#therefore i put in both the time and honesty to speak for myself and other bkdk supporters

[abyssalzones]

hey anon! I debated most of this morning what the best way to respond to your ask would be because I'm not going to lie to you it almost made me cry. hopefully a drawing is okay. I wasn't sure whether it was my place to share what you've sent but I did want to answer you properly, and it ended up getting kind of long... so I'll put that under the cut here (sa mention)

First of all you definitely have nothing to apologize for, a major element of my analysis (and what had made me so nervous to post it to begin with) was that it came from a very personal place, and I knew if I posted it I was going to be opening up a lot of doors. good or bad I honestly had no idea but I really hadn't anticipated such an overwhelmingly positive response, and I especially hadn't imagined so many people to share their own experiences with abuse and how what I wrote meant something in relation to that. it makes me extremely glad I bit the bullet and allowed myself to be a little vulnerable about something I enjoy.

there's something almost uniquely weird about being a victim and seeing yourself in a story but not knowing how to express that. it feels like one of those things you can't really say without crossing an extreme line, and any parallels you might be able to draw are therefore Reaching, biased by your own experiences. I've struggled with this a lot as someone who uses art not only as an outlet but a voice for my experiences- and what experiences I think deserve to not only be treated with respect but honesty. there's a lot to be said about the alienation of the victim from the rest of society when sexual assault is so overwhelmingly common in our world, and how difficult it can be to find truthful and respectful depictions of these experiences in... anything, pretty much.

I have no idea if that's what they were trying to do specifically, from a textual angle. but I do think it's possible, and am confident that they at least drew on the subject (both in the instance of Bill coercing Ford to drink and the scene later where Ford is paralyzed), which was honestly what led me to write the analysis in the first place. That "he's kinda like me" moment you describe is something I'd had for a long time but had never been able to say confidently without feeling like I was reading between the lines. But I think you're right. and I think there is a real reason why such a story could speak to people in that way, could be so important for the process of recovery... we can't always conceptualize what happens to us from our own perspective, y'know? we're trapped in our own minds for the most part. so I think fiction works excellently as a way to work through these things and see our worst struggles in someone else- and to come to vitally important realizations of our own.

anyway, all that to say I'm so glad what I wrote helped you come to that realization. hearing that makes me feel like I've done something not only to help myself find some closure, but for others to as well :] healing is always, always possible and I sincerely hope you find your happiness as Ford has, and as I've found mine.

[ahsokathegray]

A Remedy for Memory || Part Two

Pairing: Rexsoka

Prompt: Rexsoka Monthly Jan. ‘24 - Accidental First Kiss

Summary: One simple fall causes a certain commander to fall in love with his co-commander all over again. Rex expresses his gratitude to his lover rather affectionately — unaware that he's never done so before, unaware that he and Ahsoka aren't together.

Tags: order 66 didn't happen, temporary amnesia, whump kinda, fake dating kinda, protective brotherly Anakin

Word Count: 5,713

A/N: if you saw the rom com this was inspired by, no you didn't. but fr go watch it, it's called the other zoey! (@rexsoka-monthly)

read on ao3! / masterlist

Three Months Ago

“Commander Rex, the latest briefing has come in.”

Her Commander turned to face the officer on the bridge before focusing his attention back to her, “Want to have a look? It might have an update on General Kenobi’s efforts.”

That kind smile flashed upon his lips and reached his bright eyes. Ahsoka found that she was incapable of refusing. Being at his side in these few days since her return felt almost magnetic and she didn’t desire to part with that anytime soon. She followed the officer and Rex waited for her to fall in line before he let himself move his feet. 

The doors to the briefing room swept aside and encased them in the small space, the holotable glowing with the waiting figure of Commander Cody. “Rex, are you and Commander Tano en route to Coruscant?”

Ahsoka smiled at the man’s use of her former title. No one was seemingly able to drop it either out of habit or respect or both. Even outside of her former legion, the clones continued to refer to her as their Commander. She smiled and Cody greeted her as well. 

“We are. Just departed from Mandalore and had entered hyperspace right before you called. Maul is in custody below,” Rex answered. “Any update on your end?”

“Yes. My men are retrieving the body of General Grievous as we speak… what’s left of him, that is. General Kenobi was successful in his efforts against the pile of scrap. I shouldn’t speak too soon on such matters brother, but, with the death of Grievous comes the end of the war — rendering the Seperatist’s forces without orders and therefore… ineffective,” Cody said, his voice sounding as if he didn’t believe the words he spoke. 

The words sounded wrong to everyone. 

Rex’s eyes narrowed and he had to sit his helmet down, “You’re positive?”

Cody laughed, “I had to confirm three times myself. My medics declared him dead. Proceed en route to the capital, Rex. Commanders. We’ll join you shortly. Cody out.”

His blue form fizzled and the holotable went dark. 

Ahsoka’s mouth hung open and she searched Rex for his reaction. His eyebrows were high on his forehead, a similar expression of shock painting his face. They stood there in a weighted silence. Neither of them knew what or how to feel. 

It went without saying that this war had been their only real purpose in life, each of them growing up in it and knowing nothing other than to be a soldier. All they knew was the mission, the field, the fight, the reports, the lack of sleep. They only ever knew the hurt and pain of war — the never ending loss amidst small victories. It wasn’t an endless cycle, it was just their life. 

Neither she nor Rex remembered a life without the war or life without the other person in it. 

What did they do now if it was all over? How did they proceed after the people they were on Mandalore? 

He was the first to speak, cutting through the loud and suffocating silence, “Well, in the theme of good things resulting from war.” A half-hearted chuckle rumbled in his chest, referencing their earlier conversation on the bridge. “They end.”

“What will you do now?” she blurted, the words leaving her mouth as soon as he finished. 

He put his tongue in the pocket of his cheek, scanning the empty room. No… not here. Such honesties weren’t appropriate in this location — not that said honesties were appropriate in any scenario. “Whatever the Republic asks of me, I suppose. My loyalty remains with it. The fight won’t end overnight,” he said. 

“And if it does?” Ahsoka prompted, not satisfied with his answer and knowing well that he was right. 

She should’ve felt more shame with the way her focus rested on his lips, watching them part in anticipation of his response, far too hopeful that he’d mention the gundark in the room. Rex’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip and she hung desperately onto each torturous movement. His tongue rose behind his teeth as he prepared to speak, but his response never came.

The door opposite of the bridge slid open and Jesse and a squad of clones stepped in. Rex’s attention fell from her to his brothers. 

Jesse was out of breath. “Commander Rex, I just got an update from Cody.”

“We just got off with him,” Rex said. “What he says is true, but don’t go telling the men just yet. We want them to finish up with everything before they start producing flasks and alcohol out of thin air.”

Jesse laughed guilty and patted a pouch on his waist, “You got it, Commander.” He saluted Rex and faced Ahsoka, doing the same, “Commander.”

The doors didn’t close behind him as his small squad left, allowing air into the tense little room and allowing the Commander and Advisor to catch their breath, but stripping them of their criminally short bit of privacy. 

Rex fought with his decision not to tell her. He’d waved the opportunity by as it passed him yet now intensely wanted it back. They’d unfortunately rejoined reality, but it was nowhere close to feeling as real as the reality they’d been a part of when the briefing room had been theirs alone. The tight, charged bubble of air that had encapsulated them on Mandalore followed them on the bridge of the Tribunal, shrinking steadily all the while and pushing them further together. It had reached a point of suffocating smallness, but one that Rex and Ahsoka both had welcomed — only for it to suddenly burst. 

Ahsoka stepped away from him and he could physically feel the distance growing between them in the pit of his stomach. It was then that he realized the end of the war didn’t quell his fear of losing her again — now in more ways than one. 

“You coming?” she asked, moving toward the exit. His stomach lightened. “The sooner things get done, the sooner we can tell everyone the good news.”

Rex picked his helmet up and his shoulders along with it. The soft curve of her full lips made his entire body feel lighter. There was not a thing in the galaxy to feel so mournful about just yet. 

“We could check up on how far along the men are with the post-mission checklists again,” Rex suggested. 

Ahsoka bit her lip midway through his sentence, suppressing a curious grin and shutting off her datapad. 

“What?” he asked, his own lips curving upwards. They’d been doing that frequently since her return. 

“We can only check the status of the gear so many times, Rex,” she laughed. “It’s been four years. Your men have it under control. They could probably do it in their sleep, I’d wager.”

That pulled a laugh from his lungs, “I reckon’ you’re right. The boys would start thinking I’ve come down with something if I start hovering again. Besides, the corries being on board are enough to do a lot of it for me.”

“I think I’ll have to confer with Jesse on that one. A relaxed Captain Rex is not something I can picture,” she teased, bypassing the final set of ships in the hangar.

“I’ve told you. It’s true. More than just Jesse can attest.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Ahsoka kept on, giving him a wink and that smirk of hers as he jogged up to catch her. “We’ve seen to our duties three times over now—”

“Two and a half,” he corrected, winking back at her, the blood in his ears pumping furiously.

That earned him a mocking eye roll, squeezing at his heart. “So far, you’re not proving your case. And as your advisor, I’d advise you to turn in early and get caught up on lost sleep. You should take every opportunity you get. I hear the war will be over soon,” Ahsoka jested. It’s all the men were talking about. Word had spread more quickly than even the Blue Shadow Virus had. 

He shrugged his shoulders, a loose smile playing at his lips, “Which doesn’t exactly mean the end of reports.”

“Vaughn has them covered as Captain,” she countered, crossing her arms and foiling his one and only excuse to remain in her presence for just a little while longer. 

Blast it. 

The last thing Rex wanted to do was turn in early. He very much wanted to finish overseeing the men, and he wanted to fill out the various mission reports from the siege… not that it necessarily needed to be done now or by him specifically. It was something that gave him purpose and perhaps a bit of joy. Did he still experience that same joy from said tasks when Ahsoka wasn’t around as he did them? 

Well, not exactly, but that has nothing to do with anything. And how many more opportunities would he get to do those things with her if the war truly was ending?

Even though it was still unclear, Rex felt a mass settle in his chest that told him their time together was limited. Did they just not address all that banter? The absence of appropriate distance between the two of them? The shortness of breath where they got perhaps too close? 

They were running out of time and he knew it. Everything was about to change. 

Rex wasn’t Force sensitive by any means, but he could feel that Ahsoka knew it too — just as he could somehow sense that she felt everything he felt. 

They came to a lift adjacent to the hangar and Rex stepped in after her, something like the wings of keeradacks brushing against the walls of his stomach. Had these things always been so narrow? 

He swore they were bigger on the Resolute. The Tribunal had to be an updated model of the Jedi cruiser. 

Their arms touched. 

Ahsoka cut her eyes up at him from under her lashes. He smiled but didn’t move. She didn’t either. Her gaze fell to his throat, watching it bob as he swallowed. The confines of the lift were having a physical effect on him and it was not going unnoticed. Ahsoka smoothed her dress. It was doing the same thing to her. 

A sharp ding then filled the thick air between them and Rex cleared his throat, hanging behind to allow her to exit first — because he was a gentleman and also because he wasn’t.

He bit his tongue at the way her short dress hugged her backside.

Ahsoka led the way through the corridor, passing the men’s empty barracks and heading toward the wing reserved for commanding officers and other such superiors. She was taking the long way and didn’t think he’d notice. 

It shouldn’t have, but the air felt thick up here as well. There was no one around but the two of them — their forces still cleaning weaponry and finalizing tasks for their return to Coruscant. These halls wouldn’t be so deserted soon, but for now, they echoed.

Commander’s quarters were within sight all too soon and Ahsoka leaned against the wall opposite of his door. Rex stopped suddenly, not approaching the door. It had been on his mind since they departed for this mission and he’d not gotten the opportunity to offer beforehand.

“Ahsoka,” he said, earning her curious eye. “You can have my quarters if you’d like. I know they used to be yours and it’s something that would feel familiar. You shouldn't have to sleep in a guest room.”

She smiled softly, “I wouldn’t ask that of you, Rex. Besides, I am technically a guest as an advisor. I appreciate it, but it’s quite alright.”

“I know you’d never ask it of me, which is why I’m offering it to you.”

“Rex, I’m not taking your bed from you.”

He swallowed, that specific string of words lighting his insides on fire.

“Then sleep in the General’s quarters at least,” he suggested. “If the Council hadn’t done what they did to you… that’s the room you’d be in right now anyway.”

Her brow markings dipped questioningly, an amused yet honest expression decorating her features. “What’s this about, Rex?”

If she said his name one more time, it would be the medic he’d have to seek out.

The closer she stepped, the more his throat seemed to close. “General Skywalker promoted me and, well, your bed is worlds more comfortable than mine — the Commander’s bed, I mean,” he corrected himself, cursing the blush that was blooming under his collar. “It’s worlds better than the Captain’s ever was and I deduced that the guest beds must be about the same as the barracks.”

Ahsoka raised her brows and nodded, confirming his suspicions, a little laugh punctuating her words, “You’d be right on the credits with that assumption. Always seeing between the lines.”

“Skywalker didn’t assign me to you for no reason,” he said, half joking. She laughed. Kriff, he loved it when she laughed. He loved even more than he could be the reason she laughed.

“You wouldn’t tell if I hijacked the General’s quarters, then?”

“Not a soul, General,” he playfully saluted. 

She rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the wall, approaching the door beside his. Her door whooshed open and his followed. 

Slender sienna fingers gripped the door and they drowned in one another’s eyes, staying quiet for too long and staring longer than was acceptable. If the war wasn’t coming to an end and there were more scenarios like this one, Rex wasn’t so sure either of them could keep a leash on their self control. That pull was back — that gravitational force between them — the bubble shrinking around them. 

She finally broke eye contact and glanced away, skin tinged with a blush. Her goodbye was reluctant. “Good night, Rex,” she whispered.

There was no no remaining moisture in his mouth and a frightened love in his “Good night, Ahsoka,” tugging back on itself, trying to keep itself a secret.

He waited until her rear lek disappeared through the door and it slid closed, the distance and the wall between them a heartache. Rex ran a hand over the back of his head and looked at the cold door. 

He loved her. It was in every word spoken to her, in the crossing of blaster under saber, in longing stares, in the lingering behind after everyone else had gone, the accidental touching, the knowing what they were doing with all that banter. He loved her. She made him understand the word in a way he never thought possible. 

At no point in the war had Rex paced so karking much. He did it until he thought maybe he was keeping Ahsoka awake with it, as they shared a wall. One wall. One fucking, miserable, mocking wall. He sat on the bed. His knee bounced incessantly. He didn’t even try to shed his armor and get the shut eye she’d advised. Sleep would not be coming any time soon. Rex knew well that her being an advisor had meant the war variety, not in the sleep variety. She had only been half teasing when she’d suggested it, of that he was aware, but he didn’t want to let her down.

She plagued him. She infected his every cell. He ought to find the medic and get him to run a diagnostic. He was sure the monitors would beep with a high amount of ‘A-count’ over that of the normal M-count he heard talk of all those times Kix had seen to Ahsoka’s injuries. 

Ahsoka had invaded his body and mind and he didn’t want to get her out. She reigned over all of his senses.

He checked the chrono and released a huff of air. It had only been an hour since they’d both confined themselves to their quarters. His mouth was void of all moisture, knees bringing him to stand from the bed and approach the door. With a sharp inhale and a setting of the jaw, he pressed the button to open it and the brightly lit hallway greeted him.

Roaring laughter could be heard to the right, pouring from the barracks. A drink was what he really needed, a bit of Tihaar to numb his nerves. Jesse would no doubt have a separate stash he could borrow from, with no fear of running low. But he didn’t turn to the right. Rex took one step to the left and found the door to the General’s quarters open — Ahsoka’s door. 

It was dark inside and he peered in, finding the sheets awry and no one in bed. No one was in the room at all. Where had she gone?

For a fleeting moment, Rex reconsidered the barracks, wondering if Ahsoka had joined the men in celebrations. But he shook his head, walking in the opposite direction. Rex had no destination in mind. Like his future, his current path was undetermined, leaving him aimlessly wandering about the cruiser. 

Most sections of the ship were completely untouched, indicating that the Tribunal had only recently been released from the Kuat Drive Yards. He wondered if Mandalore had been its maiden voyage — if it had been constructed for a war it would never see. 

After all, the siege had not officially been a part of the war. 

He sighed, trying with proven difficulty not to think about the time that had already passed and the time that still would. They were all waiting like sitting convors as one era quietly bled into the next. He didn’t expect to ever be so… unsettling. 

The rambunctious chatter in his helmet did nothing to lift his mood or ease his mind, moving him to switch his comms off entirely. No one was looking for him at this time of night, all under the impression he’d gone to bed. Hell, if a drunken trooper came face to face with him in the corridors, they’d look even more so like a kybuck in headlights than they did when sober. 

At any rate, Jesse was with them and doing an excellent job of being both the babysitter and the drinking buddy.

Their laughter echoed down the halls even this far away from the barracks. Ahsoka had to know what they were all doing, but either didn’t mind or had gone somewhere else to sleep. Between her not being on this mission as a Jedi as well as the war’s status being up in the air, she wasn’t there to bust any codpieces.

His face flushed furiously under his bucket at the thought. 

Rex had no idea how all this had managed to happen in just a few days' time. She was never not on his mind. If he took a left up ahead, it would lead him on the path to the medbay. It might be worth going to sort this thing out. He had to have breathed in some kind of pollen or intoxicant that made him feel this way about Ahsoka…

But deep in his heart he knew that nothing had gotten into his airways — nothing except her. 

Rex took said left and found himself walking above the hangar. The lights had been shut off, meaning the men had properly finished their assigned tasks without him going behind them to ensure it. He spoke too soon, however, as there was one light still on.

Without the comm chatter of the boys in his helmet, Rex’s own thoughts filled the bucket and suffocated him. Completing that earlier two and a half rounds of inspections would do well to clear it. He sighed and made for the lift in the hall to take care of the light when he passed by the hangar control center, catching sight of sharp movement from within through his periphery. 

The room was completely dark. 

“Hey,” he called, walking into the small room, his tone taking on that of reprimanding a loitering shiny. “No one should be in here, it’s after hour—”

His pauldron caught the edge of the wall and he lost his footing, catching himself with ease but not before bumping into someone.

Ahsoka. 

She was leaned up against a panel, smirking up at him as if she’d been waiting for him to get here, backlit by the one light in the hangar and the glow of the control panels. More importantly, she was flush against him and hadn’t moved despite his misstep. 

He had never been more regretful in his own steps as he backed away. Kriff, she was angelic. 

“After hours? Even for advisors?” she asked playfully, crossing her arms. 

He’d done nothing but smile like a fool since her return and now was no exception. Rex stood there admiring her, transfixed with her beauty and out of breath at the way she shone in the dim light. It was difficult to swallow, but he managed, thankful she couldn’t see his lopsided grin under the helmet. “I distinctly recall you infamously never abiding to the rule anyway,” he said, adding, “Some things never change.”

Even in the dark he could see her knee-weakening curve of the lips, smiling at his second use of the phrase, referencing a slice of their amorous interactions on Mandalore. Karking hells. This had taken the top spot of most beautiful things he’d ever seen — and everything on the list was Ahsoka.

Rex didn’t smile so genuinely very often, yet her return had broken new records. Seeing her face for the first time again, her reaction to the helmets, his handiwork had swelled in his chest and engorged his heart. He didn’t anticipate her being so beautiful, so perfect. As soon as those doors had opened and she’d walked in with Skywalker, Rex had been done for. And once they were on their way to Mandore — once they were alone — the banter began, but not ever how it had been before. His heart fluttered and his stomach flipped, that muscle behind his navel coiling. It was charged, magnetic, and only increased over the past few days. 

His poor heart hammered against his chest plate, threatening the integrity of the armor. 

“Don’t tell me you’re up because you were going to triple check the men’s efforts in the hangar,” Ahsoka taunted. 

He pressed his lips together and chuckled softly, “Well, if I told you I couldn’t sleep, that would be a lie.”

And a lie it would be. As much as he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, his path tonight was never undetermined — it was always going to lead him to her. 

Ahsoka stepped forward and yet again they were nearly flush together, the distance between them now so small that it would raise all sorts of concern and probably broke several protocols. She studied his helmet and tilted her head, offering him a sweet smile. Rex knew better than to think she was merely taking stock of the armor, looking instead past it at the man underneath.

Ungloved hands closed around the bottom half of the bucket and lifted, all of Rex’s suffocating thoughts and feelings dissolving into the air. 

That had to be a protocol violation — but it would be one he never filed and his heart wasn’t complaining. 

And he was past letting it. 

Ahsoka hummed, “You didn’t even try, did you?” Rex offered her a guilty raise of the hands and purse of the lips and she laughed. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. And,” she said, running a finger along the rangefinder on his helmet, her words tickling his lips. His entire body came alight with electricity. “You’ll be pleased to know that the men did a perfect job with the ships in the hangar, like I said they would.”

His brows knit together and his mouth fell slightly agape, their breaths mingling. They were probably the only two people on board not drunk off their shebs, but Rex swore that was changing. He was becoming intoxicated just being this close to her, his mind struggling to work past the haze. 

Thankfully, his reserves kicked in and her meaning fell into place. “And you called me unrelaxed,” he heard himself say.

Shrugging, Ahsoka mirrored his earlier words, “Old habits and all. Like you said, some things never change, right?” He swore she winked at him but couldn’t be sure, the haze fogging his brain could’ve seen what it wanted to. “I did save you one though.”

A single brown eyebrow raised and he mirrored her smug little smirk, “Oh yeah?”

“I had a feeling I’d find you wandering this way at some point tonight,” she said, turning to exit the room, still holding his helmet and casting a soft, unreadable smile over her shoulder. 

Rex followed her again into a tiny lift and made a point to purposefully graze her arm with his, not that it wouldn’t have happened naturally if he didn’t try. He watched her lips raise out of the corner of his eye. 

The ding sounded all too soon and he decided that there was very little in this universe he wouldn’t give to be able to get stuck in this lift with her. 

She led him down the dim hallway towards the main doors, walking in comfortable silence and feeling his heart inch further up his throat with every step. This was where he had to tell her. They were quite literally walking into the opportunity. It was quiet all around them, but his thoughts were loud, so loud in fact that he was sure they’d start echoing in the hangar along with his and Ahsoka’s combined footsteps. 

The ship in question was a small shuttle tucked away to the left. It was the only thing in the hangar that was lit — the overhead light above it buzzing. 

“I can practically hear the gears turning in there,” Ahsoka commented softly, glancing back at him. 

“Just on edge a bit,” he said truthfully. “Guess we all are with the rumors that are circulating,” he said less truthfully. 

She pressed a button that lowered the ramp of the shuttle, nodding in agreement. “Whatever happens, I’m looking forward to not being a soldier with you, whether it's now or later.”

Rex straightened his shoulders, “I’m not sure what will happen to all of us clones, but it would be the highest honor to assist you in being a keeper of the peace. There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

He half thought she’d salute him again as she did on the bridge, but Ahsoka only boarded the ramp and set his helmet down on a nearby surface. 

“So… you’re rejoining the Order, then?” he asked, feeling the available air around them diminish.

Her lips flattened in thought and she nodded. “I think so, yes, but I'm not without my conditions. Besides, how else am I supposed to see you all the time?” she added, pretending like she was only joking. 

Something in the way she wet her lips told Rex otherwise. 

They’d barely made it two steps inside the shuttle’s narrow entryway and his heart already threatened to short out. He could control his breathing in any and all other situations, except for those that involved her. And for the first time, he noticed that her breathing pattern was the same. If not even the use of the Force could help her with regulating it, then he was fighting a battle he was destined to lose. 

By some miracle of the universe, his voice didn’t betray him as he spoke. “Did you really save this ship for my inspection?”

Ahsoka didn’t miss a beat and took a step forward. “You do have the better eyes,” she said, searching him far beyond that of the surface level. She seeped into his very pores.

Not another missed opportunity would pass him by, not when she was this close again, not when she was looking at him like that.

Rex pushed away from the surface behind him and matched her forward step, entering her space and turning her steps into reverse, backing her into the opposite wall. 

He was careful not to crowd her and she pressed herself into the durasteel behind her, looking up and finding his intense gaze. “I’d wager a fair amount of credits that yours are better,” he drawled, not at all in reference to her inspection abilities. One of his hands raised and settled on the wall next to Ahsoka’s head. Her left montral grazed the inside of his wrist and the breath in both of their throats hitched. 

The blue of her eyes felt like home and not just because they were the blue of Kamino’s waters on a day without rain. He would gladly sink to the depths for her if she asked it of him. Her wide eyes searched his, full lips parting as the inches between their faces dwindled. His knee ran along the outside of hers, that bubble around them tightening — constricting the air around them, forcing them to share the same breath. 

Whether or not Ahsoka had truly left this shuttle for his inspection or not was irrelevant. He’d figured out her unreadable smile and sleight of hand. She wanted to see if he truly had relaxed, if he could allow himself something like this despite his duty and despite his title — if he could love her. 

He did. 

He did and he was tired of not admitting it. Both to himself and to her. 

The backs of his knuckles slowly swept up her inner arm, gliding along her bicep. His fingers shook and his breath trembled, but he refused to look away from her, ready for any sign or signal that she wanted him to stop.

She swallowed visibly, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth and tilting her head just so, exposing her neck to him. The subtle movement was almost imperceptible, but Rex caught it, journeying to the skin and grazing her lekku with his knuckles along the way.

Ahsoka sucked in a heavy breath, heart pounding mercilessly. Rex continued, sliding his fingers over her neck and pressing over her very rapid, very visible pulse. She let out a breath of air as if to laugh at herself, but it became trapped in her throat as he leaned down, eyes on her. The ‘no’ never came.

His lips were soft as they pressed to her pulse point, kissing with the utmost delicacy and lingering not nearly long enough. 

Her eyes were blown wide when he pulled away, chest pushed forward and heaving. 

“‘Soka, I—”

She whimpered and cut him off, bringing both of her hands to his face and pulling him close, desperate to share his air again and feel his lips on hers this time. Rex’s hand fell to her waist and she wiggled to where his leg was situated between her legs. Ahsoka inhaled with quivering lips into his mouth and Rex did the same, lips touching briefly. His other hand cradled her face, thumb stroking the marking on her cheek, watching as her brow markings couldn’t settle on what to do.

Rex smiled into her mouth, sighing in relief as he closed his eyes and—

“Who left this light on? Someone turn that off before Commander Rex shuts the party down,” a voice echoed in the hangar. 

Ahsoka’s forehead pressed against Rex’s, the both of them out of breath and looking desperately into the other’s eyes as the footsteps drew nearer.

Another voice joined the first, “I saw Sterling turn all these off. Must’ve been an accident.”

Two orange fingers were held up and Rex nodded. Two troopers were coming this way and the ramp to the shuttle was still lowered. Fek, he hoped she had a plan. 

He wasn’t disappointed. Ahsoka closed her eyes and lifted her hand into the air, her nose scrunching as slightly as she navigated the Force. Rex watched on as the light from outside flickered a few times, repeating a few times and sparking before shutting off completely. The dark blanketed them completely. 

“Keep going,” she whispered breathily.

A blush blossomed over Rex’s entire body. Those men were still out there. 

“What the—” he heard one of them say.

“Must be a bad fuse. Tell a droid and let’s wipe our hands with it. I’d like to return to my drink,” the other giggled.

“Good with me.”

Karking hells they had to be right by the shuttle, with no idea that their Commanders were inside. 

His lips found that spot on her neck he’d kissed before, pressing his lips to it and deepening the kiss, one hand cradling her neck as the other found the tip of her right lek. Ahsoka sucked in a sharp breath and clenched her teeth to keep from making any noise. He bravely swiped his tongue along the tender skin and her body jerked, hands wrapping around his neck. 

“Rex,” she whispered, panting.

He hummed against her feverish skin, squeezing her lek and running it through his fist. 

She sighed, trying to control her reactions, “I think, I’d like to— I’d like to amend my statement from earlier.”

Rex sucked at the spot he’d been stimulating, right where her jaw met her neck, drawing the most delicious sound past her wavering lips. “Yeah? Which one is that, ‘Soka?”

He felt her swallow and catch her breath, antsy hands falling to his belt, “Whe— When I called you my friend,” she gasped.

All he could do was chuckle against her, pressing one final kiss to her neck. “I think we both knew what you meant,” he breathed. 

A small bit of light bled through the hangar as the two troopers vacated the area. She glanced towards the door and straightened despite the return of their privacy. “Linger back a bit,” she whispered. “Meet me in the General’s quarters.”

“Ahsoka,” Rex said, being sure to use her name properly. “Are you sure?” 

Her wrist was taken between his fingers and her other hand rubbed his shoulder in response. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Rex. I’ve been sure for… how many days has it been?”

Rex expelled a bit of air from his nose and leant down to peck her cheek, “I’ve lost count by now, because of you.”

[nightcall99]

5.4.24

I hate him, you know.

Last night, I imagined myself straddling him from on top of the bed clothes and my hand over his throat, squeezing. I was gleeful. I didn't care about the perverseness of it. I knew only satisfaction because in that moment, I was intent on making sure that I appeared in his mind. My satisfaction grew, as I knew then, that I must have. Hopefully, as a ghoul. I hoped it made him furious. But he seemed to just pull me in closer. This just made me more angry.

The other day, I chastised him for not wanting to tell the student that they'd made an error. He fixed it himself, silently, and in a low voice that only I could hear, said, "I don't want to ruin their self confidence". It was a tiny mistake, just a human error. But I hated him for this show of weakness. But barely a minute lapsed before I realised that I do identically as he does, and therefore had no right to judge. Unconsciously, I had already accommodated to this student's sensibilities. It was a lens from which I operated from, but didn't remember ever doing so. Whatever I was doing seemed to appear fully-formed, already within every interaction, colouring every action. In many ways, I had done it worse, because I'd done it from the start. This is what I always do. Like breathing.

He sees through it, because he is also a mirror. We are like two mirrors facing each other, producing infinite reflections, but neither party wants to examine the images closely anymore. Because, well, we dislike each other now. Or at least that's how the story goes. But I think, we both want to. I think we want to, desperately, to stand before our reflections, our heads pressed against each other and look, together. But I hold on to the dislike, gripping it tightly. I think about his stupid haircut, and how he does not listen to music. I think about how sometimes he pulls his mask down while speaking to me, as if in that moment, I'm going to be disarmed by his looks. What is this, amateur hour? That's the first trick I learnt.

Lately, there's been a silent competition happening between us. We seem to have access to the same abilities. But who can do their job better? Who is the greater puppet master? I win. Right now, I am winning. For every time a customer blows me a kiss, tip-toes over the counter to speak to me, mentions me by name, I am gloating in my winning. Every time a co-worker seeks out my company, whispers a secret in my ear, whenever I share laughter and smiles, I direct my smugness towards him. Why? It's all a giant portrayal of inadequacy, I suppose. No, that's not it. I know the real reason. The day before last, Con (the friendly neighbourhood junkie) was singing my praises to the whole world about how beautiful, how mystical, how spiritual etc., I was. He went on for awhile and eventually somebody had to tell him to shut up. He was just having another one of his episodes (I am but one woman in his revolving door of secret passions, as depicted last month by his graffitiing), but in my eyes, this was the greatest win of them all. Because despite these proclamations at face-value, seeming to be random and wild nothings, at the heart lay an honesty. Not the compliments, it was the energy. I was of course, gloating, but the plain-speaking from this wayward (although lovable) character was like an eerie clanging, coming from a door-knocker in the middle of the night.

When he isn't there, it's easier to feel like I'm not acting. That I'm genuine. I seem to disappear and believe my role completely. Whenever I speak to someone, I am simply talking to them. But when he is in the room, I am unable to detach from the fact that I am using this lilt of my voice because I want somebody to like me. I am saying these words because I want to seem charming and intelligent. He sees through what I put out and when I disappear, he knows it too. Seems to glean it instantly. He must mention it to put me in my place, I think. I might have drifted off momentarily, and his note of it, is like a lance that knocks me down a further few notches. It's a baring of teeth, I suppose, since I'm winning. I don't know if this is true or not but it feels that way.

These days I go out of my way to stand on the opposite side of the room, but when our bodies get close, there is something being transmitted. It goes beyond the sensation of heat. Or maybe it's just your average Joe sexual tension, and my tendency to over-contextualise everything is overtaking the logic that says: this is just a distraction. But even if it's just me that feels it, I can't help but let it happen. I let it happen and then I'll walk outside and see his girlfriend picking him up and my stomach will drop. He and I look at each other with no acknowledgement. He gets in, playing some other role now. Going somewhere where I can't stand and watch and tell him I see through it. I cross the road and keep walking. It wasn't always like this and at the same time, it always was.

I colour my perception with what I have chosen to feel because it keeps me safe. I know that in my hatred, I love him too. I seem to both hate and love him in equal measure. Fine line, they say. I'm not romanticizing the loathing on purpose, in the same way I accept help and feel a sense of burden. I can't extricate yin from the yang anymore. When our eyes meet, there is everything. I see that actually there is no hatred at all. Just great understanding. And then I remember things. When he sensed that I was not there anymore, and was not enjoying the conversation with someone at all and came to my rescue. His concerns about AL, so genuine, because she is suicidal and not in the country. How he is reluctant to bad mouth my intern, anyone, even TC, who is the worst of the lot. The way he always follows a string, right until the end, until it's completed, even when he gets nothing from it. Even when he is the one being used.

And no, none of this is right. I don't romanticize whatever guilt might lie in his mind, to resolve him of it. I don't of mine, either. It is what it is. But we still throw sentences with double meanings in the air, just to see if the other person can still catch it. It's a test. Sometimes I have the sensation that each of us is spying into the key-hole of a room and wondering if the other person is in there. It's a white room, where we cannot go anymore, and honestly never wholly occupied. But I still think about this weird connection and how it leaves me mystified. Makes me want to work harder, makes me use my brain in a way I'm beginning to value more than the other parts. It makes me want to become smarter, better. To conquer. I wonder if that's it. Is he just a code that keeps me tethered to physical reality, through the mechanism of anything but, physical reality?

I don't think I can stand to be delusional anymore, but acknowledging what I've written here doesn't feel that way. I believe that neither of us can spew lies, and that there's no such thing. What comes out, comes out, because it is true in the sense of giving purpose. Even if that purpose is nothing. In fact, it very much feels like I was given a writing prompt from my HS, and I am just following the command. After this morning's dream, it felt only natural to do so. My HS loves to use the characters in my life to express meaning and it's hardly ever literal, I realise that now. Nevertheless, a dream is the truth being pierced free from it's hiding spot. So it's out there in the open now, whatever it is. And that's good enough.

[the-madwomen]

Sleep schedule is still jacked up. No idea how to fix it in all honesty. Should have known working on fixing my interdimensional traveling device late at night would affect me like this, but here we are.

Oh, speaking of that. I've got the blasted thing fixed up, for the most part. The problem is that I don't have a fuel source for it. I don't even know what it was, originally. I made the whole thing as a project for a theater production class in high school, finding the fuel source in there for reasons I still don't understand. It's not like I put in the fuel and then instantly my hunk of wood, plastic, and paper mache was a working device, of course.

After I passed the project, I took it home and, slowly but surely, improved it. Used some tools at my father's when he had me for custody, when the old man having me do his handy work for him and having us watch movies you shouldn't watch with your father. Once my mother and step-father moved, taking me with them, I began going out and buying my own supplies, which extended when I finally moved out unexpectedly while they were in holiday. Eventually I managed to haphazard together enough wiring and tools to make it into an actual device.

I was very proud of myself, even before I knew what it was capable of.

I mused to myself that it may have been a way to go across alternate realities, which was a lucky guess though logically what else could it have been?, but in truth I didn't think it would amount to much. It was just a personal project I was working on for no reason other than the feeling that... I was working on something.

I have executive dysfunction. Not officially diagnosed, but I know I have ADHD and the inability to work on things I'm passionate about a lot of the time, so there's that. It does affect my more artistic endeavors mostly, but it also keeps me from doing normal adult things like job hunting and whatnot. It's dreadful, but better than what I thought it was before I knew it existed... Depression.

So it was nice that I had something that I was just able to do. Maybe it had to do with the fact that I didn't think there was any importance to it, and therefore the dysfunction didn't settle in as harshly. Though I will admit, it was still hard to muster up the energy some days. And it could be risky. Let's just say my hair wasn't always pure white, though I did manage to rock the look. But then, one day, I decided to pull the trigger after a bit more work. And...

It worked.

I was amazed. At the device, at that mysterious fuel, and... At myself. I managed to create this. Sure, not without some help from the internet in how to engineer such a thing, not the use of supplies provided by my school, my emotionally abusive parents, some hardware stores an hour's walk away from my mother's house, and the many, many underpaid workers who actually made those supplies... But for what I was able to make out of the lemons handed to me by both my skill and by chance, I made some damned fine lemonade.

I didn't quite comprehend what had happened at first. It wasn't until a bird, specifically a three-eyed corvid whom I dubbed Clementine, flew out of the portal my device produced did I understand what was happening. I hardly even stopped to wonder if it was safe to go through. Sure, Clementine was fine when they went through it, but for all I knew the portal could have formed 100 meters in the air, or that the air in that universe would have killed me. Nevertheless, I took the risk. I am glad I did. I do wish I had taken longer to take it, but I was more desperate and less caring of myself back then. Ah well, turned out for the best.

I have many memories of my travels. I witnessed horrors that would drive sane people mad, meaning I was grateful to have always been crazy. I witnessed wondrous things that... Honestly would have done the same. I made good friends, horrible enemies, and even a frenemy or two. I've lost some good people and... a bird along the way, but that's what happens in an adventurous life, I suppose. That's what I tell myself at least. I have been able to overthrow governments, though never on my own. I have invented a few wondrous items, and got many more marvelous creations by brilliant lunatics like myself. It was marvelous, as if I were sailing the ocean.

... Then I had to ruin all that.

I came back to this dimension because... Well I missed my friends I had made here, specifically my found family on Discord. Not to mention the internet constantly changing on you can get annoying. I managed to come back to this universe earlier than I had left, if that makes any sense. My plan was simple enough. Make sure I could always be connected to this universe's internet no matter what dimension I went to, gather up what friends were willing to leave this satire of a world behind and never set foot in it again, interacting with it only through that world's wide web. Then I had to do something stupid.

I put the device in the same pocket as my phone, breaking both in the process.

Anywhere from months to decades of exploring, all put to an end due to my own incompetence. I'm just glad it was here and not a more unfamiliar world. At the very least, I was able to connect my origin dimension's internet back to my home dimension, so I'm still able to talk with them long distance. Now it's about 3/4 of a year, and I've readjusted to the conditions of capitalism, which is never a good thing to have to get used to. To tell the truth, I had almost managed to forget what rent even was before being stranded on this deserted island of a universe.

Now I almost have a way out. Almost. I just need to find out what that fuel was. I hope to the gods it was something from this world! I had my (non-romantic since I'm aro) partner, who wishes to stay anonymous for now, send out a distress signal to other travelers for me, though there's no telling when help is going to arrive, or if they even need to. I hope they come soon. It's terribly lonely

Thank you for reading this far. It's probably not that exciting to hear a mad woman's ramblings, so thank you.

[leftfieldgames]

In the Nick of Time Postmortem

Well, unfortunately, this post will certainly put the “mortem” in “postmortem”. As in, when Clinton Keith says “Reading... postmortems feels like passing a car wreck,” I understand what he means as it pertains to this particular prototype (2010).

That is to say, due to the frankly intense commitment of completing programming and development on Swashbuckler Seas, development of In the Nick of Time came to a screeching halt more or less immediately after a short period of playtesting.

In all honesty, I’m not all that sure on what to say regarding this prototype that I haven’t said in postmortems of some of my earlier prototypes, and I feel some frustration as to how the cookie has crumbled in general surrounding both of these assessment items.

Let me take this opportunity, therefore, to use the structure outlined by Keith in “Agile Game Development with Scrum” in guiding this postmortem (2010).

1. What went right?

Feasible idea

I feel the idea itself was reasonably sound for what it was (another simple, short-form game made for the purposes of refining my understanding of basic game design concepts as well as methodologies for workflow).

First round of feedback completed

Despite time-related setbacks, I was able to engage in quite a positive playtesting experience with a circle of three friends, where I had the opportunity to test the concepts of a playtesting script, a short questionnaire, a survey, followed by a deeper playtest. While the sample size was small, it was the acclimatization to the process and procedure of facilitating the playtest that was most instructive for me-- and provided me with some insights as to some playtesting approaches for Swashbuckler Seas, even though it was not strictly speaking part of my role on that project.

I was also able to reflect on playtester feedback and, for example, determine that the scoring system needed a little explanation-- perhaps a short, organic, wordless tutorial during the beginning of the game was in order.

2. What went wrong?

Conflict with other game development commitments; confusion regarding prioritisation

Uniquely, given that game development here is occurring within the context of completing a tertiary qualification, many of the factors surrounding the development of the game (such as the “ship date”, and other requirements, such as this journal!) are determined by the institution, rather than a smaller game studio with access to regular Scrum meetings. As such, the need to concurrently work on two games at once, as mentioned above, seriously hampered my ability to complete In the Nick of Time satisfactorily and further iterate on it after playtesting.

I am not blaming these external circumstances-- indeed, it, like everything else, has been interesting to observe and learn from. Something I know about myself-- given my neurodivergence-- is that simplification is the antidote to my tendency to overcomplicate things and subsequently become overwhelmed. Therefore, I will certainly be avoiding situations within the context of “real” game development that will require my fingers to be in too many pies at once.

Conclusion

When I look at the screenshots I have so far for In the Nick of Time, I’m quite happy with what the game looks like. As I watched my playtesters play the game, I garnered immense satisfaction from their delight with the game, too. As such, I can see that the concept-- like so many game development concepts-- is not without merit. However, I can also see that I still have much to learn in terms of the structuring of the game development process, streamlining the process of game development, and on a more minute level, more effective minute-to-minute approaches while working. I must further develop my insight into important vs. extraneous features so that the most essential elements of a game may be developed, playtested, and iterated upon.

REFERENCES

Keith, C. (2010). Agile Game Development with Scrum (1st ed.). Addison-Wesley Professional.

[the-nysh]

Whats your opinon of kiri//baku and todo//deku?

!!!!! 👀 Oooh, *takes deep breath* so I’ve finally been askedthe big question. (Thank you for courteously using the /s to block the ship names out of the tags) Because I DO have opinionsabout them. I’ve mostly kept them to myself, but since I’ve been prompted, Iwill try to be as honest and thorough as I can. :’)

Disclaimer: If you high-key shipeither of the two, please proceed with caution! 

To preface:

If it wasn’t already obvious from the content I reblog (and rave about in thetags), my decisive fav character of the series is Kacchan, and similarly, my otp of the series is with him and Deku(as bakudeku, aka bkdk for short – which is how it’scommonly called on twitter). So going in, that’s my given stance already.

But it wasn’t always this way! :O When I first started theseries I went in pretty cautious, wary, and undecided; I actually never plannedto fall so hard for either the character or the ship (and I rarely ship things tobegin with). That is, until Hori repeatedly bludgeoned me in the face and heartwith all the reoccurring and carefully consistent character development, to thepoint ch120 became the final, decisive nail in the coffin - the point of noreturn for me. :’3 So now, I’m fully invested in seeing how their story pulls through to the end, nomatter what it might become (it doesn’t even need to be shippy). With them thematically established as two sidesof the same coin – on opposite ends of the same spectrum of heroism – the twohalves of All Might who both win and rescue:I want to see how they push each other towards greatness and mature into a pairof the best heroes. It’s a long-term investment of hope and a case of slowburn positive development, in direct (and on purpose!) contrast to its rockyand strained foundations (they ARE immature and emotionally constipated teensafter all), but it’s all been carefully laid out through a steady path ofnarrative foreshadowing. Where the prospects at the end of that path – of mutualsupport, understanding, reconciliation, cooperation, teamwork, trust – arebeautiful and rewarding things that make their ongoing journey of growth worthit. So…for Hori to smash any original expectations I might have had, and makeme fall hard for something I never intended to happen, are examples of whatI consider GOOD writing.

After I realized this, I went and did my research. Which inmy case, is reading up on countless character/relationship meta and fanfics togauge how the fandom sees their potential too. So I am very aware of the multiple sides of existing arguments and the dramathat’s already happened in the fandom (from across both tumblr and twitter). Iknow the western fandom considerably favors kr/bk and td/dk (at least for now), BUT in the eastern fandom,it’s actually bkdk that’s more popular. Hmm, curious why that is?

One of the reasons is partly thanks to the widespread availabilityof fan mistranslations (FA group) that have greatly exaggerated certain characterizations(ie Kacchan), leading to fandom fearmongering and the perpetuation of stigmasagainst the canon development of certain relationships (ie bkdk), which in theoriginal text, were never nearly thatflanderized or as offensive in context to begin with. Include also, adifference in cultural expectations/values, and we get a prickly concoction ofmisunderstandings ready to brew. It’s a poor and unfortunate case of important subtleties/complexitiesgetting lost in translation, while the bad things are blown way out ofproportion, to the point the story’s original intent is sidelined, or worse, canonis deliberately obstructed by translators who already dislike seeing suchcontent (because it’s ‘not their ship’) – so they prevent and hurt othersfrom fully enjoying the progression of the series as the author intended. Peoplecan like what they like (that’s perfectly fine), but in all of my lurking, Ihave SEEN examples of these things (andworse) actively happen, and quite frankly, the spread of this blatant toxicityand compulsive collective ignorance sickens me. So, I choose not to getinvolved with it, and instead focus on the positive.

Because of my preference for meta and faithfulinterpretations of the text (making sure available translations are reliablefor analyzing, for instance), I’ve gathered enough information (andacknowledged enough counterarguments) to make an educated decision for myself onwhat I value most and want to see from the series. Unless Hori veers offotherwise, I’ll stick by that conclusion and enjoy following the series throughto fruition (regardless of what the rest of the opposing fandom might say).

For example, one of the first dedicated and respectful metawriters – back when only the FA scans were available, but who ALSO providedcorrections from the Japanese text where necessary, came to this conclusionabout Deku and Kacchan’s characterizations:  

From ryokure:

“Deku is such a super special case that if a fanfichas him and Kacchan in it - no matter the parings - and they don’t have somecase of mutual obsession, I actually consider that OOC.”

Which, after everything I’ve seen of the characters, I can fully concur withthat statement.

MEANING, if the fandom portrays them off alone, together, or involvedin relationships with other characters and they lack this intrinsic magnetism that binds them together (for betteror worse) – if they can somehowfunction completely normal without being influenced by the presence of anotherand magically not even care about each other anymore, then my suspension of disbeliefbreaks. They’re too OOC. (Unless it’s a fic au where they never met or grew uptogether.) These two are TOO canonically wrapped up in their mutual complexesto simply cut ties, wrap up all their unresolved issues with a band-aid,and essentially ignore a core issue of the series for the sake of ‘shipconvenience’ with others. Their canon relationship is too complex to make such simplifiedportrayals of them believable, or even such flimsy ‘solutions’ for their issuesfeasible. Thankfully, we have Hori actively doing all the hard work for us sowe don’t have to worry about such transgressions like that happening in canon. (InHori’s consistent characterizations we trust!)  

Now then, with all of THISestablished, I can finally answer your main question: my opinion on kiri/bakuand todo/deku.

Let’s start with todo/deku:

Because believe it or not, when I was still new to the fandom and in my earlyresearch stages, I actually lowkey shipped them and read plenty of fics aboutthem too! I was open to them as a pair, but still undecided and wary because I didn’t know who to ship withDeku: either Todoroki or Bakugou. I saw all the widespread (western) fandomcontent for td/dk, with the apparent foundations for the ship based on eventsfrom the Sports Festival, where Deku ‘saves’ Todoroki and acts as the catalystto allow him to defrost his issues with his father and realize his true power.I thought, ‘ooh there’s something interesting in there worth looking forwardto; I’ll keep an eye on how canon develops their relationship from here.’

Unfortunately…canon didn’t give me anything else substantial to build on. Andin my case, those are foundations I NEED to be fully on board and convinced fora ship. It was the equivalent of fandom hyping me up for something to lookforward to, with me sitting there with a huge smile and my arms raised inanticipation…only for the rest of the manga to leave me dry. It was a hugedisappointment. Because except for a few scattered incidents, like from theStain arc and maybe the recent ‘it’s ok for heroes to cry sometimes too’moment, canon progress for their relationship has been severely underwhelmingand virtually nonexistent. Todoroki has chilled into becoming a supportive (yetstill socially awkward) friend for Deku yes, but even Iida has had more canon incidents of concern for Deku’s wellbeing,and challenges Deku into becoming a better person/hero with their interactions.(And yet, fandom support for Deku and Iida is virtually nonexistent incomparison, because their friendship resembles the camaraderie between bros, Iguess??)    

So then I was like, ‘wait, am I missing something here? WHY does the fandomlove td/dk so much, when their canon interactions are so limited, and the onlybig thing that’s happened between them was all the way back in the SportsFestival??’ So, I went and investigated the potential of their relationshipfurther in fanfics (which are quite numerous and popular on a03 I might add).

After taking a look, I began to see trends. Most td/dk fics are heavily skewed in Todoroki’s favor, tothe point of being practically one-sided in character development. The mainconflict in almost all their ficnarratives revolves around solving Todoroki’s issues with his father and comingto terms with HIS powers, leaving Deku as a passive, supporting participant inhelping Todoroki out with his problems. Which, while the two of them could bondtogether over their missing/difficult father issues, after a while this same familyconflict gets old and stale. What else is there? What about Deku’s problems for equality’s sake?He’s the main protagonist! How abouthis difficulties in learning how to make One for All his own too? Ah nope, hecan’t canonically confide in Todorokiabout the secrets of his quirk, now can he. ;) Oh wait. What about his problems with Bakugou? Is the biggest elephant in the room going to be ignored for the sakeof typical couple melodrama, or is my fav character going to be demonized so that Todoroki, the ‘prince’on a white horse, can ‘save’ Deku, the ‘damsel’ in distress, from him?! No way. And THAT is another hugeproblem I have with the ship.

Because in all the fics I’ve read of them, I never once was convinced ofDeku’s feelings for Todoroki. I can understand Todoroki gaining a passing crushon Deku thanks to their fight in the Sports Festival. But Deku? How does heeven fall for him? Just becauseTodoroki is nice and considerate and listens to him? Like a friend? (Deku has Uraraka and Iida forthat too, what makes Todoroki any more special than them in Deku’s life?) Thisties in to my previously mentioned suspension of disbelief and ooc territorynow. Because Deku is not some haplessdamsel in distress ready to be swept off his feet and easily charmed by somepotential suitor; he’s a BAMF with a heroic spirt that’s even feared byBakugou. And these traits are so rarely utilized to their full potential intd/dk fics - Todoroki’s influence rarely even challenges or inspires Deku toBECOME the best he can be to draw out his latent potential. (Iida’s canonicallydone more in that regard thanTodoroki’s ever done.) Again, it feels too one-sided in Todoroki’s favor toimprove as a better person/hero.

Oh yeah, and since Deku became one of Todoroki’s first ‘true friends,’ forTodoroki to fall for him feels like putting too many eggs in one basket,without giving Todoroki the chance tobranch out and make normal/healthy relationships with OTHERS first beforesettling down. He’s a socially awkward kid emotionally repressed by domesticabuse; for him to latch onto Deku, the ‘first’ person he’s finally (andliterally) warmed up to, feels like the budding symptoms of unhealthy copingmechanisms and compensating for Todoroki’s deeper emotional issues. Where it thenbecomes Deku’s ‘responsibility’ to care for the turnout of his wellbeing, whenNO - Deku’s got plenty of his OWN issues to become burdened with someone else’s on top of those. Plus in canon,Todoroki’s doing just fine and is perfectly capable of handling his personal problems onhis own without having to depend on Deku.

Again, it’s all touchy territory that feels like it sidelines the mainintent of the series itself – by branching off into the deep end of Todoroki’sangst at the expense of Deku’s, or worse: simply wrapping everything up with afluffy bow called ‘the power of love.’ Nuh-uh, not only is that immenselyidealistic and unrealistic, but it’s totally not the kind of content I signedup for when I started the series. I’m frankly not interested in delving into thoseoff-tangent topics in opposition to canon, where Deku’s problems are oftensidelined, his characterization compromised, and my fav character (Kacchan) eitherbecomes an exaggerated, antagonizing impediment to their ship or is simplytreated like he doesn’t even exist. (My patience and willing suspension of disbeliefonly go so far.)

In the end, Todoroki’s a supportingcharacter. In a tertiary tier after the protagonist (Deku) and the deuteragonist(Bakugou). Yet in td/dk fics he’s almost always turned into a main protagonistsomehow. I can understand his appeal and why he’s so popular in the fandom, yes(and I like him too!), but there’s a point where this exposure becomes TOO much,the limit to his available canon issues becomes saturated and repetitive, and itultimately becomes so tiring to keepcoming back and addressing the same topics in fanon when canon has alreadymarched on to focus on more pressing issues. I’m more interested in exploring those other things.

So nowadays, whenever I see td/dk content, I go ‘ayy that’s nice (or cute),’and keep on scrolling. It doesn’t bother me, but it doesn’t interest meanymore either. I probably won’t touch anymore fics of them together either;I’ve seen and had enough. I’m actually more receptive to seeing Todorokiinteract and develop friendships with other characters, like Inasa (the wind guy from the rival school)or even Momo for instance. Either of those ships I see around, I’m cool withtoo.

The final line: I don’t ship them (anymore), because canon swayed me over with the more pressing and compelling developments of bkdk.   

NOW, it’s time to talk about kiri/baku:      

To start, I actually LOVE Kirishima as a character. And I’ve alreadyestablished upfront that my fav character in the series is Kacchan. So whatgives? It turns out their ship has neverbeen on my radar.

Kirishima is a great character, but I’ve only ever seen him as a supportive bro. To EVERYONE in their class. Whichis precisely how Hori designed him: to be a compassionate/empathetic nice guywho bridges the gaps between the class with his vigorous enthusiasm and support(same role that Denki shares, by the way). And he fulfils this role splendidly.But he ALSO has his own insecurities and developing friendships with manyothers in the class – Denki, Mina, and Deku included. All of those people areimportant to him (and I’m cool with all their ships with him too). Kirishimadoes not solely revolve aroundBakugou.  

It’s true that near the beginning of the series, Bakugou was an angry loner,Kirishima trailed after him on his own accord, and after seeing his version of‘manliness’, decided to stick by him and support him, because Kiri saw thepositives of his character that ‘no one’ else bothered to see. (NOT true; Dekuhas always seen and admired Kacchan’spositive traits since they were children.)And so what’s canonically established is a budding friendship where Kirishimafulfils his given role to bridge gaps (whenever Bakugou strays away from theclass), essentially working as a rubber band plot device, and as a secondperspective – aka a fresh lens, for the audience to view Bakugou’s positivequalities.

All of this I’m cool with. I actually enjoyseeing their canon interactions and the kind of fun, slapstick way they bounceoff each other. (I even like the concept of Dragon!Kiri too!) BUT, it’s whenfanon starts twisting their canon relationship into shippy territory, that’swhere things start getting…ugly, at least for me.  

Remember, I’ve always only seen Kirishima as a supportive bro, and I MEAN that. They have the samered eyes. The same style of spikey hair. The same pumped up mannerisms whenthey get going. Too many similarities that rub me the wrong way when put in aromantic context. (The only difference is that one of them is the soft-hearted ‘niceguy,’ and the other is the outwardly prickly ‘asshole.’) To me, to ship them feels like the equivalentof taking the parallel ends of two polarized magnets: you can manually forcethem close together, but in the end, they cannot touch because the same ends ofmagnets naturally repel. Now, flip one of those magnets around (aka turn it intoDeku), and boom, the opposite ends attract with explosive force. And THAT ishow bkdk feels to me in comparison.

However, the kr/bk fandom doesn’t stop there. I know there exists plenty of fics about them, but I’ve never read any, and frankly, I never will, not even for curiosity’ssake. Because from the overabundance of otherfandom content, I already know what their ship dynamic is about. And it doesnot appeal to me at all.

Remember how I said Kacchan is my favorite. I do not appreciate when thefandom warps him into either a demonized or castrated caricature of himself –aka when they turn him into someone he most definitely is NOT, all for the sakeof a ship. Or worse: when they use Kiri’s relationship as a means of changingBakugou into a character they findmore appealing. NO. Even more worse: when they treat Kiri’s whole character as awalking plot device for ALL of Bakugou’s positive character development. Fuckno! Kirishima doesn’t deserve this dehumanizing treatment by the fans, andneither does my fav, getting subjected to this…betrayal to his whole character.

What am I talking about? When fans insist that Kiri is the ONLY personBakugou can be ‘nice’ to, outright forsaking or ignoring the canon developmentseither of them have with other characters – what about Denki, the rest of the‘Bakusquad’? Or Deku? Remember my dislike for ignoring the elephant in the room back in my spiel about td/dk?Well here, it’s infinitely times worse.

Because Kiri does not become aconvenient narrative replacement to ‘solve’ all of Bakugou’s problems or themeans to correct his bad behavior. It’s not even Kiri’s business orresponsibility to do so! (Same deal if Uraraka is shipped in Kiri’s place.) Hispresence doesn’t challenge Bakugou’s current conduct or world views to improvehimself as a better person, OR actively affect his drive to become the best hero.At most, Kiri endures the brunt of Bakugou’s outbursts when they happen(because he can harden with his quirk, he can ‘take’ it, and their banterbecomes ‘humorous’ and ‘harmless’…no, it absolutely does not) and amicably slides off any further implications with a ‘heyman, that’s not cool’, or excuses/accepts it with a ‘it’s fine because he’s justbeing himself.’ Now we have a situation where Kiri becomes a passive ‘butt-monkey’to Bakugou’s whims and actually enableshis unacceptable behavior to persist. And Bakugou somehow becomes fully invested in a single confidant who babies andpicks up after him (how the heck? no way would he allow himself to get ropedinto a relationship like that, if any at all. He’s strong and independent enoughto handle himself fine.). Even when it’s portrayed where Kiri is the ‘only’ oneBakugou’s nice to, they’d exist in a vacuum tunnel, sealed off from the influenceof others, and become a spiraling fester-hole of static development. None ofthese prospects are the ‘healthy’ long-term results that fandom seems to claimthey are. Tell me, if Bakugou was reallyan abusive character, would his behavior magically ‘fix’ itself simply thanksto Kiri’s passive influence or ‘the power of his understanding kindness and love’?The answer is a resounding and definite NO. The only person who can canonically stand up to Bakugou’s behavior (andnot brush it off), fundamentally challengehis world views and complexes, match him in equal and opposite intensity with themutual drive to be the best, and receivethe full extent of his turbulent feelings, is Deku.

This is what I’m referring to when I say fandom often ‘ignores the elephantin the room,’ because THIS (Deku and Kacchan’s relationship) is an established,ongoing and important core issue of the series itself, that many shippers wouldrather sideline for the priority, current gratification, and fluffy convenienceof an opposing ship. Aka, simply slap them together with the first nice friend theymeet (in both Todo and Baku’s cases, it’s the ‘too many eggs in one basket’problem again…), who will solve all their problems and work to ‘change’ theminto better people…somehow? No, that’s the case of unrealistic, wishful thinking bad writing andtaking the easy way out when something -the elephant in the room- is too challengingand complex to tackle head on. Thankfully, Hori IS tackling their story head onas purposely intended, so I don’t have to worry about canon jumping the sharkon the progress of their relationship.  

So, instead of Kiri being shipped with Bakugou, I much prefer him as a supportingcharacter (a supportive bro!!) who helps ease Bakugou into social/emotionalsituations that he’d normally avoid (which is how Hori originally designedhim??? to bridge those gaps -aka Bakugou’s loner distance - in the class) I’veread plenty of bkdk fics where Kiri becomes the mvp BECAUSE of his natural abilityto do this! With him as a much-needed wingman, voice of empathetic reason, and trustedsecond opinion who Bakugou can confide in to help confront his chronicemotional constipation over Deku. Shipperscan claim that Kiri helps Baku come to terms and become receptive to ‘softer,’ affectionatefeelings when they’re together, when it’s actually the opposite: Kiri becomes astepping stone for Bakugou to learn how to ‘make friends’ with other people whenthey’re apart. ‘Other people’ meaning: Denki, the ‘squad’, Todoroki, the restof the class…and most importantly, Deku.Let my son -Kacchan- learn how to form healthy, genuine relationships withpeople again, so he can gain the necessary experience and maturity to reproach hislifelong treatment of Deku and decide to patch up their relationship on his own terms. This, I feel, is a much more satisfyingoutcome and effective use of Kiri’s character, both in his involvement withBakugou and for the long-run benefit of the series itself.

But instead of seeing it this way, much of the (western) fandom overexaggerates the importance of Kiri and Baku’s relationship, to the point it notonly overshadows the content of other ships, but obfuscates the actual translated GEN contentof canon itself. (WHY!?!) I’m not even going to touch the propensity, hypocrisy, and irony of their shippers to harassand bully others for their opposing shipping preferences (that’s a whole other can of worms). Overall,it’s gotten so bad and obnoxiously rampant that I’ve been forced to block the ship tag for my own sanity and enjoyment of theseries. The ONLY time it’s ever beenrequired for me to use the blacklist function here, and that’s saying something.

Therefore: I support their friendship as supportive bros, but kr/bk as a ship was never on myradar. I’ve never shipped it, and I will notbecome interested in their potential as a pair. I used to be ok with seeing fan content of them around…until thefandom essentially and unfortunately soured it into a notp for me. Welp!   

And there we have it, my full opinion on both ships. I hope that satiatesanyone’s curiosity on the matter, as so far I’ve had plenty of personal reasonsto stay in my own lane and only show my avid support for bkdk. This I’ve confidently decided and I will continue todo so, for as long as I’m invested in the series.  

For some further reading and similar informed opinions:  

http://explodo-smash.tumblr.com/post/165154054112/not-to-pit-ships-against-one-another-but-i

http://explodo-smash.tumblr.com/post/163895267877/why-do-you-ship-bakugou-and-deku-if-its-abusive

http://tinyshinysylveon.tumblr.com/post/168731953134

https://punkbakugo.tumblr.com/post/170514358890/do-you-think-that-the-fandom-over-exaggerates

Also related: my opinions about Kac/chako. And Izu/Ocha.

Edit: now cross-posted on a03

[awanderingtortoise]

a/n: first of all, i would like to thank my genius brain for answering the ask this stemmed from privately, therefore losing all access to it and anything i typed in reply. i would also like to thank google docs for housing the backup copy of this fic, ensuring my panic lasted only half the time it could have. finally (and the only serious thing here) ty to @nabrizoya for giving this idea during my 'i cant write banter only dad jokes help' panic, i loved it and wrote far more on it than i expected.

laughter in the rain

ao3

word count: 2.1k of pure fluff and crack

blurb: in which Nikolai is much too found of puns while Zoya is the polar opposite, and a young, incredibly chaotic Squaller child wreaks absolute havoc on literally everything.

(from tumblr ask: how about nikolai interacting with zoya's students and them finding nikolai's dad jokes funnier than zoya does (though she does secretly enjoy them)

----

Zoya knew she was in for it when she agreed to teach Damyen to summon lightning. Possible consequences listed themselves in her head without regard for her anxiety: Getting half her hair burned off. An emergency fire drill, minus the drill, at the Little Palace. Possibly a few roasted pigeons falling from the sky. The ten-year old Squaller was undeniably one of her most gifted students, possessing a striking talent for both the Small Science and utter chaos. Unsurprising, really, considering the child both worshiped Nikolai and had a disposition remarkably close to the latter’s. Zoya’s rant on the young Grisha amused him to no end.

“A miniature me,” Nikolai mused, glancing thoughtfully at Zoya as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And shaping up to be quite the handful.”

“You have no idea,” she grumbled, brushing out a stubborn tangle in her hair, eyes still bleary from her slumber or lack thereof. She’d slept terribly and dreamt her kefta had been on fire. Though she was never much for fortune-tellers or prophetic hogwash, she had an inkling this particular dream would soon be reality. “You could be brothers with how much you have in common. Insubordinate. Endless chatter. Utterly chaotic.”

“Handsome?” Nikolai suggested, inspecting his boots before putting them on. “Charismatic and startlingly intelligent? Really, my dear; you don’t have to be quite so negative.”

“I’m likely about to be set on fire. I have every right to be negative.”

“Now, now,” He said soothingly. “I’m sure it will be a very- enlightening experience.”

Zoya froze mid-brush stroke, turning to give him a withering glare. “Nikolai,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Yes?”

“We have talked about this.”

“Have we?”

“No more puns,” Zoya ordered. For every joke Nikolai in his love for infuriating humor could crack, these were the worst. The only people in the palace that found them amusing were Tolya and Nikolai himself. Which meant, of course, that Tolya was the only one Nikolai didn’t subject to this banal torture.

“Why?” Nikolai whined. “I find them rather electrifying, don’t you?”

She slammed her brush onto the table and stalked towards him, seizing his wrist. “I will blow you out the window. I will tie you to a tree and let Damyen use you for target practice.”

“From the sound of him, he wouldn’t dare. He loves me.”

“He’s also remarkably similar to you and has every ounce of your taste for drama. He might, and if he doesn’t you have my word that I will do it myself.” Zoya let her eyes flash silver, static crackling in the air.

“Alright,” Nikolai sighed, unperturbed by the display. “Fine. I concede. It’s but a trifle. A storm in a teacup, if you w- ow !”

She had sent a small shock through his arm, and now scoffed at the reaction to her handiwork. “Consider this a warning,” she sniffed, before turning to leave the room. “I have a Squaller to teach.”

“Storming off, are we- ow- ”

Only once the door was safely slammed behind her did she let her frown shift, lips quirking upwards. “Damnable idiot,” she muttered, smile clear in her voice.

“You love me for it,” Nikolai called from inside the room.

Zoya scowled. She’d need to have the walls thickened.

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

To Zoya’s right, a flock of very terrified and slightly singed geese squawked and took to the skies. Their nest lay in a steaming pile of ash. She raised a single eyebrow at her pupil. “Damyen, this is-”

“Awesome!” He cackled, gathering the ash in his hands and tossing it in the air like confetti. The flakes drifted down, settling in Zoya’s hair and eyelashes.

“I was going to say dismal. I do not recall asking you to set birds on fire. Your aim is terrible.”

“But I shot lighting!” He stared at his fingertips with such utter reverence for himself that Zoya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“If you want to shoot lighting without setting your friends alight, I’d suggest you learn to hit your mark,” She said as sternly as possible. He’d picked up on the skill remarkably quickly, in all honesty, and the currents he summoned were more than good for a start. She was impressed, but her approval would only be gained with sufficient effort. And after more than a few sharp comments. “You aim worse than a blind mole rat. Again.”

Damyen sighed but brought his hands together once more, brow knitting in concentration as lightning began to form in his palm. Strands of his bronze hair fell onto his face and he squinted through them at the target. Adjusted his hands. Squinted again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Zoya muttered. “Perhaps you’re waiting for the Saints to come riding down on a shiny chariot?”

He snorted, apparently genuinely amused, then let the bolt fly. At the same moment, a golden-haired figure strolled into the lightning’s path.

Zoya shrieked, hurtling a gust of wind towards Nikolai and blowing him to the ground. The streak of electricity slammed perfectly into the target’s center, setting the whole thing aflame.  Damyen whooped, throwing up his hands and sending wind blowing every which way; scattering leaves into the air as Nikolai groaned and swore from his spot in the grass.

“Hello,” He said weakly. “Atmosphere’s rather charged around here, don’t you think?”

She huffed and pulled him to his feet, glaring daggers.

“No shocks,” Nikolai noted.

“I may change my mind. Care to explain yourself, Lantsov? In the habit of trying to kill yourself?”

“I hardly need to try. I’m a magnet for life threatening situations. Though I’ll admit that today it was a personal decision.” He beamed, spreading his hands. “I simply wanted to help you make good on your threat.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. “Why are you here? Has something come up with the Fjerdans? Did the Kerch renegotiate the trade-”

“Zoya, Zoya, Zoya,” Nikolai sighed, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount for this fickle country. Answer the question, or I truly will have him target you.”

“Is it so hard to believe I came here only to see you?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me. But if you must know, I thought I could be of some assistance.”

“As target practice?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had quite enough of that. As a mentor. As a bribe, perhaps; for your little firecracker over there.” He glanced at Damyen, still stripping trees of their hard-earned leaves and seemingly unaware that he’d nearly killed his beloved idol.  “You seemed like you could use some help.”

She raised her chin disdainfully. “I am perfectly capable of wrangling the little-”

A loud crack sounded and the sky darkened rapidly, clouds swarming over their heads as rain began to pour furiously in a matter of seconds. A few meters away, a bright flash enveloped a tree, sending the trunk bursting into flames.

“Damyen!” Zoya screeched.

The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and grinning in a mix of elation and fear. “I made a storm, Your Highness!”

“Congratulations. Now do you mind stopping before you kill us all?”

“But I-” His eyes found Nikolai and realization set in as he beamed and the rain poured even harder. “Your Highness- es !”

Another boom, and a second, larger tree was wreathed in electricity and fire. It groaned, wobbling dangerously before crashing to the ground.

Nikolai’s brow furrowed, squinting against the pouring rain. “That,” he started. “Was a centuries-old sacred cypress planted by the first Lantsov kings. Now firewood. Impressive.”

Damyen’s chest puffed with pride.

“You can fawn over each other later,” Zoya snapped. “Damyen, enough with the storm. Turn it off before you start a forest fire.”

He grinned sheepishly. “How?”

She muttered obscenities, raising her hands and dispelling the clouds with a flick of her wrists. The sky cleared, small patches of pouring rain left to quell the still-burning trees as Nikolai whistled appreciatively, clapping; and Damyen gave a small bow. Saints, these two would be the death of her.

“So,” Nikolai said, soft enough that Damyen couldn’t hear. “Changed your mind?”

She sighed. “Fine. Make your attempt. You’ve always loved trying your hand at the impossible.”

“Improbable,” he corrected, then strolled over to Damyen, running a hand through the golden strands plastered to his forehead. Soaking wet and almost cooked alive, and he still looked every bit the regal prince; she thought, a grudging, now-familiar fondness rushing through her like a horrible, tooth-rotting sweet. She scowled.

“Lovely morning,” The prince greeted. Damyen bent over in a hasty bow, but Nikolai waved his hand. “No need. Are you the wonderfully gifted Squaller her Highness speaks of so highly?”

Zoya snorted, but Damyen’s eyes practically doubled in size. “She does?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai said seriously. “You’re quite talented, I hear.” He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Just between the two of us,” muttered Nikolai, very much loud enough for Zoya to be able to hear. “I think you remind her of herself, when she was your age.”

She opened her mouth; ‘What utter bullshit,’ already on the tip of her tongue but Nikolai raised a gloved finger, eyes twinkling. With much effort, she clamped her mouth shut.

Damyen seemed he might faint on the spot. Nikolai went on. “Really, there’s quite a lot you two have in common. Powerful. Willful. In possession of a rather strong attachment to me.”

The young Grisha was eating up his words. Zoya wanted to strangle the both of them.

Nikolai took a seat on a faintly smoking tree stump. “You seem to have quite a lot going on for you, learning to summon lighting and all. A rather current affair, don’t you think?”

The silence seemed to stretch on infinitely. Then Damyen gave a toothy grin and guffawed far, far louder than that sorry excuse for a joke deserved.

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Nikolai,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

“Zoya, dear; no need to thunder about like that,” Nikolai said soothingly. Damyen bit his cheek in an attempt to control himself, but whatever smidgen of respect he had left for her kept him silent for barely a second before he burst into a fit of giggles.

Zoya threw her arms up in frustration and from the clouds a deep, deafening roar answered her-- how’s that for thundering, you nincompoop-- as the sky flashed once more, bright streaks lacing every cloud in an intricate web. Damyen’s gleeful expression faltered at the sight but Nikolai only grinned wider, patting Damyen on the shoulder before standing and holding a hand out to catch the rain.

“Don’t let her dampen your spirits,” he called sagely over the rumble, and it took a good amount of self control not to smite him on the spot.  Nikolai flashed a thumbs-up at the boy before jogging over to the spot where Zoya stood, arms crossed and glaring. He clasped her hand in his, opening his mouth to speak.

“Not one word,” she warned. “Not a single pun or I will have Tolya read you every Ravkan epic in existence while dangling you off the palace roof.”

“No puns,” he promised. “For now. I only ask that perhaps you let the sun shine through-”

“I will not sugarcoat my instructions for whatever reason.”

“The storm, my dear,” he said gently. “Not your teaching methods. We’re nearly soaked through.”

She glanced towards his dripping sleeves and the damp fabric of her own kefta. “Fine,” Zoya muttered grudgingly, raising her free hand to call away the storm and let the clouds fade to fog. “But enough of this foolery. I can’t have Damyen running around being able to summon lightning and having no idea how to wrangle it. He has to learn.”

“And he will. Let me work my magic and I’ll have him perfectly eager to learn to control his.”

“Without the puns.”

“With slightly less puns?” He asked, brow knit together as if the fate of his jokes were a matter of life and death.

Zoya frowned, but Nikolai’s pleading look wore away at her and she sighed. “Slightly less puns.”

His eyes lit up and he beamed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You won’t regret this,” he promised.

“Oh, I will,” she remarked drily. “But perhaps not enough to shock you again if you can manage the walking fire hazard.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed theatrically before turning and running back to Damyen with a ridiculous grin on his face, sunlight gilding his hair and shining in his gaze; his form so full of light that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Nikolai,” she called after him.

He turned, cocking his head. “Nazyalensky? Is everything alright?”

Zoya closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She opened her palm, summoning the smallest thundercloud, letting raindrops pool in her outstretched hand. “Right as rain, Lantsov.”

He laughed, and the sound, golden and unrestrained and bright, was worth every joke she’d ever have to endure.

[mercy-burning]

A Fire I Can’t Put Out (Songbird Chapter 2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: One week later, a chance encounter leads Reader and Spencer to each other once again. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Smut (exhibitionism, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, thigh riding, male masturbation, fingering, oral sex - male and female receiving, multiple orgasms), Language Word Count: 10k (I got really carried away lol)

SERIES MASTERLIST SERIES PLAYLIST (new songs added with the release of each chapter)

NOTE: Alas! Our first inkling of fluff! While this chapter is very spicy (you get 2 smut scenes 😉), there’s also a very cute, fluffy moment at the piano that I hope you all enjoy! (Just thinking about it makes me all warm and fuzzy inside...) See you on Valentine’s Day for Chapter 3! 🥰

(Also, everyone should listen to the song I added to the end, it’s BEAUTIFUL and I changed the song/title of the chapter to match it last minute, because I just discovered it and it was too perfect not to use lol)

***

The note felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. It may have one time been a crumpled receipt, but now it was a searing reminder of the one time in my life that I'd broken my own rule and allowed a man to stay. It hummed ferociously, screaming at me to do everything in my power to find him again and finally learn his name at the very least.

Because that was the thing that bugged me the most. I thought that by refusing to learn his name that night, I would save myself the potential attachment, but it turns out all that did was make me even more attached to him.

I tried to convince myself over and over that it was just because he fucked me so good I thought I hurdled through space and time, and not because he was incredibly gorgeous, respectful, and pretty much downright perfect. Maybe it was all of those things rolled into one perfect, blissful night that was meant to be just that—a one-night stand. The one-night stand, if you will.

But no matter what I tried to tell myself, my thoughts always drifted back to him. S...

What could his name be? Steven? Sam? Scott? Sonny? Saxon?

I didn't want to think about it anymore. Maybe his name didn't even start with S... Maybe he meant it to mean Stranger. That was possible, right?

That was probably it. That had to be it, otherwise I was going to lose my mind trying to figure it out when there was a high chance I was never even going to see him again.

My fingers drifted over the piano keys and tried to play anything, anything from memory, anything from scratch? God, just play something... And when I finally did feel my fingers press down into the keys, I didn't register what the song was until I was singing the words.

"Say you'll remember me..."

"No!" I slammed my hands on the keys and then leaned forward on my elbows, resting my head in my hands as the loud array of notes faded into the bright, morning air. I took a deep breath and started to laugh to myself. "What the hell, Y/N..."

He wanted to be remembered, right? He wanted me to remember him. And by leaving the first letter of his name—and a note in the first place—that surely meant that he hoped I'd see him again, right? Or that I'd try to find him? Maybe that was his subtle way of telling me he'd be at the bar for the next open mic night, just in case I decided to show up again.

Or, maybe he was just being a decent human being, Y/N, you know shit like that doesn't happen in real life. Don't fucking fall for it.

I sighed and hit random keys on the piano again before getting up and deciding to take a drive.

When even music didn't take my mind off anything—which was almost never—driving always seemed to do the trick. Sure, there was usually more room for thinking when it came to driving, but for me, it was almost panic-inducing if I wasn't giving the road my full, undivided attention. It's not that I was bad at driving, but I certainly wasn't great at paying attention unless I was fully committed. Since I didn't want to seriously injure myself or die in a car wreck, I found that the best option to get my mind off of anything that was troubling me was to just drive.

It hadn't failed me yet, but maybe this would be the thing that finally sent me flying off a bridge and into a river.

I promptly decided not to think about that.

While I was going out I figured I'd stop by the coffee shop on my way out of town, that way I'd at least have a nice iced coffee to indulge in while I just wandered around. I made sure my driving playlist was downloaded to my phone before also grabbing my bag and keys, and then leaving the apartment.

***

"Hi, I'll take a large vanilla iced coffee, please."

"Will that be all?"

I smiled at the barista, whose nametag read Reyna. "Yes."

"Okay, your total is $3.50."

After handing her a five-dollar bill and putting the change in the tip jar, I stood on the other side of the counter to wait for my order and scrolled through my phone as the next person came up and ordered. It didn't take long, which I was more or less thankful for, but when I turned around, I ran right into someone's back and almost dropped my coffee.

"Whoa! I'm so sorry!"

I instinctively looked down to make sure I didn't spill anything, or that the person I ran into didn't spill anything, and when I finally looked up to apologize to their face, I froze and almost dropped my coffee anyway.

There was no fucking way.

"Hey, Stranger," he said almost nervously, his cheeks flushed.

I wasn't sure when I actually answered, but it seemed like forever because I was just so shocked that I actually fucking saw him again. I truly didn't think in a million years I would live in a moment like this, but there I was, taking in this man in all his beautiful glory.

He was more dressed up than the last time I saw him, maybe for work, or maybe that's just how he dressed sometimes. Whatever the case, I didn't give a shit because it was hot as hell. The color of his corduroy jacket was the same as his eyes, which now that I could see him in better lighting were lighter than I remembered. Under it was a white dress shirt and some type of olive green vest. His hair was still messy and downright tug-able, light curls framing parts of his face. Which was currently in the process of taking me in as well.

I smiled at him, though I wasn't sure if it was coming off as too excited, revealing myself to him, or if it was underwhelming. Or maybe it was just right?

Oh, who cares, Y/N, just fucking say something back!

"Hey, yourself. I... can't believe I ran into you again."

My stomach flipped at the way he smiled back at me, like he was almost nervous to be in my presence. Like I would have shooed him away rather than acknowledge him. He was fucking nervous and I found it incredibly endearing. It was such a contrast to... that night. Once he gained confidence, he was really something... But even now he still was really something, just in a different way, as he visibly tried to find the right words to say.

Finally, he settled on, "Yeah, I... I didn't think I'd see you again. It's... a nice surprise."

Understatement of the century, I thought as I waited for him to speak again. His voice was so... I didn't know how to describe it, other than to say it was so fitting for him, and therefore it was perfect.

Was that weird? Was I being weird?

"Do, um... Do you want to sit down?" I offered, gesturing to the tables on the other side of the café.

"Oh, I don't want to keep you if you're busy, I—"

"Nah, I had nothing going on today, trust me." I gave him a wink as we started making our way to the sitting area. "Besides, Stranger, if we're gonna keep meeting like this, I'm gonna need to at least know your name, don't you think?"

He laughed a little before shrugging, waiting until we sat down across from each other to respond. "I don't know, I... I think I like hearing you call me Stranger. It has a nice ring to it."

We both took a sip from our drinks, our eyes never losing their contact. By the way his face turned even redder, I would have thought he'd look away first, but he didn't. I had to wonder if he didn't look away because he didn't want to, or if he couldn't. Either way, I liked it.

"So, Stranger, tell me..." I said, setting my drink down and folding my hands over the table. "You been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about you lately?"

I could tell he hadn't been expecting that question, because for a second it looked like he was choking on his drink. He coughed before setting it down, though his hand never left the cup. "I— Y—you've been thinking about me?"

Suddenly remembering the note in my pocket, I scrambled to get it out. And as he looked at me, still shocked but a little puzzled now, too, I started to wonder if maybe it was a stupid idea. But there was no stopping it, now, because that would have been even more puzzling, not to mention embarrassing on my part.

I un-crumpled the note and held it in my hands, outward so he could see his handwriting. "I've been staring at this thing and carrying it around with me everywhere in my pocket for the past week, dude."

It looked like he was trying to hide a smile, and failing miserably at it. "So... Leaving the note was a good idea, then, huh?"

I smiled, though trying to hide it wasn't even an option. "Well, it certainly got me thinking about putting a name to the face... and the body... But in all honesty I think I would have been thinking about you regardless."

He studied me for a moment, and an unfamiliar feeling in my stomach just about sucker-punched me at the way he did it, his face softening and just getting lost in thought. Or me, though I didn't want to flatter myself. Even still, the thought of him being completely lost in my presence, in my just being here, discussing our brief past, was enough to tighten the knot in my stomach.

I couldn't tell if I liked that feeling or not.

Because while my body certainly seemed to like this uncharted territory, something tugged at the pant leg of my brain like a small child, looking up at me and saying with sad eyes that they wanted to leave and go home, back to the comfort and safety of what they already knew. And who was I to deny that?

But at the same time, I couldn't for the life of me let this man go. I wanted, ached to know more about him.

I was intoxicated, and it scared the ever-loving fuck out of me.

"Can I tell you my name?" His voice almost made me jump.

I considered it for a moment, before ultimately deciding that it would be a good small step to take. "Yes."

"Will you tell me your name?"

"Maybe."

We both smiled at each other for a few seconds before an idea came to my mind. He was about to tell me his name right then I think, but I held up my hand and leaned forward, tilting my chin up a little. "You know what... Before you tell me, I wanna know something... Have you ever fucked anyone in a public restroom?"

If he'd had any coffee in his mouth, it surely would have been all over the place right then. Instantly his eyes widened and he looked around the room as his cheeks flushed redder than I'd ever seen them. "What are you doing?" he gushed out really fast, almost refusing to look me in the eye.

"Giving you a deal. No one uses the restrooms here because people are always rushing in and out to grab coffee, or there's hardly anyone here to use them anyway. Bottom line is: we can easily be inconspicuous. So here's what I'm offering."

"This isn't a good idea—"

"You don't have to agree, obviously, but hear me out."

I waited for further resistance, but he just blinked at me, and I took that as my cue. "I'm gonna get up and walk to the women's room. You'll follow me after about a minute, and if you can make me cum twice then we can exchange names and numbers."

"We... We can do that without the exhibitionism, though, you know that, right?" He spoke as if anyone would be able to hear him if he wasn't quiet enough.

"Of course. But... I really haven't been able to stop thinking about you, and judging by the way you're shifting in your seat I can tell you're strongly considering taking me up on my offer. Because you haven't been able to stop thinking about me, either. And you really want to fuck me again, probably almost as much as I want to fuck you again. So what do you say?"

He still didn't speak, only stared at me, which left me to wonder what he was thinking. If anything, he almost looked a little petrified, so last minute I decided to take a little pity on him.

"Okay, new plan. I'm still going to go into the bathroom and wait a minute for you, two tops. I am gonna give you this, though..." I grabbed a napkin, a pen from my bag, and wrote my number down on it before sliding it to his side of the table. "I'll wait for you. If you don't want to go through with this, you can leave. But then you're gonna call me later, and we'll set a date to meet up if you want. How's that sound?"

I think he was completely overwhelmed by my ultimatum, because he still didn't say anything. Though this time he seemed... awed. Not necessarily as embarrassed as he was before, but more enchanted with the idea of what I was offering, the way I presented everything to him.

Figuring that was a good sign, I winked at him and made it a point to walk to the bathroom as seductively as I could without being too obvious.

Though, the further I got, and the longer I waited in the bathroom, the more I wondered if he'd already left the café. And then it started to dawn on me that I might have acted like an asshole, giving ultimatums to a man who was just trying to tell me his name. Why couldn't I have just let him tell me? We were right there, and I had to go ahead and turn it into a fucking game... And for what? So I could get laid? The thing is, I was so sure he liked me enough that after he told me his name we probably could have gone somewhere private and—

The door opened, and I was about to yell at whoever it was that someone was in the room already, but then I saw his face and felt myself relax.

"Hey, I'm... I'm sorry if I pressured you into doing this," I said sincerely, as he locked the door behind him. "We really don't have to if you don't want, I was... I was just trying to... I don't know, be mysterious or something? Which, I guess I can be, but I promise I'm not usually like this, and—"

"Hey, it's alright. I promise. Now... I don't mean to change the subject so quickly, but I do believe I owe you two orgasms. And I don't want us to get caught, so I'd like to get to it if you don't mind."

Holy fucking shit..

"You really know how to get a girl to shut up, Stranger," I said, grabbing him by the jacket and pulling him to me. I looked up into his eyes and smirked, walking us backwards until I hit the counter, just beside the sink. "How fast do you think you can get me there?"

A small smirk twitched at his lips before he surprisingly lifted me up and promptly sat me on the counter. "Depends... You gonna keep talking or are you going to let me do my job?"

The low tone in his voice was unlike anything I'd heard from him thus far, and it lit this fire in me that I didn't know I had. With a small, involuntary moan, I spread my legs wide and let him stand between them. He pulled me in for a long, hot kiss before dropping to the ground and wiggling me out of my pants. He ended up taking off my shoes, too, so he could slip my pants and underwear off my body completely. No sooner than they hit the floor did he get to work, his hands coming up to spread my legs once again, propping my heels up on his shoulders.

Unfortunately I couldn't keep myself from moaning out as he worked my pussy with his mouth, each long, wet drag of his tongue adding fuel to the fire he'd already kindled within me. I tried to bite my fist, hoping it would muffle some of the sounds, but it wasn't working.

I was thinking about calling the whole thing off and going somewhere we wouldn't get in trouble, when he seemed to have another idea.

Before I knew what was happening, my panties were shoved in my mouth, and my eyes were rolling to the back of my head as he slipped a finger inside of me with ease. In no time I felt my orgasm creeping up on me, every pump of his fingers and every quick, meticulous flick of his tongue on my clit getting faster and faster with each passing second. I shrieked into the ball of fabric as quietly as I could manage as I started to fall, clenching and shaking around him in record time.

Once I relaxed, he pulled himself away from me and stood up, licking his fingers clean and working at his belt as I stared at him with pleading eyes. I wanted to take the panties out of my mouth, but I knew that if I did I probably wouldn't be able to keep quiet. And the fact that he'd put them there in the first place, after so clearly being flustered at my suggestion to go have a quick fuck in a public restroom, completely turned me on and made me want him even more.

I did manage a pretty decent moan when he finally came forward and lined himself up with my waiting pussy. He smiled a little before leaning forward, never entering me but running his dick over it, coating himself with my arousal. He leaned his head in and brushed my hair from my neck before kissing it, and even softly biting me. If it was going to leave bruises, I didn't care. I welcomed every kiss, every lick and bite, and every slow, excruciating drag of his cock along my pussy.

He slid the tip of himself into me for a second before pulling out and moving my face with his hand, gripping my jaw and making me look at him. I whimpered at the loss of contact where I was clenching around nothing, patiently waiting for him, and also at the gain of our eye contact. I genuinely had no idea what he was going to do next, but I hoped it involved some semblance of a repeat of last time.

But once again, he surprised me, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to mine, ripping the panties from my mouth using his own. He leaned back, the pale blue fabric hanging from his teeth, and the sight drove me absolutely wild. It didn't help that he kept them in his mouth as he slapped my clit with his dick, and it took everything I had not to moan obscenely. He could tell, too, because he brought a hand to cover my mouth right as he pushed into me and held himself there.

He tossed his head to the side and dropped my panties on the ground, then ran his hands along the insides of my legs and rested them on my thighs. "I'll keep going as long as you keep quiet."

"You probably should have kept the panties in my mouth, then," I breathed, clenching myself around him and feeling him grip my skin tighter.

"Guess you'll just have to try and be quiet like a good girl, then, won't you?"

The whimper that escaped me was utterly pathetic. And I loved it.

Needing this to get going now, I reached forward and grabbed his hips, urging him to start moving, and thankfully he did. It was slow at first as we both just savored the feeling of being together like this again.

But in a matter of seconds all pleasantries were thrown out the window, and he slid his hands up to grip my waist as he pounded into me as quietly as he could. To ensure the skin-on-skin slapping wasn't too loud, he kept his thrusts short and staccato, but incredibly deep, setting my insides on fire and making me clutch onto the back of his ass for dear life. I tried so hard not to yell out that I was pretty sure my nails broke through his skin. He hissed out sharply, confirming that I was hurting him, so I let him go and opted to for gripping his shirt instead. I drew him closer, that way I could kiss him and feel all of him at once.

I might have also needed to find some way to keep myself quiet.

I moaned into his mouth as he kissed me back, every swipe of his tongue somehow managing to perfectly find a rhythm in tandem with his thrusts, despite how rushed and sloppy we were being.

It wasn't long before I felt myself start to fall apart, my hands clutching onto his jacket for dear life as my stomach started to knot. "Gonna cum, gonna cum," I murmured into his mouth, and he pulled away to kiss my neck.

My arms wrapped around him and pulled him as close to me as room would allow, right as my eyes squeezed shut and I saw stars, my second orgasm quick and intense. I mumbled little 'uh-huh's into his mouth as he fucked me through it, and when I was done, he pulled out, leaving me dazed but also confused.

It looked like it pained him to pull his pants up and tuck his still-hard dick away, so I reached out. "Why didn't you finish? We're in a bathroom, I can clean up just fine..."

"My orgasm wasn't part of the deal," he stated simply, straightening his clothes and trying to get comfortable.

"So, what, you're just going to walk around town with a boner?"

"No. It'll go away soon, I'll be fine." Once his clothes were all the way on, he reached into his jacket pocket, handed me a slip of paper—a business card it looked like—and kissed me quickly one more time. "Besides, the next time I cum inside you, I'd like to hear you saying my name."

And then he walked out of the bathroom without another word, grabbing my panties and shoving them in his jacket pocket as an afterthought before he disappeared.

I don't think I moved for a good minute or two before I finally looked down at the card and read his note. He must have written it down before he came in here.

Y/N, I heard them call your name at open mic night, and that's when I knew. I'm free tomorrow night. I hope you'll call. —Stranger

I turned the card over and saw his number, followed by his name.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

***

The second I got home, I ran to the bathroom and fixed my... problem... I wanted so badly back in the café to finish what I started, but I'd meant what I told her. I'd sighed her name out as I touched myself the few times since I'd met her, and I could only imagine what it would finally sound like to hear her say my name. I knew she could already tear me apart at her touch, but I wanted desperately to know if my name on her tongue would have the same effect.

I was almost positive it would, but I just needed to know.

It surprisingly didn't take long for me to finish, just the mere thought of her face and the way she looked at me as I shoved her underwear in her mouth enough to take me to the edge. And finally, when I felt them practically bruning a hole in my pocket, I tensed and sighed out her name, cum spilling out over my hand and into the toilet.

The orgasm should have calmed me down, should have relaxed me, but instead, as I cleaned up and changed into different clothes, I wondered if she would actually call me.

First of all, it was a wonder I'd ran into her at all. Truthfully, I didn't think I was ever going to see her again, and when I heard her voice call out an apology for bumping into me, I really thought I was dreaming. And yet, there she was, right in front of me in all her beautiful glory.

So when she offered to sit down with me, I couldn't say no. And when she asked, You been thinking about me as much as I've been thinking about you lately? ... I was pretty sure I couldn't breathe. I didn't tend to think of myself as the type of guy who would leave that good of an impression, so hearing her of all people say that sent my heart—and stomach—into a mess of flutters.

And though the confidence I had in my ability to flirt with women in any capacity was very slim, I must have done something right. Because when I picked up the phone later that night and heard a low, "Hey, Stranger," through the speaker, I couldn't stop smiling. "Or should I call you Doctor?"

***

"YN... I'm really glad you called."

Hearing him say my name for the first time did something to me I couldn't explain. The way he said it was innocent enough, but it still made me beam with excitement.

I was curled up on my couch, wrapped in a robe after my shower and having been contemplating whether or not to call all afternoon.

I didn't want to wait too long in case he ended up making other plans or something, but I was also apprehensive. Because as much as I wanted to keep seeing Spencer, I wasn't sure I could handle breaking his heart. That's what always happened, didn't it? I started seeing someone, things would be great for the first few months, and then as they fell more in love with me I fell more out of love with them. But even then I wasn't sure I could call it that, because I never fell in love with them in the first place. Not even gotten close to it.

Would... Spencer be different? It was hard to tell. He'd already made me feel things I'd never felt before, so maybe this time would be different.

Or maybe that would just make it hurt even more when I inevitably pushed him away.

But I didn't want to think about that. All I knew in the moment was that he intrigued me, and for the first time in my life I actually wanted to to be near him almost every second of the day. Even when I wasn't thinking about him, my body was buzzing with the aftermath of him. His entire being was so magnetic that I couldn't help but be drawn to him. Even if, ultimately, I knew it would end with one or both of us in shambles, I wanted it. I wanted him more than anything, to be with him, to see him smile, to hear him talk...

That little kid that was tugging on my pant leg earlier, warning me that it was time to go home, was screaming now. Scared for its life and begging for me to turn back.

And for some reason, against my better judgement, I ignored it.

"You really knew my name the whole time and didn't tell me?"

From the pause on the other end of the line, I could tell he must have been nervous. I could see him in my head, looking down at his twitching hands as he tried to find some explanation. "Um... Well, you said you didn't want to know names, so I... thought I'd keep quiet. I hope you're not mad about that..."

I smiled. "No, I'm not mad. It was nice of you." I paused a beat before changing the subject. "So, uh... Tomorrow night..."

"Oh... Yeah, I travel quite a bit for work, and I don't get many days off, but tomorrow night is the only time I'm free for a while. So I guess it was a good thing I ran into you when I did."

"Hmm... I guess you're right. In that case, I should probably take it easy on you. Wouldn't want to wear you out or anything."

He laughed a little, and warmth bloomed in my chest at the sound. I imagined seeing him smile, which made it fully blossom. "No need. You... You could wear me out any day."

"Careful what you wish for, Stranger. Time and place?"

"I can be by your place at 6? I'll even bring food if you want."

I paused, suddenly reminded of the screaming child again. This time it was yelling, "It's not safe! Don't let him in, please!"

But God damn it, I wanted to so bad...

"Uh, sure," I finally answered, playing with the hem of my robe anxiously. "You... remember where it is? As I recall, you were pretty nervous the last time you were here, and kind of occupied with... other things."

"Oh, I—I remember everything, pretty much. I know where to go, it's okay."

He didn't elaborate. I kind of wanted him to, but figured the less I knew about him the better. I was invested in him enough already, and knowing more would just plunge me in deeper than I was comfortable with. So, I told him, "Alright. If you need directions or anything though, let me know. Should I be... wearing anything in particular when you get here, Doctor?"

The line was silent, and I could picture that little shocked expression on his face, the one he got every time I said something suggestive that he wasn't expecting. It was cute. "A—Anything you want will be fine..."

I laughed and bit my lip, leaning back into the couch. "Okay... See you later then. Tomorrow night, 6PM."

"Tomorrow night. 6PM. Goodnight, Y/N."

My face felt warm and my stomach fluttered as I curled into myself and smiled into the phone. "Goodnight, Spencer."

What surprised me most about that night was that I didn't hang up right after. I waited. And waited, until he hung up, just in case he said anything else. And I think he was in the same mindset, because we sat in silence for a good fifteen seconds before I finally hung up, shaking my head and wondering if he thought that was weird.

As it turns out, he didn't.

About ten minutes later, as I was getting into bed, I got a text message that read: I hope you know that I always have your song stuck in my head. The one from the bar. I hope you'll sing to me again one day.

I promptly sent back: If you're a good boy for me tomorrow, I just might, and set my phone on my dresser, ignoring the way my heart swelled at his sentiment.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. And when I did finally drift off, my dreams were about Spencer.

***

Usually I was decently confident when it came to my 'date' outfits. I knew what looked good on me, and I knew what made other people go, "Holy shit," under their breath when they saw me, so it should have been easy. And to some degree it was, but with all these weird feelings I was having lately, I was second-guessing myself.

But no matter how badly I second-guessed my decision, I stuck with what I knew best, wearing a thin black long-sleeved shirt with a low neckline and form-fitting jeans that flared at the bottom. A necklace with a silver diamond that matched my belly-button ring sat nicely at my chest, right above my cleavage. I opted to leave my hair down in long, loose curls that curled away from my face, and framed my eyes with simple black eyeliner and mascara, leaving my lips alone with a peppermint chap stick. Remembering how Spencer had complimented and basically worshipped my hands, I accented them with a deep purple nail polish that almost looked black if there wasn't any light shining on them. I put on a few rings that matched my other body jewelry and wore a thin, braided rope bracelet that my sister made me for my thirteenth birthday. Since I didn't think we were going anywhere, I only wore black ankle-length socks, but kept a pair of simple black heeled boots by the door in case we did decide to leave.

As for my... undergarments, I chose a nice black lace set that I only brought out on rare occasions, and I felt like it fit. The material was sheer and lacy, and that was about it. It was simple, but sexy, and that's what I loved about it. And if I knew Spencer's taste as well as I thought I did, I was pretty sure he would love it, too.

And that fact alone was enough to snap me out of my worry.

Kind of. I mean, he was still coming to my apartment, and I was almost certain that he was going to look around and probably ask some questions about things. Which, normally wouldn't be a bad thing, and in a way it really wasn't, but it still made me nervous...

I just hoped that I could keep him occupied enough so that I wouldn't have to deal with it too much.

There was a knock at my door, and I was thankful, finally pulled out of my head and into the world around me. I got up and opened the door with a smile, leaning against it slightly and taking him in.

"Hey, Stranger," I drawled, giving him a wink as I stepped aside to let him in.

But he didn't come in. Not until he was done taking me in, of course. "You... Wow, uh, hi," he stammered, holding out a bag that had to be takeout. "You look great."

As he walked in, I shut the door behind him and looked at his backside before he turned around. "Speak for yourself."

He took off his shoes, which revealed one red striped sock and one purple and blue polkadotted one, which made me smile. He wore simple grey corduroy pants and a purple sweater that matched my nail polish almost perfectly. His hair was just as perfect as it was the last two times I saw him, rightfully messy and curly that made me want to skip dinner all together and get right to dessert.

I even told him as much.

"You're kinda making me want to skip dinner."

"Oh, we... We can eat after if you want to, I don't mind," he offered kindly. It was sweet.

I laughed and walked up to him, bringing my right hand up to run my fingers through his hair. Then I leaned up and kissed him hotly on the lips for a few seconds before pulling away and letting out a low 'hmmm'. "Probably a good idea, but I'm starving."

I turned and started to the kitchen, throwing back over my shoulder, "That okay with you?"

"Y—Yeah, of course."

I turned on the light above the table before pulling out a chair for him with a smile. "I didn't really eat much today, so takeout sounded really good. I hope you didn't have to go too far out of your way to grab it, otherwise I could have made something here."

He sat down and I went to the other side of the kitchen to grab forks and plates. "Oh! No, it was alright, it was on the way over. Plus, I guess I don't really mind the travel, since I already do so much of it."

"Right, you mentioned that," I confirmed, taking a seat across from him. My dining room table was small, since my apartment wasn't that big. Even sitting across from one another, if Spencer and I reached our arms out across the table, we would have been able to reach each other's shoulders.

"Hey, do you want anything to drink?" I asked. "I've got some white whine in the fridge, otherwise I also have water, milk, and I think some Sprite."

"Oh, uh... Water is fine, thank you."

As I got up to get it, he got out the food. "Not a drinker?" I wondered aloud, grabbing glasses and the pitcher of water from the fridge.

"Not really. I'll have one on occasion, but if I'm driving I like to steer clear."

So, he wasn't planning on staying the night, then... Ultimately that was a good thing, but a small part of me admittedly felt disappointed. Regardless, I didn't let it show. "Makes sense. I don't drink a lot either, but I've been known to have a good time occasionally. And I always need white wine in the house, that's a rule of mine."

I didn't see his smile, but I could feel it. Was that weird? Feeling a smile? I'd never been able to tell, never noticed that before, but right then I just knew it was there.

But maybe it was just the way he said, "Fair enough," that made me certain.

Whatever the case, I shook the feeling and made my way back to the table with full glasses of water.

We ate with few words between us, though occasionally Spencer would throw out a random fact about the origins of the food we ate, or we exchanged small stories of both of our inabilities to use chopsticks. It was nice, being able to eat with him and not have to talk about where I was from or what my family was like. I never liked sharing that much of myself with someone that soon, let alone at all, so I was thankful for the ease our conversation carried.

Though, at one point he asked, "So, you're a musician? Is it full-time?" And it stopped me in my tracks a little. I loved music, and I was definitely passionate about it, but again, it was so personal to me that for some reason my brain kept sending me signals to turn around and change the subject.

But it was an innocent question. And I used music to my advantage all the time, it wasn't a secret that I was good at it, so I could give him an answer. And I knew that I didn't have to tell him anything I didn't want to, so I just needed to get my shit together and stop worrying. I had to remind myself that not everyone was going to use the things I tell them to hurt me. Truthfully I don't know why I was so paranoid by that, because it never happened, but I chalked it up to just looking for any excuse to keep myself closed off.

I brushed off all the discomfort and doubt I had, and took a drink of water before answering truthfully. "It's not full-time, but I think I'd like it to be. I definitely love it enough, but whether I could handle the stress of being a full-time musician or not is... well, it has yet to be seen."

"Do you write your own songs?"

"Mhm. Have been since I could talk, really. But whenever I perform it's usually covers that everyone knows. Easier to get them excited, anyway."

Spencer smiled, leaning forward a little. "You know, actually I'd never heard the song you sang at the bar that night... That was a cover?"

"Yeah. You don't listen to the radio?"

"Not really. If it all sounds like that, I may have to start, though I'm pretty sure it's not."

I laughed a little. "You'd be right about that... Still, the radio has its merits. I'm a fan of more independent stuff myself, but I keep up to date with what's new. Kinda have to."

"Why's that?"

I chewed my lip for a moment before answering. "Well, I don't do it full-time since I have a day job, but on the side I've helped with writing and producing other peoples' stuff, and a lot of it is what you hear on the radio, so..."

"Oh, that's really cool," he mused, and his eyes gave away that he genuinely seemed impressed. I almost blushed at the sight. "Y'know, I'm sure if you did decide that you could handle the stress of being a full-time musician, everyone would love you."

I laughed again. "You've never even heard my stuff."

"I don't need to," he answered truthfully. "I've heard you sing, you're incredible. And you know how to produce and write music. And, if it's good enough to be on the radio, then I know you've got nothing to worry about."

He could have just been saying that to be nice, and if it wasn't so clearly written on his face that he really believed what he was telling me, I would have thought so. Heat crept up to my cheeks, and I smiled, telling him, "Thank you," before taking another drink of water to cool myself off.

We spent the rest of the meal talking about some of our favorite music, which was a nice way to end it. We had a decent discussion about classical music (He was surprised and I think a little turned on by the fact that I knew a lot of what he was talking about in that department), and as we cleaned up the dishes he happily told me about the story behind one of my favorite classical pieces (which I didn't know and was more than glad to learn).

And while we were on the subject of music, I took him over to my piano when we finished cleaning up, which sat under the only window in the main room of the apartment. The sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow over the sleek black of the piano. Since it was a small apartment, I couldn't have a 'fancy' piano like I wanted, so it was an electric one with a few settings to change the sound. I never messed around with it though, unless I was working on something for someone else. But even then, I did that work with other people in the studio, and not at home.

"Here, sit next to me," I said, patting the small space on the bench.

We barely fit together, but it gave us an excuse to be close to each other, which I think he liked. I know I liked it, at least.

"Are you gonna play something?" he asked. "I mean, you don't have to of course, I don't want to make you or put pressure on you or anything, but..."

"I wouldn't have brought you here if I wasn't going to play you something, Stranger," I said with a laugh, turning the piano on and nudging him with my shoulder. "Though, if you don't want me to, I can think of a few other things I could do for you instead..."

I looked up at him to see his face in a flush, and I smiled, my stomach knotting in that unfamiliar way again.

"Um... Maybe when you're done playing," he said finally, reaching out to ghost over the keys with his fingers.

"Do you play?" I asked, suddenly very warm, and turned on at the idea of watching his hands work around a piano.

"A little. I... I don't know much, but I'm a fast learner."

With a small smile, I grabbed his hand and placed his fingers over certain keys to make a chord. "There. Press all of those together," I told him.

He did, and a smile broke out on his face.

"C Minor," I said. "My favorite chord."

"You have a favorite chord?"

"What, you don't?"

"I... never really thought about it."

We laughed together for a few seconds before he played the chord again, this time tapping the pedal underneath to make it ring out longer. I looked up at him with a smile, right as he looked down at me with an even bigger one. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say we got closer, even though that was impossible unless I'd sat on him. Which I didn't do. Not right then at least.

No, I cleared my throat and messed around with a few keys, trying to decide what to play. Spencer removed his hands from the keyboard as I did it, and I could feel his eyes watching my movements. The thought sent more warmth through me, and I decided to go with something familiar.

My fingers settled on the right keys and started playing the chords to Wildest Dreams. And when I started singing, I swear I felt him melt beside me. It was different from the guitar performance, because at the piano I made it sweeter. My vocals weren't as strong, and I slowed it down to make sure I got everything perfect, but made it a point to look over to him occasionally, winking as I sang some rather sultry lyrics.

When I was done, I couldn't tell what he was thinking. He looked down at me, his eyes studying my face like he was going to kiss me, but he leaned away from me, like he was deciding against it. Finally though, he spoke.

"While I appreciate the performance, it completely juxtaposes the text you sent me last night."

I really didn't know what to say, mostly because I was having a hard time remembering what I texted. I would have been able to remember any other time, but in the moment I was just too entranced by his presence and the way he was staring at me. "W—What did I say?"

My hand was still on the piano, but I felt his reach out and lightly brush over it, caressing the lengths of my fingers. "You said you might sing for me if I was good for you... We haven't done anything yet, and you still sang for me anyway."

Oh, that...

I smiled, sliding my hand out from under his and dragging my middle finger along his own, up and then back down, over and over again. "Didn't you know that I can see the future?"

He looked amused. "Oh, really?"

"Mhmm..." I kept drawing lines up his middle finger, but leaned in closer to him. "And just before you got here, I saw that you made me cum three times."

He took a moment before leaning in closer and responding, his voice barely above a whisper. "You and your ultimatums..."

"It wasn't an ultimatum. It was the future."

Our faces got closer...

"Oh, okay. I believe you."

...And closer...

"Good."

My eyes fluttered closed as he kissed me, gently and with a care that was practically butterfly-inducing. I leaned into him further, finally moving my hand up his arm and snaking up to grab his hair. As his lips parted and his tongue gently swiped over my bottom lip, I climbed up onto his lap, placing my hands around his head to anchor myself to him. He used his to grab the piano in front of him, pushing us forward a little so we wouldn't fall off the bench. The mess of notes rung out loudly in the air, much like they had the day before, right before I went to the café and ran into him.

The coincidence of it all almost made me laugh, but the humor quickly dissipated before I could, because Spencer brought one of his hands to my lower back and groaned softly into my mouth.

I moaned right back, shifting my hips slightly so that I was straddling one of his legs. He spread them wider to give me more room, and I settled nicely, grinding down and almost whining at how little friction there was between the corduroy that adorned his leg and the denim that adorned mine. That didn't stop me, though. I rode his thigh as well as I could, relishing in the way his hand pushed me further into him and his kisses got deeper and more desperate.

Eventually, though, I had enough. I pulled my mouth away from his and clumsily got off of him, standing up and unbuttoning my jeans. He turned around and reached out to help, but I put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. "Stay right there. I'm gonna finish what I started, but I need to get these damn pants off first."

He didn't argue. I held eye contact with him up until I slowly tugged my pants down and stepped out of them, lifting up my shirt a little so he could see the underwear I was wearing. As expected, his eyes wandered south, and I could have sworn I saw his pupils dilate.

But I didn't give him a lot of time to take them in. I made good on my promise and climbed up on his lap again, wrapping my arms around his neck and biting my lip as I started to ride his thigh once more. I started off slow, pressing my forehead to his and enjoying how it felt when his hands firmly grabbed onto my ass. Our lips met again, slowly and yet, also just as desperate as they had before. And with each antagonizing slow roll of my hips, his kisses got bolder, and his hands kneaded my ass, urging me to go faster.

Thankfully for him, I was feeling just as desperate as he was. So I quickened my movements on his thigh and kissed him harder, taking his bottom lip in between my teeth and tugging it before tilting my head to the other side and kissing him again. Meanwhile I could feel that burning in my lower stomach that signaled a fast-approaching orgasm. So I ground myself onto him even harder and whined in his mouth, just before pulling away to speak.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum already," I breathed, pressing small kisses to his jaw.

Spencer squeezed my ass and leaned into my touch. "Go ahead, Y/N..."

It wasn't like he was giving me permission, but just hearing him say my name regardless sent me over the edge, and in no time I was shaking around his leg, clenching my own around him and clinging to his neck for dear life.

Once I came down, I sighed and smiled into his neck, kissing it and moving up to his ear. "Two more to go."

What he said next threw me completely off guard.

"No."

It wasn't a command, or a threat. It was a matter-of-fact statement. I pulled away and looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

He only smirked. "You said I was going to make you cum three times... You did that one all on your own."

The sultry, cocky way he said it made me melt, and I knew then that I was in some serious trouble.

The first time he made me cum was right there on the piano bench. He insisted that I sit down while he eat me out, and I wasn't one to complain. However, he did drag it out so long that by the time I actually came, it felt like I'd done it a thousand times over.

So, to give myself a little break, I returned the favor, and we made it to the kitchen before I couldn't wait any longer and promptly decided to suck him off while he leaned back against the counter. I took the same courtesy he had in dragging it out, pulling off of him completely right as he was about to cum, and I absolutely melted into a pile of nothing upon hearing how he whined and panted while I did it.

I did that in about five long, excruciating cycles before he told me it was my turn and dragged me into my bedroom.

The second time I came, he fucked me against the door, one of my legs standing on the ground while the other lifted and rested on my dresser. He didn't waste any time, just pushing my panties aside and fucking me hard and fast. And fast it was. It only took about a minute before I was convulsing around him, every nerve I had set on fire.

He let me have one more break, laying me down on the bed and taking his time stripping off the rest of my clothes. He must have spent a solid half hour just licking, biting, and teasing my breasts, his hand occasionally reaching down to graze my clit for a few strokes before returning to touch the rest of me. All the while, he slowly rutted against my thigh, moaning into my skin when he got close and stopping his movements all together for about a minute before continuing.

But I was growing impatient and squirmy. So I grabbed his face, pulled him up to kiss me, and wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Fuck me, Spencer, please," I begged, kissing his jaw and shivering at the way he whimpered hearing his name fall from my lips.

He adjusted us for a moment before sliding into me slowly, and we both let out some of the most filthy sounds I'd ever heard. Every movement and sound we made from then on was frantic, desperate, and so full of need that I was almost positive I wasn't even alive anymore. Was I even ever alive at all? Did life exist?

"I can't... I'm go—gonna..."

Spencer suddenly coming to a halt and coming inside me was all I could feel, and it brought me back to my senses. I breathed out his name as he continued emptying everything he had into me, just like he'd admitted to me that he wanted back in the coffee shop. I was close myself, but with his halted movements, I didn't get there.

As I moved one of my hands down to rub my clit, he grabbed my wrist and pinned it above my head, pulling out and then plunging back into me, causing me to gasp.

"That's my job, angel," he murmured sweetly, just as he began slowly fucking his cum into me.

If I wasn't already in trouble, that would have destroyed me.

It didn't take long before I was crying out his name and orgasming for the fourth time that night. It was the most powerful one I'd had... well, ever, if I was being honest. My back gradually lifted off the bed and my eyes were screwed so tightly it felt like they were bruising.

But God be damned if I didn't want to experience that whole feeling over and over again for the rest of my life.

He stayed there for a moment, leaning over me and brushing the softest kisses to my temple as we caught our breaths. Eventually, though, and I wasn't sure how long exactly we'd been wrapped up in each other, he pulled out and laid beside me. And if it wasn't for his cum dripping out of me, I would have probably fallen asleep right there and been happy.

As if he was able to read my mind, Spencer sat up and brushed some of the hair from my face. "I'll go get something to clean you up real quick. Don't move."

I giggled, feeling light-headed and completely blissful as I caught him in our afterglow, taking in his beauty and basking in it like the sun. "I wouldn't go anywhere even if I could."

It wasn't until he came back and started cleaning between my legs with a warm washcloth that I realized what I said.

It took even longer for me to realize that he'd grabbed and put back on his underwear and pants.

As he tossed the washcloth into the laundry basket in the corner of my room, I sat up and reached for his sweater, slipping it on before he could say otherwise. It smelled like him and fit just right, which made me feel all warm and happy.

"Did you, um... want me to stay?" he asked softly not stepping any closer.

Yes.

"It, uh... would probably be better if you left. But... You can stay for an hour or two before you go home?"

Of course it was only a suggestion, because I couldn't make him do anything. But I asked it like a question, because I really wanted him to stay, just for a little bit longer if he couldn't stay the whole night.

Spencer nodded, smiling, and looking a little relieved if I was reading him right. "You should try to go to the bathroom first. Urination after sex is essential to prevent UTIs."

Smiling, I got up from the bed and kissed him on the cheek before grabbing a pair of clean underwear from my drawer and walking to the bathroom.

When I came back with a freshly washed face, my jewelry discarded, and feeling refreshed and ready to fall asleep, he was laying on my bed with his eyes closed and his arms crossed over his bare chest. Thinking better of it, I took off his sweater and threw it at him before rummaging through my drawers for a night shirt of my own.

"You could have kept it on," he said quietly, even as he put the shirt back on himself.

I shrugged, slipping on a large brown tee-shirt and climbing into bed under the covers. "You can't go home without a shirt."

"Right..." He sounded a little sad, but maybe I was just imagining it.

I rolled over on my side and looked at him, already feeling myself start to drift off. But I forced my eyes open and reached out to brush my fingertips through his hair. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

"Of course," was all he said, a small smile adorning his lips.

I hummed and nestled in closer to him, and his hand came down to rub the inside of my arm.

And as much as I tried to stay awake, just so he would stay longer, inevitably I fell asleep, hearing Spencer humming the melody to my favorite classical piece.

***

My arms stretched out, seeking his warmth even though I knew it wouldn't be there. I told him, made it a point to make sure he knew he had to leave after I fell asleep.

So why did I feel saddened by his disappearance?

I groaned into my pillow and stretched my body, already feeling it ache from all that... strenuous activity from the night before. When I opened my eyes and turned my head, I saw just a glimpse of the sun peeking through the curtains in my bedroom, illuminating what looked like a piece of paper on the other pillow next to me.

I slowly sat up and grabbed it, rubbing my eyes to will myself to read it. I already figured it would be another note from Spencer, but my hear fluttered when I read it nonetheless.

Not sure when I'll be free to meet again, but I'd like to keep in touch— As much as I love when you call me Stranger, I'd prefer to be anything but.

Sweet dreams, — Stranger Spencer

Yeah. I was definitely in trouble.

***

“All my pleasure choked by pain Since I let you get away. I should’ve tied you to the bed When I had you in the flesh. Now I’m chained to the memories.

How the music played loud. How my hair came down. How you kissed my mouth With a fire I can’t put out.

Why does it feel like torture Not to have your skin on mine?”

—Liz Longley, Torture

SERIES TAGLIST: @bluesunrise02 @meowiemari​ @teenwolfgirl90

PERMANENT TAGLIST:  @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes

(Please let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! Thank you!)

[medusinestories]

Aaa Miranda is in this ep and so of course this got Long!

Black Sails, III (S1 ep03)

- I just LOVE the domestic scenes of Flint waking up at home, surrounded by white crisp linen, wearing an oversized shirt, and going straight to a pot of something that smells good (I'm guessing it's tea or a spice he intends to use afterwards). And also how, outside of the rough life at sea, he's actually delicate, wincing when Miranda tends to him a bit roughly.

- I think a reason why I didn't really understand Miranda on my first watch is because she's sulking in a very cool/restrained way in these scenes. She's relieved that Flint's back, but finds small ways to put him down (commenting on the blood on her floor, chiding him for not telling her about the wound, stinging him with disinfectant) that express that she's not altogether happy with him/his behaviour.

- In the meanwhile, Flint's back to being Captain Oblivious. In spite of Miranda's little digs he's so smug about having found the schedule that he doesn't notice that she's unhappy. It's only when she doesn't jump for joy when he gives her the Middleton book that he cottons on that she’s not in a great mood.

- Also, I'll die on the "Flint is bi" hill, and to me the way Flint looks at Miranda when she's fixing his bandages is not only smug but also seductive - she’s the one who’s not receptive in this moment. But the fact that Miranda talks of "having you all to myself" in the same conversation also suggests that their relationship is (still) romantic/sexual. (and while I’m on my unpopular opinion spree, I don’t want to hear anything about “straightbaiting”: reducing Flint and Miranda’s relationship to a trick used by the creators to make the audience think Flint is straight is deeply disrespectful of whatever these two characters share)

- We get to see a lot of Silver writing out the contents of the stolen page, and boy is he proficient with a quill and ink. Where/how/why did a little thief he learn to read and write? This definitely isn't the typical education of a London orphan.

- "Don't torture me, my pain threshold is very low, and I'd say anything to make it stop"... so Silver is threatening to be incoherent and/or inaccurate under torture? A pretty weak argument when faced with someone who wants to torture you for information. And this reminds me that Gates (and Flint, and Billy though he looked very ill at ease) was ready to torture Max in the previous episode to get information, though he presented it as a last resort. And yet here Flint snorts and walks away when Billy suggests torture decides to take Silver along with their crew. So how is Silver different from Max, here? Could it possibly be related to the fact that he and Flint eyesex stare at each other all through the conversation, hmm?

- Back to Breaking Billy: Billy wants to do everything in his power to prevent the crew from finding out that Silver is the actual thief, imo mostly because he doesn't want the crew to find out that he lied to them about Singleton. Billy is shown to be a terrible liar: when he brings Silver to Randall, saying Silver lost a bet to him, Randall immediately tells him that there's no betting onboard, catching him out and putting him in an awkward situation. Gates also warned Billy off canvassing to find out if the crew is still angry with Flint, and was quite right: Morley and Turk immediately figure out what he's doing. However, by the end of the episode, he also uses his reputation of being honest to convince Morley that Singleton was, indeed, a thief. I wonder how he feels about using his reputation of honesty to cover up a lie.

- In the meantime Silver actually does what Billy was trying to do very badly: he finds out who's still against Flint. Unlike Captain Oblivious, Silver has somehow intuited that Billy needed to find the dissenters, possibly because he's figured out that Billy hates keeping up the lie. In any case, he plays double agent in order to gain Billy’s trust (perhaps a bad strategy to gain an honest man’s trust... just saying).

- Hornigold, after an incredibly pompous tirade about the noble origins of the chair he’s sitting on, has the gall to call Flint arrogant and presumptuous. Apparently, arrogant and presumptuous is the kind of people who Gates is friends with/drawn to. I also can't help but wonder why Gates believes that Hornigold's crew knows and trusts him and that it'll be easy for him to captain them. I wonder if Hornigold used to have Gates as a Quartermaster, pre-Flint. The fact that Hornigold tells Gates that he's starting to speak like Flint, in a reproachful tone, could also  be a clue.

- Gates' advancing age is a major subject in this episode, with Hornigold saying that Gates is one of the rare people who's actually getting dumber with age, and Rackham playing on Gates' doubts about his physical condition and mental alertness to convince him to enrol Vane in their capture of the Urca. Gates himself mentioned previously that he doesn’t plan on pirating all his life. Interestingly, Flint doesn't once suggest that he has any doubt about Gates’ ability to captain a ship, and I really don’t think he has (both a sign of great trust, but also a Captain Oblivious trait, as he’s seemingly blind to Gates’ anxiety and possibly the reality of Rackham’s comment about Gates’ physical condition).

- In this episode, Miranda hands her copy of Meditations to Richard Guthrie. Some people have asked why she'd hand something so revealing about Flint to someone like Guthrie. At the point where she gives the book to him, he: 1) doesn't know who she is (she refuses to answer when asked) 2) is supposedly bedridden and being guarded by an armed man, and therefore 3) wouldn't be able to guess who "T.H." is with the information that he currently has. She didn't expect Richard Guthrie that would be a sneaky bastard who was less wounded than he appeared to be and who’d go snooping around her house at the first occasion (btw, snooping parallel: Guthrie in Flint’s house finds out personal information and Silver in Flint’s cabin finds out strategic information). I think that what Miranda wanted was to have someone she could talk to about Meditations, a book that she, her husband, and Flint had all enjoyed, and that she likely couldn’t share with Flint anymore because it’s too painful a subject for him.

- Which brings me to Miranda's situation: her loneliness and the precariousness of her life is already framed quite clearly in this episode. The pastor sends spies to watch her house when Flint is around, and openly asks her to join his congregation so that he can save her from Flint and the impending arrival of the Navy. In the meantime, the crew believe she's at the centre of Flint's "evil": some believe that she's a witch who controls Flint, and Morley tells Billy that she's the reason why Flint treats the crew like pawns.

- The whole Flint/Gates workplace comedy scenes never fail to crack me up. Flint laughing at the suggestion Vane should captain the second ship, followed by "you're serious", and Gates doing damage control in a very restrained tone at first, then the second time screaming insults at Flint... just... *chef's kiss*

- Rackham is shown to be incredibly devious and persuasive in this episode. He manages to convince Gates to convince Flint to take on his worst enemy as a work partner (in a moment when he's getting into Gates' head, he goes as far as to imitate his Yorkshire accent!). He's also extremely aware that Vane isn't all that interested in money, but definitely interested in what Eleanor will think of him. I’d also note that if someone is callous about Max in this episode, it’s him: he sends Vane to “deal with her”, expecting him to kill her off.

- As much as we know that Flint's "tough captain" behaviour is partly an act, we tend to forget that Vane is also shown to be keeping up appearances in order to remain a leader of an extremely difficult/unruly crew. I didn't address the punch in the face he gives Eleanor in ep 1, but he explicitly says this was to avoid losing face in front of his men after she punched him. The same goes for the capture/beating/rape of Max: "what you did required an answer", he tells her. But then chooses to secretly set her free rather than rape/kill her as he’s expected to do. He's obviously smitten with Eleanor, and is the one who initiates tender moments after sex. This is why I can never really dislike this ship, because it's between two very damaged people who are at odds mostly because they’re in a power struggle where they each have to look strong/powerful.

- I hate hate hate the whole Max-rape plot, as I'm sure most of the fandom also does. I do get that Max is furious with Eleanor, and possibly extra-furious because Eleanor instantly turns saving Max from Vane's crew into a strategic move where she punishes Vane (ironically, the one who wanted to let Max go) by forcing Vane’s crew into joining Flint, rather than focusing on, say, Max’s wellbeing. But "Max wants to hurt Eleanor/is hurting from the breakup so badly that she willingly submits to being raped/beaten by the crew, AGAIN"... hrm. I have trouble connecting this self-destructive side of Max's personality with the character we see after her ordeal. Again, opinions welcome because I may be missing/misunderstanding something, but I feel like the writers didn’t really know what they were doing with her character at this point.

[slowlyreadinghouseofmirth]

Page 7

In truth, he had never liked her as well as at that moment -> Selden's affections here are plain to see, made so especially by subordinate clause 'in truth' which conveys an honesty and freshness about his feelings. Most importantly, he likes her when she is being her true self, unconventional, and willing to take risk. It's likely informed by his disillusion with high society and finding commonality in someone willing to disregard its etiquette. This is where Lily is unique.

There's also this sense that Selden likes Lily because she is impulsive and this sparks his curiosity to try and understand why she does the things she does-- understand Lily as a person.

He knew she had accepted without afterthought: -> This reaffirms Lily's lack of hesitancy, which alludes to how willing she is to be in Selden's company. It also shows how comfortable she is with him as she is aware of the rumours that could occur but never merits them with being a possibility, showing great trust.

Alternatively, being aware of the risks and having not afterthoughts could suggest that she doesn't fully understand the risks' depth and nuance as in future the situation at Monte Carlo would suggest, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

he could never be a factor in her calculations -> there's a colon that separates this clause from the previous one which suggests this is an explanation for Lily's certainty. To me this would point more towards Lily not really associating the risk of rumours with Selden because she trusts him so much. i.e she does not think of him when she thinks of the risks. But given that they are going up to his apartment it seems strange that Selden would not think himself a factor in her decision. It's therefore possible that he thinks that Lily does not think of him worthy of great consideration.

Also the noun 'calculations' would suggest a lot of thought had gone into the decision where it was previously implied it was one of impulse. This seems like Selden thinks that Lily is playing an intricate game, which further demonstrates his curiosity about her and need to understand her.

there was a surprise, a refreshment almost, in the spontenaity of her consent -> This further contrasts Selden's perception of Lily's 'calculations' and I think the narration is a fine weave between objective reality--where Lily is impulsive-- and Selden's subjective perceptions-- where Lily appears impulsive but there is something more complex informing her decisions. I think this is meant to show that Selden is blinded somewhat by his affections for Lily, seeing things deeper than what are there or what everybody else sees. Alternatively, we as the reader lack Selden's sight into the complexities of Lily and so she is introduced to us as other people see her, which isn't well at all, and we have to learn how Selden sees her. It's a challenge to care for Lily as he does.

The spontaneity invokes a light hearted and refreshing feeling of being in love which mirrors the honest of truth mentioned earlier.

So there's Selden's surprise at Lily being so spontaneous which draws back to a previous point about she is unique for being impulsive almost reckless. It's like we get a sense of her character and her environment from how the two are at odds with each other. Lily is impulsive; noone else of her class should be like that. In a way that makes her free from the system and yet shows her struggle against it but ultimately her struggle will be more defining.

She noticed the letters and notes heaped on the table -> I assume that this is a reference to future letters although I don't know if they would be the same ones. If they were, I don't even have the mental capacity to unpack that. Just the thought that Lily's fall is inevitable, that even when she is happy, having a nice time, an unknown omen lurks within the same room that will bring her sorrow... oh its symbolic, for sure. But I don't want to think about it.

Lily sank into one of the shabby leather chairs -> the verb 'sank' shows how at home Lily really is with this kind of surroundings, how the shabby whilst not fashionable or expensive, is comfortable. From this we and the the pile of letters we get an image of a a slightly disorderly but well-lived in home. This is one of the tragedies where we see the possibility of what her future with Selden could look like where it is unconventional but Lily is comfortable at home even with it.

"How delicious to have a place like this all to oneself! What a miserable thing it is to be a woman," -> I love Lily's exaggerated turns of phrases like 'delicious' and the exclamations; I think Wharton's emphasis on these exaggerations is to capture Lily's innocence through her speech by making it similar to that of a child who is easily excitable.

Again with the exaggeration but this time with 'miserable', we get the sense that Lily has found the world difficult as a woman to live in but miserable seems too strong of a word, certainly at this stage in the book and is sort of hidden within her other hyperbolised expressions. Maybe this creates a kind of cry-wolf situation where, when Lily properly starts to struggle, people don't take notice not only because it wasn't the done thing to do to talk about struggles but also because of her melodramatic personality, everyone thought the same stuff was happening as it had before and Lily was making a big fuss over nothing.

There is repetition of 'miserable' in association to being of female sex further down the page which is another example of Lily's melodrama. But at this point we as a modern audience start to question if she is actually alright (or at least I did). I'm not sure if a contempary audience if the time would have given the strict taboo over discussing any kind of struggle financial/physical health etc. let alone the discussion of mental health. From the impression I get of the time, the only real source of outlet for people struggling with mental health beyond self medication was art, which makes me wonder as to the position Wharton is writing this from.

she leaned back in a luxury of discontent -> The juxtaposition of 'luxury' and 'discontent' raises an important theme that wealth does not equate happiness and that Lily is not happy as a socialite but happy in the company of Selden, and that actually money is the source of Lily's unhappiness. In this specific context, she is lamenting her lack of freedom to live the lifestyle that Selden does.

"Even women," he said "Have been know to enjoy the privaledges of a flat." -> Putting the discourse marker directly after the subject of 'women' breaks it apart from the rest of the sentence and emphasises the extraordinariness of women being able to live independently. But it also raises the possibility of it and suggests that Selden thinks Lily is extraordinary and unconventional enough to achieve the possibility if she chose to.

"Oh governesses– or widows. But not girls– not poor, miserable, marriageable girls!" -> Again we have the breakdown of womanhood into distinct classes like governess, widows, and girls,which creates the idea that there's no intersections between any of them and is a reflection of of societies fixation for categorisation which loses sight the complexity of situations and problems. And it also makes it easier to place social stigmas like those on governesses and widows. Those stigmas are made apparent here but in contrast to how Lily describes girls, being a governess or a widow seems desirable.

In the list of adjectives 'poor, miserable, marriageable', marriageable is equated to these other adjectives and we see that Lily associates marriage with a poverty of kind, of the heart.

It's also interesting that Lily talks about herself as a girl where Selden speaks of her as a woman. Lily plays up her innocence as she has probably been taught to to make desirable marital match, but with that Lily carries around an air of immaturity and naïvity; she's still very child-like. Perhaps that's a part of her that's trying to cling to her youth so she doesn't have to face her future where she will need to marry to survive. Lily sees her adulthood as a constraint on her and her desires whereas Selden sees her potential.

"you mean Gerty Farish," she smiled a little unkindly. "But I said marriageable–" -> Okay so definitely a little tone deaf on Lily's part buts she's honest to a fault and her honesty is refreshing and entertaining.

I'm no expect on autism and don't claim to be but there's something about Lily's mannerisms here that reminds me of people who I know and am very close with who are autistic. And it makes me wonder if Lily was autistic and neurodivergence was recognised in her time if her fate would have been any different.

"Her cook does the washing and her food tastes if soup. I should hate that you know." -> I just love the imagery of the first sentence, it strikes my funnybone. I guess it also illustrates that Lily's privileged upbringing if she thinks this is a bad situation to live in.

Okay I'm going to bring in a bit of a technical term to describe the verb 'should'. So it's a modal verb (expressing possibility based on context) but specifically a deontic modal verbal, meaning that Lily's hate depends on social rules. When she says she should hate it it implies that society wants her to hate it but she wouldn't necessarily hate it. That's what that verb phrase implies in today's english, but language has changed since the time it was written so it may not have been written with this meaning, especially as a signifier of an older text is the use of modal verbs in places we wouldn't today and a lot more of them.

The shift from Selden's reflections to the quick dialogue and short simple sentences of action creates a lively and charged atmosphere that feels almost flirtatious in its rhythm but by the nature of the content is more domestic (preparing afternoon tea). The balanced turn taking feels comfortable in that they both have equal power in the conversation, being allowed to say what they want to and being listened to. It goes towards simulating what a possible future could be and also shows how happy they are in this moment.

[pompompurin1028]

Ok, I just finished "The Setting Sun" and wow I may have read a little too fast towards the end because I was so excited and eager to finish but I'm very much in awe of the whole novel. I hope you don't mind if I just put down my thoughts about it :')

Ig I should put a SPOILER WARNING and obviously, there's:

TW: Mentions of suicide

First off, my opinions of the main cast:

I honestly had very neutral feelings towards Naoji in the beginning but shortly after his suicide and his note to Kazuko I felt that I understood him a lot more. Maybe it was partly because the story took place in Kazuko's POV that I had a more discontented viewpoint of him but afterward I felt I understood him more as a person.

With Kazuko, I personally liked her character and the fact that she didn't seem like she was written to be the "perfect woman" like I've seen in some novels. She has flaws and I think her love for her mother is something I found interesting. Although towards the end, I felt that her love for Mr. Uehara sort of anchored her down.

Kazuko and Naoji's Mother was honestly my favorite character of the whole series. I adored her from start to finish. All the way from when she was first introduced she had a sophisticated and genuinely kind aura and when she died I honestly felt a little part of me die as well, haha. But her last line in the book: "It must have been a terrible rush for you" pulled my heartstrings a lot.

Secondly, I just wanted to ramble about some of my favorite quotes from the book lol

The first quote I highlighted was a line Kazuko says: "...The ones who die are always the gentle, sweet, and beautiful people." Which honestly felt so Dazai-like. In both the case of Dazai-sensei and the BSD version of him. There were so many times I wondered if it was the character speaking or Dazai-sensei himself adding himself into the character.

Another one I liked was "I wonder how it would be if I let go and yielded myself to depravity." I don't really have a comment on it, I just sort of liked it lol.

I highlighted so many in all honesty but I also wanted to point out this one: "The dying are beautiful, but to live, to survive--those things somehow seem hideous and contaminated with blood." Again, it just seemed so beautifully raw and just something I envision BSD Dazai saying and believing as well.

In Naoji's suicide note I almost felt as though it was coming from not just him but from Dazai-sensei as well. Which I'm beginning to see is a recurring pattern in the novel. In particular, this one line stood out to me: "Why must I go on living after what has happened? It's useless. I am going to die. I have a poison that kills without pain. I got it when I was a soldier and have kept it ever since."

I loved the Snake Metaphors(?) throughout the story. And especially Kazuko and Naoji's POV of their mother and how they call her "the last lady of Japan" I think they truly honor her and it's interesting to see such two somewhat lost and "tainted" characters almost obsess over this "light" and genuinely kind woman they hold in such high regard. It almost reminds me of BSD Dazai's opinion of Odasaku or even Atsushi.

That's mostly it- I just really wanted to talk about those things and overall I loved it a lot. It's been a while since I've been so absorbed in a book so reading it felt very relaxing and at the same time so riveting. I hope you don't mind me popping into your inbox and chattering on about this :')

Okay, before I begin, Ariel please don't apologize for putting down your thoughts here. I love discussing Dazai-sensei's novels, and I can't even begin to express how giddy, excited and overjoyed I am to receive this ask of yours. And please if you would ever like to discuss more of his works, feel free to chat with me as well, via asks or on discord it doesn't matter😭❤, I'm always down for it. And this whole thing is me rambling over this so please bear with me haha.

And, I want to say, I was extremely eager to read and finish the novel as well as I continued on reading. It is strangely alluring and compelling. And honestly, I tend to be in awe of Dazai-sensei's thoughts and writing as well😫💕.

Okay, so before I begin to address your thoughts on the novel. Let me write down some background information on the novel to hopefully give you maybe a better understanding of it and Dazai-sensei as well?

The book was published in 1947, not long after the end of the Second World War which ended in 1945. The book in general talks about the state of Japan after the Second World War, and the decline of the aristocracy that came with it. (It should be noted that Dazai-sensei came from an aristocratic background as well, but he also seems to have a sense of shame towards it). The title of the book is literally a metaphor for the decline of Japan. Japan is often known as the "land of the rising Sun", and therefore "The Setting Sun" as the title is fitting for this theme.

And well, this defeat created according to here (an article written in Chinese unfortunately😥) caused a great change in moral values in the Japanese society, which caused an uproar for democracy. Dazai-sensei, however, was quite critical of this, as he sees this as a sign that the Japanese do not feel any guilt or remorse for their actions in the war that took place. (From what I've read Dazai-sensei in his works is very much known for his sense, albeit unusual for Japanese writers from what I read, of guilt, remorse and in a sense seeking for atonement, in one of his prose he even wrote that he writes literature for "remorse, confession and reflection" [my translation from my native language]).

Also, it should be noted that The Setting Sun is also deeply inspired by a diary written by one of Dazai-sensei's lovers (especially chapters 1 to 5 I believe). However, Dazai-sensei himself is best known for his I-novels and their semi-biographical elements. In one of his short stories, or prose in his book I am reading, he confesses that he cannot write things he doesn't know or hadn't felt for himself...

Now onto your thoughts on the novel!

Naoji, I honestly felt the same about him at first, but the more I dove into the novel, especially in the chapters Moonflowers and his note to Kuzuko, I felt more connected to him. And when I read the novel I felt as though Dazai-sensei had actually reflected a part of himself in Naoji, and I read something from what @/bsd-bibliophile had said which confirmed that perhaps Naoji was in a sense an extension of Dazai-sensei himself. (Same for Mr. Uehara I should note, who is also an extension of Dazai-sensei, which I had also noted as well when reading the novel).

And yes! I loved Kuzuko as well, and I have to agree with your statement about her love for Mr. Uehara. I was somewhat disappointed with that as well. But I actually had just been reading on something today which is a bit interesting. However, I do not know enough on the topic yet, nor am I entirely confident at myself explaining it at the moment, but I will talk about it briefly down here.

CW Religious Mentions [Christianity] (Feel free to skip if it makes you uncomfortable <3 For this is simply for literature analysis uses)

Before I begin, I should note that Dazai-sensei is by no means a "religious person", many scholars do not believe so either. It was mentioned in a paper that he even holds a critical view of the Church. However, Dazai-sensei commonly mentions the Bible in well the prose of his that I am currently reading (which brought me to research this topic). It was written in some papers that I am reading that he simply understood the Bible through his own means and not what the Church says (perhaps he sees it as a piece of literature as well in a sense...). Some papers say that he formed his unique views of the need to find "atonement" for his own guilt due to this, which some say is not often seen in Japanese authors.

I'm getting off-topic, but what I'm trying to say is that some scholars say that that action by Kuzuko might've been an allusion in a sense. But what the paper was trying to say was that it was meant to be something powerful? But, personally, I'm not sure what I think of it, it might be a bit far-fetched. But I just wanted to make a note of it.

End of CW

And yes! I do agree I loved their mother as well. I loved how genuine and kind she was. I think she is my favourite too, but she also acted as a form of symbolism for the theme of the novel I believe, which I will talk about briefly later on.

"...The ones who die are always the gentle, sweet, and beautiful people."

I really liked this quote too actually! And yes, I can definitely see Dazai-sensei saying this... It is hard to tell which part is him confessing, but most of his work tends to have elements of his own feelings and thoughts. Personally, I think it might be Dazai-sensei himself speaking... But I'm not sure, but it should be noted that Dazai-sensei held the concept of "tenderness" in high esteem (other people have also mentioned it here).

And honestly, I get what you mean when you say you don't know what to say about it haha. Sometimes authors just put sentences and words together so beautifully.

And yes, I definitely understand that! I felt that as well, and as I said, Dazai-sensei seems to have put elements of himself into Naoji...

And ahh the snake metaphor! I read on it a bit before, and some say that it might've been symbolizing the decline of Japan/the aristocracy. And the use of the term "the last lady of Japan" seems to symbolize the fall of the old traditions of Japan. It had seemed to me that their mother was a symbol of the "old Japan" that had fallen after the war.

And yes, they do hold her in very high esteem! I wrote that in my analysis as well before! From what I have read, Dazai-sensei does seem to hold such people highly, especially those that are honest and genuine it seems. And yes, exactly, it reminds me of BSD Dazai as well T^T.

And please, thank you for coming over to chat with me about it haha. You could probably tell by how long this is how excited I am about such topics😅. Don't hesitate to come by if you want to chat more! And I'm also really glad that you liked the book as well <33

[thegrimzuera]

1 + 4 for the ask game? I'm always down to hear more about Autumn! 😁❤️🧡

Ahhh you are the sweetest 💛 thank you!

Spoilers for my Kiribaku (Bakugou centric) fanfic In the Roaring Autumn are below the cut. If you haven’t read it yet, click the link to the story and take a gander! These answers are in response to this fanfic ask meme I reblogged yesterday.

1. If you had to create a soundtrack for your story, what songs would you choose? Why?

This is such a great question, and I’m going to interpret it more as songs that remind me of my story and the characters than as if I were constructing a film with background music.

The Lakes - Taylor Swift

This song is one I heard well into the writing process of In the Roaring Autumn, but it was one of those situations where I felt like my brain had been hacked and the guts of my story were spilled out in this gorgeous, cottagecore-esque song. The idea of running away into nature—away from society and the eyes that are always watching a little too closely—is so true to Katsuki’s desires in the story.

Lines like “I’m not cut out for all these cynical clones/ these hunters with cell phones” and “what should be over burrowed under my skin in heart-stopping waves of hurt/ I’ve come too far to watch some name-dropping sleaze tell me what are my words worth” stand out to me in particular. They really speak to Katsuki’s struggle to let go of his own past and all the devastation and guilt he feels because of it, and also the ways in which other people in his life (primarily Midoriya in this case) have tried to tell Katsuki what he meant with his own actions and what he must do in order to redeem himself.

And of course the fact that the narrator of the song isn’t escaping alone. They’re going to the lakes to look over cliff sides and be with the only person they trust—the only person who can understand the ways which they’ve been cast out. One might even say Kirishima is the “red rose” that “grew up from ice frozen ground.” Katsuki is escaping the bounds of society, but as the song says in its final line, not without his muse—not without Kirishima.

I Was an Island - Allison Weiss

I have no idea whether anyone else in the world knows this song or not (it could be a beloved classic or a complete unknown for all I know), but in my opinion it is THE quintessential Kiribaku song, and therefore it must be included. I have a feeling that it works in most any universe that includes Kiribaku, even (and especially) canon. But, I think of it particularly in regards to the last third or so of the story where Katsuki begins to pull back out of fear, deciding it’s better to avoid Kirishima altogether than to tell the truth about his struggles. The song deals with a lot of the same things Katsuki is going through—this idea that he was a loner and he liked it that way, and then Kirishima came along and changed all of that.

I imagine that Katsuki would particularly resonate with lines like “I was a fighter and I was so brave/ but I lowered my sword when you held me and swore you’d stay stay stay” “I was a wolf dear/ apart from the pack/ but you heard my cry in the dead of the night and told me that you had my back” and “I’m no good on my own anymore/ what did I do to deserve this/ what did you do to me/ baby come back, you know I don’t wanna be free”.

Medicine - Daughter

This song is so heavy and angsty and I love it for Autumn. I imagine that it could be from either/both Katsuki and Eijirou’s perspectives and they try to help each other out of unhealthy coping mechanisms and numbness. It’s all about how they both see each other’s worth and wish to communicate that. It’s about encouraging the best in each other, encouraging accountability, but also saying “hey, if you mess up once in a while, that doesn’t change who you are and what you’re capable of”. The opening line starts it off right for me “Pick it up/ Pick it all up/ And start again./ You’ve got a second chance/ You could go home/ Escape it all, it’s just irrelevant.”

Don’t mistake my brevity for lack of love for this song. I just thing the song really speaks for itself. If somehow you haven’t heard it in the blessed year of 2021, please go listen now! It’s one of my favorites.

That’s enough songs I suppose 😅 considering I rambled so much.

4. What are your main character(s) motivations? What do you consider their main drivers?

This question actually made me pause! I think because it’s been a while since Autumn ended and I want to get it right. At the time of writing I was very connected to Katsuki as a character, so while I didn’t necessarily ever put this into words, I definitely knew his motivation. I’ll start with him and try to put myself back in his shoes for a moment.

Katsuki’s motivation more than anything else, I think, is to feel safe. There may have been a time when he wanted to be the best, but we come into his life at a point where he’s kind of thrown his hands up and said “Fuck that bullshit!” It’s something that Katsuki realizes is out of character for himself—so out of character that he no longer knows how to function. He’s living his life on the run in a way, choosing isolation as a means of protecting himself from things that he sees as threats to his well-being: consequences, human relationships, the wrestling team as a whole, and the concept of processing his trauma. We see him build wall after wall throughout the story, but we also see Kirishima peeling those walls away brick by brick. Soon enough Katsuki stops looking at Kirishima as a threat to his safety, and he begins to see him as a help to his safety. It’s a beautiful change, but through it all Katsuki’s motivation stays the same. I would say even with the lessons that Katsuki learns and the ways he grows, the moral is never that he was wrong for prioritizing his mental health and well-being. That was very important to me.

Kirishima’s motivation is a little more difficult for me to pin down (haha, wrestling puns), especially in hindsight. I think I’m looking for some sort of deep or abstract answer when in reality, the thing driving Kiri is the desire to be good. He’s made some poor choices in the past, and they were choices he knew were poor even when acting them out. It’s something that weighs heavily on him—something that has altered the way that he lives his life in a very permanent sense. Kirishima wants to do the right thing; it’s the reason he’s so willing to examine Midoriya’s actions and motives when (as Katsuki mentions) everyone else sees Midoriya’s gentle demeanor and assumes the best in him. It’s also the reason that Kirishima emphasizes Katsuki’s own goodness to him. Kirishima knows what it’s like to feel less than, or to feel that you’ve fucked up so supremely that you have no honor at all. Not only does he want to prevent Katsuki from feeling those things, he actually views Katsuki as the morally superior between the two of them and looks to Katsuki as an example of authenticity, honesty, heart, and goodness.

Thank you for sending in these lovely questions! It was so fun to recall where my brain was at the time of writing this story and in some ways examining it from a deeper perspective. I really need to dedicate more time to writing my upcoming fic because CLEARLY I have the urge to spill a lot of words into the universe right now.

[ilove-cedricdiggory]

Remus Lupin and the Professor

Part 2 ❤️

I woke at the sound of my alarms, both magical and muggle. I wasn't really leaving anything about today up to the chance of tardiness.

Slipping on my clothes, feeling slightly strange not needing to put on my yellow hufflepuff robes and matching tie. I had woken slightly earlier than I'm sure I needed to, wanting to make sure that, if I forgot anything, I had plenty of time to fix it before classes started.

I quickly found myself in the Great Hall, moving to the teachers table - finding it already full of plenty of breakfast items. Sitting in my seat, I placed a few things on my own plate, enjoying that I could eat in a comfortable slow pace. I watched as the room slowly filled with students, the morning risers in a much better mood than the others.

"If I remember correctly, Miss. Smith, you were one of the sulky ones back in your day, were you not?" Minerva's voice filled my ears as i chuckled lightly, nodding my head slightly..

"You know, for a hufflepuff, you really aren't a morning person." Sirius' voice rang in my ears as my head laid on the table, attempting to get any more sleep before classes.

"Oh yeah, Siri. Hufflepuff discrimination. Not all of us are exactly the same you know. We do have characteristics and qualities that make us different." I mumbled out to him, glaring at him through a small hole in my eye.

"You know I'm only joking Ry. We know tons of hufflepuffs and you're the only one we let into our group. There has to be something special about you." He continued his teasing, eating a grape from his plate.

"You and I both know, the only reason you guys let me in the group is because Momma Potter would skin you each alive if she found out you guys were making me feel left out at school." James nodded his head at that one, but wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "Come on, you know I didn't have to be told by mom to hang out with you. You're practically my sister."

That part was true, just like my own statement. My parents lived next door to the Potters, but they were both gone quite frequently, leaving me with the Potters. I was a year younger than the Maurauders, meaning that James protected me a bit more, therefore meaning the others did too.

"Practically your sister? I'm wounded. Here I was, telling everyone James Potter was my brother but to you, I'm only practically. I'ma tell momma." I teased, pulling out a quill and spare parchment, acting as if I was writing to his mother.

.."Momma P, I am in deep distress as I write to you. James is going around telling everyone I'm basically a stranger to the family. I don't know what to - HEY! James Potter, give me my letter back!" I laughed as he quickly tore the note to shreds, glaring at me. "You're gonna get me a howler, you go sending her stuff like that. I treat you better than the boys, and that's saying something." I laughed, nodding my head in agreement.

After their first year together, James was always bragging about the other boys to anyone who would listen, especially to us. I had heard so much about them, I practically knew them as well as James. What he had failed to mention was how attractive one in particular was. Although I would ask a few questions if he had written home each day telling me just how attractive his roommate was. But, when the three other boys floo'd into our living room later that summer, I found myself dreaming about the Remus Lupin standing in next to the fire place, shaking his hair free of the black dust that littered it.

"I can't really say you're wrong. Although, I bet I can say that - out of the five of us, you'd prefer me and my sour morning mood in your morning class than any of the boys." I laughed, smiling at the older woman.

"Now, now, that's not true. I do believe I could put up with Mr. Lupin before I could your morning grouchness." My breath caught in my throat as I heard him step closer, hearing his name brought up.

"What about me?" His voice rang in my ears, shaking me at my core. I hadn't heard it in years, 5 years to be exact. It was deeper than it was the last time we spoke. It was almost as he had gained more control of himself, even his voice.

"I am just reminding our lovely Miss. Smith about her horrible morning mood back when you both were students." She smiled fondly at him and I, watching as Remus took the seat next to me now.

"I do believe you're right. She was a bit of a hassle in the mornings then, wasn't she." I closed my eyes, begging the tears to not slip from their home.

Clearing my throat, I forced a smile onto my face and looked at my old professor. "I am so sorry to cut this short, but I simply can't wait to get to my classroom to prepare for my first class. If you'll excuse me." I quickly stood, waking as normally as I could to the end of the table and out of the teachers door, turning to the side and taking a deep breath.

"Rylee." His voice rang through my ears again, causing me to stand as straight as I could. "Mr. Lupin." I greeted, keeping my eyes from his entire frame, not risking it. "Rylee, come on." His voice was soft, much like his voice on my own first day, only many years ago..

I had bid goodbye to the boys, following the rest of the first years onto the boats. I hated that I had to be separated from them, especially James. I hadn't been nervous like this in a few months, the last time being when I met the Maurauders for the first time. I was absolutely terrified of how I would be placed. I didn't want to let anyone down. My parents, the Potters, James, and all of the boys were happily placed in Gryffindor, keeping their legacies proud.

I, on the other hand, was fearing my placement. I knew none of them would be mad at me, no matter what house I was placed in,but my mind did so much damage on it's own - it didn't really matter what reassurance I got from my family, I thought they would hate me.

Being so caught up in my head, I didn't even realize we had already stepped foot into the castle. I was over thinking so much, I missed the view of Hogwarts from the boats. Cursing myself mentally, my feet followed the rest of the first years as we waited for the large doors to open to lead us into the room filled with so many others.

As I walked in, my eyes scanned the room, in desire need to see my brother. Soon, my eyes landed on the four boys, all of them waiving at me. I nervously waved back, smiling a tense smile.

Listening to name after name called, I chewed on the skin surrounding my nails, a terrible habit of mine I had for years now. Soon enough, I glanced around to see myself standing alone, looking up as the sorting hat screamed the house of the student before me, "RAVENCLAW!" Cheers were heard from the table littered with blue robes. The boy smiled widely, walking as quickly as he could to his seat.

"Rylee Smith." I took small, shaky steps to the stool, sitting down on it. Before the hat was placed on my head, I took one last look at the four boys sitting at Gryffindor's table.

"Ahh, ahh, you're quite the student." I heard ring through my head. I bit my lip, listening to it's voice. "You are a nervous one, aren't you." I furrowed my eyebrows at this - weren't all the first years as nervous as I? "Some were, some weren't. It changes with each student." He reads my mind, duh. "You're entire family in gryffindor, eh? I see a lot in you, I really do. You can be brave - but only when you need to be. Incredibly smart, I can tell. Your ambitions are set..hmm. But one thing shines true with you. Yes.. you're heart sits with your loyalty. It doesn't waver, not at all, I can tell. I haven't seen a heart like this, well, sense Helga herself." My eyes widened under the hat as I gulped nervously. But what about James? He would be so ashamed to be associated with anyone other than Gryffindor, and the rest of the Maurauders, I'm sure. "I see one house meant for you, a house I haven't seen one made for quite like this sense it's creator. One that I say shone even stronger with that statement. I'd be incredibly wrong if I didn't say..."

"HUFFLEPUFF!" Rang out through the room, vibrating with it's sound. The hat was taken off my head as I heard the cheers coming from the table of yellow. But, before I took a step to them, my feet were carrying me into the arms of my brother. "I'm so sorry, I really am. You must hate that I'm hufflepuff, you just must. All of you." I sniffed, hating that I let them all down.

"Hey, hey." I was pulled at arms length, listening to James speak. "Rylee, I don't hate you, none of us do." He spoke, looking down at me, "Right boys?" He didn't even have to look up before they were all nodding in agreement. "Ry, in all honesty, if you weren't put in hufflepuff, we'd have thought the hat would need a check up. You're the most loyal person we all know. Hufflepuff just got the best first year in the entire class, and that's all you." Remus was speaking now, having come out from behind James. His voice incredibly soft and caring. The three others nodded their head to agree, before James pulled me back into his arms.

"Now, if you don't go sit with your house so we can all eat, I think I might have to send mom a letter and tell her you're not eating." He laughed softly, kissing my forehead gently before pushing me softly towards my table. I nodded, waving at them slightly before moving to sit down in the spot saved for myself, greeting a few of the hufflepuff's.

"You've gotta give me a chance to talk, Ryle's." That nickname, that stupid, stupid nickname that almost had me coming undone before him. "Like I told Minerva, Mr. Lupin, I do need to prepare myself for my first class. I will see you around." I quickly side-stepped the man before rushing off to the Herbology space, scolding myself for letting the tears fall as I went.

I made myself presentable for each of my classes, attempting to ignore the fact that he was here, wanting to talk to me. I had shrugged him off for years. I had fought off speaking to him sense their funeral. I didn't speak much to him before then either, refusing to come round' James and Lily's house for holidays in fear that he would be there. I was family, but so was he. I could never and would never make James choose between the two of us, but I never made it awkward for us all either.

The day of their funeral was when I saw him again. He was standing there, his body looking far worse than every single one of the full moons combined. I knew mine was too. I wanted nothing more than to walk up to him and let us both find comfort in each other like we did so many times. It wasn't really sexual between the two of us, at least, we never had sex. I had wanted to wait until after school before I had sex. But, we always comforted each other in a way I used to think only soulmates could. But, it turned out, we were further away from soulmates as two could be. He showed me that.

At the end of my first day, I found myself walking to the kitchens, much like I did in my school days. There was one thing that would always be there to comfort me like none other - baking. I had been in the kitchen so many times as a student, many of the house elfs had grown to expect me many times a day. Only, back then, I wasn't just baking for the comfort of it, but to make most kids in Hogwarts my notorious Snickerdoodles.

If there was one cookie I prided myself on, it was my snickerdoodles. They came naturally to me, being as good as ever with my first batch of them. Once I had begun sharing them in my age, I had plenty of students requesting them from me - from all the houses.

Entering the kitchens, I was met with the eyes of the elfs that I had honestly grown to love. "Rylee! Rylee's back!" It had taken just about all seven years, but I had convinced most of them to use my first name.

"Hey guys, I've missed you!" I said, greeting most of them before they let me to the oven. "We know what you're here for. You help you's self." I laughed, nodding at them and pulling out the ingredients to make the cookies.

"Rylee, Rylee, please tell me you have another batch." One of my closer friends from Slytherin was following me to my next class, begging in my ear. "I told you I did, but I gave you some this morning Lux. I don't even know how you could go through them that quickly." I stated, looking up at him. It was only my third year, but I had grown to meet quite a few people through my cookies.

"Leave me alone, Lucius." I heard, turning in my spot to see the man picking on a girl with vibrant red hair, a girl through a specific set of four people I recognized quite quickly. I excused myself from Lux, watching in horror as he pulled out his wand. I found myself stepping in front of the girl, my own wand now in my hand as I glared at the fourth year.

"She said to leave her alone, Lucius." If there was one thing I would be more than happy to do, it's stand up to my friends..or strangers... "Ah, the hufflepuff. Lovely to see you, love. If you'd kindly move, I was speaking to a different readhead." I stood my ground, my eyes as sharp as I could make them. "Lucius, now." Lux had now moved to stand next to me, the look on his face sharper than I had seen on him.

This caused the man to lower his wand and scoff, rolling his eyes. I placed my hand on my friend's arm as a thanks, but quickly moved to check on the older girl. "I told you she was off limits." I heard from the boy before all my attention was on the girl.

"Are you okay? I'm sure you had that, but I can't stand it when he does that to people." I growled, reaching into my bag to pull put the batch of cookies I had told Lux about. "Here, have one, it helps." I placed a cookie in her hands, smiling as she took a small bite. "Who are you? Holy Merlin these are good." She took a bigger bite from the cookie, causing me to smile at her delight. "Oh, sorry, I'm Rylee." I said, smiling at the slightly taller woman.

Her eyes perked, widening at me. "You're the Rylee? Snickerdoodle, Potter next door living, Hufflepuff Rylee?" I flinched at the association, sighing but nodding at her. "That's me." I said softly. "James talks about you so much, all of the boys do. James is always bragging to us about these stinking cookies, saying how amazing they are and rubbing them in our face. I never believed him - none of us did, but merlin they are good. He goes on and on about how he misses them, and you." I kicked the ground, biting my cheek at that.

"He said you've been avoiding him sense your first year. He didn't know why though." I nodded again, looking at the girl. "Yeah, after I was put in Hufflepuff, I didn't think he would want to be associated with one, or the rest of the boys, so I left him alone. He didn't put up much of a fight so I thought he appreciated it. But, here, you take the rest of this batch. Give them to him, and the boys. Tell them I miss them, please." I whispered, smiling at her.

"Oh, shoot, Tan!" I said, stopping a girl in the hallway. "I'm sorry, Lily, but I've gotta ask her about her potions exam." I said my goodbye's quickly, thankful for the excuse, and rushed to the sixth year. "Did you do well? I remember you telling me about it when I dropped the cookies off."

[fe-semi-decent-scenarios]

Could I ask headcanons of Black Eagles flirting and crushing on Byleth (professor?)?

[Ask and you shall receive lol. Lately I’ve been busying myself with long reports, so I needed something cutsey to recharge.(Sorry if it’s complete rubbish lol) It’s not much but I hope you like it!]

Edelgard: 

Ehh. She won’t be a student much longer anyways. 

Byleth will always be her professor...but maybe another title can be ticked onto that list? She hopes so. 

However, she doesn’t go too overboard. Just a few teasing gestures and quips every once in a while to sedate the budding sentiment in her heart 

With more pressing issues over love, Edelgard can’t afford to play the role of lovesick schoolgirl 

She sets side her personal feelings for the professor when around others. Instead they are treated as a good friend and adored instructor. Alongside the present given on Byleth’s birthday are a few other trinkets Edelgard picked up herself, you know, because she’s extra 

When alone her thoughts often drift. There are many occasions where work ends up procrastinated 

She keeps everything bottled up inside and doesn’t even hint at the idea of a crush to anyone. To love is to be compromised, to be compromised is to be weak, and to be weak is to fail

This is something she firmly believes until the support of her peers and affection from her professor begin to challenge it 

Perhaps there is room for love in her future 

“My teacher, you are an important companion to everyone here and to myself. You must never forget that”  

Hubert: 

Oh he is smooooth. 

Yet subtle 

He knows that he shouldn’t become too attached considering what’s to come in the future. His mind and body are her highness’ to command

....well, all good things come in moderation anyways. What’s a little meaningless flirting?

His flirting methods follow the ‘attack of opportunity’ plan. Meaning that he tosses in his quips when the time seems fitting 

He knows what he is doing. Never assume otherwise 

Obviously such conduct towards a teacher is unrefined. Does he care? The guy couldn’t give less of a sh*t 

He has 100% commented on their dancing attire at least once

People should mind their own business lest they want to lose their tongue. Can’t gossip when you can’t speak, right?  

If the professor doesn’t seem to mind then why should he stop? If they recuperate then that’s even better

It’s no fun when prey doesn’t fight back once in a while. 

“Oh do go on. The droll behind your ever so taunting tone is intoxicating. It almost makes this insufferable lecture mildly entertaining” -shots fired. Professor or not, ‘love interest’ or enemy, Hubert does not tone down the sarcasm 

No one even suspects that he has an interest in Byleth. He downright makes it appear that they are his sworn enemy (whether this is intentional or not? You decide) 

Caspar:

‘Flirt’? ‘Caspar’? That’s funny

It’s not that he can’t do it. Caspar can be very charming when he wants to be, but why bother? 

They’re his professor. If he starts kissing up to them then the others might start to think he’s pegging for special treatment 

He also doesn’t want them to like a facade. He wants them to like him

Not that he would turn said special treatment down if offered. He d o e s want to get stronger, and the extra time with his “favorite”*wink* professor is a lucky bonus 

He tends to have a ‘lingering eye’ that’s easy to pick up on if you catch my drift

he is not pure hearted, just a dunce. There is a difference

The boy blushes at every little action without even noticing

He loves to watch them train, both to better his own moves and to admire them without it seeming weird 

Literally everyone knows that Caspar has a thing for Byleth before he knows it himself. He’s the kind that mistakes a crush for admiration 

He’s also a big baby when it comes to them giving other people attention. 

He justifies his interruptions as: “The professor doesn’t have time to do __ for __! They have enough to do as it is!” 

Now what does that translate to in Caspar language?: “The time the professor spends doing __ is time they could spend with our class me” 

Someone help him. He’s so thick headed it’s actually sad 

Petra: 

“My apologies. I will be returning after the clearing of my head” 

She’s unfamiliar with the courting methods in Fodlan. Are they the same as in Bridgid? 

Thoughts of the professor occasionally will interfere with her study time

Also her appetite. Normally she eats plenty at meals since she hates waste, but the professor makes her nervous about her etiquette 

let’s just ignore that Byleth eats like a ravenous boar

She wants to take them to see Bridgid. It’s only natural to want to share the things you love with those you care about 

She embraces the affection she feels. Byleth is a truly wonderful person and the royal family would gladly accept them if Petra expressed her feelings 

When she returns she wants to ask them to accompany her 

For now she will remain at their side both in battle, in leisure, and in spirit 

Petra also isn’t one to approach with caution. The way she flirts is through honesty 

If they do something she likes then she says so. If they look nice or are trying something new then she’ll comment on it. If she sees something in the shop that they might like, then she buys it 

Petra is simple. She does for Byleth what she thinks will make them happy and doesn’t overthink it in the slightest 

Dorothea: 

The newfound feelings aren’t discouraged nor appreciated. It is a battle between practicality and love for her 

Not because of them being a professor, but everything else 

Mercenary, teacher, reincarnate, solider, tactician, etc. 

Such a dangerous profession with so much blood on their hands. Are those the ones she wants to hold for the rest of their days? 

Will they even live long enough to grow old with her? 

She wants a reliable partner to take care of her and not give her a heart attack on a daily basis. So far only one box is checked 

She will not be a widow at such a young age. She refuses 

When these thoughts emerge Dorothea retracts from Byleth. There’s still the open friendliness that was there before, but now an extra barrier has been put up 

She won’t go out of her way to give Byleth special treatment. Her search for a partner other than them will continue on 

Maybe she’ll find someone else to smash these feelings so that there will be no need to confront them 

Only after they ‘die’ will she stop suppressing them. 

“To think that it took such a disaster for me to see the light. Why do people realize such things when it’s too late?” - she focuses on personal growth until the reunion. Relying on another person to prevent the past from reappearing is not what she wants. 

Ferdinand: 

The best way that Ferdinand can communicate his feelings is through words

He tries. He really tries to come across as a potential life partner for the professor. He can only be a student for so long, and they’re close in age. Logically there is nothing wrong with the possibility of a courtship 

but because speaking ‘frilly’ is a normality the effect is not like how he hoped 

When Ferdinand falls, he falls hard. Yes, he is a flirt. Yes, he stretches himself thin trying to please everyone. Yes, he has his quirks that make him extremely confrontational 

So when he finds someone with the ability to make him both strengthen his morals, question the bigger picture, and grow as an individual (after the whole ‘noble’ mine-bomb) it’s a big deal 

Therefore he will not relent in his pursuit of Byleth unless they explicitly tell him to stop. If words don’t work then he instantly pegs for quality time and acts of affirmation 

Greets them every morning, carries their supplies, invites them to tea, delivers lost items, etc. People really do peg him as a kiss ass. 

He doesn’t get the ‘heart flutters’ that people talk about. When he’s beside the professor he just feels energized. Like he could actually beat Edelgard ‘could’ is the key word in that scentence

“Good morning Professor! If your schedule allows it, would you care to join me for tea later this afternoon? Your company would make it the perfect level of sweetness” 

Linhardt: 

A firm believer of “age is but a number”

It’s more of his personal beliefs that tone down any pursuit of the professor. They are currently in a position of power over him that halts any relationship progression at a professional level. 

So as any healthy person does: he vents any growing affection into his studies

He h a t e s how they make him restless.He’ll be feeling drowsy one moment but then their face will pop into his mind 

He can’t even sleep through class. Not with them there 

Actually works in the class’ favor since he starts contributing to the lectures. If you can’t beat them then might as well join them 

This is how it is during pre-timeskip for the most part. Occasionally he will let his thoughts slip but never any action

He has crests to research and Byleth has students that seemingly want to die by the hour. There is literally no time to flirt 

Now AFTER the timeskip, things are different. Linhardt is a blunt person which sometimes works in his favor. Just so happens that flirting comes naturally to him  

most of the time it doesn’t though

“Could you refrain from doing that? It’s distracting”                                      “Linhardt, i’m stretching. How is that distracting?”                                         “You are an attractive individual. Need I say more?” 

Life is short. He has no filter 

Bernadetta: 

“HI PROFESSOR!”                                                                                       “Afternoon Bernadetta. I see you’re out of your room today”                       “W-what? OH! Yes. Y-y-yEs i aM IM SORRY I’LL GO BACK PLEASE DON’T PATRONIZE MEEEEE” 

She’s scared. What’s new? 

The girl never expected to have these feelings. One night she was painting when what was supposed to be a cloud began to resemble her professor 

It was downhill from there.

Her behavior is exactly the same as prior to her feelings. Being a naturally jittery person works to her advantage, no one suspects a thing! 

Compared to simply being friends it will take longer for her to be comfortable 

She will avoid Byleth at all times outside of lessons. It’s just too hard to communicate anymore 

Eventually her outer shell will crack. The once new feelings will begin to feel normal and the old bernie will be back. Jittery, hyperactive, kind, lovable bernie 

[cant-think-of-a-username]

Hi!! I have never gotten this before so I thought it would be super cool to ask for one ahah

may i be matched to a haikyuu character? 🥺 thank you!! <3

Pronouns: she/her

Gender Preference: male

MBTI Type: I just took it for the 1000th time a few days ago and got INFP-T (but I would tend to also get ISFP dsfkjs)

Astrology Placements: Scorpio Sun, Pisces Moon, Gemini Rising, Sagittarius Venus, Pisces Mars (if it helps)

Physical Description: long straight black hair that reaches the middle of my back, dark brown eyes (that apparently makes me look like i have eyeliner sometimes) with long thick black eyelashes, light-medium neutral skin, 5'5", i apparently have long legs, thick thighs, cute butt (LMAO im just listing wut ppl have described of me too sdfkj), soft hands with quite long fingers, pretty basic body i would say sdfjhsd, and i apparently make things look expensive (i love fashion) i would say the best way to describe what i wear is probably (dark) academia but i like just wearing whatever i like--i don't like to limit myself to a certain aesthetic.

Personality Description: with new people/in first meeting, i tend to be quiet or generally don't speak much but once i warm up to you, im a really playful person or at least i really enjoy acting that way.

im honest but i should remember that my words can cut sometimes (rip), ive been described to be incredibly kind (sdfkh)... maybe because i tend to put so much energy and effort and time into other people or my relationships (friends, family, literally anyone that comes into contact with me for a decent amount of time)

i tend to act or do things according to how i feel but despite having that trait of mine or having that inclination, i can still very much be realistic. as i act according to how i feel, i have been described to act younger than my age and i doooo and i aint gonna deny it pfftt ima OWn That sHiT

i have no problem with acting like a child. i love rain, i love water, i love the ocean, i love cafes or the smell of coffee, i love the smell of fresh laundry and feeling the warm fabric (caused by drying in the sun or from a dryer lmfao) of whatever it may be (clothes, bedsheets) on my fingertips..

i love self development or just trying to be better and combined with me loving or liking a lot of different things, i try a lot of things--therefore not really becoming a master at anything dkjfhfsd. and because of that.. (i think) because i try a lot, putting quite a bit of effort into my.. goals (i have perfectionistic and overachieving tendencies) i guess.. when it fails (ofc) im incredibly disappointed, and become pretty... fucking sad hhh and when that happens.. i start to become more lazy/complacent 🤡

..bonus (if u wanna sprinkle some "angst" i guess LMAOO): i overthink a lot (so i start to have difficulty making smarter decisions or thinking of strategies to solve my problems + i still have a sprinkle of self-esteem issues of course... feeling incredibly incompetent is not foreign to me) so i could exaggerate my troubles or make a problem out of nothing 😶, im quite emotional, i have the "dismissive avoidant" attachment style, feeling hopeless quite often aint foreign to me either 😭

bonusbonus: (wow dont i love talking about myself? sdfknsd) i love corgis

Hobbies: dancing, witchcraft, astrology, divination, spirituality, reading fan fiction (LMAOOOO), reading visual novels/playing otome games, painting, drawing, looking into psychology in some type of manner, netflix, swimming, watching anime i guess, trying new things, learning something (new)

Ideal Date: tbh going to a concert of an artist we both enjoy, an arcade or an amusement park (im like a scaredy cat but im almost 100% sure im more likely to go for the “scary” rides if i was with someone i enjoyed hanging out with anyway), probably going on a tropical vacation (cus, beach anddd water activities), water amusement park !!

A Must Have in my Partner: they have to be okay with me pursuing my goals lol; i already have a problem with putting too much energy into others that i dont get to direct that energy onto myself.. so someone who has my best interest in mind + being considerate of me (because.. of that dismissive avoidant attachment style i would say--im just saying this because its the best that i can describe it) and they should be okay with my childlike actions/tendencies lol (like... they shouldnt be repulsed or something like that--that they treat me unpleasantly because of it or something) (oops i just realized thats more than one when u asked just.. one)

extra information: a short drabble would be amazing !!

sorry this was pretty messy and i pretty much just babbled LMAOO

but again, if ever you get to do this (or even if u dont..)

thank you so much!!!

i hope you have an amazing rest of your day hihi <3

sorry it took me a while ! i was just really busy lately and barely got time to write 😅

hope u enjoyy :)

I ship you with..

Nishinoya Yuu !!

- You are the most gorgeous person he knows ;)

- he literally shamelessly approached u the moment he laid eyes on u

- even with ur somewhat quiet first impression, he never gave up making u eventually warm up to him

- doesn’t really mind brute honesty, in fact he thinks of it as a form of bravery

- he also loves seeing your childish side since he himself has one too

- wanna dance around in the rain ?? he will 100% join u !!

- he loves how determined u are to get better and will constantly tell u how proud of you he is for it

- even if things dont go ur way sometimes he will comfort u and tell u that its completely normal to fail sometimes

- there is no overthinking on his watch !

- noya knows how bad it feels and that u definitely deserve a little break but he wont let u laze around too much, trying to help u get back up on ur feet and regain ur confidence is something he never fails to do

- he loves watching u do what u love and is always willing to join u (not that he is always fully understanding of what he is doing)

BONUS :

Cheering you up on a bad day..

You were getting frustrated trying to fix a mistake you made on one of your paintings. You let out a loud groan hiding your face in your hands in exhaustion, finally giving up. Hearing a loud knock on your door, you tell whoever is outside to come in. “HEY, HOW WAS YOUR- ....day ?” noya looks at you with concern in his eyes. “are you okay ?” “yeah i’m fine, its just that this painting won’t look right no matter what i do” you sigh.“maybe i should just throw it away” “you are not gonna throw it away” he says, his tone completely different from before, more serious in fact. “you might just be tired now, so don’t you dare give up now. you can always try again tomorrow” he says walking towards you and holding your hands in his, a little smile forming on his face. “how about you take a break for now ? the sun is really warm and it’s still early; wanna go swimming ?” You look a little unsure. “you still haven’t used that corgi beach towel i got you” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. You chuckle at that, proceeding to look him in the eyes with a small grin forming on you face, “sounds like a plan”...

[bellakitse]

Ooh I love this prompt list! How about “Ah, the puppy dog face. Check mate, huh?”

Pancakes and Coffee Syrup

Opening the bathroom door again, he stops, freezing like a deer caught in the headlights when he finds his boyfriend’s father standing just outside the bathroom. From the way he’s dressed, it’s obvious he’s just come home from the overnight TK told him he was on.

“Good morning, Carlos,” he greets him calmly. Like this is a regular occurrence for them to run into each other outside his bathroom, and instead, not the first time ever that Carlos has spent the night in his house.

*

Carlos spends the night at the Strand household, Owen makes him breakfast in the morning.

30 days of Tarlos - Day 15

Carlos wakes up with a pleasantly warm body next to him. He opens his eyes to find soft green walls instead of his dark navy ones; it takes him a moment to realize he’s not in his bed, and therefore, not his apartment. The night before comes back to him in flashes like a dream. He remembers showing up at the Strand household, TK opening the door with a mischievous grin on his face before he pulled him in by his shirt, his mouth on Carlos’ before he could even say hello.

They’d stumbled towards his bedroom, touching and giggling like schoolboys as they kissed any inch of skin they could reach. When they got to his room, TK had pushed him on the bed, and all Carlos could do was watch in awe as this beautiful man smiled down at him. His green eyes shining as they crinkled at the corners before he climbed into his lap, stealing his breath with every kiss he gave him.

They’d spent the night making love, taking turns pressing into the deepest parts of their bodies until they shook with pleasure.

Carlos has always enjoyed sex, and knows he’s a good and considerate lover who knows how to please his partners. Yet he can honestly say he’s never had sex like the kind of sex he has with TK before. Everything is heightened with TK; his want and need for him are more intense than he’s ever felt with anyone else.

He looks down at the man in question; there are locks of soft brown hair in his face as TK sleeps with his head on his chest, his mouth parted in his sleep to the point that there is a small trail of drool from the corner of his mouth.

Carlos rolls his eyes at himself when he finds it adorable, he’s stupidly gone on this guy, but there’s nothing he can do when his heart thumps funnily over him.

He starts to move, shifting from under TK slowly and quietly, he’s unable to stop his smile when TK whines in his sleep and tries to cling to him. He considers staying for a moment, but he really needs to pee.

He heads for the bathroom to relieve himself. After washing his hands, he splashes some water in his face and steals some mouthwash.

Opening the bathroom door again, he stops, freezing like a deer caught in the headlights when he finds his boyfriend’s father standing just outside the bathroom. From the way he’s dressed, it’s obvious he’s just come home from the overnight TK told him he was on.

“Good morning, Carlos,” he greets him calmly. Like this is a regular occurrence for them to run into each other outside his bathroom, and instead, not the first time ever that Carlos has spent the night in his house.

“Captain Strand,” he croaks out, swallowing hard under the embarrassment he feels at getting caught half-dressed by his boyfriend’s father.

“I think if you and TK have progressed to having sleepovers here, instead of just at your apartment, you can call me Owen,” he says with an easy smile.

“Right, of course,” he answers, trying to be polite. “I’m going to get my clothes and get out of here; I’m sure you want to get some sleep, sir.”

“Are you saying if you stayed, I wouldn’t get sleep?” Owen questions, there is an amused twinkle in his eyes that makes Carlos wince. “Is that how loud you and my son are? I’m not going to get any complaints from the neighbors, am I?”

Carlos stares at him, his mind going completely blank.

How do you even answer that?

If it’s with honesty, then the answer to that would be yes, he and TK are very vocal in bed, but even though it’s obvious Owen is messing with him, he’s pretty sure that’s not the answer the man wants.

“Uhh – “ he tries, but nothing else comes out.

Owen chuckles amused with himself, and with him, it seems.

“I’m joking,” he assures him. “I don’t want to know at all if that’s the case.

Carlos presses his lips together and gives him a nod.

“I don’t go to sleep right away after an overnight,” Owen starts, he jerks his head towards the rest of the house. “I was going to make some breakfast. TK will get up when he smells the food. Why don’t you join me?” Owen continues with a smile and then looks at him up and down. “After you put some pants on, of course.”

Carlos can feel his face go hot from the root of his hair to his chest; it doesn’t help that Owen’s mouth twitches like he’s seconds away from laughing. He nods one more time.

“Good,” Owen says pleased, clapping his hands once. “I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

Carlos goes back into TK’s bedroom; his boyfriend is now spread out like a starfish, still dead to the world as he sleeps. He considers waking him up in a moment of panic, but in the end, with a sigh, decides against it. He puts on his clothes from the night before, grateful that his shirt didn’t have any buttons for TK to snap off in his usual impatience to get Carlos out of his clothes.

Walking over to TK, he leans down to press a kiss on the side of his face, smiling at the soft sound TK makes in his sleep before taking a deep breath as he leaves the room.

He likes Captain Strand, both professionally and personally, just because he also happens to be the father of the man he’s quickly falling in love with, doesn't mean he needs to be afraid.

Walking into the kitchen, he finds Owen stirring ingredients in a bowl.

“Do you like blueberry pancakes?” he asks, looking up from what he’s doing.

“Yes, I do,” he answers; honestly, he likes any type of pancakes.

“Great,” Owen says with a smile. “Blueberry for you and me, then, TK isn’t really a fan, he prefers – “

“ – Banana chocolate chip,” he says, shrugging when Owen looks over at him surprised. “I’ve made breakfast for him when he spends the night; he has a sweet tooth in the morning.”

Owen nods, the corners of his mouth quirk upward. “He does,” he says softly. “When we lived in the city, he would have a donut, a Danish or a bear claw, and some frosted monstrosity he likes to call coffee every morning. Even when it’s plain black coffee, he puts some kind of flavored syrup in it.”

Carlos makes a face as he agrees with him. “I know, there is caramel, french vanilla and hazelnut in my cupboards now," he tells him. “I dragged him to the store the other day to buy some things for dinner, and he was eyeing a bubble gum flavored syrup, I had to put my foot down.”

“Did he pout?” Owen asks, grinning when he rolls his eyes. “You caved, didn’t you?”

“He gave me the puppy dog face,” he explains, scowling when Owen laughs.

“Ah, the puppy dog face,” Owen chuckles, shaking his head. “Checkmate, huh?”

Carlos lets out a loud sigh, even though he doesn’t mean it. He has no problem caving to TK; he likes to make him smile, even if it’s over something gross like bubble gum syrup.

“Don’t feel bad, kid,” Owen says as he starts to pour the batter on a skillet. “TK perfected that face before the age of two, he’s a pro, and we’re all suckers for it.”

“That would explain why he’s so good at it,” he murmurs. “He makes it, and I find myself saying yes to whatever he wants.”

“He gets that from his mother,” Owen explains as he looks back at him with a sympathetic face. “It’s the green eyes; she has them too. She would turn them on me, and I would be putty in her hands.”

Carlos smiles at the tidbit of information; he doesn’t know much about TK’s mom. He doesn’t speak much about her, except when he does, he does it with deep affection, so he knows they’re close, maybe not as much as TK and his dad, but it’s obvious he loves her.

“Accept your fate now,” Owen continues as he warns him. “It makes life easier.”

“I have,” he answers, he stops for a moment before continuing, his heart jumping as he speaks. “Fact is, your son has me wrapped around his little finger.”

Owen looks at him for a moment, studying him, and Carlos lets him, not hiding away from the man’s scrutiny. He doesn’t want to hide his feelings from TK’s dad; he wants him to know how much he cares for his son and that he’s not going anywhere.

“From what I can see, the feeling is mutual,” Owen starts to say, giving him a meaningful look as he turns serious. “You know about New York and before we came here?”

Carlos nods, swallowing hard as he remembers TK telling him everything the night of the solar flares. TK didn’t want to start anything with him before Carlos knew what he was getting into, he told him about his ex, the pills, and the OD before asking him if he still wanted to be with him. Carlos had gotten out a broken yes before pulling TK into a tight hug, grateful that life hadn’t taken him away before he got a chance to know him, to love him.

“I didn’t think my son would be happy anytime soon after that,” Owen tells him quietly, the pain he feels for TK etched into every line of his face. He gives him a small smile after a moment of quiet between them. “But he lights up when he’s around you, doesn’t matter where, at the firehouse, the bar or a call, you show up, and he smiles. I don’t have the words to thank you enough for that.”

Carlos opens his mouth, trying to find the words around the lump in his throat. He wants to tell Owen that he doesn’t need to thank him, that it’s his privilege and honor to make TK happy. He wants to say to him that it’s all he wants to do, to make TK smile and joyful. He wants to tell him that he’s the one that’s grateful because having TK in his life is a blessing, one he’s thankful for every day.

He wants to tell the man before him that he’s in love with his son.

The look Owen gives him tells him he doesn’t need to say any of it, Owen already knows.

A moment later, Owen looks over his shoulder, a smile on his face, and that’s all the warning Carlos gets before arms wrap around his waist.

“I thought you had left,” TK mumbles into his back, his voice still thick with sleep. “But then I saw your shoes.”

Carlos turns, lifting his arm over TK’s head to wrap it around him, bringing him to his side. He looks down as TK cuddles into his chest and sees he still has his eyes mostly closed. “Your dad offered to make me pancakes.”

TK cracks open an eye, looking over at his father suspiciously. “Banana chocolate chip?” he questions, getting an eye roll back from Owen.

“For you, yes,” his dad tells him. “Carlos and I will be having blueberry pancakes.”

“Weirdos,” TK mumbles, now leaning more heavily on him.

“How about I get you some coffee,” he suggests walking TK over to the kitchen table and sitting him down.

“Hmm, yes,” TK moans appreciatively. “With two pumps of hazelnut, please.”

Carlos shakes his head at him before turning towards the coffee machine, Owen points at one of the cabinets where Carlos finds familiar bottles of coffee syrups. With two pumps into the coffee, he turns back to TK, who is finally looking more awake.

He smiles brightly at him as he gives him his coffee. TK takes a sip, letting out another pleased sound.

“Good?” he asks, smirking down at him.

TK bobs his head as he reaches for his shirt, tugging him down as he tilts his head up. Carlos lets him, closing his eyes as TK gives him a light kiss.

“Sweet, just like you,” he says, grinning up at him. Looking over at his dad as he starts serving the plates, he lowers his voice. “Everything okay? He didn’t give you a hard time, right?”

Carlos shakes his head as he thinks back to everything Owen just said to him, he looks over at the man to find him watching them with a soft look on his face. When he catches his eyes, he sees the joy and, once again, gratitude in his expression. Looking at TK, he sees the care for him in his.

“No, sweetheart,” he says, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “He was great.”

TK smiles brightly at him in response, happy just like Owen said, and it fills him with warmth to know he’s the cause.

“Everything is great.”