself and the rest of the world. And yet I know you to be, above all things, kind. More beautiful on the inside that you are on the outside, if that’s at all possible. I know that I am safe in your hands, whether you choose to give me a chance or not. Thank you for treating an old beast with kindness and humanity and know that, no matter what the outcome is, you have a friend and an ally across the street from the library, if there is ever anything you need.”

He signed it simply “Yours” because it felt apt. He certainly felt hers, in any case. Below he signed his name, trying to make his signature a bit more whimsical, give it a tad more flourish. Afterwards he stretched, poured himself another drink, and read it. It was… Good. Not too dry, not too passionate. Solid. Respectful but a good representation of his feelings at the same time.

Well… to an extent. He gulped down his third glass of Scotch and poured himself another, ruefully acknowledging that the letter was not quite honest. It was a bit restrained. Or a lot restrained. It felt like the gentlemanly thing to do, to tone down some of the more unbecoming feelings, keep those more intimate urges locked up for the time being. But perhaps, he mused, he could let loose a bit, to try and see if a more emotionally-honest letter would actually be preferable.

He could tell her, perhaps, a bit more about how it was hard for him to keep his eyes off her when they were in the same room. How utterly beautiful she was, small enough to make him wanna crowd her in, whisk her away somewhere and lean over her, feeling her breath on his neck. How he adored her high heels and flirty skirts and wished nothing more than to-

He removed his tie, and scratched out that last sentence, automatically fishing for his drink to try and cool himself down. He was beginning to get inappropriate and, anyway, he did not wish to come across as if he was solely enamoured with her physical appearance. Though he very much was enraptured by it, it was her personality that had made him fall for her. Things like her kindness, her understanding, her insatiable curiosity. He wished to share everything with her. Wanted to teach her all the secrets of his trade, have deep discussions on books they mutually liked, bare his soul to her inquisitive eyes.

“In my dreams, over and over, I am a willing slave to your curiosity, your insatiable need to explore and experience. When I close my eyes I see us in every way two people can be together, entwined till it’s impossible to decipher where I end and you begin. You let me press my mouth against every inch of you, drink from your cunt till I’m satiated, but it’s never enough. I wish to vainly attempt to quench your curiosity anywhere and everywhere you’ll let me, at any time of day. Over and over till neither of us can walk and I cannot remove your scent from my fingers, my mouth, my cock.”

He stared at the paragraph, head tilted to the side. The paper looked a bit blurry, so he checked to make sure he was wearing his glasses. He was. Odd. He reached out for his glass of Scotch, surprised that it was empty. He refilled it, noticing the bottle felt surprisingly light. He re-read the paragraph, trying to figure out if it was a bit too risqué. But, he reasoned, Belle was risqué, in her attire, in her reading choices. Sure she would appreciate him being the same, going out of his comfort sort in order to convey the depth of his affection.

“I dream of fucking you for hours on end. Slowly, with the care and thoroughness you deserve, till we’re both numb and spent. I want to make you ache in places where the pain bleeds into pleasure, and convince you that only I am worthy of making you come. That none of the boys you might have had between your lovely legs were worth a second look. I want to become your favourite toy, there for whenever you might need me, eager to please, to make you sigh and moan and keen till you are hoarse.”

He was hard, he noticed, but it was hardly a surprise, though he thought he might have drunk a bit too much for his body to rise to the occasion. He thought about touching himself for the briefest second, but quickly dismissed the idea. He was on a writing roll, it wouldn’t do to jeopardise that. Instead he poured himself another glass of Scotch, surprised when he had to tip the bottle all the way. He didn’t remember drinking enough to empty it, but he must have. Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the letter.

“I want to take you against the stacks of the library, amidst the books you love so much. I want to fuck you in the backroom of my shop so your smell lingers there. I want to go down on you in my bed for ours, till the silk sheets are ruined beyond repair. I want to consume you anywhere, everywhere, knowing that I will never be truly satiated, that it will never be enough. Have you splayed across my dining room table so I could eat you out as many times as I wanted, as much as you needed. I want to do everything to you, and have you do everything to me, till I can’t scrub you from my skin, the same way I cannot seem to be able to erase you from my heart and my mind.”

It was a bit of a sappy ending, but he supposed it balanced the more physical emotions out. He signed his name at the bottom with a flourish, smiled in satisfaction and staggered to his feet, determined to make it to his bedroom. He would get a good night’s sleep, wake up refreshed, and deliver the letter personally first thing in the morning.

In the morning, once he was done throwing up and had managed to shower, he shook his head at the idea he could’ve ever thought he would wake up anything other than terribly hungover. He popped a couple of aspirin, forced himself to swallow a few bites of dry toast, and dressed himself for the day. Before going out the door he remembered the letter, wincing when he recalled specifically the second draft he had made, clearly in a state of drunken foolishness. He picked up the sheets of paper, thinking for a second about ripping them up. He stopped himself at the last minute, though. The letter might not be fit to ever be seen by Belle, but he fancied the idea of rereading it later. He folded it neatly into an envelope and fetched a second one for the original, much more suitable letter. He would slip that one underneath the library’s door on his way to the shop. 

He was startled by his home phone ringing, picking up to see it was the tip on the estate sale he had been waiting for. He jotted down the necessary information, went back to his desk to retrieve the letter and was out the door a few seconds later. He hurried to the library and, before he could convince himself otherwise, slipped the envelope with the letter underneath the doors, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety afterwards. He had done it, and though he felt unbearably nervous about the whole thing, he was proud of himself for following through.

Or he was, until he opened what he thought was the unsuitable letter and realised it was the original first draft. He had switched them up by mistake. Ice flooded his veins, and he felt like someone had punched him in the gut, leaving him gasping for breath. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him, not with Belle. The more he thought about it the more his mind recalled fragments of the letter, lingering in its uncouth language and vivid imagery. He was fucked, totally and completely.

Unless…

Maybe she hadn’t opened the letter yet. Or she had, but hadn’t gotten around to read it all. The first page or so was quite reserved. Perhaps he could sneak into the library and retrieve the rest, or swap it for the correct letter. He had the keys to the library, as it was his property, rented by the town. It would feel and likely be a terrible violation of the librarian’s private space, even though he did not intend to go beyond the library, but it would be worse to allow her to be submitted to such basic thoughts as the ones he had written down the other night. 

With that in mind he took the library keys from his safe and went out into the night. Storybrooke, being a small town, was deserted at that time, which was a blessing. Less people to see him slip inside the library using the back door, or hear him as he rummaged around inside, trying to be quiet and not use his phone flashlight, lest that alert Belle upstairs in her apartment somehow. Tentatively he made his way to her office, sure she would have surely put the letter, hopefully unsealed. But when he got close he noticed light coming through the windows of the office, where the blinds were partially-lowered. It seemed that, given his fucking luck, Miss French was still diligently toiling away doing something or the other for the library. Nevermind. He would take a discrete peek, to see if he at least spotted his letter atop her desk, and if he did he would hide in some shadowy corner of the library and wait her out. If he didn’t he would cut his losses and go back home, to try and figure out how he was ever going to face Belle again. 

He approached silently, drawing one of the slats down to peer inside. He spotted Belle right away, leaning back on her office chair with an ottoman propping her feet up. She was reading something and for a moment he appreciated her face, eyes focused on the page, cheeks slightly flushed and lips parted. Then he registered the rest, the shirt tossed above the desk along with her bra, the black silk camisole making her hardened nipples visible and her left hand, which disappeared somewhere beneath her rucked-up skirt. She sighed, head rolling back as she whispered something.

He didn’t know what registered first, whether it was the fact that she was saying his name or that it was his letter she was reading, clutched tightly to her right hand. There was no doubt as to what she was doing, and yet he could hardly believe that Belle fucking French was bringing herself to orgasm in her office while reading his letter. He pinched himself, unwilling to believe he was seeing what he was seeing, but the sting felt all too real. It wasn’t a dream, it was, somehow, reality. Sweet, sweet reality.

He needed to get out. As much as he burned to just burst into the office and let his mouth do what Belle’s fingers were attempting, it wouldn’t do. By some miracle she was not offended or otherwise put off by his risqué letter, but she sure would be by him breaking into the library. Offended and perhaps scared, unsafe, which was the last thing he wanted her to feel, especially in his presence. He would sneak out, quietly, and swing by the library tomorrow afternoon, right after closing time. As much as it would embarrass him to bring up his letter he would know she reciprocated his feelings, or that at least she was open to them, and that would give him the courage needed to ask her out. 

It was a solid plan, a great plan. And it would’ve worked, he was sure, if he hadn’t knocked over a banker lamp as he backed away from her office. The  antique bronze made a horrible noise as it collided with the floor, and the green shade shattered upon impact, making a mess.

“Who’s there?”

Fuck.

[the-dragons-knight]

FFXIV Write 2021

Prompt #22 - His Scent

<Mature Themes Ahead, Spicy, but not too spicy>

Fluster - ‘nervous excitement’ ———————————————————— Katsum pressed her nose into the cap of the bottle in her hand, breathing in the smell of the faint smell of the cologne that still lingered there, her ears falling back with her sigh as her tail curled around her legs and over the sheets that coiled around her like a nest, “Oh, Aymeric, please come home soon.”

She still was not used to how these…“heats” made her feel, burning her from the inside out and flustering her as everywhere she moved in this house she could not escape Aymeric’s scent and it was driving her insane with need for him. She had always loved the way he smelled, her feline-like senses always picking up the subtle traces of his tea with birch syrup as well as parchment paper and thick furs, and those senses were only heightened by her weak moments of wanting as they were now. His sweet cologne was no exception as it was one she had picked out for him that first Starlight they shared. The thick, alluring musk of forest trees and mountain air that would on a normal day draw her in to relax made her wild and want nothing more than to bathe in its scent while being wrapped in the warmth of his body. Yet for the moment, that was not an option. Not until he came home.

So instead, here she lay in their bed, undressed down to a wine-red, laced bra with a sheer, baby-doll style cover top and a pair of panties of the same color pressing the cologne close to her face as she nuzzled it. So hot and bothered had she been that she couldn’t stand to wear anything else, hoping the cold of the Ishgardian mountain tops would cool her down, but to no avail. Aymeric’s scent had her captive, and none save the man himself could save her.

Katsum could only hope that she would hear him come in soon as she feared she might lose herself if it was too much longer. She could already feel the warmth of her flushed cheeks growing hotter until she finally discarded the cologne bottle on his nightstand and pulled his pillow into her arms to cuddle against, trying to soothe the ache for any kind of physical contact she could find. It had seemed to help calm her enough to relax and she settled slightly with a gentle purr and curled her tail around as she just nearly found a way to drift off into sleep.

“Katsum? Are you here?” That is until the deep voice of her beloved husband rang in her ears and suddenly she was wide awake.

“Aymeric~,” She gasped, looking towards the door, “I’m here, my love. I'm here!” She would. have tried harder to hide the tremble in her voice, but it was clear that no amount of changing her tone could ever hide the overwhelmed emotions she felt right now.

The dark wood door finally opened as her raven-haired shining knight stepped into the room, a concerned expression on his tired face until he truly took in the sight of her and he gulped. Yet ever the gentlemen until he was given her permission, he merely hastily closed the bedroom door behind him and slowly moved towards the bed, “Are you alright, Kat? You look…very flushed.”

Katsum’s ears perked and she moaned at the sweet sound of his voice, releasing his pillow as she stretched languidly on the covers and drawing his eyes to roam across her skin, “I am now…now that you are here. Oh, how I’ve waited for you to come home~.”

Aymeric cleared his throat as he swallowed thickly and moved to the edge of the bed, trying to keep his eyes from wandering too much and reached out to rest the back of his hand on her forehead, “I have missed you very much as well, my sweet, but are you sure you are not ill?” Yet his question was answered on its own when he indeed felt her forehead burn, but also watched Katsum’s reaction as she purred loudly and pressed against his hand, reaching up to seize his wrist to hold him there. Katsum looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and she watched his eyes both light up with realization and then darken, “Ahh I see. Is it that time again?”

Katsum nodded, moving to sit up on her knees and grab ahold of his coat collar as she pulled him down into a searing kiss. She felt Aymeric sigh into the kiss as he let himself go and leaned on one arm that he placed on the bed beside her while the other wrapped itself under the sheer cover to lay against her heated skin and hold her close, tracing her spine with his fingertips so that she arched into him. She purred into his mouth, her tail encircling his wrist on the bed. Her fingers traveled from the furs of his coat to cup his face and turned her head slightly to deepen their kiss, drawing a soft moan from Aymeric’s mouth. She slowly began to lower them down towards the bed shifting slightly so that she would fall back perfectly in place under him. She’d been waiting all day for him and she was getting tired of waiting, yet before she could succeed in laying them both down though, Aymeric pulled away. He chuckled at her as she tried to chase his lips.

“My, so very eager,” He said, grinning as his playfulness began to show, “I haven’t had a moment to undress yet. You must give me time to.”

Katsum growled softly when he unwound his arm from her back and she dropped to the bed, her tail thumping against the bed with frustration as she lifted herself on her elbows, “I’ll undress you, Aymeric, so please just—”

He answered her by quickly leaning down over her and pressing his lips against her neck, rendering her speechless as any further retort died on her lips. She sighed thankfully as his scent filled her nose again and the feeling of his kisses on her neck soothed her want for physical contact, at least the first strands of it. She tangled her fingers in his hair as she pressed her nose into his neck, pressing small kisses of her own on his skin just under his ear. She felt his voice rumble in his throat as he hummed in response. He broke his kiss to press his nose into her hair and take in her smell before he pulled away slightly to smile down at her.

“But a few moments is all I ask for, my love. It is clear you have been waiting for me all day and so I would not make you fight with buttons and clasps tonight. And I do not wish to have another shirt ripped, hmm?” She looked away at that with an embarrassed expression which only made him smile more as he began pulling off his coat, “I will take care of you, this I promised the day we married and I promise again today. I will not make you wait long.”

“You had better not,” She growled playfully, batting her eyes as she sighed longingly watching his muscles move under his shirt, waiting anxiously for them to be laid bare for her, “I cannot say for how much longer I can restrain myself.”

Aymeric paused to lean in and press his nose against hers, “Neither can I. Not when you are dressed so ravishingly.”

“Aymeric! Please!” She pouted.

“Haha! As you wish, my queen~.”

[jjkpls]

crayons ‘set’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, light angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.8k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

The principle of balance. 

It’s a curious concept. Like most of the things that turn people into different versions of themselves, just from an unconscious force brought to light by the sheer inner sense of competition that inhabits every single person. It’s quieter in some people. Feel non-existent sometimes. But it’s here, dormant, just waiting on the right trigger to awaken. 

You didn't think you would see it in Jimmy. The little boy lacks completely self-confidence and affirmation. But a voice and a stance, easily remarkable, end up fitting him.

It turns out that you witness it quite quickly after the Progress has started. And it manifests in the most adorable and comical of ways. 

It’s been a few weeks since you've met his dad. There wasn’t much to talk about with him yet. Every day, longer lingerings of the gaze, less tucking away in the far back of the rest of the group, more definite wordless participations during class -nodding and clapping along. The progress you've been wholly satisfied with but nothing so drastically different that you thought necessary to call his father in for. 

Nothing absolutely astonishing. Therefore you didn’t call and what a surprise this one Thursday afternoon turns out to be when he appears at your class’s doorway.

He’s wearing very casual clothes, a simple light linen shirt and some distended jeans to pair, sneakers and his hair -you've only seen neatly tucked to the side- is floating about his forehead, freshly washed and devoid of any wax. It’s a pleasant surprise, especially with the evident appearance of calm and quiet tranquillity he’s carrying. 

This man looks rather handsome when he’s on vacation, stressless and well-rested and seemingly content, you note.

“Mr Kim?”

He looks up from his son he is holding the hand of, eyes wide and bewildered as he stares a little. You chuckle, confused but amused. He’s the one paying you a surprise visit but he’s shocked when you do talk to him?

“Is it bad timing? I can come back another day...” From the look he’s giving you, or more accurately, barely sparing you, body already aiming for the corridor, you wonder if you should return the question. It'd be cruel though, to tease, therefore you choose to simply shake your head and insist on him walking in. And then it happens, the man can’t take a step inside, for some reason. He’s just paralysed, looking like a million contradicting thoughts are fighting inside his brain and he simply cannot make out the best option, if he would or not step in; and it’s Jimmy who takes the decision for him. Puffing his cheeks out in annoyance, he pushes against his father's leg, small hands pulling the bigger one towards him. It’s like watching a tiny mouse trying to drag along a giraffe. It has little to no physical effect until there’s an aggravated tiny whine of “appa”. He moves, at last, letting himself stood in front of me before Jimmy lets go of his hand. 

He gives you a look you're not sure you interpret well. Dark eyes all serious, attention loud, he seems to be intrusting his father to you. A gentle smile, hiding your teeth biting back a hilarious grin, sends him away towards the very back of the room. Taking a seat next to the bookshelf, it takes Jimmy a few minutes only after you've diverted your attention from him to grab an image book and start going through it patiently.

He's so comfortable. Almost too comfortable. He looks strange, like that. Strange because different from usual but still, oddly, it fits him well. It's like a projection, a little vision of a future little boy, easygoing, at peace with himself and his environment, that won't take too long to be born again.

And it's now the dad who's acting weird. He's standing on his two never-ending legs, the tip of his fingers toying nervously with the button of his vest, his mouth keeps teasing, opening slightly, as if about to spill a word, only to shut itself right up, a lightly aggravated sigh following soon after. It happens quite a couple of times until you get tired of waiting. Tired of the eyes avoiding you, the tension heavy for no particular reason that you could decipher, you ring him awake with an abrupt overexaggerated clearing of your throat.

"Mr Kim?" He's confounded again, caught off guard somehow. "Did you mean to discuss something with me?" It's hard to make an adult talk, you realise. Sometimes children can be difficult. Put aside Jimmy's case, sometimes children are like that. Making them want to share, especially when they are at that age where they can't express themselves and their ideas as well as they wish they could, frustration, laziness at times can get the better of them and having a fairly constructed conversation with them is like pulling teeth out of a very adamant, unwilling person. But you manage. Adults, on the other hand, have never been too much of your cup of tea. There's a reason why you chose to spend the better part of your weeks with children instead of adults. You're not that terrible at getting along with them, you do it pretty well, honestly. But the reason is probably the fact that you're not difficult. You're convenient as a person, always willing to help, always trying to be positive, you do not get in people's way and most of the times, it's enough to make it through.

You don't deal with adults the way you deal with children. With great pleasure and passion, you insert yourself into your pupils' existence, try to leave a mark and help them have the better, feel the better, be the better. Adults, you don't get too involved. They sound complicated, complexed, too many compromises, too many facets. You know because you are one too.

And Mr Kim, looking all nervous and troubled seem the very embodiment of this bias you have. He looks some sort of troubles. Probably nothing that terrible. He appears too childish for it to be that grave. But he's serious about it, about the anxiety, the struggle, the uneasiness he's feeling, you can tell, just from the way he hasn't been able to look at you in the eyes since he appeared in your class. Still, whatever it is, will cost some of your time, and with that, might clog up some very much needed space you require in this busy head of yours.

It's happened before. A new neighbour trying to get closer to you, maybe because they've just moved in the city, didn't know anyone, and you looked friendly enough and they needed someone to listen to the exhaustive list of all the things that made them leave their hometown -even though, you don't necessarily care for any of it. Or a colleague, trying to get you involved in their office dramas, simply because people need the attention, the feeling of importance and support.

Quite frankly, you've never been interested in any of them. Adults sound like too much work, especially given the fact that, as filled with flaws as they are, they are a pain, and often impossible, to fix. And they say things they don't mean. And they want things that they don't need. Their words and their acts hardly ever match. They're for the most part unrecoverable and unfixable, and you don't want any of it.

But Mr Kim and his dimples -invisible to the eye at the moment, but that you realise marked your brain so strongly you can picture them exactly where they should be winking- are piquing your interest. You're ninety-nine per cent sure it is not about Jimmy but you'd like to know. Never mind that curiosity killed the cat.

“Yes, uh-“ Clearing of the throat, scratching of the neck and more clearing of the throat. “about last time...”

You're lost. For a second, your body freezes to give your brain its full capacity to wreck through the whole place and retrieve a memory that seems to have been lost somehow, somewhere. You have no idea what time he is referring to. 

He seems so invested, so intensely experiencing his emotions you're left shocked and deeply embarrassed to not remember something that had that effect on him yet didn’t leave a single trace on you. 

He insists then, having to face your transparent confusion. The more you stand in pure oblivion, the more awkward he gets. Stuttering more, an accent, very deep, adding rough edges to his voice, colouring his words with new shades that you've never heard before.

“Mr Kim-“

“Namjoon.”

“I’m sorry?” 

“No, it’s me, I am, I’m-“ You will, later, feel terrible for it. It’s undeniable. But right now, facing this grown-ass man, usually so collected now decomposing in the most adorable red-cheeked boyish thing, you can only start laughing. It renders him speechless which in a way is almost an improvement and when you finally can restrain the giggles from bubbling straight from your belly, you start again,

“Maybe take a deep breath, take your time.” You bite your lip down to the blood, poorly concealing your grin when he actually does it. “What did you mean by ‘last time’?” You're mortified to ask, honestly, persuaded that you should know but at this point, it’s pretty mean but you don’t think you can embarrass yourself that much in front of him, not when he’s been such a mess himself. 

“When we met. When I came to talk about my son.” Calmly, diligently he answers. Like a good boy answering his teacher’s question, a shadow of worry covering his usually sharp gaze. 

“Oh, what about it?” Curiosity melts with confusion as you refrain yourself from pressing him further into elaborating faster, eager as you are to understand. You were sure he was not going to talk about him. 

“I’d been a bit much and I wanted to apologise personally to you.”

Been a bit much? 

“In what sense? I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s just- I poured myself and our luggage on you when you’re- I know you care about my son but I shouldn’t have, I don’t know, I shouldn’t have-“

You hate cutting people off. It’s a terrible habit you are constantly trying to teach your students to drop. But here he is, struggling to express an idea that irks you strongly. Is he able to put the words he needs? Does he even know them in his own mother tongue or do they even exist? Maybe what he's trying to express are pure emotions. Unease coming from a heart shameful for having shown itself vulnerable to a stranger. You'd know about this feeling. You've experienced it plenty of times, throughout all your life. Even if it wasn’t in the form of you stripping your heart off to someone, like he did, simply showing that you cared gave you the same sense of vulnerability, of terrifying exposure you've always had a hard time dealing with. 

You hate the idea that he regrets it, especially with you. At that time, you could tell he had words to pour out. You were glad, you were even enchanted to be the one helping out no matter how small you just assumed your impact to have been. And now, he's trying to say that he regrets it?

“You said you were thankful to have someone to talk to.”

“I did say that.” He mumbles, pressing the pad of his fingers against his closed eyes. 

“Then don’t regret it. I don’t want you to be embarrassed about this, seriously. I had parents do way more, actually embarrassing, things in my career. Don’t even worry about it.” He’s thinking it over. You can tell your words have little to no impact on his bruised ego. “I’m not sure how appropriate it is for me to say that but if you need it, whenever in the future, don’t hesitate. I’m not a psychologist, but I’m just- I’m willing to listen if it can help. I mean me or anyone else, really, you should in general just share. It’s important. You don’t want Jimmy to mimic such bad habits like so, holding in and all.” You may be talking too much. The man just looks so eager to hear those words and it spurs you on. “You really shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I can understand the feeling, where it comes from, but it’s pointless with me.”

“You’re really kind.” You give a smile, only. It’s not much but you're pretty sure it’s the genuineness tinting it that renders it enough. Again, he seems surprised. As bewildered as last time but undoubtedly convinced. “I’m glad he has you as his teacher.”

Your cheeks burn intensely. You don’t know how conscious he is of his words. If he realises that he perfected the art of flattery and of slipping people in his pocket. He really did. Especially when he’s leaning slightly towards you, gaze intense and on you now that the embarrassment has vanished for the most part and he can bear looking at you, seemingly hanging out for any other words you may have in stock.

There’s nothing left for you to say though. It takes you quite a few attempts to skim over your brain, trying to formulate a sentence, any word, but you come out completely empty. You can’t even stutter a thank you from how utterly flustered you're feeling. 

Therefore you choose the easy way out. Waltzing on your heels to give him your back, your hands reaching to the barely messy top of your desk to pretend they’re busy. You believe yourself to have been sleek enough but apparently not so -maybe it’s the fact that you're just picking up stuff to put them exactly where they belong, at the exact same place. 

“Was I inappropriate? I’m really sorry, Mrs ___. Sometimes I just talk too much and I don’t realise that maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Please stop apologising. It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re just- You saying nice things that you mean,” You stumble upon the last words as if maybe you're getting over your own head to just assume and claim so loud that he must mean the sweet things he said to you but that bashful yet adorable expression he's wearing, with the eyes a bit wide and the bottom lip munched, fill you with a regain of confidence, “can’t be an issue. It’s just unexpected and- I mean you’re fine you can say whatever you want. I mean I’m not asking for more compliments, I’m just saying-“

It’s terribly unnerving. You don’t know what impression you're giving off as a teacher. Lacking so much elocution, scrambling to form sentences and turning into a messy, overwhelmed emotional mess. 

“I don’t mind giving you more compliments, Mrs ___.” Here comes that curious principle of balance again. You're half-dying of mortification and he seems to be having fun, smiling kindly, with a hint of something else -amusement, maybe even smudginess. 

Is he flirting with me? There’s no way he’s flirting. I think I’m losing my mind. 

“It’s Miss, actually.” You swear to yourself, silently, that you're not flirting back -assuming he is, in fact, doing just that- and you just mean to be called by an accurate name. 

“Oh.” He almost gasps. Looking shocked and you don’t understand what’s going on anymore. Was he really not flirting? Why does he look so shaken as if you misinterpreted his intentions and now he’s misinterpreting yours and think you're getting over your head -because you're not, you were not flirting!

“I’m not flirting with you, I’m just clarifying!” 

You hate this whole conversation. You hate yourself, your life and anything and everything that may or may not have led you to this tragic instant.

You're positive you screamed a little. You get confirmation of just that from the tiny mop of hair bouncing up in your peripheral vision, as Jimmy gives you two a slightly concerned, curious look. 

The tension is blatant. It's a mixture of irritation, of anxiety, of embarrassment. You couldn't have messed up any worse than you did and you positively want to simply die, right about now.

The mere thought that you'll have to live with this humiliation not only for the whole day ahead, blatantly hanging out at the back of your head, sometimes probably too close to your consciousness for any sense of comfort to ever inhabit you again, but for your entire life makes you want to throw yourself out the window. You decide not to indulge in the pressing pulsion only because you're on the ground floor, therefore, it would be pointless if not even more humiliating.

Mr Kim, somehow, helps a little. By not wearing a mask of pure revolt, revulsion or aggravation. He stares soundly, expression not giving off much to work with. Just enough to understand he is not mad, simply lost in his own thoughts he doesn't seem too keen on sharing.

A spark of sensibility blooms suddenly in your brain. You're so thankful for it, you jump right on it, grab it with your two hands and start again, as if nothing happened, as if you haven't just humiliated yourself in front of this man (and his son), "Jimmy has made a lot of progress, I've noted."

Mr Kim blinks a few times, unnaturally so. "Yeah? I mean, yes, I've noticed too, actually." He keeps staring with the same obnoxiously loud thoughts running in his mind. His brain is on full activity mode. It's obvious. And he doesn't care too much about talking about his son right this second (even though he doesn't seem to care much about sharing what's going through that private head of his either).

How disappointing. You sincerely thought the one subject that matters the most to him would successfully tear the attention away from you but you're a fool. Apparently, even the cute little bean of a son he has can't divert the attention from the humiliation you've just submitted yourself to.

"Anyway, I won't hold any more of your time, you must have work to attend to."

"Actually I'm not working today. I have the day off." Your lip now too sensitive, you attack the inner part of your cheek with your teeth -thankfully you've turned your back to him again, feigning observing with great attention something through the windows- to stop yourself from screeching. It takes him so long, so fucking long for him to decide, finally, that maybe he should leave. The longest dozens of seconds of your life. Staring outside, picturing him behind you, probably watching you wondering to himself how you can be so lame and how he could have thought you a good fit to be his precious son's teacher. "Ah, I should leave anyway. Your class is about to start?"

"Ah, yes. Well, thanks for passing by. I hope you rest well." It's the least genuine you've been with this man, and anyone for the matter, in so long. Your heart and mind are in such a shamble you don't actually remember the reason for his coming and if, really, anything positive came out of this conversation.

It's ridiculous how you feel, all bothered and nervous, aggravated with him for making you feel so flustered. You give him the most convincing fake smile you own, not taking the time to check if he buys it as you don't dare lingering your attention on him for any longer than the blink of the eye takes.

When he leaves, only after having scattered a bunch of smooches on Jimmy's face, you find yourself breathing again. It's like you've been holding in for so long, you're getting dizzy at the taste of oxygen again, heart beating furiously in your chest, sweating all over.

Fuck, that was painful.

You're such an idiot sometimes. Why do you have to be such a fucking idiot? It's not like you're asking much in this life, honestly. You're not aiming at any groundbreaking, universe shaking novelties. You're staying in your line, trying to be good and do good in your own little world. Not asking much, not taking without beforehand being offered. Is it really that much to ask to not be absolutely humiliated in front of one of your kids' parent, who happens to be a stupidly handsome man? (Yes, he is. You can admit that -to yourself. It's probably the reason why your brain stopped working properly, by the way.) You're cursed. I'm cursed, I'm cursed, I'm cur-

"Mish?" The quietest little call comes from the quietest little boy. Standing a secure meter away from you, his peculiar big black eyes staring with a silent demand in them, Jimmy waits patiently for your attention to be given to him. You offer it to him with great enthusiasm. Because between self-pitying your dumb ass and celebrating the first-ever-self-willingly-uttered word to you by this boy, the choice is not even to be pondered over.

"Yes, Jimmy?" He's holding in one hand your crayons he slowly tends your way, careful not to spill them all from his tiny fist. In the other one, there's a paper he's drawn on. Your eyes instinctively are driven to it, curious to see what he decided to draw when he felt comfortable enough to do it. He catches the line of your attention, evidently, and it takes him a second but then, finally, he decides you're allowed to see it. It's a too accurate copy of the ugly cat you made for him the other day. The colours are different, the traits a bit shakier yet, completely unbiasedly, you have to admit that he somehow made it look better. "That's a very pretty cat, Jimmy."

He looks at it, ruminates your words, trying to make sense of them, verify their accuracy. Suddenly he seems to decide that you're right and giving you another candid look, he returns to his table where he proceeds to carefully slip the drawing in his bag.

You realise your eyes are filled up with prickling tears while you sniff. You're not sure how much is due to this, how much the terrible, terrible encounter with his dad worked your emotions so intensely you're so sensitive now. In any case, it turns out for the better. It's this cute little cat that ends up making you and your day ahead feel better. You're so thankful for it.

Again, you know you're too involved but how are you supposed to do any different with them? Maybe it wasn't a punishment earlier. Maybe it was the storm before the ray of sunshine. It's probably the case. You're less aggravated, suddenly. Less vexed and probably more lenient on talking to this man again given, not the ray of sunshine, but actually rainbow that he may have helped cause to colour your day.

A/N: thanks for reading 💜

[ilikeoneshots]

Keep Moving - Bakugou Katsuki

I had thirty minutes left on my patrol shift so I started making my way back to my agency. I hadn’t been feeling too hot the last couple days and I was completely exhausted.

I was about two block away from the agency when I heard the explosions behind me. I quickly turned and saw smoke billowing into the sky from the business district. I quickly launched myself into the sky and made my way toward the havoc.

“(H/N) in business district. Three unknown assailants caused an explosion of some kind. I don’t see any injured civies,” I call into my radio.

“Copy, (H/N). We’re sending someone in to cover you,” dispatch responded. I nodded to myself before descending upon the villains.

I dropped soundlessly behind one and rendered them unconscious with a rudimentary sleeper hold. As the man collapsed, the other two took notice of me.

“What the fuck, dude?! You didn’t say this bitch would be around!” One said to the other.

“Yeah, well, how the fuck was I supposed to know?! Just take the bitch out!” The other man exclaimed.

“If you boys are done with this little show, we can do this one of two ways. One, you give up on this sad excuse of a robbery and come away quietly without any injuries. Two, I kick your asses and make a pit stop to the emergency room before going to jail. Which will it be?” I asked, boredom lacing my voice.

“Fuck you, you stupid bitch! You think you can take both of us?!” The first man screamed at me.

“Option two it is then,” I sigh before using my speed to appear behind him. He could barely turn to look at me before I kicked him into the wall they blew up moments ago. He groaned from his place on the ground. I turned toward the other man, “Would you like to reconsider?”

He snarled at me before using his quirk to shoot something at me. Did this dude have bullets coming out of his fingertips?!?

I dodged quickly and flipped over his head and landed behind him, catching him in a sleeper hold like the third member of their party. He flailed around, sending shots around wildly from his hands before he slumped into the hold. I restrained him quickly and went to make my way to the man I had kicked when I noticed he was gone.

“Dammit!” I groaned. It wasn’t more than a minute later that the police showed up to cart the two men away, “I’m sorry sir, the third man ran off. I’ll see if I can locate him quickly,” I said to the supervising officer.

I was about to go for the sky when I heard my name being called, I look around and see a familiar head of blonde hair and sharp red eyes. I smile and wave, my smile quickly turning into a look of confusion when I saw him blasting off full speed toward me and screaming something. I couldn’t figure out what he was screaming due to his explosions. I went to look behind me when I felt something sharp hit my side.

It felt like everything was going in slow motion. I look down and see the abdomen of my suit growing redder. I look back up and see the man from earlier holding an insanely long knife in his hand. He had a crazed look in his eyes. He was quickly tackled to the ground. I stumbled a bit before feeling arms wrap around me.

“(Y/N)! Hey, hey, hey. Look at me,” his voice sounded weird. I try to focus my eyes on him.

“Katsu? Did he just fucking stab me?” I groan.

“Shut up, stupid woman! We have to get you to the hospital!” He’s yelling, fear evident in his voice. He picks me up and I groan in pain once more.

“What a dick... who just stabs someone like that?” My voice comes out in a mumble. Katsuki isn’t paying my ramblings any mind as he runs me to the nearest hospital.

My mind is going in and out of consciousness as they place me on the gurney. I look over in one last moment of lucidity and see Katsuki with tears running down his cheeks and then I’m out.

I don’t know how long I’m out for but when I come to I instantly want to go back to sleep. The bright fluorescent lights make my head pound and I groan at the feeling. I feel something grab my hand and I force my eyes open again. The image of my husband comes into view.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?” I nod and motion to my throat, “Oh water! Hold on,” Katsuki leaves for a moment only to reappear moments later with a glass. I down in in seconds.

“Oh my God, that’s so much better,” I sigh.

“How do you feel?” He asks me in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Like I got stabbed with a machete,” I humorlessly laugh, “Okay, fill me in on what happened after they took me back?” I grunt as I try to sit up. Katsuki quickly helps me adjust before holding my hand in his vice-like grip again.

“Babe... something.. let me go get the doctor,” Katsuki said before leaving the room. I’m so confused, he’s not acting normally... I didn’t have time to ponder his odd behavior because he returned just as quickly has he left, doctor in tow.

“Morning, Mrs Bakugou. I’m Doctor Lin, I did your surgery last night,” The woman stated as she sat in the seat across from my bed, “A couple things happened while you were in surgery. Nothing life threatening but it is serious.”

I sit in silence as I listen to the woman drone on and on about what happened. She explains my wound, my blood loss, how I was lucky the blade didn’t actually hit any internal organs, but what really got me was a question.

“Ma’am, did you know you were pregnant?” I blinked at her a few times.

“What do you mean?” What did she just ask me??

“Oh, dear... I’m so sorry,” she stammered for a moment as she looked at the clipboard in her hands, “You were twelve weeks pregnant, Ma’am. I regret to inform you, but due to the blood loss, shock along with anesthesia and the surgery the fetus did not make it.”

I numbly look to Katsuki, he’s just staring at the doctor in front of us.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” she says before leaving the room. Katsuki is still frozen, staring at the seat the woman was just occupying.

“K-Katsu?” I whisper and he jumped back into reality and is holding me close to his chest, “I d-didn’t know! If only I had known! How did I not realize?!” I cry into his shirt. He’s rocking me back and forth, careful not to hurt my stitches.

“It isn’t your fault, you were doing your job. If I had gotten to you sooner, I could have kept that guy from getting away,” he’s mad at himself now... I pull away and place my hands on either side of his face, making his look at me.

“If I can’t blame myself, you can’t blame yourself,” I wipe the tears from his cheeks and he does the same for me. He kisses me softly as I sniffle.

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he holds me close again, “I haven’t even really thought about wanting a kid, but hearing that we could have and now their gone...” I nod against his shoulder.

“I know what you mean...”

Two days later, I was discharged. The doctor informed me that I shouldn’t be surprised at any heavy bleeding and eventually I will ‘pass’ the baby. My anxiety levels were at an all time high, the thought of having to ‘pass’ my baby overwhelming.

I called my boss and informed her of my situation, we’re pretty close, and she gave me four weeks off. Enough time for the physical side of my miscarriage to end.

“Katsuki.. I know you don’t want to talk about this but...” I stop myself. I can’t bring myself to ask this, but I know I have to, “W-When it happens-“

“We’re going to bury it,” he says softly, he can read me like a book. He knows how hard this is on me, it’s hard on him too, “We can bury it underneath the cherry blossom tree in the backyard.” I nod silently.

“Do you think it would have been a boy or a girl?” I ask after we arrived home and settled on the couch, just wanting to hold each other.

“Not sure, why?” He hummed as he rubbed my shoulders

“I want to give them a name...” I say, fiddling with the end of my shirt.

He was quiet for a while and I assumed I went to far with the morbidity of the situation. I was about to say ‘forget it’ when Katsuki started to speak again.

“I’d like to think it would have been a girl. She would have had my eye color but your eye shape,” he smiled to himself as he imagined what our baby would have looked like, “I’d want her to have your hair texture and color too.”

“So you’d only want her to have your eyes?” I asked.

“I’d be perfectly happy with that,” he smiled down at me.

“I’d want her to have your smile,” I say as I turn slightly to give him a kiss.

“Sappy woman,” he grinned.

“Did you forget what all you just said?” He chuckled and playfully flicked my forehead.

“That’s besides the point, what name would you give her?” I hum as I think about it.

“We could call her Sakura, because of the cherry blossom tree,” I offer the idea.

“I do like that name, but are you sure you want to name her after the tree?”

“I know it’s not very original...” I mumble as I rest my head against his chest.

“No, I like it. We can call her Sakura,” he kisses my hair. I nod. We fall into a comfortable silence, every now and then I tense when I feel a cramp.

“I wish the other day had been different... if it had only happened an hour later... I would have been home and then we would have been able to meet Sakura in a few more months,” I say as the tears start flowing again. Katsuki rubs my back and shushes me softly.

“We can’t think about ‘what if’s. What happened, happened for a reason. It may not make any sense right now, but we can’t change it even if we wanted to. So now, we have to keep going forward and in the future if you want to we can try again,” his voice calms me.

“I love you, Katsu. I’m glad you’re with me. But, if I’m being honest, hearing you say such soft things is odd,” I admit. He scoffs at me.

“I’m not soft, I just love you,” he gently moves me as he gets off the couch, “You keep resting, I’m going to start dinner.”

~~

It’s been almost a year since we lost Sakura. If I’m being honest, I still get sad about it. I think Katsuki does too. But like Katsuki said, we can’t change the past so we have to keep moving forward. Which is what we’ve managed to do.

“Mrs Bakugou? Are you there?” The voice called out through the phone I had dropped. I scrambled to pick the device back up.

“Y-Yes! I’m here! I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.

“I said, the results came back. You’re pregnant.”

[effervescentbutnotasnail]

On episode 7 of shadow and bone bc I’m physically restraining myself from watching it at a faster pace.

Some thoughts I had at this point:

-Alina is wayyy more likeable than she was in the books, at least to me. Mal is too for that matter. Maybes it’s because when you can’t get her inner dialogue she doesn’t come off as whiny haha

-loving the addition of milo the goat, may actually be my favourite tv show addition.

-the storyline of shadow and bone seems to be progressing pretty much as it does in the books, so far the crows haven’t really impacted it too much. Whilst that will probably help the storyline progress and be able to still keep to future books, I find myself wanting the crows to impact it more somehow? There’s still the last 2 eps tho.

-darkling is yet another character I’m enjoying more (you can tell I didn’t really like the shadow bone trilogy, or at least I liked it far less than soc) but not enough to stan him or attempt to justify his still very shitty attitudes lol. But in the books I literally did not get the hype, whilst in the show hes a lot more charming.

-I do see what people have been saying about kaz not being that ruthless, and in a way I kinda agree bc it seems like inej is killing more people than he is at the moment. But he is very out of his element, he’s used to ruling the barrel and in the few scenes we see him where he’s in ketterdam he does seem more powerful and dangerous. Also, there’s gonna be character development of course (although I feel like there’s then going to have to almost be character regression to then make him a better person again for inej haha). Loved the scene he had with the darkling!

-Really like the build up of all the side characters. David, genya, Nadia and Marie all seem very solid and I LOVE heart render husbands (if I remember correctly this is a show specific addition which is really cool!). Zoya became one of my favs by the end of rule of wolves, and I think it’s interesting how they decided to make her canonically have a relationship with the darkling, I guess it’s an example of how he likes to manipulate and use powerful women but I’m not completely sure how I feel about it (pretty this was relegated to subtext in the books and I chose to believe he was just her mentor and she felt a lot of pride over being his star student).

-I love the attention to detail, the worldbuilding in the shadow and bone books was one of my favourite parts, and was a big part in me liking soc and ck as well, so the fact that they really did it so much justice is amazing. Everything from morozova’s backstory to the little hints as to jespers Grisha power to the gorgeous keftas to the fight between east and west ravka to the games played in the crow club to accurately portraying pretty much every faction (first army, second army, druskelle, the dregs etc). I just adore it, and it shows such a care to the source material that I don’t even care that they changed the soc plot bc I love the characters and the world so much that the crows could be building a fucking wardrobe or something and if still love it haha.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Who you should fight: Game of Thrones Edition

Your wish is my command, Anon.

JON: Damn, you really do aim high. If you want to fight Jon Snow, there's nothing really stopping you. He wouldn't want to fight you, but he would accept your challenge honorably. Perhaps you would win, perhaps you wouldn't. Jon doesn't really like violence. He was victorious in the battle of the bastards, but only with the Knights of the Vale showing up at the eleventh hour. And he would have given his life to the Army of the Dead if Benjen hadn't shown up to save him. So you might win, it's possible. Just be prepared for the Starks to send their regards if you do. With Bran's visions, there would be nowhere you could hide. With Arya's faces, you'd never know she was coming.

SANSA: Look, it's not exactly wise to fight a Queen. Something to keep in mind going forward. You would almost certainly defeat Sansa, since she has almost no experience in actual fighting, but that doesn't mean your troubles would be over. Expect the Starks, the Northerners, the Knights of the Vale, and Brienne to rise up and hunt you down. So if you want to fight her, be prepared to run for the rest of your life. But really, why would you ever want to fight her in the first place? Between Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, and Littlefinger, hasn't the poor woman been through enough? If you go through with this, you'll be fighting a sexual assault survivor. Think about that for a second. And then don't fight Sansa. 

BRAN: Okay, okay, how about you just don't? This isn't about whether or not you should fight Bran, because to be honest - you can't. Bran is gone. Everybody forgets this but Bran is effectively dead by Season 7. So no, you couldn't fight Bran if you tried. All you could do is fight the Three Eyed Raven, and seven hells, why would you ever want to do that? Could you kill him? Maybe. He can always see you coming, but he doesn't carry weapons and he's paralyzed from the waist down. But who are you, the Night King? If you kill Bran, the world ends and the long night begins. Don't be The Night King. Don't fight Bran. 

ARYA: Ahahaha...sure, go ahead. If you've got some sort of death wish, feel free to try and fight Arya Stark. I'd give some line about how the Starks would come after you but frankly, it wouldn't come to that. Arya wouldn't be in any danger and they'd be well aware. You do know this is the girl who slayed the Night King, right? The one who single-handedly wiped out House Frey? Realistically, the fight isn't even going to happen unless she's in the mood. If she is, expect her to toy with you for about ten minutes before running you through with Needle. If she isn't, then you won't ever even see her. You'll just get a knife in the back from whatever face she's wearing.

DAVOS: Seriously? You're going to fight an innocent old man who doesn't even have all his fingers? What are you hoping to gain from doing so? Does beating up old men give you satisfaction? Well, it shouldn't - unless we're talking about Pycelle. But we're not, so put those weapons away! Look, if you choose to fight Davos, you're very likely to win the fight. And in doing so, I suppose you could reunite him with his son and his surrogate daughter in the afterlife. But just do not fight Davos under any circumstances. For goodness' sake, what did he ever do to you? 

THEON: In terms of physical combat, you could probably win this fight. Theon isn't shown to be nearly as strong as his sister, and he's also suffering from PTSD. So there's a very good chance that you could defeat him. But Yara is going to literally cut you into pieces if you do. With everything Theon has been through, don't you think he's suffered enough for his actions? Ramsay tortured him so much that he forgot who he was for a while. He castrated and flayed Theon. Kept him as a slave for three years. And even now, Theon is still recovering from what he went through. He still hates himself for betraying Robb. Just let the poor man heal in peace, won't you? 

YARA: Go ahead, fight Yara. She's not exactly the nicest person, so she could use a good wake-up call or two. Her only real redeeming quality is that she loves her brother. On the other hand, she's Ironborn so she might just enjoy the fight. There's also the question of whether or not you would win, or even escape with your life. To which I say - don't expect anything. Yara is ruthless, and she doesn't play fair. She commands the Iron Fleet and they're loyal to her. This woman was her Uncle's prisoner. I think it goes without saying that she's tough. I doubt you could win the fight, but feel free to try.

SANDOR: This is the only character that would probably enjoy the fight, so go ahead and spar a little with Sandor Clegane. Don't actually hurt him, because he's obviously been through enough. But enjoy a nice, friendly bout with the guy and let him get off some steam. Of course, I say that under the assumption that you COULD harm Sandor. The guy came close to beating Brienne, and his final Clegane Bowl with Gregor ended in a draw. Plus he's like...huge. So not a good chance at winning. Even if you use his weakness, fire...well, he's won a trial by combat where fire was involved. Don't be a jerk, don't kill Sandor. You'll wind up on Arya's list for sure. 

BRIENNE: To be honest, you aren't going to defeat Brienne unless you have exceptional skill and training in combat, and even then. The odds aren't in your favor. She's packing Valyrian Steel, and some heavy armor as well. Has Brienne ever lost a fight onscreen? I don't believe she has. Her weaknesses are emotional, not physical. In a fight, you don't stand much of a chance. Especially if she's trying to protect someone she cares about or honor a vow. That's her berserk button, so don't mention oaths. Or Jaime. Or Sansa. Really, Brienne is one of the most wonderful people in this entire series so why would you want to? Hang out with her instead. 

GENDRY: This one is just a bad idea overall. The dude has all the skills of Sandor, without any of the discipline that Brienne has. Remember how the Rebellion was what Robert referred to as his glory days? How he ousted an entire dynasty because they had offended him? The Baratheons are known for their uncontrollable tempers, and we haven't seen much of this in Gendry, but it's there. Put a war-hammer in his hands, and you will never be safe. Just look at the guy. Have you seen how buff he is? Besides, Arya would definitely kill you, even if Gendry doesn't. He's such a sweet, upstanding guy to begin with. I don't understand why you would even want to. Don't fight Gendry.

JAIME: I suppose you could. The guy only has one hand now, so in terms of combat prowess, you would probably win the fight itself. Assuming Brienne doesn't get to you first. Either way, expect to deal with Brienne, and that's not someone you want coming after you with a vengeance. Even if you defeat Brienne, you still aren't in the clear. Tyrion may not be one for physical fights, but rest assured the man will make you pay for harming his brother. Someday, when you least expect it, you will pay. To be fair, Jaime does have some crimes he needs to answer for, but he also saved King's Landing. Really, just don't fight him. He already feels badly enough about his past.

CERSEI: Always fight Cersei. Always fight Cersei.  This shouldn't need to be explained. Think about everything that she's done. All the people whose lives she ruined. Whatever terrible fate you can inflict is one that she deserves. Yes, she's pregnant, but don't forget - the witch in Season 5 warned her that she would only ever have three children. That baby isn't going to live no matter what happens. I suppose you'd have to get rid of Gregor Clegane first, so bring Sandor with you for a double knock-out. Other than that, I don't see anyone coming to Cersei's defense. That's just how awful she is. Jaime might try, but I think Brienne and Tyrion would be able to restrain him. Yeah, just. Just fight Cersei. 

TYRION: Damn, why would you want to fight Tyrion? So he made a few judgment calls that turned out poorly. He was always trying to do the right thing, and all of his decisions were well-reasoned. His entire life has been constant suffering. Do you really want to add onto that? Well, if you insist, you'll almost certainly win the fight. Being half the size of the average man and consuming alcohol on a daily basis would render Tyrion one of the physically weakest characters on the show. You could probably get away with it as well. I mean, Jaime would come after you, and hell hath no fury like a Lannister scorned. But like I said, he's not the strongest either. Just watch out for that golden hand.

DAENERYS: Should you fight Dany? I suppose it depends on your point of view. She's definitely committed monumental crimes, but she's also saved countless people. You have to ask yourself if such a divisive person deserves to live or not. Really, we could argue that point until the cows come home. The real question is - could you fight her? Ultimately, the answer is yes...if you get close enough. You'd have to get past her armies first, but once you do, she has no experience in direct combat whatsoever. An easy kill. That you could celebrate for ten seconds before Grey Worm or Drogon rip you apart. You can only ever tie with Daenerys, there's no winning.

MISSANDEI: Stop, stop right there. What are you thinking? You know this is how we got S8E5, right? This is what pushed Dany over the edge, so, just consider that for a moment. What would possess you to ever wish pain on such an innocent soul? Missandei deserves the world. She deserves to be free and happy. And you want to fight her? Go ahead. If you could actually land a blow or two, you might win rather quickly. But Grey Worm will rip you limb from limb before that happens, if Dany doesn't issue an angry "Dracarys" first. Actually, if they don't get there, then I will personally climb through the screen myself and fight you for threatening her. She is the purest of cinnamon rolls.

EURON: I will literally pay you to fight him. The man is begging for a punch in the face.

[the-wlw-cafe]

Family Matters (Lena Luthor & Daughter!Reader)

Request: Lena’s daughter comes back from the future, but Lena is having trouble accepting that she is her daughter because of her own insecurities regarding family

Fandom: Supergirl

Warnings: /

Word Count: 2279 (holy moly this one got away from me)

Time travel, you come to realize quickly, is a painful and exhausting affair. Just imagine your body, your atoms, your thoughts, restrained by some kind of invisible force, being rendered still while years and a decade of time condensed to a single moment screech past you like a high-speed train through a tunnel. Colours burst behind your eyes and your ears ring with every sound at once, and you feel like you’re dying.

Then, as abruptly as it started, it stops. The noise breaks off so suddenly you wonder if you’ve gone deaf, but then, a familiar woman’s voice rings out: “You really shouldn’t be here!”

It didn’t work.

That’s the first thought that pops into your head. It didn’t work, it was all for nothing, and now you’re going to be in so much trouble. Also, you have the feeling you might faint very soon.

“Mom?” you ask, your voice trembling. You try to blink in the direction of the voice, but the afterimage of whatever it was you saw while traveling seems to have been burned into your retinas, leaving dark blots in your vision.

You hear steps, and the voice is closer this time and softer, the tone less alarmed. “Are you lost, sweetheart? Do you need me to find someone for you?”

“Mom, I’m sorry I used your –“

That’s as far as you get before your knees give out. You barely have time to brace yourself for the impact on the hard, cold, sterile tiles lining the floor. The pain never comes. Steady arms catch you before you reach the ground, holding you secure. You can hear her speak, ask you questions, but you can’t make sense of the words. You feel like you’ll vomit if you open your mouth. You feel her slowly, and gently placing you down on the ground, propping you up onto your side.

Time passes.

You think you can hear her talk again, the words fading in and out of dull static like a radio with a broken antenna: “I’m not hurt…they just appeared out of nowhere…might be concussed…Kara, they keep calling me mom…”

Later, you’re being picked up again, cradled in strong arms, and there’s the howling of wind in your ears. You know this feeling. Kara has taken you out for semi-secret flights more than once, even though your mom didn’t initially approve. Kara, you think, and instinctively burrow deeper into her arms. You’re safe. Mom’s here, Kara is here, and you’re safe.

Then there’s nothing for a long time.

When you wake up, you’re somewhere warm, soft and bright. You blink against the light and sit up cautiously. It doesn’t hurt. You’re still exhausted, you feel like your mind has run a marathon, but other than that you’re okay. As soon as you’ve managed to prop yourself up on your elbows, there’s a gentle but insistent hand on your shoulder pushing you back down.

“Take it easy there, kiddo.”

You grin at the woman, who you’ve instantly recognized as Aunt Alex, and your grin widens when you see the two people behind her: Kara, and your mom.

“I’m fine, Alex” you try to reassure her, only to watch her gape at you in utter confusion. Kara’s and mom’s expressions soon come to mirror hers.

“How do you know my name?” she asks, forehead crinkled.

Oh. So it did work. You really did travel back in time, back to when you weren’t even born yet. Now that you know, it seems obvious to you: They all seem younger, the bags under Kara’s eyes aren’t so deep, and the grey streaks in your mom’s hair are missing.

“Okay, don’t freak out, you guys”, you start, already knowing that they were going to freak out. “But my name is (Y/F/N) Luthor, and I’m from the future, and…” you turn to look at your mom, she’s gone even paler than she already is, and she’s shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

“…and you’re my mom.”

The news drops into the room like a grenade. You can see Kara hide a gasp behind a hand quickly clasped over her mouth; you can see Alex try and fail to school her expression in order to not let on just how surprised she is. But worst of all, you can see your mom’s face turn to stone, cold and unmoving. And it hurts, oh, does it hurt. You’ve never seen her look at you like this before, like you’re some alien thing she doesn’t even recognize. Whenever you’ve looked into her eyes you’ve found nothing but love there, even when you messed up bad, even when she was upset with you, but now…there’s just none of that there. It makes you shrink back into your bed.

“We’re going to have to ask you some more questions and probably do some testing, just to be on the safe side”, Alex tells you. You just nod. You feel so tired all of a sudden, so small and lost in a world that isn’t yours. You close your eyes again and hope this is all a bad dream.

It isn’t, of course. You sit through Aunt Ale- no, just Alex’s tests. They don’t find anything physically wrong with you, and the dizziness and nausea are abating slowly.

“Do you know how to get back?” Alex asks you, the worried crinkle between her brows not having left for a second while she was tending to you. You nod.

“The prototype has a safety net function. It pulls you back into your time automatically if you don’t return in three days. I heard mom…I heard Lena mention it when she showed off her time machine to Kara.”

“(Y/N), you can’t just mess with one of Lena’s inventions, especially if it’s just a prototype. You could get seriously hurt! What if the safety net doesn’t work and you become stuck here?”

“I won’t”, you reply, your voice sure and steady as stone. “Mo- Lena is too smart to forget to add the function. And I wasn’t just messing around with the time machine!” you add as you see Alex get ready to argue. “I have a mission.”

Alex looks aghast. “Who would send a child on a mission to the past?!” she exclaims.

“Myself! I have a message for Lena. It’s really important.”

“Oh, sweetheart”, Alex says in the tone adults reserve for telling children that their pet just died. “I don’t think Lena is…in the right headspace to talk to you.”

You swallow. You know it’s not fair to this Lena, you have no right to her time, but the way she can’t even stand to be in the same room with you…does this mean you were not wanted? Did she hate the idea of you and just force herself to stick around because you were her responsibility? You can feel tears burn in your eyes.

“It’s important though!” you hear yourself whining. You know how childish you must sound, and you cringe a t the thought.

Alex looks at you, contemplating. “Can I just pass the message on for you?”

You shake your head. “It’s personal.”

A deep sigh. Then: “I’ll bring you to her so you can deliver your important message, but I can’t guarantee she’ll want to listen, alright?”

“Thank you, Alex”, you say, fighting the urge to hug her. This is not your Aunt Alex, you have to remind yourself. “Can we pick up spring rolls and curry sauce from the Chinese place on 27th? They’re her favourite, and I think it should…exist already.”

“Okay, kiddo”, Alex says as you’re about to enter L-Corp. “If this goes poorly, I need you to know…Lena doesn’t hate you, and I know the Lena you know as your mom loves you very, very much. She’s just overwhelmed, and to be honest…I think she’s scared.”

“Of me?” you balk.

“Not of you, squirt. I think she’s scared of being a bad parent.”

“She’s not”, you insist.

“I know, kiddo, but our fears aren’t always rational.”

Security lets Alex through without raising a fuss, but you get a lot of curious looks. You wave at Jess at the reception desk before you realize that she doesn’t know you yet, and she’s never secretly passed you cookies when mom wasn’t looking yet.

Jess lets you through anyways. Lena greets Alex with a tired smile, and you try to remind yourself that she doesn’t hate you, she’s just scared, but it’s hard to believe it when you see that smile drop as soon as Lena lays eyes on you.

“Kiddo has something important to tell you”, Alex tells her, “we won’t take up much of your time, but…hear her out, okay? I’m just going to wait outside.”

You watch as Alex leaves the room, and nerves threaten to take you over again. It’s ridiculous, this is your own mom, you shouldn’t be nervous to talk to her!

“I brought you spring rolls”, is all you manage to say.

“I don’t eat fast food”, Lena answers, and her voice sounds practiced, almost robotic. She’s shuffling some documents around on her desk to avoid eye contact with you.

“That’s not true!” You flinch at the volume of your own voice. “You always eat fast food when Kara brings some by your office, and you also don’t complain during game night when all we have is pizza!”

Lena’s fingers stop fidgeting with the paperwork. There’s a moment of complete silence.

“You really are my daughter.” It’s not a question. It sounds like resignation. Your heart sinks into your stomach.

“I’m sorry that’s not what you wanted”, you whisper. Lena whips around so fast you freeze where you stand before you can even turn to leave.

“(Y/N), that’s not…I just…” Another pause. Lena pinches the bridge of her nose.

“The truth is, (Y/N)… I’m terrified.”

“Of me?”

She heaves a sigh, and finally turns to face you. She looks old, older than your mum, even without the grey streaks in her hair and crow’s feet around her eyes.

“Come sit on the sofa with me?”

She doesn’t need to ask twice, you immediately clamber onto the pristine white couch (so that’s what it looked like without the various crayon stains you had made when you were a toddler and your mom had given up on cleaning, opting instead to just cover them with decorative pillows). You’re sitting about as far from one another as is physically possible on this couch, but at least Lena’s acknowledging you, facing you. You’re getting somewhere.

“(Y/N), I don’t know what your mom told- what I will have told you about my parents, but the Luthors were terrible people, and even worse parents. I can’t remember any happy days under their roof, I can’t – I don’t think there was one moment where I wasn’t depressed, or terrified, or ashamed of my mistakes or myself while I was in their care and I’m just so scared that in the end, I turned out no different than they were because I don’t know anything else. And I’m so, so sorry if I was a bad mom to you, if I was ever neglectful or aloof, and you have every right to be mad at me –“

You scoot towards her and hug her. Of course you know who mom’s family are, even if she hadn’t told you, the rest of the world was sure not to let you forget, and even though you didn’t know any details you were aware of how terrible your mother’s childhood had been, so it’s important to you that your mom doesn’t for one second longer think that she’s anything like the people who abused her throughout her childhood and well into adulthood.

“I love you”, you murmur into the embrace. “And you’re nothing like them. You’ve always protected me and no matter how busy you were; you were always there for me when I needed you. And you tell me about your work and show me your newest inventions and you weren’t even angry with me when I spilt a glass of apple juice over your transistor!”

You hear her sniffle as she hugs you tight. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks next: “I was terrified that you’d come to tell me what a horrible parent I was, and how selfish it was of me to decide to have children.”

“You’re the best mom I could have hoped for”, you reassure her. But her words remind you that you are indeed here for a reason.

“Do you want to know why I’m really here?”

She lets go of you with a final squeeze, wiping tears off of her cheeks, carefully leaving her makeup intact.

“Of course. You’re not in trouble in the future, are you?” For the first time since you arrived in this time, she reminds you of your mom. You can’t help but smile widely at the sight.

“No, it’s nothing like that. The government is putting together a team to engineer a cure for cancer once and for all, but you weren’t on the team because you gave up on your cancer research years ago, but you looked so defeated when you talked about it… I just wanted to tell you not to give up, and that you’re going to do lots of great stuff in the future!”

“Cancer research, huh? With all that’s happened, I didn’t think it would be curing cancer I’d become most famous for. But I’m glad. Thank you, sweetheart.”

You beam at her, proudly.

“Can we eat spring rolls now?”

“We certainly can. I’ve actually never had these, where are they from?”

“Oh, you’re going to love them!”

[rakuraiwielder]

to expel a bouquet

Beneath the clinical scent that cloaks her body, she always smells of wisteria.

Giyushino. Of a secret and words left unsaid.

A Kimetsu no Yaiba Fic / Major manga spoilers.

Also on A03

Foreword:

giyuu’s POV is hard to write since he’s sharper than people give him credit for but he’s emotionally stunted like a rock and his self awareness flip flops from zero to hero at least 20 times in 0.5 seconds its honestly ridiculous

that said i had a lot of fun juggling that and his 1 emotional brain cell personality lmao

“Have you been eating well?”

The question makes Shinobu pause, looks up from the bandages that littered their hands. She blinks once, twice, and Giyuu sees the focused haze in her eyes fade as her fingers retract slightly from the still raw skin of his thumb. Her wrist reaches up to rub at the bags below her eyes, and he feels something break the strange lull that had surrounded them both.

“Hm?” She blinks at him, present yet not there, eyes flickering in distracted beats as she gazes up with a look that held less of a smile and more of a quirked lip. Not for the first time he notices how sluggish she looks, shoulders slumped and drowsy under the humid heat that bathed the floors of the Butterfly Estate. It only adds to the curious weight he thought to voice; heavy behind months of grudging observation as she had wormed her way into parts of his life, implications he knew would make her retract if he did not thread carefully.

Shinobu was prideful, but even this he finds cannot deter from his own desires to pry.

He would ask, but already she was looking down again, rolling the gauze carefully over healing wounds and old scars. Shinobu hooks the white strip across the back of his palm, movements all precise and gentle, before turning to the table to look for the scissors. Giyuu can only watch, tongue tied and heavy from another of countless opportunities missed, noting the pale colour of her cheeks (did she think blush could fool anyone?) and how the softness of her sigh echoes the snipping of the blade. She moves back after, gathering the spare bandages she had placed in his hands, and he spies the barest hint of a similarly covered wrist as the sleeves of her uniform shifts. The sight of it jerks him back, wounds up something tight within him, and before he knows it the words were slipping from his mouth as easily as a sigh in the breeze.

“You smell like wisteria poison.”

The abrupt silence that envelops the room then hits different, and he feels -more than sees- her freeze, hands going still before pulling away completely to rest on her lap. Something flickers behind her eyes; sharp and unsettled, almost guarded, but then she was smiling at him before he could pull it apart. A stilted smile, he thinks, and almost regrets opening his mouth. Internally he curses himself for having a horrible sense of tact.

“Tomioka san,” she lifts her finger and pokes his cheek playfully, hard enough to make him wince. “Are. You. Saying. That. I’m. Neglecting. Myself?”

“You are always smelling like poison.”

“Not to be obvious,” she tilts her head in an annoyed fashion. “But I do work with them after all.”

Behind wooden lattices, Giyuu can hear the distant screams of the boar child overlapping with Tanjirou’s other friends. He can’t help but restrain another wince. It seems more often than not their supposed training dissolved into chaotic screaming matches. Alas, all distractions to the soft jabbing above his jaw. He was acutely aware he had stumbled upon something delicate, and he needed to take the time to formulate his responses right, lest he get a blade to his throat from riling the Insect Pillar up.

He had a habit of doing that, he thinks belatedly, though not through all fault of his own. Words don’t come to him right, and it was difficult to dance the fine line between talking and teasing that Shinobu lays out for him. Specially for him too, he thinks some more, and feels envy for all the times he sees her acting otherwise with the other demon slayers.

She would be an awful first conversational partner if she wasn’t his only conversational partner. (And no, Tanjirou doesn’t count.)

“I don’t mean that.” He says, softer than he would have liked, feels his misgivings rise as her smile wavers and her hand drop.

It had been barely discernible, but time and time again as they were forced into close proximity he had begun to notice; beneath the clinical scent that cloaks her body, she always smells of wisteria. He had paid it no mind at first, figured it was a by-product of the line of work she was in, but once he had realised it was hard to ignore. The scent blankets her like a layer of pollen, clings to her skin with a stubbornness that only grew more potent as the months pass.

Even now he can sense it; under the layers of disguised musk and fragrances, the lightness a tickling sensation at the back of his throat, whiffs of the purple flowers sweet on his tongue. It would suit her, were it not the reason he suspects led her to look the way she does now.

“You look tired.” Are you taking care of yourself?

For a moment she was still, eyes widening in bafflement, rendered speechless by knowledge he cannot quite grasp. He briefly ponders running his mouth again to explain before she starts to laugh, slowly at first before increasing in stride, shoulders shaking with mirth at a joke he wonders if he was the target of again. He wouldn’t know; she wasn’t looking at him anymore; eyes closed as she swallows peals of laughter. It throws him for a loop, even as she cups a hand over her mouth and turns to the side, trembling with an intensity that has him frowning.

His indignance only grows when he realises she wasn’t stopping anytime soon. Giyuu huffs, feels a churning weight behind the back of his ribs. It was not an ugly feeling, but the discomfort brought back memories of younger times -- of naive times, when he was unassuming and could afford to be childish. Even now he feels a pout tugging at the edges of his mouth, the back of his neck warming under the persistent giggling that smothers his ears.

How curious...

It irks him.

His hands hover unconsciously, makes to reach for her just as she opens her eyes, soft violet crinkling in amusement as she clears her throat in a bid to regain her composure. Her eyes flicker again, unaware of how he had jerked them back inches from the sleeves of her haori. Was it his imagination, or did she look relieved? Why-

There was an ache in him that desperately wants to know.

“What’s so funny?”

“Are you worried?” She snickers, smiles and waves away his prodding gaze with a lightness that makes his eyes narrow. “It’s fine, I have been eating properly. The girls wouldn’t leave me alone if I didn’t. Why just yesterday, Ao-”

She turns, and the scent of wisteria hits his nose again. Stronger. More potent. A sudden cloying reminder as the tightness within him snaps, and then he was reaching for her, cupping her chin and tilting her head up as he bridges the distance between them to follow the scent.

His thumbs press into her skin, traces the dark rings under her eyes as he shifts, mindful of the way the loose ends of his haori drag across the expanse of her own. The rustling sound barely makes a dent in his mind; a mere distraction, not when he could smell the faint odour of the flowers growing heady, headier than the soft breezes of wind he could taste from her clothes. Strange, it made no sense why the wisteria scent would congregate on her face. He was not familiar with the creation process of Shinobu’s poisons and antidotes, but he was fairly sure she’d wear adequate protection, do nothing to ensure harm to herself.

It would be foolish to think otherwise. He knows just how capable she is.

But yet…

“Tomioka-”

Giyu squints, gentle with his tentative grip over her jaw as he tries to trace the source, bandaged fingers brushing the corner of her lips with furrowed brows. Even her face was soft, mirroring the smoothness of her fingers every time they press onto an exposed patch of his skin; to dress a wound, check for a fever, brush or pat or poke him in an overly aggressive display he knows she does to establish the boundaries between them. For someone who made clear her dislike of him when they first met, she had engaged in much physical contact even before the tangled threads that bound them through necessity had started to change.

“-san-”

It was all superfluous musings. His mind was beginning to wander, and with a figurative shake of his head he pulls back slightly, angles his palm roundabout so that her chin rests between the spaces of his index and middle finger instead, careful not to brush the back of it against her throat. Perhaps it was a good thing that the gauze hid his calluses; the thought of her startling from his rough and cracked skin stirring up something unpleasant, but the notion leaves before he can wonder why. The scent eludes him still, no matter how hard he concentrates, even as he closes his eyes and leans in to breathe in the floral tones of it again.

“W-What..are you doing..?”

Always, it came back to her mouth. He doesn’t understand. His eyes flutter open, traces the shape of her lips as his fingers press gently against her cheek, tilts his head to follow the familiar scent. The wanting in him only grows when he cannot find the answer.

Why do you smell of it here?

“Kochou-”

Navy eyes glance up to see the woman before him flushed and livid. Shinobu had gone deathly still, and it is only now that he notices a stiffness present in the set of her jaw as she stares at him incredulously, deepening flush staining the softness of her cheeks.

“...You are turning red.”

“My, that’s a pretty rude thing to say to a woman.” Her voice trembles ever so slightly, but there was a dangerous glint in her eye, and confusion blinds him for just a moment before he finally takes stock of his hands, knees, clothes, the closeness of their bodies as he towered over her.

Giyuu colours, hands flying from her face as the realisation hits and he jerks back. His mind jumbles, blanks out into static as the weight of the gesture threatens to leave him free falling. A sudden compulsion; this breach of space, one he doesn’t quite know how to answer for. (And yet...) He swallows the sudden lump in his throat, feels the tips of his fingers tingle still from the warmth of her skin. The repressed panic must have shown on his face, because Shinobu’s eyes only grow darker.

“I overstepped, I’m sor-”

“You are an idiot, Tomioka san.” A hard tug against his sleeve leads him to glance back at the corner of his eye, seeing a hand gripping the checkered fabric. It only served to once again make him all too aware of the distance between; he had pulled back, but not far enough that he did not hover over her still, their proximity still close, too close for the two of them (colleagues? friends? mission partners? what were they supposed to be?) to be considered anything but compromising. His hand curls over the layers of butterfly winged cloth that pool off her lap. Another insistent tug on his haori. He does not pull away.

“Let go of me.” Shinobu narrows her eyes, sounds almost breathless as she glares harder with a sharpness he cannot feel. Her shoulders tense as her eyes flicker again, reflecting an anxiousness he can feel drumming in his own bones.

“But your mou-”

Her palms push hard against his chest, shoving him away before he could protest. It knocks the wind out of him; his instincts flare in resistance, but then her fingers were pinching his nose, and the sudden discomfort of it swallowed any retaliation he meant to do.

“Honestly, this is why no one likes you! You can have no concept of personal space.” She sounded more rattled than razor-sharp when he squints to stare cross-eyed through the blur expanse of her hand. He frowns back anyways, mouth twisting in awkward annoyance as her grip shows no sign of letting up. (If this was how she wanted it-) With a nasally grunt he grasps the wrist over his nose to prevent her from pulling away, takes an immature sort of pleasure at her widening disbelief. At least this bit of theirs was familiar.

“I do so. Also, people do like me.” His hold over her wrist tightens as she pinches him harder. (Really? Was she really telling him that?) “I’m not the one that goes around poking someone’s cheeks to get their attention.”

“Getting cheeky with me, are you?” Shinobu fumes, huffing through her nose as she glowers at his fingers and the thumb over her pulse -- as if glaring hard enough could burn a hole through the odd interlock of their hands.

Any moment now he expects a hard knock on the head, a violent gesture that would take her careening away toward the other side of the room and against sliding doors. One moment closer to reversing the distance between them.

He finds he does not care.

“Seems like you can take care of yourself just fine.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she would not look at him, no matter how he tried to angle his gaze. She catches him trying to do it all the same, and with another loud huff shoves a roll of spare bandages into his face. The pinching grip on his nose ends suddenly, and Giyuu finds himself swallowing the catch of his breath as air fills his lungs, cannot orientate in time before the Insect Pillar stacks more bottles onto his lap, pushing the remaining bandages and cotton and half empty medical kit to his side of the table.

She meant for it to be callous, but when she thrusts a bottle of salve into his other hand, curling his fingers around it securely with a firmness that betrays, he knew otherwise. The odd softness he feels subsides somewhat when she reaches up to tug roughly at the hand that still held hers, planting her knees on tatami flooring as she makes to stand. “I have a lot of things to do, so I’ll be taking my leave-”

“Wait.” His grip on her tightens, causes her to fumble as she wobbles on half-risen feet.

“Let go Tomioka san.” She pulls at his fingers again, her protest coming out a little too heated, makes him pause and reevaluate when she flinches in self regret.

“Not until you tell me.” Do you know? Your fingers are shaking.

“Tell you what?” She laughs, her eyes conflicted. “There’s nothing to explain.”

Her calves choose to buckle inward then, and Giyuu hears her yelp as she teeters off balance from her awkward posture. Unconsciously he loosens his hold on her wrist, scattering pill bottles and bandages on the floor as he makes to get up, reaches out to grab her waist steady before she can fall into a crumpled heap as her breath catches.

She startles at his touch, shoulders stiffening at their half-bent angle, body betraying her more as she curls into herself. Giyuu doesn’t want to think too much into it as he lowers her back to sit on the floor, can sense her distress as clearly as he buries his own while his hand turns clammy. It was disorienting. For a moment he fears she would struggle, but Shinobu bites her lip and says nothing, so he snatches his offending hand back before she can find a reason to.

A glance towards their other linked grip. Through their prior scramble their arms had come to rest on their laps, fingers linked between the empty space that separates their knees. He hesitates. Doesn’t let go.

Even now she won’t look at his way as the tension thickens within the room, threatening to choke them both. The realisation stings, just a little; an itchy prickling he spurns away in lieu of poised patience. It would do no good for such thoughts to get the better of him, even when the knowledge of being ignored leaves something to be desired.

It takes far too long for her to start fidgeting, giving into words as she swallows bitter resignation. In battles like these he always comes out victorious, the cursed stoniness of his face finally useful for something. An underhand method perhaps, but Shinobu never really played fair either.

“...It’s just residue wisteria powder.” A glance at him, hesitant and regarding as she says softly, stares at the tangle of medical supplies on his lap before reaching out to upright a fallen bottle. “A small breeze is enough to stir them into the air so they are hard to dust after. They stick to clothes easily; I supposed that was what you smelt. Careful,” the hint of a self-reflecting grimace as he makes to open his mouth, “they are still poisonous.”

His heart rate spikes. “Poisonous.”

“I wouldn’t be showing my face to anyone if I haven’t disinfected myself, Tomioka san.”

“Doesn’t seem like you to be so... careless.” It is a clumsy excuse, a half truth at best, and he doesn’t know whether to be exasperated that she knows that he knows this.

“Doesn’t seem like you to be so patronizing either.” Shinobu tugs at her arm experimentally, curls her fingers away. Her voice echoes, quieter than he’d expected. “Won’t you let go?”

Giyuu does not. Not yet.

He doesn’t like this; how at odds with her usual self she looks, gaunt and spent, the unsettling notion in his gut swirling the more he thinks about it. Too many things did not line up, and the scent of wisteria looms ever present, burns his lungs with their weight. They each have their own secrets to keep, the masks they wear a kindness to others from their grief, their suffering, themselves. Yet he knows he cannot brush this aside, even as he pulls back slowly, loosening his hand and releasing his grip.

“...Donburi.”

“Excuse me?” The backs of their fingers brush as they break; Shinobu is quick to draw back, cradling her arm over her chest as she finally meets his gaze, regards him with a look he cannot decipher.

“The owner of the corner diner in town came back. I haven’t been there for a while.” Giyuu inhales, clutches the spare folds of his haori in reflex and turns his head to the side; now the one avoiding her gaze. “You don’t have to get salmon daikon.”

Why is it, that I suddenly find it so difficult to meet you head on?

“...Idiot, have you been listening?”

He cannot see her expression like this, try as he might, cannot gauge if that was a positive response or not. Giyuu spies a look over the shadows of his bangs, catches her looking bewildered.

“You need a break.”

“And if I refuse?”

“...It’s my treat.”

Her mouth parts wordlessly, but he takes no pleasure in having the last word, bites his tongue as a million and one thoughts reflect through the deep pools of her eyes. He doesn’t chase this time; they were both frazzled enough as it is, can only hope the results would be the same.

“My, you can be such a handful…” Shinobu shakes her head, but her lips curl into the semblance of something wan, and the relief that runs through him was nothing short of palpable. “But I suppose a chance to stretch my legs outside would be nice.”

She must have caught onto his pleased expression, because her eyes narrow again, lips slanting further up into something more genuinely playful. All bark and no bite. He braces himself against it, feels the mood lift as they fall back into old habits.

“Tomioka san, you are kind of a brute, aren’t you? Touching a woman’s body like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“You owe to be more straightforward. This is why people misunderstand.”

“You understand.” He tilts his head, finds it strange that she would say that. She alone knew his intentions, but that was all he needed. Wasn't it enough?

For some incomprehensible reason Shinobu colours, flushes red again as she diverts her gaze with a huff. But he thinks she looks better like this; less pale and more alive under the natural glow of her skin. Cosmetics could only go so far, and well, he liked it better if she could look healthy without it. Not that he could look for long; already she was picking on another unredeemable feature of his he knows was blatantly not true, the mocking smile on her face an open invitation for him to snark back.

Giyuu takes it gladly, ignores flashes of an odd regret on her face even as their petty squabble ends and they stand, packing the medical kit away and heading for the room’s doors, parting ways. He wonders why she would look at him like that, as though she could find something on his face if she searched hard enough, wonders when he can next bring their unfinished conversation up, if she would ever deemed it alright to tell him about the wisteria scent unfurling from the corner of her lips. He doesn’t want to think about the implications of it, wants to accept the truth from her mouth alone.

He only wishes he had pushed the matter further, wishes he had more time before the inevitable.

Above, the crow’s frantic squawks as their heavy footsteps stumble under the uneven terrain of the fortress breaks him from his reverie. Every utter of her name from its throaty caws sends unpleasant tingles down his bones. It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be like this.

His feet skid as they round the corner, and behind him he hears Tanjirou swallow a sob. The sound echoes deep in his chest, feels almost like pain. Giyuu grits his teeth, fuels that ache into the spring of his jump before it can take over. He cannot waver now, not after-

(A memory. Of a question swallowed within the flurries of gentle snow. Of pursed lips and a sad smile. Why was it, he realises now, that all the genuine smiles she had given him had been tinged with sadness?)

Fool, he thinks to himself, sees the visages of a butterfly leave him and feels something crack within his already broken heart. Unbidden, something wet slides down his cheek.

x

A/N

me: i want giyushino angst where they argue also me: i want them to squabble like children while doing it

i wished their days of eating at small nook-and-cranny diners and enjoying warm meals together after missions could have continued forever :,)

[theladyspooks]

In Morte, Aerternitatis Ch. 4: What’s In A Name?

(special notes for this chapter: for extra emphasis, play “Pan’s Labyrinth Lullaby” during Anya’s dream sequence as linked in the song title)

______________________________________

“Now remember, moya lyubov’, never ever and I mean NEVER say that name five times.”

“But Mama, all the other kids said I’d be the coolest kid in school!”

“Net, if I ever hear talk of this nonsense again I’ll homeschool you myself.”

A 10 year old Vadim sat dejectedly at the table with his mother, her expression stern yet concerned.

“Mama? Rodnoy brat?” A seven year old Anastasia rubbed her eyes in confusion at being woken up by her brother’s complaining. Vadim never knew how to master his inside voice.

“Anya, moy rebenok” Elena cooed at her youngest, “What are you doing up, moye ditya?” She scooped her daughter into her lap.

“I heard Vadim talking about The Candyma-” Elena put a firm hand over her daughter’s mouth.

“Anastasia Ilyena Fyodorov, if I ever hear you say that name again you will spend a week in your room” Anya’s eyes widened, “That goes for you as well, Vadim. Have I taught the both of you nothing?” Vadim stood up.

“But Mama, why can’t we say it?” Her hand dropped from Anya’s mouth as she placed her next to Vadim, squatting down to place her hands on their shoulders.

“There is power in a name, moi deti. To say it out loud is to acknowledge. Once you do this there is no going back, you forfeit any and all say in what happens. Words are powerful and a name is a word. Remember this and promise me you will not say that one, no matter who tells you to do it.” Elena smiled as her children nodded in understanding.

Anya had been too young to fully understand what her mother had meant. At that age, her brain understood that Candyman was a bad word that would result in punishment if she said it. Bad words were a no-no in her house growing up and Elena Fyodorov always made good on her punishments if need be.

Now though, standing in front of her best friend of six years in a hospital bathroom, she finally understood what her mother had meant.

Annie had performed the silent dare so to speak, she had stared a mirror down and uttered a forbidden name five times for all to see. Normally she’d find the whole idea insane, wouldn’t believe it if she didn’t see it.

The problem was she had.

She’d seen the hook in Paul’s back, watched the tall stranger stalk towards; smelled the distinct scent of honey and blood emanating from his very pores. Most importantly though, she’d felt his touch as clear as day. The metal of his hook was terrifying enough, but the skin of his other? That was bone and muscle and blood all wrapped in flesh that put the night sky to shame.

He was real. He was real because Annie had made him so.

“Oh god, Annie…” She rubbed a hand down her face. Paul had paid the price, but only barely as a result of Annie’s need to reassure her kids.

“I know! God Anya, I know! I’ve been tearing my hair out over it all night” She turned the faucet on and splashed her face with cold water, “He could’ve killed you, hell he almost killed Paul! If you hadn’t come along…” A shudder ran through her spine as she watched Annie dry her face.

“He could’ve killed you too, Ann. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t try if you’re the one that called him.” That had been a big thought in her head. The way the legend went, whoever spoke the name five times in a mirror would be split from groin to gullet; yet he’d seemingly spared Annie.

“He spoke to me in my bathroom when he first appeared” Now that caught her attention, “He said that I had a journey to make with him and then when you passed out-” She looked at Anya and shook her head, “He caught you and just stared at you for what felt like hours before putting you down. When he did he told me that I- we were his.” She felt her throat close.

“We? As in you and Paul?” She knew the answer before the question left her mouth.

“No. We as in you and I, Anya.”

“That makes no sense!” She yelled as a nurse wandered into the bathroom, promptly turning back the way she came at the sight of the irritated Russian before her, “I didn’t say his name into a mirror, not once! How is it that he wants me? Why would he leave me the fl-” Annie’s head perked up.

“Anya? What were you going to say?” Annie attempted to make eye contact with Anya, watching her eyes widen.

“It really was him” She whispered in shock before looking up at Annie, “The day we went to the shrine, I left a flower as an offering; a gardenia. After hearing about Purcell’s story I just- I don’t know, I felt sentimental about the man behind the legend.” She scoffed and looked at Annie’s bewildered face.

“When I was done at work I heard a knock, but by the time I came to the door there was no one there except-” She reached into her purse and pulled out the first amaryllis, “-except this.” Annie took the flower from her and studied it as if she’d find the answers she was looking for. “It’s an amaryllis, it means something along the lines of beauty and worth. Then just last night I woke up with another in my hand” She pulled out the second bloom, “The hand he held before I fainted.” Annie relinquished the flower back to her confused companion.

“As creepy as that is, it still doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t say his- wait, you didn’t say his name right?” Anya nearly barked out laughter at that.

“Jesus Annie, of course not! My mother instilled the fear of god into me as a child about even saying Candyman in conversation!”

“So what, you give him a flower and suddenly he wants to be your best friend?”

“I know how it sounds without you repeating it, Annie Tarrant! He may have left me flowers, but he never appeared to me; not like he did with you” She strained to keep her voice leveled, “Have you seen him since last night in any way?”

Annie’s eyes widened slightly, her breathing becoming deeper as she nodded.

“When Paul was still in surgery I was in his intended room waiting. I looked up at the windows and he was there, in the reflection just looking at me. He told me that I’d brought him here, that I needed to come with him and there was this...this painting? I don’t know, but then-” She closed her eyes as if to block out the memory, “-then there was a vision of him slitting Mom’s throat.” She could no longer hold her tears back at the reminder of what she’d seen.

Any irritation Anya had felt before evaporated at the sight of Annie’s vulnerability, her maternal instincts took over as she embraced the shaking blonde. Annie would never do something she knew would bring harm to the people she cared for, it just wasn’t in her nature. As much as Elena had always warned them of names and the power they held, it was ludicrous to think that actually performing a childhood dare would make him flesh. Vadim had performed the Bloody Mary dare on more than one occasion unbeknownst to their mother and he had always come out laughing, no vengeful ghost to speak of.

Yet while Annie had uttered the infamous name, Anya had not and yet- and yet she could still sense him; sense his now unmistakable presence. As long as she didn’t say his name she’d be safe, hopefully, long enough to help Annie. Now that she knew Candyman was indeed real, it made more sense as to why Ethan had been acting so odd. While he’d still been an arrogant fool in the face of help he clearly had been trying to protect them, tried to keep the idea of Candyman a dead man’s tale.

That had backfired spectacularly.

“Anya, I don’t know what to do. What if he tries to hurt Paul again?” Annie clutched Anya’s back as if a lifeline.

“The only thing we can do is figure out what he wants and how to stop him. The sooner we do that the longer we can stay alive.” She pulled back from the hug as Annie calmed herself, but one question remained.

“You still didn’t fully answer my question” Anya cocked her head in confusion, “What does he want with you if you haven’t said his name?” While it wasn’t something she wanted to think about, Annie had a point.

“That’s something I intend to find out.”

______________________________

She was insane, nutty, absolutely bonkers for wanting to go back to that shrine. It wasn’t a good idea in any way, shape or form and really how could it be? Going there in the first place was purely academic if not a tad sentimental, but wanting to go again after everything? No sane human being in their right mind would dare.

Alas, here she was, standing before the screaming mural alone.

Something about being alone in here this time around felt more dangerous. Perhaps because only the night before her friends had nearly died at the hands of the man she’d paid her respects to; the man she thought to be a myth long buried. The only comfort she had was that she had not used his name in front of the mirror, rendering him unable to physically manifest in her presence. Even with that thought she could still feel him there with her, as if he was waiting in the shadows hoping she’d call to him properly.

“I suppose we’re past the point of formalities at this rate” She crossed her arms and kept her gaze on the lit candles before her, “You did try to kill my friend, after all.” No response greeted her as she bit her lip.

“I don’t think Annie knew what she was doing when she called you, it was purely selfless. That’s Annie for you though, putting her life at risk in order to calm down a few rowdy boys- boys that were up in arms over you I might add!” If someone were to come in at this moment, they’d most assuredly be calling the psych ward at the sight of a crazed redhead talking to a wall.

She started to pace and rake her nails through mussed red tresses, eyes wandering from mural to mural in agitation. She finally settled on the one that showed Candym- Daniel being restrained by jeering dandies in preparation to saw off his hand; his mouth agape and eyes wide in fear.

“I won’t pretend to understand what you went through, be hard pressed to find anyone that could I think” She once again found herself reaching out to touch his restrained hand, “To die for love- die for loving someone that society deems against the norm isn’t quite as romantic as philosophers make it out to be. My uncle learned that the hard way…” She trailed off, letting her fingers slip down the wall and back to her side.

No, she wouldn’t share more of herself with this man after what he’d done.

“Look” She turned with a new found ferocity back to the shrine, “I don’t know what you want with Annie, you would have killed her already if you had no use for her. Say the name and end them groin to gullet, right? Well whatever you’re planning, I won’t let you have her so easily; she’s had enough taken from her” Her eyes bore into the mismatched painted ones as if daring him to come uncalled, “And so have I.” With one last long look at the mural Anya turned to leave with the setting sun, long lit candles extinguishing behind her only seconds after with a strong gust of wind.

______________________________

That night found her in her bed with Philip Purcell’s book, trying to absorb as much information as she could.

Daniel Robitaille...

Born to slaves…

Educated…

Artist by trade…

Fell in love…

Died for love…

The pages turned rapidly as she attempted to learn more about this man, eyes not moving fast enough for her liking. If it wasn’t for the manner in which his story ended, his life almost could have been the perfect romance. Two people from different worlds falling into each other's arms thanks to a commissioned painting, a child as a result of their passions.

Unfortunately tragedy and hatred presented at the forefront of this story. Never would their love have been allowed to continue due to their statuses in life; the different color of their skin.

Yet Daniel was the one who was punished- was the one who paid with his life and, evidently, his soul.

Of course, that wasn’t entirely fair of her to think. The thought of having to watch the man you love die as his child grew within you, knowing he’d never get to love them the way they deserved to be loved; the way he deserved to be loved.

Maybe a good night’s rest would clear her mind enough to do more research in the morning. She placed the book in the top drawer of her nightstand, her eye catching on the two red flowers that still lay on the surface next to her lamp.

“Worth beyond beauty…” Her fingertips grazed the petals of one as if in a trance before shaking herself out of it and switching the lamp off.

She felt her body begin to relax as the darkness pulled her under and dreams filled her mind.

The field in front of her was blanketed in the purest snow and lit ethereal by the full moon above. Her feet bore no shoes yet she could not feel the cold, it was her dream after all. The distinct sound of a melody flowed around her, a violin’s beautiful yet melancholy cry and the keys of a gentle piano following in its wake enticing her into a dance.

Her movements were slow to start, gradually evolving into a sure yet slow routine to match the song all around her. Moon beams danced off her fiery hair as the tender breeze blew snowflakes to kiss the flowing tresses, her simple pale pink dress touching just to the middle of her knees over and over again as she moved.

The footprints she made filled in almost as quickly as they were created as gleaming crystals replaced them in the wake of the moon. Every night she wondered why it was always snow, why did her mind immediately take her here? The mind could imagine many splendored images, fireflies over a lush meadow where Puck lay hidden and uttering at the foolishness of mortals; Rapunzel’s sunlit tower surrounded by stained glass and old books.

Yet deep in her soul, she knew why here; why snow.

The last and only memory she had of her time in Russia was a happy one, something she kept close to her heart and always would. She and Vadim had made snow angels as both of her parents stood within a few feet of their children.

Both of her parents…

Not only was this the last and only memory she had of Russia, but also that of her father. Ivan Fyodorov was a name that had not been uttered in what felt like decades yet he haunted her just as much as the thought of Candyman did. His salt and pepper beard riddled with snowflakes and his body wrapped in a dark brown fur, arm laced with Elena’s much more delicate one.

She remembered how his whiskey brown eyes never strayed from his two children and his mouth in what appeared to be a permanent straight line. Her younger self had caught his gaze and smiled so wide that a flicker of something akin to warmth passed through his eyes before her memory went blank.

Maybe that was it. The snow held that memory, froze it in an eternal loop for her only.

Her body went into a few quick pirouettes before halting with one hand stretched before her and the other gently grasped in a warm hand from behind. Hear senses heightened and raised at the hackles, never before had anyone else ever joined her dream; not this one.

Red hair flew as she whipped her head around, her lips parting in an attempt to take in more air that her lungs couldn’t seem to find.

There he stood in all his broad glory just the same as she had seen him at Annie’s. His hand once again grasping hers gently as she stood in her final pose, wide blue eyes intertwining with intense brown that seemed to keep her in place.

“It’s you…” Her voice was but a mere whisper, “How?” His lips parted ever so slightly as his fingers tightened around her hand gently.

“This place that you’ve created does not exist on a physical plane” His voice only seemed to have gotten deeper since last she saw him, “Therefore, I am able to come to you without a proper calling.” His arm began to tug softly as if he was keeping hold of a frightened doe, her own body slowly twisting fully towards him and willingly following his pull.

Once their chests were within inches, the hand holding hers raised slightly as the other came to rest at the small of her back in a waltz position. She had expected to feel the sting of cold metal at her spine, but was instead surprised at the warmth of a large palm. He smirked as if reading her mind.

“In dreams, we can be whomever we so choose” The music still played on a never ending loop around them as he began to sway with her gingerly, “We can perform tasks that one only yearns for in the mortal world.” His voice almost seemed to mesh with the music perfectly, as if the song existed only to be in sync with him.

He spun her delicately, her hair caressing his coat in a stark contrast of flame dancing in the night sky. They moved effortlessly around and with each other in a way that frightened her. He was attuned to her movements and she to his more so than any dance partner she’d ever encountered. Yes this was a dream and things were obviously different in this reality, but she had a feeling that his grace and agility was something that carried over into the real world just as hers did.

His hand remained a constant reassurance at the small of her back through every dip and twirl while the other engulfed her fingers entirely. They were larger than any she could remember yet long and elegant in the fingers with no calluses to speak of, an artist's hand through and through.

“In the world of the living this hand remains a grizzled reminder of my death, a cruel tease that numbs touch. But here?” He dropped the hand holding hers and slid the other around her waist so that it squeezed her securely into a one armed lift, their bodies chest to chest with her one arm wound around his neck as he spun her a mere two times; stopping gradually to slide her back down to their starting position, “I can feel you with both as if I still lived.” His voice gentled to a whisper and tempting her body into the desire for another dance.

Her breath was labored in a way it shouldn’t have been, years of physical fitness and training allowing her a high stamina and control of oxygen. He had an unnatural effect over her and perhaps that was the dream blending with his own supernatural aura, she couldn’t be sure, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

“The flowers” She suddenly remembered, her hand sliding down from his shoulder, “Why the flowers? Why me?” His hand left her waist and caught hers as it lay just above his heart, keeping it pressed there.

“You bestowed unto me the same, did you not? More than that, you’ve done something no one has managed to do in a very long time” His other hand once again dropped her hand in favor of cupping her cheek, his hand so big and fingers so long that he almost cradled her entire head, “You’ve intrigued me- enraptured my attention.” He dipped his face closer to hers as her eyes fluttered at his proximity.

“You, Anastasia, are an enigma that I long to discover. A lone woman who leaves the first shred of kindness I’ve felt in centuries as an offering and calls me by my name” Her eyes fluttered back open, “My true name.” His own eyes drifted down to her lips and lingered there as she finally felt able to conjure words to her tongue.

“Wh- what do you want with A- Annie?” Vadim would laugh at how pathetic she sounded right now.

“Quite the question, one for another time. For now?” He leaned in as if to kiss her, thumb tracing her bottom lip, “I think it best if you...wake up.” She felt the music around her stop as the dream melted away into a mixture of snow and honey, the bright morning of light greeting her in a warm caress.

She opened her eyes at the ever persistent sun beams, a gasp leaving her throat as she felt around; sighing in relief when she touched the blankets of her bedding. A dream, a very realistic dream, but a dream nonetheless. Truly it had felt as if she never fell asleep at all. The feel of his hands, the brush of snowflakes on her face, his breath on her cheek; it truly was the most realistic dream she’d ever had.

He’d been so brutal in his pursuit of Paul that she almost believed he had some sort of alter ego. Dream be damned, to be so savagely harsh yet delicately soft was a conundrum. Maybe something he had said would resonate with Annie, she’d need to tell her right away. She sighed and stretched her limbs, shaking the sleep from her bones and letting her eyes drift over to the nightstand where her red blooms now held new company.

There in plain view was a sprig of what looked like sweetpea.

She sat up and snatched the white flower as she threw the covers off; padding over to her book case in concentration. Her fingers skimmed the well used spines until they settled on a manual of botany and began to flip through  the pages until she found the letter ‘S’.

Saffron

Sage

Snowdrop

Ah! There it was, sweetpea. Derived from the Geek word “lathyros” of which translates to ‘pulse’. In terms of its own language, the sweetpea can mean delicate pleasure, blissful pleasure, a declaration of thanks for a lovely time and adieu.

Oh.

She let the book slip to the floor as she brought the flower towards her face. That dream was, in a way she didn’t understand, seemingly- well, real. He had come to her without the call, but how was that possible? Was it true how he described it? The thought of dreams and the unconscious plane having different rules than that of reality didn’t seem that crazy; especially with how much she’d been thinking of him subconsciously. Now that she knew this it was imperative that she talked to Annie about it.

Well, maybe she would keep the part about dancing with him private for now.

____________________________

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to run that by me again.” An incredulous Annie crossed her arms at what she’d just been told.

Her reaction to Anya’s dream would have been humorous if it wasn’t for the fact that the blonde had summoned the very same hooked specter through a mirror and encountered him in her home.

“You heard me, he somehow found a way to communicate with me and...that just happens to be through my dreams” She rubbed her temples at Annie’s furrowing brow, “Look, I know it sounds weird-”

“That’s an understatement-”

“-but it’s real. He may not be able to come to me like he has you, but he sure as other ways. For what purpose...that’s what I’ll need to figure out.”

“Did he say anything of interest last night?” The question was innocent enough, but it also brought a light dusting of red to her cheeks at the thought of their dance.

She hadn’t been able to resist him, as outrageous as that sounded. This man- this ghost had nearly killed her friend the other night and was now stalking the other for reasons she couldn’t understand. Even with all of that in mind, she had not been able to fight him.

There was something so alluring and calming about the man even with the bloody hook embedded into his wrist; he had an aura that could pull you in and never let go.

She’d need to work on resisting that if she ever wanted to get straight answers.

“Not really, just a bunch of cryptic bullshit.” She didn’t like lying to Annie, but now wasn’t the time to tell her she waltzed with her husband’s almost killer.

“Dammit, I was hoping you’d have good news to balance out mine” Anya quirked her head, “It’s Matthew, some of the kids came by mom’s this morning. He’s gone missing.” Annie began to pace, anxiety practically dripping from her pores.

“Missing? What would-”

“I said his name in front of Matthew. I said Candyman five times in the mirror just to calm him down, show him there was nothing that could happen and-” She sighed deeply, “-and now he’s missing, that can’t be a coincidence.” Anya bit her lip thoughtfully.

“What about his father? He’s a Pastor just up the road, right? He may not know where Matthew is, but maybe he has some insight.” As long as they could get him to speak to them at all.

“That might work” Annie retrieved her keys from the counter, “Let me just make a quick trip to check on Paul and we can head over there.” She motioned Anya to follow, the red head already making strides to follow before something out of the corner of her eye stopped her.

There in the reflection of one of Annie’s windows was the silhouette of a very familiar man, hook raised in greeting. She turned to look where the reflection would be coming from with a gasp...only to see nothing.

“Anya? Yah comin’?” Annie called out.

“Yeah! Sorry-” She turned back to the window to see the reflection gone with only a small bee buzzing around in place from outside, “-I forgot my bag, coming!”

The little bee buzzed around after the red head, watching as she entered the car; its small body softly landing on a nearby bush of sweet pea as the car drove off.

[idealisticrealism]

Hello! I hope you are doing fine. So I read the new chapters of Into Flames and ... oh boy, oh boy... I'm not gonna lie, when I read chapter 3 my first reaction was similar to the one Remi half-expected from Weller: a psychopath creeping into the house where Sawyer was sleeping with a knife. And, I am not gonna lie again, I was a bit puzzled about Kurt's reaction in chapter 4. His sister and her son were sleeping in that house. And Remi just decided to go there and threaten his father after (1)

Oh, ReviewerAnon. I freakin love getting to hear your thoughts on this story. And funnily enough, I literally thought of you the very day before you sent these Asks, wondering if you were still reading along, and I was so excited to see the notifications show up less than 24hrs later. Given the length of your messages-- not to mention the undoubtedly very long responses I will be giving to your questions/comments about IF-- I’m going to put the rest under a Read More so people don’t have to scroll past a huge block of text. But to any of my followers that are reading IF, feel free to read this and even add any thoughts you might have, bc there might be some interesting (and spoiler-free) things for you to discover if you want to look below the cut :)

So I read the new chapters of Into Flames and ... oh boy, oh boy... I'm not gonna lie, when I read chapter 3 my first reaction was similar to the one Remi half-expected from Weller: a psychopath creeping into the house where Sawyer was sleeping with a knife. And, I am not gonna lie again, I was a bit puzzled about Kurt's reaction in chapter 4. His sister and her son were sleeping in that house. And Remi just decided to go there and threaten his father after a two sentence discussion with Weller. Determined to get an answer Weller hadn't gotten, in a way he never dared to. It made me uncomfortable. So I gave it a couple of weeks and thought about it. And in some way it made sense. Because she loves him and she realized that he could never be a whole person again until he got an answer that would allow him to put the past behind him. And he would never get an answer because he could never put a knife in that man's throat and demand it. And the past and that man would continue to hunt him. The same past and man that had pushed him to almost take his own life. So she does what he can't do and he accepts it because he understands it comes from a place of love and more importantly because he feels it in his bones that he would never have an answer in any other way. Or at least that's how I saw it. 

Oh man. I have so much to say about this and I hope it’s going to make sense. Firstly, my immediate response to you not liking Remi’s actions was “Nooooooooo” because I’m always sad when someone doesn’t enjoy something in my writing. But I’m so delighted that you actually gave it the benefit of the doubt and thought about it from different angles rather than just dismissing it as a poor writing choice, and honestly the conclusion you came to is pretty much exactly what I was going for! But to say a bit more about it, because I can’t help myself lol: firstly, though we haven’t had much opportunity to see it in either fic, Remi is fiercely protective of kids (even while having very little idea of how to interact with them), given her history with the orphanage and Shepherd’s parenting etc. Literally from the moment she heard his story about Taylor in the cave, she knew that she would have gotten the truth out of Bill by any means necessary if she had been in Weller’s shoes, and would also have made Bill pay dearly for it. When she discovers at the safehouse that Bill is practically within reach, there is no question for her that she has to do this for Weller. Not only does she love him and want him to have closure, but she feels that she owes it to him to do what he can’t-- to her, Weller saved her, showed her that she wasn’t just the irredeemable monster that Shepherd had created; but she also knows that her darker side is exactly what is needed for this, because only someone who was a little bit monstrous could do what was necessary to get the truth from someone like Bill. By doing it herself, she ensures Weller will get the answer he so desperately wants and needs, all without ever tainting his soul or his conscience. Did a part of her also almost hope (even as the thought terrified her) that doing this terrible thing would make him turn his back on her once he learned of it? Honestly, I think so, even if just a little bit. Because yes, she loves him, but she is still half-convinced that she is the very thing he needs protecting from, not to mention that she is insecure as hell, and if he left her now because of this, that would be easier to bear than him leaving her later bc he just ‘lost interest’ or fell for someone else or whatever.  

As for Weller’s reaction-- despite their grim nature, he sees her actions for the gift of love that they are, sees her taking the burden of doing ‘evil’ onto her own shoulders in order to both heal his old wounds and prevent him gaining new ones. And honestly, when he learns of it, I don’t think her going into the apartment with Sarah and Sawyer gives him even a moment’s concern-- firstly, he knows she would have used as little force as possible with Bill, because he knows her and knows that she’s not needlessly cruel, and also that she cares what he thinks of her, so there would have been no doubt in his mind hat she would have been very restrained in her approach. He knows, too, that with her level of skill, Sarah and Sawyer were bound to never even know she was there. And if by some unlucky chance they did discover her, it would probably all be fine-- Sarah knows and trusts her and so would listen to what she had to say, and Sawyer was little enough that he would believe pretty much anything that this gentle and pretty lady said, especially if his mom was also awake to say she was Uncle Kurt’s girlfriend. (Btw let’s not forget Bill would be rendered unconscious the moment he made a peep, so it’s not like either of them would walk in on him squealing like a stuck pig with her standing over him covered in blood and holding a knife). 

But aaaanyway TL/DR; Remi Briggs would do anything to protect Kurt Weller from literally any form of harm, regardless of the cost to herself, and Weller recognises this and would never turn on her for doing so, even if she did it in a way that others might condemn. He just accepts her and finds his own ways to protect her in return, because that’s what you do for the people you love.

A question here: why do you think he never threatened his father for an answer when he was sure about what he had done? Why didn't he put a gun to his head? He must have thought about it. Perhaps, when it came to that man Weller would always feel like a 10-year old boy with no power over his paternal figure? Helpless and hopeless? 

Oooh boy, time for a fun fact: my first idea for Weller’s ‘dark secret’ wasn’t that he tried to kill himself. It was actually much like what you said; sometime when he had grown into a tall, broad-shouldered teenager who almost physically rivalled his father for size and was no longer paralysed by his fear of him, he was going to finally snap, attack his father and threaten him with a gun to get him to tell him the truth about Taylor. Then, either he would have the sudden realization that he had also become a violent monster just like his father and immediately back off, or Sarah would unexpectedly appear and interrupt the confrontation, following which Weller would run off and enlist and basically banish himself to the other side of the world in shame/to protect her and others from himself. When I thought about it, though, I decided that him actually going through with something like that didn’t really fit with the image of Weller I had in my head (even a traumatised and angsty and hormonal teenaged Weller) so I changed the plot to have him nearly kill himself instead. The subtext of that moment, which I never actually explicitly wrote but was definitely there in my mind, was that the reason he nearly killed himself and then later ran away to the Army was because he wanted to kill his father, wanted to attack him just like I described above, and was so horrified by that urge-- and by the belief that it meant that he truly was his father’s son, just another violent monster like Bill-- that he ran as far and fast as he could and then focused his entire life around helping people (as much as one can while in the Army... though that’s a political debate for another time), trying to stamp out or at least outrun that part of himself. Obviously that’s a level of complexity that you guys never really received bc I never actually told you-- but actually as I write this, I actually now know exactly where and when I will include it in the future. So I guess you did just get a teeny spoiler there haha :P

Anyway... Chapter 5 was AMAZING. I love how much she loves Weller and I'm so glad that she just went ahead and said it. I love that it is important to her that he knows that she feels the same. What a difference a few weeks, a good man, and the generous love of that man can make to a broken person... Remi has come a long way. I also LOVED the interaction between Emma and Remi but I kind of also wanted a glimpse of Remi's thoughts on the necklace and what Emma's gesture meant to her. 

“What a difference a few weeks, a good man, and the generous love of that man can make to a broken person”-- Yes!! You have literally captured the entire theme of FTA and IF. I started writing FTA purely because I wondered what kind of person Remi would have become if she’d met Weller earlier. The assassination attempt by Orion was a turning point in her life, one that (in canon) drove her back to Shepherd and to the ‘dark side’. But if it had led her to Weller instead, and to the side of good... what else would change, not only for her, but for all of them? Exploring that in IF has been awesome, partly because I get to right a lot of wrongs, but also because I get to take two traumatised people who have suffered a lot in their lives and let them start to heal together, and just be happy and stupidly in love?? The whole thing is pure bliss, both for them and for me lol

Also I get what you mean about wanting to know Remi’s reaction to Emma and the necklace, given that we never got to really see it bc that scene was all from Weller’s POV. I will do my best to address it someday, and I think I even have an idea of where it could happen....

The tattoos in chapter 6 were indeed EXTRA but they are drunk in love so go ahead with all the grand dramatic gestures... 

Dude, you have no idea how hard I fought with myself on that one. The sensible side was all “Laura, no, it’s so lame and over-the-top! Don’t do it! Everyone will roll their eyes and be unable to take you seriously ever again!” while the fluff-loving little fangirl in me just repeatedly cried “But I wanna!!” Which was clearly enough argument to convince me, given the sappy romantic that I am lol. (A decision that was helped along by a little encouragement from the ever-awesome @chibinoyume). And as it turns out, people seemed to enjoy the whole tattoo thing, thankfully! I think the fact that these two are clearly very much in the ‘Honeymoon Phase’ helped out there, as did the fact that the tattoos could technically be viewed as a reminder of their journey/survival rather than just specifically of each other. But man, I wish I could have gotten to write Remi’s indecision as she paced around the spare bedroom for a couple of hours trying to decide whether to tattoo herself or not lol. Because (much like my own little internal debate haha) she wanted to do it, but felt that she shouldn’t want to do it, and was also nervous about the reaction if she did. But anyway, I may very well end up writing a oneshot of that moment someday. We’ll see.

Chapter 7 was so much fun! Thank god for shared bathrooms and extra doors and kudos to Remi for claiming what obviously belongs to her. She loves him and he loves her and good for them for not holding anything back. Life is too short and they wasted a lot of years already without love in their life. 

I agree completely!! These two have both lived so much of their lives in emotional isolation-- I mean, yes, Weller had Sarah and Sawyer and Emma, but like I said earlier, he had deliberately kept his distance out of fear and shame, and then by the time he started to realise that he wasn’t his father, he was so used to being far away that I think it just made sense to stay that way. So when he and Remi found each other and experienced that deep sense of connection for the first time, they might have shied away from it at first, but once they accepted it, no one was ever going to be able to make them let go. They are each others’ person, and always will be, even if they both get afflicted by insecurity at times! 

Also hell yes about the shared bathrooms!!! I know I could have written it that way regardless, bc I’m the author and I can do what I want, but having reality actually back me up on it was amazing lol. I’m pretty sure you asked several weeks ago what the bedroom/roommate situation was like at Quantico and I couldn’t tell you back then, so I’m glad I finally got to share the answer with you haha!

And although I am sure other readers are ready for team bonding and first friendships (at least for Remi), I am here for Mayfair. Mayfair is an absolute queen and has shown more caring and love for these two than their parental figures ever did. I am now gonna go ahead and selfishly say what I would like to see: I'm here for both of them (together and separately) having a heart-to-heart with Mayfair. I'm here for Remi sincerely saying how much she appreciates everything Mayfair has done for them, although she owed her nothing. I'm honestly here for them to send Mayfair flowers and chocolates and maybe a new scarf. I want grand gestures! One of the greatest failures of the show, in my opinion, was the lack of healthy relationships between people of different generations. It's pathetic that almost every person over 40 turned out to be a villain and every single parental figure (except Emma who we saw for like 2 seconds and Bill Nye) failed miserably their children (I am not even going to talk about killing Mayfair). Our relationships are not just with people of our age, our friends or siblings. We have important relationships with our parents, our aunts, our older colleagues or friends and we often turn to them for love and advice and encouragement and maybe to get yelled at for doing stupid things. Why on earth could we not have that on Blindspot? The team is great and everything but Mayfair's relationship with Weller was amazing (and I guess her relationship with Patterson and the others, if they cared to elaborate on time and not after death). So please please more Mayfair in the story... (They will have weekends off at some point, right? And they will need protection. A safehouse, right? I am sure Mayfair can have a beachhouse or a lakehouse or a house on the top of a mountain where they can go spend the weekend safely because Mayfair is the head of the NYO and she has to have extra security, right? I will pay money for a Remi-Mayfair talk about her relationship with Weller and how it has changed her but also confiding to her about what kind of future she sees with Weller after Orion is defeated.) 

This is a really interesting point, and I honestly hadn’t noticed until now just how many of the older characters turned out to be absolutely awful, or if they weren’t, got quickly killed off. I will forever be bitter about Mayfair’s end (I held onto denial about her death for so damn long, sigh) and that was one of the things I wanted to rectify in this story. Mayfair is an amazing part of the team and an incredible character in her own right. Though with that said, I honestly hadn’t planned for her to be in the Quantico-based chapters much at all, purely bc she’s a busy lady and NYC is several hours away, but after getting your asks I had an idea for a very Mayfair-focused chapter and I think you’re going to enjoy it a lot. Well, I hope so, anyway!

Finally, with the way these two are behaving I'm half expecting a marriage proposal and a yes before the question gets fully asked and I will be like "I mean yeah... it makes total sense after 6 weeks together..." 

Hahahaha I love that you would be on board with a Reller engagement already! I get what you mean; they’ve been A Lot lately, especially bc of all the uncertainty of their changing situation, but I think once they settle into Quantico life they’ll tone it down a notch lol. Plus, it definitely is still early days, and there’s a lot that these guys have to figure out before they could get to that point! I can neither confirm nor deny that a proposal will happen by the end of the fic (mostly because I legitimately don’t know yet lol-- I have about 20 chapters to write before we even get near to the end, so I’ve got lots of other things to be focusing on for now haha). But with that said, if I do include one, I hope it’ll be done in such a way that it makes you go “Yes. This is right. This is exactly how it should be.” And if I don’t include one, I promise I’ll make it very clear that they’re committed to each other regardless ;)

My friend, you are crazy talented. Insanely talented. And I can tell how much you enjoy writing this story. So kudos to you and here's to many more chapters of Remi and Weller (and Mayfair...) This message is waaaay too long but I wanted to write for a few weeks now and finally I had some time to write down my thoughts. I hope this is okay. Stay healthy and safe! ReviewerAnon

Oh man. Honestly, the fact that you have so many thoughts and feelings about this story is one of the biggest compliments I’ve ever received (although you saying I’m insanely talented is definitely another huge one!!!). Thank you so much for taking the time not only to read my work, but to think about it, to analyse what you feel about it and why, and for coming here to tell me your findings! You’re right, I do absolutely love writing this story and inhabiting this world with these characters, just as I love sharing that world with you guys! I truly hope that you continue to enjoy the journey, and that you will feel comfortable to continue sharing your thoughts about it. And of course, I hope that you are happy and well in whatever corner of the world you inhabit, just as I am in mine! 

Until next time x