#hope this make sense because this has been stewing in my mind for a while now

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + six

authors note: i really like how this one came out. hope you guys do too.

i use some psych terminology, so just as a lil glossary: pt=patient, dx=diagnosis, hx =history, fx=functioning status (mental stability, essentially) and hopefully everyone can understand the rest with context clues.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: fluff, language, medical report following suicide attempt, discussion of sexual abuse, mention of torture

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

words: 10k (i don't know how to write short chapters, clearly)

The last thing Solana expected to wake up to is a handwritten note left for her in the same journal she deposited on Roman’s bed despite her better judgment. She was filled to the brim with anxiety regarding that bold decision, asking him to do something she’s certain is miles outside of his comfort zone.

She expected him to ignore her. 

What she didn’t expect was for him to reply.

Reading over his words, Solana struggles with the ease of his acquiescence. He indicated it could be short term, but she’ll take that, because it’s a hell of a lot easier for her to talk to this man if it’s through written word.

And the last part. 

There’s nothing you can’t tell me.

There’s actually a lot she can’t tell him. A lot he can never know. No one can know, but the sentiment behind it…..it has her puzzled. He has her puzzled. 

Solana grabs the journal and scans the kitchen for a pen when a thought crosses her mind. She bites down on her bottom lip, forever battling with the idea of something vs the actuality of carrying out the plan.

In a plot twist, she sides with the plan and pulls out her phone, searching for Roman’s contact.

She types, deletes, and does so again at least three times before settling on a text that really could have been conjured and sent in seconds vs the solid ten minutes she takes to issue it out.

Solana: Hi. Thank you. Do you think we could text too? I know that writing is my thing, but I can text if that’s easier for you too….thanks.

Solana nearly tosses her cell phone on the large slab that is his granite kitchen island and moves around to figure out what she’s going to fix for breakfast. The perfect excuse for her to not think about the knots in her stomach at her message. It doesn’t stop the overthinking though.

What if she’s asking too much? Pushing him too far out of his comfort zone? It doesn’t take long for her to regret her decision, wishing it was still within the time limits to unsend her message.

And then her phone dings.

Solana nearly drops the egg she was about to crack over the skillet. Swallowing, she places it back in the bowel as her feet slowly carry her to the phone that has now dinged a second time. Her fingers dance against the sides of her pants, stretching and scratching the cotton. 

Lifting her phone, she unlocks her phone and heads straight to his thread.

Roman: Yes.

It’s a simple response that makes sense for him and is beneficial for Solana who sighs in relief at his agreement. She stews on how to respond, eventually settling on a simple thank you as well as answering his question. The least she can do. 

Solana: Thank you…

Solana: And I don’t work this weekend. 

Solana: Can I ask you something?

Solana again starts chewing on her bottom lip as she mentally berates herself for bombarding him with messages when he’s probably in the middle of working.

But even so, that doesn’t stop him from replying almost instantly.

Roman: You don’t have to ask if you can ask me something, Solana. Just ask. 

It’s hard not to imagine the frustration on his face at answering her question while also having to remind her of what he’s already stated at one point or another. 

Solana: Okay…

Solana: Where are we going?

She’s unsure if he will respond and has accepted that he may not, which is okay with her. He’s already being more responsive than she initially anticipated he would. And Solana is barely able to put the skillet on the fire before her phone is buzzing again.

Roman: You’ll see.

His answer makes her frown. It’s not what she wanted to hear, but it’s also not a complete disregard or verbal lashing for asking a simple question.

Solana prepares to leave it as is when Roman’s voice is in the back of her mind, nudging and reminding her of his desire for her to communicate with him more.

Nervous fingers type out an expression of said nerves.

Solana: Okay….surprises just make me nervous. 

She doesn’t have time to put her phone down when those three dots appear, indicating he’s typing.

Roman: It’s nothing bad.

Roman: I wouldn’t lie to you. 

And for some strange reason, Solana believes that. Roman doesn't seem like a man to lie in general, because he’s too blunt for that. 

Unless….

Unless it’s one of his mind games, because he is notorious for that. Still, she can’t find a reason why he would waste his time playing one of those with her. 

Solana: Okay. Sorry to text you while you’re working.

Roman: You’re apologizing again.

Roman: And I don’t care. 

Roman: I’d rather talk to you than listen to the twins bullshit.

Solana tries to not put too much into his words, into him saying that he wants to talk to her. It’s not that he directly wants to speak to her, more she’s the lesser of two evils. Nothing to get into her head about.

Solana: They’re kinda funny….🙈

Roman: You’d feel differently if you had to deal with them all the time. 

Solana: Fair.

The exchange is so in the moment, back to back, that she doesn’t put her phone down again until her last message. She then returns to preparing her breakfast. 

Solana is frying her eggs, adding in seasoning when her phone dings again. Wiping her hands on her apron, she expects a message from Bayley or even Naomi.

Especially Naomi. She needs to talk to her about what happened, apologize for putting her in what must have been an awkward situation.

It’s neither of them.

Roman: How’d you start writing?

Roman continuing or prolonging the conversation isn’t something she saw coming. But, the message is right there in white writing against that gray background.

Solana briefly debates how honest to be in her answer, deciding to step a bit out of her comfort zone in offering more than just her usual three to five word responses. 

Solana: My mom. She spoke English, but she wasn’t fluent, so she’d write letters to me in Spanish, and I’d have to respond in English so we both could learn.

Solana: My dad wouldn’t let her teach or speak it around me and Wes so that was the only way I/she could learn.

He stops replying after that, and Solana feels stupid for being so open, for not just giving him a simple answer with all of the unnecessary verbiage.

And then her phone goes off.

Roman: Not surprising. 

When he doesn’t say anything else, Solana debates on whether to end it there or follow up with another question given that he asked one first. It feels like returning the favor or reciprocating manners.

Hence, she decides on texting him again. 

Solana: What is that language you speak to the twins sometimes?

Roman: Samoan. I’m fluent. Italian and English as well. 

That’s not entirely surprising. Roman is obviously a well educated, well rounded man. 

Roman: You’re more perceptive than you let off.

Solana: Maybe. But no one ever cares what I have to say or think, so it doesn’t make sense to share it. 

He stops replying after that.

And Solana tries to not think too much about her disappointment, moving around the kitchen to finish fixing breakfast as a distraction.

A poor distraction, because not even twenty minutes later, she’s ready to check her phone again even if it hasn’t made the special sound that makes her belly flutter. However, the sound of the doorbell pulls her from that premature excitement.

Solo comes to meet her in the kitchen informing matter-of-factly, “it’s Naomi and Bayley.” 

Solana stills. That’s definitely not someone she expected to see so soon. Neither of them.

“Invite them in?” Solo’s voice tinges with borderline irritation, which she can understand.

Cheeks reddening, she apologizes. “Yes. Sorry. Of—of course.”

Solana hears Bayley before she sees her. “Damn. This is how it’s like to live as the Tribal Chief's wife? Maybe shit isn’t so bad after all.” The two walking in wearing friendly smiles brings back Solana’s grin.

“Hey there. We wanted to come check on you.” Naomi introduces, the first to ask, “is it okay if we hug you?”

Solana doesn’t hesitate as much as she would expect herself to. “Yes.” 

Naomi also doesn’t hesitate and steps forward, hugging Solana in such a sincere way she’s not sure she’s experienced in years. Since her mom. 

And Bayley does the same, maybe even a little tighter.

The three of them sit down at the kitchen island as Bayley asks in a sympathetic tone. “How you doing, lady?”

“Better.” It’s an honest answer, and Solana can’t help but think about the additive that it’s largely due to Roman. But, she keeps that part to herself. She looks at Naomi. “I’m so sorry—“

Naomi lifts a manicured finger to silence her. “Girl, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I’m sorry I didn’t know what was going on. You could have told me too, but I get it must have been hard for you.”

This part had Solana deeply nervous, the part where she’d have to ‘face’ Naomi after causing such a scene and getting the whole place shut down for an entire day, So, for the woman with the penchant for bold colors that look delightful against her complexion to be so understanding and empathetic, it means a lot to Solana.

It means a lot that Bayley would also even tag along when she wasn’t even part of that chaotic ordeal.

“Just know you can tell us anything. We’ve got your back,” Bayley affirms, adding with a smirk. “And clearly your big bad husband does too.”

We’ve got your back.

Solana doesn’t even know where to begin comprehending and swallowing that. 

Thankfully, she doesn’t have too long to be in her head, because Naomi starts talking again. “That was wild,” she comments with a shake of her head and then looks at Solana. “Oh shit, you probably don’t know, do you?”

Solana’s stomach does the opposite of butterflies, the uncomfortable clenching and twisting that accompanies anxiety. “Know what?”

There’s no delay with the answer.

“Theory and Waller are dead.” Solana wasn’t sure what to expect to hear Naomi say, but even if she tried to guess, that would have never been one of her options.

Confusion is painted all over her face. “Wha—what?”

Dead.

The two men who just yesterday caused her to breakdown and revert back to her teenage years where dissociation was her coping mechanism, the men who’d been sexually harassing her with zero regards for her as a human and even more, as Roman’s wife….are dead.

It feels almost impossible to be true. 

Bayley backs up Naomi’s assertion, adding, “yeah, he had their bodies, or what was left, displayed at the Warehouse this morning.”

Chills travel up her spine. “W–why?”

It’a a word aimed towards a lot of the questions Solana has unanswered. Why are they dead? Why did Roman kill or have them killed? Sure, she expected there to be some form of punishment, merely for the simple fact that messing with her was a clear sign of disrespect toward him, which the Tribal Chief would never tolerate. But, for them to be killed, in such a what sounds like a gruesome manner, and their remains to be left for all to see?

Why?

Bayley answers with a shrug of her shoulders. “To send a message.”

Solana is surprisingly fast with her follow up. “W-what message?”

Naomi is quick with the answer, but in general, she seems to be knowledgeable about a lot of things Bloodline. “You’re Bloodline now. No one messes with us. And you’re Roman’s wife? Yeah, he’s making sure everyone knows what happens if they even think about fucking with you.”

It lines up, Solana reflecting back on Roman’s departing declaration the night before.

“I told you. No one lays a hand on you. I’m gonna make sure everyone understands that shit from here on out.”

She just never expected such a….big message. 

“Honestly, they were fucking creeps anyway.” Solana cannot and does not disagree with the first part of Bayley’s statement, the second part, however, is iffy for her. “They got exactly what they deserved.”

Solana neither agrees or disagrees with that.

“I’m thinking we do your training from here for a little while,” Naomi suggests. While her initial response is to apologize for any inconvenience this may cause Naomi, Solana can’t deny the fact that just the thought of walking back in that building right now makes her physically ill. “I know Roman got a state of the art gym here and that massive backyard of yalls? This will do just fine.” 

“Oooh, I gotta see this.” Bayley then asks, “Solana, are you working today?”

“No, I called out.” Solana needs at least a day to get her mind right, hence taking today off.

Bayley then suggests, “Naomi and I were gonna go shopping. Why don’t you come with us?” 

It's an interestingly timed question given one of Solana’s text exchanges with Roman not even an hour ago included him informing her that the stack of envelopes on the kitchen island earlier were her new set of cards, all linked to his accounts. 

And he made sure to reiterate again that there is no limit. For any of them.

Bayley then decides and declares, slapping her hand on the island. “Matter of fact, we’re not asking. We’re telling you that you’re going shopping with us.” That is something Solana is familiar with, never being asked, always being told.

It’s just rare, if ever, it’s something that isn't entirely bad or terrible she’s being told she needs to do. 

“I’ve been wanting to take you shopping for forever anyway. Because as sweet and great as you are, Solana, you dress like college freshman meets Billie Eilish.” Before Solana can ask what exactly that means, Naomi explains. “So much neutral and dark colors. And everything is oversized. I can tell you’re kind of insecure about your body, but you literally have no reason to be because you have an amazing shape.”

Solana doesn’t say anything, but her hand naturally goes to one of the scars on her arm from that night. 

Naomi notices this and advises in a gentle voice, “we all have scars, Solana. Some you can see and others you don’t.” Solana has both, and it’s a miserable experience. “That doesn’t mean you have to hide them and be ashamed.” 

“Naomi is right.” Bayley agrees, and something tells Solana she’s going out shopping today whether she wants to or not. “We are going to help you learn to embrace your curves one better fashionable choice at a time.” 

________

Solana can probably count on one hand how many times she’s gone shopping in person over the past couple years. Maybe longer. She mostly sticks to online shopping when she is in need of a couple new pieces, always sizing way up so she can assure that it fits. More so drapes over her body, but that’s always been the preference.

She’s also never shopped at stores where the price for a single item can be upwards to three to four figures, which apparently isn’t the case for Bayley and Naomi.

Cause one of the first items they pick up for her is a single blouse that reads $650.00 on the price tag. Solana nearly faints when she reads that. That’s probably the entire cost of her wardrobe put together. 

She’s starting to regret telling them about Roman adding her to his accounts. Naomi especially seemed thrilled at that, and she seems to be the one piling the cart with more and more items. Bayley also offering her fair share of contributions.

All the while Solo keeps a safe but comfortable distance, wearing that infamous stoic expression, Solana can’t help but wonder how he must be feeling about this, about having to spend his time watching her while she shops. It can’t be enjoyable for him at all. She feels sort of bad. 

“Oh my god, you have to try this on.” 

Feeling bad for someone else morphs into feeling bad for herself, to a certain extent, when Solana sees the dress that Naomi is holding up for her. 

In all interactions, Solana does her best to be polite and kind, to never invite a volatile or mean response. “Ummm, I don’t—I don’t think that’ll look good on me.”

It won’t look good for a lot of reasons, the main one being it’s too small. Solana can see the thin sleeved dress is intended to be form-fitting—another major red flag—but even with that, it’s obviously a size, or eight, too small.

Naomi makes a sound. “Girl, that’s just how it looks. It molds to your shape, and with all your curves, I know it’s going to be a killer look.” She then pushes it in Solana’s direction again. “At least try it on. You never know unless you try.”

But Solana does know. She knows this dress is going to draw attention to all of her flaws. The rolls, the pudge of her belly, her big arms, and those damn scars. But, she also doesn’t want to be rude, so she agrees, disappearing in the dressing room before emerging a couple minutes later, never once checking her reflection before doing so. 

She walks to where the ladies are waiting, asking with an awkward shrug of her shoulders, “well?”

Naomi gasps. “Holy shit, that looks amazing on you, Solana!”

“Of course it does. You see that body?” Bayley joins in on gassing her up, adding, “it really does look good, Solana. We wouldn't lie to you.”

Huh. That’s the second time today Solana has been told that. 

Bayley then instructs her to look at her reflection in the full body mirror of the dressing room, a dreaded task but one she makes herself complete. 

Solana does her best to try to be as neutral and not negative towards her appearance, but it’s hard when she keeps honing in on the scars on her arms, the one on her face, not to mention her weight and how, to her, it just seems too much. 

Her father’s sharp and consistent criticism starts to return to the forefront of her mind when she notices Naomi snap a photo. Turning on her heel, she asks with a level of nervousness, “w–what are you doing?” 

“Helping you to realize how bad as hell you are.” Naomi says it so casually, so calmly, turning her phone toward Solana. “See.”

It’s a thread, a group chat, and along with the picture Naomi just snapped, there’s an accompanying text.

Naomi: Solana is being stupid and thinks she looks bad in this dress. Please prove me and Bayley’s point. 

Solana’s eyes go wide when she realizes just who is in this group text. Jimmy, Jey, and Roman. 

Her stomach is twisting all over again. “Naomi, I—I don’t think—”

Naomi’s phone chimes, and a smile grows on her face as Bayley moves closer to Solana. 

Naomi starts laughing and then smirks as she flips it so Solana and Bayley can read. “I rest my case.”

Jey: Damn, Soso 👀 Hell yeah, she look good. Goddamn! 😫

Jimmy: I GYAT to start coming over to ya’ll house more, Uce. 🍑

Bayley makes a wolf sound, playfully shoving Solana whose cheeks are reddening by the second after reading the surprising response from the twins. She definitely either expected no response or an either kind or unkind disagreement. “We told you, girl. You look amazing.” Bayley then comments, directing her statement to Naomi. “Man, you and Jimmy definitely have a strong ass relationship, cause I’d be ready to kick his ass.”

Naomi shrugs, simply responding. “We trust each other. I know it stops at just looking for him. Same for me.”

Her phone makes a sound, and she reads whatever the latest incoming messages are, instantly rolling her eyes. “Roman is such an ass sometimes.”

Solana’s ear perks up at the mention of his name as she asks, “what did he say?”

Naomi turns her phone again so Solana can read for herself, her stomach twisting with anxiety when she reads his trenchant reply.

Roman: Shut the fuck up.

Roman: Unsend this shit, Naomi. Now.

But before Solana can panic about his response, her phone dings and she pulls it out to see his name on her lockscreen. Instead of delaying the inevitable, she unlocks to read his response, anticipating the worst.

Roman: You look good.

Roman: But you always look good. 

Solana has to read his text a couple of times before it actually registers. He thinks she looks good. Roman thinks she looks good. Even more, he thinks she always looks good. Solana doesn’t know how to take that, even though there really is only one way to take such a message.

Bayley and Naomi being the bit of nosy Nancy’s that they are, sneak a peek at Solana’s phone and also read his text. Bayley is the first to speak, displaying that knowing dimpled smile. “Ha! See. The Tribal Chief himself has spoken.”

Naomi and her share a laugh as Solana finds herself also with a small smile. Roman had told her the night of WarGames that she looked beautiful, and she hadn’t really known how to take that either, chalking it up to the face full of makeup and fancy updo.

But this photo Naomi snapped and sent shows her without a lick of makeup on, hair messily pulled back and out of the way. It’s literally just her in a dress, a dress she normally would never dare to brave, but something Roman apparently thinks she looks good in.

“Does…..does he really think I’m beautiful?” It’s a question she never intended to leave the safe confines of her mind, but it’s a rebel, sneaking its way out and landing on the doorstep of the two women before her.

Bayley, as per usual, is the first to speak. “Is that a serious question? Of course he thinks you’re beautiful, because you are. You’re absolutely stunning, Solana. You have to see that.”

“Most of the men at your wedding kept commenting on how pretty you are. And your boobs, of course, because men have no couth.” Naomi rolls her eyes but continues. “And as someone who has had the displeasure of knowing Roman literally since we were in elementary school, I can tell you that you’re 1000% his type.”

Solana doesn’t believe that Naomi has reason to lie to her. Bayley either. And as Naomi has been around the family for so long, her word has to be true. But, Solana has a hard time separating the fact that Roman, who has someone as beautiful and unflawed like Samantha, in the same vein, could think someone like her is beautiful. 

Samantha is beautiful, and someone he can actually touch.

Because regardless of how he views her, it all comes down to that. Physical intimacy. One of many things that Solana can’t give him.

But Samantha can.

Samantha does.

That’s why she was in the house that day, doing what Solana should but can’t because she’s too fucked up, too damaged, too broken. 

Bayley reaches over with a comforting hand, switching to Spanish. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, don’t. You’re beautiful, Solana. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less. Fuck anyone who’s ever said different.”

Solana isn’t quite sure how to describe how grateful she feels in this moment, to have such support, to have people be so genuinely and sincerely supportive. She hasn’t had that in so long, she’d almost forgotten that it was possible.

Emotion thick, she responds in the same language, “thank you, Bayley.”

“Okay, now that’s just not fair. I wanna know what’s going on too.” Naomi’s protest and almost childlike pout makes Solana smile, a nice break from the heavy emotional experience going on in her head. 

“Just some girls supporting girls shit.” Bayley shrugs and claps her hands together. “Okay, now let’s see what sexy little red pieces we can find for you….”

________

Texting and writing with Roman on and off for the rest of the week was never on Solana’s agenda, but it’s exactly what’s been happening. 

And she has no idea what to make of it. 

Every time there’s a delay with his response, she assumes that’s it. That’s the end of the conversation. Only for her phone to buzz with not only a response but usually a follow up question.

It’s almost as if he wants to keep the conversation going, but that can’t be it. She can’t see why he’d want to speak with her.

Even if he literally stated that he’d prefer to talk to her than listen to his cousins bicker. Still, his entire day can’t involve their presence. There has to be some separation at one point or another. 

But even with that, he’s consistent with eventually replying, acknowledging her messages even if the responses come hours after her first one was sent. 

And for the life of her, Solana cannot find a good or logical reason as to why her stomach flutters with a modicum to medium level of excitement every time her phone dings. 

Because she thinks it’s another text from Roman.

Because she’s enjoying speaking with him. Because she seeks out opportunities even while working to check her phone and see if he’s text her. It’s not traditional communication, and she’s certain there’s no way in hell she’d be able to talk to him this freely, this comfortably if it was verbal. 

Not a chance.

But in texting, she finds a level of ease that makes it significantly easier to get to know him. And maybe that’s what it is, she has some level of desire to get to know him more. If this “marriage” is to last, whatever that looks like, it feels like she needs to know more about him other than that he’s big, strong, and a killer.

Those traits more than speak for themselves, but there’s gotta be more, and there is. Like her now knowing he speaks three languages fluently and would like to pick up another someday if he ever has the time. Or that he works out at least twice every day and doesn’t feel right if he can’t get in at least one workout.

Similarly, Solana finds herself reciprocating his sharing of information, small facts that aren’t major but make a smidge of difference. Like her love of books and words. The few shows she enjoys. She especially doesn’t understand where that comes from. The sharing on her end. It’s something similar like her growing relationships with Bayley and Naomi. 

But that’s different, so so different, for a variety of reasons. One, they’re women, and while anxiety is something she struggles with in interactions with all individuals, regardless of sex, it’s much easier with them than men.

And Roman is not the average man, far from it.

He scares her.

Or does he? 

Solana has been struggling to make sense of the fear that often cripples her and the behavior he’s shown her thus far. They don’t add up. Sure, he’s expressed irritation and a level of anger towards her, but both were more than warranted. And even in those moments, there was still a level of control and composure. He didn’t scream at her. Didn’t belittle her. Didn’t hit her. 

And his words from earlier that week circle back around to the front of her mind.

Even that day at her job.

He’s made it clear now two times that he has no plans or desire to ever hit her. Initially, that didn’t mean anything to Solana, because she’s never known a man in her life to never beat on her. The second time, it made her start to wonder if he was telling the truth.

And now, in a week of genuine and okay interactions, maybe even good interactions, that wondering of the truth is gradually meshing into believing.

Especially because something tells her Roman’s not a man to lie, not unless he’s playing one of his infamous mind games. And what reason would he have to play a mind game with her of all people?

She’s nobody.

But not enough of a nobody for him to end the conversation, which she’s expected all week but yet to see happen. Even more, a part of Solana feels like he’s also wanting to keep the conversation going, matching her with the questions vs just responding and leaving it as is. 

And Solana appreciates it a lot, maybe even to the point where she’s gradually starting to appreciate him.

If she doesn’t already.

It’s why she doesn’t mind waking up earlier than she already does to fix breakfast and get ready for work to do something for him that she hopes he views as nice while he gets in his morning workout in the home gym.

Finished and almost too nervous to stay around for his response, she grabs the notebook, leaving a quick message before heading up the stairs to get in at least another hour of sleep as there’s still leftovers from yesterday’s breakfast.

Roman,

I noticed you tend to start off your breakfast with a protein shake. I saw how you make it, so I figured I’d just make it for you. Less for you to do.

Hope that was alright.

Solana

________

Roman didn’t plan to text and write Solana as often as he has. It just…..happened.

She was right in that communication does seem smoother and even easier through this channel. It’s also nice to “hear” her communicate without all that damn stuttering and stammering. Her texts and letters read so much better than actually listening to her speak aloud.

Not that her voice isn’t pleasing to some extent. It is. Soft and almost melodic, minus the fucking stutters. 

Roman is in the middle of reviewing income spreadsheets when Jimmy walks into his office and

drops a stack of paperwork on top of Roman’s desk. He then plops down in one of two chairs opposite his cousin. “Solana’s medical records.”

Roman is pleased, thankful to the Wise Man for his promptness regarding his request.

“There is something you should know though.”

Instantly, Roman is annoyed, because he recognizes that tone of Jimmy’s. The tone that lets Roman know he’s not going to like what he’s about to hear. “What?”

“Apparently, information is missing.”

“What do you mean it’s missing? Find the fucking hospital that has them. I want all of her records.” Roman’s orders were clear as day, and he fucking hates when even with comprehensible issuance, there’s still a fucking problem. 

“That’s all that’s available. Paul said the records indicate shit was deleted or something. Like cleared out of the system.” Before Roman can express his dissatisfaction and suggestions, Jimmy explains, “He said he consulted with Pearce to see if he could retrieve the files, but even he couldn’t get them. Something about systems changing over time and not being compatible. You know, all that tech shit Pearce be talking.”

Roman was right. As always. He’s annoyed.

Because he knows exactly who would have had a hand in something like this.

Xavier.

He expresses as such. “It was Xavier. Son of a bitch probably had it deleted somehow.” Roman knows Miller has hands and ties in the medical community as well as social services, though that power and leverage has definitely dwindled over the years due to Miller’s mounting financial problems. However, around the time Solana was a kid was very much the peak of Miller’s paltry empire. 

“What exactly are you looking for, man?” Jimmy asks, trying to get a read on his cousin, never an easy feat. If at all possible. “I’m not trying to be mean, but it’s obvious Solana been through some shit. You really need to know all of it?”

It’s a sound question that Roman isn’t certain he has the answer for. Knowing just what Solana has been through could be helpful in helping him understand her better, but there’s also a part of him that doesn’t know why he’s even bothering with that. Why does he even need to understand her better?

“I mean, just what happened to her mom could be the reason for a lot of her….struggles.”

“That’s part of it.” Roman’s certain of that, but he also knows there’s more. “Her father and brother were abusive.”

At that, Jimmy appears shocked. “What?” His expression quickly turns into a scowl. “That’s why you had us handle up on ole’ boy? You should have said that was why. Would have broke that bitch left hand too.”

“I’m going to kill them both before all is said and done.” And that’s a fucking promise, an oath. Their days are numbered. “But until then, I’ll keep them away from her.”

“That must piss them the fuck off.”

“Exactly.” Beyond making sure they don’t fucking touch Solana, Roman recognizes flexing his power and authority by cutting off all contact between them is something Miller and his boy must find infuriating. They’ve clearly thrived on controlling and torturing Solana, but that shit is over. 

Solana is Bloodline now.

No one fucking touches her.

“Well.” Jimmy blows out a big breath and shrugs his shoulders. “I just hope you know what you doing, Big Dog.” 

“Don’t I always.” Roman mutters, opening the manilla envelope to start going over the files. “Jimmy.”

“Yeah?”

“Have Naomi continue to do Solana’s training from the house.”

“Come on, man, my girl is already on that. She said Soso’s been getting better and better too. ” Jimmy answers, explaining, “I think she and Bey should be over there right about now anyway. Feels like they always over there these days.”

Roman wouldn’t entirely disagree. He gets regular updates from security regarding any and all happenings at his home, which includes a list of visitors, and Naomi and Bayley have been consistent on that list. 

Roman also understands now why Solana hasn’t replied to his latest text.

Not that it bothers him. A lot, at least. He has shit to do anyway. 

A couple minutes later, Jimmy leaves, and Roman is left alone to venture into the next task on his to-do list. 

As expected, Solana’s medical records consist of a lot of emergency visits for accidents. Sprains. Broken bones. Fractures. Endless bruising, hematomas even. The visits eventually die down, but Roman suspects it’s not because the abuse stopped or paused. More likely they stopped taking her and she tended to her wounds herself.

But, the largest section of her records is the most telling.

Subjective: PT is a 16 y/o mixed race female currently admitted following SI attempt. PT was reportedly found in bathroom by family maid and transported to ER by ambulance where she was formally admitted. PT does not appear fully oriented to person, place, and time. PT offered minimal responses to questions and would only speak when prompted. PT denies auditory and visual hallucinations. PT reports wanting to be with mother who is deceased. PT reports no will to live. PT indicated yes with a head nod when asked about hx of sexual trauma. PT observed to become teary eyed following this acknowledgment and would not speak on nature of trauma. PT began to cry and moved into fetal position after being asked reasons for attempt. PT was heard repeating the question, “why didn’t you let me die?” PT became unresponsive after this exchange.

Assessment: PT presents with flat affect and depressed mood. Presents with poor insight and impulse control. PT’s wrists medically wrapped. Faded scars and bruises observed on PT’s arms, legs and partially faded bruise on left eye. PT also has scars on both arms and face, reportedly from knife attack during childhood.

Objective: PT does not appear stable enough to be released from care. Fx is severely impaired. I suspect a long history of complex trauma, confirmed sexual abuse, and suspected physical abuse. Medical records from client’s initial admission indicate “numerous” pre-existing cuts on PT’s inner forearms, indicating repeated incidents of self-harm. I deem PT to be an imminent danger to herself and suspect a release would result in another SI attempt.

Plan: I strongly recommend client be transferred to an adolescent residential facility or kept inpatient at hospital where she can be monitored and placed on medication regimen as well as participate in intensive individual and group therapy to assist in mood stabilization.

If released and left untreated, it is my belief and professional opinion that PT will eventually be successful in efforts to end life. 

Diagnosis: F43.10 Posttraumatic Stress Disorder w/ Dissociation 

Roman keeps reading over this section of the file, but there’s one part that stands out the most.

PT indicated yes with a head nod when asked about hx of sexual trauma. 

That’s the part that Roman can’t seem to move past. He’s read it all. Every fucking word. And it’s all horrific. But, it’s that one sentence, that one damn sentence that confirms what he’d started to suspect, had gradually started to put the pieces together to see the much larger, darker picture.

She’d been touched. He doesn’t know to what extent, but regardless of the specific nature, at fucking sixteen years old, she’d already been violated.

A single swoop of his big arm across the desk sends all of the items once neatly situated sprawled across the cherry wood flooring. Roman stands up and slams his fist down on the table, head down as he tries to calm his suddenly shot nerves.

Livid. He’s livid.

The Bloodline is a lot of things but that has never and will be one of them. It only took one time for some fucking piece of shit to even suggest the Bloodline enter the world of Human Trafficing to increase their reach and profits even more for everyone to know that’s where the line in the sand is drawn.

Roman’s never put a fucking bullet in someone’s head so fast. 

The same urge he has currently.

An urge that’s almost instantly lessened by a small amount when his phone lights up and a name appears across his lock screen.

Solana

Eyes shutting, Roman runs his hand over his face and snatches the phone, unlocking it to view her text.

Solana: What time will you be home tonight?

Instantly, Roman feels a lessening of his anger, reading her message, almost hearing said message in her gentle voice. It’s a distraction but both a reminder of why he’s all upset. Solana’s softness doesn’t equate with the violence she’s experienced, the violation, the pain. Especially as a fucking child. Roman has never understood and has always been especially infuriated by violence against children. There’s wrong and then there’s immoral. 

That’s beyond immoral.

Roman will never deny he’s committed his fair share of sins, earning a VIP spot in hell when that time finally comes, but that is something he could and will never get behind.

Solana: Just so I know what time to have dinner ready by…..

Her follow up is typical, always explaining what she doesn’t have to. 

Roman gives her the best reply he can muster up at this moment in time.

Roman: Not sure. Don’t worry about that. Probably won’t get in until late.

And he truly doesn’t know, because going home in this state of anger won’t do her any good. He told her he’d try to be mindful of his temper around her, and this is just that. He doesn’t want to scare her. 

He needs an outlet.

But, here lies the fucking dilemma. 

Since he was a teenager, Roman’s outlet has always been sex. He’s the type to fuck away his feelings. Working out also helps, but sex always took the cake, helped out sometimes just a smidge or a shit ton more. 

And in a different kind of world, he’d do just that working out with the same woman he finds himself infatuated over. His dick stiffens in his pants thinking back on the picture Naomi sent and wisely unsent to his disrespectful ass cousins. 

But not before he could save it to his camera roll.

Roman has never and will never deny his physical attraction to Solana. She checks every box for him in that category, but she’s not an option. He can’t touch her. He can’t touch her because some fucking piece of shit did just that to her when she was essentially a child, and now she can’t stand to be touched because of it.

Roman finds himself returning to his previous level of rage. 

He needs to work this off him.

And he knows just how.

Grabbing his phone and switching from Solana’s thread to hers, he shoots out a simple text.

Roman: I’m coming over.

________

True to his word, Roman gets back late after an…..interesting visit to see Samantha. Somewhat worth it, but mostly now just another irritating thing he has to handle. Not that her being upset bothers him in the slightest.

She can fuck off and ride off into the sunset for all he cares. 

Granted, the non-asshole side of him, more a small section than a side, can understand why she was upset with him.

He just can’t find it in him to give a fuck.

What he does find, however, is something else.

Roman steps into the living room and sees none other than Solana sleeping on the sofa. Confused, he quietly moves closer in her direction and sits opposite of her on the sturdy, mahogany wood coffee table.

And he watches her, studies her sleeping expression, wondering if she had another nightmare. The possibility drags him back to his earlier disposition, the reason he didn’t allow himself to come back to the mansion at a more reasonable time.

He didn’t want to expose her to that. To that side of him.

Without much thought, he reaches for her face, fingers gently caressing the smooth skin of her cheek. She feels so soft, a stark contrast against his roughness.

In more than one area. 

He’s not sure if she felt his gesture or, like him, is just a light sleeper because her eyes slowly start fluttering open. He waits for her to become more aware and cognizant, and she does, whispering, “hey.”

He matches her low volume. “Hey.” Roman studies her, asking, “you alright?”

She nods, gradually sitting up, and he tries not to notice how instead of wearing the type of baggy shirts he’s noticed she likes to sleep in, she’s donning a thin sleeved top that accentuates her chest. “Yeah, I—” She closes her mouth, and he can tell by the way her brows furrow slightly that she’s trying to figure out how to word whatever she wants to say. “You seemed off. I just—just wanted to make sure you were okay, but I guess I fell asleep….”

It’s Roman’s turn now to not quite understand or make sense of what he’s hearing, so he asks, still in that subdued voice, “you waited up for me?”

Roman can’t recall the last time anyone cared when and even if he made it home. He doesn’t know how to feel about this. At all.

With a sheepish expression, she nods, “tried to, at least.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” And it’s the truth. He doesn’t know why she would in the first place anyway. “It was just….a long day.”

Solana nods, “I get that.” He also takes note of the fact that she’s not stammering as much, doesn’t seem as jittery as he’s used to seeing her. “I should—I guess I’ll go to bed now.”

Roman doesn’t say anything, just sits back so she can stand up without him being too in her space. He especially understands now why that’s such a big thing for her.

But, it’s when she stands that his gaze seems to travel to her inner forearms, faded scars now having an even bleaker meaning as he now has the full story.

Another sentence from her medical report whizzes back to him.

If released and left untreated, it is my belief and professional opinion that PT will eventually be successful in efforts to end life. 

He should write it. Roman knows this. Knows that she’d probably respond better and be more comfortable writing, but he also knows it makes him feel almost physically uncomfortable with having to wait to get a response.

He’s much too impatient for that shit. 

He needs to say this shit now.

“Solana.”

She’s halfway to the staircase and turns around, “yes?”

Roman’s never been one to beat around the bush, so he gets straight to the point. “You used to cut, right?”

Always perceptive, Roman sees the shock in her face at his question, the unease that brews as she nervously runs her hand along the side of her cardigan pajama pants. “I—yes, but—not since….it’s been a long time.”

He half expected to have to ask her about the last time she actually did it, though he can tell by how faded the scars are that it has been quite some time, so he believes her. Knows she’s telling the truth.

Still, he needs to make something perfectly clear.

“Any of those thoughts come back, you tell me. I don’t care if you have to paint it on the fucking wall. I want to know.” His intense expression is set right on her, needing to make sure she understands what he’s asking of her. “Understand?”

Solana looks just as confused as he feels as to why this is suddenly important to him, important that she knows she can come to him if those dark thoughts and urges occur. But still, she agrees, acknowledging in that same small voice.

“I understand….”

________

The breeder is only about a half hour out from the mansion, allowing for a drive that’s on the shorter side than what Roman was initially anticipating.

Just like he successfully anticipated Solana’s nervousness throughout that entire drive. She keeps looking out the window, most likely trying to navigate where they’re going. And if not for the unexpected but necessary business call he had to take that lasted almost the entirety of the drive, he would have tried to calm her nerves.

He’s realizing he doesn’t like seeing her so on edge.

When they arrive, Roman is the first to exit the SUV, circling around to open the door for her. She offers a nervous smile and steps out, Roman’s eyes darting to her ass, the sway of it in her yoga pants as she moves a bit away, taking in the average two story house in front of them.

She looks back at him, and he redirects his focus to her eyes, big, brown, and just as innocent as the rest of her. “Where—where are we?” 

Paul also steps out of the car, almost immediately coughing and waving at some flying insect that whizzed at him. “In the middle of nowhere.” He then sets his cautious gaze on Roman. “My Tribal Chief, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I have terrible allergies—”

“I don’t care.” Roman cuts him off, speaking to Solana, gesturing with a nod of his head. “Come with me.”

A part of him wonders if she’ll hesitate, freeze up on him, maybe even refuse. But she instead moves closer to him, walking along his side as he leads them up the steps of the porch. He reaches for the doorbell and is almost instantaneously met with the sound of barking. Interestingly enough, one glance down at Solana and he sees a spark of excitement that chips away at her nerves. 

A couple seconds later, the door opens revealing a middle aged white woman wearing an inauthentic smile. The kind of smile someone forces for a business meeting or possible transaction.

“You must be Mr. Reigns?” She correctly guesses, eyes then landing on Solana. “And you must be the Mrs?”

Roman places his hand on the small of Solana’s back, noticing how she initially tenses but, surprisingly, relaxes just a few seconds later. “My wife, Solana.”

Solana offers a small wave and polite hello but nothing more.

“I’m Beverly.” She introduces, but Roman doesn’t care. He doesn’t need to know shit about her except whatever her price is. She steps aside, motioning for them to come in. “Please.” He allows Solana to walk in first, followed by himself. When Paul doesn’t also follow suit, Roman turns around. “Wise Man.”

Paul, complexion starting to become pinkish, politely declines. “I’ll just wait here—”

“Wise Man.”

“Coming, My Tribal Chief.”

Once all three are inside, Betty or whoever, offers something to drink which all three decline, shortly after which the woman asks, “so, are we looking for—”

“It’s for her.” Roman motions to Solana who looks at him still wholly confused as a teenage girl, who looks like the spitting image of her mother, descends down the stairs. “Whatever she wants.”

Betty’s eyes light up as she directs the teenager. “Honey, can you take her outside to see the puppies?”

“Sure.” The teen’s voice is annoyingly preppy, like nails on the chalkboard, like a fucking cheerleader or something. “Follow me.”

Solana again looks at Roman, as if for guidance, but he only nods, encouraging her to follow. She’s still reluctant—he can see as such—but ultimately follows the blonde out the backdoor. 

As soon as she’s out the door. Betty starts with the irritating sales pitch, talking to him about the history of Pomeranians, the benefits of that breed, dietary guidelines and other things he couldn’t give two shits about. It’s why he doesn’t hesitate to take the business call the minute his phone rings and instead advises Paul to listen to the woman talk. 

He moves to the front of the house, securing another layer of privacy and doesn’t even hesitate to walk right past a wheezing Paul to head out back where Solana is once the call is over.

Roman finds her outside in the spacious yet somehow closed in yard. She’s sitting in the grass, legs open as a tiny dog, a puppy, moves back and forth between sitting in Solana’s lap and running in a circle before coming right back to her. Roman realizes she’s playing with the freakishly small animal, but beyond that, she’s smiling.

And laughing.

Roman can’t recall the last time, if ever, he’s seen her do the latter of the two. Even her smile is much larger, much more genuine than he’s seen her offer in the short time he’s known her..

“That one.” The woman, Bonnie, who came outside at one point with Paul, moves toward Roman. “She wants that one.”

Bonnie steps forward and frowns, slapping on that disingenuous smile he’s learned how to read all too well with years of experience working with people. “Oh no, that one’s not supposed to be out there. My daughter must have forgotten to pull her.”

Roman really does try sometimes with people, but they always end up fucking annoying him one way or another. “She wants that one.”

The woman stutters. “I–I’m sorry, but that dog is already under contract.”

Rolling his eyes, he asks, surprisingly calmly, not wanting to necessarily cause a scene in front of Solana. “How much?”

“Pardon?”

Roman does his best to hide his irritation at having to repeat himself. “How much?”

Betty releases a nervous smile, crossing her arms across her badly built body. “I—I can’t sell you a dog that’s already under contract, sir.”

Politics. It’s all politics. Roman knew the second Betty’s smile grew as her eyes landed on his Hublot watch that she saw this as a great, unexpected windfall. And she’s not entirely wrong. “Everyone has a fucking price, lady. Name yours.”

She stutters again. “Sir, I—I appreciate the interest, but that dog comes from a champion bloodline. The buyers intend to show her, so they’re paying a pretty penny.” She throws out casually, as if he can’t tell what she’s trying to do, the deal she’s trying to see if she can score. “They’re paying $10,000—”

There it is. The sin of greed that gets us all at one point or another. 

Without second thought or guess, Roman states, “I’ll give you $20,000.”

As expected, her eyes nearly bulge out of her head, the expression highlighting excessive crows feet no doubt caused by unnecessary time spent under this scorching sun. “$20,000?” He doesn’t even have to counter again. “Well, I suppose I could offer them another puppy—”

“Good.” Roman knew right away “negotiating” with this woman wouldn’t take much. She’s in it for a clean, high profit, which is fair considering one could say that for all business owners. But, if all else failed, he had…..other strategies. But those are much messier, and he’d rather just throw a stack of cash her way so they could be on their merry fucking way. “Wise Man.”

Paul steps forward, pudgy cheeks reddened and eyes watering. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Pay the woman.”

Paul swallows. “But, my—”

“Wise Man.”

Paul’s cheeks redden as he nods and motions to the house. Roman doesn’t need to say anything else. “I will handle the sale. Shall we?”

As Roman allows his counsel to handle the closing of the deal, he walks over to Solana who looks over at him with that same smile. He crouches down near her, observing, “she seems to like you.” And it’s the truth, seeing how the other puppies are content with playing with each other, this one is sticking with Solana.

She looks at Roman, petting the top of its head carefully, looking back down with that happy smile.“Thank you for taking me—”

“She’s yours.” 

Her head snaps in his direction, right as the dog climbs into her lap. “W–what?” Solana blinks, face painted in plausible confusion. “M–mine?”

Roman chuckles. “It’s certainly not for me.”

“Really?” Roman watches the hairy ass creature stand on its legs, as if demanding her attention. Attention whore ass.

“Yes, if you want her—”

“Yes,” she answers almost immediately, suddenly. And true to her nature, she’s already backtracking. “I mean—“

“You want her, so she’s yours,” he reiterates his previous statement, but there’s a tone of finality that lets Solana know he’s not open to a discussion or debate.

It’s a sure thing. 

“She’d be your dog. Not mine.” He clarifies. Solana can tell it’s also his way of telling her he’s not doing shit to help her take care of this dog, which is more than fair since Solana would bet he had no plans to purchase a dog anytime soon.

So why is he? 

She just has to ask again. “You don’t—-you really don’t care?”

It feels unreal. Too much like not an option. Not a reality. Why would he allow her a pet? Buy her a pet? 

He eyes the animal that’s seemingly already taken so well to Solana. “She’s so damn small I’ll probably forget she’s there half the time.”

There’s that laugh again, and Roman finds himself with a small smile of his own, not as big, nor as genuine, but a smile nonetheless. But just as quick as it’s there, it’s gone. Clearing his throat, he asks, “what are you gonna name her?”

Solana looks down at the puppy in her lap, nestled so comfortably against her stomach, eyes fluttering close like she’s about to fall asleep. With a soft smile and gentle caress of her coat, she answers. “Dulce.”

Roman’s thick brows arch together as he asks, “is that Spanish?”

She nods, glancing over at him just long enough to answer. “It means sweet.”

He makes a sound. That lines up. For both of them. 

The dog's eyes then land on him with as much disinterest he feels about it, quickly focusing back on Solana. “I suppose we’ll have to get supplies and shit for her.”

Roman doesn’t consider himself having a childhood, so he refers to what most call just that as his ‘formative year.’ And during those formative years, he never had a pet, so this is new to him as well, outside of just the common sense parts of owning a dog.

She’s petting the sleeping puppy “Aren’t you busy today?” 

Yes. Always. Roman’s to-do list is on subscribe and save, constantly delivering him new shit when he’s still working on the old shit. It’s just a part of the job though.

“No,” he answers. “It can wait.”

________

A couple of stops at different stores to pick up all of the shit Solana needs for Dulce along with getting the first vet appointment scheduled for the puppy takes just under three hours, which still grants Roman plenty of time to head into the office. Not until, though, he makes sure Solana is good to go, good with being left alone with the dog.

He meant it when he said it was her dog and he wouldn’t be helping out and shit, but given it’s the first day, he can see how there could be some nerves there.

But, there’s not. She’s good to go, hence his okayness with leaving for a little while to get some work done.

She doesn’t text him as much during the day, a noticeable thing that he understands is because she’s spending time with the dog. 

But, he does come home for lunch to get in a workout where he finds an entry in the notebook.

Roman,

Thank you so much. 

I promise I’ll take care of her and keep her out of your way. Paul’s too. I’ll keep her in the room with me when he’s over.

I always wanted a dog, but my dad hates them, and even if he didn’t, I was always too scared Wes would do something to it or worse….just to hurt me. He hates me, if you didn’t notice….

Solana

Roman doesn’t take much, if any time, to reply. He’d prefer to talk to her in person, but Bayley and Naomi are over, the three women in the backyard playing with the dog. So, he allows her that time, settling for a written response. 

Solana,

You’re welcome. 

Don’t worry about Paul. He won’t fucking die from allergies, and if he does, oh well.

I noticed. It’s why I’ll never leave you alone with him or your shitty father. Ever.

Why does he hate you?

Roman

Solana is partially upset when she realizes she missed Roman coming home for a workout, not that she wanted to bother him, just maybe….see him. Maybe even talk to him. Possibly tell him thank you again in person vs writing it in the notebook, but after Naomi and Bayley are gone and she’s fed Dulce her dinner, Solana sees Roman replied, leaving the notebook on her bed this time.

Most likely for privacy.

The first part of his note makes her laugh, even if she doesn’t enjoy Paul clearly suffering from his allergies. The second part, however, Solana struggles with.

She doesn’t know how honest to be with Roman, doesn’t know where she should draw that line in the sand. However, it’s not missed upon her that everything she’s shared with him, he’s been surprisingly okay with. Never having such a major reaction that it made her second guess her sharing.

And the man just bought her a fucking dog, something she’s always wanted. For no apparent reason.

Maybe….maybe she can be a bit more honest, a bit more forthcoming, even if it is a somber truth.

Roman,

I don’t want to inconvenience Paul. That’s not fair to him….

Wes blames me for our mother’s murder, says it was my fault.

And he’s not wrong.

She is dead because of me.

Solana

The minute Solana brings the notebook to Roman’s room, she regrets it. She regrets opening up, regrets being so vulnerable with him. Just because he answers her questions and bought her a puppy doesn’t mean he gives two shits about her trauma.

She’s so tempted to sneak into his room and take the journal back. It keeps her up, makes her toss and turn as Dulce sleeps peacefully in her pink dog bed beside Solana’s. 

But, it’s when Solana wakes up at 4am and notices the notebook on her nightstand, her anxiety reaches another level. Instead of avoiding it until morning, she sits up and snatches it, flipping to the page they’re on.

And her stomach achieves a new level of butterflies when she reads his response. 

Solana,

It’s not your fault.

Also, you were wrong.

I care what you have to say and think.

Roman

[vodika-vibes]

Hello, Vod'ika. I couldn't resist and came here with another request. Most of the time music usually gives me a lot of ideas. I was listening to “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye when a prompt came to my mind: “Do you know what can help me get better? Sexual healing.” I was tempted to ask this with Hunter, but I thought it would be fun for a Fives x shy F! reader (with an established relationship) where he comes back to her exhausted after a battle and she takes care of him, you know? Prepare a bath, etc. It's up to you if it's going to be NSFW or just a make-out session. Xx

Love Me Like Only You Can

Summary: Fives has been gone, deployed, for months now. But he's coming home tonight and you want to surprise him.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x F!Reader

Word Count: 1395

Warnings: Spicy, but not smutty. Reader spends part of the story in her underwear.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I hope I got the general vibe you wanted with this request. Fives wasn't being agreeable for me, but it turns out that Crosshair was junking up the writing pipeline, so I had to flush him out first, lol. I also made a divider for this cause I needed something to do, I guess.

You have been dating Fives for close to a year now, and while it’s true that he spends less time on Coruscant than a lot of people would be able to tolerate, Fives goes out of his way to make sure that you know that you’re always on his mind.

It’s surprising, really. Fives stands out, even among his own brothers. Loud and boisterous and so very clever. Not to mention funny and charming. 

The fact that he chose you out of all of the women on Coruscant is still surprising to you, even a year later.

Sure, you chose him back, but you choosing him is much less surprising than him choosing you.

After all, at the time, you didn’t even know that he knew you existed.

And yet, somehow, as if he has a sixth sense when it comes to you and you alone, Fives always manages to find you in a crowd of people. Even when you want to blend in. Even when you’re trying to blend in.

His gaze always finds you, and a bright smile crosses his face, and he’ll sweep you into a hug-

You love him. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anything in this world, or any other, and he feels the same way. He’s never hid that from you.

Which is why, since you know he’s back on Coruscant and you know he’s going to come straight to your home as soon as he’s done with work, you want to surprise him. 

And while you could make him his favorite dinner, and dessert, you feel like that’s something that he’ll expect. Because you’ve done it before, and you know that he loved it, based on the wide grin and the soft way he looked at you, you want to do something different.

Something a little outside your comfort zone.

Which brings you to your present for Fives.

Your gaze drifts to the gauzy material of the lingerie set you bought specifically for today. It’s sheer and lacy and a shade of pale purple that Fives loves to see you in…and it’s so far outside what you would normally wear that even looking at yourself in the mirror is kind of embarrassing.

Personally you think you look a little silly, like a child playing pretend, but you have a feeling that Fives will love it.

You make a face at yourself, and then turn away from the mirror to finish pulling on the dress you bought specifically for tonight. It’s the same shade of purple as the lingerie you’re wearing, as to not ruin the surprise too quickly. Though it’s also shorter than you would ever wear in public, the hem of the skirt hitting at about mid-thigh.

And then you run your fingers through your hair, letting your curls topple around your shoulders. Then, and only then, did you leave the bedroom to head into the kitchen to make Fives’ favorite dinner.

It’s nothing fancy, nothing that your parents would expect you to make if they ever deign to visit you on Coruscant. A simple stew, something hearty and filling. And something that you learned to make specifically for Fives.

And, before you know it, your apartment door is sliding open, and the sound of familiar footsteps, heavy only due to the armor he’s still wearing, reaches your ears.

You give him time enough to remove his armor, and then you poke your head into the hall, a warm smile on your face, “Welcome home, Fives.”

He glances at you as he sets his boots on the shoe rack, and a bright smile crosses his face, washing away the exhaustion that was there, “Well, don’t you look pretty.”

You step into the hallway properly, your smile widening. You give a small spin, allowing the skirt to flair around your legs. “Do you like it?”

“Ah, cyare,” He sets his duffle bag on the floor and walks over to you, sliding his hands around your hips, “You could wear a burlap sack, and still be the most stunning woman on Coruscant.” He leans in and bumps his forehead against yours, “I didn’t know you owned something so short though.” He adds as his fingers brush against the hem of your skirt.

“I wanted to try something new.” You reply, “Is it too short, do you think?”

“Mm, I think it’s perfect.” Fives replies, “Well, unless you want to go dancing around my brothers, in which case I’d have to blindfold them.”

You laugh, “They’re not allowed to look at me now?”

“Nope. They don’t deserve to look at you,” He tilts your head back with a gentle finger on your chin, and he kisses you quickly, “I barely deserve to look at you, but I’m definitely not going to stop anytime soon.”

You laugh again, before you slide your hands up his chest and wrap your arms around his neck, “I like you looking at me. It makes me feel pretty.”

“You are so much more than pretty.” Fives murmurs, his lips hovering just over hers, “So, so much more than just pretty.” He trails his lips from the corner of your lips down to your jaw, and then up to your ear, “If I spoke every language in the galaxy, I still wouldn’t have the words needed to describe your beauty.”

Your face heats, but you’re unable to tear your gaze away from his. “The things you say to me sometimes,” You whisper.

“You doubt my words?”

“Never.” You reply softly, “Never ever.”

Fives hums softly, “I missed you, mesh’la,” He whispers, “It was…such a long time to be away from you.”

“You’re home now.”

“I am,” He murmurs, “I missed you. So much.”

“If you’re exhausted, you should rest. Dinner will hold.”

“I bet you could give me some energy, cyar’ika.” He holds your gaze with a teasing little smile, “You know what would make me feel better? A little sexual healing.”

Your face heats a little more, “Wouldn’t you rather take a nap? Not make yourself more exhausted-?”

“No, I really would rather make myself more exhausted. ” Fives replies with a teasing little smile as his hand moves to the strap of your dress. “Because it’s you. And it’s me. And nothing else matters.” Slowly, painfully slowly, he drags the straps of your dress down your shoulders, and allows the material to pool at your feet. 

Only then does he tear his gaze from your face, to look down to make sure that you’re not in danger of slipping on the thin material.

And then Fives stops.

He blinks. Once. Twice. Three times.

And then he exhales slowly as his fingers slowly, reverently, trace the lace of your lingerie. “This is new.” He breathes out.

“I wanted to try something a little outside my comfort zone.” You explain, your voice hushed so as to not break the atmosphere of the room. 

“For me?”

“You make me want to do things like this,” You whisper to him.

“Oh, ner cyare,” Fives breathes out, “I need your hands on me. I don’t care how.” He lightly rubs the thin material of the lingerie between his fingers, “but I really want you to keep this on for a bit longer.”

You smile shyly, “How about a massage?”

Fives lifts you, just enough that he’s able to kick the material of your dress out from under your feet, and then he walks you backwards into the living room. 

He pauses only long enough to strip his shirt off, and then he flops on the couch, “Come here, cyare.” Fives pulls you down and positions you so you’re straddling his hips, and then, once he has you properly positioned so you’re both comfortable, he pulls you down to crash your lips against his.

His hands are everywhere, caressing and squeezing and tracing, even as he coaxes your lips apart with teasing nips and soothing swipes of his tongue. You tangle your fingers in his hair, trying to pull him closer and closer.

This is what you missed the most about Fives being gone. This closeness, this connection. The feeling that everything will be alright so long as his hands are on you and his lips are against yours.

And then Fives releases a quiet moan as you pull his hair a little too roughly, and you’re lost.

[ficnoire2]

A Little Legendborn/Bloodmarked

Top 10 Selwyn Kane Moments

Happy Gemini Season!  What better time to reflect on my favorite chaotic, angsty, and delightfully poetic Cambion.  Sel has given us so many moments that either made us want to ask “Who the F@$K you talking to?”, want to give him an all encompassing full bodied squeeze, or left our jaws on the floor at his assholery or reverent sweetness.  Whatever the case, Selly knows how to make an entrance and leave an impression.  There are so many Selwyn Kane moments that live rent free while hiking up the thermostat in my mind, but here are my top 10.  Hope you enjoy!

10. Weirdo in The Woods 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.  A wry voice from behind startles me and sends a few birds, hidden in the canopy above, squawking into the sky.  I hadn’t seen anyone approach through the underbrush, but a tall, dark-haired  boy leans casually against the tree as if he’d been there the whole time; arms over his chest and black combat boots crossed at the ankles.”

When I read this scene, I could not believe the level of nerve and confidence this dude had.  The lurking in the darkness was creepy as hell and then he upped the ante by putting his pale paws on Bree!  I thought “Why the fuck is he touching her!?”  I had to reread to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.  Not only did he have a smart ass, arrogant vibe, but getting handsy to boot?  We would have been rolling around in the woods… and I don’t mean the fun way. 

9. Dripping Wet at The Door

“Half a second after that I’m struck thoughtless-because Sel flings the door open wearing nothing but a deeply annoyed expression and a pair of low-slung jeans.  I can’t help but follow the banded muscles from his abdomen to his chest.  Intricate black and gray tattoos encircle his arms, cover his shoulders, and connect in a Celtic knot on his breastbone.”

This delightful turning point had me squealing with antici…pation.  Tracy’s got some nerve really.  I remember being this age, and having an angsty, beautiful, asshole fling open the door half naked would have been a problem.  This was the point where Sel begins to soften for Bree.  The point where the two of them set off on a journey of personal discovery and develop a deeply intimate bond. They share a moment of realization about their mothers and how parallel that loss runs, about Nick, and about their own relationship.  I loved this moment so much because their masks begin to slip ever so slightly.  Bree being able to recognize the grief in Sel that she had become accustomed to, was beautifully written.  It gave us a bit of depth into his inner chaos and the pain that drives him.

8. The Gala/Kneel

“He admires my hair, taking in the size and shape of it, then his eyes follow the line of my temple to my borrowed earrings, down my neck and shoulders.  ‘You look stunning this evening Briana, it’s the truth,’ he says with a shrug.  ‘You do.  Even Though you’re distraught’.”  

“I’m not distraught.”

“He leans down so close that his lips brush against my ear when he whispers, ‘Liar’.”

This moment was so delicious. First, the way Sel takes her into his senses is divine.  His attention to detail in everything he does, whether in his detective work or being a silver-tongued devil, encompasses a space.  The act of admiring Bree’s appearance, covering every inch of her face and hair was top notch adoration. The two of them dancing at the gala was playful and intimate. I mean, telling someone you can smell their magic is…next level.  Bree was tuned into his very essence and he responded in kind, whispering LIAR in her ear as his lips brushed the delicate flesh, splaying his hands across her back knowing the heat from them radiated   through her gown.  Admiring all that she was becoming to him. Not to mention turning her around to face Nick while holding her at the hips, and whispering in her ear as he stewed across the room. It wouldn’t be right if he didn’t put a little Selly in it.

“I fight against Arthur’s will, but he will not yield-not on this.  He demands obeisance.  Homage. And deference.  Especially after Davis’ public betrayal.  Thankfully, no one moves.  Then someone does."

"No," I whisper, because I don’t want to hear it.  But when Sel speaks, his voice is strong and clear.

"Y llinach yw’r ddeddf."

"The Line is Law.”

In the Ogof we get another glimpse of what makes Sel tick. The fact that he is so married to the idea of honor and procedure (to a fault) shines in these moments because of what he is constantly willing to do to show his care for Bree. It is telling when he witnesses Bree pull Excalibur and he falls right in step with his duty to his King.  When he is the one to kneel and speak before her, it is because of duty and procedure yes, but his devotion for her leaps off the page.  

7. Mother

“Suddenly, Sel is on his feet. He paces to the end of the room, the back of his hand pressed hard against his mouth like doesn’t trust what could come out of himself.  It takes everything in me to stay seated when he kicks his closet door and the wood splinters into a boot shaped hole.”

On the heels of coming to the door half naked, we begin to see some of Sel’s inner turmoil made real.  Unpacking this a bit, we know Sel has been lied to and we are watching in real time how it hits him.  He is dutiful, procedural, and used to being in control in some respect.  He seems to enjoy the fact that he is needed, deep down, he wants to be wanted, not out of duty, but out of sheer enjoyment of his company, his being.  This revelation about his mother causes his mask to slip.  The hard exterior cracks enough that Bree is able to seep into the jagged edges, and he lets her, if only briefly.  This was such a revealing moment because it is one of many instances that they see not only each other, but also themselves mirrored in one another.

6. Cariad

“I feel Sel’s attention on my cheeks-and wonder when the sparks in his eyes had become a comforting heat…’You are my king now, cariad.’ His voice carries all the intimacy of a caress and his eyes are a melted gold.  I turn away, overwhelmed at the meaning in both.”

I don’t know why I didn’t have sense enough to Google what cariad meant at the time I first read Legendborn.  Perhaps it was because Tracy blew my wig back with the story of Briana Irene, that I needed a moment to collect my thoughts.  This was the point in the story that Selwyn vocalized his feelings for Bree.  It was another peak at the vulnerability he would ever so slightly let come out to play.  And because our Selwyn is precise, his intent (in my opinion) was also.  He has studied Bree, yet she still mystifies him, challenges him.  Calling her cariad, however, was laced with a bit of challenge in and of itself.  He knows she is determined and inquisitive and if she really wanted to know she would do what needed to be done to find out.  We also get that at that moment she was not ready to know, despite her curiosity.  It was just enough of a breadcrumb for her to follow, if SHE chose to.  Also, his sense of duty and willingness to accept her as King even when the order so readily wanted her gone when she did not serve their purpose or fit their shitty standards.  It was such a sweet, quiet moment after all they had been through that left us hanging onto that balcony for dear life. 

5. The Not So Safe, Safe House Bathroom

“Can I tell you a secret, Briana?” His voice slips into the sliver of air between us, silk and heat. “ I like hearing the way people respond to me.  A pause. You in particular.”  

“It’s involuntary.”

“Oh, I know.” His mouth quirks…..Sel’s amusement skips across my cheeks.  “See something you like?”

First of all, telling someone, ANYONE, that you like hearing the way people respond to you is full on iconic, sex demon realness.  Excuse me, sir?  You just walk around doing shit to tie folks up in flustered knots? Kick your combat booted feet up and watch your handiwork?   And you like it?  My kind of fun!  The way Joniece Abbott Pratt (she voices our favesl in the books) reads this scene is so deliciously spicy and devilish.  She put an extra bit of Sazon on it.  It was the closeness for me.  He knew what he was doing (aside from mesmering Bree to oblivion) , caging her between his arms and enveloping her in full on Cambion heat.  It is almost as if the tease is more fun.  Taking off his shirt to pull her in. Catching her gaze in the mirror.  Acting like he can’t put tape on his wounds (because of course a dude who can forge shit out of thin air can’t operate tape!), telling her he likes how her body is responding, asking her if she sees something she likes!  Bree has the resolve of a bug that hangs onto your windshield while you are doing 90 on the freeway. 

4. Sel’s Birthday Surprise (Cariad Part Two)

“Okay.  All right.  His voice is low and soothing.  He takes a slow step closer with an outreached hand, as if waiting for me to bolt.  “This isn’t an interrogation.  I am sorry.  It is your birthday.  And I had questions…but I don’t want you to leave.” His fingers wrap around mine, and he rubs a slow circle across my palm with his thumb."  

 I nod.  “Okay.” 

“Let’s keep this simple?” He smiles softly.  “Tell me what you learned about cariad?”  

Talk about a full circle moment.  For damn near two books, this man has been stewing about cariad and why Bree had not mentioned it again.  After being attacked by Jonas, and Bree begins to speak a bit of Welsh to William, I could almost envision Sel saying “Yeah, you over here practicing with William, but what about that cariad shit though?”  Ok, I know he wouldn’t have said it that way, but sometimes I read with my own voice in my head.  First of all, the planning.  The fact that he discovered a hidden gem in the woods with fireflies no less, and decided to make it a present (not a gift) to honor Bree’s birthday was delightful.  Plus being in the woods seems to be his happy place.   It was full circle in more ways than one because when we meet Sel (in the woods yet again) he is the epitome of ASSHOLE. This scene showed us how far the two of them had come and let us see that he truly values how Bree sees him and how much he wants her to have joy.  It seems like everytime these two are in the woods they have some sort of revelation.  The way he teases kisses on each cheek, then her forehead (third eye) showed us that he was done hiding and wanted her to fully understand the depth of his feelings.  And when she takes the kiss she wants, he responds in kind letting himself have the wish he has been denying himself by Merlin twirling her into the tree bark and KISSING HER DOWN!  Then, not only does he stop himself, but stops to watch the effect he is having on her, while telling her he likes it.  Damn you Selwyn Kane!  

3. Sharing Root With Bree/Most Gifted Merlin in a Generation

“Sel gasps, head thrown back as my aether climbs up his forearms, spiraling around his elbows.  For a moment, it feels like I’m wrapped around him.  His eyes snap open, and then he’s on his feet, bringing his hands together so the flames spread faster.  FWOOOM!  We explode together.”

I was shouting in my car listening to this scene.  Sel had been manacled by Erebus (to Valec’s amusement).  I remember thinking “Ain’t no way they are going out like this!” This was an edge of your seat, shout at the screen, moment.  The way he was in sync with Bree and knew exactly what to do when she shared her root was the boost I needed in that moment.  Sel was back like he never left!  Hair all shiny and shit!  The unspoken communication, the desperation in his eyes when he thought it wasn’t working was equal parts nerve wracking and rage inducing.  Plus, the whole scene was infused with a hint of sexy Cambion tension.  That last line is a double entendre if you ask me.  What better way to explode together than to blow Erebus’ ass back into the opportunistic shadows from whence he came?

“I’m not gonna….”

“Yes, you are!”  The muscles work in his jaw.  His eyes shine-he blinks it away.  “You are.  You just have to hold on a little longer, Bree.  For me–”  His eyes are fixed on my side, a strained grimace on his face.  His hands hover an inch above my flesh.  Aether shimmers in the space between my body and his palms in a thin layer.”

“Don’t move,” he grits out.”

“What are you…”

“I’ve got you.  Stay with me.”

“The floating dullness claims me again, but Sel’s magic is there on the edges, keeping the darkness at bay.”

“Stay with me, Bree.”

On the coattails of the high I felt when Sel and Bree took Erebus out of the game (if only temporarily), was the accompaniment of Sel holding Bree together for three hours when she was nearly killed by demons in the woods.  I tell you, Tracy knows how to make you feel the discomfort and pain of constant loss.  No sooner than I cheered for the two of them, before I knew it I was biting my nails again.  The terror he feels here is palpable.  Nick has just run away from both of them.  He has just done the seemingly impossible and made a root bomb (untrained move) with Bree to stave off Erebus.  Now he is at the threshold of loss yet again.  I can’t imagine having all of that occur in the span of 30 minutes.  Not only that, he creates tiny aether constructs to serve as medical aid for Bree not knowing how long he can maintain it while pushing down the hurt and fear.  Even Valec thought she was not savable.  Thought only to be able to use his aether for violence, it was beautiful to see Sel use his aether to sustain life.  It really hints at how special his abilities are and how much about himself outside of the order’s grip he doesn’t know.  When he says, “I’ve got you” and “Stay with me,” I had to step away from the book for a hot lil minute. 

2. No Other Merlin 

“No other Merlin can protect you like I can, because no other Merlin feels about you the way I do.  I want you to live, because I want you to be happy.  Not because of a spell, but because so very many things would break and go dark if you weren’t in the world.  Myself included.”

Can we talk about how down bad Selly is here?  Like, the boy is threw! I say “Gah damn!” everytime I read and/or listen to these words. He let her know, “Ain’t nobody got you like I got you!”  Something about the most powerful and gifted Merlin of his generation saying he would break and go dark if Bree was not in the world.  Sheesh! It’s the kind of soul-bearing that makes you sit up straight.  Have you rethinking your whole approach to life.  That is a far cry from questioning how she managed to keep ending up in his path.  A far cry from trying to wipe her off the face of the earth!  I love this scene because at this point we are seeing the power and effect of experiencing softness, love, care.  Being touched and him letting the wave of vulnerability settle in.  The willingness to lay himself bare in front of her despite his many fuck ups.  He told her, I want you to be happy even if I am not the one, just as long as you are here.  Tracy certainly wrote him hella mannish! But in all seriousness, this was a bar.  Had that man pouring out his soul in the middle of the woods.

1. Worth This and More 

“Merlin crawls on hands and knees.  ‘Just know Briana Matthews,’ he says, ‘That you are worth this and more.’ Without a second’s hesitation, he pulls me close enough that we nearly kiss-and inhales my power into his body.  Devours it whole.”

This scene hit me right in the gut for so many reasons.  It was the culmination of all that Selwyn had learned, endured, and sacrificed…for Bree.  Despite how much he had risked throughout Bloodmarked, he was still ready and willing to risk even more for her.  Pure veneration and sacrifice just for her.  In the Ogof, he kneeled to Bree and here he crawls to her, spent, and wants her to know that even at this moment he would do it again without question.  The poetry in how he approaches her.  The juxtaposition of kissing her in the woods and losing himself to that moment (even though briefly), giving in to that bit of euphoria and vulnerability, to losing himself as we know him totally, by devouring her root.  Because he knew the cost of that act and did it anyway, nearly did me in!  Tracy wrote the hell out of that and it is one of the chapters I have a hard time going back to.  Something about reaching a point of seemingly no return and pushing forward against all odds because you love the person before you so deeply. 

 No other Merlin indeed. 

What’d you think? I think I kicked Gemini season off right!  What are your favorite Selwyn Kane moments? What lives rent free in your head?  I am so excited that there are two more books to look forward to.  For me, those are more opportunities to talk my shit! 

Also, in case you missed it, here are my Top 10 Briana Matthews Moments

Happy Gemini Season Y'all!!!!

[reverieblondie]

So, Astarion is not the best at expressing himself in a healthy manner when he's upset about something and tends to lash out as a result (understandable given everything he has gone through, but understandable is not the same as excusable—it's something he would need to work on in order to have healthy relationships of any kind in the future). One thing I wish the game let us do is point this out to him or confront him about it (both in good and less good ways, because choice is this game's bread and bloody butter); it would have been very interesting to see how he'd react. With all of that said, how do you think he'd react to lashing out at Tav (platonic relationship and/or romantic relationship, but not on bad terms either way) over something that isn't really their fault or because they politely disagreed or something like that, but the instant the words leave his mouth he just sees the hurt fill Tav's expression before they try to end the conversation by just walking away from him (at which point they become rather distant and reserved towards him, though they still make sure he eats). If he immediately tries to backpedal or ends up approaching Tav to apologize after they've been reserved around him for a while, Tav tells him, "Your words didn't hurt me, but you said them with the intention for them to. You wanted to cause me pain. That is what hurt me. That's why I'm upset." then their stoicism begins to crack, and he can see them trying to hold back tears, "What did I do, Astarion? Why did you want to hurt me? What did I do to deserve it?"

I have been sitting on this ask for awhile because Astarion isn’t a character I know much about. I do think he has a great story and his characterization is great but he’s just not one of the companions I have romanticed but I have heard his is one well worth it. Honestly Astarion intimates me to write about because the Astarion girlies LOVE him and I don’t want to mess him up or anger anyone.

But with that said I love this ask because I can see this happening! And I think that this is something Astarion would do I think without fully realizing it, Astarion knows how to manipulate people and it’s his defense mechanism to hurt someone else first before they hurt him. And from everything in his past can you blame him for it? He doesn’t want to hurt anymore so he deflects.

I don’t see Astarion as the backpedaling type he’s the type to walk away and stew on it, I can see him even trying to pull the whole “your still mad darling? Look I’m sorry” But that’s when Tav tells him how much it did hurt how he was so quick to try and hurt them after everything they been through. It’s when Tav asks what they did to deserve that, that causes Astarion to drop his shields.

I’m my mind that’s when Astarion will sigh and open up, he doesn’t reach out for Tav for a hug or a hand hold, but he just lays it all out there. He’s not a good person, he hasn’t been for a very long time but for Tav he wants to learn, he wants to be the person who doesn’t hurt the ones he loves…he doesn��t want to break Tavs trust…just because he has been hurt doesn’t justify for him to hurt others. Tav means so much to him and he understands that Tav doesn’t have to forgive him or anything but he wants them to know that he is going to be someone worthy of Tavs kindness and understanding. He will show it through not only his words but through his actions.

Then it will hopefully led to them reconnecting and being honest, Astarion needs to be with a Tav who is a grade A communicator so when Astarion is feeling hurt they can talk about it in a healthy manner so they can both divulge their thoughts and feelings. Just have patience with him.

Sorry this took so long for me to answer hope this makes sense!

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #148

I did a lot of things today, but somehow I was fairly empty-minded for most of it.

I made a wonderful tea out of two different kinds of chocolate tea and two different kinds of strawberry tea, sweetened with a little honey and cream:

Shortly after that, I went to physical therapy. J came with me, because we were gonna go get pizza afterwards! There's a place nearby called Pizza Palace, which is run by a very kindly older gentleman who makes it a point to speak to us whenever we stop by, because we left really good Google reviews for his shop. The reviews were well-earned because the pizza there is really good, so I am a little confused about the level of gratitude he shows us just for us telling the truth, but if it makes him happy, then that's the important thing, I suppose!

The kindly gentleman has been all over the world and has done a great many things. I really do love when he talks to us; we learn much and his smile is one of the most radiant I've ever seen. And he makes beautiful pizza. I hope that his business might prosper. We told him a little bit about ourselves; I told him about how I used to do mermaid training, and J told him about learning to fly airplanes. The conversation was wonderful. I hope we get to have more.

After we returned home, I decided that it was time to strain the lilacs out of the water that I stewed them in. But I didn't get a cheesecloth because I thought we already had one; we don't. So I made do with a wire mesh strainer:

From there, I poured it into a saucepan and added about 2 cups of sugar. Normally, you're supposed to add as many cups of sugar as there are cups of lilacs, but I find the sweetness to be overpowering if I do that, so normally I add half or less. I had between 7 and 8 cups of lilac blossoms. 2 cups of sugar tasted correct:

From here, you have to let it reduce on the stove at a low heat for a while. It still needs to be reduced because the consistency isn't quite as viscous as I'd like, but here's how it ended up:

...I'll have to finish the process tomorrow, if I have time.

J and I visited Br after this. We went to her house, and I did a lot of leisure writing. I also listened to all the lovely tunes of one of the wonderful folks I met at the gathering of polyamorous people! I think this person's stuff is pretty great! Here's a link, in case you wanna hear it, too:

I really enjoyed listening to all of these. I think my favorites were Eightohtwoelevenen and Fractal Clouds!

Oh! You might also be pleased to know that I got some nice pictures of the sky for you on the way to Br's house... If you look very closely at the first one, you'll see a very faint rainbow in the clouds, near the bottom...

...I hope the skies you fly in are at least as pretty as the pictures of the sky that I try to take for you.

...I don't have much else to say today. Tomorrow, I gotta wake up early and go to the house of the friend who I got the lilacs from; I will have the pleasure of watching over her delightful little son as she works from home! I am looking forward to it, but simultaneously, I am somewhat worried about doing a bad job somehow. This worry makes no sense, given that I literally have a degree in taking care of children between the ages of 0 and 3, but my brain is always worried about being bad at the things I'm good at, so maybe I'll pay it no heed.

I love you. Please stay safe out there, okay? Take some time to dance merrily up in the clouds. Take some time to enjoy some warm, delightful-smelling rains. Take some time to watch the sunrises and sunsets splash kaleidoscopic colors all over the clouds, won't you?

I'll write again tomorrow, as I always do.

Your friend, Lumine

[captainsolocide]

solo talks about elementary part 3

a continuation of these posts. don't mind the four months between this and part 2 :) these points cover season 2

the good:

Mycroft is here! I was wondering if he was going to show up; with Holmes' father being in the picture in this adaptation, I thought they may have had him absorb Mycroft's role

Watson being a good detetcive on her own! Love that she's seen truly as Holmes' equal in their partnership; she has less experience, obviously, but she can still hold her own in a lot of these investigations

Watson starts to become a bit of a blindspot for Holmes in this season which is one of my absolute favorite tropes <3

the bad:

the first two items in my list for season two go like this:

please I'm begging you not to have Mycroft and Watson fuck please

goddammit

SERIOUSILY WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT

hated that plotline

Holmes says he prefers working with the cops 🤮🤮 babe please this isn't you

wayyyy too much focus on Mycroft, even outside of his stuff with Watson. genuinely could not give less of a shit about him in this adaptation

???

this is a new category I'm adding when certain themes or plots have both positives and negatives

for season two we have a couple, the first, which I'll reproduce from my phone notes verbatim is

I HATE HOW STUPID THEY'RE BEING ABOUT THEIR DESTINY YOU ARE IRREVOCABLY TIED TO EACH OTHER FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIVES AND THERE IS NOTHING EITHER OF YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT AND THE SOONER YOU REALIZE THAT THE BETTER

meaning of course that this is Holmes and Watson. this is Holmes and Watson. them trying to be normal and have a normal relationship is just. not how this works

on the one hand, and I can see how Watson not realizing this makes sense, and I can accept that.

on the other hand, Holmes is not supposed to fucking leave Watson to go work for the MI6??? hello???? he's supposed to know if no one else does??? surely he should've known that Watson moving out would've been temporary?

the only plus from this plot line is that I as the viewer knew it would have to end at some point

the other plot line that goes here is a little parallel I noticed, where season two almost acts as a pseudo-rechienbach

Mycroft fakes his death so a super evil criminal organization thinks he's dead and doesn't try to kill him; Holmes leaves Watson for an extended period of time, and gives no indication he's ever planning on returning; he leaves her a note telling her what happened; Watson moves out of the brownstone while resentment and hurt at Holmes' abandonment is left to stew

you can see the resemblance to the end of The Final Problem

I think this is really interesting if it was intentional because it does a couple of things

it leaves Moriarty for Holmes; she's not dead, and you can still have a big final showdown between them if you want (and I'm almost sure that'll happen at some point) but you don't have to do that right now. she gets to stay a part of the story, but you're still able to get to that point with Holmes and Watson without getting rid of her

Holmes doesn't lie to Watson. He doesn't tell her the whole truth, and he still up and leaves out of literally nowhere, but he doesn't lie to her. There's still hurt and a loss of trust, but you avoid the horribleness of making your best friend in the whole world believe you're dead and then coming back (on the other hand, if they do end up doing tfp properly and holmes fakes his death and doesn't tell watson... the fact that this whole thing already happened makes that soooo much worse. so. let's hope it doesn't)

Some reasons I didn't like this

because Holmes is not the one in danger, his reason for leaving is a lot less noble than his reason in tfp; Watson merely suggests the idea of her temporarily moving out and he loses his mind and flees the country. what are we doing here

one of the most heartbreaking parts of tfp is the note Holmes leaves Watson at Reichenbach. the note he leaves her at the end of season two? PATHETIC. where's the heart? there isn't even any attitude or anger, it's like two sentences telling her he got a new job and left.

[sotwk]

Hi, Anon who asked about Celebrian here! Thank you for your great answer.

I just loved loved loved your HCs so much it made me sob, fr my 3-year-old sister offered me chocolate because she saw me crying (no I’m not that young we are just like elves: born one generation apart from each other).

Toddlers cuteness and generosity aside, I love that the two women have a sisterhood-type of friendship, me and my best friend are just the same, although not related at all but in Tolkien everyone is basically related to one another and we like it that way. (“Confusingly complex family tree” As you rightly said)

Also I do love your depiction of young!Legolas because he reminds me of my little sister and it’s such a joy to have her around and that is true for him too.

Not relevant to the topic discussed, the idea of Thranduil being jealous of poor Lindir is hilarious, and it absolutely MAKE SENSE. There is a reason he became a fan favorite over the years so I absolutely want to see how that will play out and maybe what his reaction to the knowledge that a prince, a Sindar of Doriath, thinks of him as competition. Hilarious but also true, i dare say.

One last thing: If I remember correctly, but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, Maereth has/had a brother or a sister? Im not so sure of this, I think in The Crown you mention a nephew of the elvenqueen. But I didn’t see them mentioned when you posted about her genealogy. Im probably misremembering or it’s something I made up based on your HCs.

Now I stop ranting. Have a nice weekend! Byeee <3

my 3-year-old sister offered me chocolate because she saw me crying

I'm sorry for the tears, but I hope it was a cathartic cry! *hug* I'm glad the friendship between the two Elf-Queens (Celebrian is a Queen in my mind, titles be damned!) moved you so much.

Toddlers are so amazingly compassionate! My husband woke with lower back aches this morning and our 4-year-old seriously tried to give him a massage. XD You and your little sister sound very sweet!

the idea of Thranduil being jealous of poor Lindir is hilarious, and it absolutely MAKE SENSE.

I have such a soft spot for Lindir! He's just that shy, slightly awkward and nerdy guy who might get overlooked for being quiet, but he's actually a hottie who's unaware of his own sex-appeal. So yeah. Even though he and Maereth's friendship stays entirely platonic, stew on that for a while, Thranduil.

Maereth has/had a brother or a sister? Im not so sure of this, I think in The Crown you mention a nephew of the elvenqueen.

I'm gonna give you a virtual trophy for being the first one to notice this and bring it up with me! I've been dropping mentions of Maereth's nephew/the Thranduilions' cousin in multiple hc posts and fics now! Here are just a few of those sources:

The Crown

Greenleaf's Day Out, Chapter 5

Yuletide in the Elvenking's Realm, Day 5: Five Golden Rings

SotWK OC: Olondir, Master Craftsman of the Woodland Realm

Lord Olondir (oc) is the son and only child of Maereth's brother, Calinondo (oc). Although he died fighting in the War of the Last Alliance, Calinondo is a significant character in the SotWK AU because he became heir to the knowledge and craft of the great Celebrimbor, his uncle and mentor. (Remember that Maereth's grandfather is Maglor, which makes Maereth's mother and Celebrimbor first cousins--they were very close with each other.)

Calinondo passed on everything he knew to his son, so that by the Third Age, Olondir was named the Master Craftsman of the Woodland Realm. Apart from helping craft the Elvenking's famous crown, he was responsible for other creations such as the faemir/calarsil mentioned in "Greenleaf's Day Out". Most of the armour and weaponry used by Mirkwood's soldiers in the Third Age, as you see in BotFA, was also designed by him (alongside Mirion, who was a Master Bladesmith). These Noldorin craftsmen were responsible for upgrading the inferior armour and weapons that contributed to the Silvans' defeat at the War of the Last Alliance. In essence, the fact that Noldorin craftsmanship lived on in Thranduil's family helped Mirkwood survive Sauron's onslaughts.

Because I've been sharing fancasts right and left, here is my fancast for Olondir, nephew of the Elvenqueen: Jake Gyllenhaal.

Olondir is the the only Elf in the Woodland Realm who can grow a beard in his Second Cycle. Remember whom else he descended directly from? Mahtan, the great smith of Valinor and father of Nerdanel! Olondir keeps his beard to honor that part of his heritage, which he is most proud of.

Side note: I have a creator's crush on Olondir. He's almost like a 6th Thranduilion Prince, and his character is quite sexy. He's got the Fëanorean edge to him. Although he's not super developed in my head yet, I would love to write more about him someday! XD

By the way, Maereth actually had three older brothers; her two eldest brothers were twins: Surlírë and Vëalírë, but they died in the War of Wrath alongside their father Eärondir, so sadly Maereth barely knew them. But boys and twins ran strong in their family, just as in Fëanor's.

Anywaaaaay, thank YOU for letting me ramble on this long again! XD I love you so much for geeking out about my OCs with me, Anon! I'm gonna have to write this down in a proper and more thorough post later on, but it felt really good to share this much!

[bthump]

How do you think Casca feels about Guts now after everything that has happened?

Do you have any predictions on what will happen between Guts, Casca, and Griffith now?

Well we know for sure that she's still traumatized and scared of him. And I don't think it's just because he was at the Eclipse - he's scary on his own merits in a very beast-of-darkness-way from her point of view:

Look at the highlights on his face that suggest the Beast of Darkness' zig-zag eyes.

Here he's shown in Berserk's specific visual language to denote an object of fear - shadowy silhouette, glowing eye. Plus he's clearly associated with the rest of the monsters of the Eclipse. Considering Casca flashes back to them a lot whenever she's being sexually assaulted, I'm very much inclined to take this as a reference to Guts sexually assaulting her and therefore Casca's mind viewing him as yet another monster.

So I think it's something that's going to have to be confronted, and personally I don't think it's likely to be overcome. Guts' reaction to Casca being unable to look at him has been mostly disappointment and boredom, rather than despair or regret or desperation. I think you can make a comparison, from Guts' point of view, to Casca yelling at him in the Golden Age lol - it follows the same pattern: Casca makes him feel bad, he goes and swings his sword aimlessly while stewing about it. It’s about how she makes him feel, not about their relationship.

And especially after those last few chapters, the emphasis is so thoroughly on Guts' sword and his own sense of inadequacy rather than Casca, like, it's stark in how unromantic it is lol. And yeah, Miura isn't writing it now, but it illustrates where Miura put his emphasis while discussing it with his friend, and it's certainly not on Guts and Casca's relationship.

The romantic fake-outs just after Casca woke up are also a strong sign imo - Casca gets all blushy, Danann pushes their romance specifically by putting Casca in a fancy dress, they prepare for a romantic meeting under a giant cherry tree... then Casca passes out because Guts subconsciously scares the shit out of her, and she immediately proceeds to get a haircut and put some pants on, and it's so pointedly stated that it's better lol:

This was Miura teasing the shipping contingent of fans, and denying them. And yeah, based again on the narrative emphasis on Guts' sword right after Casca's been kidnapped by Griffith lmao I don't really think that's very likely to change. Guts' goal isn't to win Casca back, it's to hit a god with a sword. Casca didn't even seem to care all that much that looking at Guts makes her faint even though she does presumably still harbour some romantic feelings for Guts - it wasn't treated as a tragedy, they weren’t portrayed as tragically star-crossed lovers in the few chapters between Casca’s sanity returning and the kidnapping. It just felt like a logical consequence of Guts’ actions that he has to deal with now.

SO anyway all that said, I don't really have any solid predictions lol. I don't think we're going the romantic happily ever after route. My main prediction that Guts and Griffith will die together remains unchanged. Casca's kidnapping was a giant curveball for me and I have no idea where that's going lol, but I suspect Guts is probably going to go full beast of darkness, lose himself in the armour, rampage around trying to kill Griffith, and likely at the very least traumatize Casca more if not kill her, or nearly kill her himself, a la dog!Guts in Casca's dreamscape. I've still got faint hope that Casca will use the behelit if like, the full extent of her memory restoration is delayed until she's near it again. I anticipated it being a downer end of act 2 style moment rather than an actual climactic moment, but there's still room for the latter.

I also think that the whole power of friendship bs is substantially less likely to be a major factor now - we got hints of that with Guts thanking the dudes for sticking with him, Farnese vowing that she'll save Casca from the darkness, all that, but considering it just lead to everyone being useless when Griffith showed up to kidnap Casca, and now useless with Guts having a dumb breakdown over his sword, in hindsight it honestly feels like set-up for a darker mood shift now. Dashed hope, kinda thing. And we still have Guts going feral to look forward to, so that could easily shake out as more dashed hope.

So yeah, no real concrete predictions, but this is the vibe I'm feeling right now. Guts and Casca are probably pretty over as a thing - maybe they get a moment of reflection over tragic potential for happiness lost or whatever at the climax, but I really don't anticipate a happily ever after for them. I would like Guts and Griffith to have a moment of emotional catharsis before one or both die, and I do completely think one or both will die. And the other will live miserably ever after. Frankly I think the happiest ending for both of them is dying together lol - Guts "struggling" on and living is kind of thematically negative to an extent, thanks to Skull Knight and Zodd the Immortal's examples, and thanks to Guts' own monstrousness as he declares his desire to live in the Black Swordsman arc and the way he’s directly compared to apostles for it... for Guts surviving and living on to be a happy ending, thematically, he'd have to decide to put down his sword for good, and I just don't see that as an ending based on the set-up we've gotten so far. It would require a hell of an amount of character development in probably a relatively short amount of time lol.

What I think is more likely is Guts confronting Griffith in a non-physical way, eschewing his sword for that specifically (this current sword crisis could be a good starting point for that), and dying with him in an emotionally satisfying way. Then if Casca's still alive and a monster she wanders the earth in a bittersweet way, if she's alive and human maybe she gets a decently happy ending, if she's dead then she's dead.

Thanks for the ask!

[handercover]

It wasn't supposed to end like this, thought Han inhaling sharply as Tom practically tears her a new one while her uniform is uncomfortably sticking to her skin

Turns out that falling clothed in water was indeed uncomfortable, and having an unhappy guest who just happened to get in the crossfire between you and a friend's prank war was even worse, specially if that was Tom Marvolo Riddle - nerd extraordinaire and extremely unamused... Even if this was his fault technically

"Why did you even drink my tea in the first place?? You know what's been going on between me and Damian!" she huffs glaring at Tom, shifting uncomfortably as she sits in the bathtub, the Slytherin glares back at her "It's exactly because of that that I intervened" he glares back

Han rubs her temple as she looks at Tom, who is silently glaring at her now, waiting an explanation. She silently takes in his... new appearance, not in the least sorry for having thrown him in the water like a sack of potatoes just a few minutes earlier

"I told you me and Damian were having a discussion about who was the best idiot, which included one upping the other in the best way we could find, INCLUDING spells and such" she narrows her eyes at Tom "We wouldn't kill each other, just annoy the other" Tom narrows his eyes at well and pursues his lips "So tell me why did he want to turn you into a mermaid?"

Han just shrugged at that "I turned him into a frog a few weeks back, makes sense" Tom frowns at that "You two are... something else I swear" then sighs as he massages his forehead with his now webbed hands

"This brings me to the question, why did you even drink my tea?" she scoffs as Tom rolls his eyes before looking away, silently deciding to submerge himself more in the water, even if he's still in his uniform somewhat

"I saw Damian handling it and... I don't know" he huffs looking away, stewing silently, Han just looks at him. Definitely not amused "At least no one saw that" she says, trying to somehow see the bright side, no one had witnessed her throwing Tom over her shoulder and rush to the Prefect's bathroom at least

Tom huffed but slightly relaxed, before silently looking at his hands, analysing them silently before looking at his tail. Han turned around and grabbed her bag, carefully pulling out her potion book and turning the pages around as Tom looks at himself, then looks at his reflection in the water as she tries to find something that could help with this... she doesn't find anything but

"He definitely created something using gillyweed" she mutters as she reads over the ingredient, Tom scoots to her side silently as he too reads the page, practically pressed to her side "Or I hope so at least, it took effect after some time after all and it wasn't triggered by anything, so this means it could wear off by itself" she hums with a nod

Tom looked skeptic but decided to sigh and nod in response as Han closed the book and looked at him, then she smiled lazily "You look good tho, but I may be biased as I love monsters" Tom scoffed but looked away

Instead of pulling away however he just sank deeper in the water and decided to lay his head on Han's shoulder, pressed against her side and close to just wrapping his tail around her legs, he silently thought he'd be alone for the next ten hours so may as well make the most of it now that he has company

Han sighs after a few seconds before eventually standing up, Tom blinks in surprise before leaning against the edge of the bathtub, almost feeling disappointed that she's living so early... but Han starts to remove her clothing until she's left in her skirt and sleeveless undershirt, then she sits back in the bathtub

Tom raises his brow "You're not leaving?" he asks, surprised, Han scoffs "It's kind of my fault that you're like this, the least I can do is keeping you company", he blinks before gluing himself back to her side as they start to talk about whatever came up to their mind

No one comments on the fact that they miss lessons the next day, bit Han does reiterate the next week... managing to turn Damian invisible and freaking out half of the school, helped by Tom of course

Still debating on Damian's whole identity, but I have some ideas I will scribble down eventually, he's as stupid as Han but the spiritual brother of another one of my characters

[sweeterthanyou-blog]

i’ve had this aftg hc/fic stewing in my head for a while and I’m not much of a writer so I’m gonna lay it out here instead :)

setting the scene:

- it’s christmas-time during Neil’s sophomore year at psu. the year had a rocky start but with their win against the ravens and their return to the court in the fall, Neil has settled into this new life quite nicely

- this year, in an effort to make up for Andrew and Neil’s absence last year, the upperclassmen (along with Nicky) arrange a secret Santa among the foxes, to be given at a final fox dinner at abbeys the first night of winter break (before everyone goes their separate ways for the holidays)

- someone (probably Nicky) arranges it so Neil has Andrew because why not

now some gritty stuff:

- Neil doesn’t like the holidays. He usually thinks nothing of it, but this year the foxes are determined to celebrate the holidays. Despite all this cheer, Neil has a Bad Day (tm) beginning at the exy winter banquet that won’t go away.

- he tries to hide it, and is mostly successful as the foxes assume it’s purely memories of the previous year and his time at castle evermore resurfacing

- while this definitely is contributing to Neil’s overall declining mental state, there’s more to it

- during his early childhood, the Wesninski household didn’t celebrate Christmas (it was a busy time of the year for Nathan and he didn’t care to indulge in happy holiday celebrations). Neil, knowing no better, didn’t notice

- until he begins kindergarten (as an Aussie I hope that’s the correct US term). he learns all about the wonders of Christmas, he makes friends who whisper excitedly what they hope to get from Santa. On the last day before winter break, his whole class is allowed to watch a Christmas movie and colour in (all round the best day of his life)

- he goes home, ready to demand that they celebrate the holiday, interrupts his father during important business, Nathan proceeds to teach his son a lesson, and from then on Nathaniel is homeschooled and the thought of Christmas doesn’t cross his mind again.

- until he is ten years old. he’s at the age where he spends as much of his free time outside as he can, despite the cold. what he really wants is to play a sport, a way to release all his pent up energy (that does NOT include knives). Nathan, unusually happy, surprises Nathaniel one day. An early Christmas present, he exclaims. Nathaniel will begin in the Exy little leagues. Nathaniel is taken aback, but inside is a tiny spark of hope. He falls in love with exy, plays with Kevin Day and Riko. He and his mother run away. While on the run Christmas becomes once again just another thing he can never have.

- basically Christmas = bad memories

- this year, Neil knows Christmas will be different. The foxes make it mean something. But the bad days aren’t ending. It’s making him restless. Which scares him. He doesn’t want to be a rabbit anymore, and yet he can feel his body itching to grab his duffle bag and run.

- he manages to bottle everything down until the first day of winter break. That night, presents will be exchanged, but with all his mental battles Neil has yet to find something for Andrew.

-Andrew, who has been the only thing holding Neil up for so long. Andrew, who Neil knows can sense that something is off, but who respects Neil enough to give him space until he is ready.

- until today. Andrew finds Neil on the roof after a particularly long run. Lights a cigarette and stares at Neil.

- they have their heart to heart. Neil “self-sabotage” Josten finally opens his eyes and stops bottling down his emotions. Andrew told him to stay and he will.

- though there is one last thing he has to do first. It’s almost time to head to abbeys, but Neil tells Andrew he’ll meet him there.

- of course Neil arrives late to the party, drinking is in full swing, Nicky is wearing an awful Christmas sweater, presents are on a table ready for secret Santa.

- Neil finds Andrew outside by the fire, cigarette in hand, waiting for him. He hands over the gift in his hands.

- Andrew, curious as ever, opens it to find Neil’s binder.

- Neil’s binder, which contained everything he needed while on the run, fake ids, numbers for his mothers contacts, (everything you need to know about Kevin and Riko), minus all the money safely tucked away back in their dorm.

-Neil and his way with words: “this was all I had on the run, and I don’t need it anymore” it’s a promise that though he will have bad days, will feel jittery and as though his only option is to run, he won’t. Because Andrew told him to stay and because Neil wants to stay.

- he tells Andrew to toss it in the fire. Andrew rolls his eyes and goes to give it back. He doesn’t need this kind of promise, he already knows. But Neil asks again.

- Andrew gives in, tosses it in the fire and that’s that. They go back inside, join the foxes, and Neil experiences his first real Christmas with his family :))

[sunflowermp4]

HIIII BESTIE ok so. this has been sitting in my drafts for so long and i don't think it makes any sense but. kenstewy thoroughbreds thoughts.

ok so. kendall and stewy like in canon have known each other since forever. but they go through periods of time where they're either really close and hang out all the time or they don't talk for months on end. a lot of it has to do with kendall's gay panic -- like one day he kisses stewy then panics and doesn't talk to him for a whole year.

but anyway during one of their intense codepenceny era days one day stewy, jokingly at first, says you know dude it would be like. really easy to kill your dad. kendall of course is like what the fuck is wrong with you dude. and stewy is like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ im just saying dude. theoretically it would be easy. kendall is ofc disturbed and is like thats a fucked up thing to say. but. the worse logan gets (not just with kendall, but with shiv and roman as well) the more it starts to seem like a legitimate option. so ken is like, okay remember that thing you said about how easy it would be to kill my dad? theoretically how would you do it. and from then on they come up with The Plan TM but it's like, all just theoretical at that point. still, stewy makes it clear that if anything goes south, kendall is on his own.

two things rq: while lily and amanda / kendall and stewy are obviously very similar respectively, kendall isn't a killer the way lily is and like you said there is nooooo way stewy would willingly take the fall the way amanda was so ready to. so keeping those two things in mind the only way i see things unfolding similarly to the movie would be that one day kendall impulsively says fuck it lets fucking do it stew i want to be free. stewy of course is scared but yk he lowkey (highkey) wants the old man dead and wants his best friend slash boyfriend slash frenemy to be free. still he reminds kendall once again that if things go south he'd be on his own and kendall says he knows and he's well-aware. but then he panics and backs out last minute, and at that point it's way too late for like ... Both of them to get out of it unscathed, so knight in shining armor stewy would have to do it for him.

that way i can see kendall not facing the consequences of his actions (nrpi, no lasting consequences for his actions because hes not a real person etc) plus like. of course the brown immigrant kid would be more likely convicted for a crime as opposed to the white billionaire kid.

interesting interesting interesting this is marinating in my mind.........

this reminds me i am so so so interested in how they deal with kendall's guilt in s4 especially since he's told his siblings now....personally i'm hoping for an american psycho type turn where the absence of consequences makes his guilt turn inwards and eat him alive >:)

[514ko]

YNaM Retrospectives — Chap. III.S / 4

          Yet another Retrospective…  Feels like it’s been like a long time since the last one, but it’s only been a week…  Whew.  Maybe it’s because I’ve not been as active on Twitter as of late.  In any case—a warm thank you to those who are interested enough in my thoughts to read these little posts…  I hope you’re all doing well out there!!

          As always, here’s a link to the chapter in question:

          Hmm…  What mildly interesting stuff can I say about such a short chapter?

          Well, it did mark the end of a six-month-long hiatus, I guess.  God, looking back over it, I spent most of 2022 in hiatus…  Not for nothing, that second hiatus was the impetus for the Twitter account, and by extension, this blog—so that while I’m working on chapters, I can interact with people who like my work (which still blows my mind, btw) and let them know I’m still around~

          Chapter III.S was also the beginning of the roman numeral system—marking Koishi-only POV chapters with the roman numeral for ½, or S.  And I’m torn by this; I love the way it looks aesthetically, and how it clearly delineates the more introspective Koishi chapters at a glance, but I wonder if it causes more confusion for readers than it’s worth?  There’s no way to change the chapter numbers on AO3 (that I know of, anyway, maybe there’s a skin that can do it idk), and because of the S chapters it offsets everything so that now Chapter IV is actually Chapter 5 on AO3, and so on…  I’m this close to canning the numerals, and just referring to them by the AO3 numbers.  Kill your darlings and all that; I don’t want to confuse people unnecessarily, even for something I think is cool.

          As far as the content of the chapter—well, it’s the direct result of the first major plot holes I ran into in YNaM.  And it all comes from Flan, the troublemaker she is~

          Basically, as she was, Flandre had zero agency in the story.  She was the MC, and the primary POV character.  I’d originally wanted to tell the whole story from Flandre and Satori’s dual perspectives, but by the time III rolled around I realized it wasn’t possible anymore because Flan just wouldn’t.  Leave.  Her.  Room.  She wouldn’t seek Koishi out of her own accord, and would be content to just sit and stew…

          I couldn’t really have another character bring KoiFlan together, because no one knows they like each other yet (much less support it).  Originally, I was going to solve it by just having Koishi mysteriously show up at Flan’s doorstep and, y’know, force things to happen—but that solution left a bad taste in my mouth.  What’s the point of Flan being the MC if she has no agency in her own story? 

          So I made Koishi a POV character too.  And so, the point of Chap. III.S is to establish that, as well as Koishi’s own sense of agency, so that when she randomly appears in the next chapter it doesn’t feel so out of left field.

          And as it turns out, this idea of Koishi having more agency than Flan fits right in with the themes of YNaM, and even ended up influencing a number of later plot points—for instance, Koishi confessing to Flandre at the end of VI.  It’s funny how band-aid fixes you make early in a serial story end up influencing later events…

          One final note—this chapter is intended to be one of the two primary diverging points between YNaM canon and Touhou canon.  The first was Satori’s appearance at the Scarlet Devil Mansion in Chapter II, the first divergent point that allowed Koishi and Flandre to meet.  The second point was the direct result of that—the entirety of Chapter III.S.  Because if she hadn’t met Flandre in II, Chapter III.S would otherwise have been the night in which Koishi shuts her third eye, sewing it shut with that needle and thread.

          So yeah!  Short post for a short chapter.

          As far as new projects go—expect a little something for Flan day, 4th of July~  Nothing too much, but by golly I ain’t about to let another one of my favorite 2hu’s days go uncelebrated by me, I’ll tell you what—

[scorchedhearth]

it's just. he's alive now but what for? now that he's back what does he keep himself alive for? one thing, one goal, but you don't see him stop and wonder if he's happy with being back in the first place, if he wants to, if he wants to keep going beyond his revenge and build something for himself. he just wants to confront bruce, to show him what he's done, what he has become and he'll be from now, a better batman, a better man than what he sees in bruce now. he's so caught up in this that he doesn't stop and wonder about life beyond this goal. everything he does in utrh, especially near the end, shows this single-minded focus on his plan, on bruce and their confrontation, and no indication of a goal further than that, of a life beyond it. the bomb in his helmet, the lack or attempt at building a life for himself, connections and a network to fall back on after, the extreme stunts and actions he goes to, play cat and mouse with dangerous individuals with a seeming lack of care, the fail-safe of the final confrontation being either bruce kills him or he kills them all and bring the building down. he never even envisioned that his life would go on beyond this culmination, and i'd kill to see what his struggles looked like right after this, when he found himself alive once more and with nothing else to live for, now that the bridge between him and bruce had been burned and left to ruins with no way back, no reconciliation possible. what did it look like when he had to sit down and wonder if he even wants to be here now, if he wants to live any more than he already did, if it would even be worth it, if he could make something out of it because his utilitarian mindset would never allow him to live just for the sake of living, his existence must be justified, especially now that he's here despite what his fate meant for him and his end

[seijorhi]

Inexorable ♕

My birthday present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy​ and my contribution to her birthday bash collab you can find here. I love you, you’re incredible and I hope you like this i even wrote smut for you smh

Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader

tw: dub-con, stalking, unhealthy relationships, very questionable decision making, smut, nsfw, um... implied murder?

He’s sitting on the steps outside your apartment when you get home from work, a lit cigarette dangling between long fingers. He brings it to his lips, the bright cherry red tip glowing as he takes a nice, slow drag and you scurry on past.

Not a word passes between the two of you, but olive eyes follow you up the stairs regardless, just like always. His name is Iwaizumi – Iwa – but you only know that because you’ve heard his friends yelling it down the hallway. In the three months since you’ve moved in, you haven’t so much as introduced yourself to the guy, but like most strangers crammed into the same shitty place there’s some kind of a routine between the two of you.

Why he religiously chooses this time of night to take his smoke break is beyond you, but like clockwork you’ll arrive home, having walked back from the bus stop and Iwaizumi’ll be there waiting for you, cigarette in hand.

Well, not waiting, just… there. Black leather jacket with a hoodie underneath, there’s a cut above his eyebrow tonight that he hasn’t bothered to clean, a purpling bruise colouring his jaw. Whatever dealings Iwaizumi’s tangled up in, you don’t like to think about too much, but you know it can’t be anything good. His friends dress like him, all have the same ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. You’ve seen their scrapes and bruises too – the weapons that stick out from the waistband of their pants – though you’re always quick to avert your eyes when they catch you staring.

You’ve heard them snickering about it when you hastily dart past, all but slamming your front door shut. 

And it’s not that you’re scared of him. There are people who play at being dangerous, and ones who are. Iwaizumi doesn’t strike you as somebody who enjoys playing, and while you don’t doubt for a second that he is dangerous, he isn’t to you. He wouldn’t go out of his way to hurt or scare you – you’re not even a blip on his radar – but what Iwaizumi is, at least as far as you’re concerned, the reason your step quickens and you can’t bear to meet his eyes, is intimidating.

Tall and broad shouldered, with those piercing green eyes. You’ve only seen him smile once, though it was more a quirking of his lips than anything else – usually he just stares, his expression halfway between impassive boredom and a scowl. 

No, Iwaizumi doesn’t scare you nearly as much as the bouquet of flowers you find sitting on your doorstep, a handwritten note tucked in between the roses.

—

The calls come next. You block one number and he rings from another, followed by endless texts. Cute little messages you suppose are meant to brighten up your day. 

Hi baby, love the skirt you’re wearing today. You know blue’s my favourite on you, always look so damn pretty. It’s like you’re trying to drive me crazy haha

Morning babe, I was thinking about you last night. You remember that trip we always said we were gonna take in the summer down to the lake? I can’t wait to bring you there.

Why won’t you answer my calls? I just wanna talk to you, hear your voice again. Let me make things right. I love you.

Don’t you miss me? I miss you. So, so much… You look beautiful today, by the way.

Baby, I love you, but you really shouldn’t be staying out so late with your coworkers for drinks. I just want you to be safe.

They’re not all soft and sweet though. Sometimes he just sends you pictures, and those creep you out most of all.

You change your number, and it doesn’t make a difference.

—

It’s hard for you to try and convince yourself that you’re imagining the prickling sensation on the back of your neck as you go about your day. You know he’s watching you – the messages and the voicemails just drive that home, but what else are you supposed to do?

You can’t just pack up and run again, and what good is a restraining order when you have no proof he’s violating it – and by the time you do, it probably won’t help you.

Kazuma’s always had patience, but only up to a point.

The final nail comes the day you arrive home to find one of Iwa’s friends heading out from his apartment – the tallest, with the curly dark hair. Barely spares you a glance until he seems to think better of it.

“Didn’t realise you had a boyfriend, sweetheart.”

He says it so casually, but the words make you falter, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

And for a moment, he looks half surprised that you’ve bothered to reply – so far you’ve done nothing but pretend to ignore him and Iwa and every last one of their friends. But the mirth slips from his expression quickly enough once he gets a good look at yours, ���Blonde guy with a shitty dye job, tall-ish. Saw him leaving your apartment an hour ago.” 

But to walk out of your apartment, he had to have first gotten into it.

“Guessing he wasn’t your boyfriend then,” he says, eyeing you with an odd look. But you don’t respond and after a short pause, he simply shrugs and continues on his way. 

You couldn’t care less.

Kazuma was in your apartment.

Leaving flowers at your doorstep is one thing, but now he has a key. 

And it feels like there’s somebody else moving your body as you stumble towards your apartment, your hand shaking so badly that you fumble and drop your own keys twice before you finally manage to slide them home and push your way inside.

It’s waiting for you inside your bedroom, sitting atop your pillow; a pretty blue box wrapped with white ribbon.

Your phone flashes to life a minute later; an incoming message from an unknown number. 

Did you like your present, baby?? I hope you don’t mind, I kinda borrowed a little something too… 

With your heart in your throat you watch those three bouncing dots as the image comes through. 

A pair of red lace panties – yours – scrunched up in his fist, wrapped around his–

Your stomach heaves, and you barely make it to the bathroom in time before you’re hurling your guts up.

—

You’ve always had an impulsive side, and more often than not it’s landed you into trouble.

So you force yourself to calm down and think before you do anything rash. You head to the police station the very next morning to file a report, fresh off a sleepless night. The officer seems sympathetic, but you know before she even opens her mouth that there’s nothing they can do.

There’s no proof of a crime committed; nothing was taken (nothing you can prove, at any rate) and because your door wasn’t tampered with and the windows weren’t smashed, there’s no evidence of a break in. She suggests changing your locks and going to stay with some friends or family for a few days and you don’t know whether you want to laugh or burst into tears.

And instead of going back to work, you call in sick.

Iwaizumi isn’t sitting on the front steps when you get back home, and why would he be? You’re not supposed to be home for another few hours – so instead you head to his apartment door and mustering every last ounce of courage you possess, you raise your fist and knock.

Silence greets you. 

You wait for a moment, a heartbeat, not daring to breathe, but there’s no answer. Which, really, shouldn’t be that surprising considering it’s mid-morning on a Tuesday, but you can’t help the crushing sense of disappointment that washes over you. The thought of trudging back to your apartment to sit and stew alone for the next few hours while you wait for him to come back makes your skin crawl. You can’t just sit still and twiddle your thumbs, not when–

Abruptly, the door in front of you swings open, and you find yourself face to face with a glaring Iwaizumi. His expression falters, momentary surprise flickering across his eyes at the sight of you standing in his doorway.

This time you don’t avert your eyes. Your heart’s pounding, your hands clammy and trembling by your side, but this is the only choice you have left. And so as a single eyebrow cocks and Iwa falls into a lean against the doorframe – the only invitation you’re gonna get – you steel your nerves, take a deep breath, and speak.

“I-I need a gun.”

To his credit, Iwaizumi doesn’t snort. “You planning on shooting somebody, princess?”

They’re the first words he’s ever spoken to you, and they make your cheeks burn, your stomach twisting into a knot. It’s not a dismissal, but there’s a tinge of amusement colouring his tone and you can’t help but wilt a little under the weight of his gaze. 

Better sense would tell you to turn around, walk back to your apartment and curse your own idiocy for entertaining this stupid idea to begin with But Iwaizumi’s staring at you like he’s expecting an answer and all you can think about is the fear that gripped your heart last night, how you couldn’t bear to turn the light off, half terrified that at any moment Kazuma would come back – and this time he wouldn’t be satisfied with just some panties.

You can’t live like this, and you can’t just pack up your life and wait for the same thing to happen in the next place, and the one after that. Kazuma won’t stop, you know that. 

“I…” you chew on your bottom lip, dropping your gaze so that you’re staring at his chest instead of those piercing green eyes. “I don’t, I-I’m not–”

“A killer?” he interjects, and you almost flinch at his bluntness“Yeah, no shit.”

Taking another breath in through your nose, you force yourself to meet his gaze, even as your nails bite into the palm of your hand and your heart skips a beat. “I just want…” but you can’t even bear to say the words aloud, not without your voice shaking like a leaf. “It’s for protection. I don’t know who else to go to. Please,” you beg.

Iwa exhales heavily, a crinkle appearing between his brows as he frowns, “This got anything to do with the blonde asshole that’s been sniffing ‘round your place?”

Your bewilderment must show, because he snorts, finally stepping back to let you inside. “Mattsun told me,” he says, answering your unspoken question. 

The unmistakably hard edge to his words takes you a little by surprise, but you nod anyway, gingerly taking a seat on the couch when he jerks his chin at it. “Oh, uh, yeah. He’s my ex, kinda. We… didn’t end well.”

It’s the understatement of the century, but you somehow doubt a man like Iwaizumi gives two shits about your past relationship with a stalker. Your fingers play with the hem of your skirt as the imposing man settles down beside you. “So does this mean you’ll get me a gun?” you ask. “I can pay you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have some money–”

Iwa scoffs, cutting you off. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near a loaded gun, pretty girl, you’re dumber than I gave you credit for.”

You reel back as if he’s slapped you. But Iwaizumi’s staring at you with that steely expression and blood rushes to your cheeks. Why are you surprised? Did you actually think he was going to help you – a veritable stranger – just because you have some sob story? Why even bother letting you in if he was just gonna make you feel like an idiot? And for a moment you forget the gnawing terror that’s kept you up all night, letting yourself become awash with indignation. You have no control over the hurt noise that leaves your throat, but the ‘Fuck you’ that follows; that one’s intentional.

You don’t have time to regret the insult as you jump to your feet; his hand shoots out to wrap around your wrist, jerking you to a halt the moment you try it. 

“I didn’t say you could go,” he tells you, and you can’t fight the shiver that rolls down your spine at the unmistakably commanding tone. “Sit.”

Wordlessly, you comply.

“Look at me.”

Again, there’s that harsh undercurrent in his voice that tells you he’s not asking, and you lift your gaze with a tense swallow. Iwa still hasn’t released your wrist, the warmth of his calloused palm searing against your skin. 

He doesn’t speak for a moment, olive eyes studying your face intently as you force yourself to sit still under the appraisal. “I said that I wasn’t going to give you a gun, not that I wasn’t going to help.”

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, “What–”

“I’ll take care of it,” he snaps, cutting you off once again. And as you inhale sharply, you realise that it’s not anger you see burning in those pretty eyes, but sheer, unrelenting fury, an icy rage that you don’t understand, that terrifies you as much as it enthrals.

Because you feel like it’s on purpose. Like he’s finally letting you get a glimpse of what silently seethes beneath that impassive mask of his. Are you scared now, sweetheart?

“H-how much?” you ask breathlessly, eyes wide and heart pounding. 

“I don’t want your money,” he says quietly, his voice low and husky. And just in case there was any confusion as to what he does want, his other hand comes up to your face, a broad thumb tracing along your bottom lip as he cups your cheek.

Iwaizumi leans in slowly, as if he’s giving you time to shove him away and tell him that you’re not that kind of girl. Part of you – the part that’s terrified, frozen stiff and regretting the very moment you decided to step into his apartment and cross that line – wants to. Even now, as those hooded olive eyes drink you in, his warm breath ghosting across your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake, you’re afraid that it’s too late for that. You’ve opened a door that should never have been opened and there’s been a fundamental shift between you and him. There’s no going back for either one of you.

And the other part of you revels in it.

“Don’t kill him,” you murmur the second before his lips meet yours. “Not unless you have to.” You don’t even know if he heard you, and as Iwa deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours you find that you don’t care. You lose yourself to Iwaizumi as he leans closer, gently pushing you to lie back on the couch.

He isn’t satisfied with just your lips for long, planting hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, sucking on the sensitive flesh. His teeth nip at your collarbone as he busies himself unbuttoning your shirt, but your gasp sounds more like a needy whine than a plea for him to stop. 

He laughs a little at that, his chest rumbling against your stomach, but he makes no moves to slow down. Instead he turns his attention to your bra, his hands far less gentle with the delicate lace than he was with your shirt, and then his mouth is on your tits, licking, sucking, biting. Tomorrow, your skin will be littered with pretty red and purple marks, and judging from the single minded focus glinting in his eyes as he stares up at you, that’s exactly his intention. Iwa drags the flat of his tongue along the swell of your breast, circling it around your nipple before he sucks it into the wet warmth of his mouth, and the whimpering moan you give him in response is a thing of beauty. 

“Good girl,” he croons. “Such pretty, perfect tits.”

Your back arches when he cups the other in his hand, and you cry out when he roughly tugs the sensitive bud. He waits until the sting fades and you relax, sagging back against the cushions with relief before he does it again, harder this time. The sharp, searing pain ripples through you, your breath seizing in your chest as you try in vain to writhe away from his touch, but it’s followed by a flood of pleasure so strong it almost makes you dizzy. The fleeting kiss Iwa bestows on the supple flesh a moment later could almost be taken as an apology – if not from the satisfied smirk curling at his lips. He has no desire to be gentle with you, not today or any other day. That’s not who he is. 

Large hands ease down your side, reaching for the hem of your skirt. Iwa doesn’t bother trying to pull it off of you, merely flips it up, exposing your soft thighs and the delicate panties lying underneath. 

In an attempt to be helpful, you lift your hips to allow him to drag the lacy scrap of fabric down your legs and discard it, but Iwaizumi seems perfectly content with leaving them where they are. Even so, it takes you by surprise when his mouth descends on your cunt, the wet, pink muscle laving along the seat of your panties. You shiver in response, one hand instinctively reaching out to tangle in those spiky brunette locks, but if you’re about to tell him to stop teasing, the words are robbed from you when Iwa pushes the fabric aside and buries his face in the heat of your pussy.

His nose nudges at your clit and you jerk at the first lap at your folds, already shamefully wet for him. There’s no rhythm or rhyme to the way he eats you out, letting a long, thick finger slide into your cunt while he suckles and licks at your clit, but you can’t deny that it’s working. Your thighs tremble and quake beneath his hands, every second of his attention dragging you closer to unravelling entirely. And you’re awash with pleas, little whimpers and moans as he chuckles, the low vibrations making your fingers tighten in his hair as another burst of pleasure flutters through you. Your hips rise and fall against his face, desperate for more when he finally slides his tongue inside of your heat, eager to taste your cunt properly. You want more, you’re desperate and aching for it; but Iwaizumi’s grip tighten bruisingly against your thigh in warning. 

You’re at his mercy, and he’s in absolutely no hurry.

The first time you cum, it takes you by surprise. It feels like an endless build-up, Iwa’s tongue lapping at your pussy like it’s heaven sent, his mouth working diligently to drive you insane. Every touch feels unbearably good, from the long, slow strokes to the way he drags the tip of his tongue along your clit. Your toes are curling, your tits heaving with the desperate breaths you choke down, and all of a sudden his mouth latches onto your clitoris and he sucks hard at the swollen nub. You almost black out right there and then, stars bursting behind closed lids as pleasure wreaks havoc over your body. But as good as that feels, it’s not until you open your eyes and catch sight of the hunger blazing in Iwaizumi’s eyes that you tip over the edge, cumming into his waiting mouth with an earth shattering moan. 

At some point he must have let you go to rid himself of his own clothes, and your panties, but you’re boneless, basking in the afterglow as he shifts you once more, lifting one of your thighs up to hook your leg over his shoulder as he settles back onto the couch.

You just watch through hazy eyes as Iwaizumi gives his thick cock, already hard and flushed an angry red, a few cursory pumps. And his eyes are fixed on yours as he leans down, guiding the tip to your sopping cunt. 

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of this, princess,” he grunts out. 

Warning bells sound in your head once more, your gut clenching uneasily, but any protests you might have voiced fall by the wayside as he slowly presses into you. It’s the girth, more than anything else, that takes you by surprise. It hurts, stretching out your poor, oversensitive cunt as his cock fills you up, inch by agonising inch. 

Iwa hisses from between clenched teeth and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to breathe through the pain. It won’t last long, you know that, and until it does you just have to grin and bear it.

You can feel it twitching inside of you, every ridge and vein, the way your slick walls hug his cock. His thumb strokes along your hip, soothing you as your face screws up and another whimper slips out. You think you hear him say something, praise maybe, or encouragement, but all you can focus on is the way his cock throbs inside your pussy when he finally bottoms out and stills.

And for a moment, he doesn’t move. A small kindness, letting you become adjusted to his size before he fucks you the way he’s dying to. 

“Look at me,” he says, and while his tone isn’t as sharp this time, it’s no less of an order.

Your eyes flutter open as Iwaizumi turns his head just a fraction without breaking eye contact, pressing a soft kiss against your calf. His eyes are glazed with feverish lust, pupils blown wide, almost swallowing up that thin ring of olive green entirely, and you wonder whether you should feel afraid right now.

You don’t have the words to describe it, the distant unease that seeps through you as you stare into the eyes of a man who’s clearly not in control anymore. If you screamed right now, tried to fight back or stop him, would it make a difference? 

Do you actually want to?

“You’re mine,” he growls out, drawing his hips back and slamming them forward ruthlessly as you choke on a scream. 

He’s relentless, hissing out curses as he fucks you like a rag doll, filling your wet, tight little cunt again and again and again. It’s all you can do to fist at the edge of the cushion, one hand wrapping around his back, your nails raking down his skin, drawing blood in their wake.

And Iwa doesn’t care, tossing his head back as he pounds his cock into your needy cunt, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. “Iwa,” you plead between gasping breaths, clinging to his broad frame. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, not as he grabs you by the hips and lifts you up, hauling you closer so he can fuck you deeper. And you can feel his cockhead rutting against your cervix with every vicious thrust, the painful stretch of your cunt as you’re forced to take his fat cock. It hurts, it does, but holy fuck you can’t focus on that when his fingers slip between your legs and he starts to rub at your puffy, oversensitive clit.

You’re whining, mewling, hips shifting as you rock against him, desperate for more friction. “Please, Iwa,” you moan.

The sound of it, the lewd slaps of skin against skin, the wet squelching as he drives his cock home again with an unforgiving pace would be enough to make you burn with embarrassment, but you don’t care because you’re quickly losing yourself to mindless pleasure. Every stroke fills you completely, it’s hot and thick and the drag of his cock against your plush walls, the way it kisses that sweet perfect spot with every thrust is driving you to insanity.

“Fuck!” you cry, clenching tightly around his length as you hurtle over the edge for a second time. You’re gushing, convulsing, back arched up off the couch, lips parted and–

Iwaizumi stops with a growl and you barely have time to process it before he’s flipping you onto your front, yanking your ass up into the air and hammering his cock back into your swollen, abused little pussy. It’s a bruising pace he sets as he chases after his own end, your name falling from his lips in harsh, breathless grunts. 

It doesn’t take long for his thrusts to become sloppy, your cunt sucking him in and pulsing around his cock. And you don’t have the mental capacity to beg him to pull out, not as his muscular chest collapses against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist and he pumps you full of his seed.

Neither one of you move straight away, both fighting to catch your breath and calm down in the afterglow of your orgasms. Your eyes flutter shut as he presses soft, sweet kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, anywhere he can reach. It’s an intimacy that doesn’t belong here, but you find yourself arching into it, a small, tired smile curling at your lips as Iwaizumi lavishes you with affection. 

And you can only whine softly when he finally pulls his cock out and stands, lifting your boneless form up into his arms, chuckling quietly when you bury your head into his chest. Your head’s empty, your thoughts a jumbled mess as he carries you into his bedroom, depositing you carefully onto the bed. 

Iwaizumi leaves you there like that, and when he returns a few minutes later he’s dressed again. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something oddly content about his expression as he stops by the doorway and takes in the sight of you; naked and thoroughly fucked out, curled up amongst his covers. 

“Iwa?” you ask sleepily, stretching your aching body to make yourself more comfortable as you nestle further into the soft mattress.

He doesn’t answer you as he strides in, but you watch through half lidded eyes as his expression hardens. Stopping by the bedside, Iwaizumi reaches for you. You think he’s going to cup your cheek again, maybe run his fingers through your hair, but instead his hand slides between your thighs, gathering up some of the cum that’s seeped from your pussy with his fingers and slowly pushing it back inside of you, humming when you whine and shift under him.

“I’m leaving for a bit,” he tells you, your gut clenching as you remember why you’re in this position in the first place. “You don’t leave this apartment until I get back. You don’t answer the door, you don’t tell anyone you’re here, you don’t leave this bed unless you have a goddamn good reason. Understand?”

Weakly, you nod.

“Such a good girl for me,” he breathes, and this time when he leans over he does kiss you, sweeping your hair back from your face before his warm lips meet your cheek. He lingers there for a beat longer than necessary before pulling away with a sigh.

And as the door swings shut, the sound of the lock clicking into place behind him, you begin to question whether you’ve made a mistake. You don’t doubt for a second that Iwa will follow through with his promise. Whether it’s tonight or tomorrow or a week from now, he’ll find Kazuma; him and his friends, and they’ll make sure he stays away. And until they do, you won’t leave this apartment.

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that despite your pleas, Iwaizumi’ll kill him. 

Not because that’s the only way for this to end, though you realise that that’s always been a possibility, but because of what you glimpsed in his eyes today. Stupidly, you’d thought you had Iwa pegged. But there’s something that lurks beneath that facade, something more dangerous than you could’ve possibly imagined and the moment you opened the door to Iwaizumi it sunk its teeth into you and now you’re not sure if it’ll ever let you go.

And as you lie back in Iwaizumi’s bed, covered in the marks he left behind you wonder whether you’ve merely traded one monster for another. Perhaps it was inevitable. Inexorable.

[buckys-black-dress]

all the signs i don't read

a/n: guys!!! I'M OFFICIALLY DONE WITH MY FIRST YEAR OF UNI! i'm sooo happy to finally be done, i can focus on writing more for you guys this summer :) here's a lil somethin' i whipped up after my last final today. enjoy! xoxo, ali <3

wc: 2.5k words

[bucky barnes x fem!reader]

read part two here!

-

You never thought anything of it.

You never thought anything of it when every time someone would come into the room, Bucky would act like he couldn't stand being touched by you.

It was little things, at first.

You would be in the kitchen in the morning, making coffee for him and you. He would be holding you from behind, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. And then Steve, or someone else, would walk into the room.

And he would shake off your touch, like you were poison.

It never hurt less.

But it's not like you could ever make a scene out of it, or anything. Because nobody even knew you and Bucky had been dating for the past two months.

You had no one to turn to in this situation. No one knew you two were together, and you kind of messed this up for yourself when you agreed to all of this at the beginning of your relationship. Bucky had told you he wasn't really ready for PDA, and you had told him, in a haste, that it was fine.

But after two months of extremely close calls, your patience was wearing thin, and you know it sounds bad. But you've been extremely careful with him, always asking asking him if everything was okay before going further with anything involving physical touch. You always made sure you weren't crossing any boundaries, but it was starting to get frustrating.

You couldn't understand why Bucky could get all touchy-feely with Steve and Natasha when he felt like it, but was practically gagging at your touch.

You were currently cuddled up on his bed, watching a movie. You were on cloud nine, basking in the warmth of your boyfriend's touch. This was one of the rare instances where he would let you get this close. It was nice, and you made sure to always take advantage of it if the situation presented.

You could feel Bucky's gaze fixed upon you as the colors of the TV screen reflected onto your skin. Your eyes dip down to his, and a warm smile graces your face as your eyes meet.

You couldn't ever put into words how happy Bucky made you. You had liked him for so long before he even asked you out, and you were over the moon the day he had brought up wanting to take you out.

It was another night of dinner with just the two of you. Everyone else was on a mission, and since you two were the only ones left, you had decided to make the decision to make food for the both of you.

"James?" Your voice resounded through the empty kitchen and dining room.

"Yeah, honey?" He answered, painting your face red in a blush.

"Do you... just- nevermind." You shake your head, looking back down at your plate.

"Hey, look at me." He says, putting his hand over yours. "I was actually tryin' to figure out how to ask you this..."

Your brows are pulled together, wondering what he was talking about.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me, James." You reassure him. You were grateful that he was such a good friend to you, and that he trusted you enough to open up to you.

"I was wonderin'... would you like to... go out on a date with me sometime?" He asks, holding your gaze.

You're sure you look like a fish out of water right now, your mouth opening and closing in shock. He wanted to ask you out?

"I just... I like spending time with you, I like how you call me James, I like how you don't judge me and how long it's taken me to get comfortable here. I like how kind you are, and how you've always asked the others to be patient with me, so... would you like to go out on a date with me?" He held such hope in his eyes.

"I... I would love to, James." You reply after a moment of silence.

"I'm so happy you said yes." He smiles warmly. "But just... don't mention it to anyone? I don't want Steve or Sam on my case. You know how they can be sometimes." He smiles, and you nod at his request.

"Of course, James. I don't ever want to make you feel uncomfortable, we can go at your pace." Your tone was soft and understanding.

"Thanks, doll. You don't understand how much it means to me." Bucky returns your soft smile, and scoots his seat closer to yours.

His gaze was fixed on you, and while you were playing over the time in your head, Bucky leans in and pecks your lips gently.

"Hm, what're ya thinkin' of, honey?" He questions, sensing your mind was elsewhere.

"I was just thinking of that night when... when you first asked me on a date. How sweet you were." You smile coyly, leaning back in for another kiss.

Your stomach fluttered at Bucky's hum of approval at your actions. He deepened the kiss, motioning for you to fully sit on his lap. Bucky gently placed each of your legs on the sides of his thighs, his hands grasping your hips.

As he stared from your eyes to your lips, back up to your eyes, you felt lightheaded. This was the most intimate the two of you have gotten so far, and you feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Soon enough, your lips are back on his, moulding onto his like you two were made for each other. Although you two loved watching movies together in each others' rooms, (to avoid prying eyes, of course) you have never been so close to him before like this.

You felt yourself getting high on his affection, and once you had it, you didn't think you could ever go without it.

As Bucky's grip on you tightens, your hands move up to his shoulders, also moving to grasp them. Your hips move with a mind of their own, grinding against his lap.

You didn't think anything of it, but Bucky freezes at the action. His hands stop their gentle strokes along your sides. His lips pause their actions, and you feel him pulling away.

Both physically and emotionally.

"James, is everything alright?" You ask wearily, truly perplexed. Everything was going so well...

"I just... I can't do this, Y/N. I- I'm so sorry... I can't do this with you." He leans back, and limply moves his hands to flop onto the bed at his sides.

"O-Oh," Your voice breaks as you process his words. He didn't want you. This has all been a joke to him. Even in private, your touch made him uncomfortable.

"I... I have to go." You slide off Bucky's lap, gathering your belongings from the end of his bed and rushing out the door.

Without even a glance behind you, the door slams, and Bucky is sat dumbfounded on his bed. Why did I do that? He thinks to himself. Why did I say that to her?

As tears filled your eyes, you just pray that no one will see you. Unfortunately, your room was on another floor, and you think the stairwell would be the best option to avoid people at this point in time.

But of course, as fate has it, Steve is taking the stairs up. You can tell he's probably just returned from his nightly run, as he's sweating through his shirt.

You quickly wipe your eyes, hoping they look too puffy. Your nose was probably red, too, but just sniffle to clear it.

At the sound of your nose, Steve's head shoots up. Your eyes meet, and you plaster on possibly the fakest smile you've ever produced.

"Steve! How was your run?" You ask enthusiastically, trying to make it seem like you were just fine.

"Yeah, it was good. Took a bit of a longer route today. What are you doing here? You never take the stairs." He asks with a raised brow.

"I uh... I was watching a movie, and I had some snacks that were sitting a little heavy on my stomach. I thought a flight of stairs or two could do me some good." You shrug, trying to look as unsuspecting as possible.

"Are you sure you're alright? Your eyes seem a little red." Steve counters. He could feel that something was off.

"Y-Yup, I was watching a sad movie, you know how I get." You give a fake laugh, turning back around. "I have to head back, but good talk, Steve. Enjoy the rest of your night!" You practically yell while walking away from him.

The door of the stairs close behind you in a haste, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. You hated lying, but it's not like you could've said anything to Steve. He had no clue about anything having to do with you and Bucky.

While you locked yourself away to your room for the rest of the night, Bucky was still trying to process the events. How in the matter of a minute, he managed to shift your entire relationship. He was kicking himself, trying to figure out how to fix this. He couldn't seek out advice from Steve like he normally would in situation like this, or ask Natasha. Usually, she was the one to help him when it came to women these days.

But now, he was on his own.

And he was fucked.

So, he had two options.

One, go to Steve. Confess everything; dating you for the past two months, admit he was an idiot and didn't want anyone to know. Realize it would've been fine if everyone knew because everyone loved you. Try to win you back.

Or two, try to get you back on his own. And let's be honest, that option was not looking too good. Clearly, Bucky was clueless in this topic.

So now, he was left to stew.

That night, you drifted into a dreamless sleep with a heavy heart and a tear-soaked pillow.

-

The next few days were... rough, to say the least.

You could barely drag yourself out of bed. You would leave your warm blankets and pillows around eleven each day, which was unheard of for you. Natasha and Wanda would stop you on your way to the kitchen, and try to pry the problem out of you.

Sweetie, this isn't healthy for you.

Honey, just tell us what's wrong. We're here for you.

Y/N, we're worried about you. We love you, but you look horrible.

That last on made you crack a smile, but shook your head and headed in to make yourself a coffee.

For the first time in two months, you were only making coffee for you.

And fuck, was it killing you.

You so badly wanted someone to wrap you up in a hug, rub your back, and tell you it was okay. To tell you your touch was comforting, that they wanted to be close to you.

But of course, fairytales weren't real. You were alone again, and it seemed that it would stay that way for a long time.

No matter what you did, all you could hear in your head was James' words. I'm sorry, I can't do this with you. With you. With you. With you.

And you couldn't help but wonder. What was it about you that was so repulsive to him? You were understanding from the beginning. You just thought he wasn't ready for PDA, that he just wanted his privacy, you understood.

But what you didn't get was how James could have asked you out on a date, how he could've kissed you, for fuck's sake, and yet be so ashamed to be seen with you.

So you allowed yourself to only wallow for five days. You only gave yourself these next five days to feel sorry for yourself, whatever you needed to be pathetic for a few days, but that's it. After that, no more.

You were tired of feeling like you weren't good enough for anyone, like you were a burden. You were an amazing person, and if some people couldn't see that, it wasn't your problem.

You were done.

-

During your five days, you hadn't seen Bucky once. And of course, as your luck would have it, day two brought you your ex-boyfriend.

All in his glory, in the kitchen.

With not one, but two mugs of coffee.

His eyes meet yours, and you see a light in his. But you made sure you were quick to put that out.

"Do you need something, Bucky?" You all but sneer, and his soft smile drops.

"I just... I was about to bring you some coffee. Just how you like it, iced and black." He tries the smile again.

"No thank you, I'd rather make it myself." You turn your stare to the coffee machine, grabbing a capsule and sticking it in the machine before sliding it shut.

Bucky just stands there, dumbfounded. Again.

This seems to be a trend with you.

"Y/N, come on. Let's just sit down and talk about this. Let's go to your room, or maybe mine-" He begins, but you couldn't be bothered with him anymore.

"You know what, Bucky? No. If you want to talk, we can do it out here, for anyone to see. What are you afraid of? Me? Scared that someone will see you with me? God forbid, someone sees that you like me, right? God fucking forbid someone actually is proud-" your voice cracks in an ugly way, and even though you don't want to seem weak in front of him, you continue, "proud to be with me. I gave myself time. Time to understand why on Earth you seemed so... so disgusted to be with me. So ashamed.

And I got over. I am not going to let you make me feel like I'm anything less of a great person, and anyone would be lucky to have me. So screw you, and your secret relationships. I'm done."

By the end of your speech, tears had definitely made it down your cheeks, and your coffee was long forgotten as you turned to move out of the kitchen.

Bucky's eyes had widened at your words, realizing the weight of his mistake. He had made you feel so small, so repulsive and you thought all those things about yourself were true.

But they couldn't have been further from it.

Bucky loved you. He had only had you for two months, but in that short time, he was so hellbent on keeping you a secret. On showing the others that he wasn't weak, that he was still a big, tough guy. That he didn't need a girl to comfort him, or to help him through the nightmares.

But you were the best thing he ever had, and now you were slipping away.

But if Bucky is anything, he's a determined man. And he's determined on getting you back.

-

a/n: aw shit, what's gonna happen?? don't worry, i would never leave y'all hanging like this. part 2 will be coming shortly :) in the meantime, enjoy whatever this is. love, ali <3

read part two here!

[rightpastnowhere]

7 for Imodna and (pre-relationship) Perc'ahlia? >:3c

OHHHHH U BASTARD (affectionate) THESE TWO SHIPS ARE MONOPOLIZING MY EMOTIONS RN

headcanon ask meme

7. food/cooking, imodna

okay okay listen. listen. as someone who's grown up with southern cooking. i refuse to believe that imogen can't cook. and god i hope i'm not going against canon because i've got some Spaces in my c3 knowledge. but you can pry "imogen knows good homey southern cooking" from my cold, dead hands. you can also pry it from laudna's cold, dead hands, because laudna fucking ADORES imogen's cooking. it's the best thing she's ever tasted (because i love the running gag that whitestone just has bland food nfkgjrnjkegn). she helps imogen cook whenever she can, assissting with prep work (until she accidentally cuts her finger, and skin gets in with the vegetables one time) or just... sitting. and talking. and filling the air with noise and laughter, which combines with the smell of warm, hearty food, turning a tiny apartment into a home

7. food/cooking, pre-relationship perc'ahlia

it's in the chroma conclave arc - sometime after the attack on emon, sometime before glintshore, maybe even umbrassyl. vex had a nightmare - and she's been having nightmares of the attack on emon for a while, and sometimes they blend with a small, southern village, with the devastation that her mind has conjured for her from the blueprint of the ruins she and vax visited. that night, it was only byrdoen. it was only her mother. the smell of ashes and burning flesh mixing with the smell of something warm and savory, a brief reminder of how the dream had started - just her and vax and their mother, dancing around in the kitchen, a pot of stew on the stove.

scanlan's mansion may only serve chicken, but it has a working kitchen. they have some vegetables in the bag of colding, and she is more than capable of foraging, and chicken will do for the meat, and vex is trying to make some kind of stew that matches what she knew as a child. it won't be the same - it will never be the same, there is no one left who knows the recipe, and even still - but maybe the smell of it will chase away what lingers in her phantom senses.

and percy, taken by a bout of insomnia, wanders the halls of the mansion for a change - something about him is too restless even for his workshop, something in him draws his feet to move. so he wanders, and wanders, until he is drawn towards bouts of noise, utensils and boiling water and light humming. he finds vex'ahlia, sleepless and exhausted, standing at the stove. her hair is down and unkempt, her shoulders hunched, but she's humming - quietly, he thinks he's only hearing half of the notes, but it sounds sweet. it sounds simple.

it's one of the only times he manages to sneak up on her, and she jumps, and percy would relish in finally catching one of the twins off guard if she didn't look so haunted. if he hadn't seen that same hollow look in the mirror after countless nightmares.

so he sets aside his childish victory, and instead offers his assistance, should she desire it. he doesn't ask what she's doing (it's clear to see), or why she's doing it (he thinks he's got a pretty good guess) - just reaches out a hand (metaphorically and physically - he's quite good at dicing vegetables) to support her while she does it.

and after half an hour, as they're sitting at a table, eating warm and savory stew in silence, a little bit of weight evaporates with the steam, and something that had twisted in both of their chests settles.

(it's not the same as her mother's cooking, of course it's not. but it's different enough to be something new, the start of something, maybe. or maybe she's sleep deprived. whatever it is, settling warm in her chest against the warmth in her stomach, she thinks she could get used to it.)